Chapter Sixteen:

Remembrance

"Thus saith the LORD; Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth from the LORD" ~ Jeremiah 17:5

The whirlwind of images, faces, scenes made his head spin. He felt hot – sweat trickled down his forehead, and neck. His hair was damp; someone was muttering. Where was he? How had he gotten here? Why… couldn't he seem to move? All he could do was move his head; he couldn't even open his eyes!

Not that he wanted to… The unconsciousness was far too comfortable. Or at least, it would have been, if it hadn't been for that face… Long red locks, sparkling green eyes… a brilliant smile framed by perfect lips soft and red as a rose. Who was she? She smiled at him… always. At least, until she disappeared. He searched and searched to find her again. It took what felt like days of digging and scrounging through old forgotten memories and past acquaintances to find her again. When he did, he was allowed rest. He could stare at the misty memory of her face for hours… That everlasting smile was calming, soothing…

Something jarred him. An emotion, one far too familiar. Pride, arrogance, betrayal, and disgust. Yes… She'd sent that letter hadn't she? That wretched, wretched letter… The one that nearly ruined his life. Thank heaven she'd promised never to tell another living soul… That might've cost him his reputation.

"You may recall that night… Though, I'm sure you'd rather not.

I'm having a baby, Thalion. Your baby."

A shudder wracked his inert frame, and pain shot up his spine. Harsh whisperings reached his ears, muffled and quiet, but he couldn't understand a word they said. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He had no inkling of where he was, and whoever was speaking had gruff, throaty voices – certainly not ones he recognized. Though… they did sound… vaguely familiar.

After that… What happened after that? After that letter… He hadn't gone back, had he? No…

He'd just been through a battle. He knew that. But… the memories. All of them were written from high above… as if he'd stared down at the action taking place. Why was that…

Ameas Night.

What? What on earth was that? He knew no Ameas Night… yet the name seemed very, very familiar to him. He wracked his unconscious brain – not a smart move. One, it elicited a throbbing headache; two, it didn't work anyhow.

Ooh… Why was the dream world so hard to live in? Yet he was captive to it. He had no escape.

So he had to be content letting foreign memories play out in his head. Memories of battles, treasure, vengeance, an ebony-haired boy, and a stubborn yet particular Hylian king…

~-LoZ-~

Caine sat up, heart pounding, in a heavy sweat. His hair stuck to his forehead, as did his light shirt to his back. He swooned, gripping the furs underneath him fervently to keep himself upright. The yellow dragon across the small-ish room jumped, its eyes fluttering open and blinking slowly – he must have jolted it from its sleep.

It warbled, slowly shifting to its feet and approaching the cot. Caine looked about at the round room – more like a pocket, really. Perhaps where lava had gathered once. The floor, compared to the great cavern, was bare of jewels and treasures, and merely had another cot on the other side, covered in the same kind of furs as the ones Caine rested upon – thick, and course, like buffalo, he thought.

"Ha-hum, welcome back, young prince," hoarsed the dragon, sitting back on its haunches. It worked the sleep from its jaws. "A long nap you took, 'at was."

Caine frowned, rubbing a hand over his forehead – the sweat was growing cold and it made him shiver. "A… nap?"

The beast nodded, its eyes crinkling at the edges. "That was quite the fall you took."

It hit him then like a brick wall. He clutched a hand to his chest, feeling the ridge-less, very human skin beneath the cloth of his shirt. He studied his hands, wiggling his fingers and feeling his knuckles pop. Staring at his bare feet, he raked his fingers through his hair, feeling to be sure it was really there. "I… I-I'm a… Hylian again."

Nodding, the dragon scooted closer, blinking innocently at him. "Yes, yes, Hylian, you are. Big surprise for us."

He couldn't help wonder just how stupid these real dragons were – did they not feel any sore of betrayal, or sudden distrust, that one of their major leaders was one of their enemies?

"You feel well, now, sir?" asked the creature, leaning its head close enough for Caine to consider it a violation of personal space.

"Uh…" He nodded slowly. "Yes… Why?"

"Ameas doesn't feel so good; no, sir, he doesn't. Sick, sick, he is now; sweaty and sick. And muttering, and asleep."

Caine frowned. "Sick? Does anyone know why?" To hear that the very leader of the… Sweaty? Dragons didn't sweat! …Did they?

"No, no one knows why. We fought* maybe Hylians were just weak was all."

Hylians… "W-wait… Say that again?"

"We fought maybe Hylians were weak; you seem to sleep lots at a time, too…"

"Hylians?" He felt the color begin to drain from his face in disbelief. "Ameas is no Hylian!"

The beast cocked its head, looking rather befuddled. "Hm… Well, 'e looks like one. Pale skin, yellow hair, pointy ears, two arms, two legs – you know, everything 'at comes with the territory of bein' a Hylian. Or at least… I fink it'would be…"

He paid no more attention to it as it went on muttering as if he were still listening. Ameas was a Hylian? The thought was too mindboggling to register, and it took a long while for it to sink in. Ameas was a Hylian… Ameas was a Hylian! Ameas Night was a Hylian!

He recalled just before the darkness had overtaken him. The great black dragon writhing and roaring in agony just over the battlefield… Just as he had been. That pain… What had caused it?

"I… W-What happened?" he asked the dragon, suddenly feeling very tired. All these abrupt uncertainties were beginning to make his head hurt. "At the battle… Do you know?"

"The battle… Oh, that battle! Yes – someone destroyed the dragon stone whiles we were gone!"

His eyes widened, jaw slackening. "But… But, h-how? Why?"

"Well, the why's obvious enough," the dragon snorted. "How, well, it looks 'ike they crushed it."

"No, I mean, how could they have known we had it?"

"Oh…" The beast shrugged. "I dunno; prolly just… found out, I 'spect."

"Found…" He bit his tongue; now was not the time to be snapping! He was irritable, granted, but it had nothing to do with the dragon stone. Well… at least, he didn't think it did… A sigh escaped his lips. "May I… see him?"

It blinked at him. "I s'pose… But he won't see you; 'e's still dead to the world, at the moment."

"I know… I don't need to speak with him; I just want to see him, is all." I need to get a look at him. If this isn't the real dragon-blood Ameas Night… then who is he?

"Right, then. 'Course! If ya feelin' well enough to walk, jus' get up an' follow me." It stood to its feet, folding its wings lower on its back, turned and slipped into the dark corrider just out the doorway. No doors; if this was an old prison, had the prisoners gotten any privacy at all?

He found his boots beside the bed and pulled them on. His toes crowded against the leather walls of the shoes; he was quickly outgrowing them. Or, at least, his feet were. How long until they were utterly too small for him…

Foolish thoughts. At least, he tried to convince himself as such. The voice of pride, arrogance, and wickedness seemed to have fled him, leaving him feeling empty, vacant, and lonely. Alone; he shivered, but not from cold. The dragon waited for him outside, and when he exited the room, it began to lead him down a much smaller hall that he'd never seen before. Doorways like the one he'd just crossed lined the walls, and inside laid a room much the same as his – plain and simple, two cots, one bureau, and a torch, many of which were unlit. This must have been what was once the actual prison part of the island. It was depressing enough…

At the very end of the hall, the dragon stopped, and stood outside a curtained doorway. "Here 'tis."

Caine cocked a brow at it. The only curtained doorway out of all of them… Had they only recently done that, just for Ameas?

He pushed through the tattered rag, and into the dimly lit room on the other side. While warm light splashed about the rounded walls, the atmosphere was surprisingly cold, and he wrapped his arms around himself to keep from trembling. Only one bed sat in this room, and its occupant lay still as if death had already taken it. The only sign that this man was alive was the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and the occasional twitching of his lips as he muttered things Caine couldn't understand.

The prince slowly approached the bedside, brow furrowed as he strained to peer through the heavy shadows. Suddenly, the bedridden man jerked, back arcing up as he let out a yell – amazingly enough, it didn't seem as if the man was in pain. The cry was more one of anger, and frustration, then agony. Caine flinched back.

When he settled again, he muttered something, and swiveled his head so the light illuminated the face. At that moment, Caine felt his blood run cold. He took a single step of disbelief away from the cot.

This man looked near identical to Caine's father! Older, broader at the shoulders, taller, and with longer hair and a thin, sophisticated mustache, but… The face was the same. And yet… it was very different. This stranger's features carried a noble, regal air about them, even in his unconsciousness. While the straightness of the nose, the dark lashes, and chiseled jaw matched Link almost exactly, they reflected something Caine would never detect in his father's expression – pride. Loads of it.

This Ameas Night, whoever he really was, had known power his entire life. That much was obvious simply by the default expression, not to mention the rather wrinkled, yet rich-looking clothes – a draping, soiled cloak of red velvet, golden buttons, and tunics and robes patterned with intricate threadwork.

The frown remained on Caine's brow as he scrutinized the unconscious figure before him. This was a new twist to things – what could it possibly mean? He couldn't even begin to guess; there were too many questions unanswered to even try.

*'Fought', not as in fight/fought, but the word 'thought' with the initial 'th' pronounced as 'f' - according to the true dragons' lower-class English.

~-LoZ-~

Snow was coming. That much was clear by the dull grey clouds that blanketed the skies, and the harsh chill to the once friendly winds. The Gerudo and Hylian forces worked with as much speed as they could manage to rebuild the fallen city of Keskus, so that the families that had lost their homes or relatives might have a warm shelter when the first snows hit.

Link had helped as much as he could, but he also had other things to concern himself over, now. In all the commotion, he hadn't had much time to actually come down to it and talk with Zelda about everything that had transpired. When he finally had, it had been a rather emotional time, particularly for Zelda, the reason for which she told him soon after. As it happened, she was, in fact, with child, something she had been suspecting since the takeover of Ordon.

All the more reason to repair the walls and palace before winter came in full force, or before the dragons fully regrouped and attacked again with vengeance.

On that note, the dragons had been amazingly silent for the past few weeks. Though they still occupied the coastal cities, the inland was all but vacated of them. Tarha, as well as many other inner cities, was on its way to recovery. What had caused the enemy to pull back so, he didn't know. But he was thankful for it all the same; now, they had time to recuperate.

There was still much to be done. Temporary roofs had been put up in the holes that Ameas had torn in the ceiling of the palace as well, if only to keep any coming snow out. Link now watched as the last one was nailed into place, sealing the cavernous hole above the main hall. The same hall where Abyll had died…

He shuddered. Best not to dwell on such things. The workers began to dissipate, calling to one another about resting for the remainder of the evening. Link bid them all farewell before heading upstairs, to the royal chambers. They had been one of the few places left untouched, and were possibly the warmest areas of the castle.

When he arrived at his and Zelda's room, he pushed open the door to find it surprisingly cold. The fire had all but died; dying embers glowed at the bottom, but nothing more. A frown twisted his features, and he searched the suite for his wife. He didn't find her.

Perhaps one of the other rooms? He'd often found her sitting in Abyll's room, which hadn't been emptied – he didn't think Zelda would ever let it. They'd keep it the same, for always, if only in memory of their beloved son. She would sit on the boy's bed, either holding the pillow, or working the blanket in her fingers – Abyll's scent still lingered on his things. The queen was probably there now.

But when he looked, he found Abyll's room vacant as well. Then where… He checked Caine's room.

There she was – sitting on the elder prince's bed, caressing the cover of one of the many books that inhabited the room. She wore a forlorn expression as she absently flipped the pages open in her lap, her eyes unmoving and therefore paying no mind to the actual words that covered the paper.

She didn't initially react when he joined her on the bed. He put an arm about her waist and waited for her to speak – if she chose not to, then they would sit in thoughtful silence.

But she did speak; and when she did, she sounded lost, and lonely.

"Where did he go, Link?" She blinked rapidly as she stared down at the pages, shaking her head. "It's enough that Abyll's… gone. But… knowing Caine's gone and not knowing why is even worse…"

She swallowed hard, and he anticipated her tears, wrapping his arms about her tightly as she cried into his shoulder.

"I want my son back, Link…" she whimpered into the cloth of his shirt, burying her face against it. "Please, God," her mutterings shifted into a prayer, "I just want my son back…"

~-LoZ-~

How long had he occupied this sunless void? Left to wallow in the depths of his bleak unconsciousness, floating in the abyss, knowing nothing but emptiness? It seemed to him like ages. Ages of nothingness, and loneliness, and struggling to make sense of the seemingly random bits of information and memory that plagued him to no end, baffling him with names and faces and occurrences and locations the held no meaning to him.

That is, except for that lovely woman, and the hardened face of that Hylian king. Something in his subconscious tied those two together – was it something in their features? There were certain similarities, but those extended no further than fair skin tone, and glittering eyes. The woman's expression was always sweet, and kind – the king's was far more harsh, and determined, or in one case, furious.

So today, he'd resolved to figure out the connection, despite the pounding headache it served to bring him every time he thought hard about those elusive memories. He would endure the pain, if only to ebb at the frustration of not being able to remember.

He sifted those two mental images – the woman, and the king – to the forefront of his consciousness, and delved into the rest. He searched and searched, sought and sought, dug and dug, deeper and deeper into a jumbled, tangled mess of memories. Scenes of someone's life, one that he vaguely recognized, but not as his own – or so he thought.

Major memories went the quickest; meaningless celebrations, nights of pleasure, joyous victories, friends, acquaintances, countless women…

At the very back of his mind, an image surfaced – looking through the eyes of whomever these memories belonged to, and into the reflective surface of a mirror. A lavish room sprawled in the background, and he took in the rich clothing of the figure before turning to the face.

His heart gave a painful jump. He looked into the face of… the Hylian? No, no, this was a different man… but very similar. Where had he seen this man before? Besides the…

It was him.

Him, himself; this person was him! The images, the memories surrounded him; his head pounded and throbbed like a drum, his blood rushing through his temples with each heartbeat. Like a wave crashing over him, the recollections swallowed him whole, and a spray of light exploded in the darkness. The memories came to life, each and every one of them playing at rapid fire speed, with him in the midst of them.

And he remembered.

He was Thalion Vonernil Faroth. The woman was Lalaith Wilwarin, a flame whom he had not seen, nor thought of for years – this was understandable, now, considering his loss of his memory as a Hylian just after…

The incident with the dragon!

He wandered through the dark caverns – how befitting for a prison, he thought. Cold stone tunnels, a lightless world, any and all prisoners doomed to either brave the savage jungles on the shores, or live out the rest of his sentence in the sunless abyss under the mountain.

Or, in his case, the rest of his life. After all, there was no other punishment for treachery. One could not attempt to start a revolt against the king of Hyrule and get away with it after failing.

Though, he couldn't understand why the fool had been so harsh with him – he was, after all, the wisest, on most occasions, the strongest, and the most charismatic out of all those old gaffers on the Council – his young age did not matter! He was inexpendable, and popular; or so he thought. He had expected the people to object at his trial; after all, he was the one who advocated most of the improvements in the land – the abolishing of the feudal system, the betterment of the roadways, the upgrade of the Hylian fleet, the limiting of soldiers and war-related structures in towns during times of peace. He was the peoples' sponsor; they couldn't just let him go like this! And the king – his own flesh and blood! It was intolerable!

But they had. And it made him furious.

What, ho? A light ahead? Perhaps there was life in these dank, dark tunnels after all. He quickened his pace, eyes used to the inky black by now, and came to a stop at the edge of a drop-off. On the rock floor below, vast mounds of treasure stretched for the length of the room, glittering in the hot orange light. His eyes widened, but did so even more when they found the great, black form of a mighty dragon sitting back on its haunches, dismissing the company of a small, bat-like thing.

By Faron, what… What was this? Dragons hadn't been seen, nor heard of since…

"The fall of Ameas Night," he whispered to himself. Was this that infamous dragon king that the elders of Hyrule spoke so little of? The one exiled for the very same crime as the one he himself had committed?

What an alliance they could make… But it was fruitless to think such things; most likely, the dragon would see him as no more than an easy meal, and then he'd be done for. Perhaps… Perhaps, though, there was a way to usurp this underworld throne from him… He could use the power this beast seemed to possess. And if its followers could see what he was capable of with a blade, they would be forced to give him anything he wanted – including troops to help take back what was rightfully his.

The throne of Hyrule, one of the most prosperous nations in the world.

He watched as the dragon laid down, resting its head on the back of its hands. The great red orbs of its eyes closed, and all was still. Then, he crept down, and found the bejeweled hilt of a sword amidst the treasure.

He slew the great Ameas Night in his sleep. And as the crimson lifeblood spilled over the glittering floor, a large pedestal caught his eye.

A glorious jewel stood atop that great platform, and he was drawn to it like a moth to flame. Any man who owned this great room… could possible become the richest man on the earth. The most powerful man; the most influential man. No one would be able to tell them what to do… not even the so-called Law.

He reached out and touched its smooth surface. Something like electricity shot up his arm and swirled about his head, throwing him away from the stone and sending him sprawling onto his back. Instantly, black blotches swirled, and darkness relieved the pain as unconsciousness took him. His memories began to fade, as new replaced them – memories of hate, vengeance, and the draconic revolution.

Of course! The stone! The stone that was destroyed! It had taken their life-forces, and joined them – Ameas Night in his dying breaths, and Thalion Faroth, deep in sleep. They had been combined, as was convenient, they being together in the same room. He was such an idiot! He should have had the knowledge to remember that Ameas' father was truly the one to lead the revolt, and he'd been forced to serve under that buffoon's wing until he finally died fifteen years previous. Only then could his plan have been enacted as it was… And now, the stone had been shattered, and its hold over him and young Prince Caine had been broken. He, and most likely the prince, were now back in their original forms.

Energy flooded his being, and he sat upright with a jolt and a yell of surprise. His blue eyes flew open, wide even in the sudden light of a fire pit along the wall of the small room.

His name was Thalion, and he'd just spent thirty-four years in the body of a notorious dragon king!