Hello.
It's been a very very long while since I last posted anything, but if people from way back are still reading this, thank you so much for your continued support.
This chapter/new fic (it really should be its own new fic but I'm lazy these days) is especially dedicated to CatsGotTongue for her kind, kind words.
I hope you enjoy this, CatsGotTongue. :D
Oh, also, previous chapters were edited with more commas, because I was going through the phase of writing really long sentences without them to make them seem more panicky. It just made them harder to read.
Touch
Tharlaigh Hasheik (just Sheik to most people, and sometimes even to himself) had noticed that odd girl in the middle of autumn, helping with the harvest of nuts in the famous Fiery Courtyards (for the bright foliage and flowers that bloomed in that very season). Hair cut unfashionably but practically short, wearing a dress that looked borrowed (hems too short, apron mismatched, general cut of the bodice too loose) and talking with guarded or shy reserve with the other servants.
She was a new face, possibly recently or temporary hired specifically for this season; there were plenty of citizens interested in work inside the Castle grounds just for the novelty of it, though the pay wasn't nothing to turn one's nose at either. Tharlaigh couldn't help but grin when she gave up on the stick provided to reach the higher nuts and climbed up the tree instead, kicking and shaking branches and scandalizing the other working women.
He went to speak with the Heads of the hired men and women later that day, to determine who she was. As a friend, relative, and part-time protector of Princess Zelda he thought it part of his job to at least know who was working where, either by name or face or both.
Of the three heads, all three had thought the other had hired that particular girl. Sheik mentally grumbled; a sneak. A helpful sneak, but a sneak nonetheless, and one that had to be ejected for Zelda's safety.
As if sensing her eviction she was nowhere to be seen the next day.
Tharlaigh sighed at himself for being a little lax and left it at that.
-.-'-.-'-.-
Sheik wrenched himself out of his cousin's grip by biting his tongue. Needless to say it hurt.
Said cousin tutted, kneeling back, sweat beading on the bridge of her nose. "That doesn't tell me anything, Tharlaigh."
The Sheikah gasped, tongue throbbing thick in his dry mouth, the migraine swelling in harmony. He wished his restraints were manacles; he probably would have cut himself on the metal with his struggling. No such luck with rope.
He wondered if Midnasia had taken that into account when she'd planned all this.
"Shame," he croaked, throat clicking when he swallowed, "Those gardens really are magnificent this time of year."
"Should I beat you a little to make this easier for myself?"
Sheik chuckled. "Be my guest."
She did slap him, his left cheek stinging immediately. He counted it as a victory, as masochistic as it was.
Goddesses above, he had to have come from a family of crazies, didn't he?
"Where is he?"
"Nowhere you can get to," Sheik whispered, breathing through his nose. Water, water, goddess he was thirsty… "And nothing I can do about it."
"I know he's alive," she gritted out, rolling up her sleeves, taking a large pull from a pitcher of water, "So you can at least do me the favour of telling me where he is."
He swallowed again (click, click) and forced himself to grin. "Good luck."
She held his head between her hands and made him remember.
-.-'-.-'-.-
"Who is she?"
Zelda had raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur, passing him her notes concerning relations with the Sheikah, "Who is who?"
He took the papers but tucked them under an arm, watching her. "That girl you chatted with yesterday. She snuck in here in autumn during harvest and I caught her pulling potatoes in the snow, while you were talking to her. So? Who is she?"
She smiled. "Do I sense jealousy from you, Tharlaigh?"
He blinked. He hadn't expected to have to fight for the answer. "Um, if you sense anything it's confusion. Seriously. Who is she?"
Her smile turned stiff. "She's a friend."
He raised an eyebrow. "By the name of…?"
"She hasn't said."
"Zelda."
If her face wasn't so regal he would've called her expression a pout. "She really hasn't."
"Then you know she's a friend how."
"It's her job to be?"
Tharlaigh let that sink in, and kneaded the bridge of his nose. "Eh?"
"There's a tradition that a citizen is elected as a sort of, liaison between the people and the Royal Family, so they aren't out of touch. That's her."
Tharlaigh knew he would have to research that in the dustiest, mustiest parts of the castle archives and mentally groaned. "And she hasn't told you her name why?"
"I haven't had the need to ask."
"For Nayru's sake, do you enjoy making my life difficult?"
"Why can't you just trust me when I say I trust her?"
"Same reason why I still don't trust Hero." he spat, thoroughly irritated with his best friend, whirling away to read her stupid papers about her stupid proposals for his people on his father's side.
Why don't you trust your Hero?
Because he was always in disguise; Sheik's experience with people like that had ended up with his face disfigured, so excuse him for thinking it strange and untrustworthy.
Yet you go on missions with him.
Well yes but that was because he's not-
Sheik bit his tongue again, and Midnasia slapped him out of frustration, breaking the spell completely.
"I guess I'll just have to muzzle you now," she growled, slapping him again. Always on the left cheek. Sheik flexed his face, hoping it'll ease the stinging. He tasted blood in his mouth, which did nothing to ease his thirst. He nodded, recommending himself to avoid speaking for discomfort's sake. She clearly took the nod as a challenge. Dark eyes flashing she grabbed the pitcher of water and smashed it against the back of his head, making him cry out, blessed water dripping down his head and face and torturously away from his mouth, and too desperate to try and catch some moisture on his tongue he could barely fight her forcing a rod between his teeth.
He choked and snarled, teeth pried apart, another outlet for resistance forced out of his reach.
But now that he thought about it, another had been opened to him. Literally.
Sheik pitched forward, groaning.
"Come now, cousin," Midnasia grumbled, in such a tone that made her sound like her father, "Must you be so difficult?"
Go to hell.
He breathed through his mouth, painful as it was.
"Right," she grumbled, clawing his hair to keep a hold of his head, and made him remember some more.
-.-'-.-'-.-
Tharlaigh always saw the Hero through a mist, or a haze, the kind one expected to see over wet ground on a hot day. Disguise magic. Usually he could sort of see what lay beneath, but this one was a particularly powerful spell, as always. For a Hero to hide his face… had he been a criminal before he took up the mantel? Or was this man a fake? Even a series of fakes, a group of young men that pretended to be one person? To the Sheikah any of these were just as likely as the other, since defeating anything evil required a certain amount of darkness or brokenness in a person. That he didn't begrudge of anybody.
But hiding your true face? That Tharlaigh disliked quite considerably.
Again, but, Hero wasn't a hero for nothing; second to none when it came to fighting, was decent enough of a person, even if he was a little nosy.
"So, uh, how'd you become Zelda's protector?"
"My parents pulled some strings."
"...Seriously?"
"No."
"Oh. Is it a protector's secret, then?"
"Something like."
"Oh. Cool. What's the hardest thing to protect her against?"
You, he'd been tempted to say. Instead he'd smiled and gone for: "Secretive people."
Hero hadn't gotten the jab. "Fair enough, I guess. How long have you been training for?"
"I could ask you the same thing," He'd often replied, to which Hero had just often readily answered.
But you trust him now.
Well he'd always had in the sense that in a fight Hero was one he could rely on just for his skill. But, well. Yes.
Why?
Because he's gone, he replied, seeing through the haze of the memory, into Midna's rage-filled face, Hero's gone now.
What do you mean!?
Another memory, tied back to back with someone else like a caterpillar, in the cellar or dungeon of Vhighew's fortress.
Oh?
Sheik gasped, panic sweeping into his lungs over his dry gullet and he coughed, huge racking coughs that sent pain stabbing up his temples and jangling in his lungs and tearing out his throat. When he swallowed his whole neck clicked with dry discomfort, there was no relief, and tears blurred his vision. His real vision; an empty wine cellar and wooden floor instead of a stone dungeon, restrained against a wall instead of to another person.
That was close. Too close.
He forced himself to breathe through his mouth. Pain was his friend in this one and only unusually cruel situation, and curling his hands into fists he desperately hoped Zelda would save him already. His magic was useless without the use of his faculties, all of which was deprived of him, and without a blade…
Unlike Vhighew, Midna had been more careful when it came to hidden knives.
"How are you doing that?" she snapped, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to meet her gaze, "Nobody has resisted me this long!"
Ew we're related, was what he would have said if he'd been more chipper and could actually speak. Instead he grunted, rolling his eyes, breathing in through his mouth, coughing some more and desperately keeping himself uncomfortable.
She threw him back in disgust and left him there, stomping up the cellar stairs and slamming the trapdoor closed. The sudden darkness wasn't welcome, but being left alone surely was. Water from the pitcher dripped down his hair, which he shook into the vicinity of his open mouth in the hope of getting a few drops over his parched lips. His head hurt something fierce, and he lay on the floor, wincing, fingers scraping across the wooden surface for a piece of broken crockery. That was the thing about ropes; less pain, but easier to break out of.
Sheik gritted his teeth as he cut his palm on a shard of porcelain, but managed to grab it and began sawing through his bonds. It was awkward going.
He was somewhat glad that he'd managed to avoid a stereotypical parting with Lin. They'd had a usual day. Mostly him teasing her and pissing her off during training as he always pushed the boundary, got too close, but backing quickly away if she seemed genuinely freaked or angry.
He sighed. Of course he was falling in love with someone who had a thing against being touched. Just his fate, really.
He tested the rope. Negative. He continued to saw through, his wrist cramping from the effort.
But had he been a little too daring today? Or yesterday? How long had he been here now? It couldn't be more than a day, he wasn't hungry, not by that much, anyway. Thirsty, yes, but that was a given. How long would he have to be gone before Lin or Zelda got worried? Overnight, possibly longer, Sheik grudgingly concluded (especially if he'd annoyed Lin more than usual) which could be enough time for his dear sweet cousin to pry the truth out of him.
Sheik tested the rope again, which creaked. Almost there.
He thought of all the things that he would do once he was free. Most of it involved burning down this building, because then he would have the local authorities on him and from there he could send for Zelda, or Lin, whichever was more free to come to his aid.
He missed them both. He could really use a hug from the Princess, or a hand from Lin, though he really wished for more from that particular lady. What he wouldn't do for a kiss from that boisterous girl.
Less mopey thinking and more getting out, the Sheikah told himself before yanking his wrist free, the fibres of his bonds searing against his skin as they tore.
Reassuring as it was to know that he still had his sanity intact, putting himself through so much pain was getting old.
Finally cutting himself free Sheik slunk through the dark, pulling himself up the stairs, easing the trapdoor a smidge open. A flickering finger of light dredged its way into the dark. So braziers. Night. Wonderful.
So he'd been gone for a full day, considering he'd been taken in his nightly walk around the town pubs. He was going to have an earful from Zelda about that. Not to mention that if Midna was questioning him now, so long after the initial kidnapping, it must have taken that long to get him here, so then it meant it would take just as many hours till Zelda or Lin to arrive, plus however many hours it would take them to realise he was missing and figure out where he was in the first place.
Sheik sighed through his nose, swallowing (click, click). Help wasn't coming for a while.
Right. First and foremost, water. Then burn the place down, survivors be damned. He was never, ever going to let Midna know where her father was, not till he could safely say that bastard was in prison and was going to remain so for the rest of his damned life.
Gently pressing his hands against the underside of the door (his cut hand was shaking; damn, he hoped it wouldn't get infected, or worse, leave a trail) he eased it open enough to get a good look outside. No feet. So no guards? Odd, but useful.
Unless she employed monsters just as her father had. After all, cheap labour.
He slipped out and pressed against the shadows, taking stock of his injuries. Which weren't many. Just his cut hand, aching wrists, splitting headache, sore throat. It was remarkable how Midna hadn't broken a leg or two to ensure he couldn't escape.
Tearing at the hem of his trousers (he should've done this earlier, idiot) and wrapping it round his hand he moved forward, pressing his back against the walls as he advanced, peering around corners, jumping from shadow to shadow.
No guards at all. Did she really think so little of him? Small blessings, he supposed, as he found a door and peered through and seeing nobody at all (this was getting ridiculous; really not a single soul?) kept going.
He found a kitchen. Nobody around. So it was significantly before sunrise; bakers usually started their toils at the darkest hours of predawn, so, was it two, maybe three hours after midnight?
(The witching hour)
(Why did he think that?)
Water.
He stumbled towards the barrel full of it, of cool, clear water, He didn't even notice the aftertaste before it was too late, the sweet oranges of deku. He stumbled away, cursing, (sleeping drug. Damn! Idiot!) blearily looking for a knife in the mostly-dark (only a few minutes before he succumbed) and not finding one grabbed a broom instead and banged into a door (let it be a cupboard, or a room, something he can barricade himself in, hide, till it passed please) and closed it behind him, gripping his silly weapon as he was dragged into the dark of sleep.
-.-'-.-'-.-
"Stop that," he snarled, stepping forward, "It's annoying."
The man laughed, his face shifting colour and shape, trying to find what Tharlaigh considered beautiful. "I've always hated your eyes…"
Just my eyes? He would have quipped, if Lin's shaking behind him hadn't escalated. He nudged her shoulder, making her flinch, but she seemed more herself for it. "Lin, it's an illusion. Whatever you see, don't get sucked in."
She snorted. "What do you see?"
He decided to be honest for a change. "Sometimes a goddess. Sometimes my face, only better. Sometimes… his true form."
"What's that?"
"My uncle's decrepit mug. Hi, Uncle Vhighew." he added with forced cheer, lidded over genuine hatred. "Still into cosmetics, I see."
"And your eyesight's still too good for my liking, Tharlaigh." He sighed, shaking his head with just as equally forced and fake concern, "How's your life been, since we last parted?"
"Ruined, thank you muchly." sweet toxic sarcasm dripping from the words, Tharlaigh bared his teeth. "But I like to think my personality improved since then. The hell are you doing, anyway? Actually, I couldn't care less, I'm just here to end it. I'll enjoy every minute of it, though."
"Cruel, cruel boy. Your inner heart shows on your face."
"No thanks to you, as you well know." he should've chosen a weapon with a blade. A big, sharp, wicked blade, with barbs and poison that ate the flesh. And he would've laughed with each cut for doing what his supposed uncle did to him as a child. That was what he got for thinking about Lin's sensibilities...
"My, my, I didn't notice this girl with you…"
He actually felt his blood draining from his face. "Think about it and I will kill you, bastard!"
"Here I was, thinking only males had attacked my haven," and the way the bastard looked at Lin made genuine fear crawl through his stomach. "She's a beauty, nephew."
The magic around Vhighew shifted, intensified, focused solely on her. Tharlaigh stood closer to her, trying to block her from the onslaught of mind-magic. "Lin, Lin, don't. Don't be tricked. Please."
She was scarily still behind him, zombified. Sheik feared the worst.
"Don't you see, Tharlaigh? She's under my spell. Come my dear; you know you wish it."
"Over my dead body," he snarled even as Lin turned full harpy on him.
Usually he would've been happy with sparring with her but this was ridiculous; exercise versus actually being targeted for murder was substantially different. Everything about her moves stated that she very much wanted to kill him for getting in her way. It helped that he had her sword, thus less likely to succeed, but being whacked about with a stick was genuinely painful.
"Damn it Lin!" he barely dodged being impaled in the eye (his good side, too), and was glad that he had thought of Lin's sensibilities and gone for the bluntest weapon there was because if he'd had his way he'd be dead four-nope, five times now. "Snap out of it!"
They sparred (too friendly a term, but he wasn't trying to kill her, so.) until there was an opening, and he could've taken it, but she hesitated, and she looked at him like a sane person and where did that get him? Being struck on the worst pressure-point ever.
Tharlaigh really hated Impa for teaching them that, collapsing into a bundle of infuriated and incapacitated limbs.
But she hadn't finished him off. A hopeful Tharlaigh forced himself to move, to beat the tingling acid-juice feeling out of his nerves (oh he was going to ruin Impa's life for the next three weeks he swore it) and see what the hell she was doing, or she might get herself killed and he wasn't sure whether he could forgive himself for that.
And then those words, words that'd in retrospect were the most terrifying he'd ever heard.
"Nayru's Judgement."
-.-'-.-'-.-
Sheik jolted awake, to the unwelcome sight of his psychotic cousin straddling his chest. How he hadn't asphyxiated in his sleep was a mystery.
Her grin was a shark's as she asked, "What, dear cousin, is Nayru's Judgement?"
Sheik groaned, head throbbing from the drug, and wondered how long he'd been under. Also just how much she'd gleaned from that particular memory. "Can see but can't do magic. You know that."
"Not strictly true, and you're a liar. I know that too."
"Still denying what your father did to my face?"
"Oh, it's just showing your inner heart, isn't it? Ugly fiend."
"Tame," he chided, "Try harder."
"I will," she said, and gripped his hair and pulled that string of memories out again.
She'd looked terrible, as soon as she'd finished casting; Lin had used far too much power for a piece of garbage like Vhighew, so much that Tharlaigh couldn't appreciate it because she looked ready to die. Her cracked lips were bleeding, she visibly lost weight (how? HOW?) and her sunken eyes were bruised, hollowed cheeks pale, hands like a crone's and just as fragile and what the hell had she done?
You saw it didn't you?
"It was something that I never wanted to see again," Sheik snarled at Lin's prone form, even as he felt Midna's eyes at the back of his head, the back of his very brain, "So if you'll excuse me-"
He grabbed the sword Lin dropped and stabbed her in the chest.
The image blurred, and his headache spiked, and he had Midnasia sitting on his chest again. He glowered at her, tilting his mottle-scarred side of his face towards her, maximising his murderous glare. He'd spent years practicing this look in the mirror. "I am going to kill you slowly, cousin."
"Kinky," she said, patting his left cheek. "But I wonder how you plan on doing that from there."
"I can get very creative if given the-" he bounced when she got off him, which was utterly confusing, until he realised with some horror that he was strapped to the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in, silk ribbons keeping him restrained, pillows of duckdown supporting his head. "Hell."
"Oh you finally noticed. I found the rest of father's notes, see." Midna fluttered a few sheafs of paper at him and Sheik bit back some foul, foul words, testing his new bonds. If it felt this nice surely it had to be fragile.
"Don't bother," she crooned, crouching over him, "It's Skultulla silk."
Vulnerable only to the sharpest of blades wielded by the most determined of people, or fire. Wonderful.
"Come on, Tharlaigh," she sighed, smiling indulgently, "What is Nayru's Judgement?"
She probably suspected what it was, anyway, so better to confirm her fears, he supposed.
"Faerie magic of the highest calibre. Traps the victim in crystal. Usually fatal." the last was not strictly true.
"How is it undone?"
"As if I'd know."
"Who is this Lin? Can she undo it?"
"Can you undo an explosion?" he sneered, even as Midna loomed above him, holding a bit at the ready to make sure he didn't bite his tongue again. "She's going to notice I'm gone, and when she does, when she finds me, she won't be happy with you."
"If she notices you're gone. If she finds you. And after all that, if she really is unhappy with me," she grinned again, "I have father's notes. I can change that."
Then she wrestled that bit into his mouth and dug into his brains.
This was really fun to write, and I look forward to writing more. Hopefully you guys will enjoy reading it, too.
Regards,
S.S.