She was the 'Iron Sheikah.' That's what they all called her. She could handle any pain, stomach all emotions, and respond stoically to whatever tragedy she was told. That was her job, end of story. There existed nothing else except the line of duty.
At least, that's what she had thought.
Anyone looking at her wouldn't notice the smallest trace of a frown, or how her teeth were gritted so tightly she thought they might crack under the pressure. No one would pick up on how her heart was constricting in her chest and how she had to fight to take her next breath without letting on the turbulence inside her. They wouldn't see her struggle not to break the stone bannister with her bare hands because of how tightly she was holding it; she had been trained all of her life not to show these things, and even in the most harrowing of crises, weakness was not permitted under penalty of death.
In the center of the dark room there was a small platform raised slightly from the floor. Upon the platform was an old, uncomfortable wooden chair, riddled with splinters and two metal bindings were attached to the arm rests. In the chair sat a boy.
The boy strapped to the old wooden chair was thirteen. In the dim sapphire light, a room lit only by faint blue torches, she could barely make out the colors of his bright blonde hair or burning crimson eyes; eyes that she shared. The same eyes, which now held pure terror, that had once held nothing but determination for his people and admiration for his father. Those same eyes that now were fixated on his father, who held the red hot brand.
High treason. That's what they'd told her. Her only son was on trial by order of the King for high treason. The Prince had disappeared, and the boy was blamed. She'd barely remembered adorning her military garb or getting to this abysmal chamber; it seemed as if it took no time to do so, while this moment, as she watched her only son wait for his sentence and punishment at the hands of the king, his father, seemed to last an eternity.
Impa knew the reason. She'd given everything for her country and the king. She'd made every conceivable sacrifice except death, and even given him a son. She was no queen though, nor consort. The son she'd given, he called illegitimate, a mistake, and another tool in a long line at his disposal. Her son, like Impa herself, was better seen, not heard. For all legal purposes, he didn't exist; he'd won the birthright through treachery, in the King's eyes.
When Impa conceived she'd sworn to herself that she'd protect her son from the same harsh treatment and abuse that she'd been subject to for all of her life. She swore that he'd be kept safe. She failed. And it was for that reason that she did everything she could to teach Sheik not to fail.
But Sheik did fail.
Sheik brought the Prince home, but Sheik was alive unlike his field partner— his first mistake. Sheik had lived, unlike Ravio. If Ravio had been the one to return the Prince, he would have been heralded as a hero. But Ravio was dead, and no amount of wishing could bring him back.
Impa knew that Sheik was distraught; she could see it in his eyes as she searched his horrified face in a way that only a mother knew how. She saw it in his rigid shoulders and clenched hands; the burden of survivor's guilt laid on the shoulders of a boy too young to understand. It made Impa's heart break more than it already had.
His shoulders tensed slightly, she noticed, as the king hurled a continuous onslaught of insults at the boy and spun logic traps that even she would have trouble escaping without effort. How the king managed to lie so outrageously well was beyond Impa, but she knew firsthand what it was like to be on the receiving end. She visibly flinched when the King backhanded the boy across the face and tears began to well in his eyes.
Impa, the 'Iron Sheikah,' had failed, but it wasn't she who would pay the price of that failure. She swore to herself that she wouldn't look away as her son's face was permanently disfigured. She had to be strong for him. She offered a prayer to whatever goddess might be listening that Sheik would be able to keep his tongue still as the King, Gaepora, berated and abused him. If he spoke now, she knew he would die. Gaepora had tried to find any loophole to get rid of his illegitimate heir; Impa watched him daily attempt to subvert her son's life. It sickened her. She was disgusted with herself just as much as she was with him. It was her fault that Sheik sat in that chair, and she'd allowed for the situation to get to this point. She hadn't spoken out when Gaepora demanded that the boy be trained to fight and use magic. She'd willingly taught the boy and his friend.He'd been so eager to learn and she deluded herself into thinking that she could happily train her son into adulthood safely. At eleven, when he first showed signs of magic she'd been overjoyed at his aptitude for it, and coached him through rigorous physical and mental exercises. It wasn't until Sheik began to surpass her that she worried about what Gaepora might make the boy do, but she tried her hardest to ignore that particular anxiety— rather naively and stupidly she thought now. She could remember clearly the day her world came crashing down and the king demanded he be given his first assignment.
Gaepora shipped Sheik and Ravio off as far as he could from Hyrule to see if they would survive. They spent a week in the frigid Hebra tundra, and came back barely alive. Ravio had frostbite on his left foot and was lucky he'd returned when he did, while Sheik had been borderline comatose for the next several weeks, but they'd survived. They'd succeeded.
She didn't tell Gaepora how morally corrupt it was to use two thirteen year old boys to commit war crimes and espionage in foreign countries. She'd led them through every survival tactic she knew of, and drilled them on it daily. She didn't object when the King demanded that the boys be starved, beaten, and pushed to their absolute limits to teach them; she carried it out. They would die if she didn't, and Gaepora would make sure of it. She had to keep them alive.
In that moment, Impa made a new promise to herself, the nation of Hyrule be damned for all she cared. She would raise her son to be the most capable leader and warrior she knew how. He would become a noble warrior and worthy leader. She would guide him down the path of responsibility and show the pigs in the king's court that her son would be more honorable than all of them combined. She would make him a more worthy heir, and when the time came, she would reveal him and destroy the Prince's claim to the throne.
'The Iron Sheikah' would play her part, and she would give Gaepora the best show in Hylian history, and at the end, she would have justice for what he was about to do to her son. She would watch, and she would wait, with unbreakable resolve. She had to; Sheik's life depended on it.
She gripped the railing tighter as the red hot metal was brought closer to her son's young, unblemished face. Her heart was the only noise in her head, and her jaw ached as she held her face in an impassive frown. And as the metal eye with a teardrop was branded into her son's left eyelid, the stone bannister cracked.
A/N: I've reworked this story idea for years and years, and I've never been quite happy with the direction until now. I've always started in the middle of the story, and I now want to start at the beginning and deliver a solid finished work. I told myself I was not allowed to publish anything until I had a solid story course, and I do now. My updates will be more consistent and I truly hope you will enjoy what I've come up with. If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear your thoughts in a review.