Famine and Failure

Princess Zelda, Fifth of Her Name, Future Queen of Hyrule, Bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom, Nayru's Child, and Guiding Hand of the Realm, rode out from under the gates of Hyrule Castle with an entourage of three knights and her handmaiden Impa.

One week had passed since her eleventh nameday. The Great Hall of Hyrule Castle had been lit by flickering candles as she and her courtiers had dined on mutton, carrots, parsnips, and little else. A pallid imitation of her ninth nameday celebration in that same hall, or really, any celebration of note before everything had changed.

Before the coming of Ganon. Before moblins stormed the castle, cutting down any man who stood against them, any woman who begged for mercy, and any child who tried to flee. She'd heard the screams echo throughout her castle home, trembling, until the monsters breached the throne room, cutting down all but herself and her parents. The stench of blood had assaulted her nostrils, as surely as tears escaped her eyes.

She'd watched in horror how, in the eerie silence that had followed, blood seeping between stone, a great, pig-faced demon, eight feet tall, had materialized before them. Swirling black mist as thick and foul as death's breath.

She'd trembled then, and she trembled now. And Impa must have noticed, because as the gates closed behind them with a clang, her handmaiden put a hand on her liege's shoulder.

"Be at ease, princess. No harm will come to you beyond these walls."

Zelda nodded, biting back a retort that harm had come to her within them. Not harm in the same way as her father, who had drawn his sword against the Demon King, and been ripped in two before her very eyes. Not harm in the same way as her mother, whose screams had echoed throughout the bones of the castle itself until Ganon realized that Queen Zelda did not possess the Triforce of Wisdom, and had in fact entrusted it to her daughter. A diminutive child who, having been bought the time required by the lives of the great and the good, shattered the Triforce into eight pieces, scattering them to the far corners of the land.

She'd expected Ganon to strike her down then and there. Would have welcomed it, even, rather than the year of imprisonment she'd endured, as Ganon's servants ravaged the land. In part to search for the Triforce pieces, in part for their own amusement. Only recently, between the ages of ten and eleven, had salvation come for her and her kingdom.

But the scars remained. As she looked back at the castle, there was no hiding them. Only a handful of men-at-arms patrolled the walls, and entire sections of said walls were still collapsed. Banners flew pallidly in bitter breeze, and the castle was bereft of the sound of laughter, or the string of a harp. No songs filled its halls, no joy emanated beyond them.

The land it rested on was scarce better. Fields had been burnt and left fallow. A silence that was louder than any bird song blanketed Hyrle, suffocating the air itself. Even the horizon itself was a sickly orange under the light of rising sun. As if the sky itself had been wounded as much as the land beneath.

"We ride for Saria," Impa said, addressing the three knights accompanying them as much as Zelda herself. "Keep at pace, and we should arrive there by tomorrow morn."

In truth, the route had already been planned, Zelda reflected. But there were grave doubts as to its need, and-

"Lady Impa, I know my words will not reach your ears, but I must protest."

…and Zelda was not the least surprised when Sir Boros spoke.

"Princess Zelda is heir to the throne, and you are the kingdom's regent until her seventeenth nameday. For even one of you to ride through these lands in such times, even with escort, would be a risk hardly worth taking. But to ride with both?"

"Do you doubt your sword-arm, Sir Boros?" Impa asked.

"No, milady, I simply say that-"

"Do any of you?" Impa asked the three knights – men clad in plate armour but bereft of helm, emotions flashing in their eyes like the sparks of a fire. "A visit to the towns of Hyrule, in the aftermath of the Demon King's defeat. Do any of you doubt your skills should beast or demon attack us?"

No answer, but even had she been blind, Zelda would have sensed their unease. The Knights of Hyrule had once numbered in the hundreds, spread across castles, keeps, and holdfasts. By the time Ganon had been defeated (and by a boy of ten no less), they had numbered less than five and twenty. Boros, Aries, and Garet were three of the finest knights in the kingdom (or so Impa had told her a week ago), but people asked questions – why were they alive, when so many were not?

Zelda's first answer was that they'd managed to survive. Others, she'd quickly learnt, were not as charitable.

"We go where the princess goes," Sir Aries murmured eventually. "Her life is bound to our own."

"Very well then," Impa said. "Shall we shog?"

No further objections reached anyone's ears as the small entourage set down the Queen's Road. A major thoroughfare that had once linked Castle Hyrule with its major cities and towns. Now, those places had been set to the torch, and even a year on, the Queen's Road still bore the wounds Ganon had inflicted upon it.

Burnt grass. Shattered wagons. Broken swords and cloven shields. What fields hadn't been burnt lay fallow – precious little information reached her ears, but Zelda had come to suspect that food shortages were rife across the kingdom. They even passed a decomposing corpse, impaled by half a dozen arrows, and now a feast for crows. Zelda retched as an eyeball left its socket, but after a glimpse from Impa, did the best to keep her composure as the entourage rode past the unfortunate soul.

"Shouldn't we bury him?" she asked timidly.

"Bury one body, you'll want to bury all of them," Sir Boros answered, his gaze straight ahead and nowhere else.

"But these are my people. And if Ganon's minions still pose a threat, they-"

"It was not Ganon's minions who slew that man," Impa said. "The arrows are too small for moblin hands."

"But he has human servants, no? Are there not rumours of his followers trying to resurrect him?"

"…perhaps," Impa murmured eventually. "But ask yourself who is the more likely culprit – servants of darkness, or common bandits?"

Zelda's immediate answer was the former. But seeing the weary look in Impa's eyes, she realized where the truth lay.

"Your people have gone through calamity," her handmaiden continued. "They will react as people always do. Over the years of your rule, you will see the best and worst of your subjects."

Zelda shivered. Beneath her blue riding dress was leather armour, and in her belt, a sheathed dirk. A blade that even now, she wasn't sure how to use. The first nine years of her life had been spent on matters ranging from history, to magic, to sewing. As her father had explained, she wasn't expected to pick up sword or spear, she had an army to do that for her.

Still, the dirk remained. As did her unease. For as they moved further across the land, the carnage Ganon had inflicted did not relent. If anything, it became worse. A burnt-out inn led to a burnt-out village, which in turn, led to the city of Marin. 8000 souls had called the city home before moblins had overrun its walls, and its people put to the sword.

Yet it was outside the walls that the entourage stopped for luncheon. Marin was believed to be cursed, Impa explained, given the horrors inflicted upon it. Not even bandits would risk setting foot inside its walls. Where better than to rest where superstition worked to their advantage?

Given the way the horses whined, and their knights tried to calm them, Zelda could think of quite a few places. The walls of Marin were intact – taller even than those of Hyrule Castle. Siege equipment lay scattered along its base, though nothing larger than a ladder. Nor were there any signs of siege weaponry, be it in the brown field they sat in, or on the walls themselves.

"The moblins swarmed over," Impa explained, when asked. "Thousands strong, thousands killed, and yet, they succeeded. Surprise is sometimes a greater ally than strength."

"Wisdom as opposed to power?"

Impa gave her a look. "Wise words, princess."

Zelda didn't know about that. The Triforces of Power and Wisdom were now both beneath Hyrule Castle. Power without wisdom would only bring harm, wisdom without power would mean even the greatest insights would have no means to be enacted. So Impa had taught Zelda in many a tutoring section, and many a visit to the golden triangles beneath the castle. Deep in the catacombs, guarded by men in golden armour, sworn to silence.

She hated it, and nothing more than the Triforce of Power itself. She had not beheld the moment when Link had struck down the Demon King, but she had passed by his remains as he led her out of her cell. He had entrusted both pieces of the Triforce to her before departing with hardly a word. The Triforce of Power pulsed with a malignancy she could scarce explain, a malignancy that not even Impa herself could sense. As if it had been corrupted by the Demon King himself over his year of carnage.

Or maybe it was even further back? History and legends alike spoke of the Triforce, to the point it was hard to separate the two. Some spoke of a Golden Land where it resided. Some spoke of a great war that had led to the Demon King's imprisonment. Some legends even spoke of a fabled third piece of the Triforce.

But history, legend, myth, it scarce mattered. History had nearly ended when Ganon had taken her kingdom.

Now all that was left was the moment, and the ashes of history upon her tongue.

Zelda slept poorly that night, as she always did.

A variation on the same dream, as always. Her father dying before her. The life leaving her mother's eyes. Reaching out for her daughter as the princess wailed, begging her mother not to leave her.

Screaming, as the eyes of the Demon King met hers – two malignant orbs, speaking of an evil so ancient she could scarce comprehend. Older than the world itself, cycles within cycles, surer and brighter than the risen sun, and inferno even greater.

That feeling, before the darkness took her, that she'd looked into such eyes before. Again, and again, and again. That while to her father, he might have shown disdain, to her mother, hatred. A satisfaction in her death that the queen's daughter could not name.

Months dragging on, bound in crystal. Listening to the whispers of monsters in the halls of Death Mountain. Death, despair, destruction. The walls of the crystal closing in on her, suffocating her, squeezing last breath from her breast, until all the world had closed in on her, and in her prison, she could no longer scream.

So she woke up and screamed instead. Sir Aries, who'd been on watch, asked if she was alright. Impa, who seemed never to sleep, told the knight to keep his attention where it was needed, and asked the princess if she was alright.

"Fine, Impa," she whispered.

She'd learnt long ago that no other answer would be accepted. Impa could not stop Zelda's dreams, but she could stress (and did) that it was best she not voice the fears that stemmed from them. She was the last living member of the royal family, and on her lay the hopes of the kingdom. A princess who was afraid served no-one.

So before the rising of the sun, the quintet of damaged souls set off for Saria. At Impa's instruction, Zelda whispered under her breath, reciting the speech that more than one scribe had penned for her. Humble (but not self-deprecating), determined (but not arrogant), compassionate (but without any real promise of aid), and eloquent (but not too flowery). It was, in fact, a variant of the same speech she'd deliver to the rest of the villages on their tour, from Saria, to Nabooru, and everything in-between.

It struck her as somewhat trite. So she asked Impa if she could spice things up a bit.

"What?"

"According to what I've read, Saria was named after a forest spirit of old. One who would guide children into woods of a world long gone, playing her flute. If the children were pure of spirit, she would guide them back out, return them to her parents, and leave naught but a song. If ill of spirit, the children would become beings of bark, fated to play music in her meadow until the world's ending."

Impa stared at the princess as if she'd just suggested making a moblin a knight.

"Well that's what I read," Zelda added timidly. "I thought that if we were visiting these towns to offer reassurance, I should learn a bit of their local history."

Impa went to say something. But with a grim laugh, Boros beat her to it.

"Kind words, princess," he said, as he brought his horse beside hers. "But a piece of advice? Food feeds bellies better than anything."

"What?"

"I'm just saying, the people will be hungry. All the stories of fairies and forests will count for naught until they get food in their bellies."

"Which they will," Zelda said. "Won't they, Impa?"

Impa remained silent, and refused to meet her princess's gaze. So instead, Zelda turned her attention to Boros.

Plate-armour, devoid of embellishment. Stained by what looked like blood. A sword was at his belt, a spear and shield strung along his back. His horse looked weary, its belly undescended. Wheezed, as if struggling to carry its rider's weight. Zelda's own horse, Tetra, was under no such strain, but then, she had the advantage of a lighter rider and a fuller belly.

The quintet rode in silence until, not long after sunrise, they arrived at the village of Saria. Smoke rose from its chimneys, a palisade surrounded it that would fall under any concentrated assault. What few towns remained in Hyrule still existed not because of force of arms, but because Ganon's servants hadn't bothered with them. Had his reign drawn on, Zelda had no doubt that towns like Saria would not be standing, but fate had delivered Hyrule's salvation in the form of a quiet boy with a good sword arm.

She wished he was with her now. Even as a boy of few words, she would have preferred his presence to any of those around her. As silly as it was, what little time they had spent together had given her a sense of connection. As if it were not their first meeting.

A fanciful notion, of course.

"I have sent word to the local magistrate," Impa said. "He will receive us, and in turn, the townsfolk." She looked at Zelda. "Keep close, princess. Desperate times will make desperate people do desperate things."

Zelda nodded. The fields outside Saria were fallow. She saw some farmers with their scythes, some horses dragging ploughs, but not nearly as many as there would be in peacetime. Everything pointed to Saria having fallen on hard times.

After entering the town proper, the reality was even worse.

The village had a native population of around 200, but the refugees who'd fled her had multiplied that number by five. A desperate mass of humanity filled the muddy streets (if "streets" they could be even called).

Men drank from bottles. Babes drunk their mother's milk if any could be provided. Dogs and cats roamed the streets, ragged, starving. Beggars of all kinds pleaded for alms. So many that Zelda knew she would run out of coin before she aided even half of them. She clutched the purse beneath her cloak, just as surely as her knights clutched the hilts of their blades.

Only Impa appeared unaffected by it all. The sounds, the stench of urine, dirt, blood, and sweat, mixed into a concoction that assaulted Zelda's nostrils. She did not wince as men and women hurled abuse – traitors, cowards, usurpers, tyrants.

Over the years of your rule, you will see the best and worst of your subjects. Impa's words rang in her head, but as she saw a cart wheeling bodies heading the other way, Zelda wondered. Wondered why they hated her so when it was Ganon that had inflicted the situation. Wondered why the women called her "whore's daughter," and the men spat bile and iron at her alike.

Part of her knew the answer. But still, she wondered. Still she trembled, until she reached the magistrate's house. A two-storey building whose entrance was flanked by a pair of guards with halberds. Ostensibly loyal to the kingdom, though given the way they looked at her, Zelda wondered if loyalty to Saria superseded that of Hyrule.

Magistrate Milton, a man who looked only slightly better nourished than his townsfolk, was even less reassuring.

"So the princess graces us with her presence," he murmured, as he looked down at the girl before him. "Thought she'd be taller."

"I'm eleven, good sir."

"Good sir," he sneered, as he looked at Impa. "You're the brat's handmaiden, are you? Don't know if you're brave or stupid, riding out here."

"The kingdom is recovering. The princess needs to be seen by her people."

"Right. Seen and heard." Impa tried to speak, but he raised his hand. "Yes, I know, speech planned under the high sun, you'll get it, don't worry. I'll even have the militia on hand if things get ugly."

"Ugly?" Zelda whispered.

Milton laughed and looked at the girl. "Don't know if you've noticed, princess, but things aren't good. Entire kingdom's in famine, people are starving. Roads still aren't safe yet – if monsters don't get you, bandits will. Course, my boys have strung up a few of the bastards and…well don't look at me like that, princess. We don't all have castles to hide behind."

"I'm not hiding," Zelda whispered, even as her hands twisted her dress. "I'm not hiding. I…" She looked at Impa in desperation. "I'm not, am I?"

For a moment, no-one said anything. It was all the time Zelda needed to process the implications. Things were bad, yes, but she'd never imagined this much.

"You're not hiding," Impa said, before looking at Milton. "She isn't hiding. The royal family did not hide, and good men like the knights outside stood against the armies of the Demon King."

"Right, and how'd that go?" Milton asked. "Don't answer, I know the stories. Some commoner picked up golden triangles and gave the pig-headed bastard a whack."

"Actually, he shot him with an arrow," Zelda whispered.

"Oh? And how would the princess know that?"

"Because I was…I hear things," Zelda said.

"Oh. Well hear this, princess. There's a saying that famine means failure. If there's famine, it means the people running the land have failed." Zelda tried to protest, but he kept talking. "I know, flood, fire, anything can cause famine, and no, demons invading isn't your fault, but tell a man with an empty belly that, and there's only a slight chance he believes you."

"And if he doesn't believe me?" Zelda whispered.

"Then the dagger at his side ends up in your belly," Milton sniggered, before looking at Impa. "Which won't happen, of course."

Zelda wished she could believe him.

Come high sun, Zelda stood atop a wooden stage in Saria's town centre.

Impa didn't have to explain to her that the stage was used for executions. She saw the rope, she saw the noose, she saw the trapdoor. No-one was hanging today, though the men in the stocks on the square's edge were faring little better. Thievery, rape, murder…desperate times, as Milton had explained. As far as Zelda was aware, only one of those things could alleviate starvation, but she'd bit her tongue. After all, she'd need it for what was coming.

Famine meant failure, and failure's stench surrounded her. Mud. Sweat. Odour. People had gathered, hundreds of them, and none of them were in good shape. Tattered clothes covering skinny bodies. Like the walking dead, almost, and having been imprisoned by Ganon in Death Mountain, she knew what they looked like.

Milton's men were at the base of the stage, interspaced with her knights. No signs of camaraderie reached Zelda's eyes, and if anything, the discrepancy between them made her insides turn. The knights had the benefit of proper blades and proper armour, the militia's armour was a mix of padding and leather, and their halberds would never pierce a moblin's hide. Before day's end, the knights beside them would leave with their princess, and Saria's militia would be left to pick up the pieces.

"No promises," Impa reminded her. "A broken promise is worse than none at all."

"But we have to help them," Zelda protested. "These are my people."

"And they shall be helped, but the royal family cannot aid its people if no royal family exists."

As she stood atop the stage, Zelda reminded herself that she'd gone through worse. Over a year of imprisonment couldn't be worse than saying pretty words in front of a not-so-pretty crowd. But as she twisted the parchment in her hands, such thoughts were as ephemeral and cold as the air around her. Not even the sun above could pierce the icy chill of midday.

"Hello," she whispered, before repeating the same word, a little louder. "I-"

"Can't hear you, princess!"

"Speak up!"

"My name is Princess Zelda," she squeaked, despite her effort to shout. "I-"

"We know who you are!"

"Don't see you much!"

"Come to grace us with your presence?"

"I am, actually," Zelda said. "I'm here to-"

"Where's our food?"

"We're starving!"

A woman held up her wailing infant, thin as a reed. Zelda looked at Impa in desperation, but the only words from Impa's lips were "read the speech."

"My name is Princess Zelda," she said, starting over again. "It's my great pleasure to see you, my loyal subjects."

"Who says we're loyal?"

"Saria is a fair town," Zelda continued, her voice a little louder. "It is blessed with-"

"Blessed with what?"

"We're abandoned!"

"You abandoned us!"

"…blessed with the finest of people, who-"

Someone threw a piece of rotten cabbage at her. Zelda saw Boros clutch the shaft of his lance.

"…who have endured the darkest days in the history of Hyrule," she said. "We-"

"What did you endure?"

"My husband died fighting for you!"

"Failure! Failure!"

Zelda stammered, lost for words. The crowd was shifting. Eyeing her like starving dogs a slab of meat. Not that their starvation was their fault, but the rotten bread that nearly hit her was.

"Please, if you'd let me finish, I-"

The crowd surged forward.

In what was left of her rational mind, she knew that it was a fool's errand. She had not enough food to feed a village, or even the coin to do so. In front of her were knights and militia, the former sworn to her, the latter nominally loyal at the very least. She wanted to help them, truly, but how was a riot meant to accomplish that?

But it made no difference. She'd suffered, they'd suffered more. Castle Hyrule rationed its food, these people had none. She'd lost her parents, they'd lost everything.

Loss led to all sorts of things.

Loss led to anger as the crowd charged. Zelda screamed, begged them to stay back.

Wailed as her knights lowered their spears and plunged them forward, drawing blood with each thrust.

Bodies fell. People screamed.

Some ran. Some lingered. Some continued to charge.

"Stop it!" Zelda wailed. "Stop it!"

More people. More spears. The militia flailed their halberds wildly, her knights closed ranks, preventing a direct line of attack against their princess. In an instant, Zelda realized why they'd survived, when so many others hadn't.

They were the finest knights in the realm. They fought with precision, operated in tandem. Many a moblin had died at their blades.

Now they were killing her own people.

She tried to jump down, to stop the bloodshed, before Impa took her wrist.

"Come," said the handmaiden. "They'll cover our retreat."

"But my people are-"

"Desperate times, desperate people, desperate things," Impa hissed. "Now come!"

Trying not to sob, Zelda let her handmaiden lead her away. Soon followed by her knights.

Leaving behind the moans of the dying, and the smell of sweat and blood.

"We make for Rauru," Impa said, under the light of a blood-red sunset. "Hopefully the people will be more reciprocal."

"Hopefully?" Sir Boros asked, his armour still stained with blood. "After that disaster?"

"Rauru is not Saria."

"Same peasant shithole." He looked at Zelda. "Sorry, my princess, but you've seen what peasants can do. Get a little hungry, they become like animals and-"

"You killed them."

All remained silent as Zelda rose to her feet, her dress still stained by the mud of the town. No blood upon it, even if she knew it was on her hands.

"You killed them," she repeated. "They were my people."

The knights exchanged uneasy looks. Impa, stepping forward, said, "they did their duty, Zelda. You can ask no more of these men."

"Ask no more?" Zelda whispered. "They're dead, Impa! Dead! They cut them down like…like they were…"

"Like what, princess?" Boros murmured.

"Like monsters!"

Garet and Aries flinched. Boros, however, clutched the hilt of his sword.

"Like monsters," he repeated, his voice a whisper, his tongue a serpent's. "Very apt, princess. I suppose you've seen moblins cut down knights like chaff? I suppose you've seen the blood of man and beast mingle together on the walls of a holdfast as-"

"Moblins stormed my home!" Zelda yelled. "I've seen what they did."

"You did not endure what I had to."

"No?" Zelda asked. "Did you spend over a year in a cell?"

"I spent them behind walls!"

"And now you take your rage out on my own people. Link was worth ten of you."

Boros just stood there. For a moment, Zelda believed her point made. The conversation over.

The moment after that, Boros rose his gauntlet and slapped her.

The princess yelled. Fell to the ground, her cheek smarting, her eyes stinging. She heard shouts and curses as she lay there, sodden. Her stomach rumbling.

Failed.

She allowed the tears to flow.

I failed them all.

She closed her eyes, but could not remove the images from her mind.

People lying there, bleeding.

People screaming.

Lances tearing through flesh and cloth alike.

The stench of it all.

She opened her eyes, and looked at Sir Boros. Aries and Garet had forced him to the ground, holding his arms as he ranted.

"You dishonour yourself," Impa yelled.

"She is no princess of mine. She knows nothing of the world."

"You forget your place, Sir Boros."

"And you, old woman, are fit for nothing but the grave and the flies and-"

"Enough!"

Unlike in Saria, it was a shout rather than a squeak, and four pairs of eyes turned to behold its utterer. To the small girl with silver circlet, not even as tall as a knight's waist.

"Let him go," Zelda whispered.

"Princess?" Impa asked.

"He has said his piece. He did as was required in Saria."

"My princess, he struck you. The laws of the land are clear – to raise arms against the queen of Hyrule is-"

"I am not queen," Zelda whispered. "And I do not have enough knights left to sacrifice upon the altar of outrage." She walked to Sir Boros – it was like a porcelain doll walking up to a wolf in armour, she reflected. One who had hunted and been hunted alike.

"You will remember this mercy," Zelda whispered. "Upon my seventeenth nameday, I will take the crown and become queen. Per the laws of the kingdom, I will accept your oath, or take your leave."

"And if I choose to leave now?" Boros asked.

"You may make that choice, and remember the queen whose cheek you marred," Zelda whispered, putting a hand to her cheek. "Think of that six years from now, and ask yourself – will my mercy last that long?"

Boros didn't say anything. His eyes, however, did. Zelda gestured to Aries and Garet, and while with some hesitation, released him.

"I ride for Saria tomorrow with Impa," Zelda said. "You three shall ride on to Rauru and explain our delayed arrival."

"Princess, that is absurd," Impa said. "We must-"

"Impa, a word?"

The knights clearly had reservations, but nevertheless obliged. They remained at the flickering fire, Boros on one side, Aries and Garet on the other, as Zelda walked to Tetra and the other horses.

Tetra had been gifted to her upon her sixth nameday. A filly who had grown into a steed fit for a queen. Not a warhorse, for she possessed none of the muscle of her knights' mounts, but a stallion worthy of Farore herself nonetheless.

Zelda rested her head against Tetra's, as she whispered, "I failed."

"Princess?"

"I failed," Zelda whispered, her words either for Impa or Tetra, she knew not which. "I was there when he came."

"Princess, the people attacked you. They-"

"I failed," Zelda sniffed. "I couldn't stop him. I begged him to stop, and he wouldn't. He wouldn't, and I knew then he never would. He'll never stop. A year from now, ten, a hundred, a thousand, he'll come back. And I couldn't do anything." She looked at Impa, tears streaming from her eyes. "I couldn't save them. My parents, my people. He laughed, do you know that? I was in that cage, and he told me everything. I begged for him to stop, I pleaded for mercy, and my people…they're starving, and I couldn't stop it. Famine, failure, I failed, and I…I couldn't stop it!"

As improper as it was, Zelda flung herself into Impa's chest. Waited for the inevitable beratement, or lecture on propriety. Waited for anything other than what happened, when Impa put her arms around her liege. Held her, as a mother might.

"You brave, wise, wonderful child," Impa whispered. "You have failed no-one."

Famine. Failure.

It was true, in a sense. Any number of famines in history had come from the foolish actions of Man, or lack of them. There was truth in the statement that a kingdom's famine was a failure of its leadership. If the rulers failed, the kingdom would fail, and it was always the common folk who suffered the most.

Not true in this specific case, Zelda had told herself. But still, she'd failed.

So with Impa by her side, she rode to Saria in the early hours of the morn, bereft of knight or heraldry. Beggars looked up from their cups. Mothers glanced from their children, ignoring the tugging on their dresses. Men looked at her with danger in their eyes.

Impa was ill at ease as well. Her magic had faded over the decades, but even at the age of seventy and eight, Zelda knew her proficiency, if not her power, was still beyond hers. If it came down to it, Impa had any number of spells or hexes that would save her princess's life.

Zelda hoped it wouldn't come to that. And if it did, she wondered if her life was even worth saving. In many ways, death would be an escape from the miseries of this world. What came afterwards was a question many a sage, scholar, and priest had debated, but even then, Zelda did not believe this world was all there was.

But death was the easy way out. The coward's way out. She did not believe herself brave, but knew she was not a coward. She knew she was not wise, but hoped…believed…that she was not foolish. But as she stood in front of the stage where she had been the day prior, looking at the crowd around her…well, if this was a foolish course of action (and very likely it was), there was no turning back now.

She was not surprised to see Magistrate Milton come storming forward, his cheeks the colour of overdone beetroot. She was just surprised it had taken him so long.

"Nerve," he whispered. "The utter cheek of you to come back here."

There was an assortment of mutterings and mumblings throughout the crowd. Zelda wondered if they were the same thing, but not as much as she wondered if the stones in some of the villagers' hands were going to be used.

Nevertheless, she looked at Milton. "Let me speak, good sir. That is all I ask."

He snorted. "The princess asks, rather than commands. How touching."

"I am in your village, good sir. This day, I ask."

Milton, after a moment, gave her a nod, and stood back, arms folded. The villagers looked at her with everything from contempt to curiosity in their eyes. Impa looked at her with quiet reassurance. Zelda, if only for a moment, looked for the face of a brown-haired boy in the crowd, even if the chances of him being here were astronomical. And besides, would it have even been just to save her here, as he had in Death Mountain? This mess, she'd made herself.

"When last I stood here, I had a speech prepared," Zelda whispered. "I talked, and talked, and talked, and…things happened."

A ripple passed through the crowd. The grip on stone and knife tightened.

"No, not things," Zelda said. "Death. Injustice. We have all suffered injustice, but what happened here was…was…"

Her lip quivered. It would not do well to cry, she told herself. Her grief could not come before her people.

"No speeches," she said eventually. "Just the truth. The truth is, devastation stalks the land. Towns like yours, they are but what remains. You're starving. You're sick. I wish with all my heart I could say it will get better, but I can't. I don't know if I can do this, I don't know if I can ever make Hyrule right again, and I don't know if I'm fit to be your future queen."

The unvarnished truth was treated as she feared. Yells. Sneers. Calls of liar. Calls for her to step down. They were starving, the princess seemed well fed, why should they believe anything she had to say?

But they were not universal. Milton's face remained impassive. Other faces however, were not so much. No joy, nothing so grand. Not even compassion. But understanding. Acceptance. Maybe the relief of having the truth was all they needed, even if it would do naught to feed their bellies.

"But that is a matter for the future," Zelda said. "This day, I speak of what happened today. Where knights of the realm drew blood. I…" She looked at Impa, remembering what her handmaiden said about promises, before looking back at the crowd. "I would speak with those who suffered the loss. Friends, family, kin. I will listen, I will give just recompense."

A ripple moved throughout the crowd, and Zelda knew she was playing with fire. To gauge the worth of a life was a simple affair in theory. In practice, the crown had little coin to back it. And if they demanded the punishment of her knights, what then? She had told Boros she did not have enough knights left to sacrifice on outrage's altar, but if her subjects felt differently?

Nevertheless, she pressed on. "I have no doubt these words may be but ice to your heart. But as to mine?" She took a breath, and knelt before the crowd. "I'm sorry."

No sound reached anyone's ears bar the skylark's cry.

"I'm sorry," Zelda repeated. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I failed you. I'm so, so sorry…"

The skylark was silent. The world was silent. Zelda kept her gaze lowered. Let her tears fall upon the muddy ground, where blood had once been spilt. She knew that in any moment, a knife might come for her neck, or a pitchfork might reach her gut. She wore her armour, had her dirk, but they would not avail her against an angry crowd.

A crowd that had every right to be angry. A crowd who'd been offered naught but word and fleeting promise.

She waited for the slings of fortune to reach her. Instead?

The sound of clapping hands.

"Long live the queen."

Of cheers.

"Long live the queen."

Oaths.

"Long live the queen!"

She did not raise her gaze until Milton walked forward. Until he took her hand in his, and let her rise. She knew he was but one man, that he could not speak for the thousand souls that called Saria home. She knew that there would be those who would hate her until her dying days, that for some, there would be no amount of recompense that could ever allay their sorrow for their loss.

Still, she cried with joy as he knelt before her. As her people knelt. As at long last, tears and cheers removed the stench of failure.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

As she saw a brown-haired boy amidst the crowd, clapping as well.

A/N

The idea for this came from a claim I've seen made that famine is an entirely manmade phenomenon, that any famine in a country is a sign of the failure of the country's government. At the very most, you could claim that's true of the 20th/21st centuries, but before that? Sometimes, sure, but not universally.

Anyway, drabbled this up as a result.