Authors Note- Sorry for the late posting, the holidays got the best of me and honestly, Fanfic dot net has been all kinds of messed up just until as recently a week ago. Prior to that, us creators couldn't see any interaction from you, the readers. The site was broken. That has been somewhat discouraging for us. We live and breathe by your interactions. Unlike youtubers who get paid for content, we don't. Your attention is what fuels our work. Also, that being said, now that the site appears to be up and running normal again, please re-sub to the story if you haven't. The site automatically kicks you every so often. So you never miss an update. Thanks again for reading.

Chapter

Why we failed One-Hundred Years ago

Pt.10

A Song of Storms

The trench, acting as an open hallway surrounded by wooden walls to the grand arena, was a maelstrom of noise and activity. The dank air was heavy with the cold sweat of nervous contenders and the smoky tendrils from the fires of those who had camped since the eve before. Here, Link and his young squire, Jun, only eleven winters old, stood shoulder to shoulder in the boot-slippery mud, surrounded by other aspirants. They were funneled through a narrow corridor that separated them from the roaring crowds. The distant cheers from the stands beyond the walls, especially the royal box filled with foreign dignitaries and highborn guests, were a heady mix of mirth and anticipation.

Upon entry into the challenger's pit which was a seething cauldron of warriors, Link and Jun were met with a scene of marshalling fervor. Armored men, their steel glinting in the dappled sunlight, devoured slices of roasted wild boar at crude benches, while others, brimming with eagerness, galloped on horseback, honing their skills against wooden quintains that rang out with each successful lance strike. Others loosed arrows at straw targets, their bowstrings singing a deadly song as their shafts whispered in the air, and swordsmen clashed against pells in a rhythmic dance. The atmosphere was electric with nervous anticipation; everyone sensed that this would be no ordinary tourney and the inaugural tilts were about to commence. The nature of their tests were still veiled in mystery.

As Link and Jun approached, seasoned wandering knights and men at arms seeking to showcase their valor in the hopes that this lord or that may take them into their service cast wary glances at the youthful duo. Even dressed-up mercenaries no better than common cutthroats from distant lands judged the pair as they marched by. But neither Link's resolve nor Jun's innocent courage wavered. Link knew he had the skills, honed over a lifetime of training, and Jun – well, Jun was his unwavering self.

Link was acutely aware that this event was more than just a tournament; it was a marketplace of men, a grand stage where the future of many would be decided. Nobles of every rank and stature were perched like peacocks in the stands, their keen eyes searching for warriors whose prowess on the field could be an asset in their courts. Sure, the main event was to find the solo champion who would be given the distinct honor and opportunity to serve the crown, but for most they had their sights set on other prizes. They wouldn't even have to be victorious in the tournament to achieve their goals. Even if only they won a few matches and showed their prowess they would catch the eye of a liege to be and that would be enough to garner their favor.

Even former cutthroats, often shunned by law, sought the tournament as a means to cleanse their reputations and seek a chance to enter the service of even a petty lord if it came to it. Anything would be better than their way of life. They offered hopefuls a full belly and a guaranteed home under a roof, walls and a warm hearth to rest their head at night. Which sure sounded a lot better than wandering the wilderness, and venturing forsaken roads, having to sleep with an eye open and knife in hand to guard against the perils that the vast unknown brought.

Even leaders from those from beyond the borders of Hyrule watched with avaricious eyes, eager to snatch up any leftover talent that might bolster their ranks. Most knights and men at arms of valor would shun the idea of serving an outlander, their honor and loyalty to Hyrule ingrained deep within their hearts. But honor was a luxury that cutthroats could ill afford. To them, allegiance was as changeable as the wind, and the prospect of better fortunes could easily tempt them to renounce their fealty to Hyrule as soon as they stepped off the tourney grounds safely beyond the borders with their new masters. For they went where the rupees were, no matter where that led.

Link and his young squire both decided with a shared glance that they wanted a hot meal in their belly before things were to begin. Who knew when the next chance they would get. So, they walked over to a line where others were waiting to be served steaming bowls of pottage. A basic meal, but hearty and delightful if prepared fresh, nonetheless. They wouldn't be able to afford the thick slabs of roasted boar, which was even a far-cry from what the royals would be served in their galleys. They would be delightfully feasting on the sweeter meat of its piggy cousin, prized castle-bred hogs, raised for this very occasion. A much finer delicacy and without the gamey taste wild boar had in which commons would be served, if one had the gems.

Oh, how Link would like to try a trimming of either. Both were exquisite by his taste. But he knew better, they had hardly enough rupees as it were. So the pottage smelled as good as any. And besides, anything was better than the meager rations of salted beef slivers or stale corn cakes he and the other cadets would endure during demise week. Salted beef at best when soaked in water for a day chewed like leather but often when not was tough as wood planks when dry. Link can still taste the acrid after taste they left when he had been forced to make do with them for subsistence. Just remembering their bitter flavor on the back of his tongue made him desperate to cleanse his palate.

As they walked over to the line, Link lifted the visor to his shiny, new wolf-helm to speak since it would be some time for them to be served. "Look, I'm not going to ask where you got that money from earlier and honestly, I don't want to know."

Jun remained silent, opting to act like he couldn't hear or the very least pretend like he didn't know what Link was talking about. The boy decided to change the subject. "Do you think they'll let me carry your banner. Come to think of it, do you even have a banner? What is your sigil?" he asked, feigning interest while cupping his chin as they stood at the back of the line.

Link, undistracted, pressed on the matter of the mysteriously acquired rupees. His words carried the weight of a stern but fair mentor. "Don't change the subject," his brows bent. "Those rupees were stolen, don't try to deny it."

Jun's silence was telling, his stillness a sign of admission. Link, not one to relent, pressed on with a stern resolve, tempered by a hint of understanding. "And after the tournament, when we win, we're going to return every gem, understood?" His voice was more than a command; it was a lesson in honor.

Jun's posture deflated slightly, the weight of his actions dawning upon him. "Ah but sir, c'mon—I had to, I had no choice—"

There it was again, that word. Sir. It still felt strange hearing it. Truth be told he wasn't an even ordained knight yet and in fact was not much older than Jun, being only six and ten himself. And although he has learned a lot, in his heart he knew he had yet still to learn of the ways of war. But even with that, he was determined to lead the boy squire beside him as best he could. Like his father or commander Athelon would do. For he was at the proper age where a lad is expected to become a man, where eager youths aspire to etch their names in the annals of history alongside heroes from past ages.

Shaking off these contemplative thoughts, Link interjected; his tone unyielding yet not unkind. "No buts, Jun. We always have a choice." He spoke as he imagined his father would, a lesson he may have been forced to endure if it were he who had been caught with sticky fingers. Speaking with a wisdom that belied his youth. "The goddess doesn't favor cheats and thieves."

Reluctantly, Jun acquiesced, his youthful exuberance tempered by the gravity of his promise. "Ugh, fine. But only after we win! Deal? I promise, I'll sneak them back into the pocket of the fat man I took them from. He won't even notice they were gone."

"Oh," Link's eyes opened wide. "So, you do admit you stole?"

"Um, I—" Jun felt caught like a Goron in a lake, about to sink.

"Enough." Link commanded. But even with his stern voice he couldn't help feeling a tinge sorry for the lad, after all, it was to help him. Not to mention he knows all to well better than most what it's like to come from nothing. To fight for your place in the world. This probably was all the poor boy knew. A life of constant survival. Link couldn't resist the small curling of a smirk forming from the pretended frown he wore. So, he turned his head, playing the part of a thoughtful mentor, pretended to ponder over Jun's earlier proposal before the lad could see the game. After a moment of contemplation, he agreed. "Okay, then, if you swear, we have a deal. So long as you promise to return them. But first, tell me something, Jun…"

"What is it Sir?"

"Why are you helping me? There's no skin in the game for you." Link faced the boy with a questioning gaze but even with that, the lad resisted any urge to tell him.

Jun, caught off guard by the question, hastily deflected. "What? Are you crazy? And miss an opportunity for glory? I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"Really, glory you say. Is that all?"

"Of course!"

Link, unconvinced, probed further. "But why me? There are plenty of honorable knights and warriors here, veterans of real battles. I'm only a handful of years older than you. Why choose me over them?"

Jun hesitated, his fists clenched, his eyes alight with an unmistakable fire of determination. "Because... because you're going to show them. You'll beat those highborn lords at their own game, show them we're just as good as any of them. That's why I want to be by your side."

Link fell silent, contemplating the boy's impassioned words. The depth of Jun's belief in him stirred something within, a mix of responsibility and determination.

Jun, sensing Link's introspection, added, "You will beat them, right? The princess believes, and so do I?"

She does? Link, his resolve firming, nodded. "I hope so. I'm not planning to lose if that's what you're wondering. I need a steed to call my own, after all. And that takes money. The armor and weapons were just the first bit and I still need honest weapons if I'm to knight. We've a big challenge ahead of us, I hope you're ready."

Jun's confidence wavered momentarily, but Link was quick to bolster his spirits. "But don't worry, we have to return those stolen rupees one way or another. And I mean to do so."

"So, you think we'll win?" Jun's eyes sparkled with hope.

Link, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, replied, "Well, if you're as adept on the field, swift on your feet and sharp of wits as you are at lifting purses, I'd say our odds are as good as anyone's."

Reassured, Jun's spirits lifted. "After we win, we'll make it right. I promise." For a fleeting second, Link noticed a curious sheen in Jun's irises, a red glint that vanished as quickly as it flickered, leaving him wondering. It must have been the glimmer of light coming from a nearby brazier, that's all, Link surmised. Because when he glimpsed again, they were brown as always.

A chorus of cheers and applause suddenly erupted beyond the confines of the pit where the audience anticipated their triumphant emergence. And with that a solidary trumpet blared a song as well to hush the crowd so they could hear the muffled words of a herald clamoring up the wooden steps to bellow a decree to those in their seats eagerly awaiting the grand spectacle to commence.

Link shushed Jun with a finger for them to listen and wait. "Uh, oh, I think it's about to begin."

"But sir, what about your mount? You have your armor and weapons, but we have yet to find you a trusty steed for the jousts."

"There he is, that's the lad I was telling you about!" Bellowed the delighted voice of a middle-aged man interrupting Jun. To Link's amazement it was that same port-bellied middle-aged man with slender arms from before. The same one who had allowed them to enlist in the tourney by striking a deal to trade Link's family relic for a sack of gems.

His voice sliced through the bustling crowd like a knife, pointing and raising attention at Link for a fellow impresario to notice, who stood beside a table cluttered with a gambler's hoard: bags of gleaming rupees and scales for measuring, a veritable treasure trove that whispered of bounties won and lost. A scene right out of a bard's tale, where fortunes hung in the balance, and every wager was a story waiting to be told.

Link, momentarily taken aback by the middle-aged man's boisterous declaration, responded with a blend of humor and incredulity, "Oh, so you changed your mind and think I'll win the day, eh?" The words danced out of him, light and jesting, an echo of his unshaken confidence.

The old man's response came with a snort, as brash as his demeanor. "Are you kidding?"

Link blinked back confused.

"I'm counting on you to lose and go down in the first minute," the man declared, his crooked smile revealing yellow teeth stained by a life of indulgences. " That's what I'm here for!"

With a flourish, he placed a sack of gems onto the scales, the stones inside winking like mischievous eyes in the brazier light under the canopy. "There's a massive fortune in it for me if you fall in the jousts or in the melee. If you can last until then that is."

It was then Link noticed his companion across from him, a man of curious distinction, neither a noble nor a commoner, stood out like a peacock among pigeons as he played at his salt and pepper sideburns, eyes ashine with delight at the glistening loot before him. So, this must be the fellow he was placing bets with.

Adorned with amulets and trinkets that clinked and clattered with his every move, he exuded the air of a merchant prince—a man who swam in the murky waters between the world of nobility and the common folk. For this was the wage master who carried the ledger holding all the levies and bounties for those eager to scratch an itch these next few days and come out a little richer. Though most would leave with their pockets turned out.

Link, still feeling the sting of the man's words inside, managed to shake off the insult nonchalantly. After all, he has endured far worse before while growing up. Having to stand rank and file beside other young cadets who unlike him came from long lines of noble birth with family names dating back to the age of heroes. What was his family name again? He couldn't even say, it was dust. The fishmongers on the narrow docks had a better claim to being a knight than he did. Nope, he would have to earn his way, stripe by stripe. Sword in hand.

"Only the first minute?" Link queried, his tone a mix of confusion and challenge, a verbal parry to the man's thrust. Astonished how someone could have such low favor of opinion of his skill just by judging his youth and looks alone.

The man, engrossed in his transaction with the wage master yet sly as a fox, tossed a glance over his shoulder, his straggly hair a disheveled crown. "Look, I like you, you have guts kid, but I like rupees more. If you ask me, I say you should quit while you're still ahead and in one piece. But let me know now if you do so I can place other holdings."

Link's hesitation to rebuttal had the man's attention and made him pause. A moment of vulnerability that was as brief as a shooting star. Sensing this, the man halted the wage master's hand with a firm swat before he could remove the purse off the scale, the tension in the air as taut as a bowstring. Unsure if the bet would be going forward at all.

For a fleeting moment, doubt crept into Link's mind, the thought of withdrawing from the tournament rollcall briefly flickered. But Link, steadfast as the ancient trees of Hyrule, shook his head of the suggestion. And just as the doubt came it vanished like summer snow and Link stood firm in his resolve. After all he had Jun to consider as well. They both needed the prize money and bounties. It has gone too far now. "I can't do that," he affirmed.

"That's a good lad." The man shrugged; a gesture as casual as a breeze. "It won't be long now; I'll be sippin' the finest red that Chateau Cremia has to offer. None of that Crimson Courage that aspiring heroes seek. No sir, tonight I'll make do with its sister pairing, much sweeter and dazzles the tongue of fair ladies better." He said, Leaning in to Link's ear conspiratorially to share a crude secret, his breath already sour by stale ale and onions. "I even hear it loses their skirts better than that of its hearty brother too." Link pulled away, unimpressed.

The man continued. "But I suppose you'll need a cup of the former? For the battles?" The man joked, poking fun at Link entering the tourney and the wage master mockingly laughed in agreement. He then reached for a mug he had set on the table earlier and lifted it up to his lips which had your common brew found in the barrels which were brought onto the festival grounds.

With a gasp of refreshment, he wiped the foam from his chin and spoke. "Yep, if all goes well, beautiful maidens will be licking my feet before the night is through," he conceded, unable to contain a grin forming a crescent moon in the night of his patchy shadow on his chin, as he relinquished his gems to the merchant. Link wasn't sure if should have been disgusted by that visual or feel pity on the fellow.

Parting with a final, roguish quip, the man declared, "Thanks again for not backing out. After all, someone must lose and that's all the better for me. I needed me a sweet horse to bet the fall on and you're just the fellow to strike me rich."

As the man escaped into the sea of spectators, leaving the challenger's pit, his cucco cackle of laughter could be heard cascading through the air like the chime of broken bells, leaving Link beside himself. The scents of the tournament, the cacophony of voices, and the anticipation in the air wrapped around him like a cloak.

Link felt the sudden pat on the back of his companion in arms, Jun, glancing up to him with encouraging eyes. "Don't worry sir, he's wrong. We won't lose."

Link nodded in agreement, reinvigorated by the trust found in his new squire. This was more than a competition; it was a crucible in which heroes were forged, and Link, with the steadfast Jun at his side, were ready to prove their mettle. As they went back to find their place in line they quickly made it to the the front and the pot shop handed them their steaming bowls of pottage, the warmth of the food would comfort against the chill air. It was then that Jun's eyes flickered, drawn to something in the shadows beyond, between the arena walls and the corridor leading to their current location. Other contestants were also bustling by.

Link noticed the change in Jun's expression, his brow furrowing with concern. Before he could voice his question, Jun quickly spoke up. "Hey, could I just have one moment."

"What? What is it?" Link asked, his voice laced with confusion.

"Um, it's nothing. It's just…Just one second, okay? I promise I will be right back," Jun assured, his tone a mix of urgency and evasion.

"Who's over there?" Link pressed, his gaze following Jun's.

"Nobody, it's just that I forgot something back at your tent," Jun replied, his voice a little too casual.

"That's a half a league away! They will be calling for us any minute now," Link protested, his concern growing. "We still need a mount!"

"Trust me, okay? Don't worry! I'll be back in time, I promise. In fact, I just remembered, I didn't leave it in your tent at all," Jun said hurriedly, his words a jumble of half-truths and quick thinking. "And I'll get your mount handled!"

Link's confusion deepened. "Huh? You're not making sense, Jun, what's going on?"

"It's a surprise, to help us…uh, win. That's all," Jun blurted out, a hint of mischief in his tone as he stepped away.

"But weren't you starving?" Link inquired, his eyes betraying his bewilderment.

"I'll be fine, just eat mine for me. Besides, you look like you can do well with it in your belly instead of mine. You're going to need your strength after all!" Jun said with a quick grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"O—okay then," Link agreed, albeit reluctantly, rubbing the back of his head in bemusement.

The pot boy, impatient with the holdup, called out to them. "Hey, you're holding up the line, get going, will ya?"

"Yeah, sure, sorry…" Link muttered, walking away with two helpings of pottage. He was torn between waiting for his squire to eat, devouring both servings right then, or heading to the staging area. His stomach growled, echoing his inner debate – he was indeed famished enough to consume both. After glancing at the steaming bowls he noticed Jun had already vanished back through the corridor, a growing sense of intrigue about what his squire was up to.

In the challenger's pit, the air was filled with the sounds of clanking armor and the murmur of eager competitors, a symphony that underscored the unfolding drama between the knight-to-be and his mysterious squire. Link, holding the bowls of pottage, stood amidst this cacophony, a lone figure caught in a moment of uncertainty and the anticipation of what was yet to come.

In the shadowed space between the bustling arena and the challengers' pit, a tense and clandestine meeting unfolded, far removed from the excitement and noise of the tournament. Jun, his heart racing with a mix of fear and conflict, confronted two figures from his past, both posing as contenders. The air around them was thick with the tension of secrecy and the subtle scent of danger.

"What are you doing here? Are you mad? Someone might see you!" Jun hissed, his eyes darting around nervously, ensuring their conversation remained hidden from prying eyes.

The first man, a burly, ugly figure with a demeanor as mean as a hinox, spoke with a gruff voice that contrasted sharply with the lively sounds of the tournament. "Easy kid, we're here to watch you and your new friend there and make sure you do what needs doing when the time comes. You're acting a little too friendly with that Hylian soldier boy for my taste."

"Not at all," Jun replied quickly, his voice a whisper of defiance.

His comrade, lanky with a scarred face, a visage telling of a harsh life, pressed further. "You ain't getting any ideas now, would you be? The sensei needs to know if you're still committed."

Jun felt a wave of internal conflict wash over him. He was torn between his duty to the cause and the unexpected bonds he had formed with Link and Princess Zelda. "Look, I don't give a damn about any of them! I'm just doing what needs to be done to earn their stupid trust." Inside, Jun wavered. For all his brash words, he found an unexpected kinship with Link. The notion of being taken under someone's wing as a squire was new to him. The first time ever anyone gave him the time of day. And the princess was unlike any Hylian royalty he had imagined. He had always thought their type cruel, since that what he has been brought up to believe. But she had been anything but. But he masked his doubts well, not letting the brute before him sense his inner turmoil.

"Well do it, and quickly," the lanky man chided, his voice low and threatening.

"Yeah, because we're watching you kid. One wrong step and—" the burly man gestured a throat-slashing motion, a stark and chilling contrast to the festive atmosphere just yards away.

"I get it, stop your worrying," Jun complained, his voice tinged with frustration. "Just stay the hell out of my way before you both screw this whole thing up. Or your ugly mugs are likely to find themselves on spikes, and my own head likely beside them if you get caught." He groaned, the seriousness of the situation weighing heavily on him. "And I like my head just where it is, thank you very much."

The two men exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them as they considered Jun's request. They realized the importance of giving him the chance to prove himself, acknowledging his valid point about not attracting attention.

"Very well, then, but we are still going to enlist to be near you in case something goes sour and we all need to get the hell out of here fast," the ogre of a man replied, his voice gruff but conceding.

"That's fine, but perhaps, before you both run off. I'm going to nee your purses. Or one of them."

"What? You have some nerve kid, is this some sort of joke?"

"Hardly, I need the rupees."

"You've got to be kidding, no way—"

"-You will give me the money, or shall I be the one that tells the Sensei that you betrayed his loyal servant in fulfilling his duties? I need the rupees, now. It's for the mission."

A fire raged in the man's eyes, but knew he had to acquiesce to the demands of the boy.

Reluctantly he slapped a small sack of gems into the boy's grasp.

"But remember, we're watching you. No slip-ups. No do-overs, or spikes will be the least of your worries," the lanky man added, his warning clear and ominous.

In this hidden corner, away from the eyes of the tournament's attendees, the trio's conversation was a stark reminder of the dangerous game Jun was entangled in, a game that threatened to unravel at the slightest misstep.

Unlike the challenger's pit, which was dank, smelled of sweat and had been anything but opulent, the royal box at the tournament was a grand spectacle in itself, a luxurious and perfumed oasis amidst the excitement and clamor of the event. Perched in the heart of the watchers' stands, it commanded the best view of the arena, a privilege befitting royalty. The booth was adorned with lavish pillows and tapestries that whispered tales of ancient heroics and courtly intrigue. At its center stood a large, horseshoe-shaped ornate table, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, laden with the finest delicacies, ready to host a feast fit for kings and queens.

Those seated within this bastion of opulence would be reserved for figures of great import: the king, to be surrounded by his closest advisors; Princess Zelda and her court, radiant in their royal finery; the three high lords of the realm, each a pillar of power and influence; the ambassador of Hytopia, resplendent in diplomatic grandeur; and the esteemed emissaries of the Gorons, the Rito, and the proud Zora Royal Family. King Dorephan, a figure of immense stature, could even recline comfortably in a seat specially crafted to support his massive size, a testament to the ingenuity of the builders.

The royal booth itself was a marvel of engineering and artistry, constructed from the rarest of timbers, Deku Cedar, known for not only its beauty but strength above all else. This was no ordinary wood, but a material that spoke of ancient forests and time-honored traditions when fairies still roamed the world.

Above the royal enclosure, the petty lords found their seats, slightly removed from the spectacle yet still privileged with their own comforts. There they would haggle their bets and squabble the details of winners and losers when all was said and done. They had small tables to hold their treats and delicacies, a nod to their status, albeit less grandiose than that of the royals.

Adjacent to the royal enclosure and the deck below, the higher nobility were seated. They enjoyed a proximity that allowed them to engage in conversation with the royals and their distinguished guests, a position that signified their elevated standing in the realm.

Descending further, the merchant class occupied their benches. Though they lacked tables, their presence was a testament to their growing influence and importance in the kingdom's affairs.

Finally, at the ground level, the heart of the kingdom – the common folk – gathered. Many stood near the picket line, craning their necks for a glimpse of the action, their voices a chorus of excitement and awe.

Among this diverse assembly, Link's father, a commoner by birth but elevated by duty, was granted an audience with the king. Not as a guest, but as a vigilant soldier, the esteemed captain of the King's Guard. Beside him stood two fellow soldiers: Finn, who had earlier played a pivotal role in Link's clandestine meeting with the princess, and Grinn, who had shaken his earlier 'sickness' to stand duty. That is, if he can manage the effort to stand on his own two feet.

The three high lords, who would be seated to the right of the king, would also be accompanied by their own retainers and household guards, a display of loyalty and the unspoken bonds of fealty that wove through the tapestry of the kingdom.

Seated next to Zelda was young Lord Arasmus, who took the opportunity to display his status to the other lords around and let the knowing be known that he, was closest to the crown. Zelda didn't fight the placement; she was much more concerned with the tournament ahead of them that she almost forgot he was sitting right beside her when he ruined the tranquil air and spoke.

"I didn't know your father enjoyed Cremia wine so much?" Arasmus commented, a teasing lilt in his voice as he pointed to her father, who was sharing a hearty laugh with his own sire. There was an unexpected kindness in his tone, albeit laced with his usual bravado.

Zelda wouldn't be played so easily like the sweet little fiddle he thought she was and only smiled back tactfully with a friendly quip. "Neither did I, but, this is a special occasion after all."

"Indeed, by this time in three days you'll have ascended to your rightful place."

His father was indeed the high chancellor to the king and the second most powerful man in the realm. Zelda's eyes watched their guests finding their seats near them and hoped to have spotted her uncle among them.

"Ah, look my princess. Your friends have arrived." Entering the lavish booth walked in one of her attendees followed by Revali and a fellow Rito. Lord Arasmus was quick to size him up silently, and Zelda nodded politely at the mention of them.

"Please friends, welcome of you to join us!" the lord declared as the other found their places. Zelda's own father and his father were also seated not too far behind them as well, discussing their own matters with shared whispers.

Impa seated to her other side squeezed her leg under the table. "Don't fret, your uncle and Purah will be here shortly. Some business with lose large contraptions from earlier."

Zelda whispered back to where she could only hear, not that Arasmus was concerned with the thoughts of maidens anyway. He was above that of course. "I hope so, because I'm going to go mad if I have to sit here and hear him speak all day."

Sitting beside Arasmus to his side was the seneschal. A fancy robed man and the host of this grand affair, tasked to put on the tournament. He had been sipping his own cup and telling pearl-clutching japes of his own to his friends beside him before turning to listen what the young lord of Drane had to say next.

Lord Arasmus, a dashing yet haughty figure of twenty, addressed Princess Zelda with a tone of condescension disguised by charm. "Well, it appears my Sweet Sundelion has found herself a top contender to throw in her lot with for tonight's festivities. A young commoner named Helmsworth it would seem has caught her intrigue from afar."

"Is that so? Do tell. Now this I got to hear." Hooted the skinny weasel of a seneschal, reaching for a goblet of the finest of Cremia Reds. Whenever he laughed, he would do so emphatically as if you said the funniest thing ever. The curls of his hair would bounce annoyingly at the side of his ears. A weasel he was, but one that Zelda could withstand. That being said he wasn't without intrigue and uses-and was always friendly to her, yet he was known to be misguided in his judgements. One could be certain that if he laid wagers on a prized warrior, the wisest would know to always bet against his premonitions. A man who lady luck forsaken a long time ago.

Arasmus, enjoying the game of words, continued, "It is. A funny story really. It would have been entertaining if it wasn't so ridiculous. You see, a young page earlier today declared they will be victorious in the tilts before the main trials. A boy of nine of all things. What was it he said earlier, Sundelion? The greatest prospect in all the tournament? Is that right?"

Zelda, her gaze steady and unyieldingly looking away to the field, corrected him, her voice firm yet measured. "You heard him. And he isn't a page, he's a squire." She reached for a grape from the pewter bowl to sweeten her tongue of the sourly words she wanted to spit at him yet reframed from doing so.

"Really, such a scrawny thing," Arasmus remarked, his eyes scanning the crowd with a dismissive air. Others chuckled in agreement at the preposterous notion. "I be amazed if he could even hold up a sword."

"And he will be ten and two in just a few short weeks," Zelda added, her tone implying a defense of the young squire's honor. Her court among those present remained vigilant on her side, also in unappreciation his tone.

Arasmus, shifting his focus back to Zelda, asked with a mock sincerity, "And, is that what you really think, my dear? That this illusive and illustrious champion of yours could really go the distance?"

Zelda, her patience fraying at the edges, yet, containing her charm retorted, "Since when have you ever cared about what I actually think?"

"I always care about the feelings and thoughts of who would be my betrothed," Arasmus replied, his words dripping with insincerity.

"Betrothed!" Zelda began, whispering to only where he can hear. "First it was let's take it slow and keep up appearances, then—" her voice rose slightly, a hint of frustration seeping through.

At that moment, Zelda was hastily interrupted by a firm, discreet squeeze beneath the table before others could hear her complain. Her most loyal scribe and handmaiden, Impa, silently cautioned patience with the pressure of her hand. Zelda paused, taking a deep breath, the scent of the spread of delights momentarily grounding her. Though she was anything but hungry. The nervous bellyflies on behalf of Helmsworth have seen to that. But, all the same, she composed herself, her expression a mask of calm, even as her eyes betrayed a storm of emotions.

"You're right. Let's see who the goddess finds favor this evening." She said instead, putting up the best phony smile she could radiate to them.

Around them, the clinking of silverware, the rustle of fine garments, and the subdued conversations of the other nobles created a backdrop to their exchange. The tension between Arasmus and Zelda was palpable, a dance of words and wills performed under the watchful eyes of the realm's most distinguished figures. Despite the lavish setting and the array of delicacies before them, the true feast was the interplay of power and subtlety at this high table of intrigue. Only then did a solitary trumpet blow to interrupt them, a song to call all to attention. This time, the grand herald himself would be addressing all in attendance. It was now time for the brave challengers to take to the field.

All watched with intrigue and suspense as the man boomed his loud croaking voice for all to hear his declaration. "By order of her new grace and heir apparent, in her divine wisdom that blesses us all, this year's rules have been changed. Instead of ransoms paid directly to the victor of each contest, the loser will relinquish their armor, steed and weapons used to the tally master. Said losses will be consecrated to the crown, to be sold at market value for their worth to feed the poor and help the needy of our great kingdom."

A mix reaction of the crowd roused in applause and boos alike. Some of the contestants waiting behind the barricade and in the corridor flirted with the idea of quitting after hearing the prospect of losing all and gaining no wealth. Even Link shuddered with worry.

The herald raised his hands for all to quiet once more so he could finish his declaration. "For those who were hoping to profiteer off these tourneys, fear not, bounties will still be offered by the crown to the solo victors of each contest. There will be three preliminary contests. And three winners. Jousting, Archery, and the Melee. That being said, the greatest of them all will be offered an opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to compete in the trial of the flame! Win, lose or die….May the light of the goddess shine fortune upon you all!" he finished, eyes wide with excitement, raising his hands high in the air for all to cheer.

The crowd then satisfied by the compromise roared in approval. Especially at the prospect of the princess donating the consecrated wealth to the needy instead of them being sold at auction with ridiculous gauged prices to line the pockets of the winning contenders.

Zelda smiled where she sat and the Senechal spoke up. "My, oh my, sweet princess, who knew that thine had such a big heart. Ah, to be young and full of promise."

Arasmus took this moment as an opportunity of his own to garner more favor with those present as well. "She is quite the radiating flower, my Sundelion. May we all learn from her shining example."

Again, the herald boomed. "And now, may I present to you all, the challengers of the preliminaries!"

One by one around a hundred men were called out by name from a long scroll which dangled all the way to the feet of the Herald where he stood on the wooden platform. Men and knights alike were followed by their squire or retainers and marched onto the field of sand proudly to the applause of cheers, boos and shouts of fervor of the people. Many who took the field hoisted proud banners that snapped in the wind behind them, ranging from lavish tapestries of the names they represent carrying all the weight of their forebearers to modest sigils of simple colors.

Helmsworth was called next. A nervous bead trailed his brow and he slammed shut the fanged visor of his newly-acquired wolf helm before revealing himself on the arena. With his squire closely in tow, he whispered. "I thought you were never going to make it back in time, everything all right?"

"Yeah, no problem, and even better—I found us a nice steed as well. And before you say anything, this money wasn't stolen. So, you don't have to get your head all wound up."

"A steed you say. Where did you find one at this late hour worth his hooves?"

"Well, he isn't a he at all, she's like us. She has something to prove too."

"What? Something to prove? Jun!"

"It will be fine sir, the owner promised me that she was quick witted and sure footed for a mule."

"A MULE!? I can't joust with a mule! That's no horse!"

"What? Isn't a mule a lady horse? What's the problem?" Jun blinked, curiously pondering the matter with a scratch of his brow.

"That's not a mule, you're thinking of a mare! A mare is a lady horse. A mule his half jack ass cousin— and a boy to boot!"

"Oops," Jun said coyly.

But before Link could turn around to chide the boy further, they were interrupted by the second calling of their name, and they had yet to enter the arena. Another shoved them both from behind to get moving.

Jun whispered as they stepped into the light of the arena, all eyes were glued on them. "Don't worry sir, I'm sure we can still win. Lead the way!"

"Here goes nothing," Link gulped. As he marched to the sound of his name being called and the shouts of the crowds, he wondered if she would be watching for him. But there was just one caveat that he was embarrassed of, he had no sigil to call his own. So instead, Jun just marched behind him, basically empty-handed save be for a spear tipped pole, only to look not completely destitute of any belongings to call their own.

Lord Arasmus' voice rang out again, this time with a touch of mockery. "Is that your man there on the field? With that gaudy wolf helm? Why, he doesn't even have a proper banner. Look, there," he pointed, his finger drawing a line through the air to where Link's squire stood. "His squire is just holding up a mere flagpole without the streamer attached. It's empty." His words, dripping with derision, elicited laughter from some in attendance, though those aligned with the princess remained calm, their faces unamused by his japes.

"I guess he really is a lone wolf after all. Poor lad, with not even a family or lord's loyalty to call his own. Just like his helm. I know…." Arasmsus jerked in his chair with pure delight glittering across his dark, voided eyes, his men poised to laugh at whatever crude joke he had to belch. "I know, we can call him the lone wolf knight. You like the sound of that, My Sundelion?"

The air around them was thick with the aroma of the first courses and the subtle undercurrents of courtly politics. Amidst the laughter and the subtle play of light on the rich tapestries, Princess Zelda blinked, her eyes reflecting a spark of inspiration amidst the mirth and mockery. "Actually, you give me an idea," she retorted, her voice a blend of defiance and poise. With a swift, decisive motion, she signaled to a soldier nearby, her request clear and authoritative. She commanded him with a whisper in the ear to summon Link's squire to her once they had found their positions and to delay the start of the tourney.

Her action, bold and unexpected, shifted the atmosphere in the royal box. The laughter ebbed as the nobles turned their attention to her, curious about her next move. Zelda's gaze was resolute, her mind working swiftly as she crafted a response to Arasmus' taunt, a response that would not only defend Link's honor but also assert her own agency in the face of condescension.

As the soldier hastened to fulfill her command, the scents of the spread seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the electric tension of a moment charged with potential. Zelda sat, her posture regal and unyielding, her eyes following the soldier's departure. In this game of words and wits, she was not merely a spectator but a player in her own right, ready to turn the tables with her sharp intellect and unshakable resolve.

And after a long and windblown speech given by the herald to which anyone could nap from, Jun, escorted by a royal guardsmen found his way to Zelda's side.

As Jun approached Zelda's side, the atmosphere seemed to pause in anticipation. "Y—your majesty, you called for me?" the boy asked, kneeling respectfully. Around them, smiles emerged, varying from mocking smirks to genuine expressions of appreciation for the lad's humility.

"Why yes," Zelda responded, her voice gentle yet carrying the weight of her status. "I wanted to offer you and your knight-to-be a token of my support. I see that you're lacking a banner to call your own. I think we should remedy that at once." Her words were like a melody, weaving through the sounds of the gathering.

Rising gracefully from her seat, Zelda's gown of spring leaves rustled softly. She reached for the thin scarf of ocean blue that was wrapped around her, the fabric shimmering with ribbons of golden starlight, echoing the colors of her royal household. Unfurling the airy linen, she handed it to Jun. She also loosened a smaller sash from her waist, bearing the same regal colors.

"Stream this large one to your spear point and let this be your banner. So all may see," she instructed with a smile that radiated grace and kindness.

Jun nodded, his eyes wide with amazement at the quality of the fabric in his hands. Zelda continued, "And give this small sash to Helmsworth to wear on his arm, so that all may know I offer you both my dreams and hopes are with you both. That is my blessing to you." Her voice was filled with sincerity, her smile genuine.

Jun bowed and quickly departed, his footsteps echoing slightly on the steps as he headed back to the action below.

The mood shifted with Arasmus' interjection. "You really have a thing for this underdog, don't you? Very well, if that is who my Sundelion chooses, then here's to your champion too," he said, raising a toast lacking sincerity. Others followed suit, their drinks raised in a half-hearted gesture.

"I have a thing for good men," Zelda whispered to herself, her tone barely audible over the sound of the trumpets blaring the start of the tournament.

"What was that?" Arasmus leaned in, his curiosity piqued.

But before Zelda could respond, the seneschal chuckled. "Weren't you the man tasked with leading the first tests?" he asked Revali, who had been sitting quietly with his wings crossed the entire time. " I do believe those horns are summoning you to the field."

Revali, reminded of his duty, stood up with a roll of his eyes, careful to keep his annoyance from Zelda's notice.

Zelda chirped as he did. "I thank you again Revali, for undergoing this duty at such short notice. It's just that I hear you truly are the best and this tourney deserves nothing less than the best."

Revali bowed in return. "And that, your majesty, we can agree on. I bid you farewell until the deed is done and I will return to join you once finished."

"That's a good lad!" complimented the seneschal.

But before he could fully depart, Arasmus suddenly lifted from his chair as well. "My dear princess, may I escort our Rito friend here to the arena? It will be only for a moment. I hate to leave your side, but I have words to speak this warrior, if that is alright with you?"

Zelda blinked, hardly able to contain the happiness bubbling within her of the opportunity to be free of him sitting beside her. Even if it were just for a brief time, it was better than nothing. "Of course, take your time."

"Thank you, your grace." He said with a small tilt of the head before returning his glance to Revali who stood, almost impatiently waiting. "After you, my friend."

And with that, Revali led the way for them to head to the arena.

As they departed, Princess Mipha arrived, her presence a welcome addition to the royal booth. "About time you decide to join us," Impa greeted warmly.

"I hope I didn't miss much." Mipha squeaked back meekly. Her eyes genuinely excited for the games to begin. Not to mention the wonderful spread of food that the castle kitchens bore no expense in preparing.

"Not at all, it had just begun," Zelda reassured kindly.

"Yeah, that old wind bag can go on for days." The seneschal declared. "I should know, he's my older brother."

Impa shot him a look. "Look who's talking. I've sat through many of court meetings, and you have quite the pair of lungs yourself."

Zelda smiled at their quips of back and forth before returning her attention to Mipha who was a most honored guest among her. And in the regal ambiance of the royal box, where the air was laden with the scented preamble of the first course mingled with the subtle fragrance of perfumes from the highborn guests, Princess Zelda and Mipha, engaged in a conversation tinged with anticipation and curiosity. To them the array of bites laid before them were just a modest spread or snack, but to the common man, it would have been a feast to last a lifetime. Yet, their focus was on the conversation at hand, each delicately balancing the nuances of forming a new friendship. This would be after all, the first the two have been acquainted since they were both small children, to which they both hardly recollect.

The princess knew it would be some time until Revali would be ready, so she wanted to lighten up the mood with some casual talk. "And you, Mipha, have you a champion to rally behind this evening?" Zelda inquired, her voice a gentle melody of interest and politeness.

Mipha's response was radiant with girlish delight, her face glowing as she spoke of her champion. Her usually mouse-like voice suddenly rose louder than Zelda expected. "Oh yes, as a matter of fact, I do, he said he will be partaking in the preliminaries. But, funny enough, I haven't seen him show himself yet on the field. Perhaps, he changed his mind," she said, speaking as much to herself as the princess. She then beamed back at Zelda. "But one thing is for certain, he is to be a guardsman and is to test in the main trials." She then wavered slightly in her seat, betraying a hint of nervousness as she quickly composed herself, realizing the many eyes upon her. Zelda, perceptive and empathetic, noticed Mipha's brief moment of self-consciousness.

"Oh, he's a Hylian? That's interesting."

"Yes," Mipha offered back kindly. "But it's silly, though," she added, her voice dropping to a softer tone.

"Oh no, it's not silly. Why do you say such things? I find it to be quite good, why else are we here for a grand spectacle such as this tourney and festival if we don't rally behind our champions?" Zelda encouraged, her words warm and reassuring.

Mipha hesitated, her words a mix of excitement and apprehension. "It's just, I, well. You're going to think I sound crazy. He's actually an old friend of mine. But that being said, It's sort of complicated between us."

"How so?" Zelda's eyes widened with intrigue, not even pausing to nibble the glorious spread of bite-sized fruit cake delights she fancied so much.

"It's just, everything since the last time I saw him has… I mean, he has…" Mipha paused to reflect what she would say next, lost in recollection of days long farewell before continuing. All the while her heart fluttered, unable to hide the glow she felt inside show across her smile. "…He has grown so…"

"Handsome?" Zelda teased lightly, a sparkle in her eyes, as girls often do with friends.

"—Strong. I was going to say strong," Mipha corrected, a faint blush burning her cheeks.

"Oh, I see," Zelda replied, understanding dawning in her expression.

Mipha continued, her voice wistful. "His name is Link, a commoner. He grew up in the Domain when he was just a boy. I, myself, was also just a child then… He is exactly how I remembered him and is still just as sweet since when we were young. But then again, so much time has passed between us that on one hand it's like nothing has changed…"

"And on the other?" Zelda prompted gently.

"That everything has…" Mipha's voice trailed off. She raised her hand to her chest, fingers gently squeezing a talisman that evoked memories of her youth with Link.

Around them, the other guests continued to nibble on the first course, oblivious to the depth of Mipha's reminiscence.

"You think you come to know everything you thought you knew about someone, only to find out and wonder if you ever really knew them at all." Mipha said softly, almost to herself. "Funny, time has a strange way of resetting the board." She added with a final sigh before realizing again that Zelda had been intently listening and waiting, not even eating.

Time. Zelda stewed on her words heartfully. It was known that when Zora reached maturity, half a decade of hylian years could pass by in a blink and only a single season of life would befall them. Blessed with long life by their patron deity.

"Anyway, I'm getting carried away. You probably never heard of him." Mipha took a dainty swig from her goblet and shook her head of the obvious. "No, of course not. How silly of me to prattle on. Anyways, tell me," Mipha said, turning to Zelda with kind eyes, "What about your champion? Have you set your gaze on anyone to cheer for from afar?"

Zelda's thoughts raced, remembering the name the Zora Princess mentioned, hesitating to answer. 'Oh my, the fabled Link,' she mused silently. She turned to whisper quietly to Impa, her trusted confidante, as another guest engaged Mipha in conversation to fill in the empty air. "Pray tell, Impa, wouldn't that be the very same Link tales have spoken about? The good and especially, the bad?"

Before Impa could respond, Adeline, Zelda's handmaiden, interjected with a knowing tone. "It is. And mostly bad too," she whispered to only where she could hear, her words carrying the weight of gossip she was privy to.

Zelda's thoughts were a whirlwind of concern and intrigue. 'Oh my, poor Mipha? Should I tell her? Is this Link such a swindling sweetheart with a candy-coated tongue that even the princess of Zora can be swayed by his hypnotic trance? Who could he be? Zelda lifted her hand to her chin to ponder further. Perhaps, I need to tell her what I know. Though if I do, it may go hard on her. But if I don't, what sort of friend would I turn out to be if I didn't? I must spare her the heartache if I can. Oh, but how? How do I tell? Goddess, give me strength to lay it upon her gently.

The luxurious setting of the royal box, continued to suffuse the air with the soft hum of noble conversations happening all around, Princess Zelda refocused her attention, masking her own excitement as she responded to Mipha's inquiry. "Actually, he's a commoner too. Or so I think. It can't be certain but there were some clues in the telling. For example, the manner of speech when he spoke. That dialect of Hylian is rather…How should I put it graciously?"

Impa, always attentive and keenly interested in the affairs of her charge, chimed in with a touch of playfulness in her tone. "Rough around the edges?"

"Yes," Zelda, with a light laugh that echoed her earlier joyous morning, continued, "And the way he carried himself. You wouldn't be hearing anyone at the castle speak the way he did in that sort of tongue. That's for sure!" Her laughter was a musical note that briefly soared above the ambient sounds of the gathering, a reflection of the happiness she found in the memory.

Mipha, gracefully leaning forward to partake in a delicately prepared skewer of charred fish, seasoned with rock salt and a just the right squeeze of lemon, joined the conversation. The aroma of the succulent dish mingled with the fragrances around them, adding another layer to the sensory tapestry of the moment. "And it didn't bother you?" she asked, her voice curious and gentle. "Him being so different to what you are accustomed to?"

Zelda, while absentmindedly twisting a small, intricately designed napkin ring between her fingers, responded with earnestness. "Not at all. On the contrary, I found it rather endearing, in fact, a breath of fresh air from the stuffiness I usually have to endure at the castle." Her words carried a sense of relief, as if the memory of the encounter allowed her to momentarily escape the confines of her royal duties and expectations. "He had genuine sweetness to him that I haven't seen in others. And it wasn't just for show. Nor did he merely just placate to my position for the want of personal gain as oft other men do. For he has nothing to gain. Because, after everything is said and done, he will remain a commoner, and I, the princess." Zelda finished, almost saddened by that fact, and secretly wished she could change the law.

"I see," Mipha said, grasping the sigh in Zelda's demeanor.

Adeline, lacking the usual cordiality due to such a headstrong and feisty personality, let the cat out of the bag slip with the subtleness of a brick breaking a window. "And, unlike our princess's champion who remains true, yours has had a web of tales spun about him, and from what we are to believe, are verified to be the case."

"Adeline!" Zelda reprimanded, her voice sharp, a stark contrast to the gentle clinking of silverware and the soft rustle of fabrics around them.

"What? It's true. We all heard them. Multiple sources," Adeline insisted, her words hanging in the air, heavy with implications.

Mipha, her face a canvas of confusion and concern, paused, her hand hesitating midway to her mouth with a piece of delicately spiced dazzlefruit. A tasty treat powdered in a sugar and spicy peppery dusting. "Heard what?" she asked, her voice tinged with unease.

Zelda fumbled for words, her fingers nervously entwining a strand of her hair as she sought to lay down the information gracefully. "It's that, um..."

"He's a player! That's what. A showboating womanizer with a lady from every tavern to sit on his knee!" Adeline blurted out, her voice a discordant note amidst the otherwise harmonious setting. "Surely, half the kingdom knows by now."

Mipha's reaction was one of shock, her hand dropping the fruit back onto her plate as her eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh, my," she murmured, the weight of the revelation sinking in.

Zelda, turning to whisper in her handmaiden's ear, questioned the necessity of Adeline's bluntness. "Was that really necessary? We are not even sure."

Impa, ever the source of wisdom, leaned in to confirm with a whisper, "We are, your grace. Even your cousin's cousin's nephew's son has personally attested to that fact. He too is also in the trials. Regoso, Sir Regoso to be if the winds of fate blow in his favor, my princess."

Zelda, struggling to contain her outrage while maintaining a semblance of composure, replied, "Him!? So, we are to believe him of all yarn spinners?"

"Well, there were others," Adeline added, her voice a murmur amidst the soft sounds of the royal box.

"Yeah, his circle! His errand boys. His dregs. Of course, they would vouch for him," Zelda pondered aloud, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and doubt. But she knew better, where there was smoke there was usually fire, as the old saying went. Even if it were just a smoldering, they couldn't all be lies or exaggerations. Could they? Perhaps, he was somewhat of a ladies' man as the tales spoke of. Poor Mipha, she thought.

Zelda then turned to Mipha, her expression softening as she reached out to comfort her. Mipha, lost in her own thoughts, seemed to stew over the revelations, her emotions a tempest beneath her calm exterior.

Even with the warm hand of Zelda gracing her, the feelings swirling in Mipa's belly began to linger and fog her thoughts. Suddenly, it felt as if she'd been shocked by an electric eel by the revelation. The savory delicacies which tasted so sweet earlier were as unappetizing as a rockroast now. Could it be that after all these long years, my friend could have succumbed to arrogance? They do say that confidence can breed such temperaments. Surely, not Link though. That isn't his way….I know him….There must be some sort of mistake. Or so, I knew him.

And almost as if the heavens themselves mirrored the feelings stirring within her, a rumble of thunder cracked the grey clouds above and once more a drizzle began to fall on the field.

The air in the royal box was thick with the unspoken, the clinking of glasses and the rustle of garments merely a backdrop to the intricate dance of words and emotions unfolding between Zelda and Mipha. In this realm of nobility and grace, the seeds of a budding friendship were being sown, intertwined with the complexities of young hearts and the whispered legends of a commoner named Link. And little did they know, both their champions were one and the same.

In a secluded corner of the tournament grounds, far from the bustle and excitement of the event, a tense conversation unfolded between Lord Arasmus and the Revali, as they made their way. Arasmus's top lieutenant followed by, his eyes keenly observing the exchange, ready to lend his support when needed.

"You seem like a man with an eye for a good deal when he sees one. Who knows what it takes to win. I know winners when I see them, and you, my friend, are a winner," Arasmus began, his voice smooth, a blend of flattery and cunning.

"Except, that I'm not a man, and I'm not your friend, I'm a Rito," Revali retorted sharply, his feathers bristling with indignation. "What is it? What do you want? Surely, it isn't to wish me luck."

"You're right, it's not."

"Then what? Out with it. I'll have you know I've been summoned here on the express orders of the Princess herself, and I'm busy if you haven't noticed, so if you won't speak plainly, I'll just be—"

"-Easy, my friend. Take it easy, you'll ruffle yourself if you persist," Arasmus interjected, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Look, I hear Hebra has been having trouble with the ice these past few years, making the highways impassable to those not adept at flight, such as yourself. But even for someone with skills of your caliber, we have heard that even the best fliers have been grounded as well due to these new undying storms that have roosted atop your peaks."

Arasmus leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "An omen, some say, of the perilous times that are to face us all soon enough. If we don't band together. There have been frightening reports of wolfos coming down from the Howling Hills, attacking merchant caravans and travelers, now that the king's peace dares not patrol those lonely roads. Something that hasn't happened in over an age. Leaving those who brave those barren trails to fend for themselves. Is that true?"

"We Draenareans are a strong and hearty people. We are no strangers to hardships, and some say even the permanent ice that crowns atop the summit of Winterbane Quarry runs through our veins. Our ancestors were forced to endure it for generations. So, rest assured, my friend, we have dealt with our fair share of treacherous mountain peaks and may be of some help to you and your people. Perhaps, if a new road were to be constructed, not on the burgeoning purse of your people, but of mine. If we can come to an arrangement of sorts?"

Arasmus's lieutenant, sensing the moment was ripe, interjected subtly, "He's to go down in the first round of bouts."

"Who?" Revali questioned.

"The princess's champion." The dragoon replied.

"Weren't you listening to her majesty at all? I'm in charge of the trials of archery. If it's the tests of battle you are looking to game, then the arena master is your man, it's not to me," Revali responded, his tone firm and unyielding.

"Oh no, I was listening. Intently, in fact." Arasmsus stepped in. "However, if that upstart can fall from grace in the archery contests, then he will lose heart for the rest of the tournament and that saves me the trouble of dealing with him later. Not to mention, those who absolutely fail the archery will be disqualified from the rest of the games," Arasmus pressed, his gaze fixed on Revali. "The herald mentioned that only half are to be expected to get past the first test and even more will cut from the filed in the jousts and melee. He is to be one of them."

Revali, his feathers ruffling in disdain, shot back, "Look, if you want to make this boy who I care nothing for win or lose, that's your problem, leave me out of it. I want no part of cheating. What sort of Rito do you take me for? Pft, you Hylians, you're all the same. Why should I care if any Hylian wins or loses? You're all the same to me. Arrogant and foolhardy. Even now, you dare to presume to know me and what I want." Revali return the sack of gems by shoving them to the chest of Arasmus's man. "And take your shiny pebbles with you, I have no use for them. Good day."

Unsuccessful they both had to watch the proud Rito storm off, feathers brisking against the rain as it fell.

As two men retreated from their failed negotiation, the air around them was filled with the distant cheers of the crowd, and the flutter of banners in the wind. The tournament's beginning spectacles begun, oblivious to the undercurrents of deceit and manipulation swirling just beneath its festive veneer.

Arasmus, his face reddening with anger, turned to his lieutenant as they slowly made their way back. "Why that lousy, do-good-for-nothing bent-beaked blue parrot! How dare he refuse me? I offered him the world—"

"I do believe he is falconish, my lord," the lieutenant corrected gently.

"Whatever, it's not to me. He's a fool, that's what he is. If he spoke to me that way anywhere but this place, I'd have his feathers plucked out. No one talks back to me that way and lives to mock about it," Arasmus fumed, his frustration boiling over.

"My lord?" the lieutenant inquired, a hint of concern in his voice. Implying with his eyes if they should 'take care' of this Rito problem of theirs.

"No, no, it's fine. There will be none of that. We'll just have to enlighten the princess to the truth of her mystery hero another way," Arasmus concluded, his mind already racing with new schemes.

It was then after a brief moment of pondering between the both of them, his loyal dragoon spoke up. "Perhaps I should enlist in this farce of a tournament and regain your honor?"

"You? Fight in the battles?" Arasmus questioned him queerly from head to toe. "What would you want with wanting to be a royal? Are you so ambitious that being in my service is such a burden that you would take this opportunity to leave my side?"

The man cut him off, shaking his head. "No my lord, you misunderstand me."

"Then?"

"Let me face against this pretender. Let me show her highness the way and the truth. That there is only one power in the kingdom that will matter when the time comes for us to fight against the dreaded darkness and that is House Draene."

"What do you mean?" Arasmus' brows raised."

"I'll face him…. and…"

"And?"

The dragoon unsheathed his blade and made a tiny incision on his palm. "I can guarantee to make sure there will be a mortal win in your favor. Let him play with bronze while I play with castle forged steel colored by a glimmer of gold. That ought to do the trick fast enough to not raise any suspicions. Let me best this boy hero."

Arasmus spun around to contemplate the offer. "Hmmm…But only as a last option. To kill I mean. Continue your plan with the weapons but see to it you only injure the lad. I don't want him mortally wounded as of yet, I have special plans for him, myself."

The dragoon bowed. "Very well, my lord. It will be as you command."

"Oh…I see…yes, he'll be whimpering to call it quits in no time. Yes…. Yes….this is the way…" Arasmus rubbed his chin, getting more excited by the plan as he stewed over it. "You really are nasty Rockwell, you know that?"

"I know sometimes I even amaze myself, my lord."

"But how are you to enter the lists? Isn't it too late?" The lord asked confused.

"Leave that to me, my liege."

"Very well, I task you with this and good luck. If you succeed, I shall reward you with gifts finer than Hylia's heaven itself."

And with that, his cruel servant escaped back to the arena's staging area and he, returned to find his place beside the princess, with the hopes of her being none the wiser.

AUTHORS NOTE- Hello friends, I do hope you enjoyed this one. It was a doozy to complete because I had to make so many revisions. Please, leave a comment or a star if you did read and enjoy. Also, some have wondered when we shall return to the current timeline of the story, and I leave that decision to you, my readers. If the consensus is that I should hop back and forth between past and current narratives, I can do so. I only figured keeping this the way it is to keep it simple and easier to follow. Let me know your thoughts.