Princess and the Dragon

by Scriva

They thought it was the hero who had defeated the dragon, vanquished evil, and saved the princess. They were wrong. It was the princess who saved the dragon. Volga x Zelda

24. Chapter 24: Tournament

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Chapter 24: Tournament

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It seemed like the further the tournament progressed, the crowd in turn, would grow progressively louder. The announcer, a portly man with a charismatic disposition, also attributed to fueling the already animated spectators. He would bellow into a bullhorn that could have been magically amplified, drawing out the sound vibrations in a way that caused his commentary to boom across the arena. Vendors rolled gaudy carts of pricey edibles and merchandise between breaks to try and make profit out of the event, while the jingling of coins, rupees, and other foreign currencies were being drawn out - either to pay, or to make bets on who would win next.

"All my stakes are on Prince Zeran," said a middle-aged man from the stands, waving a full pouch of gambling winnings in his fist. "That runt doesn't stand a chance against him."

This teenager he spoke of was so nervous, that most were starting to think he was going to withdraw from the match. As if the shabby uniform and second-rate armor in comparison to what the royal mage wore didn't make him more discomfited than he already was. While he did stand out, so did Zeran.

The expensive fibers on his brocade and slacks cast a sheen of navy and silver depending on how the lighting caught onto it. His battlemage robes took more after a suit, its hem stopping short before his knees to prevent the chance of longer clothing getting snagged into the stirrups of his horse. Polished argent armor covered his chest, shoulders, and head - the latter of which he had opted to don a hood over his helmet. Even without his trident staff, the tournament lance in conjunction with his gear gave him the impression of an arcane gladiator ready for combat.

All the two participants shared in common were the dark blue colors and emblems of their kingdom; the black octopus with cyan rings around the tentacles. Except Zeran's design had an element icon wielded by each tentacle; a water drop, lightning bolt, flame - and other symbols, such as an eye, that were no doubt related to the more defensive or utility magical functions he or his mages held capabilities in.

"Aaand now, we will begin their match shortly," the commentator alerted into the bullhorn, making dramatic gestures with his hands and body. He motioned toward the two contestants that were sitting on their mounts behind their starting lines, across from each other on opposite sides of the colosseum.

"On the left, we have a master of elements, conqueror of the seas beyond Necluda from the eastern kingdom - and who, might very well end up reigning the seas and lands of Hyrule," he gave a wink toward Zelda and the king, to where they were situated on regal seats overlooking the arena, away from the rabble. If his banter affected them, they retained their stoic demeanor.

"Like a tidal wave during a storm, he has swept the combatants, and tossed them into the abyss. Please welcome… PRINCE ZERAN!"

Impa was clapping in approval with a number of others, primarily from Zeran's country. Albeit, his performance had impressed more kingdoms throughout his advancement, so he had a moderately lively audience.

A Hylian woman who vouched for the announcer's reigning comment, giggled with her friend next to her. "Oh, I do hope the princess marries him! He's so handsome and talented. And can you imagine how powerful Hyrule could become with his alliance?"

Volga sometimes resented that he possessed astute auditory perception. He tried to tune out most of the conversations and commentary by keeping his mind distracted. He wasn't even watching at the moment, for he wasn't exactly inclined to see this lad get crushed by Zeran.

"… two contestants of the same kingdom facing each other, but only one will carry on. Will the young man be able to make a statement?" The commentator's words were coming out in segments for him, but it was hard to miss the underdog appeal to the few who were actually on his side.

"Are you alright?" Eveline's heels clicked as she and her husband made their way over to Volga. He had been feeding Byrne at the stalls, incorporating nutritional grains like Impa had taught him. This short-term stable area was where each jousting participant tended to their horses before matches. The tailor's overdressed attire and styled hair made her incongruous around the straw, grass, and dirt. Volga wasn't particularly fitting in either. Typically the stable boy checked after the horses, but he was occupied with someone else's mount for now.

Volga nodded, and Eveline snorted. "No you're not," she said, flicking away a piece of hay that caught onto the half-cloak along his back. "That cloak looks positively classy on you by the way. Gold trim always suits you so well."

"... and they're off! Look at the precision -" the commentator's voice rang in the background. He could still be heard from here.

"I've only told Zelda this so far," Volga said quietly. "But I've barely been winning these. I have to put more work into breaking each part and unhorsing than I thought. The most reliable thing I can seem to do is not be knocked off my mount."

Martel pointed at Volga's arm. "It's that hand," he said gruffly. "Your injury from the Valley of Seers, while it's improved, has still been hindering you in these matches. You can't effectively use that arm with the force that would otherwise have a stronger impact on something like knocking a rider off their horse."

"These rounds would not be so close if it wasn't for that," said Eveline adamantly.

"Thanks you two," Volga recognized that they were backing him up. "I will take that into account, but I don't want to make excuses for myself. I need to do better. Especially with what I'm going up against."

"You can do it," Martel prompted. "We're rooting -"

"It can't be!" the commentator yelled in shock. There were gasps echoing in the colosseum, and people were shouting, but these did not sound enthusiastic. "How could this happen?!"

Confused, Volga, Martel, and Eveline exchanged a glance, before skittering away from the stalls to take a gander at the arena regarding whatever had just transpired.

At first, they thought Zeran had been knocked off his mount, but in fact, he was barely hanging onto the splendid steed. Blood oozed from his arm, as his lance dropped into the sand, splattered with red. The weapon itself wasn't broken, but the same couldn't be said for his arm, while his mages and the healers rushed with their spells, potions, and medical utensils. Two of them were trying to get Zeran to lay on a stretcher, but the royal wasn't having any of it.

"I'm not out of this yet," said Zeran through gritted teeth. One would think he had lost, yet…

The other combatant was the one on the ground. He had been unhorsed, and had his lance and shield smashed into chunks. They must have traded hits somehow, and Zeran still managed to scrape by at a dire cost. An elbow fracture was determined, from what the healers were babbling about as they tried to diagnose his arm. That must have been nearly unbearable, because it took all for the mage to not scream, and more so for him to actually dismount.

"Come on Zeran, climb off your mount so we can do what we need to do. You're going to have to forfeit -"

"No," said the royal tenanciously, his angry eyes slicing at the contestant who had done this to him. "You, boy, what were you thinking?!"

Quavering, the teenager tried to get up on his feet. His face was as blanched as the sand, appalled at what he had done. "N-no," he stammered. "I didn't mean for it to… I'm sorry!"

"Foul play!" someone in the crowd called out, and multiple people chimed in, repeating. "Foul play, foul play!"

"I think it was an accident," another person vindicated. "Look at the boy, he looks truly guilty -"

"Accident or not, he still broke the rules! He should be disqualified!"

"It doesn't matter, he's out of the tournament anyway because Zeran still won. In spite of that low blow."

The commentator cleared his throat and spoke into the bullhorn. "May I have your attention please?" he raised a hand in the air. "The king has called for another intermission, so our injured can heal, and our rule breakers can be questioned. The matches will continue momentarily, but in the meantime, feel free to enjoy the refreshments and scrumptious foreign dishes that are going to be carried out to the dining hall."

---

"This was deliberate," raging whirlpools spiraled around Zeran's fist, down scaled of course, but still meddlesome for the healers to work around. "To think, someone from my own kingdom too. I'm so livid, that I can't even formulate an adequate punishment for him when we travel back to our lands."

The healer fumbled with the intricate sleeve in order to roll it up his arm, trying to direct the restorative cyan strands to bind around his elbow. "Hyrule will be keeping him longer for interrogation, and this could very well end up involving the Occult Council. For now, I need you to stay still, my liege. Your elbow is terribly crushed and you're going to be woozy from the pain killer tonic. And please cast away those watery vortexes before this infirmary gets flooded. You need to rest."

Zeran put an end to the spell, but he did not submit to repose. Resting meant he would be absent for the next match and ultimately disqualified. "Only after I'm done with this tournament," the royal protested, scrunching his eyes shut from the acute throbbing inside the cartilage and bones of his elbow. "I need this reward."

"Is it really worth all this trouble?"

Zeran stood up from the cot they had such a hard time getting him to sit on. That had been his answer.

Meanwhile, the news that Zeran would continue had spread, and Volga found himself quite reluctantly preparing against him. Something didn't sit right with him at the prospect of fighting someone badly injured. Even if it was Zeran.

The king and princess, like Martel and Eveline, had been supportive of Volga but also respected his reservations for this circumstance. They would not disapprove of him for claiming such a hollow victory, yet Volga knew they were just as displeased with the situation as he was. He was caught in a stalemate where every realistic outcome of this would not be preferable. In the end, it would still come down to who would get to soldier on.

"Is the Dragon Knight going to go easy on him?" he could hear the chatter from the audience.

"Nah, I think he'll go all out. Zeran made his choice by sticking through, and now he'll have to deal with the consequences."

"This is highly unfair."

"I want them both to win! But I don't see the prince pulling through this."

It was a strange sort of energy from the crowd this time compared to Volga's other matches; they were a little more subdued, but still eager. Neither of the contestants were unpopular, so many humans would be satisfied with whoever the victor ended up being.

"I know, I know," the commentator put on a melancholy tone that didn't quite match his boisterous personality. "We have a bit of a rough match this time around, folks. Having foregone fatalities in battle, our brave prince took upon himself to continue forth the treacherous path that would inevitably lead him to face the mighty dragon."

"Farore's help us," Impa brought a palm to her forehead. If people found his narration riveting or cringeworthy, it was needless to say they were entertained.

"But this isn't just any dragon!" his voice roared into the bullhorn, causing various people to jump. "For he too is man, a fierce warrior and guardian of the Royal Family. Protector of Hyrule and soon to be… SIR VOLGA!"

The Hylian banners lifted at the gate for Volga to pass through, and as he did, the arena erupted with a welcoming cheer. Byrne shifted restlessly from the noise, but the Dragon Knight gave him a reassuring pat and steered his mount to face the other side of the colosseum. This was where Zeran was riding from.

"Water and fire will clash, rhetorically of course!" the commentator added, earning several chuckles. "But who will remain seated and unbroken in the end?"

Volga approached Zeran, as they initiated the duel-like greeting where riders would wish each other luck as an exchange of civil sportsmanship. The mage was struggling to stay mounted, using one hand on the reins, his face visibly contorted with pain that did not make gripping his weapons easier. The Dragon Knight could relate with this.

"I don't think you're in any condition to joust, Zeran," he said honestly. "They won't think anything less of you if you step out. Your healers keep pleading with you to do so, and the king insists on you getting immediate medical attention."

Zeran was bordering on losing his hold on the shield that was attached to his injured arm. So he had switched his lance arm for it instead. Which meant that if Volga struck his shield, it would surely break and put the prince in another world of agony. "Zelda's consort," he said bluntly. "Isn't the only one doing this for his lady, Sir Volga. I have mine to take care of too."

Unblinkingly, Volga pacified his horse's impatient neck twists, and Zeran trotted off to the other side to initiate the match. There was no time to think about this now. The commentator was stirring up the crowd and ushering for the participants to take off. Riding back to the starting point, his mind began to spin, and though he was being rushed, everything was focusing slowly into place for him. He could see the mage from very far, all his movements and weak points he could hit and take advantage of.

And it was wrong.

The prince winced with every gallop of the horse, each bounce digging into his wound. He was bleeding through the clothed plaster, from his elbow, staining the shield and down his horse's fur. Since he had not finished treating himself properly, it was getting rapidly worse, and the dark-haired man was near delirium a third of the way across the arena. Whether from blood loss and the severity of the damage or the tonic that was surely doping his system, he was on the brink of passing out.

Volga exhaled, bringing Byrne to a halt. No, it would not be like this. And so, he lifted the Hylian lance up in the air.

There was a few seconds of reverential silence, before the spectators jabbered off.

"A draw?" the commentator said fervently. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Dragon Knight has requested a draw! Will the prince accept?"

"What does that mean?" a young woman asked the person next to her. "Would they have a tie?"

"Not exactly," another responded. "The one who requests the draw can essentially cancel the match, if the other contestant agrees to it. Neither would have a score, so neither would win. They can either rematch, or one can surrender for the other to keep fighting the rest of the participants. It's a bit of a gentleman's maneuver on the occasion that someone might be unable to joust. If Zeran doesn't accept the draw however, he can still proceed with this match, and the Dragon Knight will have to deal with him."

Zeran also came to a stop, befuddled by Volga's move. "What are you -" he mumbled, and this time, the shield slid away from his fingers. He weakly caught it, and glimpsed back at the Dragon Knight, who still remained resolute in his stance, making no attempt to fight him.

"There's no way Zeran will agree to that," someone attested. "Not after how far he's come."

"I don't know man, he looks ready to collapse."

This couldn't be closer to the truth, yet for one wild moment, Zeran came across as if he was going to charge at him anyway. A last minute desperation to at least break something for the sake of his dignity and ambition, which would not readily admit defeat. Even if he could take out a couple of weapons, he knew Volga would not back down on his decision. To what end would tussling for points be when his arm was already in a losing battle, and unhorsing this dragon was like trying to move a damn mountain, from what he had occasionally observed of his matches. It wasn't that Zeran wouldn't try, he certainly would - and he'd still be a fool striking an unwilling target, worsening his own injuries while doing so.

Not to mention, how dishonorable that would be, when the Dragon Knight was showing him mercy in the first place. Volga would gain nothing from this, nothing to bolster his score, which he needed to reach finals sooner. He would have to fight more opponents and push himself further to maximize his points. Zeran figured the very least he could do was accept the draw in good faith.

With the last bit of his strength, he surrendered, bringing the lance into the air. The crowd's rowdiness in the background became faint and his vision turned hazy. Zeran slumped off his horse and into the sandy mound.

---

The pale, raven haired man tugged at the scarf around his neck as he slinked through his uncle's tent. Bottles of wine, ale, and potions were scattered about in a mess, which was nothing out of the ordinary. His eyes scanned for the white bear pelt. He found the fur hanging over a chair, and turned it to the side the creature's head was on. Slipping his fingers between the fangs of the bear's mouth, he reached through and picked up a rolled up parchment expectantly.

It read:

Water trough. The measurements of the tincture must be precise, transparent, and unscented, roughly eight minutes before my match with him. Make sure it is entirely consumed. You know what to do if the time comes.

Burn this note into the fire when you're done reading. Keep me and your brothers updated.

Crumpling the parchment into a ball, he was about to throw it into a campfire, when he heard his uncle's voice loudly approaching the tent, followed by several exaggerated cackles. He had company. Stashing the note in his pocket, he stepped away from the chair to not appear inconspicuous, and pretended to be picking up after discarded bottles.

"Uncle," he stuffed the items into a burlap sack. "Was just tidying up a bit."

"Mikel," Torkil said loftily, his eyes briefly darting over to the bear pelt, before returning to his nephew. "You're so helpful, making sure me and my lovely wenches are accommodated."

The females he was referring to were all skimpily dressed; one was practically naked bending down in front of him, pointed ears tucking out from her dark blonde hair. The other two had rounded ears, and different races. A glamorous brown skinned woman of lengthy braids streaked in amber, and a tanned beauty with jewels that jingled at her exposed belly as she danced. Torkil placed his hands at their waists, a woman in each arm.

"Where did you find these gems?" Mikel said enviously. "And variety on top."

"What can I say? I'm a man of culture," Torkil gave the kneeled fair woman a rough nudge with his leg. "Paid an exorbitant price for them from bordering taverns and some that happened to be discreetly looking to service during this event."

"Would he like service too?" the dancer's voice was alluring. "I can send one of my sisters. She has an eye for dark-haired men."

"You know what, let's do that, it's on me. My nephew deserves a treat," he said with certainty. "If you'll excuse me ladies, I'm going to have a quick word with him. Wait for me on the cushions."

"We eagerly await, Lord Torkil."

An act, Mikel knew, but neither him nor his uncle would complain. The grand tent was spacious enough to where they could walk further away and have a private conversation, but it still made Mikel uneasy.

"You got the message I presume?" Torkil hissed.

"I saw but," Mikel kept surveying over his shoulder anxiously. "How are we going to get him to stay away from the -" he stopped himself to codify certain words. "From the place I am to carry out this plan."

If Torkil was getting insecure, he showed no signs. "I will handle him," his self assurance didn't make him feel better. "But I need you to coordinate with your brothers for the rest, and to be ready to make adjustments in case something happens."

"And if something - right."

"Stop looking so distressed," the bear-slayer urged. "Look at what you've accomplished so far. The information you all found will be invaluable for our use. Especially that recent one you relayed to me. I will take great satisfaction in shaming him, during the tournament and a certain other time to come." he was now glowering through him with a twisted curl at the corner of his mouth. The expression made his uncle appear to be in a different world and speaking more to himself, reveling in all manners of terrible envisions he had in store for the Dragon Knight. "I will make him regret embarrassing me, and for taking what's mine. And the glory and victory, they belong to me."

Mikel cast his gaze down at the ground. He still couldn't shake off a sense of foreboding. The "recent" information Torkil was referring to must have been the incident at the construction school the other day when he found out about the princess and the Dragon Knight's private plans. What he failed to mention to his uncle however, was about his run in with the little girl, and that she had witnessed him and his brothers escape with the morphing potion. A part of him wanted to tell him as a precaution, but the most instinctive gut feeling was fear. He was candidly afraid of Torkil's reaction if he were to find out that they were starting to slip. It was easier to see the bear-slayer pleased with tea to spill than fretting over the small accidents going wrong.

"Anyway," Torkil sounded more business-like. "I got harlots to do. You go on and hustle back. I will send the dancer's sister to give you a good time. Let's have an early celebration."

---

A cold sleet pattered over the black and white tents of the northwest kingdom, but for those snow dwellers, this was like home with spring rain. The desert realm's yellow and purple awnings were also not unfamiliar to the chill when their lands converted to nightfall. Less agreeable were those under the green banners of the southern kingdom, their canopies resembling tropical huts.

Zeran's midnight blue pavillon was lit up with magic and medicinal fumes. His healers worked vigorously to repair his arm, and now that he was out of the tournament, he had finally stopped resisting. He was still surly, berating himself for hours while the matches progressed. For failing her. If only he hadn't been struck the way he had in the first place.

"I'll have you know," his healer established. "If you really did try to fight this out, your arm probably would have suffered permanent damage, and it already requires surgery. You are very lucky, my liege."

"I know," Zeran uttered under his breath. "I asked General Impa to have the princess and the Dragon Knight give me a moment of their time when they had a chance. Any word?"

"They're coming," the healer sealed the cast around his elbow, and cleaned up the bloodied rags. "You should really go back to sleep though. Another draught is in order soon."

He wanted to object, but the flare radiating his left arm made him hold back his tongue. This persisted for half an hour, and when his mind was eventually able to concentrate on something other than how wretched this felt, he unfastened his helmet with his functional arm, and tossed it aside. He pulled his hood down and thumbed over a patch on his head, apparently from when he met the ground. Nope, hood back up. They didn't need to see him manifesting into a bloody mummy.

"Prince Zeran?"

He glanced over to see Princess Zelda and Volga being escorted inside by his guards. Zeran greeted them, genuinely so this time, no cynical courtesies.

"Leave us," the prince ordered his battlemages and healers. They complied, and Zeran didn't speak up again until the three of them were the only ones left in the enclosed ward.

He invited them toward the chairs, and as they sat, Zeran became aware that they spotted the gauze and the spellbound tendrils around his arm. The disdain carried in his tone. "So much for winning this tournament, eh?"

And though they weren't sure of how to say it, Zeran could see a flicker of sympathy in their expressions. One that he wasn't certain he deserved. "I know you were an obstacle for all the participants," Volga stated. "But after what happened to you, I would still rather have faced off evenly."

"I've heard you've acquired a fracture too," the prince indicated at Volga's detriment. "The king seems to harbor a saddened guilt from that incident at the museum, when you took a hit for him. Yet you still decided to trudge through these matches."

The crease on Zelda's eyebrows and caring eyes didn't escape Zeran's attention. "Yes, well," Volga unfurled his fingers tentatively, the ache distant, but still there. "I've had more time to recover since then, between magic, potion, and traditional treatments. This hasn't made the rounds easier but it's no day one elbow breakage."

"I suppose that wouldn't have really been on an equal plane field for you either, if my arm was still fine," Zeran rationalized. "Competition aside, it would have been refreshing to battle a formidable opponent. Or in a duel."

Volga found it amusing that the thought of any fight against Zeran would be anything less than competitive or personal. Still, he humored the idea out loud. "Perhaps when our bones and limbs aren't falling apart," multiple chortles rang in the air. "Then we can have a good duel or joust."

"You're not bad, Dragon Knight," Zeran said mirthfully. "Not bad at all. That was a noble move you did for me back there, calling a draw. Thank you."

You're not either, when you're not trying to engage the woman I love, he thought wryly, giving a curt nod.

"And Your Highness," Zeran supplicated. "About the reward. Since it's null now, is… is there still a chance I could trade something for it? Hyrule could use barrier specialists. I only fear my father won't let me send away many mages since they're already reserved for special event exchanges. He's not as interested in the reward I requested as I am."

Blue eyes searched him questioningly. "What did you ask for? Father mentioned you wanted it to be confidential."

Zeran fiddled with a piece of the wrap idly. "I did."

"It's involving her, isn't it?" Volga remembered his off hand remark when they were about to joust. "You said you had someone to take care of."

"Nenea," the prince almost whispered. "That is her name. I will tell you both what I requested. Since you trust your… bodyguard enough to be on the loop about more private matters."

He was cautious on how to refer to his suspicions involving the pair. If there was something more going on, and he was almost certain there was - it would be in his best interest to be tactful to their discretion. For now.

"Do we need a silence barrier?" Zelda volunteered, wisps of light luminating from her fingertips. "I can't say the barrier will be as effective around a tent compared to walls but just in case."

"That would be for the best."

When Zeran was finally more inclined to elaborate, he spoke up. "I asked for a Great Fairy."

He acknowledged their bewilderment. "Yes, we have powerful spells ourselves, but the Great Fairies have a unique magic of their own, in offense and support. Unlike bottled fairies, they don't get used up, and simply need to recharge. Very useful for war assistance. That's what our fathers think I need it for. Which isn't entirely untrue but that's not my main reason at this time."

He resumed somberly. "My darling Nenea is very ill. No magic nor potion has helped her inexplicable condition. I've been at my wit's end trying to find her a cure. When I traveled here from my kingdom, it wasn't only to meet my father's expectations in betrothing you. I had hoped to be able to obtain a Great Fairy from my research of this land. When the tournament was announced, I had to take the opportunity. Unfortunately, that doesn't matter now," he grew sour. "So that's why I'm attempting to find a compromising exchange. There's no guarantee the Great Fairy will be able to help, but I need to try. For Nenea."

The desperation in his explanation and pleas, not to mention further surrender of his own confidentiality - was too precarious to have been a tentative act. He had based an entire tournament reward off this. It also made sense as to what the king meant when he said they needed her permission - "her" being the Great Fairy, or one of them, to consent to being ported over to Zeran's kingdom.

"You speak of Nenea fondly," Zelda noted. "I may not see eye to eye with you when it comes to consorts, but I can tell she means something to you. Not being able to keep your jousting request doesn't have to be a loss though. We could lend you the Great Fairy, and once you're done attempting to aid Nenea - hopefully with success, then you would return the fairy to us."

Zeran's jaw lowered a tad. "You. You would lend me the Great Fairy, Your Highness?"

She crossed her leg over her ankle with poise. "I don't see why not. Not everything has to be about benefiting solely from marriage or glory. We should use the capacity to give or lend sometimes too, you know? To help, and preferably not in ways to be taken advantage of."

"To help," the prince repeated in wonder. "That's… what you two go around doing, isn't it? Helping people. Most rulers don't go out of their way to assist in half of what you do, nor are they encouraged to."

"If I have the means of being out there for my people and learning more of my kingdom," Zelda reasoned. "Why should I sit on my throne all the time and leave it up to others to do everything? There are times to do that certainly, but I would rather be involved and see things for myself."

The mage removed his hood. "You are a free spirit, Princess Zelda. And kind. You can utilize that strategically too, and still your intentions are true. For that, it makes me all the more certain. I will provide you with barrier specialists. Not as a trade but a gesture of gratitude."

"As long as your mages are not being separated from their families and willing to relocate to Hyrule," Zelda said in thought. "We would organize homely living quarters for them and ensure they are taken care of like our staff. If their family wants to move with them or they wish to procure a family here, we could look into a housing establishment in Castle Town too, or near it."

The prince took a liking to this. "I think they would be much obliged to know of such accommodating options."

There was an unanticipated shuffling sound, so quiet that it easily could have been missed. But Volga had heard it, and as it advanced closer, he exclaimed a warning to them, and instinctively propelled his body to guard Zelda from the direction it was coming from. He had no weapon at the moment, but the fiery claw that transfigured from his arm was essentially effective by its nature.

After having experienced several occurrences of abrupt incidents by now, Zelda was quicker on the uptake to get a hold of herself and produce her own weapon, but the light wasn't only emitting from her rapier.

With every beat in her chest, she was lit up with a power she had not been expecting to unleash. The glow from her stretched around Volga protectively, akin to a solar shield. Zeran stared in astonishment, making note to ask her about this brief development later, tapping into his own magic as he did so.

Despite being in a semi crippled state, he summoned a current of suspended water. In it were several aquatic blades that circled like enchanted swordfish, their long bills pointed at the intruder. The commotion caused Zeran's battlemages and healers to storm inside, staves ready to attack.

The shroud of sand washed away, and there, crouched a figure layered in silks and shawls, where all that could be seen were eyes. Between the fire, light, and water elements impending over its head, not to mention the rest of the mages - two bronze hands lifted up to yield. Its face peeked up at them, obsidian eyes enlarged under dusky eyeshadow. "I have not come to attack!" the woman said defensively, with a thick accent.

Zelda was the first to lower her weapon. "Oh, it's one of my informants," she let out a sigh of relief. Upon seeing the princess was safe, Volga warily withdrew his flames, keeping close. The mage reallocated his piscine weapons to the side, but didn't dispel them yet.

"Informants?" he asked quizzically.

The blonde offered the woman on the ground her hand and explained. "Due to recent incidents, I made temporary accords with the desert kingdom for their services during their stay. Specifically in gathering intelligence. I'm sorry we were up in arms on you like that," she apprised her. "We've been particularly on edge lately."

"I can see that," she stood up and dusted away magical specks from her desert garb. "I have news to report. We found a likely suspect during that skirmish with the little girl you notified us about, and more. I'm not sure if you would prefer privacy for this information, as it does involve… other royals too." she retracted her attention from Zelda to Zeran.

The prince quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"No, go ahead and update me please," Zelda instructed. If Zeran knew something regarding the incident at the school, or even about shapeshifting insects, he could provide some insight.

The informant commenced. "So we went through many men of black or dark brown hair pigment to best fit the description given. Keep in mind, as this is a common hair trait, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. We checked you as well," she revealed to the dark-haired prince before he had a chance to wrack his brain trying to remember this meeting. "You were asleep from your medicine, I stealthed in disguised as a healer and quickly left after I made sure. Don't worry, no harm was done."

"That's rather intrusive," Zeran found himself more curious than annoyed, but he still wasn't keen on the idea of being snuck on. The desert kingdom was proving to be accurate on their claims to excel in spying, and their prowess with assassinating was believable. Not a faction one would want to make an enemy of. "May I ask what I was being checked for exactly?"

A rough assessment of what had occurred at the school was given, personal conversations left out. "Morphing? You know, shapeshifting without permit is illegal in certain countries," Zeran said, and though Volga's case could be debatable, his dragon form was still a natural part of him, not dependent on magic or potion. "Whoever those men were, they could get into heaps of trouble with the Occult Council. Adding to the fact that they went after this little girl."

"Now you understand," the informant gathered. "That's why the princess wanted to arrange this search. What helped narrow our suspects down significantly was the mention of someone having a tattoo on their neck. The tricky part was sifting through the ones who weren't exposing their collars. We had our… ways on some of them. Eventually I found something that could very well be one of the members you're looking for."

"Who was it?"

"Mikel, he was called," she grimaced. "Really shady. While he thought I was undressing him when I removed his scarf, I got a defined view of the symbol on his neck. Looked very much like a bull, with the icy horns and everything as you mentioned the girl had said. I asked him about the tattoo and he gave me an attitude saying it was a 'minotaur' not a bull."

Zeran placed a hand to his chin. "Mikel," he said contemplatively. "That's one of Torkil's relatives isn't it? Nephew or something, there's several if I recall."

"I believe so," the desert woman answered, before turning to Zelda again. "Princess, I asked him if he knew anything about chasing a little girl. At knife point. He caved, and claimed all he was going to do was scare the child into not telling anyone that she saw him. Jumbled off that he was in the area to exchange drugs with some acquaintances, and was very set on not naming who they were. He went as far as blaming the girl having snatched grains of the substance, trying it, and hallucinating that she must have seen men morph into bugs. I could have pressed the knife more but I knew to consult you by then. I did nonetheless, deliver your message to him; that terrorizing children will not be tolerated by the Royal Family, and that consequences will follow through to those found guilty. He got the point, alright. Although, I doubt he was there for any drug trade."

Zelda shook her head. "I doubt he was either, and even if he was, he will be under investigation. And dealt with."

"You might want to add Torkil to that investigation list," she advised. "Speaking of him, there's something else too. This pertains to you actually, Prince Zeran, but before I go into detail, I want it to be clear that I don't want any conflicts with my sultan or between our desert kingdom with anyone else's. Therefore you didn't hear this from me. Do you know what I mean?"

The prince grumbled. "I get it, you never told us anything. Now what does this have to do with me?"

"That combatant from your kingdom," she brought up. "The one who broke your elbow. I caught Torkil handing him a satchel of riches after the match when he thought no one was around." The air became charged, as she went on. "And when I found an opportunity to chat with the teenager, he froze up when I reached the topic of deals and profits. Almost as if his family had been threatened if he dared to say how he had amassed such earnings from the bear-slayer."

The hydrous weapons that had been hovering nearby burst like a clap of liquid thunder, and before they could pour to the ground, Zeran's mages dissolved them with their spells at once.

"He did what?" The fury in Zeran's voice shook as his people tried to calm him.

"My liege, we can't say for sure he was involved," his healer steadied him on the cot so he wouldn't spring out of the ward in his rampage and accidentally dismiss his recuperation. "I know it's too suspicious to be a coincidence but you're in no condition to confront the bear-slayer yet. Your arm!"

"Curse you Torkil, you cheating arse!" Zeran added foreign words that sounded like profanities in his language, before switching to Hylian again. "May your blighted mountains be struck and blast away far down beyond sea level."

One of the Hylian guards entered the canopy, followed by more of Zeran's battlemages. "Sir Volga," Zelda's soldier saluted. "Please prepare for your final match. The joust will begin in thirty minutes."

You better beat him, Dragon Knight, the prince thought ruefully.

He wasn't only thinking this out of spite, or because Torkil didn't deserve to win - he didn't, as far as Zeran was concerned. Volga needed to claim his reward from defeating him, because he and Zelda earned these resources.

And with the way they were regarding each other now, he could see Zelda's concern and Volga's determination, an affection there that spoke louder than words. Zeran didn't need confirmation to tell that the Dragon Knight was dedicated to Zelda and this kingdom.

He was that jousting participant. That bodyguard who was in her company at her room. The knight who guards the Royal Family with his life. Zelda's consort.

---

Volga arrived at the armory to restock on his next set of lance and shield for his last fight. He knew other countries could vary with their jousting rules, but this tournament was relatively straightforward with the goal; once an opponent is knocked off their mount, the match is over. Each time a weapon or helmet broke, the rider would be given a replacement throughout the match until a dismount was accomplished. The tallied points would then be compared to see who earned the higher score. While unhorsing someone earned many points, this didn't necessarily mean they would win. If they broke enough weapons or helmets before being unhorsed, they could still have surpassed their opponent's score.

There were opportunities to take risks for extra points, and in other cases, getting greedy could be the end.

"Though these tournament weapons are intended to break," that unmistakable drawl had Volga turn around sharply. "Have you ever wondered what would happen if all of them were disposed of in a single match?"

The bear-slayer stepped toward him, a hulking figure with heavy footsteps that shouldn't have been deaf to his ears seconds ago. "No?" Torkil persisted. "Then look around well. For I will dismantle every lance and shield your strength can muster from this room if I don't unhorse you to the ground first."

There it was, the classic Torkil toast of taunts and shots of shameless degeneracy. Volga knew it was going too well for this human to not have snark to throw at him by now.

"If it takes you all the weapons in this room to unhorse me," Volga retorted. "Then it's not my strength you should be questioning."

"All this talk about you holding back a tower," Torkil said skeptically. "Of course I question this. Even if it was true, your hand was ruptured. And I'm warning you right now. I'm not going to spare you like you did to Zeran for his injury. We are fighting this out."

Volga expected as such and was prepared; he had slogged through to make it to finals with the options that could alleviate and not worsen his hand recovery. The less he thought about this disadvantage, the better.

"You mean like how you aren't going to spare that combatant's parents, if he tells anyone that you bribed him to purposely attack Zeran?" Volga challenged.

His eyes narrowed. "Are you accusing me, Dragon Knight?" he said dangerously. "I could indict you for attempting slander and defamation without evidence."

"I'm inferring," Volga stood his ground. "The facts will speak for themselves in time."

"Hah, how ironic. Oh we'll be seeing the facts in time, alright," Torkil said ominously. "And since we're bringing up Zeran - do you know what my reward request is? His mages. Numbers of them, corresponding to a decent army. That wouldn't leave many of them left if he were to offer them to the princess for her hand. Which means she would be much wiser to turn to my kingdom instead, because we'd have everything Hyrule needs."

There wasn't exactly anything ground breaking in that the northwest and eastern kingdoms had favorable assets. Regardless, for those two realms to be centered simultaneously was an indicator that someone had been listening very closely to Impa advising the King of Hyrule. Torkil might as well be striking an ore vein, scouring for treasure. What he saw as a prize within reach was too conveniently hammered out. He knew where to hit when his request had been accepted back then.

But with the turn of events now, Volga couldn't foresee Zeran ever accepting any solicitation from the bear-slayer, nor any anonymous requests if he had suspected it was him. Torkil was successfully finding more and more ways to piss Zeran off, and unfortunately, Hyrule was being caught up in their little game of thrones. Volga had to win.

Torkil was either stupid or delusional for believing that the princess would marry him from all of this. Having Zeran's mages wouldn't alter her choice.

"It'll be satisfying to see her in the position to cave in to me once I've laid out my cards," Torkil said, with a wicked sureness that made his intentions darker than mere banter. "I can be rather persuasive when I have the means of ruining someone, and those closest to them. In reputation or worse."

Volga retrieved one of the Hylian shields from the rack, his fingers constricting around the ridge, where the winged emblem spread out, almost as if in a defensive posture. His cool composure dwindled, as Volga's expression turned piercing, and of course the bear-slayer took the chance to fan the flames.

His arm swept sideways, with the intention of representing a towering landmark before him. "In my territory, we have snow-capped mountains that extend for leagues at our borders, and many areas throughout our region. Furthest north however, is a particularly treacherous mountain range. My language's closest translation to its name is Purgatory, or The Purge. Not only does this summit contain explosives, it is also more like a prison. We actually do have cells built in for those sentenced there, and put them to work with the miners. But this place is more than a dungeon of labor. For one, you can't easily escape it, since it's surrounded by icy water. My specialized fleet aside, most boats fail to make it across."

I can just fly over it, Volga thought, not really sure of what point he was trying to make.

"Let's say I was able to get the princess and the king to visit my kingdom, and I was to take them to this mountain. Maybe have them witness our mining procedure for the resources they so greatly seek - or maybe I was able to… lure them there for other reasons," Torkil's teeth bared, reminding him of a prowling wolf.

His voice dropped eerily. "It would be a terrible shame if something were to happen to her father, and he ended up in a cell at the Purgatory. You know why they even call it that? The cold there is so biting, it burns. Poor old man would wither away if he didn't freeze first. It would be up to his daughter for me to have my servants feed him and provide him with minimal enough heat for him to survive another day. And oh would I make her work for it," he leered. "She would have her own cell too of course, a layout designed for my liking to do what I please with her. For all the denying she did, and will - cause I know she'll put up a fight. I do like them feisty. You'll have the honors to watch as I make her scream for hours, chained up in your own dragon den."

Volga swung at him, and though it was a direct punch to the jaw, the skin on Torkil's face was as tough as a rock. Blood had drawn from his mouth, notwithstanding he didn't recoil. He was laughing. It was a garbled sound, that grew more maniacal the longer his body quaked.

"What is wrong with you?!" Volga was almost as disturbed as he was enraged.

"You like my potion trick?" Torkil managed to get out between snickers. He had recently borrowed a leaflet out of the forest ruler's alchemy notes - always seeking to be as proficient with the resources other lands had. "This one solidifies the skin like the armor of a tree, remember? I figured I would give you a challenge trying to unhorse me if you can barely get me to budge."

This time, Torkil took advantage of Volga's stunned indignation and sent a fist hurling toward him. Volga grabbed it in an iron grip. His free hand snatched a heap of the bear pelt around Torkil's shoulders and shoved him backwards - despite his fraud potion, the force made Torkil stagger.

"You can take your twisted thoughts back to your homeland," he snarled at the bear-slayer. "And leave Zelda and her father out of them. If you ever hurt them or in any way force them into that accursed place, then rest assured that before they even step foot in your kingdom, the cinders will rain. And you will be reduced to a pile of ash."

Dread paled Torkil's skin and his body gave an involuntary jerk. Preserving his ego, he found the nerve to goad. "I knew it. Soon as I hint about endangering the Royal Family, you reflect the beast that you are. You care for the princess and the king. And you really think that you belong somehow, among them, among people."

He was so tempted to knock him out, not caring what tree coating nonsense he would have to hit. His near stranglehold on the pelt surrounding the human's neck reinforced the threat. "I swear I'll - "

"Alright!" Torkil wheezed, attempting to worm out of his hold. "I was joking, damn. You'll what? Kill me? Have you ever killed a human before, noble Dragon Knight?"

"No. Have you?"

The bear-slayer scoffed. "My father says shock and numbness hits at different times after killing. But when it does hit you, it starts to fester, and rip into your soul until the point you wish you were the one dead. And if you don't fall into that path, you do everything it takes to survive. Soon, honor has no meaning, because corpse after corpse, the value of life is gone, and all you can do is keep going until your end comes."

"Volga!" Impa burst into the armory. "What do you think you're doing - let him go!"

He released him as if his hands had been branded with hot iron, and not only because Impa ordered him to.

"Yes, do control your lizard pet," Torkil adjusted his bear pelt over his shoulders like nothing had happened. "See, I could report him for punching and assaulting a royal, but I'm gonna man up and let it slide for now. We were just having a little tavern brawl. And don't worry Dragon Knight, my bark skin potion will be wearing off soon, so no cheating on my part."

Volga wondered if Torkil had ever lost track of his lies from how frequently he spun them. Impa cut in. "Lord Torkil, I will take it from here. We'll see you shortly."

Notably more dauntless now with Impa's presence and his conviction of victory, Torkil strutted off. A dog was barking angrily outside in the distance of his wake.

"Volga, why?" said Impa with a sigh, her arms crossing in her chest. Volga was frankly not in the mood to get scolded by her right now. He didn't even realize his knuckles were irritated from how hard he hit Torkil, or that he had done so with his bad hand. His body was seething from a fury and anxiety that he could not seem to hold back.

I need to make sure Zelda and her father are alright…

"Look," the Sheikah's voice diminished its severity. "I can see that he must have spewed off some terrible misdemeanor, to get you to react that way. You typically have exceptional self-control. And I have no doubt that whatever he did say, warranted that punch."

The tiniest quirk of a smile displayed on her face, daresay a hint of respect for him. Perhaps she felt Torkil had a long time coming for that too. The praise was short lived when Impa resorted to being critical again. "Though, you do know he's purposely provoking you, right? He's trying to get in your head, so that you perform worse when you joust vs him. Don't let him succeed."

"He's sadistic," the Dragon Knight said brusquely. "He portrays scenarios that are cruelly specific, then acts like he's jesting. The plausability for his sickening imagination to actually play out should be impossible, but I'm not going to stand there and let him demean and threaten my - the Royal Family - like that."

Impa didn't debate, and instead, nudged at the shield and lance toward him. "They're waiting for you. At the very top of the colosseum, the remaining contestants and royals of those kingdoms meet there to raise the flags as tradition for the final battle. Since Torkil is a royal and the last participant, he will be there on his own, at the other side. Do try to avoid knocking him down, and save that energy to topple him off his mount instead."

---

Another step. It seemed like they had climbed thousands of steps to reach the summit of the colosseum. The King of Hyrule laid a wrinkled hand on his chest to catch his breath, his lungs straining for air. He couldn't solely blame age this time. Sure, he wasn't excessively overweight; it was really the belly and occasional plumpness. What he knew was that he was out of shape, if the stabbing sensation at his ribs didn't remind him enough already.

He wanted to change that. For his health, but also to be able to assist Zelda, Volga, and Hyrule better - at least to make the battles easier for them. He didn't want to be powerless to help his daughter on fighting monsters such as the Manhandla, didn't want to have Volga risk himself more - or feel desperate enough to beg Zeran for aid when unknown magical forces invaded their safety.

"Father," Zelda's fingers on his arm was a comforting gesture. Nevertheless, he would rather not complain about how much his knees protested from their climb.

"I'm fine, I promise," he said hoarsely. "God, it's a wonder we're not in the clouds from how far up we've gone. Look how small the people in the stands are."

The spectators were comparable to moving figurines below, their noises resounding within the arena. From the stables, a silhouette ascended, growing larger as a pair of amber wings came to view. The dragon landed carefully next to them, and the king noticed his daughter's face light up.

"It is good to see you, Volga," he said amiably. Eveline's trademark design of his jousting uniform, as usual, would disassemble into an enchanted inventory between morphs - then rethread and requip when he was in human form. That woman was amazing, truly.

Volga bowed his head. Something had him wrought up, both royals could tell. His wings reacted out of his own instinct, surrounding them like a bracing bulwark. "I don't mean to startle either of you," his voice was low and worried, deepened in this form, but unmistakably him. "I had to make sure you two were safe."

Rather than being alarmed or frightened, they familiarized with his protective characteristic. They didn't understand what happened yet, but they knew Volga had his motives, and that they mattered beyond duty. The king did not wish to see the Dragon Knight forgo any more stress than he had endured already. Zelda touched his wing, and Volga's body relaxed slightly.

"Bless your soul, we are safe," the king reassured. "I think you should let us worry more about you than -"

The bullhorn went off from the colosseum, and the announcer spoke. "It's time our last two participants make their way to place the flags of their kingdoms, respectively. Lord Torkil, please start carrying your flag over. King Gustav Hyrule, Princess Zelda, and Sir Volga, do the same with yours, thank you."

At the mention of Torkil being there, Volga tensed again. The king transported the flag as they walked forth together to the edge where the base of the flag was supposed to be propped upon. The Dragon Knight was about to switch out of his dragon form, but to his surprise, the king convinced him to remain a bit longer.

"You're a remarkable dragon, let the world see that," Zelda's father handed him the flag.

"You're incredible, in all forms," the princess honored, then impishly added. "And hey, if you accidentally bite through the flag, before you consider swapping, we have backups. Though I'm sure you can do it, since you've done so before without snapping the stem of a very special flower."

Volga most certainly could, and did, grabbing the flag pole calculatedly between his teeth, sensing the king's trust in not scraping him. Zelda bringing up that fond memory held truth; he had delivered her the delicate gift without chomping through, so this was doable. The encouragement from the Royal Family was also uplifting. He perched the flag on the base, the emblem of Hyrule flapping with the breeze in blue and gold.

The people beneath cheered for both contestants, as Torkil pinned down his own kingdom's flag. Black and white, with the logo of the polar bear tearing a snake in its mouth. Except this one had a smidge of red painted at the bear's fangs, to indicate blood. Leave it to Torkil to add a splash of gore to his flag.

That conceited smile shot far across them, and Volga found himself covering the princess and the king, like a wall that would keep them from this deranged human. Each time Volga saw him, he was increasingly convinced that he was more than a blubbering fool - he was actually a problem, and the matter was only going to get worse from here.

"Please tell me," Volga addressed the Royal Family. "That you two have no plans to visit Torkil's kingdom. Even if he offers to give a tour of the explosives, or says anything to get you to leave anywhere with him."

"We have no interest on embarking upon that man's ruthless territory," Zelda could tell how significant the topic was to him and wanted to ease this weight off his mind.

Her father followed up. "As far as the explosives, if the joust results in our victory, we signed an agreement that the artillery would be transferred here by their weapon experts. Therefore, we wouldn't need to travel to his kingdom to receive them, or for any other purpose."

Volga was no less trusting of Torkil's ploys, but having their confirmation that they would stay gave him a little more relief.

With the match finally getting underway, Volga transformed back to equip his jousting armor and mount. They would return to the arena ground once more. It was time to get this over with.

---

Leaves crunched in the mortar as Zelda pressed down with the pestle. For each cluster of leaves she had managed to crush without damaging, she gathered them into a pot.

Taking a seat next to her on the fallen log, Eveline scrutinized the wood, as if to make sure there was no bug crawling around. "They're going to start soon, Zelda. I hope you're whipping up an insect repellent there."

"I know, I just wanted to start the heating process on this really quick," she placed the pot of leaves over the campfire before them. With a spoon, she scooped Lurelian coconut oil from a jar, adding bit by bit into the pot. There was a faint simmer after a moment, while the oil cooked and extracted from the leaves to create a blend. A distinctive yet fresh aroma emitted into the air.

Zelda separated two empty canisters beside her on the log. "Now all I need to do is let the mixture soak for six hours. Then I will fill these containers once it's cooled off."

"What are you making? It smells refreshing, and kind of therapeutic."

"That's what I'm hoping for," Zelda removed the pot from the fire and stowed the rest of her project in a wicker basket with which she occasionally gathered berries, flowers, and other herbs to study or use. "I wanted to make something to help my father's joint pains and boost the recovery rate of Volga's fracture. In addition, these eucalyptus leaves are said to relieve muscle aches, respiratory issues, and more!"

Eveline removed a few particles of debris off her skirt. "That's pretty impressive, and it looks like you're making an oil for it? You can probably let that soak in a bath, or make soap with it. Where do you learn all this from? I wouldn't mind reading a book or two on plants that promote wellness, especially if it includes beauty health."

"Books from the castle and Volga's library collection," Zelda thought of the various volumes she had in her trunk too, for when she wanted to read on her bed. "The Lizalfos clan also have extensive knowledge on the applications of all matters of plants; for medicinal, cooking, and even utility like what sap produces glue. I actually got the idea of making something using eucalyptus leaves from them."

The tailor observed her curiously. "Is this why you're so paranoid about Impa finding out whenever you spend time in Eldin? Are you worried she'll try to prevent you from being around Volga's clan, or the fact that it's lava terrain?"

"Well not all of it is lava," the princess remembered the Crystal Caves, Volga's home, and several locations that were much further from lava in sight. "But yes. Impa would never -"

She was interrupted by the presence of her butler, who was bustling past mobs of people lining up at the colosseum. "Your Highness," he panted. "There you are. I looked everywhere for you. My apologies, I thought you were in the royal stands already."

"What's wrong?" Zelda sat up from the log in anticipation. "I was about to go to those stands soon."

The older man twiddled the cuffs of his fine waistcoat. "We. We have a visitor outside."

Outside where? They were outside. Sort of. The butler began. "This was outside the castle's main entrance initially, then she turned her attention to the arena. I told her this wasn't a good time and for her to stay put while I searched for you. I didn't want to bother the king nor Impa about who it was."

"Who is it?"

The butler stood dutifully. "She was a Lizalfos, with a gemmed tiara on her head, called herself Jules, or was it Jewel?"

Zelda's eyes widened. "Jules is here?" she said aloud. "What did she say?"

"I didn't really understand, between all the hissing sounds they make and how panicked she was," the butler etched an eyebrow. "Something about her clan being in danger, and needing your help. I figured you'd handle it at another time and -"

The princess shook her head. "No, take me to her please. If she came all this way, then it must be urgent."

"But Your Highness -"

Zelda's resolve did not change, and the butler realized it would be pointless to argue or dissuade her from this course of action. Though he was sure he'd get an earful from Impa or the king later.

They found the reptilian somewhere between the castle and the colosseum, sprawled on the grass. The princess kneeled down at her side. "Jules, are you alright? What happened?"

Other than exhaustion, Jules seemed physically unharmed. Unfortunately the same could not be said about the subject she brought up. "It's Amusei!" she rasped. "Thisss giant monster seized its talonsss around him and flew away! Our clan tried to fight it, but we ended up with ssseveral injured before the creature took flight again. Since it'sss seen us now, I fear it might come back and grab more of us… and Amusei, what if he'sss being eaten?!"

Zelda took a deep breath. "We'll look for him, Jules," she said, patting her back. "First of all, please bring her some water," the princess requested from her butler, who nodded and instantly retreated. "I know you've traveled far to reach here. We'll be taking my horse on the way back to Eldin. You can ride with me and rest, hydrated."

"Wait," said Eveline, who had tagged along from all the commotion. "You're leaving the castle now, Princess? When Volga's final joust is about to begin?"

At the mention of Volga's name, Jules gave a guilty, downward tilt of her head. "I wasss going to ask Master Volga to deal with the monster at first, but then I remembered he had thisss tournament thing. That and I really think you're one of our bessst for this, Princess. It might require sneaking to find itsss lair, which you can, as well as fight."

Zelda knew full well that this high regard was coming from Jules, and a select few Lizalfos, if anyone else. Chieftain Drem-Se would never give her such praise, and his pride certainly wouldn't go as far as to seek Zelda's help.

"Eveline," she turned to her friend. "Is the Sheikah garb ready for use? With the heat resistance and muffle-like cloth and everything?"

The tailor was gawking at Jules, still not used to seeing a Lizalfos, let alone around here. "Almost," she replied. "The trousers part of the garment is done, but not the chest."

Then Zelda would wear it like that, with a different chest piece, likely the brassiere hunting attire that Chieftain Mai-Sa and Jules had provided for her. There wasn't much time to prepare, so she would change her clothes later once she got to Eldin. Mentally packing, Zelda thought of her weapons she had carved, along with any other tools she might need. Whatever this monster was, there wasn't much to go by other than that it had talons and that it could fly. She would ask Jules more when they rode.

This is all so sudden," Eveline was not favoring the plan. "I understand you don't want to tell Impa anything, but at least let your father and Volga know you'll be away. What am I supposed to say to them?"

Of this, Zelda agreed. "Tell my father I had to take care of an emergency and that I will do my best to be back before sun down. If I'm not…" She trailed off and reluctantly conceded. "Then Volga can come get me. The word 'Amusei' will give him a pretty good idea of the area I will be at. I just hope it doesn't come to that, he's got enough on his plate already. This makes me more determined to accomplish this on my own, as swiftly as possible."

"And more stubborn," Eveline mouthed. "I will divulge to them what you said but I'm not convinced you will be safe. Please wear the Sheikah piece, armor, and all the heat resistant jewelry and potions you have. I know you said not everywhere is lava-ridden and dangerous, but still."

"I will."

---

"Ladies and gentlemen, now is the moment you have all been waiting for!" The announcer held up a trophy with both arms; a sculpture of a knight on a horse, wielding a lance and shield, comprised entirely of gold. "The winner will not only collect this glorious prize, they will also reap their requested reward! We have Zeran's mages and Torkil's bomb artillery - which one will it be?!"

Bets on whether Torkil or Volga would win was roughly on par, and higher than they had ever been before. Black, blue, white, and gold colors were assembled in every direction; in banners, clothing, painted on a range of faces, accessories, and more. Screams bombarded the air so frequently, that it was a wonder more humans didn't lose their voices or hearing.

"I know you don't like the noise," Volga signified to Byrne, who was more agitated than usual. "I'm sure Impa wouldn't mind letting you have a slice of carrot cake at the celebration ceremony after, hm?"

The palomino loved carrots; the word alone would at least get his ears to buoyantly alert. Now he was unaffected. Unusual in fact, and when he did stop fidgeting, his movement was more inert. This was particularly distinguishable when he rode up to meet Torkil halfway in the arena.

"What's the matter, Dragon Knight?" Torkil instigated. "Is the old coot gonna give in now?"

Almost as if insulted, Byrne shuffled his legs, dragging leaden steps in such a way that one would if they were heavily anchored. What was going on?

"... and with the introduction of the Dragon Knight out of the way," the commentator continued after the loud applause from the crowd that Volga must have filtered out, because he had been so focused on Byrne's condition. "We have Lord Torkil the Bear-Slayer. Hailing from the icy region of the northwest, they say he has wrestled a vicious polar bear to death and wears that very pelt around his shoulders! Which of these two beastly warriors will take this tournament?"

Torkil performed a series of impressive stunts on his lively stallion, leaving his spectators wonderstruck. His mount's armor was as sturdy as the rider's, with spikes on the helm and above the hooves. Snowy fuzz lined the saddle, matching the bear-slayer's uniform.

The burly man wore a horned helmet that may have been carved out of ox horns. He was decked in ebony armor, which contrasted with where white fur trimmed the top of his boots, knee guards, gauntlets and of course - the bear pelt over his shoulders. The creature's face was on the side, scaring some from approaching.

"Once I defeat you in this joust," Torkil said with a certainty that emancipated from his every stride and bearing. "Then perhaps I could move up in ranks from the 'Bear Slayer' title. I think Dragon Slayer is more apt, don't you?"

I think seeing you unhorsed on the ground is more apt, Volga glared at his back, as Torkil cantered back to commence.

Getting Byrne to move was currently equating to getting a camel to sprint. "Oh no," the narrator covered his forehead theatrically. "Looks like the Dragon Knight's mount is having trouble, let's give him a moment." The process was gradual, and he ignored both Impa's scathing eye and Torkil's hooting in the background, who was clearly enjoying his embarrassment.

"We can do this," Volga petted the horse's white mane. "We'll ride forth, turn around, repeat a couple of times. This is our last opponent."

It seemed for Volga's sake, Byrne tried again. He was able to ride to the start, wait for the announcer to call out "Charge!" and go. The scenario was becoming promising again, and the cretinous sneer on Torkil's face was fading.

Their weapons clashed, hitting mail and clanging metal. The impact, while strong, was not enough to break either of their weapons or knock anyone to the ground. They circled the opposite ends of the arena to try again.

Volga noticed that when Torkil attempted to strike him, he was more intent on hitting him than on getting hit, hence he wasn't paying attention to the placement of the Dragon Knight's lance. Volga wanted to use that to his advantage if he could. He was already thinking of how he would aim next time. Riding at a more confident pace, he charged Byrne forward.

Until Byrne stopped dead in his tracks. It was like an invisible wall spawned in front of him, preventing the animal from moving another step. Volga had to press his boot against his side to make sure his heart was still pumping. It was, although slowly. Byrne was definitely alive, or he would have keeled over otherwise. Why then, was he acting as if he were paralyzed?

"Byrne?" Volga was actually disquieted by this behavior. There was no response. Byrne was now standing completely still, droopy eyes staring blankly ahead of him.

"I think the jitters got to that one, folks," the announcer too, tried to settle for an explanation. "Hopefully he can find the gallantry to proceed again - my! Here comes Torkil with no reservations!"

The moment was so immediate, that by the time the greed in that human's eyes flashed for a split second, Volga's arm was being jostled by the force that crashed against his weapon. To his dismay, the lance shattered into chips of wood and splinters.

Mixed reactions ensued; Torkil's fanbase hollered and Volga's supporters were furious, while others tried to be more optimistic. "It's not over yet, that's just one lance! He can do this!"

"That was unsporting, hitting him when his horse was idle! How is that legitimate?!"

"There's no rule regarding horses going idle being unable to participate, and if it's that big of an issue, he can forfeit."

"He won't. Neither of them will."

"They should restart!"

"What is wrong with my horse?!" Impa's vehemence was a wasp among the swarm, and Volga couldn't tell if she was more ticked off at him or that Torkil was already exploiting the situation to the maximum.

The ground crew hurried over to discard the splinters from the sand into a crate. One of them took Volga's broken lance and gave him a new one.

"We finally have our first weapon down, with points incoming for Lord Torkil!" the announcer updated the scoreboard. "Will the Dragon Knight have an answer, and be able to maintain nerves of steel?"

Byrne please, Volga tried to recall everything about steering a horse that he could. He had gotten used to the procedure without having to think about it, and now that he was, riding was more awkward. Nothing in his lessons shed light into what to do in case a horse halted out of the blue for this long, or what it meant.

Was it out of the blue though? Volga would be lying to himself if he truly believed that.

"I guess having a clean round devoid of trickery is too much for you, isn't it?" the Dragon Knight confronted.

"Me?" Torkil mocked being offended. "We were at the armory, did you forget? And with how close General Impa has been eyeing me today after Zeran was out of the tournament, I'm sure she would have said something if she had seen me do anything suspicious."

She would have done more than said something if she found you responsible for doing anything to her favorite horse.

"You know what I think?" Torkil turned his head over his shoulder as he readied to maneuver his stallion for another loop. "I think you can't accept that you're getting outplayed in horsemanship, and you're scrambling for something to blame. I already told you I would win."

The absurdity of this human was almost laughable. However, Torkil was the one cracking up, taking down another one of Volga's lances at full tilt. Byrne still had not moved, leaving rider and mount, to remain sitting targets.

"I should request for the princess to owe the victor a kiss," Torkil said, licking his lips. "Maybe ten minutes of privacy with her."

"She would sooner kiss a frog than you," said Volga acidly.

Torkil smirked. "Or a dragon, right?"

Volga gaped at him. Regardless of Torkil clowning or not, they couldn't have him of all people capitalize on Zelda's courtship with him in any way. Their plan to reveal this had to be handled carefully, starting with her father. Not Torkil. Green eyes retraced their path to the royal stands. The king was having a row with a staff member of the tournament, indubitably about what was going on. He was also going back and forth with Impa and a Hylian soldier, visibly upset about an additional problem stacking with this one. Volga quickly understood why.

Zelda was not there.

"Would you look at that," Torkil commented, discerning this as well. "She's not even at the stands. Probably ashamed of seeing you get trounced this badly."

"You don't know her," Volga muttered. Whatever comeback Torkil threw at him went deaf to his ears. His mind was elsewhere. Perhaps Zelda had to step away for a while? Impa and the king would have stopped the match if they found out something serious happened to her. Though, knowing Zelda, she wouldn't have wanted anyone to fret, if she believed she could handle the issue. Volga had faith in her capabilities, still… considering factors both old and recent - he couldn't shake off the unease.

His distraction lasted long enough for Torkil to bash Volga's shield with a violent plunge, almost twisting his injured hand, worsening the ache he had tried to withstand, impeding his healing process. The Dragon Knight swore, his dizzied vision falling to his gauntlet, then to the fractured shield on the ground.

"Another score for Lord Torkil!" the announcer whooped. Black and white banners rippled in the stands from the bear-slayer's section, accompanied with wild cheering. Volga could hear the king object, and his supporters along with him. The occasional "Come on, Sir Volga!" still echoed, but the morale was getting low.

Like before, Volga was given another weapon replacement by the ground crew, this time a shield.

"Can we get another?!" Torkil yelled out to the spectators, his arms reaching toward them in the air as if he were an idolized wrestler on a ringed stage. "I'll break them all! Or will I unhorse him first?!"

The Dragon Knight's fingers tightened around the saddle horn with his good hand. That was the third weapon Torkil had demolished while Byrne was indisposed. "So this is how you're going to play," he said darkly.

No, he would not resort to anything relevant to his dragon form. On top of transformations and magic not being allowed in the joust, retaliating like this would not satisfy him. If anything, Torkil would want him to morph, so he could exult in his dragon slaying conquest. It didn't matter. Volga would fight him exactly as he was.

And he wasn't going to let Torkil knock him off to the ground as effortlessly as his weapons had been. He may be stuck in place, but that didn't mean he couldn't spar too. He had to wait for the right second, and again, utilize Torkil's flaws against him.

The more he was treating this like a duel, the more reacting made sense. For now he had to pretend he was not on a horse, but somewhere confined where he could absolutely not fall off. Still, he kept the rules in mind. Do not injure or kill the horse or rider - as tempting as the latter was. Do not block or dodge an opponent's lance during a pass. The shield was not a means of defense in this type of combat - it was a target to strike, and points to score.

Volga needed to start catching up in points so that when an unhorsing happened, he would be ahead. How much longer until Byrne came to his senses?

"Such a fierce stance the Dragon Knight is presenting with his lance!" The commentator riled up Volga's side this time. "I think he's ready for this one!"

Come on, I see you charging at me with that unnecessary speed, Volga thought, gauging the velocity and timing he would experiment. Again, you are so set on striking me, that you don't see this -

Torkil only saw the opposing lance when it loomed right above his eyes, and in his fear, he drew back so abruptly, that his stallion was spooked and reared up on his hind legs. The bear-slayer would have slid off right there, if not for his experienced handling of his horse. He was able to settle him down, and as for himself, less so.

Not only had he missed his target from retreating, which could have resulted in getting him a warning if it was deemed as a dodge - he failed to earn points in that turn. Worse yet for him, something yanked above his head and dropped to the sandy ground with a tumbling clank.

It was Torkil's helmet. One of the horns was cracked off.

Excitement thundered in the air, droning out Torkil's squad.

"Don't let that be your head someday," Volga rearmed his lance back into position. "Stop playing with me."

A cold sweat crawled down Torkil's forehead, and for the second time today, color drained from his face. It took him a moment to acknowledge the helmet replacement the ground crew had provided for him. Equipping himself again, as well as awareness of the audience, he toughened up for his own vanity.

"It's on now, Dragon Knight."

"Oho, I think I hear a quip of aggression from our combatants!" the announcer edged closer to the fenced area surrounding them. "Also. Not only has the Dragon Knight earned a huge boost of points, but might I add, the helmet is such a risky part to hit. Your head is being targeted! Panicking is to be expected, so it was a clever move from Sir Volga, to intimidate him."

This method worked on Torkil several times, as Volga discovered that the human was indeed, cowering at the prospect of losing his head. Even so, it was dangerous for Volga to keep breaking his helmets. If Torkil so much as turned his head at the wrong instant, it could be over for the both of them. Now that he was more evenly matched in terms of accrued points, Volga decided to play it safer.

In doing so, the match became a double edged sword. Torkil was able to break Volga's weapons again, but the Dragon Knight did not make it a breeze for him. Sometimes they even destroyed each other's weapons in the same round.

Funny how Torkil had boasted about going through all of Volga's weapons, when they were both running the armory out of replacements. The real kicker was that Torkil was so intent on humiliating him, yet the bear-slayer was making himself look worse for losing a weapon at all from a stationary target. The humans were starting to become less impressed with Torkil the further the match went.

"Damn it," Torkil was getting increasingly winded and tired. Bruises started to form on his body, as well as on his jaw, from when they had brawled earlier. "What does it take to unhorse you?!"

He had tried repeatedly to overthrow Volga off the saddle, but the Dragon Knight remained steadily seated. Torkil would have to knock Byrne over to bring Volga down with him. Since Torkil knew that wasn't allowed and that he had run out of crooked tactics, he had no choice but to keep exerting himself to wear Volga down.

Volga was sore and fatigued too, but his will to win for the Royal Family as well as for himself, especially after all the nonsense, kept his adrenaline burning. The fracture in his bad hand throbbed to the point he couldn't tell the difference when he used it or not. He desperately needed this to end. Unhorsing Torkil without momentum, while not impossible, was a frustrating hurdle of its own.

Suddenly, Byrne stirred. Volga was so confounded by this, that he had almost forgotten he had been on a horse this whole time. The palomino gave a groggy snort and whipped his head back and forth, taking in his surroundings.

The look on Torkil's face was nonplussed, and disappointed. "What?" he said under his breath. "He was supposed to be out for much longer. I told those idiots he needed to drink the whole thing."

Drink…

Volga had to close his eyes briefly, as if to keep actual fire from blasting around him. There were no words to express how despicable this human was. He had seen and heard enough today.

"Now wait just a second," said Torkil nervously, backing his mount a step. The stallion did not want to obey, and instead, bolted when he saw Volga riding toward them with Byrne.

If Byrne could emanate a mythical, flaming horse to capture the wrath his rider was experiencing right now, he would be quite fitting as a Dragon Knight's mount. As it was, he was more suited than ever, galloping forward with fortitude and fine horsemanship.

"He's back!" The announcer said feverishly. "And look at them go! What a deadly pose, he's going for a Ferrule Strike!"

Volga sat straight in his saddle, and lunged the lance at Torkil's shoulder. It pierced through the bear pelt, ripping the leather and fur apart. A pauldron underneath was wrenched away, nearly dislocating his shoulder but still inflicting pain. The strength and rage in that blow set Torkil off balance. He clambered onto his stallion but it was too late.

Torkil's body slammed against the tilt fence and met the ground, sand in the face.