A/N: As always, you can find more of this story and my others on the Patron Site (You know, Pat R [E] (on) . com SLASH KajaWilder. Have your NSFW filter turned off or you can't find find me. This chapter is currently unedited, because I'm looking for another BETA for this story. If you are at all interested, and know the Zelda franchise (and are at least passably proficient in English), feel free to PM me. :)
Trigger Warnings: There is mention of rape (attempted) and intention to do same in this chapter. It will happen again. I probably won't remember to warn every time, so just be aware. If it is something that bothers you, best skip the story altogether.
Ch. 2
Ageless Time, Timeless Ages
Zelda spent several minutes filling her water skin once more with the fresh liquid, then dipped her hands and brought one cupful after another to her mouth until she could take no more. Filled to bursting, Zelda hiccupped and let herself relax against the stone, hidden by rock and the tall grasses from anything except a Bokoblin wandering practically on top of her.
With a moment to relax, Zelda nearly fell asleep as the sun began to set, before the cry of a distant creature woke her. What it was, she couldn't say, but it made her sit up with a start, her fingers already tightening around her stick as if by long instinct.
Finally, after realizing there was no threat immediately on her, Zelda let herself relax.
Eventually, she made her way back to the causeway and climbed to the second guard-post, hoping for a bit more food or other useful supply. What she found was another club-armed Bokoblin.
She grimaced as the disgusting creature, facing away from her thankfully, scratched at its warty behind like an uncouth barbarian. She started moving, hoping this time to actually catch it unaware.
Closer...
Closer...
It sniffed and half-turned, and Zelda froze, her fingers tightening to a white-knuckled grip on the stick, already drawn for the occasion.
Then it bent down to paw at the grass it had been nibbling, and she took one more step, a second...
Zelda rose quickly and quietly, only the faintest shifting of the cloth from her dress betraying her presence.
Crack. The stick took a beating, but she had aimed true somehow, and this Bokoblin was felled easier than any before it. A single blow had shattered the soft back of its skull, and it began to vanish into smoke before its body had even crumpled to the ground.
With another club added to her collection, Zelda felt more confident in searching the building it had made a crude nest in. What she found made it definitely worth the work. Two more barrels, one of which was occupied by another of the same blue slime-creatures she finished off the new stick with, ruining it in the process, and the next a small pouch of mushrooms alone among the less-preserved rations.
But there was more. A single footlocker, no doubt from one of the guards stationed here, had mildewed and mouldering remains of a uniform. But the pants were, while a bit moth-eaten, better than her dress, and cut for a woman. Zelda peered around in the interests of modesty, but could see no living being through the shattered walls and worse windows, so she pulled the clothing into a corner and slipped off her sandals to pull the britches on.
She was well used to wearing pants, it seemed, for all that she suspected she was used to a royal's finery, too, for they fit around her snugly at the waist, and a bit loosely on the thigh. Whoever had owned them before had likely been more muscled than she, but around the same height. They weren't uncomfortable, though, and Zelda was grateful for them. Already, after just a few hours, the grass had been scratching uncomfortably at her tender calves and knees. These would definitely help. Now she just needed some boots, and a proper tunic!
Her prayers were answered a few moments later as she turned toward the entrance, and spotted a shelf she had missed before. This one held not just boots, but three pair of them, all soft doeskin. While they were clearly exposed to the weather for who knew how long, they had been partially sheltered by a shelf above and the corner of the building to her right. With a giggle of joy, Zelda pulled down all six boots, one after the other, taking care to keep them in the proper pair.
Of course, one was too small, and another too big. But the third pair was nearly perfect. Just a little large. It was uncomfortable to wear them with no socks, yes, and Zelda knew her feet would reek when she took them off, but it was better than sandals, and the boots were sturdier, too. Doeskin was soft, but it was much more hardy than the thin straps of her decorative footwear before.
Still, unwilling to part with the remnants of her forgotten past, Zelda slipped the thin footwear into her satchel. Maybe, one day, she would have reason to pull them out again.
As she continued climbing the stairs, her previous path forgotten, Zelda heard a soft chime from the device on her hip. Confused and surprised in equal measure, she reached down to bring it up and take a look.
Temple of Time, it read. That was all.
A location name...? This was a temple, the old man had said. It made sense that it would have a name, as grand a building as it was.
Yet another outbuilding, a smaller chapel for devotees, she thought, perhaps for commonfolk with no business being in the main chapel, though she personally thought that was awfully arrogant of a viewpoint to take, stood in her way.
Inside, she felt another moment of panic as she realized one of the dark metal monstrosities was there, too. But it was just as dead as the first. The altar, if there had been one, was long gone, the pews rotted to nothing. Only a few screws, sticking out of the old device, seemed even remotely worth salvaging. Those she took after straining at them for several minutes with her soft, uncaloused fingers, and as she popped the last one free, a panel fell off with it. Behind that, a strangely taut spring came out as well, falling into the grass.
Zelda would never admit to helping in surprise as the spring bounced off her stomach.
"What strange metal this is," she murmured, examining a screw in one hand and the spring in the other. Both looked identical to her eyes, but one was rigid and hard, the other bouncy. No matter how much she pulled or squished the spring, it always seemed to return to its proper size, too.
As she looked down to stow the objects in her bag, she noticed a symbol, as wide across as she was tall, etched clearly into the flat marble, easily visible through the years. She felt it familiar too, but couldn't make heads or tails of it at first. Three waves, perhaps, the top right and bottom left ends curled into circles on themselves, all lined up one above the other. Those were surrounded by another, larger ring of some type of leaves. Olives, maybe, carved in incredible likeness into the stone.
But no... try as she might, Zelda's brain conjured nothing, no details of what the symbol represented. With a thoughtful frown, she turned back down and revisited both of the earlier ruins, too.
Half-overgrown with grass, the stone long since shattered, Zelda saw another in the first building she had snuck around, where the fowl had been preserved. It was rings within a circle, off-centered with the smallest at the top right as you looked at it from the doorway, and the largest a crescent moon around the smaller crescent and the circle. Again, Zelda felt the symbol itself had meaning. Perhaps, then, this was no mere guard-room, but something of religious significance, too? Like the first she'd spotted, it also had leaf-work carved into it, but at the most intact part, she could see a third ring too, smaller than the central one, with designs of lines and constellations like stars filling the area.
Stars like she had seen before, not so very long ago.
The grass was thick around the other symbol, where she'd gotten her new comfy pants and boots, and she had to carefully pull up several clumps of grass without disturbing the shattered, fragmented stone below to make it out. Three more smaller crescents, their rounded bows touching each other, each framing a circle too.
Only as she saw this did she draw the connection. They were symbols of elements, but more than that. People, cultures, tribes. The first she had spotted were the ancient Kokiri, said to be spirits of the forest. How she knew that, Zelda didn't know, but that information came with more. Wind, wood, symbols of the Triforce, of the Golden Goddess Farore, she who imbued things with life, represented by the aspect of Courage.
The second was Fire, the symbol of the sun and moon, the aspect of Power the Goddess Din, who made the world itself and all within it for the good of what came after. It was, she knew, the symbol of the ancient Gorons... whatever those were.
And the last, the one she looked upon now, was Water, the aspect of Wisdom, the Goddess Lanayru, giver of consciousness and free will.
But all of it now meant nothing. They were broken symbols of a lost time.
Shaking her head at the distraction, Zelda eventually left the otherwise empty chamber and continued on and up toward the greater temple.
Closer, she could see the ruin of the temple was worse than she had feared. The great bell-tower was missing most of an entire window, and part of the wall that held it. There were no intact windows she could see, and the ones on the lower level were completely gone. The entire eastern side of the building was shattered too, missing at least half the room and more of the wall. But she pressed on, passing more of the derelict monstrosities of strange, arcane metals. From each, she collected whatever parts she could pry loose without abominable levels of work, hoping they could be cobbled together into something useful in the future.
Before long, she had more than just a couple of screws and a spring, but three springs, two screws, and a pair of large, strangely-designed gears that fit together, too. What she could possibly do with them, Zelda didn't know, but it felt important somehow, as if they were connected to her past in a way. "Besides," she reasoned softly to herself, "it isn't like I don't have plenty of room in this bag to carry a few small pieces like this."
Just inside the great temple doors, Zelda paused in amazement at the lost grandeur of the place. It must have been truly cavernous once, and seemed more-so now with one side practically open to the sky. Five hundred feet or more separated her from the massive statue, vaguely feminine, even motherly in shape, that stood atop the farthest dais. Stone benches and pews still lined the place, but many were broken and shattered. A few offering bowls and pots still lay near the entrance, and as Zelda idly examined them, comparing the faded paint's iconography with what she had seen below, a squeal was the only warning she got as a club whirled by her face close enough to catch the tips of her breasts as she threw herself backward.
Wincing in pain, one arm reflexively thrown over herself to mask the pain, Zelda wrenched free the stick at her waist, swinging madly once again. There was no precision, no control. She had been hurt, she was in danger, and it was all the princess could do not to turn tail and run at the sudden injury.
She didn't remember the next...
Minute? Two?
What Zelda did know next was that the Bokoblin was turning into smoke, and she was still thrusting the stubby, shattered remains of a stick through the air, stabbing at the ground as it vanished. Slowly, too slowly this time, the panic subsided, and Zelda found herself weeping once more just inside the temple. On her knees, it was perhaps appropriate that she began to pray.
She didn't remember what she said.
Only that she needed help. Any help.
A Bokoblin, maybe two, she could perhaps handle on her own. Even by surprise, she had proven.
But she had sticks.
Sticks that broke before she could finish too, sometimes even just one.
How was she supposed to stop something called the Calamity?
She was not equal to this task.
That feeling, too, seemed strangely familiar.
In fact, it fell over her like a comforting shawl.
She had never been enough.
But she was not alone.
There had been friends, once. An entire kingdom behind her.
A family.
Even... an equal.
Someone with a mind as keen as her own, hadn't there been, for all they had trained in other than scholarly pursuits?
Brave, more talented and dedicated to the sword than any she had ever known, and she was raised around generals and the royal guard, wasn't she?
Zelda shook her head, and wiped her tears.
She couldn't remember, no matter how hard she tried.
But weeping would do no good.
If she had allies once, she could have them again. If they hadn't been enough, before... well... she would gather more.
She was alone, for now, except the old man. But he seemed genuine for all his secrets, and had freely given of his own belongings. Guided her, with no benefit to himself beyond what he had said. At least, not that she'd seen. Certainly, she considered herself shapely, if looking down her body was any truthful way of looking at things, but she could not judge if she was beautiful. Even her wavering image in the pond while drinking her fill wasn't enough, aside from to show that her hair was as golden at the top as it was at the bottom, long and mostly straight.
Perhaps I should find a mirror, or wait until the ripples calm and look again.
She shook her head. Vanity was useless.
The old man hadn't looked at her with lust or possessiveness, she was sure of it. He was someone who wanted her to live, not to suffer.
Zelda forced herself upward, staggering to her feet, and took a clumsy side-step until her hands hit the door-frame.
Fingers still tingling, face red with embarrassment at her loss of control in what might well be, still felt like, a sacred and holy place, Zelda scooped up the tooth and claw that remained of the Bokoblin, added its club to her growing collection of more dangerous weapons- she was down to two sticks now, even after picking up another in the grass below- and set to exploring.
Most of the offering bowls were empty.
But one held something she did not expect: A bundle of five finely-crafted arrows, rust-free on the steel tips after all this time, and the feathers still clean and straight. Zelda smiled once more, and sent another embarrassed glance toward the statue. She wasn't sure why she said it, but a quick, "Thank you, Hylia," left her lips.
Perhaps her prayers were heard after all.
But there was more. In a vestibule off to the side, little more than a coat-closet, beneath the remains of a rotting desk no doubt manned by whatever guard watched over the overcoats of the visiting nobles and dignitaries at the grand temple, a simple but well-made bow sat on a pair of hooks.
There was even a string coiled next to it, looped on either end.
"A bow," she whispered, her ears welling again. "I know how to use this."
Zelda found herself crying again, this time in sheer gratitude. Once she was done offering a more vocal, proper thank you to the goddess whose name she had recalled from nothing, who supposedly had founded her family line in ages long forgotten, Zelda strung the bow and tested the draw.
It was, as far as she could tell, in perfect working order. And it felt far more comfortable in her hands than the clubs and sticks had. She could swing a sword. Any royal had to learn the basics, if only to try and defend themselves against assassins before help arrived.
But the bow...
She was an amazing archer, and had won tournaments in her old life.
Zelda knew it, could feel the weight of trophies she had won even while competing in disguise, lest someone throw the victory.
This... this was truly helpful.
More confident than she had been yet, Zelda moved on.
Closer to the statue, she could now see as she stepped up onto the platform it stood on, that it was surrounded by six smaller versions, knee-high to it but shoulder-high to her, that faced outward from the larger, winged goddess. Its hands, and theirs, were clasped together over their breast as if offering supplication and prayer to those who worshipped, in turn. Zelda found the image soothing, and found herself on her knees for the third time in just a few minutes.
This time, her prayer was calm and quiet, respectful, and no less sincere.
"Goddess... Hylia. Your servant, Zelda, kneels before you in... in humble supplication. I can't... I can't remember anything. Just bits and pieces. Glimpses of the past. I... I know. I've... been told I must, somehow, stop the Calamity. I have a bow... I like to think it was your blessing that I found it, that it lasted all these years. Thank you for that. But... is that... is that all? I know, I'm just... just one person. I can't stop him myself. What should I do? Where should I... start? Forgive me, if I am presumptuous, or seem ungrateful. I'm glad I am still alive. I am. I just feel so lost. Please... any more help would be... would be truly appreciated."
No words, no grand gesture, no lights from the heavens filled Zelda's mind.
Just like every other time she had prayed, there was nothing.
No... that wasn't quite right.
There was... peace.
Strange, unusual peace, for it shouldn't be there. She should be terrified of what was coming, of what she had to do.
Yet, as she knelt and prayed solemnly, all Zelda could feel was peace. As if the road, no matter how hard, could and would be walked. As if, from such humble beginnings as waking up with no memory and clad only in underwear, she could rise to such heights as to threaten a creature that had destroyed an entire mighty kingdom.
Eventually.
In due time.
Zelda sighed, letting out tension and breath she didn't know she had been carrying. "Very well," she finished after several seconds, "Thank you, Hylia, for the blessing of... perspective. I will do what I can. It is all I can do."
As she stood, that simple determination all she could muster, Zelda felt it hit her.
Not in the head, or the heart, but somewhere deeper still.
Warmth. Peace. Wholeness.
It was fleeting, gone even as her eyes widened upward to stare at the worn, weathered face of the benevolent goddess, but the memory of it was something. Just a feeling, but so real, so concrete, it was as if the mountain itself had nestled in a comforting ball of warmth within her.
"Thank you," she whispered a final time, and then began to move once more.
Before, she had been walking with careful, exploratory steps.
Yet now, she moved with purpose and deliberation.
Zelda knew what she must do.
She was right, before. She had to get stronger. She must weaken the Calamity's hold on the land.
She could do both at once. Every Bokoblin she met would fall, until she was comfortable, her memories of sword-work reawakened, until the old forms came as naturally as breathing. She would become a slayer, a fighter to rival the ancient knights of old if she must.
She would not stop.
Rest, that she could do, for Zelda knew she was a pragmatist. A body needed rest. But actually stopping was out of the question. Giving up an absolute no.
She had to continue. And she would.
No matter how hard or long the road, that little ball of comforting warmth would sustain her.
That isn't to say that cunning and guile still didn't have their place. No, she would not be some warrior-princess who charged blindly into battle, sword swinging.
In fact, that knowledge made Zelda grin as she looked down from a vantage point an hour or so later.
She was high on a bluff, several large stones perched as precariously as she was, with a Bokoblin camp below her in a little dell, one side of which was the high ramps of a massive staircase that lead to a road that in turn moved all the way, broken in parts, to the plateau's edge.
She had gathered up more food, acorns, mushrooms, and some thistle that the device on her hip identified as 'Hyrule Herbs', which were both nutritious and medicinal, even raw, but better when prepared in a poultice.
Zelda didn't know how that might be done, but thought she could figure it out. Grind the bulbs, for example, for the juices and smear it on a wrap, at the most basic level.
She actually broke a sweat carefully pushing the largest stone into place and over the edge, and Zelda's entire body ached with the pain of it when she stumbled, nearly following it over.
It was all made worth it
when the bouncing stone smashed one Bokoblin flat from behind, and the other looked up in surprise just in time for its head to be mulched as the stone hit another and went airborne.
Zelda giggled madly, almost hysterically, as she scrabbled down into the dell to claim her prizes.
She was out of straps on her pouch, so she actually discarded one of the sticks to add the second of their clubs to her growing collection along with the axe and torch, both of which were too valuable to get rid of. A couple of horns and teeth richer too, Zelda hurried back onto and over the stairs and turned east into the gathering darkness. Stars were beginning to light the sky now, the sun had set half an hour ago by her estimation, but there was still light to see.
She was almost to the rough pile of yellowed sandstone the old man had pointed out.
Her way was not perfectly clear. Near the foundations of a broken watchtower, long tumbled to earth, Zelda spotted a trio of Bokoblins dancing around a cook spit, the fire searing the meat badly. But they had another barrel of food, it looked like, a few weapons leaning against a nearby log, and a single red-painted barrel with a skull in white on one face. She grinned. It would take some doing, but... A spark was easy.
It took twenty minutes, and the land was truly dark when it happened, but her aim was perfect again.
Boom.
With an ear-shattering crack, the red barrel exploded, and all three beasts died in an instant. Zelda, unable to stop another crow of victory, threw herself down the slope in a slide that put too much wear on her boots. But she didn't care. She had to reach the tools before they went up in smoke, the explosion had caught most of them on fire.
Several moments later, the club that she'd been able to save now doused with her water skin and replacing the last of her meager sticks, Zelda finally let her teeth sink into the too-burnt but delicious haunch the Bokoblins had been roasting. Pork, she realized. Actual pork, not a cooked Bokoblin leg. She was sure they weren't this tender, or flavorful.
It was, without a doubt, the best thing she could remember eating. I seem to be saying that a lot today, she giggled to herself as she dropped in a most unladylike fashion, sitting criss-cross on the ground. Soon, her hands and chin both dripped with the savory juices of the meat, and as she tore the last bits of non-black meat from the bone and tossed it aside, Zelda belched, loud, long, and deep.
"Ah..."
She smiled. That was tasty! She let herself digest for a few more minutes as night fell in earnest, and the most gorgeous sky she'd seen yet took place over the brilliant blue.
The moon was huge and white, half-full she thought, but could not recall if it was growing or shrinking. But the stars, Goddess, the stars.
So many constellations she could see, but not remember the names of.
Hundreds, many of them overlapping each other, but still distinct in her subconscious' eyes.
The snorts of two Bokoblins as they scented her told Zelda she was being stalked a short time later, half again as close to the pile of rocks.
The first sign she had that they were more dangerous was the arrow thudding into the dirt next to her left boot.
With a hiss of surprise, she jerked back, reaching down to grab it on the way. She didn't have enough to spare one, even a crude arrow like the Bokoblins likely used.
She could not see them in the shadows of night, but she could hear them. She moved back, attempting to circle around, and eventually, their annoyed snorts faded into the distance, eventually becoming arguing, and then blows between them.
Good. Fight each other, less work for me.
Still, when she made her way around their position, hoping to come at the creatures from behind, Zelda was forced to climb up a small hill, picking her way through half-seen shrubs. Were it not overcast in the last hour, the night would have been easy to see through, the stars were bright enough to get around just fine. Now she was forced to labor half-blind.
Then she spotted the silhouette of one against the horizon. Twenty yards off, she thought. An easy shot... in daylight.
In the dark? Well... she'd have to see.
Carefully re-stringing the bow as quietly as she could, Zelda knocked an arrow, trying to remember lessons drilled into her by several famed instructors, and then by her own endless hours of practice as a young teen once her passion for the sport had been found.
Inhale. Draw. Wait. Sight, but not over-carefully. The arrow knows the way to the target. Exhale... and release.
She didn't know she had actually let go until the whip of the arrow passing through the air became a meaty thunk.
The Bokoblin didn't even cry out, and the sound of the other one berating it in their own crude language for missing the earlier shot and letting their prey escape faltered.
Then she heard it snort again, and then padding of feet on dirt in the darkness. Closer, closer...
The bow was slung over her shoulder carefully. A club, the first one she'd gained and used to smash a Bokoblin's ribcage, came into her hands. There.
It was still running full-tilt at her. Zelda stood from the grass, and its eyes widened, the bow in its hand raising too.
Too late.
With a sickening crunch, she felt its snout liquify under the two-handed force of her blow combined with the weight of the club. She drove it straight down, into the dirt, and the monster's body drug a furrow as it went, stopping at her feet. Taking a reflexive step back and falling into a less-familiar close-combat stance, Zelda lifted the club again cautiously. It was awkward, holding it like a sword, but she would be able to react quickly if it...
No. It was gone, into smoke like all the others before. Zelda exhaled slowly in relief as she realized there had only been two, and now they were gone.
It took too long in the dark to gather their weapons, but in searching for them, she found a tree they had been using for target practice, too. Even with one snapped under her boot by accident, she walked away with two more bows, crude though they were, with what looked like hog-sinew strings, and another eighteen arrows to more than make up for what she'd lost to violence or into the darkness, or beneath her clumsy feet. With twenty-one now, she felt even better about her chances. Bow-work is much easier for me than sword- or club, for certain.
She spotted a few more, missed shots probably, bringing her to twenty-three by the time she actually neared the stones.
And one last challenge awaited her, near midnight she thought, for the clouds were gone once again to the west, and the moon was high overhead, letting her see much better.
A single Bokoblin standing at the mouth of a rough cave or overhang formed by several up-thrust sandstone pillars.
This one carried no weapon, though it bore a rat-skull on a necklace. It also carried a crude shield, fashioned of chalk-painted park with a leather handle. And of course, it spotted her as she approached, its eyes glowing orange with menacing light in the darkness.
Oh.
No. It did have a weapon.
A short sword, pitted with age but serviceable she was sure, that had been strapped to its back.
Zelda bit back a very unladylike curse as she backpedaled, wishing that she too had a shield, or at least some armor. The last thing she needed was to get stabbed in the dark by some random Bokoblin who was far better armed than his peers!
It swung, she ducked left, the swipe taking several of her spun-gold hairs with it. The blade was sharp, too!
She leaped back to dodge a second swing, and caught a thrust with the thick head of her club. It grunted, and shoved.
Zelda found her grip loose, and she fell back, the club falling free and clattering to the ground as the Bokoblin snarled viciously, shaking its sword free.
Then it charged again.
She expected the sword.
The shield was not what she expected. It crashed into her arms, barely raised in time to defend, and kept going even as her body protested the abuse, sending her sprawling onto her back.
Then it was on her, over her, the blade at her throat as drool left its wide, horrid mouth. Breath like the worst carrion assaulted Zelda, and she squirmed, trying again to throw him off, to reach another weapon, anything.
It stabbed the sword into the dirt, just out of her reach behind itself, and laughed as it brought the shield to bear again, smashing it across her temple.
Zelda saw stars and white.
When she came back to herself, she still saw stars, but it was the ones in the sky, half muted by the Bokoblin as it roughly pawed at the ruins of her dress. It was- it was groping her!
New horror rose in the Zelda as she realized she could feel something short, stubby, but undeniably hard against her stomach as it thrust over her. Dread, the worst fate- not just killed by a monster, but raped by one, too!
Without thinking about it, Zelda's scrambling fingers closed over a stone. A simple pebble, one that fit nicely in her hand. She swung.
The creature somehow got up an arm to deflect the blow, but it shattered a finger and the force threw it off-balance. She bucked wildly, and it went over her head. For a moment, she saw the absolutely disgusting sight of an erect, red-orange little prick- there were no balls she could see- before it hit the dirt and she rolled away.
The sword, a Zelda came to her feet facing the Bokoblin, it now upright and even more furious, was mid-way between them.
She twitched, it did too, its weapon-free hand coming up to feel the gash she'd given it across the temple after its arm.
They both charged forward.
It reached the sword first.
But Zelda wasn't going for that. Instead, she swept low with another club, her whole body twisting to put more force into it like that old game where you hit balls on the grass with a metal mallet. Dirt flew up into its face, striking and peppering a moment before the club itself caught the Bokoblin's withdrawn, bloody chin. It practically flew backward with the force of her terror and rage, her disgust at what it had done, what it was trying to do to her lending even more strength to the blow.
Despite being roughly the size of a Hylian in the middle-teen years, if shorter because they were hunched, the Bokoblin landed a good six feet from where it had started the arc.
It didn't get up, either.
Zelda only realized she was growling furiously after she stomped on the smoke, trying to stamp it out with her boots as it disappeared.
To replace the broken, worn club, she eagerly examined the blade it had left behind, and the shield too.
The latter was clumsy work at best, probably only able to stand up to a few blows, or maybe one solid one before it broke. But the sword was an actual smithed short sword, the kind used as a side-arm by travelers everywhere. Even with no guard, it was doubtless more damaging and more sturdy than the simple clubs, and fit more easily in her hand, too.
Zelda gave it a few practice swings and thrusts, and found the weapon decently balanced, too. "Excellent," she whispered to herself, before adding it to a lower strap on her satchel, drawing another club for her belt, and strapping the shield to her arm. "This is going to be nice for a rainy day... or if I run into one of those blue Bokoblins the old man mentioned."
