Chapter 53: The Knight Protector
"And in conclusion," Sir Jora stood before the council with various papers in his hands, droning on with that annoyingly precise intonation he had, "unless a major disruption occurs due to the ongoing conflicts, the granaries are on schedule to be full for the coming winter. Distribution is still uneven, but arrangements are in progress to bring fresh grain to Duke Arlan's forces at Hateno, and to refill the dwindling reserves at Kobitan." He glanced up from his papers and smiled. "With the news the duke has provided, I think this bodes well. Though the transportation of supplies remains a potential weakness. Should the entire stock arrive secured, our forces will be well fed through the coming months. And if your uncle's words are true," he nodded to the boy, Durrell, "the moblins will fast run out of food come winter."
"Excellent," Zelda's father said. "Not that I doubt your calculations. But verify the stock of grain for Castle Town has included the added number of Gerudo who have taken residence in the surrounding areas. In times of turmoil it is wise to expect the worst, in this case a long winter."
Of course, he first thinks upon the Gerudo. And of course, Sir Jora will have thought about them as well. It has not yet been a year, and they have completely infiltrated us.
"I have-" Jora rifled through his papers, before finding the one he wanted. "Here. The war effort has been a strain on our farmers, particularly those surrounding Castle Town and to the south. Despite a relatively good harvest this season. That said, we should be able to satisfy the winter's demand. But it may be lean, unless we can find some additional means to compensate our farmers and collectors. And with the help of our dear Matrons," the knight gave a thin smile to Matron Bulira, though she did not appear to be paying him any attention, "we should have several trade caravans coming mid and late winter to keep our people's bellies full."
The scrawny old woman continued to focus on the empty table, her shoulders slumped, and mind elsewhere. That happened with increasing frequency. Be it at the council, or at meals, or even when Zelda passed her through the corridors of the castle, she never looked present. Several times, Zelda found her in quiet tears while watching the gardens.
If only she still had Impa, then she would have sent her guardian to uncover the cause of these troubles. It must have something to do with the Gerudo war effort. She was after all the mother of one of their top generals and favored of the Gerudo King himself. Of all the enemies within the city, Matron Bulira was the one that they should have kept the most eyes upon.
But Impa was no longer with her, and Zelda had no one to share her suspicions. Instead, she glared at her father and the Knight of Foxes.
"Very good," the king stood up once Jora finished his reports. "Well, with no other business I will call this meeting to a close."
Zelda rose with everyone else at the table and waited patiently for her father to leave. He passed her by without giving a parting glance. Nor did she want him to. What good would that have done but show the world just how much they hated each other?
Once he and his personal guard left, Bulira and the other ambassadors departed after him. Leaving only Zelda and… him.
"Well, princess?" Sir Jora said as he gathered his papers. "What do you wish to do today?"
She forced herself to give him her most pleasant smile. "I wish to be escorted to my room, good sir knight."
Jora nodded. "Though, your father, his royal majesty, suggested that perhaps today I could take you out of the castle. Maybe into town. I understand a traveling troupe of performers have taken residence near the marketplace and their dancers are quite good. Or if your royal highness prefers something more erudite, the College of Hyrule has an open debate on the nature of creation and the workings of the Golden Three. I understand there are some interesting ideas among the youth of the academy regarding their purpose in allowing sin to fester within the world."
"Thank you, Sir Jora, but it will just be to my room for me."
"As you wish." The knight smiled, one that most women would find rather charming. Of course, most women were fools. A knight protector was little more than a prison guard.
They walked in silence to Zelda's chambers. It had been over a week since her father dismissed Impa and appointed Sir Jora as her personal guardian. And the best she could say of the man was he knew how to be silent. He tried to engage her in conversation for the first three days, to which she met his vapid attention with disdainful silence. By the fourth day he understood she wished to ignore him to the best of their abilities.
Not that it made his looming shadow any more pleasant. He was little more than her gaoler. At least her father had not cloistered her as he once threatened. Much easier to place one of his goons to watch over her every step of the day. The king only allowed Zelda to read the books he approved, and gave strict orders that Jora was not to allow her to practice the arts of stealth and subterfuge. And of course, she would not even attempt to practice magic in her captor's presence.
Not even night saw her freedom. On the second night, after she dismissed Sir Jora for the day, she attempted to leave her chambers. No sooner had she opened the door did she find two of the castle guard stationed without.
"You know you're not supposed to be running about this late at night, your highness," Borra had said. "Back in with you, lest we have to tell your father."
A common guard took that tone with her! Not even a master of the palace guards, nor a knighted member of the order. Borra was a nobody. And she had not even planned to do anything beyond walk the corridors alone for a change.
"How's Selli?" Zelda had hissed, having heard from the gossip of the palace that after some time walking out together, the maid had given her affection to another.
Borra glared and spoke through clenched teeth. "She's doing well, as far as I've heard. Now back to sleep, your highness."
It wasn't fair. As well as Impa trained her in stealth, she couldn't get past guards stationed right at her door. The only way out would be to climb out the window and down the tower. And she was not half squirrel like the forest boy. Trapped, day and night.
When they reached her room, Zelda pulled off the white lace gloves she wore over her hands, revealing the discolored bandages beneath them. And stretched out her fingers and palms, before she went to her desk.
"Here, princess, let me have a look at those," Sir Jora knelt before her and began the daily task of cleaning up the wounds. Zelda winced as he unwrapped the bandages, her opened skin still clinging to them before the connection severed. They looked to be improving, but slow. She may have these burn marks and scars on her palms for the rest of her life. She did not regret her actions to help the fairy Navi for a moment. But if only she had not been caught. If only the priests had kept some small token of their power with them to heal her hands before she left for the night.
If only her father had not seen her.
All of this could have been avoided. She wouldn't have these aching wounds. She would still be able to move about the castle and city free. Impa would not have been forced away. And she wouldn't be stuck with this buffoon.
"Almost done," the knight applied a cool layer of honey over the burns before he wrapped them up with fresh bandages. Dumping the used ones in a basket and calling for one of the cleaning maids to take them away.
"One day," Jora returned to sit at his own small desk her father provided him. "You will have to explain to me exactly what you were doing that caused those wounds. I've dressed burns before, and those are no normal burns." He gave her a friendly smile, this one Zelda did not bother to reciprocate, before he went to his stack of papers.
Zelda had her own reading. She could not study the arts of magic, but at least for now the histories and philosophies would suit her. She spent most her days in this prison reading, with only Sir Jora for company. Well Jora and her own growing resentments.
She opened the largest of the books on her desk, a tome by the title The Causes For Conflict and the Events of the War of the Interlopers by Titor a Zora historian from that period. Zelda always enjoyed reading the works of Zora historians. The authors had a more lyrical style of writing than Hylians, and far more engaging than the Gorons. Titor's own prose bounced from details on the causes and campaign to dropping philosophical thoughts amid the tale.
His only flaw was in pacing. He could emphasize the terrors of the sorcerers that led the Interlopers, and his craft at description were second to none, but he often belabored his points. She only needed so many examples of how they used their magic to corrupt the minds of those sent against them. And some of the powers he attributed to them seemed fantastical. Their leaders were so strong that sword or spear would pierce their flesh and yet they would act as though no harm befell them. Their mastery of shadows could blot out whole cities so that sun would not shine upon them. Magic, that if existed, Father Rauru certainly had no means of reproducing. Unless he hid those spells from her as well.
She read the next few paragraphs carefully, hoping that Titor may give some hint to how they attained such power. But she found nothing, of course she didn't. If anything interesting were in this book, her father would certainly not allow her to read it. Still, she continued with the tome. From their rise to power and how their greed brought them into conflict with the royal family. To the war they raged, where their darkness spread like wildfire across the land. Until Zelda's ancestor King Balathonos II defeated one and shackled him. Yet even he found no way to punish the deathless mage.
Zelda found herself gripped as Titor described the king's daring raid upon the Interloper's home. And how he captured one item of impossible strength and the means of ending their influence forever.
For the last years of the war, our wise king realized this great truth: We are, all of us, products of our environment. Letting such creatures continue to corrupt it would only result in the eventual doom of Hyrule. Therefore, to change the outcome of life, we must at times change the environment. For ourselves and our enemies.
The Mirror of Twilight, forged by the greatest of the Interlopers. Used to silence the dissent within their own ranks and banish whole legions of the warriors of Hyrule sent to face them. Casting those that opposed the sorcerer's rule into an endless world of shadow and darkness.
With this new weapon in hand, the wise King Balathonos at last had Hyrule's salvation and led his armies directly to face the Interloper threat.
Zelda stopped and looked up into the air. She knew the rest of the story. How the king cornered the sorcerers and forced them into their own shadow realm. And perhaps she would read through Tritor's final chapters to get the author's interpretation of the events. But for now, she was caught with the thought of changing her environment.
If she continued all her days holed up in her rooms, pouting at the injustices placed upon her, what would that accomplish? A plan to free herself of these restraints came to her. It wasn't the most detailed of plans, but it could work.
She placed a bookmark between the sheets of the tome and closed it. "Sir Jora," she called, her guardian looked up from his own pile of papers and ink. "I have changed my mind. I think I will go out into the city today."
"Oh? Wonderful, your highness. If you would but give me a moment to finish this-"
"Now, Sir Jora, I do not wish to miss the performers."
He glanced down once more at his papers, gave a friendly smile and stood up. "Of course, your highness. Right away."
The crowds for the marketplace left little room to maneuver, especially for Zelda's larger companion. There was no holiday or reason for celebration, but Castle Town was always busy. Her father once told her all people from all corners came to Castle Town, drawn to it like bees to flowers. Nobles, merchants, peasants, even those from the low places. And all of them visited the markets at some point, they were the thriving heart of Hyrule. Where the highest nobles and lowest peasants could pass each other and rub shoulders with Gorons and Zora.
"One day I'll get our castle the same way," he had said. "Where all people, no matter how low and small could find justice and honor." But that was many years ago, back when her father tried to teach her lessons, rather than ignore her as best he was able.
I wonder if he still holds that dream, or if his morning breakfasts where he wastes his time entertaining every inconsequential problem has supplanted it. Someone brushed past Zelda, knocking her elbow out of his way as he moved to one of the shops. Zelda rubbed her arm but carried on without a word. She never felt comfortable standing so close to so many people, particularly when they did not know who she was. Leading a procession through the city bothered her less than being surrounded by the sweaty masses. Still, she preferred a quiet place and a good book, rather than this chaos.
Still, her discomfort mattered little. She dressed herself as a daughter of a wealthy merchant. Someone important enough that no one would bother her, and no one would second guess her armed companion. And not too wealthy, she made certain to wear no colors or symbols of any of the noble families, or trade guilds, and no extravagant jewelry. Over her shoulders a light gray-blue cloak given to her by Impa, designed for exactly such situations she found herself in now.
Sir Jora, the fool, evidently took her decision to go out into the city as an indication that she was now ready to address him. He filled their travel with mindless topics, from his delight that she had decided to leave her room, how the fresh air would do her good, even the majesty of the performers they were soon to see. Occasionally he gave a friendly warning to people to be wary of Zelda or to take a respectful step back. Common duties for a guard and say what you will of the Knight of Foxes he took his obligations serious. "I hope you enjoy the performance," he was chattering on. "I managed to catch a glimpse of them last night, as I was heading home from my duties. They're very talented, their coordination simply amazing."
The knight led her to the south-eastern side of the market square, where a raised wooden platform had been constructed. Those she presumed were the performers lounged around the front of it. Some used it as a table for their meal, others leaned on it, chatting amicably between each other and some passersby. On the deck, one man in bright clothes swept it clean. Only stopping when someone clomped up the stairs to provide him a pitcher of something to drink.
That one, the woman who came to the man's aid. She had a dark complexion and red hair, another Gerudo. Of course, Jora would take me to a performance filled with those people. Though, thankfully, it was not only the desert people in the troupe. The performers seemed to come from across Hyrule, and a few Zora intermixed as well. Why, she even noticed the white hair of a Sheikah among them.
Zelda frowned, as she watched them. With all the plots and intricacies dancing within her head these days she could never be certain. Were these Gerudo common performers hoping to be paid for their skills, or had they more dubious desires? How deep did Ganondorf's conspiracies go? During the war it was said that any Sheikah could be a Needle and so the enemy trusted none of them. Would it not do to treat the Gerudo the same way?
Sir Jora, of course, was not bothered at all. He was the one enamored with Ganondorf's own second in command after all. He strode up to the closest among them with a smile and a friendly wave. "Good day to you all."
"Good day yourself, sir knight," said one of the dancers at the front. Her voice thick with the accent from the far south of the kingdom.
"I was wondering, at what time will be your next performance? My, uhh, daughter here," he beckoned toward Zelda, "came a good ways to see you. We've heard quite a good deal about you."
"Daughter, aye?" said a large man, who walked about without a shirt despite the autumn chill. Then he squinted at Jora and Zelda. "When'd you sire her? When you were eleven or twelve?"
"Daughter?" Jora laughed. "Did I say daughter? Niece, I meant. Ha. Niece. My brother is much older than me, you see."
Useless knights. If Impa were here, she would never have made such a mistake in such a simple unimportant lie. Zelda had told Jora she did not wish to be recognized as the princess, but he was still so obviously her guard. Absolutely stupid of him. He didn't even need to lie about it. And even if he did lie and was discovered, there were so many other ways to weave about such a lie. Thank the performer for thinking he looked young. Or that Zelda was his wife's daughter from a previous marriage. Anything would be better than stumbling over one's words in such a way.
"Forgive my uncle," Zelda pushed in front of him. "He gets nervous talking to new people. But I do wish to know when we can be graced with your production. I have heard such wonderful things about it."
"Ahh, right," said the big man. "Not for another two hours. We just finished a show. Need to give the performers time to rest, you know."
"Hmm," Zelda opened her purse and pulled out a golden rupee. "How about ten minutes?" She held the rupee in front of him.
"Zel-" Jora cut himself off. "-ranna. Zelranna. You can't just-"
"Ten minutes," the big man swiped the stone from her hand, turned the movement into a fluid bow. "Just as you want, my fine young lady." He turned and shouted to the rest of the cast. "We're starting up again in ten minutes! Everyone. Positions! Dremmi, where's the horns? Get them you fool. Ten minutes! Ten minutes!"
The performers groaned, some giving a moment to give their leader rude gestures before they burst into action. The two on the platform near dropping their drinks before they redoubled their efforts to clear the stage. Shouting at the couple eating off it to clear their food before they brush it to the streets.
Jora pulled Zelda away from them. "Princess," he whispered. "You told me, you did not wish to display your royalty because it would make a scene."
"That is correct, dear protector."
"Then what do you think that did? People are looking at you now. They will remember the girl who just gave gold away for nothing."
"I do not like to wait, uncle," Zelda said. Let them be curious to see what's happening, let the crowd grow large and thick.
Sir Jora stood at her side, one hand resting on his sword. Trying to look both at ease, while watching every direction like a guard. The result made him look not at ease at all. This was the problem with knights and warriors that she had known. Only half of them had any wits about them. She had heard that Sir Jora was a smart man, but intelligence and cleverness were not always aligned. Thank the Goddesses for that.
Instruments blared as horns and lutes and drummers prepared at the side of the little stage. The big man strode forward his arms wide and his smile wider. "Friends! Friends! Come and see a performance the likes of which you have never seen before." Around him the motley group took their positions. "The finest singers from Zora!" Two fish-folk stepped forward, their voices harmonizing as sound carried out of their mouths and through the gills at the sides of their necks making interweaving tones. "Fierce warriors from the dangerous deserts of the Gerudo!" Two women strode forward carrying large swords, they took stances facing each other, and for a moment Zelda thought they were going to fight. Instead, they threw the massive, curved blades into the air, hurling them toward each other, only to catch them, swing them around, and toss them back. "And dancers like you have never seen!"
The Gerudo stepped back as four Hylian men and women stepped forward, taking each other's arms and swirling about stepping to the beat of the drums. A faster, more energetic dance than Zelda had ever seen performed in the palace. At the end of it, the smallest of the dancers stepped directly behind the large announcer and ran at him.
She leaped into the air. Without turning to look, the big man caught the girl in one thick hand and lifted her up at the waist, twirling her about before setting her down at his side.
"Come friends! For a performance you won't soon forget!"
Jora finally took his hand away from the sword to applaud. Along with others that were crowding around them.
Almost enough.
Zelda watched the performance with the rest of the crowd. They had talent, Zelda recognized the skill as they moved or sang. It almost saddened her that she would need to cut the performance short.
Jora kept a close watch on her instead of the demonstrations on the stage. She would need to time everything perfectly. Zelda watched the percussionist as he moved away from the set of drums he had been using for most the performance and to a massive gong.
As the dancers on stage twirled about back and forth through an imagined dungeon, behind them the big shirtless man was preparing for his role. He had a horned helmet on his head, to represent the callous and evil gaoler that captured the innocent young couple.
The man leaped onto the stage.
The gong sounded.
Jora turned away from Zelda to see the cause of the noise. And that was all the time that Zelda needed.
She snatched the rupee-purse hanging from the belt of the man beside her. Impa tried to teach her the dexterous arts of sleight of hand, the taking and moving of things without being seen nor felt. In truth, Zelda had never quite taken to the skill, but her plan did not require Impa's touch. The strings tying the purse to the belt ripped open after a hard yank, and Zelda slid the purse behind her back.
"Hey!" The man's big hands reached down to his belt only to find his purse no longer hanging at his side. "Thief!" He shouted, as he looked around trying to find who stole from him. Zelda dropped the purse, shifting her weight so her dress covered it on the ground.
His eyes found Zelda. She held up her empty gloved hands, and then gave him her most guilty looking smile.
"You!" he took hold of her arm, squeezing hard. "I know it was you. Where did you put it?"
"You are mistaken, my good man," Sir Jora stepped to Zelda's side. "I assure you, this young lady has no need to take your money."
"I saw her!" The man lied; he hadn't seen a thing. Still even a fool would know such a lie would make their case stronger. The musicians still played but the performers stumbled over their moves, half watching the unfolding argument. Most of the crowd around them turned to look at her, the shouting man, and Sir Jora.
"I didn't!" Zelda made herself sound frightened, letting tears well up in her eyes. That was easy enough, the man's grip on her arm stung. "Please, let me go! I didn't! I didn't!"
"I understand losing your money is an unfortunate problem," Sir Jora's voice was calm he placed a hand on the man's arm. "But you will let the child go."
"Get your hands off me," the man snarled and swung his free hand at Sir Jora.
The Knight of Foxes ducked beneath it and struck the man in the gut with his elbow. The man's grip on Zelda's arm released, and that was it. Her guardian focused entirely on his opponent, batting away the man's next swing and sticking his leg out to grapple and trip him.
If the knight's reputation as a warrior was even half true, he'd be able to handle the man in a moment. But a moment was all that Zelda needed. She ducked into the crowd, now all turned to look at the fight and slipped away. She silently thanked Impa as she tore off her cloak and spun it about, revealing the dull brown common color inside. Perfect to quickly change her appearance.
"Zelda!" Sir Jora shouted from within the crowd. "Princess! Zelda! No! Zelda!" It had only been a few moments and he already must have noticed that she was gone.
Too late Jora.
Impa remained somewhere in the city, she must. Her friend would not abandon her, all Zelda needed to do was find her. And together they could leave.
She walked around the city for hours. Zelda had lived all her life in the castle, only trouncing around the city on rare occasions. She didn't know where someone like Impa would go after her dismissal.
Her first thought had been to find an inn where Impa could spend her nights. She could not curl up on the side of the road after all. She asked around for where an honorable woman such as Impa would stay and was directed to some of the most lavish vistas in the city. Inns that looked more like the manor houses of lords and ladies, where only the wealthiest of patrons could reside.
To each she asked for someone fitting Impa's description, and everyone turned her away. Some polite, some with scorn. One demanded rupees for the information, only to then say they haven't roomed a Sheikah in years.
Perhaps Impa could not afford the wealthiest of accommodations. Zelda always assumed her father paid her guardian well but was never asked exact figures. So, she went to the smaller inns and taverns. Every single place she could find lodgings in the wealthiest quarters of the city. Those came up empty as well. So, she went to the streets of silver and passed the guild halls, to the wealthier merchants housings. From there she found the inn for lower merchants, then the wealthier common folk.
By dark she was looking through the dirtier inns and alms houses. She wandered streets she'd never seen before, with cramped roads and buildings that blocked the stars. Not at all like the large open pathways where livestock were herded through. Or the fine streets wide enough for horse and carriage. The buildings looked ill put together, some on the verge of collapse. Beggars and drunkards sat in filth and gave her leering looks as she passed.
Where am I?
She knew not everyone in the city could live as lords. But she could not imagine anyone living in such a state. There were people lower even than those who broke the morning fast at the castle to grab a meal? How could that be in her Hyrule? The smell alone near made her gag.
A shelter stood on the side of the street, directly opposite a tavern. And 'shelter' was being charitable, it was little more than a roof held up by a few beams. Beneath it sat a heavyset woman, with a pail before her. Behind her, a dozen ropes tied to the beams.
A man stumbled out of the tavern, staggered, and lurched toward the woman.
"Still standing, aye?" the woman laughed.
"Not for much longer my fine fair lady," the man slurred as he staggered past her.
"You know it ain't free. Rupee first."
"Ahh, yes," The man turned back, and dropped a single rupee into the bucket. Satisfied, the woman waved him on as he fell to his knees before the rope. Then he rested his chest over it, so his arms hung off the other side, and his head flopped down. Within moments his snores filled the room.
"Useless old drunk," the woman mumbled as Zelda approached her. She eyed Zelda up and down before she spoke. "And what does a little one such as yourself want?"
"Do… do people sleep here?" Zelda asked.
"What else would folk be doing at a hang-over?"
"They pay you to drape themselves over a rope?"
"It's more comfortable than the dirt and they know Ole Gwenny won't rob 'em in their sleep. Now, what will you be needing?"
"I'm looking for someone. She is tall, with white hair and red eyes."
"A Sheikah, aye? Not many of them left."
"Have you seen one?"
"I have, as it happens," she scratched at a boil on the side of her cheek. "One of them has drifted through the tavern over there. Some nights she couldn't even make it to my ropes before collapsing on the floor. Besotted mess that one."
That couldn't be Impa. "And she was tall? An austere look about her?"
"A what?"
"Austere? She's a bit older, but she's still strong. She has a habit of squinting at things when she thinks deeply on something. She talks slow, very precise with her language."
"Oh, definitely an old maid with a bit of a rougher life, if that's what you mean. Bart there thought she was one of the Needles." She nodded to the man passed out over the rope. "But she never said a word to me, just paid and found the rope. That sound like the one you're looking for little dove?"
"Perhaps," Zelda glanced back toward the tavern. "She sometimes goes in there?"
"Some nights."
A few more staggered out of the still bustling alehouse. Some even approached the woman and her ropes. As soon as they approached holding their rupees, Gwenny attended to her new customers. Taking each of their payment and dropping them into her bucket, helping some of the less steady walkers finding their rope.
No harm in at least checking. Even if it wasn't Impa herself, maybe another Sheikah would know where Impa would be.
"Wait a moment," Ole Gwenny called after her. "Best not go in on your lonesome. Why don't you come back tomorrow, with a friend or three by your side?"
Zelda ignored her. There wouldn't be a tomorrow if she didn't find Impa tonight. There was no going back to the castle now. As she opened the door, the first thing that came to her was the smell. She had only just acclimated to the scent that pervaded the street, but it was all the more pungent within.
Two men brawled in the corner as onlookers jeered them on, gambling on which of the two would win. There were no servants to bring food and drink as she had seen in the more expensive taverns. Instead, one tended at the bar, and he did not seem at all to care about the violence in his shop. Or much of anything else. It was filthy in here. Several patrons lay passed out drooling onto the bar or curled up on the floor. A high-pitched squealing laugh came from somewhere above them, which made Zelda brush.
A boy, who looked a few years younger than Zelda stood behind some of the unconscious customers. His hands creeping toward loose rupees and the few bits of fine cloth and jewelry within his reach.
"Excuse me," Zelda's voice squeaked as she reached the proprietor. "I'm looking for a woman."
"Have plenty of those," he muttered, "bit young, aren't you?"
"A specific woman," Zelda continued. The little boy moved past her, and she gripped her purse tight. "A Sheikah, I understand she might occasionally visit this establishment."
"A few have been known to. Do you want anything to drink or are you just trying to waste my time?"
Others looked at her. Her heart quickened. Heavy footsteps sounded from behind and then stopped. Were they coming to get more to drink? Were they looking at her? She glanced around first to the large man that stood behind her. He glared at her, his arms folded in front of him. Then to the little boy, he was staring at her while whispering into the ear of one of the patrons. A reedy man, with a large mustache and a balding head. Though he seemed to make up for his lack of hair by growing out what remained on the side of his head. The greasy long blond strands clung to the sides of his face, he nodded as the boy spoke, a grin forming on his mouth.
Zelda wrenched her eyes away from him, and back to the barkeeper. He no longer looked at her, and when she tried to get his attention, he moved away. Just as the balding man approached and leaned over the bar. "Is Warri here given you a hard time little lady?" He smiled, but there was no mirth or friendliness in it. He looked more like a kennel dog barring his teeth.
"No," Zelda squeaked, before she took control of her voice and tried again. "No, I was just leaving."
"Oh," he threw a heavy arm over her shoulder. "I don't think that's the right thing to be doing at a time like this. Dark out, and this is no place for a friendly little thing like yourself."
She tried to wiggle out from under his arm, but the man gripped her shoulder tight.
"See my boy there," he gestured toward the child that had been picking the pockets of the unconscious. "He says he saw you in the market earlier today. Says you flashed some shiny rupees as if they were nothing."
"He's mistaken, please, let me go."
"Oh, I don't think he is. He's got an eye for faces that one." His smile widened.
"If I give you my purse, will you let me go?"
The man laughed. "Of course. We aren't monsters, are we boys?"
"Not at all," said the big man standing behind her.
Zelda tried to get the barkeep's attention. Only he did his best to look everywhere else but what was happening right before him. "Here," Zelda handed her purse. "That's all I have on me."
The man loosened the strings and overturned its contents on the table. Rupees of gold, silver, and violet scattered across the counter.
"By the Three," muttered another man, as a few more of the tavern patrons drew closer.
The one with his arm around Zelda's shoulder stared at the stones, his eyes wide. "Boy," he called to the child. "Come here."
The pickpocket ran to the man, his smile wide. "Yes, sir?"
"For your good work," he picked out one of the purple pieces and tossed it into the air.
"Thank you, sir!" The child snatched it before it hit the ground and tucked it into his clothes.
"Well, goodmen," Zelda wiggled out from under the man's heavy arm. "I wish you a pleasant night."
The man made a jerking motion, and one of his thugs grabbed Zelda's arm. "Oh, I think we will have a wonderful one," he chuckled to himself. "If that is what you had on you, how much would your family pay to get you back, I wonder?" He stood up straight and took his thick hand under her chin, lifting her eyes up to him. "What's your family name, girl?"
Her lip curled back into a sneer. This cretin thought he could lay a hand on her? No. It would not do. "Everyone knows my name," Zelda shook her head away from his fingers. With her free hand she pulled down her hood. "I am Princess Zelda, daughter of Queen Zelda of the royal line of Hyrule and King Liotidos of the house Beramus, King Regent and Protector of all the lands and peoples of Hyrule. And I demand you let me go." She set her jaw and glared at the man.
The tavern went quiet. Even the brawl in the corner sputtered to a stop, as the combatants turned to look at her.
Her captor's mouth hung open.
"I think it's actually her," whispered one of his henchmen.
A laugh erupted from the man's lips. He stepped back, almost collapsing onto the nearest stool. "We're going to be rich, boys! Altan, take our royal guest into the back.
Zelda turned to the ruffian behind her, "If you touch me, it will be your head. Do you think my father will suffer this insult? Even if he gives you the money you desire there will be no escape for you. The royal knights will track you down. You will be branded a traitor of the kingdom. Do you know what happens to traitors, Altan?"
The one called Altan was a massive man, but not, it appeared a smart one. "No," he whispered again.
"I have seen many ways to deal with traitors. The fortunate are only executed. The less fortunate are given to the Sheikah and their inquisitors. And who knows what terrors befall them in the dark? And that is not the worst of it, Altan. No one, not even the most violent Gerudo warchief or loathsome moblin has ever taken a royal princess captive. For that transgression they will do far worse. There is a mirror used to imprison the vilest of traitors. Sending them to a world of shadow and misery, with only hunger to claw at them and time to think of all the wrongs they've committed." In truth the Mirror of Twilight had not been seen since the end of the Interloper War. But Altan did not seem like a man who knew his history. "You will meet horrors for the rest of your life."
"Sir," he whimpered, "maybe we should-"
"Idiot," the man got off his stool, swatted the back of Altan's head before looking down to Zelda. "Don't make this difficult, girly. You're alone, defenseless. I will have what I want. Don't make me hurt you to get it."
Zelda very rarely watched the knights fighting each other in the training yard. She had been forced to sit through a couple tournaments, but it had never been a joy to her. At the lists the knights all lined up, waving to the crowds, and giving pompous boasts. They declared how they would face each other in true and honorable combat. Fighting to rules, to a code. All to make certain that truly the greatest, strongest, most skilled among them would be the victors.
While there seemed some chivalry and honor to such decorum, now that true violence lay before her, it all seemed ridiculous. Zelda did not want the greatest, strongest, or most skilled combatant here to win. She wanted to win herself.
Breathe in. Breathe out. And call the magic.
The lights in the tavern dimmed, as she pulled it toward her hands.
"What is going on?" Altan whimpered.
"I am Princess Zelda, heir to the throne of Hyrule, and your future monarch." She pulled the lights together until it was one solid ball of crackling energy before her. "And I will be no one's captive." She had bested the Great Fairy, certainly she could take on these miscreants. Only then she had the entire force of Rauru and his disciples behind her. Then she had a plan.
Now all she had was hope and surprise.
She sent the energy hurtling forward. The balding man dived out of the way screaming. With a single thought, Zelda dispersed the spell and the entire tavern fell to darkness.
"Get her! Idiots! Grab her!"
Hands moved toward her, but Zelda sunk away from them. Weaving about, as the people scrambled in the dark. Grappling for her. But if these undisciplined thugs could find her in the dark? Well, then she must not have learned anything from Impa. She moved silently about the room, letting the sound of the ruffian's movements tell her which way to go. With only the flickering lights from the windows to align herself and make her way to the door. Only to find Altan standing in front of it.
"You can't get out!" he shouted. "Sir! I don't think she can-"
Zelda kicked him as hard as she possibly could, right where she knew it hurt men most. The big man gasped and collapsed onto the floor. Zelda grabbed the door and pushed it open, running out into the street.
Behind her, men and women screamed and cursed. The door of the tavern burst from its hinges, as the mob chased her. Ole Gwenny's voice rose above the others, screaming at her to run as fast as she could. There wasn't the time to find cover, so she scrambled down the cramped filthy road.
But despite all Impa's training, she was still a small girl weighed down by a dress and cloak. And full-grown adults followed her with legs near as long as she was tall.
A weight pressed down onto her back. "Got you!"
Zelda fell.
Her hip crashed into the ground. The man landed on top of her. She wheezed, trying to catch her breath. Calling forth some form of magic, though her head rang. The power slipped through her fingers.
"Help!" She screamed as air managed to fill her lungs again. "Help! Get off me!" She thrashed beneath the weight, twisting until she could get a glimpse of the man's face. One of the two who had been fighting in the corner. He leered at her, with eyes filled with wrath. His skin discolored from red cuts and purpling bruises. She pushed her hands into the man's jaw and cheeks to press into his prior wounds. Slamming with her elbows and trying to force him off with her legs. But he was too heavy, and she too weak. "Help!"
"Shut up!" He grabbed at her hands. "You're going to get me out of here. You're going to get me a house. I'll never go hungry again. Stop! Moving!"
He let go of one of her hands and lifted his arm, clearly preparing to smash her in her face.
Zelda called what little energy she had left into her free hand. It glowed with golden light, but it wouldn't be enough. She needed time. She needed to concentrate. But it was all happening so fast.
"Stop it! Witch!" He screamed; his arm descended.
Zelda closed her eyes.
But the hand did not slam into her. Something hot and wet splattered her face.
A scream.
Was it hers?
No. Too low. A man's scream, the sound rang right above her.
Her eyes opened. The man kept screaming, grasping at his mangled hand.
Someone grabbed onto the back of Zelda's neck. But it didn't come from the direction of the ruffians or their tavern. It dragged her out from beneath her captor and lifted her to her feet.
"Impa?" Zelda turned to her savior. But the Sheikah was not the one she saw.
"Stay behind me, your highness," Sir Jora said, even in the dark she saw the fury play across his face. She had known the man for many years and spent hours across from him on various councils. But she had never seen him truly angry. His eyes were wide and piercing, his jaw set. He held an arming sword pointed out, toward the tavern thugs, while his other hand pressed upon Zelda's shoulder, making certain he knew where she stood. He gripped her tight as he stepped back, pushing Zelda along with him.
The man with the severed fingers rolled on the ground, howling. But he was far from the only one arranged before them.
Their bald leader stepped over the wounded man. He had found a club. Most of those behind him pulled weapons of their own. Some with swords, but most with knives or clubs of their own. "You are outnumbered, sir," he sneered.
"And you are outmatched."
The man sniggered, as if Jora had told a clever joke. "If this is the way you want to die. Who am I to stop you? Get him."
They rushed at Sir Jora. A dozen of them or more, and he without armor and only one sword arrayed against all they had. They were upon him before Zelda could shout a warning.
A brute with a cleaver came fastest. But Jora held his ground. He moved so unlike Impa, who weaved and scurried about the few times Zelda had watched her fight. Jora only seemed to move exactly as was required of him. His sword swung high to knock the cleaver from the man's hand, then low to slash at the man's stomach. Both struck true. The man with the cleaver slumped over, but not before three more fell upon Jora.
Or were they falling upon themselves?
The arming sword spun and swung, too fast for Zelda's eye to follow it in the dark. Too fast for the ruffians as well. In a heartbeat all three were in the dirt, some screaming. One Zelda was certain had died. All the while, Jora kept up his ruthless work. The next moment two more were added to the growing pile of blood.
So much blood.
Zelda's stomach twisted into knots. But she couldn't dare look away.
The remaining thugs pulled back, perhaps trying to discern what was happening. The next to approach Jora was the pickpocket, the child younger than Zelda. Had he even approached, or had the others slunk away leaving him to face the knight?
He stood with both hands clutching a grown man's knife, far too big for him. Shaking.
Jora swung. For a moment Zelda thought he was going to kill the child. But the boy howled in pain as the flat of Jora's blade smacked into the child's side. Twice. Before the little boy fled from the street.
The knight pointed his sword to the next closest of the attackers, and they pulled away. Among the dark shapes, Altan's voice piped up. "Sorry to bother you, both. My lady. Sir knight." The biggest of the figures turned and headed back toward the tavern. Others moved to follow him.
"Where are you going? Idiots!" the leader screamed as his cronies melted away into the night. None daring to face Sir Jora. "Useless," the man muttered as he looked over his fallen comrades. "The lot of them, useless."
"Go back," Sir Jora said. "And bother the young lady no further."
The leader chuckled and swung his club over his shoulder. "You think I won't have a go at you myself then aye? For what you did to my boys? For taking a life of luxury away from me?"
"You won't," Jora said, his sword pointed at the man's heart.
"And why's that?"
For the first time, Jora's hand left Zelda. He lunged forward. The thug yelped and jumped away. But Jora did not pursue. "You're a coward," he said, he pulled back, sword ready to spring forward should the balding man approached. "If I see you again, I will cut you down."
"Fair enough, knight. You won't." And with nothing else to say he turned and left the dead and wounded behind as he re-entered the dark alehouse.
Jora sheathed his blade, scooped Zelda into his arms and ran. Not stopping until they reached the marketplace, now dark and empty, except for light from the moon and stars that managed to peak through the clouds. Only then did the panting knight set her down. "Are you hurt?" he wheezed.
"Just some bruises, I think."
"Good," Jora said. Then he fixed that furious glare upon her. "What were you thinking?"
"I don't-"
"Trying to get away from me? I can understand, I know you don't wish me to be your guardian. But to go into a place like that? With no protection at all? I always took you for a woman of wisdom, of intelligence. This was foolish. And that mess you caused just to get away from me? Someone could have gotten hurt."
"I'm sorry," she found she couldn't look at his eyes any longer. She found her feet, as they fidgeted on the cobblestones. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."
"But they did! If I hadn't picked up your trail, you could have been killed. Do you understand that?"
"Yes." Her eyes were welling up and she could no longer see the cobblestones clearly. But as she tried to blink away her tears, she saw those who had been harmed. They were bad men, as evil as Ganondorf in their way. They deserved what happened to them, but the looks on their faces as Jora did his work. They were in pain. Some died. And it was all her fault.
And the blood.
So much blood.
Jora took a deep breath, and then pulled Zelda into a firm embrace. And that was the end, no one had held her since her father had dismissed Impa. And the tears she had tried to hold back spilt all over the knight's clothes. "Did you find anything about her, at least?"
"Who?"
"Lady Impa, several of those I questioned told me you were looking for a Sheikah. It isn't that hard to figure out which one. I'm not a complete fool."
"I don't think so," Zelda said. "I was told that a Needle may take drinks at that tavern, but… no. Impa would never go to such a place."
"Then I am sorry, your highness," and by the sound of his voice, he meant it. Once Zelda had stopped crying, the knight took her to a nearby fountain and helped her wash the dirt and splatter from her face. "One day," he said as he examined her, making certain no trace of the night's unpleasantness remained, "you will have to explain that light I saw in your hand."
"Oh?" Zelda pulled away from him. "You saw that?"
"I did."
"It's nothing, just a trick."
Jora sighed. "Again, your highness, I am not a complete fool. Only most of one." He smiled. "I suppose I will just have to wait until you trust me enough."
They returned to the castle by the main road. Making no attempt at stealth. Jora chatted amicably to the guards before the gates. Not at all the way Impa and she would have entered after their nightly escapades. But Jora acted as though nothing at all was wrong. As if returning at so late an hour was of absolutely no consequence.
Zelda said not a word. Letting the knight lead her every step of the way.
So much blood.
She hardly noticed when they reached Zelda's room. Only realizing what was happening when Borra stopped them.
"You have any idea how late it is?" The castle guard asked.
"Unfortunately, yes," Jora said.
"The king was furious when neither of you came to supper," the guard continued. "He's inside, and I doubt the hours have made him happier." Only then did Zelda notice the light that leaked out from beneath her chamber door.
"Well," Jora said, "No point in angering his majesty further." He held open the door for Zelda to enter.
For the second time, Zelda found her father sitting at her desk. But he did not stay seated long, as soon as he saw the pair of them, he bounded toward the knight. "Where have you two been?"
"I am sorry, your majesty," Jora bowed low. "I took her highness into the city, and I am afraid time got away from us. There was a great performance we watched together. And well, today was the first time I felt your daughter and I truly grew comfortable in each other's presence. I may have been too lenient on her."
Her father growled. "I expected better of you, Penrest. I do not want my daughter gallivanting out at all hours, getting herself into trouble. Learning things… doing things she should not be doing."
"I understand, your majesty. And if you will forgive me this one transgression, I can guarantee that it will not happen again. Isn't that right, your highness?"
"Yes father," Zelda could barely make her voice sound more than a whisper. "It will not happen again."
The king did not seem satisfied. But after he looked her up and down and found nothing further to displease him beyond dust from the street, he headed toward the door. "We will discuss this failure of your judgment in the morning, Sir Jora!" He shouted as he slammed the door behind him.
"Won't that be fun," the knight muttered to himself as he collapsed into his desk chair.
"Sir Jora," Zelda whispered again. Her hands were shaking. She kept thinking back to the pile of bodies in front of her. It was ridiculous. People had blood inside of them. What did she think would happen when they were struck with a sword? And yet, seeing it spill out was so much worse than she imagined. She was about to cry again. She could feel it. "Sir Jora?"
"All is well, your highness," she had not noticed that her guard had gotten up from his chair and stood by her side. "You're home. You're safe now."
"I know, I- I just. There was so much…"
He walked to his chair and carried it across the room until it was next to her bed. "I'll be right here, your highness. All night. I gave my oath to your father. You will always be safe with me."
I'm sorry Impa. She thought as she went to her bed, and the dark dreams started to take her. If only I knew where you are. But I can't go through that again.