Why we failed pt. 19
A Kiss of Deception
After making some distance from the two girls, Link and Jun slowed their pace, weaving through the bustling campsites. The festive atmosphere around them seemed at odds with the tense conversation brewing between them. Jun let out a dramatic wheeze as they paused from running, clutching his sides.
"I don't get it," Jun panted, catching his breath and standing upright. "Why are you so bent about her finding out who you really are?" He shook his head, clearly baffled. "I get it, you like her, and yeah, so what, you're not nobility, and you're worried what she might think. But, who cares! If she doesn't like you after all you've done—and after you tell her the truth—then that's her own fault."
"It's not that simple," Link replied, his voice suddenly cold. His gaze flickered to the passing crowd as merchants and common folk bustled around, oblivious to the internal battle he was fighting. A man selling wares stumbled in front of them offering his goods and Link waved him off. "Besides, there were stories told about me."
Jun arched a brow, intrigued. "Stories?" he stepped in front of Link, blocking the path and forcing him to engage fully.
"Yeah..." Link trailed off, unwilling to meet Jun's persistent eyes. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," Jun shrugged, crossing his arms however Link remained silent in his thoughts. The lad glanced at the tents and colorful banners that lined the path, but his attention was fixed on Link who didn't budge and remained silent as a shadow. Thinking better of it to prod he offered another idea. "Fine, maybe I won't understand all that sort of stuff, but hey," Jun suddenly grabbed Link by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back into the conversation. "If she's too much trouble, why not go for that Zora girl instead? She seemed nice and is pretty too. As Zoras go, I mean. Their kind can be tall for sure, but she's short enough, even for you."
Link frowned, narrowing his eyes at the squire's less-than-graceful phrasing. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped.
Jun stammered, immediately regretting his choice of words. "I uh, I meant no offense! Just that, you know, she seemed... uh, more approachable? You know, more—"
"Never mind that," Link interrupted, running a hand through his messy, unkempt hair. His fingers tangled in the greasy strands, reminding him just how far he was from the polished image of a knight. He was in need of a bath and of course both the girls had to see him prior to a good washing. "In any case, that Zora girl you speak of... she's a princess too, Jun. So, you see, it's not that simple."
Jun threw up his hands in exasperation. "Sheesh! What is with you and the royal ladies?"
"Nothing!" Link said defensively, his tone sharper than he intended. He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temple. "Nothing is going on between any of us." The words felt hollow even as he said them. Zelda's serene image, her radiant smile and those soft, lingering glances from earlier in the day, flashed in his mind. Compared to her, he felt like a stray, wet, shaggy dog—no better than the muck at her feet.
Jun tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. "Well then, if there's nothing going on," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief, "what is it you suppose they see in you, huh?"
Link groaned, irritated but also oddly impressed by Jun's audacity. He scowled at him, but even that melted into a reluctant smirk. "Whose side are you on, Jun?" he hissed, his narrowed eyes making it clear he wasn't entirely amused.
Jun raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just saying, maybe they see something you don't. Perhaps, theres a quality in you that can weather the truth if you told her." He nudged, but when doing so, Link's frown deepened. The lad realized he was fighting an uphill battle and quickly shifted topics. "Uh, how about we get that thing done for your father so you can focus on beating tonight's trial instead, yeah?"
Link's expression softened, the weight of his indecision lifting slightly as Jun spoke. He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, the tension of the last few minutes easing, if only by a fraction. Jun had a point, after all. There was no use in taking out his frustrations on the boy, especially when it wasn't his fault. Sooner or later, Link knew he'd have to face it all—Zelda, Mipha, the tangled mess of feelings he could barely make sense of. The only question was how. And when.
"Yeah, you're right," Link muttered, his voice low and thoughtful, almost to himself. "Let's just get through today. The worries of the morrow will come soon enough."
Jun grinned, clapping him on the back with the ease of someone who had already forgotten the awkwardness of their earlier predicament. "That's the spirit! Who knows? Maybe by tonight, you'll have all the answers. Or at least a better idea of what to do with those princesses of yours!"
Link shot him a warning look, but the edge in his voice had softened, replaced with a reluctant chuckle. "Jun…"
"What? Just saying what we're all thinking," Jun teased, though his cheeky grin faded just enough to show he knew when to pull back.
Link shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting despite himself. Jun had a way of cutting through the tension, even when everything felt like it was on the verge of spiraling out of control. Moments like this—amid the bustling camps and festival stalls, where the world seemed so much simpler than it actually was—reminded him why he kept Jun close.
"Fine, fine, I'm done," Jun relented, hands raised in mock surrender, though his grin never wavered.
It was then that something stirred in Link's mind, something important that had almost slipped through the cracks of his focus. "Jun?"
"I already said I was sorr—"
"—No, it's not that. I was going to ask you something else."
"Oh?" Jun's grin faded slightly, replaced with mild curiosity. "What?"
Link's gaze narrowed, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Where's your masks?"
The lad paused, his hand instinctively rubbing the back of his head, a habit Link recognized all too well when he was up to something or hiding. "Oh, them? They're in that safe place I told you about, don't you fret."
Link crossed his arms over his chest, studying him. "I'm not fretting. I'm only bringing it up because tonight is the Moonfall Masquerade. So, you should probably get them from wherever hole stashed them in. Have you given the princess hers?"
Jun's sheepish expression morphed into his usual cocky grin, as though he had been prepared for this exact moment. "Way ahead of you, sir. Took care of it already." He flashed that same cheeky smile that always managed to skirt the line between charming and irritating. "Besides, you worry too much. Now if you're done stalling, shouldn't we take care of that business with your father? The trial is starting soon, and after that, I won't be in contact with you until it's over."
"I know," Link exhaled a long, weary sigh, his brow furrowing. "That's why I want to make sure everything is done right and you're ready. After all, it's going to be you accompanying the princess in my stead. I'm going to need you to continue being my eyes and ears while I'm busy. I still don't feel right about all this. Something just feels –off."
"Sheesh, will you relax already?" Jun rolled his eyes with exaggerated exasperation. "I've got it covered. Trust me. Now let's get moving!" With a grin, he dashed behind Link, giving him a playful shove in the direction they were supposed to be heading.
Link relented with a half-smile, letting himself be nudged along, the tension between them dissipating into the air as they fell into step beside each other. The festival grounds sprawled out before them with the aroma of adventure. Bright banners fluttered overhead, and children darted between the legs of bustling townsfolk, and soldiers alike. The noise and movement provided a welcome distraction, a momentary reprieve from the looming trials.
There was something reassuring about their easy camaraderie, even with all the uncertainties swirling around them. For now, they had each other's backs—and that was enough.
The morning came and went, leaving the afternoon air thick with anticipation as the vibrant hum of the crowd below growing louder as they filled the grandstands, eager for the spectacle to begin. The sky, a brilliant shade of blue, stretched endlessly above the stadium, with only a few scattered clouds to hint at any imperfection. A soft breeze rustled, carrying with it the earthy scent of grass, the sweet aroma of fresh wildflowers, and the enticing smells of sizzling meats and festival treats from the stalls scattered about the grounds. The small folk grew rambunctious as they watched mummers and other sideshow performers pass the time with dazzling shows before the main festivities.
Zelda and her friends, Urbosa, Purah, Impa, and Mipha—and other lords and ladies of the court now sat perched high in a newly constructed Royal Enclosure; this time located on the outskirts of the meadow grounds facing a small field of grass before a wall of looming trees that opened to the mouth of the Whispering Woods. Unlit torches lined the tree line, marking the eerie entrance for those who were courageous enough to dare and enter. The air around them was lighter than the previous day, but Zelda's mind was anything but calm.
In mere moments, all eyes of the kingdom would be on her. As first and only daughter of the royal house of Hyrule and heir apparent to the goddess, she would be called upon to give her first official declaration, an address to the commoners, lords, soldiers and the cadets assembled below. She wiped her slick palms on the tablecloth, nervous at the thought. All the while she had yet to give her well wishes personally to Helmsworth. She hadn't see him all day. A bad omen in her mind, for he has been missed these past hours.
Her father, King Rhoam, also sat at a table nearby, deep in conversation with Lord Chancellor Danarus, the powerful paramount of the Stonelands and several dignitaries of court and emissaries from neighboring kingdoms. Across from Zelda at the other end of the enclosure with direct line of sight of her sat Arasmus, Lord Danarus's son, accompanied by a few dregs of his entourage. She couldn't help but notice his dark hair glinting in the sunlight as he lounged in his seat, casting a subtle, fiery hue that matched the proud insignia of his burning baldric, radiating confidence. He would cast occasional admiring glances in Zelda's direction, though she made a point not to return them.
The grandstands around them bustled with the excited chatter of nobility, while servants bustled about, offering trays of light refreshments. Platters of savory roasted wild mushrooms, sweetly-spiced pumpkin seeds, and the famous, yet delicate Hateno berry pastries made their rounds, along with pitchers of lavender-scented water and heartier drinks for the embolden. Zelda had barely touched her trencher, her appetite dulled by the anxious knot tangling in her stomach.
"Princess…" Called out a soothing voice but to no answer from Zelda. "Princess," The voice was heard on the gentle breeze again. However, she was still adrift in her own musings. "Princess Zelda, are you alright?" the sweet voice asked for a final time.
Zelda felt herself return to the day at hand, gowned in a formal emerald dress of exquisite needlecraft and shook her head from the fog of swirling thoughts and mumbled back to whoever was breaking her from her fleeting moments of silent peace. "Huh?"
"Dear Princess, is something the matter?" Mipha asked, her face etched with concern, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she made her way to find her own seat next to her. "Are you alright?"
Her serene Zora features held a shadow of hidden worry, her thoughts clearly drifting to Helmsworth as if she knew exactly what the princess was thinking about. After all, she could relate to the feeling.
Zelda offered a tight smile. "To be honest, nervous," she admitted. "But I suppose we all face our trials sooner or later." Her thoughts flickered briefly to Helmsworth, the mysterious knight who had captured her attention these last few days. He had been so valiant in the preliminary rounds, kind and attentive in the marketplace square and despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to shake thoughts of him since. Not to mention, his absence all day was quite noticeable.
"There's nothing to be nervous about," Mipha said kindly. "I'm sure Helmsworth is just fine. After all, the clerics here at the capital are quite gifted in their vivimancy. I'm certain he will do wonderfully today. I mean, after all we've seen so far, his abilities are quite… remarkable." Her voice softened, betraying the quiet affection she held for her own knight.
Zelda, trying to mask her own reaction, laughed lightly. "Helmsworth? Oh, yeah, he certainly seems capable. But to be honest, what I'm most worried about is my own ability. I mean, setting the hearts and minds of the people at ease. Even now the hour grows nearer and I'm afraid I can't string a single thread of thought together. I fear this is going to be a disaster in the making."
"So, what is it we are we talking about?" Purah's sly voice cut through the air, her grin as sharp as ever as she glanced between them.
Zelda blinked, drawn from her thoughts, and forced herself to smile—just enough to make it seem like she had been present the whole time. She needed to keep her mind clear. There were too many eyes on her today, too many expectations; and before she could respond, Mipha playfully answered before her.
"Helmsworth, actually," Mipha offered with a polite smile.
Zelda's heart stumbled. She had been careful—so careful to keep her fascination with the mystery knight concealed, but here it was, out in the open, hanging between her and her friends like a secret she hadn't meant to share. She felt a flush of warmth creep up her neck, her cheeks betraying her no matter how hard she tried to play it off.
"Him again, eh?" Purah snarked, her voice dancing with mischief. "He's really sparked an interest in you, hasn't he?"
Zelda's pulse quickened. No, not all, she wanted to say, but the words tangled in her throat, refusing to emerge smoothly. Instead, she waved a dismissive hand, trying to shake off the accusation with a flick of her wrist.
"No, not really. In fact, we weren't really discussing him at all," she insisted, though the way her voice caught at the end betrayed her. Her cheeks warmed further, a deep blush settling in as Purah's grin only widened. Curse her and her ability to see right through me.
"Besides," Zelda added quickly, as if to regain some semblance of control, "I hardly know him."
Urbosa, lounging with her usual effortless grace, raised an eyebrow as she took a slow sip from her goblet. "Then perhaps you should remedy that after these trials and do get to know him better. He's clearly in your thoughts and clearly you can't ignore them." Her voice carried the weight of experience, but there was a teasing edge that made Zelda's embarrassment sharpen.
Zelda's eyes flicked to Urbosa's with a mix of annoyance and gratitude, knowing full well that Urbosa could see past her defenses but chose not to press further. "You're young still," Urbosa continued, reclining in her chair as if the weight of the world didn't rest on the young girl's shoulders, "there will be time for entertaining the notion of serious courting later. Enjoy your youth now, I say."
Zelda shifted in her seat, her fingers smoothing down the folds of the tablecloth as if the act could somehow quiet the flurry of emotions twisting inside her. "Only a curiosity, is all, I assure you," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She wished her voice carried more conviction, but the words seemed flimsy, like they might dissolve under any real scrutiny.
Purah, never one to let an opportunity slip by, prodded again with a knowing smirk. "Uh-huh, a curiosity you say…Sorta-like how I'm curious to know what this banana cream pie tastes like." The Sheikah scientist said, reaching for the freshly baked confection atop a platter. One of the maidens sitting with them concurred with a jovial laugh. "Oh, I bet she's much more interested than tasting pies, more like, his lips."
Zelda rolled her eyes, her chin lifting slightly as she pretended to brush off the insinuation. "Like I said, he is merely a curiosity," she conceded with a sigh, "and as a matter of fact, what is really on my mind is that I'm more worried if the High Priest will be ready in time for this whole hullabaloo." She lifted her nose slightly, a mock expression of annoyance crossing her face as she closed her eyes. "Truth be told, all this this waiting is beginning to kill me. I just want to get this whole ordeal over with so the festival can proceed."
The change of subject was deliberate, but the tightness in her chest didn't ease. Her friends ignored her excuse and continued their own conversations, but the laughter afterwards they would share from their own discussions around her felt distant, as though she were watching the scene unfold from behind a veil. She couldn't shake the thoughts of Helmsworth, nor the way her heart had started to race at the mere mention of his name.
"Speaking of which," Mipha interjected Zelda's thoughts again, her tone as gentle as ever, "that young squire who was with Helmsworth… he said he gave you a mask or had one for you. Did I hear him right?" She cleared her throat, her voice trailing off as if the question were a little too bold.
Zelda's heart skipped. No more mentioning of him please. She winced internally, but outwardly she kept her expression cheerful, or at least she tried, careful not to let her growing nerves show. "And?" she asked, though the tension in her voice betrayed her.
"Well," Mipha began, her voice softening, "it's that he isn't here for me to ask and well, I'm unfamiliar with your Hylian tradition this evening—the Moonfall Masquerade, or so I'm told it is named."
"It is," Zelda replied, turning her head slightly to meet Mipha's gaze. The coolness in her voice was not intentional, but she found herself grasping for control, for anything to keep her mind steady.
"Beg your pardon for my ignorance of the holiday," Mipha continued, her cheeks tinged with faint embarrassment, "but why the masks? And why this evening? Rather strange to be celebrating two holidays on one day, isn't it? Come to think of it, I don't think we Zora have any holidays that eclipse one another."
Zelda hesitated. The answer was somewhere in the depths of her mind, but it was tangled in half-remembered lessons and the ancient scrolls she had never been fond of. Her interests had always lain in studying new ideas, uncovering the mysteries of science, not in past superstitions mentioned in the old histories of their kingdom that sat atop dusty shelves in the Room of Remembrance.
Just as she was about to respond—likely with a clumsy retelling of a half-remembered myth—Impa, always perceptive and always timely, cleared her throat. She wore that knowing grin, the one that said she had already predicted Zelda's struggle.
"I believe I can take this one from here, Princess," Impa interjected smoothly, saving Zelda from fumbling a response, when clearly, she was hardly studied in the matter more than Mipha.
Zelda exhaled, her shoulders loosening just slightly as Impa took the lead, the conversation shifting away from her once more.
"As you may know, the Festival—or rather, the Trial of the Flame—takes place once every century," Impa began, her voice as smooth and composed as ever. "What you may not know, however, is that once every thousand years, this trial aligns with another remembrance holiday we observe—the Moonfall Masquerade. It's an equally important tradition, though for very different reasons."
Mipha leaned forward and listened intently, making a show of it; whereas Zelda also listened with great interest but masked her ignorance with a feigned knowing, looking away, pretending to be disinterested if anyone were to glance her way.
"The Festival of the Flame, or rather, the trials, are a means by which knights of the kingdom are born." Impa dipped a piece of bread into her bowl of steamy tomato soup, nibbling on it thoughtfully, savoring the aromatic blend of flavor before continuing. "Not in the literal sense, of course, but born through duty. It's a tradition as old as time itself, spanning all the way back to the Age of Heroes. A test to separate the smoke from the fire."
Zelda nodded slightly, hiding behind her mask of royal composure, though inwardly, she felt a prick of shame. She was supposed to be the one who knew these stories, these ancient traditions—she was the heir of the goddess. And yet, they felt like distant echoes, just beyond her reach. Her hands tightened in her lap, but before she could brood any further, she heard a question slipping from her own lips, almost involuntarily.
"Why once every hundred years?" she asked, turning to face Impa, immediately regretting how eager the question sounded. I should know this, she thought miserably, but before she could chastise herself further, Mipha, ever kind and gracious, stepped in with her usual tact.
"Funny you should ask that, Your Highness," Mipha said with a warm smile. "I was just about to inquire the same thing. You read my mind." She offered Zelda a look of genuine admiration, her voice gentle and sincere. "Perhaps the blessings of foresight, the sacred gift your forebearers held, is just as strong in your veins as it was in theirs."
Ah yes, the Divine Gift, Zelda thought despairingly. The Golden Power, some legends called it. The Sacred Sealing Power, according to others. Whichever name one chose, it all pointed back to the same source—a power as old as the kingdom itself. Zelda nodded politely, though inwardly, the words stung more than Mipha could have known. Mipha had meant it as encouragement, a compliment meant to lift her spirits, but Zelda knew better.
She held no such gift.
She'd never been able to summon the great powers of her ancestors—never been able to peer into the future or bend the elements to her will. She couldn't send her voice across vast spans of mountains or seas, with nothing but the force of her mind, nor harness a strength so mighty that kingdoms bowed before it. Those were talents of a different time, of better princesses, ones spun into tapestries of legend. She was just a girl who struggled to remember the old histories and doomed to fumble through speeches she was expected to know by heart.
The Princess' question took Impa by surprise. She hadn't expected Zelda to show interest in such tales. "Because that is the way things are, and have always been," she replied simply.
Zelda scoffed, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Well, that's just silly. Doing things just for the sake of doing them—only because it's tradition?"
Impa smiled softly at her reaction, but there was an edge of understanding in her eyes. "If truth be told, there is a belief," she began, her voice measured, "that knights born from the Festival of the Flame could never coexist in a world where previous champions still linger among the living."
Zelda narrowed her eyes. "That's an even more preposterous explanation. Why would it matter if they knew the previous order of knights inducted into the Royal Guard? Where's the harm in that?"
"Not just any knights inducted into the guard," Impa corrected, taking a sip from her goblet, "but those forged by the same sacred ceremony of the Flame that they've endured."
Zelda frowned, her interest piqued despite herself.
Impa continued, her voice slipping into the cadence of an old legend. "Scholars interpreted the legend to speak of a shared power between the old and new—an idea that the young generation cannot rise while their forerunners still remain among the living. When they perish, only then can their roles be inherited. For one cannot pass down their positions and duties if they are still alive to wield them."
The princess chewed on Impa's explanation; her lips pursed as she mulled it over. There was a flicker of withstanding in her eyes. She couldn't help but feel the weight of how archaic it all sounded—how much of their world was still shackled to ancient myths and traditions that no longer served a purpose.
Sensing the rebuttal forming on Zelda's lips, Impa offered a small, knowing smile. "But that is just what the myths say," she conceded, leaning back slightly. "And through the decaying passage of time, we are left with the traditions that remain. Perhaps, at one time, it may have been so... but now?" She shrugged lightly, her sigh tinged with the same skepticism Zelda felt. "No one can be sure anymore."
Zelda opened her mouth to interject, but Impa pressed on before she could speak. "As for the Moonfall Masquerade, it's a celebration of both passover and atonement, woven into one."
Impa's voice softened, her tone shifting as she slipped into another tale—one older, one etched into the bones of Hyrule's history. "Long, long ago, a hero adrift in the realm of time saved this world with the help of the Goddess, and the awakened stone giants from the four far-flung corners of the earth. A villain as old as memory had set his lustful gaze upon Hyrule. He drank the tears of mothers, gave life to the fears of fathers, and stole the dreams of children. His power turned the hearts of the people against themselves and fed on their despair. Through their suffering made manifest he summoned a fallen star—no, a corrupted moon, meant to bring their doom."
Zelda and Mipha listened in silence, captivated. Even Zelda, who had heard fragments of this legend before, found herself drawn in by Impa's retelling. Her advisor's voice seemed to wrap the words in a cloak of both reverence and sadness, as if the tale were too ancient to belong to anyone, yet too personal to ignore. She never heard it told quite like this before.
"But through the bravery of the Hero of Time," Impa continued, her eyes flickering with the light of the fire in front of them, "and with the help of the Goddess, he prevailed, quelling the darkness within the people. He gave peace to their wearied souls, rekindled their icy hearts, and helped the dead find their rest among the stars."
Impa paused for a moment, letting the weight of the words hang between them. Zelda, ever the skeptic, couldn't help but feel the thread of disbelief tugging at her, though she knew better than to voice it. Legends are stories, she reminded herself. Stories to keep people hopeful. But still, she found herself wanting to hear more.
"And what does that have to do with the masks?" Zelda asked, her voice curious despite her best efforts to sound indifferent.
Mipha nodded eagerly beside her, eyes wide with fascination.
Impa smiled, clearly enjoying her role as storyteller. "When the hero saved a life or granted peace to a restless soul, their fears were said to be trapped within a mask. Through the hero's teachings and the Goddess' blessings, the people learned to use their fears as weapons—against the evil that loomed above. They donned these masks in solidarity, their faces of wood and stone staring back at the corrupted heavens, and together they banished its evil gaze."
The image lingered in the air, vivid and strange. Zelda could almost picture it—the people, united, wearing the faces of their fears, staring down the moon that had threatened to tear their world asunder.
"In time," Impa continued, "when peace was restored, the people swore never to forget that night. They vowed forevermore to remember their pass over from destruction, and so the Moonfall Masquerade was born. Each year, we wear the masks to remember the bravery of those who came before, and to remind ourselves that even in the darkest moments, we can stand united against whatever peril threatens our world."
Zelda leaned back in her chair, her mind still processing the weight of Impa's words. There was something about the story that felt heavy, even now. She glanced at Mipha, who was still wide-eyed, the story clearly resonating with her on a deeper level. Zelda felt a twinge of guilt—she should feel more connected to these tales, to these traditions. But they felt like relics of a time long gone, distant and unreachable.
Mipha smiled at Zelda, as if she also felt the same sentiments. "I wonder if heroes could still be found like those mentioned in the old stories?"
But, before Zelda could concur Mipha's sentiments, they were interrupted by the arrival of a young noblewoman, dressed in fine silks, hurrying to find her seat. She overheard their shared tale. "Oh, a hero you say. I sure like those!"
Purah rolled her eyes secretly as Zelda and Mipha turned to face the girl.
She leaned over the railing of the enclosure, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Speaking of which, I don't know why they're bothering with wagers," she declared loudly, her voice full of confidence. "It's not like the others have a chance at being crowned champion. Young lord Regoso will surely win. He's the best of the pledges by far. He's a hero in the making if I ever saw one!"
Zelda blinked, momentarily thrown off by the young woman's boldness. "Regoso?" she asked, remembering him among the throng of cadets. He, after all was her second cousin, or was it third twice removed? She couldn't remember exactly, but nevertheless never cared for his cocky attitude either. What was it with men from noble houses that made them so arrogant?
Zelda and her friends fell silent, but the girl heard her whisper to herself and nodded eagerly. "Yes, surely you must recognize that Regoso is the odds favorite to win. Tall, strong as an ox, skilled, and from a noble house, not far out of court from your own I might add. He's sure to win today's trial. You'll see, Princess."
Purah leaned mischievously to whisper in Impa's ear, "Notice, she didn't say handsome as a qualifying feature of him. I sure did." Zelda gave a sharp glance back at her sacrilegious remark. As if someone's looks were any merit to their abilities or valor.
Mipha, who had been silently listening, spoke up, her voice soft but firm. "I wouldn't be so sure My Lady. There are many brave boys willing to become knights out there today." Her thoughts clearly drifted to Link. The nervous hope in her voice was unmistakable.
Zelda, feeling a strange kinship with Mipha in that moment, nodded in agreement. "I have my own hopeful in mind as well," she said, though her thoughts now raced. Though truth be told, she had been wondering what happened to Helmsworth since she last saw him last night. Was Arasmus right in his prediction that he would abandon the Trials after all? Instead, she decided not to press the matter nor ponder it more than she had to. Better to just wait and see.
Suddenly, a servant poured a refreshing lavender drink into Zelda's goblet, and it was then she saw a folded piece of parchment discreetly placed by her trencher. This tore her from her previous thoughts. That's strange, a letter. The servant offered no explanation, merely bowing and stepping away. Her stomach clenched with unease as her eyes caught the delicate, yet familiar seal—a burning black serpent stamped in wax.
Her breath hitched, knowing who it must have sent it. Knowing well enough that it would carry the same air of superiority and veiled charm that she had grown accustomed to. Yet, there was something about it, something about the way it arrived, that made her fingers tremble slightly as they unfolded the parchment. Not to mention, this note was pre-determined, surely written hours if not the day prior as if to predict this very moment.
She glanced up to see him, Arasmus, lounging too far away to engage in direct conversation, but his eyes—those deep blue eyes that always seemed to be watching her, calculating—were fixed on her, even as he spoke to someone else. His smirk was barely hidden as though he already knew what she was about to read. Zelda's pulse quickened as her eyes flowed over the page.
Zelda's fingers curled tightly around the edges of the letter, crumpling the parchment slightly in her hand. His words slithered into her mind, each one wrapping around her like the tightening coil of the snake emblazoned on his breastplate. 'I trust you will see the wisdom in hastening our union...' Her stomach twisted. This was no cordial letter. This was a demand—a veiled threat masquerading as an apology wrapped in flowery language. Furthermore, she had no desire to 'think of him fondly'. His last words written. Zelda's eyes traced over his sleek handwriting, and she felt dampness return to her forehead. His words, though polite, made her restless in her seat. But with all eyes on her, she couldn't afford to make a scene.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt dry, as if the words themselves had drained the air from her lungs. She stared down at the delicate folds of the letter, her mind racing, her heart pounding in her ears. The 'spring could wait for things have changed'? Wait for what? What was he saying? What does the spring have to do with today or the next? Was he referring to the Goddess Spring or perhaps the coming season of spring? That the 'path forward' was clear to him? And that 'her' choices—no, her actions—were being closely watched for her own benefit and safety.
Zelda's breath hitched again, but this time in anger. She could almost feel the weight of his plans pressing down on her. A future where her autonomy was nothing more than a pawn in his games, where she was expected to simply comply.
She glanced back at him across the enclosure, trying to mask the chill that tingled down her spine. He wasn't speaking to anyone anymore. Could my father really have signed off on his schemes or was he an unwilling accomplice being lured into a trap? His eyes were still on her, calm, confident. It took every ounce of her willpower not to shudder visibly under his gaze. Then from out of nowhere they flickered away to meet some other dignitary for discussion.
"Everything alright?" Impa asked quietly, her sharp eyes noticing the bead of sweat atop Zelda's upper lip.
"It's nothing," Zelda blinked and padded the nervousness with her handkerchief, forcing her expression to soften, to melt away the dread that had begun to creep into her heart. She tucked the note into her sleeve, hiding it away as though it could be forgotten just as easily. "Just an apology from Lord Arasmus, is all. He couldn't meet me at the spring today to discuss the plans my Father has laid out for us both. Apparently, urgent business needed his attention elsewhere. In fact, I'm relieved." she lied, her voice light, almost breezy. The note said nothing of the sort. It was a cryptic message, that she could hardly decipher herself.
Impa's sharp eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She could always see through Zelda's facades, but today, thankfully, she chose not to press.
Purah, however, was not one to let things slide so easily. "Urgent business, huh? What can be more urgent than a private audience with the Princess? I don't like the sound of it," she muttered, her tone laced with suspicion.
Zelda dismissed Purah's comment and forced a laugh, though her heart wasn't in it. "Yes, well, I suppose it gives me more time to focus on the festival. After all, it will be beginning any moment now, let us enjoy the day."
She reached for her goblet and took a sip of the lavender water, hoping the cool liquid would ease the tightness in her throat. But it didn't. The taste felt almost bitter now, her nerves fraying beneath the surface. She could still feel Arasmus's eyes on her even when he wasn't looking, the weight of his intentions pressing down on her shoulders.
She had known he was ambitious, but this letter—it was more than that. He was warning her, pushing her, trying to manipulate her into a corner. A corner where she would have no choice but to align with him, to fall in line with whatever scheme he and his father were plotting. His words, though subtle, were clear: he expected her to support his rise, to give him the crown by her side. But even with all that written, is that truly what he even wanted? At times she would sense the doubt in his voice when he spoke of what he genuinely desired. Maybe it was all his father's doing? Or worse, her own.
The idea sickened her. She reminisced the last lines of the note again. 'I believe, when the time is right, you will see that there is only one path forward, to preserve all that we hold dear, no matter the sacrifice and bring anew the dawn of a new age...Until then, think of me fondly, My Sundelion'.
Suddenly, before she could dwell anymore on the matter, horns blared their songs declaring the start of the festival and strangely, Zelda felt relieved by it. Even if it were temporary. The princess forced another smile, this one more genuine as she looked onward to the preparations culminating below on the balcony that overlooked the people. The note had shaken her, but now was not the time to let it show. There were bigger fish to fry.
They had barely made it in time. The large, wooden double doors leading to the soldier's paddock were nearly closed when Link and Jun darted through, slipping into the arena just before they were shut out. The air inside was tense, charged with the quiet anticipation of those who had already gathered. Knights-to-be stood in rows within the fence line, their gazes fixed on the stands above, where the royal court awaited. All of them, eager to prove their worth in the coming trials.
Link kept his distance for the moment, hovering near the edge of the paddock with Jun, where a dugout offered a sliver of shade and anonymity. Several other cadets milled about, adjusting their armor, securing weapons, or simply taking a breath before the moment they would step forward and be presented alongside the others. This was it—the culmination of years of training and sacrifice. And yet, Link's mind wasn't on the trials. His eyes flicked upward, instinctively searching for her. Zelda.
"There you are! About time you showed up—we were starting to worry!" a familiar voice broke through his thoughts, and Link turned just in time to catch sight of Orin, his closest friend. Orin's broad grin greeted him, but behind him, pacing anxiously a few paces away, was Sven, head tipped back toward the heavens as though pleading with the goddess for salvation.
Link blinked, briefly disoriented. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't even realized he and Jun had been spotted.
"Where have you been and why aren't you in uniform?" Orin asked, stepping closer, curiosity in his eyes. "Sir Athelon's had us looking for you ever since you left with Master Finn yesterday."
Link opened his mouth to answer, though the words felt clumsy on his tongue. "Uh, well, I was, uh—"
"What's it to you?" Jun blurted out instead, his small frame somehow carrying enough attitude to cut through the moment.
Link shot him a quick look, the kind that was supposed to be a warning. Hush. But Jun only shrugged in response, utterly unbothered.
"Anyway," Link continued, his voice steadying as he returned his focus to Orin, "I was caught up. It's not important. I'm here now."
Jun, always quick to jab, folded his arms and muttered, "Yeah, you can say that again."
Orin chuckled, amused by the exchange. "And who might your friend be?" His gaze flicked to Jun, sizing him up with a grin.
Link rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the familiar weight of Jun's antics bearing down on him. "Well, I was considering him to be my squire," he said, glancing at Jun with mock severity, "but now I might have to jettison him at the nearest stable if he keeps speaking out of turn."
"I'm sorry, alright?" Jun offered, though the glint in his eyes made it clear he wasn't that sorry.
Link smiled, shaking his head. There was no way he could stay mad at the kid—not really.
Orin raised an eyebrow, his amusement deepening. "You—have a squire?" he asked, incredulous though amazed. "I thought only seasoned knights had those."
Jun puffed out his chest proudly, as if his position had already been solidified. "Yeah, and he will be a knight soon enough," he said, raising his fist in the air like some grand declaration of destiny. But as soon as he caught the look Link shot him, he backtracked quickly. "I mean, never mind."
Link rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the fondness creeping into his voice. "Like he says, I'll soon be a knight. We all will—if we make it through this alive."
Orin shrugged, his usual carefree smile dimming slightly. "Well, it's good to see one of us is optimistic. Poor Sven's been beside himself all day. Can't stop questioning whether he should go through with it."
Link's gaze shifted past Orin's shoulder, landing on Sven, who was indeed pacing in a small circle, his hands gesturing wildly toward the sky as though pleading for divine intervention. His lips moved in quiet prayer, and Link almost pitied him—almost. The look on Sven's face was one of sheer panic, the kind that came from knowing the trials ahead were not meant to be easy, and that even the best-prepared could fail.
Sven's eyes flitted toward the heavens, and his hands made small, anxious movements, as though he could bargain with Hylia herself to spare him the worst of what was to come. He muttered something under his breath, the words lost to the murmur of the dugout, but the expression on his face said enough.
"Spooked to the gills, is he?" Link asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Completely." Orin sighed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's ready to make a break for it before they even call for us."
Link walked away from Jun and Orin, and spoke earnestly behind Sven, somewhat startling him to his presence. "Hey, don't you even think about quitting on me now."
Sven whirled, nearly tumbling over his own feet before Link reached out to steady him by the shoulder. "L—link, you're back!? About time! I was just, I mean I—"
Link smirked. "—It's fine, Orin filled me in on the details. How are you holding up?"
"He did, huh?" Sven bellowed a sigh. "I don't know…" he started, rubbing the back of his moppy head of hair. Scratching an itch that didn't seem to be quite there. " I'm not like you guys. I'll never be like you guys. It was foolish of me to ever think otherwise. There's no way I'll survive these challenges. You might as well send for the forges to have them brand my headstone."
Link shook his head and his friend's shoulder, firm, yet with understanding. "What of sort of talk is that? You can do this, Sven! And it's not just me saying so. My father also believes in you and so does even Athelon. They wouldn't have wasted their time if you were a lost cause. And besides, we're like brothers. Hell, this is more of your dream than mine. Always has been. So what do you say? Will you join me in the flames?"
Jun pondered on it for a moment, really digesting his Link's words. Then, he felt a smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah, of course I will. You're right. It's true what you say. You're head has always been elsewhere, especially now it would seem." He said, his glance shifting to the stands, hinting at something else, or rather, someone else.
Link's eyes also turned back to the stands at his gesture, the familiar weight of anticipation settling in his chest. It wasn't the trial itself that unnerved him—not the looming test of courage in the Whispering Woods, nor the thought of the trials to come. His nerves were tethered to something else. Someone else. He scanned the royal box again, catching a glimpse of golden hair. There she was, Zelda. She was being led away by the Grand Seneschal, it was almost time, he knew it in his gut.
"Where in Hylia's Hell have you been?" Came the disturbing roar of Athelon, stepping up to the boys, tearing Link's happy gaze. "And more importantly, why in the hell are you not wearing your gear, pledge!?" His dead swirling eye fixed on Link and he could feel it pierce his soul.
"I uh," Link stepped back. Others aside from his friends laughed, notably the obnoxious Regoso and his posse.
"I don't know what's going on or where you've been and I don't give a flying, Rito fuck. You and that helpful runt of yours have approximately three minutes to get you suited up. If your ass isn't back in time, I'll kill you myself and save you the embarrassment. Now go!" Athelon said, his fiery gaze falling on Jun, who didn't seem to budge like the others at his intimidating stature.
It that instant, reception trumpets blared. "You hear that? Time to go! Fall in!" Athelon roared to the lackluster group of hopefuls. With his instructions clear, the lads charged onto the meadow grounds to line up at attention to face the grandstands to await the commencement. Athelon's vein bulged at the side of his forehead, twisting to face Link and his would-be squire. "The hell are you still doing here!? If you have a death wish!—"
That was the last thing both Link and Jun heard as they rushed back to the soldier stalls where his gear should be.
Moment's prior-
It happened like the sudden wake from a dream—jarring, pulling her from the small cocoon of cozy conversation she had wrapped herself in with her friends. The Senechal suddenly appeared at her side, standing tall behind them, his presence looming like a shadow over the royal box, reminding her of her duty. All eyes turned toward him as he leaned low, his head dipping in a formal bow before Zelda, his voice soft as silk yet cutting through the moment with a cold reverence.
"Your Highness," he said respectfully, "The King, your father, says it's time."
Those words. They seemed to echo, stretching out and filling the space around her. There was no escape now.
The air shifted. Suddenly, it was as though she were floating outside of herself, watching as her own body moved to stand. Her legs trembled beneath her gown, weak and unreliable, but they carried her forward regardless, her feet finding their path on instinct alone. The wooden steps ahead seemed to blur and dance like a wobbly roped bridge, her mind a fog of nerves that she couldn't seem to clear.
It's time.
The weight of those words settled heavily on her chest, pressing down with each step she took away from the safety of the royal box. She swallowed hard, the familiar tightness in her throat making her feel as though she had swallowed stones. Breathe. Just breathe. But even that simple act felt like a task too great to manage. Zelda's steps quickened, the distance between her and the balcony shrinking with terrifying speed, and yet, the space around her felt like it stretched on endlessly.
She heard her friends behind her, their quiet murmurs—soft, supportive words meant to encourage—but they were drowned out by the growing noise of the crowd beyond. The sound swelled, rising in intensity as she approached the balcony, and with each step, her heart thudded louder in her chest, as if it were desperately trying to keep pace with the world outside her control.
At the edge of the balcony, High Priest Galivan stood with his usual mask of piety, but Zelda knew better. He greeted her with that same hollow smile he reserved for the crowds, the one that made her skin crawl, his admiration less about her role as princess and more about something unspeakable. His sharp eyes lingered, and though his hands rested behind his back this time, the memory of them during their rehearsals hovering over her skin, caused her instinctively to move aside from him. To the people, he was a symbol of divine grace, but to Zelda, he was nothing more than a lecherous fraud whose presence added to the weight of her growing unease.
Also beside him was the Royal Scholar. A modest, thin and gaunt man who she also didn't see eye to eye with most of the time, but at least wasn't a secret monster. She recalled her childhood up until now by how many long hours spent with him, rehearsing, reciting, memorizing the exact words she was supposed to say to the people below. Platitudes and formal statements, so carefully constructed, now floated uselessly in her mind. The lines she had been forced to memorize since she was a little girl twisted and warped, slipping through her fingers like smoke. Vanishing soon as they came to mind. Nothing seemed to fit the moment. Nothing felt right.
And then she saw him—Arasmus.
He stood there, already on the balcony, his posture relaxed, as though this were his stage. A shock of confusion raced through her. What is he doing here? She had seen him sitting beside her father just moments before, and now, inexplicably, he was waiting for her as if he were a part of all this.
Zelda's steps faltered, her mind racing to catch up with this new reality. There was no time to think, no time to react, because in the very next moment, Arasmus reached out his hand toward her, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as if claiming what was his for all to bear witness. She could hardly protest.
"Shall we, Princess?" he murmured, the charm in his voice doing little to hide the satisfaction lurking beneath.
Before she could pull away or find the words to refuse him, he had already swept her to the edge of the balcony, presenting her to the gathered masses like a prize to be displayed. Her heart lurched in her chest as the cheers from the crowd rose like a wave, crashing over her, pulling her under the tide of their expectant gazes.
Zelda's breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide as she tried to process what was happening, but Arasmus gave her no time. His hand, still firmly grasping hers, tightened, and all she could do was stand there, the weight of his hand on hers feeling like a shackle. She could feel the eyes of the entire kingdom upon them, expectant and unaware of the storm churning beneath the surface of her carefully controlled expression.
With a deep breath, Zelda accepted his invitation and stepped out onto the balcony. "Goodluck, my dear Sundelion," he whispered in her ear. "I know you will give them all the good news."
Princess Zelda stood atop the floating terrace, the vastness of the stands below stretching out beneath her, and for a moment, she wished she were anywhere else. The wind tugged at her dress, gentle, but insistent—much like the world's expectations of her. Today was the day she would address the people of Hyrule, her people, and offer words of hope and strength to those who were about to embark on their own journeys. But the words felt foreign to her, stiff and hollow in her throat, as if they belonged to someone else. Someone older. Someone wiser. Someone who definitely wasn't her.
Her fingers curled around the railing, seeking an anchor. She had rehearsed this. Many times. But it hadn't prepared her for the real thing. The sheer weight of eyes upon her, waiting for her to speak, to be their princess, to be someone who could lead them, inspire them. She was barely six and ten and already a woman grown, and yet here she was, standing before hundreds of soldiers, lords, and common folk. And she, more than anyone, knew how small she still felt in her skin.
She searched the sea of faces below, almost desperately, for something—someone. Helmsworth. The name echoed in her mind like a tether to something real, something tangible. But he wasn't there. She didn't see the gleam of his helmet or the armor that had shone so brightly in yesterday's trial. Not that it would've mattered, all the cadets wore the same matching uniform now and he would be lost in the mix. Was he among them? And if so, which one? Why didn't he wear the sash she gave him so she could identify him? But then she knew why he didn't wear it. Because he simply wasn't there.
Her stomach twisted, a sudden weight settling deep within her, making it harder to breathe. Where is he? The other cadets and hopefuls had arrived, why not him?
The grand Herald took her hesitation as a cue to welcome her to the people. "Hear ye, hear ye, let us hear the inspiration and the words divinely bestowed by our very own Princess, Zelda Araleia Hyrule. For we gather here this momentous day, blessed above all others as the flickering flame of the chosen will light our path forevermore." He then bowed his head deeply and offered her the ledge to speak.
She still wasn't ready. Helmsworth's absence gnawed at her, subtle but insistent. She had imagined him standing below, his silent strength steadying her, grounding her in a moment where she felt she might falter. And now, without that familiar presence, doubt seeped in, curling around her thoughts like the mist that often cloaked the Whispering Woods beyond.
The crowd waited. Expectation hovered in the air, thick as fog, and she could feel it pressing down on her shoulders. Zelda swallowed, willing her voice to come, but when she opened her mouth, the words stumbled at first, clumsy and hesitant.
"My people of Hyrule," she began, her voice a mere tremor against the vast silence of the arena. "And to the brave pledges standing before us."
She forced her gaze to stay steady, though it felt as though every heartbeat sent a jolt of anxiety racing through her veins. She had to be strong. She had to be their princess, even when she wasn't sure how.
"This marks the beginning of the Trial of the Flame, a series of challenges that will test you in every way." She cleared her throat, hoping the movement would mask the uncertainty that had already crept into her voice. "The first of these trials I am told is the Trial of Courage, called the Forest of Dark Whispers, which begins this very hour."
Her gaze drifted, searching the sea of armor once more, even though she knew Helmsworth wasn't there. But it didn't stop her from hoping, from wishing he'd appear and somehow make this easier. She hardly knew him, yet even in their small time together, she felt a connection as if it were a lifetime. She couldn't explain it, not to anyone or herself. They were from different worlds, yet, in their own way, the same. He was expected to become a great knight, to join the ranks of those who conquered legends before. And she, was to be the first daughter of Hyrule, heir apparent to the Goddess Hylia herself and all that entailed. Each were expected a duty from them, each of them young and still in the flower of their youth. Each one wanting more than what their destiny demanded from them.
She awoke from her sudden pause by a cough echoing in the silent crowd, the hot of anxiousness growing in the air. The princess searched her mind for the right words to say but nothing came out. She knew what these trials were, but for some instance, her mind drew a blank. Was she really that nervous or was it the weight of everything else bearing down on her? She was only sixteen after all. Taking notice of her plight the Herald shuffled beside her and whispered what could only be encouragement; reminding her of what the first trial entailed.
"You will enter the Whispering Woods," she continued, her voice growing stronger. "A place where shadows move and the air itself carries secrets. You will face dangers, ones you may not be prepared for, but it is in the heart of fear that courage finds its flame. Myths as old as time speak of a legendary, great spirit that lives yonder in those woods. One shrouded in mist and forgotten to shadow," she said, pausing again, desperately trying to remember her lessons from when she was a little girl.
The Royal Scholar took that as his cue to whisper in her other ear. Now she remembered, subtly pushing him away. Zelda's chest heaved a breath before speaking again. "None who dared venture into those trees have yet returned to tell the tale. We pray that her holiness guides your steps with discernment against the mighty illusions within. May the Goddesses strength guide your hearts and keep you true to yourselves and for those who…-"
A flicker of movement caught her eye—a pledge shifting his stance below—and she hesitated. The crowd grew restless, looking over themselves or beyond the stands to what she was fixed on. Where are you? It was as though her very words were hollowing out, leaving her bare. The courage she had tried to summon within herself was slipping through her fingers, unraveling like loose threads on an old tapestry. It was then she wondered if he truly recovered from yesterday's battles? Did something happen to him? Something terrible?
She took a slow, deep breath, her eyes dropping to her hands gripping the railing in front of her. She was losing them. She could feel it, the quiet faltering of her own resolve mirrored in the stillness of the crowd. But she couldn't lose herself too.
"T—tomorrow will also bring their own challenges as the trials progress," she pressed on, her voice wavering, yet desperate to remain strong. However, before she could say more, Arasmus gave a stern look to the High Priest and Galivan took that as his cue to cut her off and whisper to her before she could continue.
With his breath hot in her ear with revelations, of the kind she had no idea about, Zelda glanced at them both, hesitated, pondering the implications but there was no time to dwell on such matters. Even now seconds ticked by, forcing her to continue her speech. This changes everything.
"I have been informed that a change has been made. I am told you will face the Trial of Wisdom, directly after the first trial with no rest." She said, to the sound of rising murmurs from the massive crowd. This was most unexpected and a massive breach in tradition. Just saying the words made her feel uneasy. Like a gut punch that knocked the wind from her. What was Arasmus, and the High Priest playing at? What scheme now was in the works?
The princess noticed the people's skepticism growing and wanted to quash any worry so she raised her voice, sweet yet firm to them and continued as if nothing were amiss. "This trial will take place where ancient ruins, now drowned by water, will challenge your minds and temper your spirit." Zelda paused for a brief moment, trying to understand the sudden departure from the plan. Why the sudden change in protocol? Why did her father, his cabinet and all those involved move up the schedule of the Trial of the Flame? What was such the hurry that these days and their festivities needed to end so soon? Is there something they know that she doesn't? Does Arasmus' note earlier have any bearing on this?
The princess shook her head and continued, fearing that delaying her speech any more would only instill more worry and doubt that something awry may be in the works. She cleared her throat, "There, through wisdom you will find only hidden secrets masked in words and riddles that only patience and clarity will solve. And afterwards, with little rest for the weary, the Trial of Power awaits to tests your strength in the grand arena."
She glanced once more at the rows of cadets, her words slower now, deliberate, as though speaking them too quickly might shatter the fragile hold she had over herself. "In that constructed colosseum, you will need both strength and strategy. You will face beasts, terrors, and your worst fears manifested. And through it all, if you make it thus far and survive, you will need to retrieve and protect a special prize—one that will test your ability to fight as one. Let your hearts not despair, for these tribulations can be overcome by those who master the three virtues of our land. For as legends say, the champions of these trials today are the heroes of tomorrow. Heroes we so desperately need safeguard this kingdom, if the great terror of our age is to truly come to fruition."
A beat of silence followed. The gravity of what's to come, the dread which has been foretold, becoming heavy upon their shoulders as they were reminded by it. She could feel her heart pounding, hear the rush of blood in her ears. They were all waiting for her to say something that would give them strength now. A hope. Something that would help them believe they were capable of not only accomplishing these trials this night but of their duty when the doom came.
"And remember," she whispered, the words barely a breath now, "these trials are not just a test of strength or intellect. They are a testament to your spirit. That through your shining spirit, your example to us all, we the people of this kingdom may find strength through that very spirit you share with us this following evening. By your faith and through your deeds to overcome all adversity, all the world gathered shall bear witness, far and wide, to the covenant and favor of her Holiness Hylia. That we are her chosen people, and we are not abandoned." Suddenly, Zelda found her voice after the invocation of Hylia. Something overcome her that she could not explain.
"And with that, I give you my own promise, as your Princess, I will be steadfast and devoted in procuring the power, the gift, that has been promised to my line since the dawn began. That through the power of my mother and her mothers' mother, I pray blessings shall rain down upon this kingdom, so that their guarding light may shield us from what is to come if it should ever come to pass."
Those last words tumbled strongly from her tongue, yet felt like a hollow echo of what she should have said, the conviction she had wanted to instill somehow lost in the haze of her own ever-present doubt. Should ever come to pass. Zelda blinked, her throat tight, but she had come this far. It was all becoming so real now. There was no turning back.
"I wish you all luck," she finished, the relief of nearing the end almost overwhelming. "May the goddess above guide you through her gracing light, and may your outcome be victory in her sight."
For a moment, the world stood still. She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, waiting to see if it would break. And then, after what felt like an eternity, the applause rose—a polite sound, but it carried none of the weight she had hoped it would.
Zelda stepped back; her fingers numb as they slipped from the railing. Her chest felt tight, and a deep sigh of relief tried to work its way out, though she couldn't quite release it. The speech was done. She had done it, but it felt more like surviving than succeeding.
She turned from the balcony, away from the crowd that still felt like an ocean threatening to drown her. But her mind lingered on the space where Helmsworth should have stood, the absence of him pulling at her thoughts.
The applause from below still echoed faintly in Zelda's ears, though the relief of finishing her speech was fleeting. She hadn't even had the chance to gather herself when she felt Lord Arasmus, standing beside her, close the distance between them. His presence had always felt intrusive, a shadow at her side, and today was no different. But there was something more about him today, something deliberate and unsettling in the way his gaze lingered on her, calculating.
Before she could even process what was happening, he reached for her hand—her body stiffened as his fingers curled possessively around her own. His touch was firm, commanding, and though she hadn't invited the gesture, hadn't expected it, there was an undeniable pull to it. He was handsome—striking, even—and she couldn't deny that, despite the distaste she harbored for his character. The knot twisting in her stomach was more than just discomfort; it was the unsettling realization that, had he not been so insufferable, she might have felt drawn to him as so many others were.
"I give you, our Princess! The goddess showers favor on her and speaks through her voice! Through her we are cleansed, and through her we shall be saved!" Arasmus's declaration boomed with confidence, his words laced with practiced charm, and the crowd drank it in. The lords cheered, their voices merging into the chorus, while the ladies in the audience fawned over his commanding presence at her side, wishing they were in her place, their admiration sparkling in their eyes.
Zelda's pulse quickened, her discomfort swirling with an unsettling awareness of how easily he commanded an audience. Even she couldn't deny the magnetic way he stood beside her, as if the two of them were destined to rule together. But the thought only made the knot in her stomach tighten further, a reminder of just how dangerous Arasmus's appeal could be. He was winning them over, she realized. All a show.
Zelda's heart raced, not with the excitement that the people might have assumed, but with the rising wave of panic. What is he doing? Her eyes darted to the sea of faces, each one locked on them, oblivious to the disquiet boiling inside her. Her fingers trembled within his grip, but he held her too tightly, his strength unnerving. She should have pulled away, but the thought of making a scene, of being seen faltering again, held her in place. Her eye even spied a glimpse of her father's approval, high above in the stands as he saluted with a silent toast of his golden goblet along with his cabinet.
"Smile, Princess," Arasmus murmured low in her ear, his voice smooth but laced with something darker. "This is what the people came for. What they want to see. What they need to see, would you agree? A future queen needs to know her place. And soon enough, you'll learn yours." He didn't believe in the Calamity or the prophecies and legends. He believed in nothing except his own strength and ambitions.
Before Zelda could react, before she could wrench her hand free or find the words to tell him to stop, he spun her around to face him, his movements so swift and purposeful that she barely had time to process the shift. His face hovered close to hers, far too close. For a moment, the world slowed, and Zelda's heart pounded with sudden dread.
Then, in a flash of realization, she felt his lips pressed on hers.
The crowd erupted with cheers as though this were some grand display of affection, a show of unity between what they assumed would be Hyrule's future king and queen. But inside, Zelda's mind screamed. It wasn't just the shock—it was the violation. The heat of his mouth pressed forcefully against hers, his hands clamped around her waist, holding her in place as though she were some prop to be paraded about.
And then, his tongue. His vile, invasive tongue parted her lips, demanding entry, claiming what was never his to take. The taste of him—the sour, cloying taste of mint and the scent of sweet arrogance churned her stomach—invaded her senses, sending a wave of nausea curling in her gut. This was not how her first real kiss was meant to be. Not how she envisioned since she was a little girl.
No.
Zelda's instinct roared to life, her hands pushing weakly at his chest. But to the crowd below, it looked like an embrace, the perfect portrait of young romance and unity. She could feel their burning eyes on her, feel the weight of their expectations, but all she wanted was to shove him away, to scream that she was not his.
But her voice, the one she had struggled to find in her speech, abandoned her again. She couldn't move, couldn't pull herself from his grasp. And for the briefest moment, she hated herself for it. For being trapped in the cage of royal duty, of propriety, of expectation.
Just as the cheers reached a fever pitch, Zelda found her strength. With a swift jerk, she tore her mouth from his, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her lips burned from the assault, and her chest felt tight as though she had just escaped a crushing weight. But the damage had been done—the people had seen what they needed to see. Her hand, nervous with sweat, slipped from Arasmus's grasp, trembling. Even her friends high up in the stands may have misconstrued what they saw, disbelief still in their gazes.
She stumbled back a step, but Arasmus, ever the performer, seized the moment. He turned to the crowd, his arm now wrapping around her waist as though to steady her, though it felt more like a binding. His other arm raised high in triumph, his voice ringing out over the arena.
"People of Hyrule!" he called, his voice full of charm and bravado. "Let us thank the goddess Hylia for this beautiful day, and for the trials that will forge the strongest of our knights! Alas though, it is time, me and the Princess must bid you all farewell to our seats, where we will watch eagerly with pride as they face the perilous Trial of Courage! Let the flames of valor burn bright this night and for all time!"
The crowd roared its approval, and Zelda felt herself shrinking beside him, small and silent. His arm was like iron around her, leading her away from the balcony and the cheers that were meant to celebrate her, but had only buried her deeper beneath the weight of her title. Even High Priest Galivan, cloaked in rich piety found pleasure in her discomfort, raising his goblet in celebration beside the happy couple. Savoring every sip as she shuffled away. To be honest, Zelda was amazed he could even bring his drink to his lips. His fingers were so bejeweled it was a miracle he could muster the strength to lift his hand. But that didn't matter now. What just happened?
Moments prior-
Back in the soldier's pit, where the supplies were and men suited up, Link and his squire were in a flurry of motion. Their hands were rifling through trunks, carts, and crates, each more frustratingly empty of what he needed. His armor—his uniform—nowhere to be found. Every passing second felt like another nail in the coffin. His brow furrowed deeper with each fruitless search, the nagging sense of something wrong creeping over him. And then, it hit him like a stone to the chest.
Regoso.
Of course. The mocking laughter, the sly smirks—he should have known. That's why Regoso and his pack of loyal followers had been sneering like they'd already won earlier. They did this.
A growl of frustration built in his throat, but he swallowed it down. There wasn't time to fume over it now.
"What are we going to do?" Jun's voice trembled with the beginnings of panic as he rummaged through another chest of soldiers' supplies, his small hands coming up empty. "We need to get you back. Your princess—I mean, the princess will be done any moment now! We're going to miss it!"
Link felt his jaw clench, the words "your princess" catching in his ears, but he ignored it. The kid was right. They didn't have time for this, and he couldn't let some petty prank keep him from being there when Zelda finished her speech. But his mind was already spinning, searching for an answer.
And then, like a flash of lightning, it struck.
"I know where my armor is." His voice came out firm, with a newfound sense of clarity cutting through the frustration.
Jun's head snapped up from the mess of supplies, his face etched with curiosity. "You do?"
"Yeah," Link nodded, eyes narrowing as the plan formed in his mind. "Hurry, follow me. There's no time."
Just about the whole kingdom roared in approval of the good news Arasmus declared to them.
The high lord began to guide her up the steps leading from the balcony, but Zelda spun and her eyes lifted, searching the crowd in one final, desperate attempt to find him. And then, there he was, —Finally, Helmsworth. He was far in the distance, standing at the edge of the column as he been there the whole time, clearly visible by the royal blue ribbon she had given him tied around his elbow.
Zelda's breath caught in her throat. Did he see? Would he understand? But before she could make sense of the moment, Arasmus' hand tightened around her waist, and she was pulled away, away from Helmsworth, away from herself.
With every step toward the royal box, the weight of what had happened settled deeper into her bones. She felt hollow, her lips sour with the memory of Arasmus' kiss, and her mind whirled with a thousand unspoken words. But for now, there was nothing she could do. Not here. Not yet. So she kept walking, her head held high, her heart beating wildly in her chest, wishing with everything she had that she were anywhere else.
Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I will be picking up the pace with every chapter as we move along; but trying to keep all of what I outlined intact. Please, let me know your thoughts. It has been a while since I heard any feedback and that is the only way I can improve. Lastly, if you haven't already, check out my youtube channel if you'd like to support me there by listening to the audio version of this story; complete with voice actors for each character. It's a labor of love and it would mean the world if you stopped by. It's listed under my channel name Sir Link. The videos can be searched also under Zelda botw Sequel (Fanmade) Audiobook part 1. Under that same channel name. Thank you so much for being apart of this and reading. Your support is what gets this story more reach with every comment, like or kudos. So with that, I leave you until we meet again next time(Approximately three weeks). Stay well wherever you are on your travels in Hyrule- Sky