Author's Note: A fire lit in me to get this done, so, I did. I hope you enjoy. Also, very important, if you haven't already please check to see if you're subscribed to the story. Fanfic dot net has a policy where they automatically they de-sub you after six months. I know, it's lame, but there's nothing I can do on my end about that. So, I would just resub or double check after every chapter drop just to be safe. I tend to drop once a month.
Why we failed pt. 20
The Forest of Dark Whispers
Link stood among the cadets, his posture stiff and alert, though his mind was anything but. The festival grounds hummed with anticipation, yet everything around him felt muted—distant, like he was watching the world through a fog. His gaze drifted upward, following the figure of Princess Zelda as she ascended the steps back to her seat in the royal box. The cheers of the crowd were deafening, but they washed over him like a wave that never quite reached the shore. His chest tightened.
That kiss.
He had seen it, and now he couldn't unsee it—the way Arasmus had taken Zelda's hand, how easily he had turned her to face the people, the way his lips had claimed hers in full view of the kingdom. A knot twisted in Link's gut. He'd wanted to look away, but he hadn't been able to. His feet had stayed rooted to the ground, his eyes fixed on the scene as it unfolded. There had been no anger in him—no hot, jealous rage. Just confusion. Confusion that had settled deep in his bones and now festered there like an open wound.
What did that mean?
He replayed the moment over and over in his mind, dissecting it, searching for something that would explain why it had bothered him so much. He and Zelda barely knew each other—only a few fleeting conversations, really. And yet, those brief moments had stirred something in him, something he couldn't quite name. He had felt...connected to her in a way that didn't make sense. But now, standing here among the other cadets, watching her from afar as she reclaimed her place beside the nobility, he couldn't help but feel foolish.
Maybe I read it all wrong.
She was a princess, after all. Royalty. And Arasmus... Arasmus was everything Link wasn't—Regal, charming, connected and most important, nobility. Not just any nobility, but heir to one of three great houses of Hyrule. He belonged in her world, up on that balcony, while Link stood here, just another low born commoner among the masses. His stomach churned at the thought. He had no right to feel anything for her. And yet, despite all logic, despite everything screaming at him to let it go, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
Had she wanted that kiss?
Link's jaw clenched as the memory of it flashed before him again. The way she had stiffened, just for a moment, before pulling away. It had been subtle—too subtle for most to notice. But he had seen it. She didn't want it, did she? Or was she just surprised? His mind wrestled with the question, doubt creeping into every corner. What if he was wrong? What if he was seeing things that weren't there? After all, what do I even really know about her?
He exhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat. It was a dangerous thing, to let hope take root. He had only known her for a handful of days. Whatever connection he thought he felt was likely nothing more than a passing moment. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the signs. Perhaps Zelda was exactly where she wanted to be—up there, beside someone like Arasmus all along.
Link's fingers curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking as he forced himself to focus. This isn't what matters right now. He had a role to play. His place was here, among the cadets, not in the royal box. Not by her side. He wasn't a noble, wasn't royalty, wasn't anything at all. Just another warm body sworn to take an arrow if need be. His world was down here, where steel and skill determined his fate, not bloodlines and certainly not grand destinies.
"Sir?" Jun's voice pulled him from his thoughts, the boy standing beside him with that same look of concern that had been there ever since Zelda had left the balcony. Link blinked, the weight of his thoughts lingering, but he managed a half-smile for Jun's sake. The others had already began to huddle around the commander to await instructions as those in the stands returned from their intermission.
"Time for me to go," Jun reminded him, shifting his weight awkwardly. "You going to be alright?" Link didn't respond. The boy's head tilted to stare up at Link's blank expression staring off into the yonder of the trees.
"Uh, Sir?"
Link shook his head for clarity and uttered, "Go on ahead. You know what to do." He paused briefly and reflected once more before turning to face him. "I must focus now. Thanks Jun and take care. Take care of yourself and her—"
"—You don't have to tell me twice, Sir, I got this handled."
Link nodded absently, his gaze drifting back to the royal box once more before snapping back to reality. Right. The trial. The reminder of what was coming next helped to ground him, though it did little to ease the ache gnawing at his chest. He had to let it go, at least for now. The trial was what mattered. Everything else... well, he would deal with that later.
Before the young squire could shuffle off, Link hollered back at him, causing him to spin around abruptly. "Good luck up there," Link said, his voice sounding surer than he felt. "Don't get into trouble. If you do, I'll know about it."
Jun grinned, as if trouble was his middle name. Then a sudden flicker of concern in his eyes as he glanced up toward the royal box. "I could say the same to you."
Link couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound of a welcome release of the tension that had been building inside him. But even as the humor lingered between them, he couldn't shake the uncertainty building in him. The trial loomed ahead, the weight of everything—Princess Zelda, that high Lord Arasmus, the sudden change to the festival rules, questions he didn't have answers to—pressed down on him.
Suddenly, Sir Athelon's voice cut through the crisp morning air, booming across the grounds, each word hitting with the force of a hammer. "Attention!" he barked, and instantly, the lines of cadets stiffened. To their front, Athelon's broad frame commanded their focus, every inch the hardened leader. Beside him stood Link's father, Commander Tye, Watch Captain of the Royal Guard and the man responsible for the king's personal detail. Link had always admired his father's unwavering composure, yet today, Tye's expression was off-kilter—eyes narrowed, lips a taut line, jaw clenched like he'd bitten down on something bitter.
The tension in his father's stance pricked at Link, filling him with a strange unease. Against his better judgment, Link stepped out of formation, instinctively moving toward him to ask what was wrong. But before he could take more than two strides, Athelon's voice lashed out like a whip. "And just where do you think you're wandering off to, pledge? Have a hot date with the goddess herself? Because I can send you to her right now if you'd like!" he said, finger tapping the hilt of his sword at his belt.
Link jerked to a halt, the force of Athelon's words snapping him back into place as he fumbled for an answer. "I, uh—"
"Return to formation, boy!" his father ordered, and though the words were meant as discipline, they felt like a blow. There was a coldness in Tye's tone that went beyond mere instruction, an edge that cut deep. His father's gaze landed on him, steely and unrelenting, a look harsher than Link had ever seen from him, so cold it almost burned.
"You think you're ready for this?" Tye's voice carried, not only for Link, but for every young pledge who dared think they knew what lay ahead. "As of this moment, none of you are men—not a single one of you. You have yet to earn that. Yesterday's trials were nothing but child's play. Contests for common rift raft. Mere trifles for the crowd's amusement. You on the other hand are to enter the elite," The watch captain said, as he took a bold step forward. "What's coming? That's the real test. And none of you have a clue what awaits you."
Link's stomach twisted under the weight of his father's words, yet there was something more gnawing at him. The tension in his father's face—the slight quiver in his clenched jaw—hinted at something else. Something that didn't belong to the trials or the tasks ahead. But whatever it was, Link's father had no intention of revealing it. With a sharp nod, Tye turned over the briefing to Athelon, his gaze sweeping past his son as if he were just another nameless cadet.
Athelon's voice thundered on, outlining the nature of the first trial, but his words quickly became a distant murmur as Link's thoughts drifted again to before. To her.
What did I really expect? Link thought, the familiar sting of doubt clawing at him. She is a princess, and he was just a commoner—a young man playing at something more. For all his skill, all his efforts, Zelda's world was one of nobility. One made up of crowns and titles, of people like Arasmus who commanded power with a mere glance. His world was here, in the shadow of the royal gallery, where blood and sweat and duty could only get him so far. Their kind were blessed by providence and ordained by lineage. Something he would never have. He swallowed hard, trying to shake off the bitter thoughts, but the memory of Zelda with Arasmus lingered, the dull throb in his chest returning.
"And you!" Athelon's voice ripped through his reverie, pulling him back to the present. The old knight's eye drilled into him, sparking with something close to disdain. "Do you think you have what it takes to win? And just where in Hylia's hell have you been anyway? You probably can't recite a single word I just said, can you?"
Link gulped under the weight of Athelon's gaze, struggling to muster a response. "I, um—"
Athelon sneered. "I sure as hell didn't say 'I, um.'" He looked ready to tear into Link again when another voice cut through the tension.
"Sir, perhaps I could—"
"No, you cannot!" Athelon whirled on the speaker, who Link quickly recognized as Sven. Poor Sven, who was already visibly shaking in his armor, his face a shade paler than usual.
Sven's voice died on his lips, his armor rattling under Athelon's withering stare. Tye's gaze settled on him too, a look of cold disapproval that left Sven visibly wilting.
"I know who you are, and I know your excuses," Athelon growled. "And I have time for none of them. You and Link over there—thick as thieves, aren't you? And hardly any better too."
Link squeezed a fist at his side, forcing himself to swallow the anger that flared within him. Thieves? The insult grated against his pride. He was nothing close to a thief; he'd always held himself to a code of honor, especially in matters of loyalty and duty. Was Athelon deliberately trying to rile him up? And if so, why him, why Sven—why not the others?
"Enough!" Athelon's voice rose above the grumbling cadets. He straightened, his posture stiff, his gaze slicing through them like a blade. "Listen up, and let's make this clear. Those who survive the tasks that await you will earn the greatest honor any man could hope for—a place in the Royal Guard." He turned, his eyes scanning the crowd, his tone sharp, calculated. "But let it be known—only one among you will be crowned champion, and to that victor will go the spoils."
A hush fell over the cadets, each one feeling the weight of Athelon's words. The crowds carried on behind him, face in their cups awaiting the revelry o come as he continued his address to the lads. The trials would be fierce; that much was certain. But the honor—Link's mind buzzed with the thought. A place in the Royal Guard. His gaze drifted upward, toward the royal box, where Zelda sat among the nobility, her face half-shadowed in the distance. Did she care about these trials? Or were they just another form of entertainment to her like the others?
Just as Athelon was about to delve into the details of the first trial, a disruption shattered the silence. From the stands, a flamboyant young man adorned in robes of satin and with a head of flowing, golden blond hair descended the stairs, heading directly toward the old knight and Tye with quick, urgent steps. Athelon muttered under his breath, irritation flaring in his eyes. "Sweet goddess, what in Demise's hell is it now?"
The young man approached with an air of importance, his chin lifted, his movements brisk. He ignored Athelon entirely, stopping directly in front of Tye. Link recognized him as one of the Herald's messengers, his clothing unmistakably fine and tailored to excess.
"Watch Captain," the messenger said, barely sparing Athelon a glance as he addressed Tye.
"Orders from—"
"Not now," Tye replied curtly, his expression darkening. "Sir Athelon is briefing the cadets."
"But, My Lord, it's urgent," the messenger insisted, his tone unwavering.
"I'm not a lord."
"Well, then, Sir," The man urged in a condescending tone.
Tye's jaw tightened and his mustache jolted, a warning flickering in his eyes. "I said, not now."
But the young man held his ground, his hand extending to offer a scroll with a royal seal, unmistakable in its rich, indigo wax. However, as Link observed closer, the seal was slightly different than the one he recognized. It looked as if two sigils marked the parchment. One he recognized and the other he wasn't entirely sure from that distance.
"I'm afraid I must insist, Commander," the messenger said, shoving the scroll into Tye's breastplate before making a swift exit, leaving Tye visibly disturbed by his sheer lack of respect for men in service.
Link's eyes flicked to the scroll, though he couldn't make out any more from his place among the cadets. But whatever was written there, it had clearly cast a dark shadow over his father's mood. Tye's fingers tightened around the scroll, his eyes scouring the message with an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through the ranks.
Athelon glanced sidelong at Tye, his expression unreadable, though it was clear the interruption had rattled the cadence of his speech. Link shifted uncomfortably as he watched his father's face fade from rigid displeasure to something else entirely—a cold, quiet fury. He'd never seen him look like this before.
Thirty seconds became a lifetime as the air around them thickened. Whatever tidings the royal box had seen fit to deliver, couldn't be good. Something was amiss, but Link couldn't begin to imagine what.
Link could feel his pulse thudding in his ears as he waited, watching the weight of the messenger's words settle over his father. Captain Tye's gaze lifted slowly from the parchment, his expression as dark and severe as a storm brewing on the horizon. When he spoke, his voice carried a weight that hushed the air around them.
"Plans have changed," he began, his tone as steely as his gaze. "The trial has been moved forward, and all three tasks will be completed tonight. Which you all have been made aware moments ago." He paused, letting the severity sink in. "This has never been done before and requires only the strongest among you to succeed. If any of you can manage it at all."
Link tensed, feeling a shift in the crowd of cadets around him, his own breath hitching at the announcement. Was that it?
Tye's hand tightened around the scroll as he continued. "What you don't know," he said gravely, "is that I am to leave this place immediately, and take the entire battalion of Royal Guardsman to quell an attack from pirates that has broken out near Cucco Cross, on the beaches of the Salty Shores in the Marshlands. There, I am to lead the vanguard. Petty-Lord Fendall is pleading for aid in repelling this incursion onto our lands. And seeing that neither Lord Chancellor Danarus nor Fendall's liege Lord Talin could muster their own men from their seats here beside the king, it is up to Royal Battalion to muster. And seeing it is that they are only accompanied by a retainer of their household guard here, it would take days for correspondence to reach their hold capitals. So, we must act in their stead. These orders come directly from the High Chancellor himself on behalf of our king."
The ripple of shock among the cadets was heard with gasps of bewilderment. Link's heart hammered in his chest, his mind reeling at the words. The entire battalion? It was unprecedented, unheard of. He glanced around at his fellow pledges, all equally dumbfounded. Why would they send the Royal Guard for this?
Link's instinct took over, and he stepped out of formation before he even realized it. "Fa—I mean, Watch Captain, permission to speak?"
Tye's glare could have cut stone. "No, you may not. This isn't your concern nor up for debate. These are my orders."
Link swallowed, the sting of dismissal sharp, but a nearby cadet spoke up, voicing the question they were all thinking.
"But, why the Royal Guard, sir?" The young man's voice wavered with uncertainty. "Isn't this a job for the regular army? For the lords' bannermen? We haven't seen a deployment like this in over a thousand years—"
Another cadet chimed in, "Royal Guardsmen never leave the capital except to escort the king or his heirs. Certainly, other Lords could rally up defenders, can't they? It goes against all protocol." Others nodded in agreement.
Captain Tye's patience snapped. "As of right now, none of you are anything. You will listen and do what you're told. Matters like these aren't for your judgment. They are for me and my men to decide."
"But, father, we were only—" Link's words spilled out before he could catch them, but his father's furious gaze cut him off.
"Silence, boy! Do as you're told." Tye's words landed with the force of a blow. "In the guard, we follow orders, no matter how strange or difficult they seem. It is not my place, nor yours, to question commands from the King or his cabinet. I follow orders. You'd do well to try it sometime—if you truly wish to stand beside your brothers in arms."
The insult stung. His father's words bore a bitter truth, one Link had wrestled with his whole life. The need to act on his own conscience, to do what he thought was right no matter the circumstance, even if it often clashed with the rigid obedience expected of him. It was a battle he'd fought since boyhood, and yet, here, standing under his father's glare, that struggle felt sharper than ever.
"In my absence, Sir Athelon will assume command of the remaining Crimson Cloaks here at the Capital," Tye clarified. And now, with the matter seemingly settled, he turned to gather his surrounding guardsmen, signaling for them to meet toward the edge of the festival grounds where they would mobilize to march out of the city. Link felt himself move, instinct propelling him forward, even as his mind screamed to stop. But before he could take more than a step, Athelon's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and unyielding.
"You heard the commander! Back in line, boy!" Athelon's eyes bore into him with fierce authority.
But Orin, standing beside him, spoke up in his defense. "But Sir, it doesn't make sense. None of this does."
"Be that as it may," Athelon replied with icy finality, "none of you are guardsmen yet. You have no say in the matter. Your only concern should be with the trials." His gaze shifted toward the oblivious crowd in the stands, who had no idea of the dire situation unfolding outside the protection of the capital, his tone turning mocking. "We wouldn't want to disappoint all the wonderful people who've come all this way to see you prove your honor, would we?"
The insinuation burned in Link's chest, and despite Athelon's words, he broke ranks again, urgency driving him forward. He marched up to the Master Knight, his voice low but urgent. "Sir, I must go and help the others in this task. Something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones. I can't explain it, but I think they're in danger." He took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of his decision as he added, "I know my actions leaving will disqualify me. But if that's the choice I got to make, then so be it, Sir."
Beside him, he heard Sven and Orin gasp in shock, the disbelief plain in their faces. Link was risking everything—his position, his future—to act on a feeling he wasn't even sure about.
But Athelon's face hardened, his voice like steel. "You will do no such thing. I'm not asking, I'm telling."
Link's defiance flared as he was about turn and walk away. "As you said, Sir, I'm not a guardsman yet. You can't command—"
The words barely left his mouth before Athelon's hand shot out like a cobra's strike, clamping around his wrist with bruising force. His grip was like iron, a shackle that held Link in place as his gaze, hard and unyielding, met Link's.
"Listen to me, lad," Athelon growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Your father gave me strict orders to keep you here, and I intend to see them through."
Link's gaze fell to the commander's hand, the fierce grip cutting off the blood flow to his fingers. He could feel the chill numbness spreading, but he didn't flinch, meeting Athelon's stare with equal intensity through his half helm. Something flickered in the commander's eyes—an understanding, a glimmer of shared concern that was quickly masked. What was that?
"Listen." Athelon's voice lowered to a whisper. "The old man agrees with you and shares your suspicions." His grip slackened slightly, a gesture almost of sympathy.
Link was shocked by this revelation but before he could pull away, the old knight continued. "But he knows that you're not ready yet. He needs real soldiers—soldiers who are fully trained, fully prepared. And more importantly, men who can obey orders without question. You're no good to him now if you can't complete this trial."
Link's eyes narrowed, the weight of Athelon's words pressing down on him. Not ready yet. And what was yesterday? A joke? I won the preliminaries! He thought despairingly. It then dawned on him. Nobody knows he joined the preliminaries, only Jun and his father.
Ignoring Link's inner turmoil, Athelon nodded to his right-hand man, Master Guardsman Finn, who nudged another guard to assemble beside him. "Finn, take your underwing Grinn and have a sniff about. Find out what's going on here as well and if there's any truth to the Watch Captain's suspicions, see if there's any fire in all this smoke."
Both men nodded, listening as Athelon laid out more instructions. "We need to know if this isn't just another order from above or something else that should worry us. Even more, we need to know if everything is alright here on our end too.
"After all, it's not like the castle court, let alone a single cabinet member to meddle in Guardsman affairs. Even if it is the Lord Chancellor. As you know, we serve only at the King's leisure. But now with this bold act of dispatching guardsman for active duty on his behalf, and to assist household soldiers and fight among the common fyrds of all things….It's unusual—and I don't like it one bit and neither does our Watch Captain. Report back to me anything you find, no matter how small a lead. See if you can put this boy's fear and all of ours to rest."
Finn and Grinn saluted, moving with grim determination. As they left, Athelon turned back to Link, his grip finally loosening. "Satisfied?" he asked, his voice softer but no less resolute. "I'll keep an eye out here, as will my men. If there's any truth to what you fear, we'll find it."
Link swallowed hard, feeling the fight seep out of him as Athelon's words settled in. He didn't trust easily, but Athelon's reassurance struck a chord. The commander had seen more battles than Link could count; he understood the weight of suspicion, the danger in disregarding it.
Athelon released him fully, his gaze steady. "Now, fall in line, and do your part. That's what your father needs. And that's what your brothers need. Trust me."
Moments earlier-
Zelda and Arasmus stepped back into the royal gallery and were met with a wave of admiration and approval from every corner. The young lord still held her hand, his fingers curled possessively around hers, a gesture that threatened to both charm and trap her. It took all of Zelda's poise to maintain her composure, to keep the serene smile on her face as though this display was her idea, as though she, too, was reveling in the stares and sighs of those around them. Somehow, she needed a way to turn this around to her benefit. But how?
Arasmus meanwhile wore a practiced charm as effortlessly as a tailored tunic, his expression radiating satisfaction with each approving nod cast their way.
As they approached, the King rose from his seat, lifting a goblet high in a toast. "To the happy couple!" he proclaimed, voice rich with pride. Around him, lords and ladies, dignitaries and emissaries, rose with him, their cups lifted in unison. Their voices joined in a jubilant chorus, the wine flowing as laughter and chatter spilling into the air.
Echoes of "Hoorah for House Hyrule and hoorah for House Draene!" bounced off the wooden ramparts. Zelda stiffened as she walked listening to their hollow praises, even observing the confused, blank stares from her friends seated at their table. Little did they know, she felt as awkward as they looked bewildered.
Just stay focused, Zelda, she told herself, resisting the urge to pull her hand free. Don't let it get to you. Don't let him win this round. She searched for an escape to sit among the safe company of her friends, her eyes scanning for a reason, any reason, to leave his grasp. But before she could quietly slip her hand from Arasmus, her father's commanding voice once again stole her plans.
"Come, my daughter!" he called, his grin wide and gleaming with satisfaction. "The midday is young, and so much more awaits in celebration! Friends have arrived in your honor!"
The unexpected call halted Zelda mid-step, and she blinked, caught off guard. Arasmus turned, a hint of surprise flickering in his expression as well, but she noticed the calculation in his gaze, how he took in her father's words with the shrewdness of someone who knew exactly how to play his hand. Sensing the shift in attention, he released her with an air of graciousness, letting her go with a subtle smile that suggested he was magnanimous enough to allow her a moment on her own. She pulled her hand back as naturally as she could, ignoring the eerie warmth his touch left lingering on her sweaty palm.
Zelda's gaze followed her father's to the guests he had spoken of—a towering figure stood by his side, one who seemed out of place amidst the silk-clad nobles and the ornamented hall. A Goron of all people. His laughter echoed through the hall, a deep, hearty bellow that rattled the very rafters, drawing stares and even some nervous laughter from other courtiers.
"Long time no see, little princess!" he called out, his voice booming and as warm as a midday sun, his face a map of weathered stone and warmth. She blinked, trying to place him, to dredge up some memory of a time they had met. The pieces danced just out of reach, hazy wisps that slipped away as quickly as she grasped them. But judging by the sparkle in his eye, he must've known her well.
Her father and the rest of his court were well into their cups, and the room had taken on that unmistakable hum of merry indulgence. She felt the weight of her father's and everyone else's gaze as she stood by the high table, suddenly the center of attention. She felt her cheeks glow a heated red by all their stares. Mustering as much grace as she could manage, Zelda gave a small, polite nod. "Forgive me," she began, "have we been acquainted before?"
The Goron's laughter roared louder, his expression one of good-natured shock, as though her question had been the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. "Do we know each other?" he echoed, incredulous, and laughed so heartily it seemed the walls themselves might shake in response.
Her uncle Arcturus, always one for theatrics, leaned forward with a mirthic grin. "Only the fiercest and jolliest Goron this side of the Dying Mountains!" he proclaimed, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
The Goron's expression shifted, his jaw setting in offense. "Who you calling jolly?" he growled, ripping a bite out of what looked suspiciously like a glowing ember of stone. His face turned hard, his gaze sharp as flint, and a tense silence settled over the table. He then stared down the prince for what seemed like an eternity. Neither one letting up on the other. Even the King watched with eager anticipation, holding his breath as if waiting for a storm to break.
Zelda froze, uncertain, her heart skipping a beat as her father, her uncle, and the rest of the table waited, watching the Goron's reaction in unsettled quiet.
Oh, Hylia's grace, she thought, panic sparking within her. Did I somehow insult him? Or worse, has my uncle? She felt the prickling of anxiety manifest in cucco bumps on her arms, a bead of sweat beginning to form on her brow as she prepared herself to stammer out a wave of apologies to dispel any tension. And then, the Goron's stern expression cracked like breaking stone, and he bust a gut laughing, his chuckles spreading like fire.
"Only jesting!" he roared, the laugh echoing through the hall, as others caught on and joined in with their own chortles and grins.
It took Zelda a moment to process, but relief swept over her as she realized it had all been in good fun. They had only been teasing, drawing her into their game. She let out a small laugh, and the weight of worry left her, mingling with a hint of embarrassment. The musicians resumed their melodies, their light-hearted melodies dancing through the hall once more as the atmosphere returned to one of revelry.
"I'm sorry Princess. I couldn't help myself." The Goron looked down at her, a knowing twinkle in his eye as he gave her a wink. "Should've seen the look on your face!"
Zelda managed another smile, letting out a laugh that felt both amused and embarrassed. Her heart still raced, but she could feel it settling, the lingering coziness of their laughter softening the edges of her nerves. And though she didn't remember this Goron's name or their past encounter, in that moment, she felt a strange sense of familiarity and ease, as she watched him embrace her loved ones. It was if he were a long-lost trusted friend.
"Never mind him, sweet niece," her uncle chimed in, his voice bright with mischief. "He's all powder and no boom, you'll see."
Laughter rippled through the royal table again, this time encouraged by the mighty goron. A sound bright and cheerful as the sconces flickering along the walls. Zelda found herself relaxing in the easy company of her uncle's joviality, even allowing herself a small reprieve as the Goron chortled, seemingly unfazed by the jab.
"I'll show you a boom, you old ruffian!" the mysterious guests declared to her uncle with a nudge.
Ruffian? Now that wasn't something she heard her uncle called every day. In fact, not ever.
She glanced up at their mysterious guest, catching a glint of mischief matching in his eye as he flexed his muscular arm with pride, his stony bicep rising like a mountain peak.
"But, Mister Goron," Zelda said, her tone light and curious, "you still haven't quite answered my question—"
The Goron lifted his arm higher, puffing out his chest with a wide grin, "—Of course we know each other! I'm Chief of the Hearty Gorons, the mighty Daruk! Why, your family and I go way back. Your uncle, even your father—they're my sworn brothers!" He leaned closer, his eyes warm with recognition. "Though I must admit, the last time I saw you, dear princess, you were naught but knee-high to a Bombuflower! My oh my, how you've grown!"
Zelda's curiosity piqued, her gaze locked onto him, blinking with genuine wonder. "A... Bombuflower?" she asked meekly, her head tilting with fascination. She'd never heard of such a thing. At least, not from any of the gardens she's been to or in any of the Royal Scholar's books.
"Why, yes—Bombuflowers!" Daruk declared, his voice dropping into a tone of mock severity as he explained. "You mean to tell me you've never heard of Bombuflowers? They used to sprout all over Death Mountain, like weeds! But now, they're rarer than a prime rock roast."
He paused, a shadow crossing his gaze. "They say it was the Great Snowfall of E'na Farore that did them in. Back in those days, very long ago, the mountains were cloaked in deep permafrost that ran thick as iron, and, well, those flowers hate the chill as much as we do. We Gorons fortunately recovered, but sadly, I can't say the same thing about our sacred flowers. They are as rare a sight as the princess standing before me now."
Zelda froze, taken off guard by the compliment as all the eyes fell upon her, each gaze like a weight she felt settling on her shoulders. She tried to keep her composure, the dutiful smile in place, though she could feel her cheeks heating again.
"As a matter of fact," Daruk continued adding levity, "I used to pick you up and carry you around just like this! Do you remember? You were quite small." With a grand flourish, he hoisted a small keg from the table and set it on his shoulder, grinning proudly. "I swear, you loved it back then, when you were just a little thing!" He gave a full belly laugh again, reminiscing about the good old days. "I mean, you still are just a little princess," he said, correcting himself. "In fact, you use to call it being 'Queen of the mountain', goro!"
A vague remembrance flashed in Zelda's memory at Daruk's mention, but burned away like morning mist as quickly as it came. All she knew that for a brief moment, the recollection felt warm and as cozy as a campfire. She must have been very little indeed.
"I'm afraid she's a bit too grown up for that now, isn't she?" her uncle chimed in, a playful glint in his eye. "After all, she's six and ten today, and heir to the goddess to boot!"
"Yup, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world!" Daruk boomed. Zelda watched as he exchanged a merry glance with her uncle. "Though, I must apologize for the delay in my arrival, Princess. That being said, nothing was going to stop me from rolling down the mountain to be here, not even a blizzard. Especially when I heard your rascal uncle would be here, too!"
"Is that so?" Arcturus ribbed, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Are you sure you came just to see your old friend. Or could it be something else you desire?"
Zelda blinked, trying to make sense of their exchange, but her bewilderment must have shown because Daruk leaned forward in his seat toward her with a conspiratorial grin.
"You got me!" Daruk said, raising his burly hands in mock surrender. "Not every day I get to enjoy a feast like this," he explained, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "A premium prime rib rock fillet is a delicacy we Gorons can't resist. Trust me, little princess, they're the stuff of legend! Why, even old King Dodongo himself would've been envious of tonight's feast."
"Prime rib rock fillet?" Zelda repeated, her curiosity piqued, the name alone intriguing enough. She hadn't even managed to process the unfamiliar names and stories he'd mentioned before yet. Bombuflowers, King Dodongo… It was as if a hidden world lay within their laughter and half-spoken memories, a world she could glimpse only in pieces.
"Yes, mined only from the darkest frozen caverns of Snowpeak on Thunder Mountain, near your uncle's keep," Daruk said with reverence, nodding toward him. "And dear old Arcturus here is smart enough to bring some to the capital when it's roasting season!"
Her uncle raised his goblet with a jovial grin. "Only the best for my friends!"
A feeling of belonging settled over the table, a camaraderie that seemed both ancient and timeless. And though Zelda was left standing, unsure of her place in their shared memories, she found herself smiling, drawn to the easy friendship between Daruk and her uncle.
The King's voice, gentle but firm, cut through the merriment. "Come, my dear, have a seat with us," he said, his eyes warm and inviting. Though unbeknownst to the others, she caught the flicker of something else hidden behind them—Something only she knew all too well growing up. An unspoken reminder of 'Please behave yourself, Zelda Araleia, and do your part to be the princess they expect you to be'. "You may rejoin your friends during the intermission."
Zelda dipped her head in acknowledgment, sensing the subtle command in his words. She moved to the seat Arasmus had saved for her, where he waited with his ever-present smile, his eyes glinting with self-satisfaction. She took her place beside him, her hands folded in her lap, even as her heart tugged her attention back to her friends.
Purah, watching from afar, seemed to understand her plight , practically left alone with strangers aside from her uncle and father. With characteristic boldness, she made her way over to the royal table, slipping into a seat nearby, the corner of her mouth quirking up in mischief as she settled in.
She raised her brows at Zelda, her gaze full of playful inquiry, a silent question glimmering there:So, what was that about with Arasmus on the balcony? Is there something I should know? What's gotten into you? What ever happened to—
Zelda's expression remained perfectly composed, though she returned Purah with a swift, defying and pointed glance that said,Don't you dare ask.
Purah, loyal as ever, merely gave Zelda's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, her eyes softening. She also changed the subject. "A pity your champion Helmsworth won't be participating in the trial today," she murmured with a touch of sympathy. "I know how much it meant to you to see him try. But perhaps, on the morrow, we could pay him a visit back at the infirmary of the castle?"
Zelda shook her head slightly, fighting back a pleased smile. The truth she had kept to herself felt like a small victory, a tiny spark of joy she couldn't quite suppress. "Actually, you'll be surprised to hear that he will be in the trial. He's all recovered and ready to face the tests. He's going to become a guardsman after all it would seem."
Purah's face lit up in shock, her enthusiasm mirroring Zelda's as she whispered excitedly, "W-what a wonderful turn of events! Who knew he had it in him? Are you sure? How? I thought he was—"
Zelda's smile grew, her voice soft yet certain. "I saw him! Just as we made our way back."
Just then, a sudden, choking coughing fit broke into the girls' shared excitement, drawing their attention. The sound came from Arasmus, who had been leaning toward a dignitary, his voice low and assured—until now. His head snapped around, his over-confident composure slipping as he struggled to swallow a morsel of apple in his throat. With a faintly reddened face and a barely concealed look of irritation, he managed to clear himself, the noise sounding more like a clumsy bark than a dignified cough.
"So," he began, his tone cutting through the conversation as he regained his air of superiority. "That swordsman made it after all?"
Zelda didn't miss the tension hiding in his eyes, and she couldn't suppress the gleam of satisfaction in her own. "That's right," she replied, her voice bright with pride as she leaned forward, directing their gazes with a pointed finger to the ranks below. "He's the one with the blue sash, near the back—do you see him?"
She relished in the flicker of red that crept up Arasmus's neck as he followed her hand, the hidden agitation he desperately tried to mask. "Isn't it wonderful?" she added with mock innocence, letting her words twist like a thorn. She knew that his interest in her was much more about power than attraction, and to him, Helmsworth represented a threat to both. That only made her satisfaction grow.
Across the table, the High Seneschal caught Arasmus's displeasure and raised a brow, struggling to hide his own curiosity. A brief, loaded glance passed between him and Arasmus, a silent exchange that hinted at something more. Arasmus's stare was sharp, almost accusatory, as if silently demanding, 'Why is that Helmsworth back in the tournament? I thought your medicine man took care of it?'
The Seneschal merely offered a slight shrug, masking a flicker of amusement beneath an expression of feigned bewilderment. Ah, let the drama unfold,he mused privately, intrigued. This Helmsworth was proving far more interesting than he had anticipated.
Zelda turned back to Purah, her excitement rekindling at the thought of her champion on the field below and other fascinating news. "Have you ever heard of a Bombuflower?" she asked, her eyes alight with the thrill of discovery. "Daruk, Chief of the Gorons, mentioned they used to bloom atop Death Mountain ages ago. I can't help but wonder what they were."
Purah closed one eye thoughtfully, fiddling with the tiny recorder she always seemed to carry, her fingers tapping rhythmically against its wooden surface as if it were a cherished toy. "Hm, you may have stumped me there, Princess." She adjusted her spectacles, squinting as if the memory was hidden just beyond reach. "Though, I think my sister mentioned something about them once. A volatile species of crop, prone to exploding on impact, if I recall correctly. Then again," she shrugged, "I could be wrong. You'd have to ask her. She's the expert on historical records and the… lesser-known plants, shall we say? I prefer to study things with practical applications. Mechanisms and tools for today's world." She flashed a wry smile. "Much more practical, don't you think?"
Before Zelda could respond, Arasmus leaned forward, his voice slipping between them with that familiar, smooth interruption. "Speaking of flowers," he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face, "it appears the Lord of Roses himself has decided to grace us with his presence."
Zelda and Purah both turned, watching as the new arrivals made their way along the table, greeting each noble in order of status. They moved with a practiced elegance, heads bowed and murmured pleasantries exchanged with each person they passed until finally reaching the royal family. The eldest was Lord Sylvan of House Illiastar, the slight gleam of his silver, ornate circlet catching the light, followed closely by his younger brother, Sephryn, who lingered at Zelda's gaze a beat longer than propriety might allow.
Leaning in close, Arasmus murmured in Zelda's ear as if he were sharing some closely guarded secret. "Would you look at that, my Sundelion," he whispered, his tone almost mocking. "It seems his young brother, the poet, has taken quite a shine to you. Poor fool—doesn't he realize your hand is already accounted for this evening?"
Zelda barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes, biting back a retort as Arasmus's father's voice cut through the air. Lord Danarus, the High Chancellor, was rarely one for idle chatter, and his quiet authority commanded attention. A royal guardsman, clad in the distinctive crimson cloak of his position, appeared at his side, bending low to receive a set of orders. Zelda's gaze shifted to the powerful man with salt-and-pepper hair giving silent commands, her curiosity piqued, his features sharp and hawk-like, with piercing eyes set beneath a brow as unyielding as chiseled stone. It was uncommon for a member of the Crimson Cloaks to serve anyone outside of the royal family, herself included.
"Deliver this immediately to the man below with the Grand Herald, he'll know what to do," she overheard Lord Danarus instruct in a low, commanding voice that brooked no dissent. "These are for the Watch Captain's eyes only."
The guard hesitated, his eyes flickering to King Rhoam, as if seeking confirmation. The King, observing the interaction, waved his hand with a faint smirk and a hint of exasperation. "For heaven's sake, man, he is the High Chancellor and wielder of the Royal Scepter. Do as he says. Can't I enjoy one evening for myself?" he instructed, his voice carrying a note of indulgent authority, though his fingers slipped just enough to spill a bit of wine from his cup.
Zelda seized the moment, her tone innocent but her curiosity sharpened to a fine edge. "Before he leaves, my lord, is there anything we should worry ourselves over?" She glanced at Danarus, her brow lightly furrowed. "You look as if something's wrong."
Danarus paused, his hand lifting slightly, halting the Crimson Cloak for a moment. He turned back to Zelda, his smile perfectly even yet laced with a barely concealed amusement. "Nothing to fret over, dear princess I wouldn't want to bore or bother you with such things. Just a matter of military movements—a dry topic, I assure you, and one unfit to cloud a day that belongs to you." His eyes sparkled with ironic mirth, as though the very notion of explaining himself was something of a joke.
"Oh, it's no bother at all." Zelda's voice was bright, her smile demure but tinged with something sharper. "I actually don't mind hearing about my kingdom's affairs from time to time. And if it's as simple as you say, or if it's not too confidential for listening ears, I'd love to hear more." She lifted a brow in practiced, polite sarcasm. "Don't worry, my lord. I'm sure I can keep up."
A small smile curved at Danarus's lips as he took a bite from his trencher, savoring the appetizer of venison—charred to savory perfection on the outside, juicy tender within. "I'm sure you can, Princess Zelda," he replied with mild amusement. "I meant no offense."
"None taken, my lord." Zelda returned his gaze with a sweet, fluttering smile, but her eyes held steady, measuring. Her lashes dipped ever so slightly, but her resolve did not falter. Around the table, the others leaned in, caught in the exchange. She could feel Arcturus's eyes gleaming with intrigue, while Arasmus sat beside him, watching her intently, his fingers wrapped in a tense grip around his goblet. Daruk's face lit up with a hearty grin, clearly enjoying the scene, while Purah's face was aglow with silent encouragement.
"Zelda." The King's voice was a low, almost inaudible growl, his gaze darkening in a sidelong glance. "Enough."
Danarus simply raised a hand, signaling to the King that all was well. "It's quite alright, Your Majesty." He turned his gaze back to Zelda, his stare keen and impenetrable. "Very well, if you must know." Resting his goblet on the table, he spoke with deliberate weight. "We've received reports from the western shores at Salty Cove of an incursion upon our lands. Tamarizee pirates from the Ousted Isles have made landfall, raiding and pillaging nearby villages and hamlets near Cucco Cross. Petty Lord Fendall has requested our aid in repelling this threat."
The table was taken back by the news but Zelda still cleared throat to speak. "How could that have happened?" she asked, her tone genuine with concern, though a tinge of suspicion lay beneath her words. "Those islands are far from our shores to the north."
Danarus leaned back, an edge of satisfaction glinting in his eyes as if enjoying her pursuit. "They seized an opportunity while most of our main forces are stationed near the borders of the Scourgelands, clear across the kingdom." He raised a brow, as though expecting her to question further. "Our patrols there have faced Yiga incursions as well as other disturbances of late, and the skirmishes there have taxed us. So, with your father's council, I suggested that the Royal Guard be mustered to silence this threat at Cucco Cross. They are closest and would be of best use. A swifter solution than rallying Lord Talin Tarble's bannermen or calling back my own retainers from the Stonelands."
Zelda's gaze narrowed, undeterred. "But, the entire battalion here, my lord?" she asked, her voice light, but her eyes conveyed a deeper skepticism. "And I thought patrols in the borderlands were mainly ceremonial. Why do you still have such a large mass of troops posted there? How come am I just barely hearing this?"
Danarus's expression remained smooth, amused even. "I'm only sending Royal Guardsmen who aren't essential here, Princess. A handful will remain, but the majority will be dispatched to aid Lord Fendall where they are sorely needed. There's no need to fear for your safety, Princess. My household guard, as well as the retinues of the two other High Lords and the common watch, are more than capable to protect the capital." He nodded to Commander Fywell across the table. "After all, he tells me that the Watch Captain's Royals have been itching for some real action. So, I figured why not give them crack at the enemy for a change."
"But why dispatch the Royal Guard when the Marshland Fyrd could be called upon?" Zelda suggested, her tone mild but her eyes flashing with challenging determination. "They're much closer."
The faintest flicker of amusement passed over Danarus, softening the lines on his face as he took in her suggestion. "Ah, nothing escapes you, does it, Princess?"
Zelda lifted her chin, her smile both sweet and challenging. "I do have a mind, my lord, and eyes that can read a map. I know the distances. Lord Fallon and Lord Myrtle are a day's ride at most from Cucco Cross. Surely, they would be more effective—"
"Zelda," her father interjected, his tone a low, admonishing rumble. "There is a time and place for these discussions."
"Father, it's only a suggestion," she replied, trying to temper her tone while holding his gaze.
Danarus seized the moment, his tone dropping to something almost flattering. "I see now why my son is so captivated by you, Princess. Not only do you possess a beauty worthy of poetry, but you have a sharp and astute mind to match. You'd make an excellent commander yourself, if not for you being a lady."
Zelda could feel the hot air of his compliments, but she kept her expression politely composed, offering him a small, impassive smile. He was observing her as though she were a glittering new prize, and the thought grated against her pride. He may as well be admiring a new tool to use, she thought, resisting the urge to clench her fists beneath the table. Instead she relaxed and listened.
Danarus's tone dropped to one of calculated diplomacy. "But to your question—didn't you, only yesterday, proclaim the Royal Guard the finest fighting force in all of Hyrule? I mean, after all the support you threw behind that would-be guardsman I heard about."
Zelda hesitated to deflect, her response caught in her throat.
"Then surely we should send the best, wouldn't you agree?" he pressed, his voice deceptively smooth. "Especially given the mounting tensions in the northeast at this current time. My own soldiers are stationed there, and they cannot abandon their posts. A tragedy would surely ensue if they did."
"But why such a force for mere pirates?" Zelda asked, not dropping her line of questioning. "Surely they don't require such… heavy-handed reinforcements."
Danarus's gaze was impenetrable as he replied, "On the contrary, Your Highness, I have advised your father to levy more conscripts. Our enemies may be allying themselves to achieve a common goal."
A chill trickled down her spine. "Forgive me, Chancellor, but… it sounds like you're suggesting a war may be on the horizon?"
Danarus's smile was calm and dismissive. "Nothing to concern yourself over, dear Princess."
The Crimson Cloak had been waiting patiently all the while, his hand extended to receive the orders. Danarus gave the parchment a final glance before handing it to him. "You have your orders. Treat them with utmost care and deliver them with haste. The detachment is to leave immediately."
Zelda reached forward, almost instinctively, as if to delay the guard's departure. "But… what of the Festival? Shouldn't a matter of this severity take precedence over the celebrations?"
Danarus looked at her with a wry smile, his tone reassuring, though his eyes held a certain coldness. "Princess, this evening is for you, for the young. Let others bear the burdens of state tonight. Everything is under control."
Zelda eased back in her seat, though her mind continued to whirl with the new information. She forced a pleasant smile as she addressed him one last time. "Pardon my dismay, my lord, but it's difficult to enjoy myself knowing such dire matters are unfolding outside the comforts of home."
Danarus's expression didn't waver. "It is not your burden to bear, Princess. Lay your worries to rest."
"But I am the princess, who is not to worry about their people if not me—" Zelda began with a hint of defiance, though her voice barely above a whisper and her resolve momentarily flickering.
"—And I am your father and the king," Rhoam interrupted, his voice a stern rebuke as he set his goblet aside. He had heard enough. "Lord Chancellor Danarus assures us that all is well, and that is enough. Isn't that right, Chancellor?"
Danarus inclined his head to the king. "Most certainly, Your Majesty."
Once again, her words were stilled, her thoughts pressed back into silence. How many times had she been made to feel this way? Relegated to a role—a symbol, nothing more. A gilded banner for the people. Once more his cabinet only saw her for what she represented, not for who she was. And certainly not as someone who had their own ideas or should concern herself with matters of true consequence. She could remember, even as a child, being told to step back, to hold her questions—"Not now, Zelda." "It's not for you to worry about." She swallowed against the bitterness on her tongue, anger flickering beneath her skin, but forced herself to respond with a quiet, subtle nod, a rehearsed show of grace.
The King nodded, his tone softening only slightly as he addressed Zelda. "Then let us put an end to these grim matters and enjoy the festival, my dear. That is an order."
He glanced around the table, his eyes lingering on her as he continued. "Lord Danarus is the commander of the Seven Legions and of all the Hylian hosts, second only to me. He is more than capable."
"You honor me, Sire," Danarus replied with a small, calculated smile and tilt of the head.
"Now," the King continued, raising his goblet once more, "let us enjoy the day in good company."
Arasmus joined in with an easy, confident smile. "Oh, I have no doubt she'll enjoy herself, isn't that right, Sundelion?" He placed his hand atop hers in a show of cozy solidarity, his fingers pressing just enough to hold her in place. "She was merely curious, that's all," he added, his voice pitched to sound indulgent, as if humoring her. He leaned over and pecked a light kiss on her cheek, his gesture casual, almost dismissive, casting her concerns and suggestions of stratagem earlier as the mere flights of fancy of a naive girl. "Leftover nerves from her speech, perhaps? She did tell me on the carriage ride here how much she prepared for them." he suggested to the other guests, as though his 'defense' somehow softened his condescension.
Zelda sat still, her expression carefully composed as she surrendered to his advances, her mind already turning to the next hand she could play. She glanced around the enclosure, hoping to catch Purah's eye—only to find her seat empty. Daruk and her uncle were deep in their own lively game of Keaton and Cuccos, their laughter spilling over the table. Her options dwindling, Zelda kept her gaze poised, unwilling to betray her frustration, though her heart quietly sank.
Seeing the truth of her feelings hiding behind her eyes, Arasmus turned from listening to others chattering and whispered to where only she could hear. "Come now, Princess, Don't look so glum," he murmured, his lips so near her ear that she fought the urge to recoil. "After all, who knows? Perhaps if you give me a chance, you'll come to find me endearing too." His chuckle was soft but brimming with confidence. "I know the other ladies certainly do."
Zelda blinked, astonished by his self-assuredness, but she met his gaze with a practiced sweetness, refusing to let him see her unease. "Then perhaps you shouldn't keep them waiting," she replied, her tone cheerful, though every word hinted at her growing disinterest. "They might be missing your company."
But before anyone could continue their conversations or their cups, the regal call of horns echoed through the venue, sweeping over the gathering like a herald of ancient triumph. The sound resonated deep within the wooden walls and pavilions nearby, commanding the attention of every soul in attendance. All eyes turned to the field below, where the cadets stood at the ready, their armor gleaming under the setting sun. The Trial was about to begin, and with it, the cadets would soon face their first formidable challenge—an initiation into courage that would test both heart and steel.
"Stand aside, boy!" The bark of a guardsman rang out, sharp and commanding, as a heavy hand shoved Jun to the side of the road. His boots slipped in the wet mud, sending him sprawling, his sack tumbling to the ground as soldiers tramped by without so much a second glance.
"Hey! I was just walking here!" Jun shouted, his voice trembling between indignation and fear as he scrambled to gather the spilled contents of his bag. His fingers closed around the smooth wood of a mask, one of many he carried, and a jolt of panic ran through him. He shoved them back into the sack hastily, glancing up just in time to see the line of soldiers stretching endlessly down the road. The clang of armor and the rhythmic stomp of boots on stone filled the air, a martial symphony that struck dread into his heart.
Something was wrong. Royal guards didn't move like this unless it was serious.
"What's happening?" he called out, his voice wavering as he stood, brushing mud off his knees.
"You?" A voice cut through the din—a voice he recognized. He froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he turned to see Commander Tye, Link's father, mounted atop his armored steed, face flushed with exertion as he directed the ranks forward.
The commander lifted his visor and wiped a hand across his brow, narrowing his eyes at the boy. "I know you. I've seen you before."
Jun stiffened, his mind racing. He gripped the strap of his sack tightly, feeling the edges of the masks pressing against his side. He forced himself to stand straight, meeting the older man's gaze with as much defiance as he could muster. "So what if you have?"
Tye tilted his head, studying him for a moment, but the urgency of the march left no time for questions. "Just stay clear and keep out of trouble, you hear me?" His voice carried an edge of warning.
Jun didn't reply, holding his ground as the commander turned away and barked at his men to press forward. "Move out!"
The road was alive with the clamor of war preparation. Soldiers, armored and armed, moved like a living tide, their faces set with determination. The banners of Hyrule fluttered in the breeze, a proud symbol of strength—and yet, to Jun, it was a hollow display. He knew the truth behind this movement, the terrible plan unfolding like a web around the castle. And as the soldiers marched away, the weight of his secret pressed harder against his chest.
"What's happening?" he asked again, this time catching the arm of a passing guardsman. "Where is everyone going?"
The soldier gave him a quick glance before pulling free. "Haven't you heard? Pirates! Raiding all along the Salty Shore. But don't you fret lad, we'll smash them to pieces. If we're lucky we'll be back when the tournament ends in time to reap the spoils. Now clear the road, before you get hurt!"
Jun watched them go, his chest tightening with each step they took. The city's defenders were leaving—every one of them. His mind raced as he stepped back from the crowded road, ducking into the shadows of an alley. His breathing came quick and shallow as the realization hit him like a hammer to the gut.
Then it must be tonight!
The words echoed in his mind like a death knell. Not two days from now, as he had been told. Not with time to plan, to stall, to warn—tonight. The castle would be vulnerable, just as they had plotted. He clutched his sack tighter, the memory of a whisper resurfacing with chilling clarity. Master Sasuke's words:'Not to worry. I have it under the best authority that by the morrow's twilight veil the Sanctum stairwell will be practically defenseless.'
The words seem to echo in his mind in an endless loop. The weight of them, and what they truly meant.
He leaned against the cool stone wall, his legs threatening to give out. This was the moment he had waited for, the culmination of years of bitterness and betrayal. But things had changed. In the short time since he'd arrived, he had found something he never expected: friends. Link, who treated him like an equal. Zelda, who smiled at him with kindness, who trusted him. The thought of her face, bright with hope, sent a pang of guilt through his chest.
"Jun," a voice hissed from the shadows, slick and serpentine. He whipped around, his heart skipping a beat as a cloaked figure stepped forward, the folds of the hood obscuring their face. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"
Jun swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. "Of course not!" he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He straightened, forcing himself to meet the figure's gaze—or where he thought their gaze might be. "I've waited for this moment my entire life. My family is all I have."
"Good." The figure's voice was a low growl, their satisfaction palpable. "It better stay that way."
Another figure emerged from the darkness, their presence just as ominous. "You owe us something," they said, their tone sharp and commanding.
Jun's hand shook as he reached into his sack, pulling out the masks. He thrust them toward the figures, his grip tightening as if he might change his mind. "Here," he said through gritted teeth. "Take them and leave me alone. I'll be where I need to be."
The first figure took the masks, their gloved hand brushing against his. "See that you are," they said. "The Sensei doesn't take kindly to failure."
Jun didn't reply. He turned and ran, the weight of their gaze heavy on his back. The masks were gone, but the burden they represented was still with him, dragging him down like chains. He darted through the winding alleys, his mind a storm of conflict. The plan was in motion. There was no stopping it now. But as he ran, one thought consumed him:
What will I do when the moment comes?
In the thick of it all, Link fought the urge to break ranks and join his father, even against his better judgement. Instead, he stood steadfast and looked onward to what was set in motion for him. All he could do was hope his gut was wrong.
Facing the woods, the young men felt the weight of their destinies pressing upon them. Before them lay the dark expanse of the forest, a tangled labyrinth of tree trunks and foliage thick as pitch. Shadows clung to the boughs, twisting like the whispers of forgotten souls, and the only light came from torches marking the entrance paths, flickering against the looming wall of trees.
Each pledge would step into that dark unknown alone, their paths unique, yet all winding toward the same goal—a prize hidden deep within. The Sacred Flame awaited them, a token of valor and a testament to their courage. It was no ordinary fire, but the mighty Flame of Farore, an ancient torch that ignited only once a century, it's viridescent light consuming any unworthy and blazing a path for the bold.
With the final call to honor sounded, delay was no longer an option. The Forest of Dark Whispers awaited, its depths silent, its shadows eager for the first daring steps of those who would seek its sacred treasure.
Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed this bit. I finally finished with all my steadier paced chapters that I have drafted and now can move on the story at a quicker pace to get to the climax of this arc. Then we can return to the main story in the present. I promise, the wait will be worth it. That being said, would you all prefer smaller chapters and more frequent drops, or larger chunks but at lesser intervals? I can try to make chapters shorter and bite sized and then post them if that's what folks prefer. Let me know your thoughts and also let me know and more importantly, let others know what you think of this fairytale of Zelda set in the Breath of the Wild world. Lastly, if you do enjoy this work, you can support me by following the youtube channel(Sir Link) and giving the audio version of this story a listen. Thanks so much! Stay well, wherever you are in Hyrule, friends!