by N Felts
that to my little Ona!” An older woman screams, choked with emotion.
“She shouldn’t have been outside!” Another man shouts.
“Everyone, please calm down!” Malune calls, failing to suppress the banter.
“Excuse me, what happened here?” The disguised princess asks, tapping an old man on the shoulder. Turning to face her with some difficulty, he adjusts his balance on his cane before answering.
“A few kids were out playing in the field late yesterday,” he explains, a sad expression pulling at his face. “Stalchildren took them. Those poor souls.”
“That’s awful,” she gasps, glancing to Malune, then back to the old man. “How can you be sure, though? They may have gone to Kakariko.”
“Afraid not,” the man sighs, shaking his head at the welcome alternative. “Young Rho was the only one to return. He told us what had happened. Poor chap will probably never be the same.”
“I’m so sorry,” she responds without thinking.
“Whatever for my dear?”
“I-I must go. Excuse me,” she quickly stammers, departing the square for the castle. It seems the tragedies will never cease, and Zelda cannot help but feel partially responsible. Her obligations lie with her people, yet she is drawn far beyond the castle gates far more often than she should, her soul longing to be at Link’s side. It has always been an impossible love, but fate has interwoven their paths too many times for her to dismiss the notion as coincidence any longer. Their journey is meant to be taken together, regardless of century old law, and outdated tradition. Still, Hyrule must embrace some degree of peace and stability before the prospect of defying age-old custom is even considered.
Grabbing hold of a batch of overgrown vines just south of the castle checkpoint, the princess displays her unrivaled agility to no one, ascending over the tall ridge more easily than most able-bodied men. The mighty iron gate barring the beaten path to the castle walls standing far below her, the short trek up the ridge and over the top of the gate proves entirely too innocuous for a supposedly well-guarded castle. The single guard below remains ignorant to her infiltration as she crosses atop the gate, moving through the formerly beautiful castle grounds. The drought has sucked the grass dry, the plethora of flowers suffering the same fate. The watchful eyes of the pair of soldiers guarding the large castle doors haven’t a chance of spotting the highly trained princess, vaulting past the moat and entering the castle through a secret passageway.
Zelda finds herself in the kitchen, empty for the time being as the king prefers his lunch in the late afternoon. Rows of preparation tables line the center of the room, the large, cast iron pot resting coldly over the extinguished fire. The pleasant smells of stored meat and vegetables, lining the walls in large barrels, beckon her unfulfilled stomach, but she continues on nonetheless. Halfway up the stairs leading to the throne room, another sacred incantation is murmured, and another influx of light engulfs her. The gorgeous princess of Hyrule enters the throne room casually, only to find the king nowhere in sight. Momentarily confused, she immediately ceases her refined movements, utilizing more instinctual mannerisms to search for her father. A princess must radiate grace and poise, but her hiatus with Impa forever detached these gestures from her subconscious. Hiking up her lavish dress, she marches up the spiraling staircase to the king’s chambers, high above the main floor. A single sentry posted at the door bows with loyalty as the princess knocks three times, promptly opening the large door before a reply can be uttered. King Harkinian, ruler of all Hyrule, stands slumped over the balcony at the far side of the room. Breathing an empathetic sigh, Zelda crosses the room and joins him.
“Hello, father,” she greets, lovingly embracing his arm.
“Where have you been?” He quickly retorts.
“What do you mean?” She asks, playing dumb even though the king has grown immune to her overused tactics.
“This is no time to be coy,” he grumbles, freeing his arm from her grasp and marching back into the room. “You’ve heard the news, I pray.”
“Of course,” she nods, following him apprehensively. “The Stalchildren took a group of kids last night. How on earth did they get past the guard at such a late hour?”
“Please,” the king sighs, palming his brow. “The soldiers sleep no more than few hours before returning to their posts. We haven’t the numbers to efficiently patrol.”
“Perhaps you’d have sufficient resources if you hadn’t sent our army abroad,” the princess quickly interjects.
“Don’t start,” the king scolds with tired eyes. “It was the right decision. Reports from the front are promising. Arcadia has landed on the coast, but multiple sieges have failed. It is only a matter of time before their resources run dry and they are forced back to sea.”
“How long do you wager before our resources run dry?” The princess retorts sourly. “The children run rampant because they are starved. Their fathers gone for months,” she insists, always eager to challenge the king’s decision to aid his cousin in what should have been Hyrule’s period of recovery.
“Enough,” he bellows, clearly growing agitated. A coughing fit quickly crumbles his imposing form, and for an instant, Zelda ceases to see her steadfast father, and instead recognizes the tired old man he’s become. “If you want your opinion considered, then make your presence known when the decisions are made. Your people need the charm of their princess, but when disaster strikes, she is always absent,” he points out, stifling another cough.
“Politics are the obligations of kings. If you would take your daughter’s prior council to heart, there would be no need of my presence.”
“Who is to rule when I am for the afterlife?” The king pleads, attempting to turn the argument into a meaningful discussion.
“You’ve seen Malune fit to run the town,” Zelda sighs, knowing he is far from eligible king material.
“Malune is but a boy,” he sighs, weary with stress. “He has a good heart, but he is not fit to rule,” he points out, taking Zelda’s hand in his own. “My daughter, you are the only one who can carry on our bloodline, less the kingdom fall into another civil war.”
“We often face threats far more taxing than drought and petty quarrel,” she meekly insists.
“And you must learn to leave them in the trusted hands of others. The days of childish antics have passed. You’re a grown woman now. It’s high time you started acting accordingly.”
“I am not the queen!” She immediately bellows, the flair of anger familiar to her father. “I make my own path. My fate is not dictated by my name.”
“It is,” Harkinian corrects with sad eyes. “This is our way, and you must learn your place in this family,” he nods, too tired to use a stern voice or wear an imposing face. “You will govern your people with the honor of your ancestors. They sacrificed—“
“Do not speak to me of sacrifice,” Zelda sharply interrupts. “I will do as my conscience guides me! Your traditions have led us to ruin,” she concludes, marching toward the door.
“My patience has fled me, and your childish delusions embrace the very ruin you speak of!” The king shouts as the princess throws the doors open, storming away from her ignorant father. He must never know of her perilous travels, or the necessity they possess. Her trials and tribulations are comically sneered at, dismissed as childish excursions of a listless princess. However, the alternative is worse still, and her father would undoubtedly have her confined to the castle should he learn of the danger his daughter places herself in habitually. Wiping a velvet-gloved finger across her watering eyes, Zelda returns to the kitchen just before the cooks and servants reach the doors. He will never understand what she’s been through. The years in hiding with her nursemaid were life altering. Sleepless nights in that cold cavern, never knowing if the Gerudo thieves would descend upon her unexpectedly. Though the experiences were undone when Link returned the Master Sword, the memories of their str
uggles and hardships remain to this day. Slipping through the secret passageway behind the old wooden cupboard, the princess is outside the castle walls once again. Her burdens weighing heavily on her mind, she cannot be confined to her room tonight. Prim and proper as she may be capable of acting, she has a need for freedom, an insistent itch for open spaces, rich with opportunity.
Wandering through the courtyard, she quickly loses track of time, lost in her own thoughts. Nayru’s wisdom has returned to her, and with it, fragmented visions she cannot yet understand. Ganondorf may have reclaimed the Triforce of power, but he was denied his true objective. Now Nayru offers what guidance she can, the princess’s mind assaulted with blurry memories and fragmented truths. Her recurring daydream is dark and quiet. A shadowy figure is reaching out for her. Whether he is asking for her help or daring her soul to approach is unclear. He is incomplete, and his features seem to shift upon the dark pallet of his form. She feels an inexplicable urge to reach out to him, despite his probable evil intentions. Still, something about him is strange, as if his actions are somehow not his own. His effects do not reflect his cause. The vision grows increasingly intense and the princess suddenly snaps out of her trance to find it has grown dark. An irritating cicada chirps at
