The Legend of Zelda: Forgotten Goddess

by N Felts

official capacity,” she admits, getting comfortable. “Just needed to talk to a friend.”

  “Of course,” he nods, easing back onto his seat. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Several things, but mostly, it’s my father,” she admits, resting her chin in her hand.

  “Still slipping out in the night to adventure with Link, I take it?” He asks with a slight smile.

  “It’s not meant to be a gesture of rebellion,” she sighs, glancing at him with serious eyes. “We argued again. It’s always the same, he won’t listen to reason.”

  “He only wants to be sure you’ll be there to lead when he’s gone. Then your reason can right his wrongs. Sending the army to Gamelon was the right choice, though.”

  “Careful, you’re starting to sound like him.”

  “Aren’t I supposed to sound like a king?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. Managing to prod a soft chuckle out of her is satisfactory enough, his intentions only to put her mind at ease. “If Arcadia took Gamelon, it would only be a matter of time before they set their sights on Hyrule.”

  “Fair enough,” she shrugs, curling her knees to her chest and hugging her shins. “It’s all happening too fast. I’m not ready for this. Not yet.”

  “Yes you are,” he quickly retorts with a solemn nod. “Remember when I first became king?”

  “I do,” she smiles, recalling the young boy terrified of his obligations.

  “I’m the one who wasn’t ready, but a certain someone offered her guidance,” he points out, eternally grateful for the princess’s friendship in his time of need.

  “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and you turned out alright,” she nods, reflecting on his circumstances. “You remind me of your mother.”

  “It’s been so long,” he admits with a sad laugh, briefly wiping at his eyes. “It’s getting harder to picture her face. What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, but what matters is you remember her spirit. I didn’t know her as well as my father, but what I do remember is her iron will,” she recalls, her mind drifting back to her early childhood. “And her kind heart. I hope I can make my father as proud of me as she is of you.”

  “I’ve been told she thought of you as her own daughter. Her fondness was not misplaced,” he points out, recalling his cherished time with his mother.

  “I remember the day she visited the castle, once the war had finally ended. Everyone was in such high spirits. I’d never seen my father so cheerful, though you couldn’t see it in his face,” she shrugs, playing with one of her braids absently. “Then she walked in, and even though she was there to swear loyalty, there was this air about her that demanded respect. She was so beautiful,” Zelda fondly remembers. “We didn’t get to talk that day, but before she left, she looked down at me and said, one day you will be a queen, and I think you will be the very best.”

  “You will be a truly great queen,” he insists, leaning over the arm of his chair. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Thank you,” she blushes, enjoying the brief silence that follows. “My father will never understand, but I was with Link for a reason last night.”

  “I can probably guess,” he interjects with a smile.

  “No,” she sighs, growing serious once again. “I need to tell you something, but it cannot leave this room, lest the kingdom fall to chaos,” she starts, drawing a suddenly serious expression on Ralis’s face. “Ganondorf has returned.”

  “Hah,” he instantly retorts, though his anxiousness grows apparent. “Do not jest about such things.”

  “It’s true. I don’t know how, but he made attempt on the Triforce yet again. Link and I tried to stop him, but he’s shattered it once more,” she reveals, holding up her hand. The lower left triangle glows brightly amongst the three-sectioned symbol, and Ralis has seen enough to believe her.

  “Why has this happened?” He asks, his angst welling up in him more powerfully than ever before. “Why? Why now?”

  “Calm down,” Zelda insists, moving over to comfort him. “We will stop him. I’ll not see my kingdom fall into darkness again.”

  “Yes,” he agrees after a moment. “You’re right. He must be stopped. However I can help, you need only ask.”

  “I thank you,” she conveys, touching his arm affectionately. “You have eyes and ears throughout the waters of Hyrule. I only ask that you find me should anything suspicious occur.”

  “Of course,” he agrees as if it should be obvious. “Now go. Return to your father’s side. Do not let him spend another night uncertain of his daughter’s desires. You must tell him of Ganondorf’s return. This is news too dire to be kept from him,” he insists, giving her a brief hug.

  “You’re right. I fear it will be too much for him to bear though,” she sighs, reluctant to leave.

  “He is a king,” Ralis conveys, “It is his duty to receive tragic news.”

  “Take care of yourself, Ralis,” she smiles, beginning to see a great ruler emerging beneath the young Zora’s innocent face. The obligations and responsibilities of leadership have always been on her heels, chasing her down in an eventual effort to restrain her very spirit. She was born, and on that day she was named Zelda, just as her mother, and her mother’s mother. A name bound to an inescapable fate. The daughters of the royal bloodline are destined for greatness, created in the image of Hylia herself, a protector of the kingdom, and the world.

  The sun has risen well over the horizon when the princess crosses the short distance from Zora’s River back to Kakariko Village. Back in her cloaked attire, she passes by a beggar sleeping beneath a tree at the entrance. Silently dropping a rupee into his cup, Zelda continues on, reticently concerned it will be the only money he receives all day. The majority of the townsfolk remain indoors through the morning, one of the few exceptions being Anju, tending her cucco’s as always. It is only the producers of essential goods who have felt little impact from the depression. The game stall operators as well as the novelty merchants have long since gone out of business. It is one particular specialist who draws Zelda’s presence this particular morning. Moving through the heart of town, she bypasses the well and climbs a short flight of stairs to a recently renovated building. Inside the store has a very dark and uneasy ambience, odorless green and purple smoke slowly climbing through the room. Behind the counter a young witch busily combines liquids, tossing ingredients into a kettle while simultaneously conducting several other chores. A sleeveless purple dress covers her animated form, an oversized witch’s hat concealing most of her dark green hair hanging down in pigtails. Only just realizing someone has entered the store she offers her customary greeting.

  “Welcome to Maple’s poti—oh, it’s you again,” she sighs, quickly dropping her fake enthusiasm.

  “Any luck?” The disguised beggar asks, hanging on to what little hope she can.

  “The great witch will finish the request when she finishes it,” she starts with a tone of arrogance and grandeur.

  “Not this again,” Zelda interrupts. “This is for your trouble,” she explains, dropping a small bag of rupees on the counter. “If you don’t have a cure the next time I stop by, that’ll be the last payment you receive. Got it?”

  “Hey now, let’s not be rash.”

  “Do you have anything?” The princess quickly snaps back, pronouncing each word clearly.

  “No,” she’s forced to admit, losing her cocky attitude. “My mother never wrote about such an illness. Even our best pick-me-ups only work temporarily.”

  “Please keep trying, I don’t,” she starts as the door swings open behind her. Stumbling in with a momentarily drunken step, a middle-aged man with oddly pale skin approaches the counter. Mildly handsome, the individual’s steep eyebrows and short, slicked back hair make it obvious he is not a local. A Wolfos trench-coat covers his form, the head serving as an unutilized hood with the yellow eyes and sharp fangs dangling between his shoulder
blades. Intricate tribal tattoos litter his single exposed arm, the coat only having one full sleeve. The most curious feature of all, an ancient lantern chained to his waistband swirling with ghostly auras is partially visible through his open coat.

  “Alright. Jus’ the usual, love,” the man mumbles, palming the counter for balance. His highly unusual accent grabs the princess’s attention as she forgives the interruption for now.

  “You still haven’t paid for last time, or the time before!” Maple accuses, standing tall and propping her hands on her hips.

  “One more extension, you know I’m good for it shortcake. I’m onto something big this time,” he assures, his ghostly white eyes growing wide with the prospect.

  “All talk. The poe collector already left town. Who you gonna sell this big something too?” She asks, her immaturity beginning to show.

  “I’ve got other buyers, sweetheart,” he smirks, leaning further over the counter.

  “Sweetheart?” Maple promptly challenges. “I’m probably twice your age, reaver.”

  “Bollocks,” he chuckles, stretching the word out. “These eyes don’t miss a thing. You don’t look a day over eighty. How’s about we strike a deal?” He offers, his flattery and hints of charm drawing Maple in closer. “I bag this old spook, then we go have ourselves a tall glass of that special stuff they brew in the desert. You and me. Whaddya say?” With a listless