Chapter Text
I.
The ceremony was a simple excuse for pageantry, written in gold ink on an ancient scroll stacked somewhere in the Royal Library, buried in an otherwise unremarkable aisle where other such ceremonial scripts were kept. It was similar to the ones that had been performed countless times throughout the ages—after all, he was just another link in the chain of knights who had laid down their lives for the Royal Family.
Link hardly tolerated the thick uniform, feeling suffocated in the rich blues and glinting golds. Although he had long since abandoned the greens of a people that were never his, this specialized garb somehow felt even more foreign to his skin. Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck, and when his eyes met Sheik's, who was seated on the dais to the left, he found the blatant amusement there did nothing to quell the irritation swelling in his chest.
This is what he got for doing Zelda a favor.
She stood before him in one of the most impressive gowns he'd seen her in yet: golds and purples with tedious, ornate stitching. It was something Link would admire on a day he wasn't wrapped up like a gibdo. He could still recall his own stupid, shocked expression when one of the maids pulled him in front of a full-length mirror to gawk at himself. Now he could only accept his fate with grim acceptance as she read from a lengthy scroll that nearly reached the floor.
Behind him sat nearly five hundred, many of whom had fled the kingdom the moment the King fell. Zelda welcomed them back begrudgingly, too dependent on their resources to rebuild a Hyrule in ruin. Link, however, could carry enough anger for them all. He had surveyed them coldly upon entering the chamber, gratified to see a few shrink at the expression.
The rest were the Hyrulean loyalists who aided him during the occupation. They had given him potions, a bed to sleep on, food to shovel down as though it were his last meal, and companionship when the horror of the temples crept into his resolve. He was glad for their presence; they knew how Link hated the attention.
Now twenty, Link was finally of age to take position as High Royal Guardsman of Hyrule, the General of the Royal Armies. The ceremony would ensure Link had no superiors save the Queen herself. He would replace his commanding officer, High Guardsman Vega, who was fury incarnate at the news that “a mere child” would replace him. Vega refused to recognize Link’s efforts to end Ganon’s rule and instead claimed it was divine intervention that did most of the work. Indeed, Link received aid from the Goddesses, but Vega wouldn’t hear any defense of Link’s heroism, not even from the Queen herself.
Expensive fabric rustled with movement, and Link realized everyone had risen from their seats. Before him, Zelda retrieved his new blade from the attendant who held its intricate sheath.
"Kneel, Link, Hero of Time," she said, voice uncharacteristically somber.
Had the Royal Cabinet and Royal Guards not sat behind her, he would’ve smirked at her to break the tension. Just as this ceremony was so unlike Link, the ceremonial duties expected of Zelda were so unlike her. The real her that Link had the privilege of knowing. But alas, Link schooled his expression and stole a look at the man he would replace in mere moments; High Royal Guardsman Vega stood in rigid fury, mustache twitching as he ground his teeth together.
Link knelt awkwardly, the impossibly thick fabric tugging in unpleasant places. His irritation must have shown, because amusement flickered over Zelda’s face as she approached him with his new sword glinting in her hands.
The Moon Blade had been crafted precisely to his specifications. Its primary ore was Sky Iron, a rare metal from the Goddesses themselves during Hyrule’s Sky Era. Other ores from different parts of Hyrule were also impregnated into it: minerals from Death Mountain, Lake Hylia, Kokiri Forest, and sand from the Gerudo Desert.
It felt welcoming and agile under his grip, a stark reminder of his great dislike for the Master Sword. The next time he wielded that fabled blade would be too soon. With it only came the pain and trauma of the war, memories that nearly destroyed him after the conclusion of Ganon’s occupation. The Master Sword’s hilt had been intentionally uncomfortable to keep him alert each time he held it. By contrast, the Moon Blade’s hilt had been perfectly molded to Link's hand, and it had been wrapped with the soft, thick leather from his old Kokiri belt.
Zelda had offered to embed jewels or other precious metals, but Link had only one request. Or rather, only two—a pair of round glowing moonstones sat on either side of the guard cross to represent the moon itself. He’d wanted them as a solemn reminder of the moon itself, his boon during a chaotic and frightening adolescence. Each time Zelda shifted the weapon, a flash of luminescent sky blue broke through the pearly white stones, the only finery Link would ever want.
Swirling down the blade were prayers engraved in ancient Hylian, granting the Moon Blade many of the Master Sword’s same protections and abilities. Zelda and Sheik had spent weeks building the necessary phrases, their heads bent over thick tomes and arguing over syntax late into the night.
As Zelda held the Moon Blade skyward, she spoke the traditional words of a newly sanctioned weapon: "Courage, Wisdom, and Power. By the power of the Three, this blade is blessed, sealed, and unbreakable."
The sword gleamed sharply in the noon sunlight that descended from the glass-domed ceiling above. Refracted light trembled in a dance of colors on the walls, as though from a glass prism.
Zelda brought the blade down on each of his shoulders for a count of three. As she did, her voice grew in volume. "By the power of the Three and the Royal Family of Hyrule, I give thee the title of High Royal Guardsman of the Crown."
She held the weapon flat in her palms, beckoning for him to take it. "Rise, Link, High Royal Guardsman of the Crown, Hero of Time, and take your sword, the Moon Blade. May it aid you as you guard our kingdom."
As rehearsed, he took the blade from her and held it high above his head before swinging it in a showy flourish. Everyone loves flashy swordsmanship, Link, she had said when he’d protested. The crowd will love it.
And she was right. Cheers deafened him momentarily as the audience jumped to their feet. Royalty clapped reservedly while commoners whooped and hollered as they did in the pubs. Link fought back a smile when the owner of the bazaar, clearly drunk, pumped a fist in the air and accidentally knocked a minor noble in the back of the head.
Then he saw her.
She sat in the front row, just to his right. Tall and slender, every line and curve of her form seemed finely and intentionally crafted. She wore a deep green gown with threads of silver running in delicate filigree through its emerald velvet fibers. Thick ink-colored hair was piled precisely atop her head in intricate braids, all woven with thin silver ribbons. And amidst the display sat a delicate white crown bearing a crescent shape of highly polished silver.
She was clearly a queen from the spires that wound round the circlet rather than the open tiaras princesses or duchesses wore. Queen of what? He had no idea, but her dark eyes captured and held his gaze like a snare. They were such a deep brown, endless and unreadable, framed by the thickest lashes and the finest brows. She was sophisticated in a way that stood out from the nobility surrounding her, in a way that demanded attention.
But there was something else, too. Despite the fairness of her expression and the faint curve of a smile on her painted lips, there was… anger. Link could sense it rolling off her in waves. He ripped his eyes away and bowed to the crowd with a practiced smile, trying to shake off the feeling that she had somehow forced him to look at her.
As with all royal events, a bothersome, boisterous reception followed the ceremony that would last well into the night. It was only just past noon as Link finished changing into a much lighter uniform. It was still more embellished but nowhere near as stiff as the ceremonial garb. Even in a new era of peace, there were few things more stress-inducing than attire one couldn't fight well in.
The new uniform felt strange on his skin. Until the promotion, he’d kept his comfortable Kokiri green. Now he’d been assigned a new wardrobe of clothing and gear. Even new boots—to Zelda’s horror, he’d still been wearing the boots he’d defeated Ganon in. Fussing before a full-length mirror, the reflection seemed almost uncanny. He still had the same face, but everything else had changed. A man of station and authority looked back now. But Link wasn’t so sure he believed what he saw. He raked his fingers through his hair and found himself missing his hat and the fairy who used to nestle beneath it.
There was a knock at the door, and he turned as Sheik let himself in without invitation. His friend still wore his own ceremonial uniform, which had not been in the realm of stiff and immobilizing, much to Link's irritation. Unlike Sheik’s typical blue and black armor, he wore white and gold at Zelda's request today. The contrast against his dark skin and scarlet eyes was certainly handsome.
"Impressive sword-swinging earlier," Sheik said by way of greeting. He leaned against an armoire as Link buckled his new sword around his waist. "Perhaps you missed your calling as a color guardsman."
"Watch it. I technically outrank you now, Sheik," Link replied with an eye roll.
He could read Sheik’s rueful look just from his eyes. But it was just what Link deserved, he supposed. After all, he’d poked fun at Sheik the whole way through his much quieter Royal Bodyguard ceremony last year.
After nearly three years of companionship, they’d fallen into an easy rhythm. There was respect, of course, but there was also plenty of ribbing. In the beginning, however, it hadn’t been so easy. Dispatched as Link's guide through the temples, Sheik had maintained a cold, somber distance. He had provided vital aid and advice through the most difficult challenges of Link’s life, but was quick to disappear in the flash of a Deku nut. It wouldn’t be until after Link’s task was complete that the distance began to finally erode between them.
Although Ganon’s dominion had crumbled upon his defeat, entire villages had been destroyed, their peoples displaced and starving. Link took two weeks off to recover from the war, and Sheik checked in on him between the long list of emergencies. It was then that they were finally able to speak as equals.
“Did it all have to be so cryptic, though?” Link had asked, leaning against the headboard of his new bed. “You haven’t spoken in that flowery, self-important language since Ganon fell.”
“Zelda and Lady Impa made me memorize a script,” Sheik had replied with a self-conscious shake of his head. The embarrassment was obvious now that the careful distance between them had collapsed. “They demanded I keep my distance and not stray from their words.”
Link had clasped his hands together and recited, “‘The passion of friendship will soon blossom into a righteous power.’”
Sheik’s brows had furrowed in scorn, but mirth danced in his garnet eyes. This was the point, Link was sure, that he and Sheik finally became real friends.
Now they shared their meals each day, took assignments together, sparred and trained, and often met on the balcony in the castle's highest tower to stargaze and strategize. After two years of companionship, he'd learned they both shared many traits—stubbornness, cynicism, and social awkwardness, to name a few. But aside from the simple things, they both lived with a certain darkness few others could relate to. Although Link still knew very little about Sheik’s past, the evidence of trauma was unmistakable. The paranoia, jumping at every sound, the panicked sheen to their eyes when gasping awake from a nightmare…
They especially tended to gravitate towards one another in social gatherings, much like the reception they were en route to. Neither of them really knew what to do with themselves at events like these. Both of them had broken delicate champagne glasses or unwittingly offended a noble on several occasions. And then there was the unwanted attention. Rich women would eye Link like a painting on display and flirt as though he were their ride to an even higher station. Or they would try to coerce Sheik into revealing his face—always to no avail—despite the countless times he had explained the seriousness of Sheikah tradition.
As soon as they entered one of the main ballrooms, Duchess Morsa looped her little arm around his and dragged him off to the spirits. When she had learned of Link's moderately low alcohol tolerance, compared to her well-practiced one, she had made a point to exploit it. Sheik waved goodbye with amused eyes at Link’s glare of betrayal.
But it didn't matter; soon enough, the same would happen to Sheik. Especially if Queen Alasin of Esna was there. She had taken a very uncomfortable liking to Sheik last year and found any excuse to touch him or whisper in his ear. Her counselors were eager for her to marry royalty, but her heart seemed set on a shadowy Sheikah bodyguard. It was an excellent source of material to tease him about during their sparing matches. Nothing was more challenging than an angry Sheikah warrior, and Link still hadn't managed to beat him yet.
"Come along, High Royal Guardsman, I shall be the one to procure your first drink!" Morsa insisted. It was clear she already had at least three drinks in her. With each glass, the volume of her voice got just a bit louder, and by the end of the night, she'd probably be screaming. Or singing. And which was worse, Link was not entirely sure.
"Just some mead is fine," Link said.
She laughed, tone high and grating, before shoving whiskey in his hands. He bit back a groan, looking around for an escape from her company.
"My lady, would you mind getting me some fruits from the platter? I've been starving since the ceremony."
Morsa, eager to please, immediately obliged and set off as though it were a royal quest. Link turned to the bartender and procured a light honeyed mead instead. The urge to grimace when Morsa returned with a towering plate of fruits almost overpowered him.
Thank the Three Zelda was only asking that he stay til sundown.
When he managed to shake Morsa’s attention with help from a young and charismatic baron, he sought out Zelda. She had become inundated by a line of eager sycophants, eyes alight with opportunity. Despite the ruin of war, Hyrule remained rich in resources. So much so that other kingdoms fought for dominance in trade with them; it was the kingdom’s saving grace during ongoing reconstruction.
Zelda found it funny how openly desperate they were. Her father used to take this political dance so seriously. She, on the other hand, just toyed with them. One day it would bite her in the rear.
Upon his approach, she caught sight of him and beckoned him closer.
"Honored guests, forgive me. I wish to speak with my new guardsman. We shall set a date to discuss these matters. In the meantime, please do enjoy the festivities."
Her crystalline blue eyes lulled them into submission before any could protest—they really stood no chance. Her divine lineage lent her a powerful presence few could resist. Like Link, she was imprisoned by fate, by a role far bigger than her, both by royal succession and reincarnation. And since her coronation two years ago, she had shouldered the weight with more grace than Link could have managed.
Now and then, she crumbled beneath the pressure, of course, but her light-hearted attitude towards the dirtiest of politics seemed to shield her well enough. She’d hand-picked the best cabinet of advisors Hyrule had seen in half a century, and he and Sheik enacted her will out in the world.
Link and Sheik traveled widely during the start of reconstruction, conducting tours around the kingdom, helping rebuild towns, overseeing the peaceful distribution of resources, and clearing out monsters that lingered in the shadows. Through it all, they’d tried to keep the more painful things from Zelda. Seldom did they speak of ruins or blank-faced widows and orphans. They never mentioned the scars, the amputees, or the mass graves.
Zelda knew, though. She saw right through their omissions and sent every resource she could to the most needy regions of Hyrule, even if it stretched Castle Town thin.
She looked at him now with those same keen eyes.
"Calm yourself, Link. You're having far too much fun," Zelda teased, sitting back on her throne and fiddling with the cushions behind her. A frown wrinkled her forehead. "I despise this thing. I despise sitting on a throne during a party. I feel like my father."
Link chuckled. Although commonplace for royalty, Zelda had little tolerance for it. Or really anything that reminded her of her tyrannical father. Link knew well that Zelda would likely spend most of her rule endeavoring to undo her father’s legacy of hatred and supremacy.
Even now, she wanted to ride a horse like a man, spar with fellow fighters, and shop in Castle Town among her denizens. Although she could do as she pleased, the cabinet made every attempt to hold her to stifling traditions when they could. And, realistically, the queen couldn't spend her entire reign arguing with her own cabinet. Sacrifices had to be made.
"You're not your father," Link assured her, pushing Zelda's elbow out of the way so he could sit on the armrest of her white and gold throne. Before them danced royalty and commoners, much to the former's distaste. Zelda insisted on a mixed reception hall; her father would've never permitted the proletariat in the first place.
"Thank you for tolerating that ceremony, Link," Zelda said, her voice suddenly quiet. "It means a lot to me."
He frowned. "It wasn't a big deal. My only real complaint was that damn uniform." Link nudged her with his arm. "What's that face for?"
She looked troubled. “Ah, it… Well, I am overtired, I think. Sleep has not come easy as of late, and my duties have felt more tiring than usual. I needed this ceremony to be the least of my many concerns.”
He had noted darker shadows beneath her eyes, tighter tension in her shoulders. These periods of strain came and went, however, hardly worth acknowledgement anymore. Such mention made Link’s ears perk up.
“Trouble falling asleep?”
"No. I have been having strange dreams lately." Link tilted his head to encourage her. She shrugged a shoulder, rubbing idly at her silk-clad wrist. "They are vague. And troubling. Different each time, but a few details remain the same each time: an elephant, dark golden armor, and a heart with horns."
Link had only seen drawings of elephants. They were enormous animals native to kingdoms far from Hyrule. Stories from centuries ago spoke of visitors riding them great distances like horses. The armor didn’t sound even vaguely familiar to any nation he knew. A heart with horns? This sort of symbology was always lost on him. Short of the Sages or Goddesses themselves, Zelda understood clairvoyance better than anyone in Hyrule. If she was lost, there was little chance Link would know better.
"There's always a figure riding it, like those old stories. They whisper strange words I do not understand. The moon is full, and the ground is shaking—" She stopped herself, as if saying too much, and shook her head. "It is just stress. I have a critical meeting tomorrow."
Doubt rang in his mind like a bell, but he wouldn’t press the matter in public.
"Don't stress. Everything will be fine," Link said, squeezing at her shoulder. She reached up to pat his hand, smiling.
"Thanks," she replied. They lingered in companionship for a moment before she released a sigh and said, "Now, off with you, High Royal Guardsman. This reception is in your honor, after all!"
Before he could shoot off a sarcastic remark, two baronesses approached for an audience, shock clear on their faces that Link and the queen were so close. That was sure to add fuel to the rumors. Link excused himself with a bow to the women now sizing him up with speculative expressions.
Within moments, he was intercepted by the woman he’d seen after his ceremony. She stood nearly a foot taller than him, flanked by two guards so pale, hints of blue veins could be seen where skin peeked from behind armor. Her deep eyes captured his as she asked in a voice like spiced honey, "Could I petition the new High Royal Guardsman for a dance?"
He blinked, mind curiously blank. "Ah, I suppose…"
She held a delicate hand aloft, sheathed in a green silk glove, and said, "Queen Evanna, of the Eastern Kingdoms."
The slippery textile snagged against his calloused hands as he bowed and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
"Shall we?" asked Evanna, long fingers fanning out toward the dance floor with a flourish.
Dancing wasn't so foreign for Link. It reminded him of combat forms but to the calculation of a waltz. He led her easily along to the rhythmic swell of a string quartet. Unlike the predatory expressions of most nobility, this queen studied him with an unsettling intensity.
"You looked quite striking in your uniform this afternoon. Truly like a hero of legend."
"Thank you, your Highness."
"But not just any hero. Hero of Time, they call you. You are the one who felled the demon king," Evanna continued. From so close, the fine features of her looked almost alien in their perfection, as though she were a painted doll. "You are the pride of the country, then."
"I…" His mind felt thick and slow, as though mired in sticky tree sap. “I am committed to my oath.”
The rest of the room fell away as they careened through empty space. His body and mind felt faint, the telltale warning that a spell had been cast on him, but he couldn't pull free as Sheik had taught him. "May I ask why you've taken an interest in me?"
Her laugh was refined, practiced, her painted lips curling wide to reveal perfect teeth and dark red gums. "Why, you are the man of honor. All eyes have been on you since you entered the room. And to have slain such formidable foes and ascended to the highest rank at such a young age… I find such audacity and ambition fascinating."
Warmth filled his stomach and head, as though he were drunk. Her proximity grew oppressive, suffocating. Distant panic began to build within him. Should he risk offense by pulling away or by confronting her for the spell? Her intentions were too opaque, and he feared risking the safety of innocent bystanders, the people he had now sworn to protect with his life.
"Is that why you’ve gone to the trouble of attending today’s event? I’ve never seen you in the castle before. I've never heard of the Eastern Kingdoms, either. Where are they?"
Her smile curled into something feline and amused. "To the East."
Enough. He would be this strange woman’s plaything no longer.
"Shall we step out on the balcony? I would like some fresh air," Link said, his voice warbling in the thick air between them.
Whatever spell had been cast was severed with a sharp mental snap, and the reception crashed back into focus. Many curious onlookers had moved aside to watch them dance with violent curiosity, a few clapping or cooing in delight. He offered an arm, knowing she couldn't refuse under such attention. Tension held tight between them before she inclined her head with an inscrutable expression and took his arm.
The crowd broke up, and as he led her to the balcony, he scanned the room to find Sheik almost out of sight behind a golden pillar. Their eyes met—Link touched his right ear, a signal for trouble they'd long developed. Sheik barely nodded and disappeared into the shadows like smoke.
The pair slipped through the doors and out onto one of the great balconies overlooking the courtyard and Castle Town, Death Mountain looming to the west, and the great viridian fields to the south. Evanna slithered away from him and leaned against the railing.
"This kingdom is so beautiful," she said softly as Link watched, waiting for her next move. She faced him, her arms curved out from her body as they smoothed over the rich marble of the railing. "I am sorry I had to cast that spell on you, but I needed your attention."
He scowled. "There are easier ways, Your Highness."
She tipped her head to the right with a smirk. "Not in there. All eyes and ears were fixed on me. I was trying to form a telepathic connection with you. But you are rather resistant, it would seem."
Link crossed his arms. "There are proceedings to telepathic connections. You didn't ask permission."
Evanna laughed, head tilted back, observing him as one would a bug. It was an expression Link was all too familiar with among nobility, and his tolerance of it wore thinner each time he received it.
"You speak rather rudely to royalty," she said, a threat dancing behind her eyes.
"You act rather rudely to a high lord of Hyrule's court," he countered. "You are a guest, but you must adhere to our laws."
Evanna studied him for a long moment. "You are right, Guardsman, of course. I do apologize for my unwarranted attempt. But," she let out a sigh erring towards frustration, "I am getting desperate. It seems to have clouded my judgment."
"Desperate, why?"
Suddenly, her eyes shone with danger, and he sensed this woman was far more powerful than she let on. It made him want to order her removal from Hyrule; people like this never boded well for the kingdom.
"There is something here that I need. The lives of my people depend on it." Evanna's tone was low, and her words were sharp. She reminded him of a coiled cat.
"What is it that you need, Your Highness?" he asked. He dreaded the answer.
She gave one shake of her head. "I cannot speak of it here. We must go far from the castle, away from prying ears and powerful minds. In three days, meet me at Lake Hylia."
Link stared in confusion. "Why should I meet you there?"
"Because the fate of your kingdom hangs in the balance, Guardsman," Evanna said, precise like a whip. "So, if you want the information I have, you may want to do as you are told."
"Explain yourself. What do you know?" Link demanded, advancing on her.
"Have my words failed to penetrate your thick mind? I cannot speak freely here," she hissed, meeting Link's advance without wavering.
"If Hyrule is in danger, I need to be the first to know."
"You are not in a position to be making demands, Hero of Time," she snapped. "Do as I say, and I promise all will be revealed."
Even in anger, she looked deceptively fair, like a beautiful-colored creature that warned of poison. The sun was pitching towards the skyline, and dimming red light enveloped her green form. Link didn't know whether she was friend or foe… but what choice did he have? As the High Royal Guardsman now, this was his problem; he would have to go along with her for the time being. The position had been given to him for a reason.
Link was going to have to trust himself.
Taking a step back, Link gave a curt bow, just on the edge of rude. "I'll meet you at Lake Hylia in three days."
Evanna relaxed and offered a feline smile. "Excellent. Just past midday, on the island."
"See you then, Your Highness."
"Until then, Guardsman." She slipped back through the doors, shutting them behind her with a soft boom. He stared after her and watched the large, white double doors settle in their frame.
Moments later, a voice disturbed the tense silence of the balcony: "What was that about?"
Sheik swung down from the balcony one floor above. Link shook his head as his companion landed silently on the tiles. "I don't know. We can’t trust her." He let out a frustrated growl and worried at his lip. "We're going to have to keep a guard on her."
"And do some research on the Eastern Kingdoms, it seems," Sheik added. "Queen Evanna appears to be new to the aristocracy. At least, to my knowledge."
"New government, you think?" Link mused.
"Or a very quiet one."
"Or a fake one."
Sheik shrugged, returning his dagger to the sheath at his hip with a click. "We'll have to do some searching."
Link glanced in the sky; at least one thing was going well. "Good news, Sheik."
The Sheikah quirked a dark blonde eyebrow.
"We're off the hook."
The sun was below the horizon.
≅