Whoever coined the phrase, ‘ignorance is bliss’ must have known something about the Red Dragon. In those final years, you were lucky if you didn’t know what was going on. Most people in Hyrule didn’t know what was going on. Oh sure, they had speculation that something was amiss, but whatever it was, they didn’t care to know. It was easier that way.

Zelda was forced to shoulder the burden of knowledge. Everything the Red Dragon did that was ignored by the people of Hyrule came crashing down on her and those of us who saw what was happening would have given anything to carry her load. But that’s the thing about Zelda; she would never let anyone suffer her pain. In some ways, I would almost call her a martyr, but that’s not the right word. She was more than that, she was a hero. And Hyrule desperately needed heroes.

For me, watching from the sidelines of history was never enough. I had to act, I had to be involved. Most people fought the Red Dragon, when the time came, out of morals or principles or even blind loyalty. For me, though, it was personal. In my own small way, I liked to pretend that I was saving Zelda, but the fact of the matter was, in the end, that she couldn’t be saved. None of us could be saved. We were ignorant.

 

The Lost Testimony of

Mia Fanel

 

The night was one of those nights where the dew began to speckle the blades of grass long before the moon had finished rising. It was a harvest moon, blood red against the velvet sky. Looking at it, the crevices and craters were distinct and it seemed, to anyone who chanced to gaze skyward, that the curved surface was closer to the ground than ever before. But that was just silly. Such things didn’t happen.

Breaking the stillness of the night was the rustling of grass, trod upon by two separate sets of feet. It was the statuesque Sheikah who took the lead, her slate gray costume blending into the darkness so that only her glowing red eyes could be seen with any clarity, reflecting the flickering light of her lantern. Following fast behind was her charge, now grown into the blossom of womanhood, the lovely Zelda. She probably shouldn’t have been out that late and her father, ailing though he was, would still likely give her a scolding for it. Nevertheless, when her Sheikah nursemaid, Impa, called on her, she found that she had no choice but to follow.

On this midsummer night, the air was anything but cold, yet Zelda felt shivers run up and down her spine. She had no idea why Impa came, what the urgency was. Impa had never given her reason to doubt before, yet she wasn’t usually this detached. Now, as the two of them walked across the field, Zelda yearned to hear something, anything that would explain this exodus.

It was strange to see Hyrule so dormant. In the last ten years, Zelda had certainly grown into her looks. Now, she was accustomed to eyes falling on her wherever she went, but the field was lonesome at this hour. In the distance, she could spot the vaguest outlines of the village in the horizon, curling billows of smoke rising up from the chimneys and dancing into the heavens.

“Impa,” Zelda called breathily. “Where are we going?”

“We’re almost there,” Impa replied in a whisper, dismissing the question with a gruff tone.

Zelda scowled, pulling the navy cape she wore a bit tighter around her throat. She hated the way Impa did that. No matter what, Impa would always see and treat her like a little girl. Though it annoyed her to no end, however, Zelda would hardly consider correcting her. Any other courtier who treated Zelda like a child would be reprimanded, but not Impa. She was different.

“Almost where?” Zelda asked, realizing suddenly how childlike her voice sounded.

“Some of my contacts from outside of the castle delivered some disturbing news,” Impa explained.

“What is it?”

“Have you heard of a kingdom called Terabithia?”

“It sounds vaguely familiar,” Zelda answered, tripping over the upraised root of a gnarled old tree.

In a flash, half instinctively, Impa whirled around, catching Zelda around her middle before she could fall over. Righting the girl again, Impa continued walking as if nothing had happened. Had great concern not taken hold of her, Zelda would have smiled at this. Typical Impa.

“It’s been destroyed,” Impa hissed.

“Destroyed?”

“I had a friend who returned from the area this evening. She told me. Nothing’s left of Terabithia but a smoldering pile of ashes.”

“Who could do such a thing?”

“You know who,” Impa replied bitterly.

“But you don’t really think –”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Why would he destroy a kingdom?”

“I think our worst fears have been realized,” Impa said softly. “He has become the very thing he fought against.”

“A destroyer.”

“Worse,” Impa corrected the girl. “A conqueror.”

“It’s not much a claim, conquering a pile of ash.”

“It’s not the ash, it’s the people.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s taken them.”

Zelda’s eyes nearly bugged out. She came to a half, frozen fast in her tracks. “What?”

Impa turned around, sensing the halt. “All of them. Every citizen who survived the attack has been taken away in irons.”

“How could someone enslave an entire population?”

“More like half,” Impa muttered. “His men had a gay old time slaughtering anyone who put up a resistance.”

“Sweet Nayru…”

“Nayru had nothing to do with it.”

“Were there any survivors?”

Impa slowed to a stop. “Just one.”

As Zelda came to Impa’s shoulder, she followed her beloved nursemaid’s gaze out into the field. A few paces away was a patch of clover, glimmering with a silvery luster under the crimson moon. Curled up into a ball, directly in the middle of the clover, Zelda could see the outlines of a small figure, a child.

“She’s been lying there for nearly twelve hours,” Impa explained in a hushed tone, surprisingly gentle for the warrior.

“Just lying there?”

“We haven’t been able to get a word out of her. My friend who told me she was here said her name was Ariadne.”

“The poor thing,” Zelda whispered. “She must be frightened out of her wits.” Zelda took a few steps forward, toward the huddling child, but Impa caught her arm, pulling her back a few paces.

“Be careful,” Impa warned her.

“She’s a child.”

“That’s no ordinary child.”

Gently, but with firm resolve, Zelda freed herself from Impa’s grasp. She walked to the clover, dripping with dew, and knelt down beside the girl. “Ariadne?” Zelda asked softly. Leaning forward, she placed her hand on the child’s arm. With a pitiful, noise, half whimper and half snarl, she lifted her head to look up at Zelda. Instantly, Zelda felt her insides melt as she looked into the child’s sharp gray eyes. The girl had a beautiful, round face, crinkled up a bit in savage fear, her lower lip trembling. A long, thin cut ran across her forehead, down one eyebrow. “It’s okay,” Zelda whispered.

“She can’t understand you,” Impa said, folding her powerful arms across her chest.

“She understands…” Zelda drew Ariadne up, into her arms. She was shivering, breathing sharply. “She understands,” Zelda muttered with certainty, reaching up to unclasp the broach holding her cape together at her throat. The cape fluttered in the air, wrapping around Ariadne’s tiny shoulders. Gratefully, the child burrowed deep into the folds of fabric.

“My friend says she’s the only survivor to get out,” Impa repeated needlessly.

“Where is this friend of yours?”

“Gone to Beigor to alert the Sheikah leader there.”

“And she just left the girl?”

“She’s been put in my charge. I’m responsible for her.”

“And what do you intend to do?”

Impa scowled. “I don’t know. We can’t send her to the orphanage; she won’t last a day there.”

“Certainly not,” Zelda agreed. She looked down at the child’s face, brushing away a hot tear from her cheek with her thumb. “I’ll take responsibility for her,” she declared.

“Don’t be so quick to volunteer,” Impa warned.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Zelda answered. She pulled Ariadne into a tight embrace, stroking her hair. The child had the softest, lightest hair Zelda had ever touched.

“What will we tell your father?”

“He needn’t know.”

“Someone will see her, eventually.”

“It’ll be taken care of,” Zelda assured her nursemaid. “Trust in me.”

“Always,” Impa promised.

Zelda rocked back and forth slightly, looking down at the top of Ariadne’s head. “The girl has been wronged grievously; I won’t leave her out here to suffer any further.”

“Are those maternal instincts of yours finally kicking in?” Impa teased.

“Don’t say things like that. You make me feel old.”

“You are old.”

“I’m not old. I’m twenty eight.”

“For a girl your age to be unmarried and a maiden, that’s old.”

“And what about you?”

Impa shrugged. “I haven’t time to take a permanent mate.” She scowled, looking up at the harvest moon. “I fear time is something we’re rapidly running out of.”

“Who?”

“All of us.” She jerked her head in Ariadne’s direction. “What happened to this girl’s homeland is just the beginning. I’m afraid the sufferings are just commencing for our realm.”

“By Din, I hope not.”

“He’s capable of it, you know.”

“Capable of what?”

“Complete and total domination.”

Zelda closed her eyes, kissing the top of Ariadne’s head. “Not if I have something to say about it.”

 

The sun rose, eight years later, on an impossibly beautiful autumn day. For the birds above, Hyrule looked gilded, shining in glossy hues of orange and gold, speckled with bright red spots, rubies, it seemed. The village, clustered around the imperial walls of North Castle, bustled with early morning activity, all of it fairly routine and ordinary. Inside the upper room of the Boar’s Head tavern, the village seemed vague and remote. Little sunlight managed to filter in through the slats of the old wooden window, but there was enough of it to wake Philip.

He groaned softly, running his hand over his eyes and down the sharp angles of his chin, covered in fresh stubble. Last night’s debauchery flickered in his mind, fading in and out of focus. It didn’t overly concern him that he couldn’t remember half of the things he had done; this was a fairly regular occurrence. Philip tried to sit up, but found that his right arm was hampered down. Turning his head to one side, he saw the source of his troubles. Lying beside him, still fast asleep, was a redheaded woman. Now he remembered. She was a beautiful bar wench, though dumb as a post. What was her name again? June? April?

Swiftly, with practiced grace, Philip yanked his arm out from under her. She rolled over, flopping sleepily onto her other side with a few incomprehensible moans. Thankful that she didn’t wake, Philip crawled out of the bed, slipping into his trousers and tying a sash around his waist. On the far end of the room was a water basin, resting on a dresser near a mirror. He dangled his hands in the water for a moment before running his fingers through his hair. The man in the mirror, looking back at him, did likewise, regarding him with aloof, pale blue eyes.

“Shirt,” he muttered to himself, turning around to face the explosion of garments strewn across the wooden floor. He picked through the articles, discarding over his shoulders the ones he clearly knew to belong to June (or April). Finally, at long last, he came upon his own tunic and slipped it on. It took him several tries as he initially tried to force his head through one of the sleeves. He got it eventually, as always, but didn’t bother tying the laces on his chest.

From the twisted sheets, he heard June (or April) moan softly, rolling over onto her stomach, her face buried in a pillow. Now was the time. Swiftly, he snatched up his boots, resting against the foot of the bed and swept out of the room, taking pains to close the door softly behind him.

Once he heard the click from the knob, he pulled his boots on, trotting down the creaky steps into the main room of the tavern. It wasn’t terribly busy at this hour, of course. A few of the overnight patrons sat at a long, rectangular table, sipping their morning tea and munching on biscuits as they mumbled pleasantries to one another about the weather.

Behind the bar was Hermes, the ancient barkeep. Philip was certain Hermes had been tending the Boar’s Head for longer than anyone he knew had been alive. This was one old man that just out and out refused to die. “Good morning,” Philip called to him as he rounded the staircase and headed for the door.

“Save your good mornings,” Hermes grunted.

“So down? Why’s that? It’s a beautiful day.”

“It’ll be a beautiful day the day I don’t have to remind you to pay your bill,” Hermes replied.

“Put it on my sister’s tab,” Philip answered.

“Again?”

“You know she’s good for it.” Philip started to make his way out of the tavern, into the blinding daylight.

“I’ve got bad news for you,” Hermes called after him.

Philip stopped, turning around to look back at the elderly barkeeper. “Bad news?”

“Your sister came by, not three nights ago. She told me not to let you put any more charges on her tab.”

“That’s so typical,” Philip muttered bitterly.

“Typical or not, you pay.”

“Can’t you put it on just this one more time? You can tell her it was before she stopped by.”

“She paid that tab three days ago.”

He scowled. “Annoying thing.”

“Pay up, Philip.”

“I haven’t got the money.”

“Then you’ll be washing dishes tonight.”

“Can’t you put it on my mother’s tab?”

“Your mother hasn’t been by here in years.”

“Please? This is the last time.”

“Aye,” Hermes grunted in defeat. “This will be the last time, if I keep falling for your promises.”

“Thanks, Hermes,” Philip said.

In response, the old man merely waved his hand, dismissively. Deciding to get while the getting was good, Philip ducked out of the tavern and into the busy alleyway. It was a bit like stepping into a new world entirely, out of the dimly lit recesses of the Boar’s Head and into the harsh reality of the sunlit marketplace.

It was certainly an eventful morning. Philip made his way through the stalls, constantly being knocked into by the hectic merchants, going about their business. Luckily, Philip was a large individual, not easily pushed around. He stood, after all, nearly six feet high, quite tall for a Hylian by any standards. Raking his fingers through his blood red hair, he watched with a bemused smile as the marketers seemingly bounced off of him, like rubber.

“Good morning, Phil,” a wispy voice called. Philip glanced to one side, catching sight of a gaggle of courtesans on the balcony of a nearby building. Decked out in their garish attire, they looked down at him, giggling hysterically. The one who called out to him was Drusilla, his favorite. She leaned back against the wall, one leg draped over the railing around the balcony. When she caught his gaze, she winked, the gaudy blue paint over her eyelid sparkling in the sunlight.

“Ladies,” Philip called up to them with a grand bow.

As they dissolved into peels of laughter, Philip continued on his way. He was fast approaching the very heart of the marketplace. Already, he could see the glimmering marble statue of the goddess Kallista, catching the first rays of light. In days past, there had been gypsy dancers that would perform around the fountain, but they were all gone now. There did seem to be a crowd gathering around, however. Something was happening.

Curious, Philip made his way to the center. He passed a fruit stand, picking up an apple as he went without bothering to pay for it. The seller was too busy anyway, distracted by the scene at the fountain, right outside of the double doors of the Temple of Farore. It had once been a temple of Kallista, but the temple had been burned down ages ago and rebuilt to honor the patron goddess of Hyrule. Without too much thought to politeness, Philip shoved aside people in his way until he finally got to a place where he could see. Taking a big bite out of his apple, he leaned against one of the stalls.

Standing on the ledge of the pool around the statue of Kallista was a short, funny looking Risan boy. His features didn’t seem at all Risan; he had fair hair and shining green eyes. He spoke Common without the slightest hint of an accent, but his voice was hoarse. Clearly, he had been talking for hours.

“None of you know the great danger that’s coming for you!” he shouted out into the crowd. “The end is near. Soon the Dragon will be upon you.”

Philip chuckled softly, taking another juicy bite out of his apple. He remembered now. This was the loon Ana had been going on and on about, the crazy boy who came to the marketplace to preach doom and gloom and apocalypse regarding some shadowy figure that no one had ever heard about.

“The Red Dragon will turn his sights on Hyrule,” the boy insisted. “You may turn a blind eye to him now, while he’s out devouring the other lands of the realm, but once he starts attacking you, you’ll wish you hadn’t given so little thought to those who are suffering now.”

“Oh shut up!” someone yelled from the crowd. This individual, whoever she was, received quite a spattering of applause.

“What I speak is truth!” the boy declared, glowering down.

“What you speak is nonsense!” the angry woman shouted. “No one will ever conquer Hyrule.”

“That’s right,” another bystander echoed.

“And what of those who are suffering now?” he asked. “Why should you forget about their plight?”

“Hyrule can defend herself!” the woman screamed.

“How will you do that when the time comes? You’ll have no allies left to turn to, no champion to stand up for you. The Hero of Time is gone.”

At that comment, a great chorus of boos began arising. Most of the people assembled turned their backs on the boy, others giving him dirty looks. With an aloof sigh, Philip took one last bite from his apple then lobbed the core up at the boy, hitting him in the head. This caused great laughter to erupt. Soon, everyone who had been jeering at him began to throw fresh produce in his direction. The miserable boy tried to duck out of the way of the tomatoes and lettuce, but he was struck on the head with an onion and lost his balance, falling backwards into the fountain with a terrific splash of water and Rupees.

Philip chuckled. What a fine display! He was only sorry it had to end so abruptly, he would have liked very much to have seen the Risan dodge a few more carrots and pears. That’s what you got for standing up on a soapbox, metaphorically speaking. As he began to walk away, Philip threw one final glance over his shoulder, watching as a kindly young girl leaned over to pull the Risan out of the fountain, dripping wet. The miserable pout on the boy’s face only made Philip laugh a little harder.

 

Zelda sat on a plush red pillow, resting on top of a stone bench. Her bench was in one of the side chambers of the castle, just below a stained glass window depicting a beautiful representation of the goddess Farore in green and yellow glass. A pile of papers rested on her lap and she slowly shuffled through them, reading the fine print. She had been at it for many hours now and her eyes had grown tired. Zelda wasn’t ready, yet, to own up to the fact that she needed glasses. In her opinion, glasses belonged to mature men, not to women of her age. Despite the fact that she was constantly teased, sometimes a bit too harshly, about being aged, she just didn’t feel old.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Zelda decided to give her tired eyes a bit of a rest. She looked up at the gray wall across from her. The chamber was shaped like a hexagon, three walls hosting brilliant stained glass images of the goddesses, three walls completely bare, boasting nothing other than torches in iron rings. The torches were dormant now, as red, blue, and green light streamed in through the windows.

It was such a beautiful day. Zelda longed to be outside in the rose garden, enjoying the splendor of a Hylian autumn, but duty constrained her. With her father long gone, Zelda could hardly get away with the freedom she formerly enjoyed in the days when she was a princess. Queen Zelda. It just sounded so strange. Matronly. And Zelda longed to do was lope through the clover, barefoot, reveling in the beauty of the sun.

What didn’t help her inner turmoil was the business at hand. As she flipped through the papers, it seemed as though the black ink was actually blood. Death littered the pages, correspondences, all of them, from outside of Hyrule. Labrynna had fallen. The word was official now. Sprawled across the pages before her were the final testimonies that had managed to escape before the kingdom’s borders were sealed to the rest of the realm. What horrors! Queen Jocasta publicly beheaded. Millions of citizens clapped in irons. Militia slaughtered, alongside their families. The bodies of children lying in the streets, filling the air with the foul stench of death. It was almost too terrible to endure, and yet Zelda read on.

“I don’t suppose anything I say will convince you to eat something.”

Zelda looked up. Impa stood in the doorway, resting her shoulder against the wall. Her face looked sallow and sunken in, heavy bags underneath her eyes. The skin around her temples was thinner and more delicate than before, but she carried her wrinkles as a badge of courage. ‘Impa, my friend,’ Zelda thought silently, ‘you’re getting old.’ All she said aloud was, “No.”

“The Red Dragon’s been having a field day,” Impa muttered, gesturing to the papers in Zelda’s hands.

“It’s horrible,” Zelda muttered. “Not that there was a doubt.”

“He’s running out of lands to conquer.”

“Which means he’ll soon come for us.”

Impa nodded, walking into the room. She had developed a slight limp, but was trying has hard as she could to hide it. Zelda, of course, had pretended, for years now, not to notice, but it was becoming increasingly evident. “It’s time we start preparing for the worst.”

“The people don’t want to believe the Red Dragon exists,” Zelda sighed, putting the papers down on the floor and sliding over to give Impa room to sit.

“What the people want is ignorance, a luxury they can no longer afford to give them.”

“I agree. But what would you suggest we do? Force them into conscription? What good is a militia if no one believes in the cause?”

“A militia will have to wait,” Impa replied. “The knights will do for now. What I had in mind was something a little less conventional.”

“Less conventional? What do you mean?”

Impa sat down heavily, resting her hands on splayed knees. “We have something, in Hyrule, which no other kingdom has.”

“We have many things. To what were you referring?”

“The Triforce.”

Zelda lofted her eyebrows. “What are you suggesting?”

Impa continued on, ignoring Zelda’s question. “And, in the past, we’ve had people nearly capable of seizing the Triforce.”

Zelda scowled. “Ganondorf?” she muttered. “He’s been gone for many years. And if he were still around, I do doubt he’d be willing to help us now.”

“But if he were around, he’d have a vast amount of power, wouldn’t he? Perhaps enough power to start a defense.”

“True…” Zelda admitted. “What are you getting at?”

“Something has come to my attention, something I think you’ll find very interesting.”

“What?”

“Did you know that Ganondorf had a son?”

Zelda’s eyebrows shot up, virtually disappearing underneath her neatly trimmed bangs. “A son? I’ve known him to have many daughters, but never a son.”

Impa reached into the mouth of the pack on her hip. From it, she withdrew a rolled up sheet of parchment and handed it to Zelda. “Rauru set me on the trail a few months ago.”

Carefully, Zelda unfurled the scroll. “Philip Summer,” she read aloud.

“He’s twenty one years old,” Impa recited. “Lives only about a mile away from the town.”

“Son of Kallista,” Zelda continued to read. She looked up at Impa with wide eyes. “The goddess?”

“That’s what I’m told.”

“The son of Ganondorf Dragmire and a minor goddess.”

“Quite the combination, don’t you think?”

“Extraordinary.”

“He’s bound to be a very powerful individual,” Impa said with a small, wiry smirk on her thin lips.

“What are you thinking?” Zelda asked.

“I’m thinking that we may be able to use him.”

“Use him? That sounds so sinister.”

“I meant nothing sinister by it,” Impa amended.

“What did you mean?”

Impa sighed. “The people need a leader, a champion, a figurehead to rally around when the time comes.”

“A hero,” Zelda said quietly.

“This boy might be the perfect candidate to –”

“Replace Link,” Zelda cut her off.

Impa frowned, considering it for a moment. “There is a certain poetic irony to it, I suppose.”

“It feels wrong, somehow.”

“We have no choice. The Red Dragon is coming.”

“Yes, you’re right. But how do we know this boy can even fight?”

“Look at the bottom of the page.”

Zelda’s eyes traveled down. “Bar brawls? Domestic disturbances? Street fights? This is hardly the handiwork of a hero.”

“Oh, I’ll whip him into shape, believe me.”

She looked up, a small smile threatening to break her lips. Impa may have been getting on in years, but there was still no doubt in Zelda’s mind that the Sheikah could easily teach the son of Dragmire a serious lesson. Limp or none. “Do you really think there’s a chance?”

“It’s a chance we have to take,” Impa replied sincerely.

Sighing heavily, Zelda nodded. “All right, I suppose it’s worth a shot. Send one of the kids to get him.”

“Which one? Ariadne?”

“No, send Mia.” Zelda glanced down at the scroll. “It says here that he has a half sister. Adriana Summer.”

“Do you want Mia to summon her too?”

“No, that doesn’t seem necessary.”

“The sister might be helpful in persuading him.”

“Why? What have you heard about her?”

“A socialite,” Impa explained. “She’s spent some time in court. She tends to move in high society circles.”

“We’ll have to keep her in reserve.”

“I’m sure it would thrill her to have a brother working for the monarchy,” Impa said with a twinkle in her eye.

“A very distinct possibility. But let’s save that plan in reserve.”

“Very well.”

Slowly, favoring her foot slightly, Impa rose to her feet. Zelda wound up the scroll again and handed it to her nursemaid, though she was not far too old to have a nursemaid. “Here.”

Impa accepted the scroll, tucking it away into her pack. She started to make for the door, but paused to face Zelda. “No one can replace him, you know.”

“What?”

“Link. No one will ever be able to replace him.”

“I know,” Zelda answered quietly.

“No one.”

Impa slowly made her way out of the room, her heavy footfall lingering long after she was out of sight. In her mind’s eye, Zelda involuntarily found herself traveling back through the passages of Time to the endless summers she spent with Link, Tulsa, and their other friends, mindless and careless to the future and to the horrors that would befall them all. Horrors far worse than anything Ganondorf Dragmire could ever have done to them.

 

Everything about the architecture of the palace was designed to instill a sense of terror. High, vaulted ceilings, painted scarlet met at vanishing points, studded with long iron spikes. There were no windows in the throne room, keeping out all natural light so that the occupant had complete control over how much anyone saw. This morning, only five weak torches were lit, their flames dancing enough to cast sinister shadows on the crimson woodwork. Everything pointed toward the end of the room, far from the sinister double doors, where a high dais of obsidian hosted the throne.

The throne itself was a horrifying work of art. Wrought out of iron and varnished deep midnight, the high back of the chair climbed up nearly five feet into the air, the top of it twisting and turning in the most unnatural manner for such metal. Two high spindles crowned the back of the chair, each one ending in a razor sharp point. Adhered to the seat and the arm rests were plump red plum cushions, gentle velvet, contrasting with the cold metal.

In the chair was, perhaps, the most horrifying spectacle of all, the Red Dragon himself. Calling him a dragon was a bit misleading. He was no such thing, but a man, as other men were; two arms, two legs, and, in theory, a face. No one ever saw the Red Dragon’s face; he kept it hidden underneath the dark visor of his helmet. The helmet was made of the same black iron as the throne, with two metal horns coming out of the sides of his head. These were red and were the source of his name. The only part of his face that could be seen was his sharp chin, jutting out from beneath the ornate visor. As for the rest of the Red Dragon’s body, it too was covered in metal, dark armor forged for him out of the fires of Death Mountain. Normally, all of his body was covered, but now, he seemed a little naked, without the shining metal boots on his feet. Dark green fabric gave way to the pale color of flesh of his feet, exposed to the room and resting in a silver basin, decorated with etchings of battle.

Coset, the Red Dragon’s favorite concubine, sat on the floor by the basin, washing his feet with a loofa sponge. His feet were calloused and hard, his toe nails a sickly yellow shade. Disgusted though she was, Coset didn’t dare to show it and continued about her work quietly, hoping to the gods that she wouldn’t be called upon to say a word.

The doors to the throne room opened with a loud rumble. In marched a fleet of soldiers, the honor guard, judging from how clean their armor was. Behind them entered the Red Dragon’s lieutenant, a man known only to the inhabitants of the castle, by the name of War. As much as the Red Dragon’s features were a mystery, War’s were even more so. Like his master, he was forever clad in armor, purple instead of black, with a gold helmet completely covering his face.

At this entrance, the Red Dragon sat up at bit in his chair, propping his elbow on the armrest. He watched as War entered. His minion never walked when he could levitate, and so War’s approach was silent until he reached the foot of the dais. There, he lowered himself to the ground, bowing respectfully.

“You summoned me?” War asked.

“Rise.”

War straightened out again, pausing only briefly to spare Coset a sideways glance. “What is your will?”

“I have a little assignment for you,” the Red Dragon said.

“Sir?”

“It involves your return to Hyrule.”

“Hyrule, sir?”

“I’ve decided it’s time we sent them a message.”

“You’re just suggesting that we –”

“Silence,” the Red Dragon said. He didn’t need to growl or raise his voice to instill enough fear into War’s heart. “I want Zelda,” he told War very, very calmly.

“The princess?”

“She’s queen now.”

“The queen?”

“I want you to bring her to me.”

War glanced around in extreme agitation. “Permission to speak freely, my lord?” he asked.

The Red Dragon sighed. He waved his hand, looking about the room. “Everyone is dismissed.” Immediately, the honor guard fell back into formation, marching out of the room. The various servants loitering along the walls, going about their business quickly gathered their possessions and scampered away. Coset started to rise when the Red Dragon turned to her. “Not you,” he said quietly, gesturing for her to return to the floor. Obediently, Coset dropped to her knees again, resuming her work. Once the room was cleared, the Red Dragon leaned forward slightly, resting his exposed chin in his hand. “What is it, War?”

“I would not dare question your orders in front of the men,” War said tersely, “but to kidnap Zelda is a bit excessive.”

“Excessive?”

“The people talk…”

“And?”

War seemed agitated to express what was on his mind. “And,” he started, “the people in our lands know about your…”

“My what?”

“Shall we say, your obsession with the princess.”

“Queen.”

“Queen.”

Slowly, dangerously, the Red Dragon leaned back in his seat. “I am not,” he told War crisply, “obsessed with Queen Zelda.”

“No, of course not, but what the people say…”

“The people don’t matter. As long as they obey the soldiers and the sovereign, they are, and their gossip is, insignificant.”

“Of course it’s insignificant,” War agreed quickly.

“I want Zelda; therefore, you will bring her to me.”

“It will be difficult,” War muttered.

“I have every faith in you and your power.”

“North Castle is protected by many spells. It’ll take all the best mages in the empire to break through.”

“They’re at your disposal, of course.”

“She may be heavily guarded. Do I have your permission to kill?”

“You have, not only my permission, but my encouragement to do so.”

“And what sort of demands am I going to leave behind?”

“What?” the Red Dragon asked sharply.

War cleared his throat. “When I take the princess…”

“Queen.”

“When I take the queen, what demands am I to leave?”

“None.”

Clearly taken aback, War repeated. “None?”

“I want nothing for her.”

“You just want Zelda?”

“I intend to keep her here on a more permanent basis.”

“The Hylians won’t take kindly to that.”

“No, I don’t expect they will.”

“They’ll send someone to rescue her.”

“I hope so,” the Red Dragon declared. “Let my men kill their champions now before the invasion begins.”

“And what do you intend to do with Zelda? If you kill her, you’ll only make her a martyr.”

“I don’t plan on killing her.”

War seemed visibly relieved by this. “Then what will you do with her?”

The Red Dragon spared Coset a passing glance. “I’ll make her part of the harem,” he said.

“Sir…”

“Don’t lecture me about the Hylians will react to it. I don’t rightly care,” the Red Dragon snapped.

“You know Zelda won’t yield to you.”

“I have ways of convincing people.”

“This is no ordinary person.”

“Your conversation is becoming tiresome.”

“May I say one thing more, or shall I just leave and carry out this business?”

“It had better be important.”

“My spies have just returned from Maze Island.”

“And?”

“There is a rebellion building up there. It’s liable to break at any moment. I have reason to believe Zelda is behind it.”

“All the better reason for bringing her here,” the Red Dragon reasoned. “I’ll question her personally about it.”

“Assuming it can be done.”

“It will be done.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“You are dismissed, War.”

War bowed humbly. Backing up as he remained stooped over, he floated back to the door, drifting out and disappearing down the hall silently. Coset watched him leave with a burning feeling in the pit of her stomach. A new terror seized a hold of her, but she knew better than to show it. The Red Dragon was watching her.

 

It was nearly noon when Philip returned home. His mother’s estate was a mile from the town, in a quiet neighborhood called Garden Place. Beautiful, ancient villas lined the cobblestone avenues, arranged in circles around artificial lakes filled with fresh water. The Summer residence was called Azalea Manor, resting in between the Rosemary Manor and the Zinnia Villa. It was one of the newer estates, build of pale blue stucco with an orange, tiled roof. Philip made his way up to the door and opened it quietly, creeping in to the entry hall.

He was greeted with the familiar sight of a white marble floor and a long, winding staircase, going up to the second floor landing, lined with maple columns and a banister. Beyond the entry hall, he could see the salon, a room carpeted with an exotic Risan rug. In the very center of the room was a grand piano, bone white, surrounded by pale blue sofas with navy throw pillows. The décor of the house was not to his liking. Frankly, he felt it was a bit too feminine. The one thing he liked about the salon, however, was the large coat of arms for the Summer family, plastered into the wall.

Carefully, Philip started to make his way to the salon. “Philip Summer,” a shrill voice said sharply from above. Looking up, Philip caught a pair of angry blue eyes glaring down at him.

He flashed his most charming smile. “Ana,” Philip said pleasantly, “good morning.”

“Afternoon,” she told him crisply, making her way down the stairs. “Where have you been?” Adriana Summer could hardly be classified as a beautiful woman. Frankly, her features were a bit plain, though she certainly knew how to make the best of what she had. Her long red hair was twisted up on top of her head in an elaborate style, three long corkscrew curls falling over the left side of her face. Today, she was dressed in a long, straight dress of cyan silk, a robin’s egg blue scarf wrapped around her throat. Lavender diamonds ran along her bodice and the hemline, detracting from her severe lack of curves.

“Out,” Philip replied, noncommittally.

“All night.”

“Don’t tell me you waited up again.”

“Of course I did,” she replied angrily. “Not for you. I was waiting for the constable to come around telling me you’d been thrown out of the Boar’s Head for brawling. Again.”

“Would I disappoint you?” he asked, spreading his arms out as if to demonstrate the lack of bruises.

“Chronically,” she answered.

“A thousand pardons, mother.”

Adriana narrowed her eyes, a deep wrinkle forming on her forehead, just above her nose. “Don’t you dare –”

“Call you that,” he finished for her.

“You’re going to end up in a ditch,” she said bitterly, shaking her head.

“As long as there’s a pretty girl there,” he quipped.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, mother would be so proud of you if she could see you now.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“Daddy’s little boy. Dragmire.”

Philip’s ears turned pink as rage boiled up into his head. “Don’t call me that!” he roared.

“And why not?” she questioned him coldly. “You certainly live up to the reputation.”

“I don’t have time for this,” he growled, pushing Ana out of his way to head for the salon.

“Big man!” she shouted after him. “Pushing around a girl!”

“You’re not a girl!” he shouted back. “You’re a stick!”

Ana glared after him with seething anger. “Drunken lout!”

“Painted maypole!”

“Scoundrel!”

“Twig!”

“Dragmire!” she screamed.

That stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned around to face her, blue eyes blazing. “Moblin,” he hissed.

Adriana’s mouth worked open and shut for a moment. She was unable to produce words and stared at him, fishlike. Finally, with a frustrated grunt, she lifted her hands, pounding her fists together twice. It seemed like he was about to reply, but suddenly a chime rang, signaling someone at the door. “That’ll be Dagmar,” she said softly. “I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

For a second time, Philip spread his arms wide. “Would I let you down?”

Without answering, Ana turned around and walked to the door. When she opened it, to her surprise, it was not Dagmar Hagen, heiress to the extraordinarily wealthy Hagen Family, standing on the other side. Instead, she saw a young girl that she didn’t recognize, wearing a pink cape over a humble blue shift. “I’m sorry,” Adriana said bluntly, “I’m already happy with my gods.” She started to shut the door with that.

“I’m not a missionary,” the girl said, catching the door and pushing it back open with surprising strength.

“Oh. What do you want then?”

“May I come in?”

“Why?”

Gently, the girl pushed the door open a little further, stepping over the threshold and into the entrance hall. “My name is Mia, I’m an emissary from Queen Zelda,” she explained, lowering her hood to reveal long brown hair and Hylian ears.

Instantly, Adriana’s eyes lit up. “The royal family? Oh please, come in, come in.” She ushered Mia in toward the salon. “I am, of course, Adriana Summer. Please, feel free to call me Ana.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mia replied.

“What can I do for you…what’s your name again?”

“Mia.”

“What can I do for you, Mia?”

Mia delicately cleared her throat, pulling herself out of Adriana’s reach. “Actually,” she said gently, “I’ve been sent here for Philip Summer.”

Philip blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Him?” Adriana spat incredulously.

“Yes…” Mia responded slowly.

“There must be some mistake,” Ana insisted. “He’s nobody.”

“I have my orders,” Mia said apologetically.

“What do you want with me?” Philip asked, walking back toward the entrance hall and toward the two women.

Mia turned to look at him. Immediately, her stoic outside wavered as she was struck with the rugged handsomeness of the man before her. “Queen Zelda has asked that you attend a private audience with her today,” she explained.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not much of a page,” Ana scoffed.

“I’m not a page at all,” Mia corrected her. “I’m a ward of the state. I serve as top apprentice to the royal mages.”

“You’re a wizard in training?”

“More or less.”

“Then why did the Queen send you?”

“Zelda felt it would be more polite to send a personal messenger.”

“Well, forget it,” Philip declared. He started to walk back to the salon.

“Wait!” Ana shouted, catching his arm. She turned to Mia with a sugary smile. “One minute.” With that, she pulled Philip against the wall. “What are you doing to me?” she hissed.

“What am I doing to you?” he repeated disbelievingly.

“You cannot turn down a royal summons.”

“Watch me.”

“Phil, she just called the queen by her first name. This is clearly an important person.”

“So?”

“So?! If you don’t go, do you have any notion of what that’ll do to our family’s social standing?”

“You say that like I care.”

“Don’t do this to me!”

“Um…excuse me?” Mia called from her place, watching the two of them. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s rather important that we get going now. It’ll take an hour or so to get there with all the security.”

“Just a minute,” Ana sang sweetly to the girl before turning back to Philip. “You are going. Do this for me, Phil. Please.”

“What’s in it for me?” Philip asked.

“I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“I like the one I have.”

“I’ll personally guarantee that the cats never enter your room again.”

“They’re fun to kick.”

“What do you want?” Ana begged, desperately.

“Pick up my tab at the Boar’s Head.”

“But…”

“I’m not going!” Philip said loudly.

“All right!” Ana conceded.

“Change of plans,” Philip told Mia. “I’ll go with you.”

“We’d better hurry,” Mia said. “Zelda said this was a very important summons. No time to delay.”

“Surely you can afford him a few minutes to change,” Adriana pled.

“And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Philip scoffed.

Adriana looked at him and just started laughing. Again, Mia cleared her throat. “There’s really no time for that,” she said. “Anyway, he’s fine the way he is.”

“You hear that, Ana?” Philip said smugly. “I’m fine the way I am.”

“This way, please,” Mia told them anxiously, gesturing to the door.

Ana prodded Philip forward, nearly throwing him into poor Mia. “Right,” Philip muttered, throwing a bitter glance back at his sister. Gesturing grandly to Mia, he allowed her to take the lead, following after.

“Don’t stare at the queen’s chest!” Adriana shouted after him.

“All right, Ana.”

“And don’t slouch when you’re standing in the throne room.”

“Enough, Ana.”

“And, whatever you do, don’t start drinking!”

“Goodbye, Ana.”

The door slammed shut. Adriana stared after it, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. “I didn’t get what I wanted,” she muttered to herself, in shock. “What just happened?”

 

In the keep of the castle, the young girl waited, continuously folding and unfolding her arms across her chest. She couldn’t seem to find a proper stance. First, she leaned against the wall, then she sat on the table, next the chair, then she returned to face the wall. Frustrated, she paced, working her fingers back and forth to hear the knuckles crack and pop. She ran her tongue along her lips, wetting them for the thousandth time in this endless wait.

Any second now, she knew she would be in the presence of the woman who terrified her more than any mortal, living or deceased. Horror gripped her throat, squeezing it shut so that swallowing was a difficult labor. All at once, she felt both nervous and excited. The wait was endless and she had tried nearly everything to pass the time. Now, she sat again, running her fingers through her brown hair, newly cut in an attractive pixie bob.

Footsteps began approaching her from down the hall. Amorette sprang to her feet, drawing herself stiffly to attention, ramrod straight. She faced the direction of the steps, squaring her shoulders just a little more. Her chin rose to an absurd angle, jutting out into the dark air. Quickly, she became aware of how silly she looked and loosened her stance ever so slightly, smoothing down the front of her lavender tunic with trembling hands.

“Amorette,” a voice hissed from around the corner.

“Here,” Amorette called.

Instantly, Impa turned the corner, coming face to face with the girl. They both drew to a straightened stance, each bringing a fist over her heart in the traditional Sheikah greeting. “Are we alone?” Impa asked as they dropped the pose.

“I think so,” Amorette answered.

“Don’t think,” Impa told her sternly. “Know.”

Amorette narrowed her eyes, glancing around the room with a sweep of auspex. “We’re alone,” she whispered after a moment.

“Good,” Impa said, audibly exhaling with relief. She clapped a hand on Amorette’s back, directing her back to the table. “Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

Amorette took a seat. “No,” she responded truthfully, folding her hands on top of the table. “Nor do I understand all the secrecy.”

“The things we’re about to discuss,” Impa said, sitting down across the table from the younger woman, “are not to be discussed outside of this room.”

“I think I understand,” Amorette told her solemnly.

“For your sake, I hope so.”

“Why have you summoned me?”

“I’ve just had a lengthy conversation with Queen Zelda,” Impa began. “We were discussing the Red Dragon, do you know who he is?”

Amorette nodded. “I’ve heard a lot of stories. It’s hard to separate fact from fiction.”

“You have a discerning mind. That’s good.”

“Tell me the truth about the Red Dragon.”

“The truth is a messy thing.”

“Tell me what you know.”

Impa leaned back slightly in her seat. “For a good eighteen years now, the Red Dragon has been plundering the realm, destroying everything and everyone, friend or foe.”

“Why?”

“Madness,” Impa shrugged. “It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that he’s doing it and thousands upon thousands of people are suffering because of it.”

“I see,” Amorette said with a nod.

“He’s just conquered Labrynna. We suspect that the next conquest he’s aiming for is a Hylian outpost.”

“Which one?”

“Maze Island.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

“There is little we can do for Maze Island. It’s a small territory and not very well supplied. What is more pressing is what will happen after Maze Island.”

“Which is?”

“After he conquers Maze Island, it’s a forgone conclusion that Hyrule will be the Red Dragon’s next target.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“There’s little left to conquer.” Impa leaned forward. “I’m not sure you understand the degree to which the Red Dragon has taken his empire building in the realm.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Hyrule is virtually the only territory which remains to be assimilated into his empire.”

“How is that possible?” Amorette scoffed. “There’s so little report of his actions.”

“That is because he seals off his dominated territories to prevent stories from spreading. He keeps his prospective colonies ignorant until it’s too late. That’s why most Hylians don’t believe he exists.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Isolation is a deadly foe. Our folly is our own for not investigating or showing any concern.”

“But Zelda’s put effort into it.”

“Yes. Which is why I’ve summoned you here.” Impa leveled herself, looking directly into Amorette’s eyes, into her soul, it seemed. “While my better nature tells me that Hyrule’s forces can match those of the Red Dragon, the pragmatist in me doubts it severely. We need to form second and third lines of defense against his invasion of Hyrule.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Zelda and I have begun to form a plan, a sort of last ditch effort, if you will, should our soldiers fail. You must understand, if Hyrule falls, the entire realm will become the Red Dragon’s empire and thousands of lives will be lost. Without a question, he will put all the Sheikah to death, including you.”

“Of course.”

“We’re assembling a league of elite warriors to function as a reserve force, though through more mystical means.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain it to you, should you choose to accept the position.”

“Of course I’ll accept. Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“The time to act is now, Amorette.”

“You’re scaring me, Impa.”

“What I’m about to say is very frightening, I want you to be prepared for what you must do.”

“I understand,” Amorette mumbled nervously.

“We are forming a group to be the…Guardians, if you will.”

“The Guardians.”

“A group which, I pray to Din, we will never need to deploy.”

“Tell me more.”

 

Philip lifted his hands, allowing the knights, for what seemed like the tenth time, to frisk him over, checking for concealed weapons, magical implements, or poisons. Mia stood off to one side, watching with a slightly bemused smile playing on her lips. All the guards knew her well and forwent the formality of checking her person. She lived in the castle after all, ward of the queen herself.

When they were finally satisfied that Philip was going empty handed, they offered him brisk, insincere smiles, waving him onward. “Where are we going?” he asked Mia gruffly.

“The throne room,” she replied. “Zelda is holding court this afternoon.” She led him through the wide, bright hallways, underneath arched doorways, passing courtiers in ridiculous outfits that rivaled Adriana’s wardrobe for absurdity.

“Am I going to have to bow or salute or have honor or something?” he grumbled, taking in the scenery.

Mia pursed her lips. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about formalities.”

“Good,” he muttered.

With that, they arrived in the throne room. The room was enormous, probably large enough to fit the Boar’s Head in its entirety. High columns ran in two rows down the middle of the room, flanking a bright purple and gold carpet that stretched from the entrance to the throne platform on the opposite side. Sitting in the right hand throne (the left hand throne was empty) was Zelda herself, dressed in her regal finery, a virginal white gown with a crimson peplum and gold accents. She stood up, looking down at the entrance was Mia and Philip slowly made their way along the carpet.

Whispers immediately filled the room. The courtiers stared at Philip in a mixture of horror and fascination. He was clearly Gerudo; there was no question about it. Yet the courtiers had never seen such a handsome specimen before, stubbly and untidy though he was. Zelda herself regarded him with a respectful nod of her head, the glimmering jewels in her gold crown catching the sunlight as it streamed in through the stained glass windows on either side of the room.

As they arrived at the base of the platform, Mia dropped into a respectful curtsy. Philip glanced at her for a moment, wondering if he was expected to do the same. He looked up at Zelda, but she seemed to have no expectations. Remembering what he had promised Ana, Philip settled for bowing his head politely. “Your highness,” he muttered to her.

“Philip Summer,” she said, dipping her head in turn.

“As promised,” Mia chirped.

At that, Zelda’s frozen exterior finally cracked, breaking into a wide, glowing smile. Her face was illuminated and she looked at Mia with a warm gaze. “Thank you, Mia,” she said with a quavering laugh in her voice.

“Not to sound rude,” Philip cut in, meaning entirely to sound rude, “but I’d like to know the meaning of all this.”

“Of course, I suppose it’s not every day you receive a royal summons.”

“You could say that,” Philip put it bluntly.

“Your appearance in court is just a formality,” Zelda explained. “Our true business here will go behind closed doors.”

“And why is that?”

“I have an important proposition to make you.” Zelda glanced around the room at the gossiping courtiers. “One that will be better served in the privacy of my study, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I do mind,” Philip shot back. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it here.”

“What I wish to discuss is a matter of internal security,” Zelda answered.

Suddenly, a blood curdling scream came from the other side of the throne room. Zelda, Philip, and Mia all turned in unison to look down the carpet. Right where Mia and Philip had stood only a moment ago, a pillar of green light had formed, in the center of it, a humanoid form solidifying.

“Farore’s Wind,” Mia said.

“How is that possible?” Zelda gasped.

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“We have spells up to protect the castle and prevent anyone from teleporting in here,” Mia cried, indignantly.

By this point, the spell was nearly complete and standing where the light had once been was a larger than life being, clad in heavy purple armor and a gold helmet. The courtiers, panicking at the rare and frightening sight, began racing through the columns, screaming and trampling over one another to get away from the figure. If the being noticed their plight, however, he didn’t show it. Aloof, he began drifting down the carpet, his feet an inch or so above the ground.

“Hello, Zelda,” a voice from the depths of the helmet chuckled.

Zelda’s eyes widened, but she found herself frozen to where she stood. Mia, however, found her gait and quickly ran out in front of Zelda and Philip, holding her palms out toward the creature and whispering to herself. Energy gathered around her fingertips, swirling in the form of a blue ball of light. Moving her arm in a throwing motion, Mia launched the sphere at the intruder. As though swatting a fly, he knocked her attack away, sending it into one of the columns which cracked on impact.

“Stay back, War,” Zelda said icily. “I’m warning you.”

“You’re in no position to be doing much warning,” War replied. With a wave of his hand, an invisible wall slammed into Mia, knocking her against one of the columns. At the same moment, an identical force threw Philip off his feet and onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

Zelda held her hands in front of her chest, gathering white energy into an amorphous mass. She pressed her palm outward, sending the orb at War. It impacted his armor, throwing him back, but he managed to stay upright, still levitating. “Stay back,” she warned a second time.

“Oh,” he said in mock horror. “Do it again.”

As Zelda began to gather the energy for a second time, War gestured to the ceiling. With a loud groan, rocks began to grind against one another. A stone dropped from the roof, landing on Zelda’s head and sending her to the ground in a crumpled mass of fabric. Mia let out a scream, frantically trying to get to her feet. War watched her, and as he did, her cape seemed to come to life, tangling around her and fighting her, like a wrestler, back to the floor.

Telekinetically, War lifted Zelda off the ground, her head and arms dangling beneath her. She floated across the room, falling directly into War’s outstretched arms. Her crown fell to the floor. With a chuckle, he began to perform Farore’s Wind a second time, the column of green light expanding to enfold both him and the unconscious Zelda. Just before his molecules began to dissipate, War turned to look at Philip with a chuckle. “See you around, kid,” he scoffed. And then they vanished in a bright flash of light, accompanied by the soft blowing of the wind.

“No!” Mia screamed as her cape’s wild rebellion died.

There was the clanking of armor and a regimen of knights charged into the room, led by Impa, wielding a sword. “What is it?” she demanded, turning to Mia. “What’s happened?”

“A man teleported into the throne room,” Mia explained, rising to her feet. “He took Zelda.”

Impa’s eyes widened. “Do you know who it was?”

“Zelda seemed to. She called him War.”

Anger slowly clouded over Impa’s face. “He’s taken her.”

“Yes.”

Impa gestured for the guards to stand down. She made her way to Mia, checking the girl over for injuries. “Then we’re in an awful lot of trouble.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s the Red Dragon’s second in command.”

“Red Dragon?” Philip asked, getting to his feet. “He’s real? I thought the guy was a myth.”

“No, he’s real,” Impa said crisply.

“And now he has Zelda,” Mia moaned.

“The odds are she’s been taken to his palace in Calatia.”

Mia looked at Impa, her eyes glazing over tearfully. “What are we going to do, Impa?”

Impa crossed the room silently. She leaned over and picked up Zelda’s crown, clutching it tightly to her chest for a moment. Finally, she turned back to address them. “You two are going to have to go after her.”

“Us two?” Philip repeated. “Now wait a second, I didn’t sign on to be one of your cronies.”

“It’s our duty as citizens,” Mia cried passionately.

“You go ahead,” Philip told her. “I’m going home.”

“Would you really turn your back on your monarch?” Impa questioned him darkly.

“I feel bad about what happened,” he answered, “really I do. But there’s no way that I’m going to go charging after her. I see no profit in it for me.”

“Profit,” Mia repeated thickly.

“If profit’s what you’re looking for, there’s plenty to be had,” Impa grumbled.

“Oh yeah?” Philip turned on her. “You have my attention.”

“I can reward you very handsomely for undertaking this.”

“Give me a number.”

“One.”

“One?”

“One chance for a clean record,” Impa said. “I’ve seen your charges. You’ve been in enough bar brawls and street fights to be committed to the stocks for an extended period of time.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

“So it would seem.”

“Listen, lady, I’ve had just enough –”

“It would not be wise,” Impa interrupted him, “for the son of Ganondorf Dragmire to get caught up in a nasty episode involving the kidnapping of a member of the royal family.

Philip opened his mouth then shut it, suddenly looking very much like his sister. “Fine,” he finally said, sulkily.

Impa handed him the sword she was carrying. “You’ll need this.”

 

Coset was escorted through the corridors, carrying a bundle of fabric in her arms. The guards on either side of her walked along without a word, staring straight ahead, as always. The Red Dragon hated it when his guards looked at the women of his harem, especially his favorite concubine, yet he wouldn’t allow her to go unescorted today. The trio made their way through the horrifying palace, down a winding iron staircase to the dungeon. An overwhelming stench of death and decay hit them as they passed the torture chamber. Some poor sap, one of the last remnants of Labrynna’s resistance, was being stretched on the rack. His screams filled the dungeon, echoing off of the walls and drowning out the persistent drip of water leaking in from the gutter.

Next they passed through a long line of hold cells, each of them containing a cot, a chamber pot, and a prisoner. Most of these prisoners were domestics of the Red Dragon who had managed to anger him, but not enough to warrant death. Coset knew many of these and gave them pitying glances as she was paraded down the cellblock. Most of them were too tired or weak to respond to her, but those that could, managed a small smile, careful not to wave or make any more sign of acknowledgement in the presence of the guards.

Finally, they arrived at their destination, the cells of solitary confinement. Unlike the regular cells which boasted walls made entirely of iron bars, these cells were built of stone, each with a wooden door hosting a single barred window. The sound of screaming grew fainter in this area, hidden away from most of the dungeon. One of the guards removed a ring of keys from his pocket and rifled through before finding the proper key to the farther cell.

He unlocked the door, holding it open for Coset. “We’ll be right outside,” he told her, careful to avoid eye contact. “Call us when you’re done.”

“Yes,” Coset said with a nod. Carefully, she ducked into the cell. The guard swung it shut behind her, locking the door. She stood silently, listening as the two of them moved away to a set of table and chairs on the opposite end of the hall where a deck of playing cards awaited them.

Secure in the knowledge that she was more or less abandoned, Coset now turned her attention to the occupant of the cell. She would have known it was Zelda, even without being told beforehand. There was absolutely no mistaking that figure, even after eighteen years of separation. To Coset, she seemed as regal as ever, unconscious on the floor though she was. Setting aside the fabric in her hands, Coset knelt beside Zelda, gathering her head in her arms. She pulled a handkerchief from Zelda’s sleeve and dipped it into a drinking cup, wetting it just a little bit. Gently, she pressed the hanky to Zelda’s forehead.

A soft moan escaped Zelda’s lips. Her head began to turn slowly as consciousness returned to her. “Easy,” Coset told her.

Zelda’s eyes flickered open. For a moment, her gaze was unfocused, half blind. Slowly, she honed in on the face staring down at her. “Coset?”

“It’s me,” Coset told her.