Chapter Four: Contentious Link Medilia
It was the first snow of the season and Zelda had been up watching it for hours, too restless for sleep though her entire body screamed for repose. She watched it fall in lazy, sporadic bursts, watched it cover the dying grass of the castle grounds in feeble patches. Leaning against the stone railing of her balcony, the young monarch enjoyed the feeling of icy air seeping beneath her inadequate clothing and looked up as the sky faded gradually to a dingy gray that matched the inner turmoil of her thoughts.
Medilia,
she thought, rubbing her arms, unable to take her eyes away from the sky. Where are you, Medilia?Hauling in a breath, concentrating on the tingling of her skin as her fingertips grazed the flesh, she decided to look for the Imperial Advisor herself. She closed her eyes and flung her will forth, searching for Medilia in the other world in which she'd lived all her life, reaching out for the feel of Medilia's aura with grasping fingers that no one who thought to spy on her would be able to see.
All were blind in this strange dark world, and Zelda worked exclusively by feel. She was disappointed, once again, to find that she could no longer sense Medilia's aura, which had descended on her in a warm cloud the first time she began the hunt for the older woman's essence; all she felt now were the weak vapors left behind by those who could no longer access this hidden world. She began to pull her power back into herself, a sigh echoing loud in her mind.
She hovered over Agahnim's aura as she felt it, though his power -- so immense, so intense in the close confines of this world -- cut into her like razors. His aura, for once, was where he'd left it; for that, Zelda was glad. Of late, he'd been setting up psychic wards around the castle by sheer force of will, keeping her from searching for Medilia as she wanted. Settling her own aura over his made her indignation upon her discovery of his trickery burn bright within her once more -- and made her feel dizzy as well. He was so close, so vulnerable. How tempting it was to sample a piece of his power!
She reached out to him -- though dimensions were hard to judge in this world -- without really meaning to, but by the time she tried to pull back it was too late. His base of power awoke, sucking her down and rolling her under his will, giving her the taste of him she'd craved. Indescribable sensations ran up and down the length of both her prone body and her active mind, a power too intense to articulate in words, a power that left her gasping and wet by the time he spat her back out.
"It's been a long time," he said suddenly -- behind her, from somewhere far away.
Zelda realized she'd somehow crawled back into herself as she snapped open her eyes. Her skin was pale and perfect, unmarred from Agahnim's powerful flirtation, but she felt disconnected, altered, weak-kneed -- the way she always felt when she exerted her will. She remembered that she had not sensed Medilia in that distant world. Maybe that means she's dead. The thought excited her, so that when she turned to face Dragmire, her heart was beating against the walls of her throat and there was a trembling smile on her lips.
He was standing in the threshold of the double doors that closed off her bedchamber from the chill, gauzy curtains tangled around his black-clad legs. Black boiled leather hid his imposing upper body, and his kinky red hair was braided, hanging stiffly to his shoulders. The look in his eyes made her chest feel tight, made her realize that the nightgown she wore was nearly transparent.
Folding her arms over her small chest in a belated show of modesty, Zelda shoved away her desire to wallow in psychic afterglow and strode briskly toward Dragmire, the hem of her light nightgown rising and offering tempting glimpses of her ankles. She closed the doors behind her with a sharp yank, shutting the two of them in a room that wasn't much warmer than the balcony had been.
Dragmire stood with his hands politely clasped behind his back, awaiting a response from the princess. She looked at him unpleasantly, then walked over to her bed so she wouldn't have to stand next to him anymore. Her bedchamber was exactly as she'd left it, everything in its place. "Yes," she said. "Two weeks since you've been able to get away."
Dragmire stared in the distance at something Zelda couldn't see for a while before answering. Their conversations were never hurried. "No," he said finally. "I've been reading for the past two weeks. That's part of it, but not what I meant, Princess. It's been a long time since you've deigned to use the Throne Room to interrogate a common Koholint prisoner."
"We haven't used the Throne Room since Mother died. It makes Papa sad. But this is a special case." She strode over to the vanity to maintain the artificial distance between them, snatching up a comb and taking it to her soft blonde curls. The comb did little to free the melting snowflakes trapped in her hair. "The consul promised me this one would serve my pleasure."
"Serve your pleasure." His accent bled into his voice as he parroted the words and she forced her comb through a tangle, focusing on her pain and not the darkness in Dragmire's eyes. Dark, so dark, the darkness of the other world...why was his presence making things low in her belly tighten? Why was he affecting her like this? She usually had better control over her feelings.
It was then she knew that her brief, almost amorous encounter with Agahnim had left her unsatisfied. All she'd gotten was a taste. She wanted more, but Dragmire would have to do. It was early morning, he was here and close, he was her lover...she felt her body tremble, the sole autumn leaf left on the branch to brave the howling winds of winter, at what she was considering giving in to.
Her decision made, she advanced toward him again, where he stood by the doors. Her throat had gone dry with anticipation, but her words came out smooth. "What have you been reading, Ganondorf? What are you looking for?"
"You'll find out when I do," he said. He smiled wide, the expression feline and vaguely dangerous, sucking her in. Her breath came rapid and shallow as he continued, "It will be a long time before I get time alone with you to discuss it, I fear."
"You're right. We oughtn't waste the time we've been given."
She fell to her knees before him and looked up, her eyes -- more blue than gray in this light -- as wide and vulnerable as any prey's. Brushing her fingertips up the sides of his legs, she attempted to lift his tunic, but he stopped her with a hand. "No."
"Ganondorf?" Zelda was confused; seldom were the times that Dragmire refused her embrace -- the embrace of the Princess Regent! Especially confusing given he'd come to visit her in her bedchamber, early in the morning when he wouldn't be missed. Ignoring the protests of her knees, her hands slid up to grip his hips. "We have time. Impa won't be coming to dress me for an hour yet. Are you--"
"No, I said." She let out a startled, protesting cry as he grabbed her by one arm and pulled her to her feet. The action, which would have warranted beheading had any other man done it, earned Dragmire only the briefest of glares. Her gaze then flicked to the hand held in Dragmire's iron grip...and looking upon it made her inhale sharply.
Her hand was slick with blood, fresh blood, his blood. Where had it come from? She looked down the length of his body and spotted a large gash on one hip, the material around it ripped and sticky with blood. No wonder he didn't want her touching him. Why hadn't she noticed it before?
Zelda looked up to meet his gaze. "Dangerous reading."
Breakfast was not an enjoyable affair -- Dragmire was absent from the Great Hall, sick in bed, and her father had to be spoon-fed by his doctor and was led back to his apartments as soon as he was done. Such sights harrowed Zelda. She loved her father -- in her way -- but watching modestly dressed Agahnim guide food to the High King's lips reminded her how close she was to attaining all she wanted, how far it was out of her reach. It was a torture to watch him cling to life when she needed him so badly to die.
She unrolled her prayer rug and prostrated herself before her golden idols after breakfast, sending up her voice to the goddesses. She was not plagued by guilt, and did not wish to atone for imaginary sins; she did not ask for interpretation of her increasingly grim dreams; nor did she plead for material possessions she knew would not be delivered by the gods. The Three were beyond the hearing of mere human pleas, interested only in the praises Zelda delivered in her low, pious voice. She hoped it would be enough to persuade the deities to keep her heart hardened.
Agahnim was waiting outside the prayer room for her when she opened the door, dressed in the bright green of Koholint limes. Her heart froze when she saw him, and she knew it showed on her face. "How courteous of you to wait outside the room for me," she managed, her voice cool, supercilious. And it was; usually he waited for her to finish her prayers inside the room, beside her, showing his lack of respect for the fervor of her faith.
Neither of them moved. They stood and stared at each other and thought unfathomable thoughts, the thick smell of incense creeping out of the prayer room and curling around them. Zelda wondered if Agahnim knew about her invasion of his privacy earlier that morn and immediately cursed her naiveté. Of course he knew; he was a powerful sorcerer, after all. Still, a small part of her hoped it had gone unnoticed.
Agahnim blinked first. Then he extended one of his arms to her. "Come, Your Grace. Accompany me to the Throne Room."
Zelda linked her arm around his and was relieved to find she could not sense his power. They walked at a fast pace, the wizard and the princess, his lime green robes and her maidenly white gown billowing out behind them. They walked in silence, neither one of them the sort who engaged in idle chatter.
Finally, he said, "I sensed you this morn, Your Grace."
Her first impulse was to lie, only he would know, the same way he knew that she had been wallowing in his aura. "I suppose you did," she said hesitantly. "I was searching for Medilia...something you've kept me from doing the last few nights. And I stumbled upon you. It was quite by accident."
"I suppose you didn't find our Lady of House Vermot, or you wouldn't be praying. And you must have assumed it was because she was dead, as if I were not capable of hiding her from you. As for your quasi-invasion of me, I completely understand. You'll be pleased to know I let you go as soon as I became aware of your presence...it must have been terribly intense for you. No, don't deny it," he laughed. "I know you too well, Your Grace; you're too reactionary to admit anything gives you pleasure, the same as your ancestors. I think you'll be interested in knowing that the experience could have been much better than what it was..."
Creeping power slithered up the arm linked in Agahnim's and she jerked free of him, frightened. He laughed at her.
"That's enough, Doctor. I can escort Her Grace from here."
The voice was not her own. Zelda turned grateful eyes on her attendant, Impa, dressed as befitted a war-maiden, all in steel and boiled leather. The last Sheikah left in all the world, Impa did not share her zealous belief in the Three, or she might have been there to save her from the dubious company of Agahnim sooner. Quickly, she sidled up to Impa before the hedge wizard could speak, nodding curtly at him to say she would see him when they began interrogation of the swordsmaster.
Agahnim's eyes were bright with triumph. He bowed before the pair of women then swept past them in the general direction of the Throne Room. Zelda and Impa traveled too, but in a silence that was far from the tense one shared with Agahnim. Impa was a good woman -- and gullible too, believing Zelda when she told her that her moon's blood had come, explaining away the blood smeared on her bedchamber's floor.
The Throne Room was near the front of the castle, on the second floor. Zelda and Impa hesitated in front of it, staring up at the imposing wooden doors. On the doors were carved illustrations of the reigns of various kings, and beyond it...beyond it were the thrones of the king and his queen, the High Thrones that had been forbidden by Harkinian in his grief over the death of his wife. Behind the thrones was the Seal of the Golden Power. It called to her.
She would sit on the High King's throne as she sentenced a traitor to death.
It must be done
, she reminded herself, letting out a deep breath as Impa opened the double doors and revealed the very plain Throne Room, the score of soldiers and attendants, the twin stone seats, the three sunshine-yellow triangles staring back at her. It must be done in this room. The consul had brought a traitor to see her, trained as a Koholint swordsmaster. She didn't mind killing petty Koholint thieves and Koholint whores in the Audience Chamber, but a Hylian turned against his country must be executed in the room in which Isa had died, to feed the gods' thirst for blood. Only in that way would he serve as a powerful example to the willing traitors Zelda knew were inside Hyrule Castle Town's walls.Letting out a trembling breath, she took the first step towards the stone High Throne.
Twenty minutes later, she had been sitting on the throne for twenty minutes longer than was comfortable, and the novelty of sitting in the seat had worn off -- so said her flexible face and eyes. But there was a rigidity, a tenseness, in her slim young body that looked out-of-place. Her eyes slid from one of the windows and over to Impa.
"The consul," she said, "was not at breakfast this morn."
"No," Impa said.
Zelda slapped her palm against one stone armrest and started to get up. "I've had enough of this. If the consul has turned tail because his boy was nothing but a baseless fancy that's fine, but I should not be subject to his whimsy. Let us go, Impa."
They were both looking very desperate to leave, but they stopped at the sound of loud commotion outside the closed doors of the Throne Room; the large doors shuddered a moment later, and both women started. Zelda sat back down on her throne, an expression very close to comical surprise overtaking her face. This expression grew steadily more severe as the commotion increased in vehemence and volume, and it wasn't long before those present in the room could discern voices in the nearby din:
"--WOULD YOU STOP IT! I WILL NOT BE MADE A MOCKERY OF IN FRONT OF THE PRINCESS -- VISCEN! VISCEN, RESTRAIN HIM--"
"Oh my!" Zelda gasped, the surprised expression slipping from her powdered face. "I do believe it is the consul and his boy, Impa!"
"Yes--" Impa started hesitantly, but did not have time for anything more. The Throne Room's doors shuddered even more violently before they burst open with a resounding bang that made their hinges squeal and made them come dangerously close to slamming into the surrounding walls. Zelda gave a start on her throne; one of the lesser servants in attendance, already made uneasy by the memories of the last time he'd been in this room, turned sheet-white and fainted. The men (and there was no mistaking any of them for boys, Zelda thought) revealed from behind the newly opened doors were a sight to behold! At the head of the group were two common soldiers clad in chain mail and black, and they had obviously opened the doors; both seemed skittish and nervous and retreated into the Throne Room as soon as they were able. Behind them, and between two Royal Bodyguards, was a man whom she assumed was the boy, though he didn't look it. Like the whore of two weeks ago, he was heavily manacled and chained, and though with her the measure seemed pitiful and ridiculous, with him it seemed a necessary precaution. He was putting up a spectacular fight! He was thrashing madly despite the Bodyguards' arms round him, and there was a dagger between his teeth...but where had he gotten a dagger, for Din's sake? It didn't make any sense! Her dazed mind barely registered the consul to the right of them, red-faced and waving his arms. He was also yelling.
This was quickly getting out of hand, and Zelda suspected that -- given a few more minutes -- the boy would escape. She got up abruptly from her throne. "Get control of your prisoner!" she hollered. "Get control of your prisoner, Consul, or get him out of my court!"
The consul looked up at her, and she could see fear flashing in his eyes -- he was scared of a boy who could not have outweighed him by ten pounds! -- but he followed her directions at once. Withdrawing his sword, he swatted the thrashing boy over the head with the flat of it...and the prisoner's eyes rolled up in his head, and he went limp at once, the dagger clattering to the floor. The consul collected the weapon and sheathed his own soundlessly, nervously; the Bodyguards dragged the boy forth bonelessly, and without further resistance. It seemed to Zelda that everyone in the Throne Room breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Oh, Viscen!" Zelda said sympathetically once the Bodyguards, boy, and Consul had stopped before the Throne. Viscen was the Captain of Hyrule's elite military force, and perhaps a decade younger than King Harkinian; his yellow hair was now almost entirely gray. He watched Zelda with eyes she couldn't see beneath his helmet. "Was this boy really so feisty that your expertise was needed?"
Viscen chuckled. "You've seen what he can do, Princess," he said. "But if you still have doubt about his potential, I'm sure the consul can fill you in."
The consul flushed and lowered his head, but Zelda spied a still-bleeding cut near his hairline. "Did he do that, Consul?" she asked softly.
The consul sullenly lifted his eyes. "The little bastard tried to scalp me this morn," he said. "Isn't that right, Link?"
Link? Zelda stared questioningly at the consul a moment more; then her gaze floated down curiously to the scoundrel. There had been no time to study him before -- he was a blur of green movement -- but she had ample opportunity to study him unashamed now. He had a Hylian's ears, thank goddess, and dark blond hair; his face was strangely sparse and aristocratic, with a long sharp nose and lovely high cheekbones. It was too bad that the handsome face was covered with cuts and bruises, Zelda thought, and she wished she could see the color of his eyes -- she knew they wouldn't be the warm brown of the consul's. But his green tunic was too short, and he wasn't wearing leggings...and what she saw looked like a nice length of thigh. He was tall, even slumped between two bulkier men, cris-crossed with lithe muscle. She saw immediately why he was a swordsmaster.
"Wake him up," she commanded the consul.
The consul did not look happy about following Zelda's instruction, but he complied without complaint. He stepped in front of him, obstructing her view, and -- so she assumed -- slapped him a few times. It worked, apparently, because he jerked away as the boy began to thrash again. Zelda, slightly annoyed by his persistence but not enough to comment, looked eagerly into his eyes...and was confused. She took them for black at first sight, but when he jerked into more certain light she saw that they were blue. She decided they were the darkest blue she had ever laid eyes on -- beautiful! He was a boy who would be plain and forgettable despite the aquiline face, if not for the extraordinary color of his eyes. He thrashed for moments more, and the consul looked as if he would belt him again...but he stilled, suddenly, as he looked at her -- looked at her, she realized, as she had looked at him. She lowered her eyes and felt her cheeks warm.
As the Bodyguards forced him to his knees, the boy excitedly began to say something thick-tongued and foreign. In the long string of unfamiliar words, Zelda heard her name. She turned to the consul. "What is he saying?"
The consul looked a trifle embarrassed. "I...I don't know, Princess," he said hesitantly. "It's been six years since I've spoken Koholint, and...he's using a dialect. It's too drawling for my ears." He laughed, saw the identical expressions on Zelda's and Impa's faces, then stopped.
"Time and again you make me embarrassed to call you by your title, Consul," Zelda fumed. "How can I ask him questions when he can't understand them?"
"It's a blessing," Impa said blandly. "Princess, he likes you. He says, 'If this is my murderer, then I am happily in chains indeed.'"
Zelda turned to Impa in surprise. "I didn't know you spoke Koholint," she said with no real anger. "The consul could have avoided trying to translate anything at all!"
"There's very little you know of me, Princess," Impa said slowly, and Zelda realized it was true; what did she know of her Sheikah attendant? She remembered fourteen years of life with her, and no more. And, certainly, Impa had not gotten her white hair and the fine lines around her eyes from those years with her. What had Impa done during those long, lost years? Had she...had she killed people? That thought brought back the sting of some awful memory half-remembered, and Zelda pushed it away before it made itself fully known.
"You're right. I apologize," Zelda said smoothly.
"Shall I?" Impa asked, searching the Princess's face critically.
"I bow to your expertise."
Satisfied, Zelda's attendant turned to the boy, and what came out of her mouth was not what the monarch expected. "Can you speak Hylian?" she asked bluntly.
The boy looked surprised at her straightforwardness; he looked down at the floor, then flicked to the ceiling, then to either side. It was apparent that he was thinking of thrashing and trying escape...but his eyes strayed to the Princess, where stopped. "Yes," he said in a voice devoid of the thick accent he'd had when speaking the barbaric language.
"Good, because -- as I'm sure you know -- not being well-versed in Hylian is a violation of the laws set down for noncitizens, and you do not need another charge. Princess, you may question him."
The poor princess was feeling unwarranted nervousness now, and the expression had taken over her face without her realizing it. "What is your name?" she asked slowly.
"Link. Link Medilia."
"Medilia." Zelda frowned. "That's quite impossible. The lady sent to Koholint--"
Zelda never finished her thought about Medilia because now that she had his name she knew she was going to kill him; all she need do was say the words. He did no good to her alive -- and then Agahnim entered the Throne Room, his power radiating off of him in palpable, pleasurable waves. She shifted on the stone throne...and a horrible thought crossed her mind like a leviathan below water, frighteningly massive and overwhelmingly alien. Her eyes grew wide and she sputtered suddenly, "Get out! All of you -- save you, traitor -- leave us! Get out!"
Impa and the Bodyguards, the wizard and the consul, a myriad of other servants and soldiers goggled at her, but the boy -- could it be? -- seemed to smile at her a moment. "This is not a wise decision!" Viscen warned. "I want four men on him at all times. If you're left alone with him and he feels the need to escape the castle--"
"I don't care," she overrode. "Wait outside, if you are so inclined -- but I must speak to Link privately!"
High Queen Isa had died by poison offered to her in a goblet of uncommonly bitter almond milk. Zelda still remembered her mother's screaming torments, the way her body had writhed, how very red the queen's regurgitated blood had seemed on the front of her bodice. Sometimes she still had nightmares about that day, where she hung, suspended in horror, as her mother died again and again, unable to close her eyes to pretend it wasn't happening.
So Zelda was surprised when she found a goblet of almond milk sitting on the desk in the alcove behind the thrones, behind the Seal of the Golden Power. The boy was sitting, unmanacled and conspicuously quiet, in a stiff-backed chair before the desk. As she followed after him, and spied the milk, she considered finding the offending servant and exacting punishment. Instead she shoved her soft feelings away, flinging herself into the chair behind the desk aloofly and gesturing to the milk. She had the boy's full attention. "There...this is better, isn't it? Would you like that milk? I daresay you haven't had anything like it before."
The boy stared at her.
"It's almond milk. Do you understand what I'm asking you?"
Before her impatience grew, he snatched the goblet up in his hands with a startling quickness, held it clumsily between his fingers, and began to drink from it greedily.
"At least you're not deaf--" she began archly, then let out a cry of disgust as he spat the milk out all over the desk and himself. The effect was startling, and gross, but far from effective. He was only lucky there was nothing on the desk -- or her! She stared at him in disbelief.
"What are you doing? What are you doing?" she gasped. She stood up, eyes widening in horror -- amusement -- as his eyes bulged, as his lips puckered, as milk spilled out from between those lips. He looked as surprised as she felt, and quickly, she forced her masklike blank expression back onto her face.
"It..." He frowned, pausing for words or effect, milk dribbling over his lips and down his chin, "It's..."
"Sweet?" she prompted, and at the word, she felt the painful, ancient horror again, the primal terror, the realization that death could come in such innocuous forms. Then she rallied, staring at her captive through narrowed eyes.
The boy smiled at her. "Yes...yes, it's sweet! It's wonderful!" To her surprise, he picked up the goblet again and drunk from it. He looked healthy; his cheeks were flushed rosily, his eyes were bright as stars...and he looked arrogant, as pompous as a queen on her throne, as smug as a cat. Zelda's already inflamed mind pulsed again, this time with rage. What right did a traitor have to look so pleased with himself here, in the center of their world, the seat of high kings?
"Well, I'm glad you like it--"
"You wanted to speak to me?" His loud stiff voice was like a whipcrack in the stuffy, quiet alcove. Zelda jumped then checked herself, embarrassed. "Out with it, then."
"Do not presume to know the reasons for my generosity, turncloak." The derision in her tone helped to stop the furious rampage of her heart. "You should be thanking your heathen gods. I could have you back in chains faster than you can say 'Wind Fish.'"
Then the boy did something one of his station would never dare to do: he looked her, a girl gently born, straight in the eye. "You're only a girl."
"Only a girl!" Zelda shouted in outrage. "I am Zelda, Princess Regent and Protector of the Realm, heir to King Harkinian, blessed be, Sixth of His Name. You are only a grimy rebel with a high opinion of himself."
"That might be so, but you're only a girl in all the ways that matter. A girl-child with no breasts, and such a skinny thing besides. What do you require of me, anyhow, Your Grace?" It was as if she hadn't spoken at all. The beginnings of a headache throbbed queasily against the walls of her head.
"I'll let you know in due time, turncloak. Rest assured it has nothing to do with your--"
"It doesn't? Then surely you mean to bed me while we are alone?" He looked eerily right in his chair, in the body of a man, though his eyes held the mocking innocence of a child. "My master was fond of saying that some maids cannot abide the emptiness of their beds, though I never imagined you'd be one of them. We swordsmasters are wedded to our swords, but I'm sure my cheap steel would only benefit if I were to service a maid royal born. Give me some more of that milk and we'll see if I can give you what you seem to so badly need."
Zelda stared at him, repulsed by his overtly sexual tone. Why must you be such a sordid heathen, Link Medilia? I am in need of your wit. "If you said that within hearing of the king, you'd be dead by now." It might be that I'll kill you myself.
"Not with me unmanacled, and thus a match for the king's strength." He smiled dreamily, rubbing his chafed wrists. "The old fool would soil himself at the thought of facing me with or without manacles -- of that I have no doubt."
"My father is the king of Hyrule, and has no time to waste humiliating green boys...and it seems to me you were not speaking this boldly when you were part of the noncitizen horde."
"It seems to me this king of Hyrule is hiding behind his daughter's skirt. Why didn't he come to see me this morn, Princess? Did he scrape an elbow at breakfast and cry?"
Uncomfortably reminded of both Dragmire's injury and the spectacle of her father at breakfast, Zelda swiftly tried to change the subject. "I tire of this. There are things I must know."
"You won't learn a thing from me."
"Oh, but I will. Even a headstrong boy such as yourself wants to live, I think."
"We swordsmasters are prepared to die everyday. That means I don't fear death, Your Highness." Even in discussing the prospect of his own death, he sounded amused.
"You should. You've turned traitor, and have earned yourself a place in the deepest of the three hells, if the goddesses are just."
"What goddesses, Princess Zelda? The lifeless statues of the Three you pray to? How well will they serve you when I take your head off?" He laughed. "If the Three are as noble as you claim, why is your world full of pain and injustice?"
"Because..." Anger, like a darkness, descended over her, thickening her voice. Valiantly, she struggled to regain her normal soft tone. "...Because the gods grow thirsty."
"The goddesses have been feeding on mortal bloodshed and misery for years, and still they hunger. Haven't you wondered if your tears and your blood are the right fluids to be offering them? Perhaps their thirst would be better slaked with my spit."
Appalled by his blasphemy, Zelda lashed out at the young man in her thoughts. Only you, Link Medilia, would hold onto your pride and arrogance in the face of the gods, and only you would wave your empty courage like a banner in the barren wasteland of atheism. You are devoid even of honor, sacrificing it to the earth when you lent your steel to Koholint's cause. "You'll not speak sensibly? So be it. Drink all the almond milk you will before Viscen comes for you. You'll need your strength down there in the gaols."
She was almost to the door when the barbarian called out, "Princess Zelda." When she turned round her eyes went immediately to his face, tight and anxious, a little boy's. "Things go rust in your gaols," he explained, "especially the courtesies of green headstrong boys. Stay with me, and receive your answers...for a price."
Zelda shook her head at his shamelessness. "You'll not demand a price from me."
"I'm a boy to whom not much has been given; my price is modest, I assure you. That consul of yours is queerly cold and unresponsive, not addressing me once even though I only wish to know the fate of my father and my master."
"I don't see why you expect me to know or care about the fate of two turncloaks."
"I didn't, Princess, not really," the boy said. "Besides, it's been years since last I saw my father, and my swordsmaster was killed before my very eyes. I just wanted to make sure that what they said about your feelings toward noncitzens was true."
Zelda took her seat, trying to form words he'd want to hear, trying to articulate her sentiments in terms he'd understand. "It's impossible for me to feel gently for a people who would like nothing better than to slaughter innocent Hylians and create horrors everywhere."
"They wouldn't want that if you bothered to treat them like human beings."
"But they're animals, and what my governor and consul decide to do with animals doesn't concern me."
"And you call yourself a princess?" He said the title with such obvious disgust that Zelda felt her cheeks burn with shame.
"How dare you--"
"Ask me your questions."
"You dare issue orders to your ruler?"
"Yes. Now ask your questions before I grow vexed."
Willed into quiet obedience by the intensity of Link's voice, Zelda stared at him. He couldn't have been much older than her, and now he commanded her full attention. She refused to give him the angry response he no doubt craved. That had obviously been his motive for such impudence.
Not knowing how long their sparring might continue, Zelda wasted no time in asking the question. "Are you, indeed, a traitor to your kingdom?"
"You've already decided on the answer. Why ask me?"
"I want to hear it from your own lips."
The boy shrugged. "I trained with my master on a mountaintop and my mother was a Hylian, so I suppose that's enough to brand me a traitor. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"You freely admit to committing crimes that will ensure your death by slow torture?"
"I would that you could get the nerve to do it!" Link rose from his seat. "You won't kill me. You need me, I see it in your eyes."
"Think so?" Zelda asked coldly. "As easily as we got you, we can get another."
"Try and find a swordsmaster with half my skill" -- his smile cut -- "or half as comely as me. Your search will never end."
"You go to far, Link Medilia, presume too much," Zelda said. "I have no further need of you; this discussion is at an end."
"So you're going to throw me back in my gaol, then? Are you too squeamish to kill me after everything else you've done? Whose skirt are you hiding behind?"
When at last he was gone, Zelda leaned back in her chair and looked out the small window in this small room, watching the snow fall still. There was something about the way it fell past the window that made her remember the morning, and Agahnim, and pleasurable warmth spread through her limbs. What she'd experienced this morning had been a taste, just a taste of what she could have felt if she'd allowed herself to stay within his power. That scared her badly, because if it felt much better than that, she might spend the rest of her life in that parallel dark world, seeking another taste. Her worries and ambitions would diminish in importance and she'd lose all sense of self, submitting herself to Agahnim's will in a much more intimate way than her father had.
She could not feel Medilia in her head anymore, and she knew she would be happier when she couldn't feel Agahnim, either. That was why she had spoken to Link Medilia alone -- not to condemn him as a traitor, but simply to get a feel for his own power. To determine whether another assassination would become necessary.
A chill went through her.
This chapter is as bad as it gets. I swear!
And thanks to Greki for the amazingly awesome support!