Synopsis: Theirs is a tale as old as time- enemies locked in battle to the bitter end, forever caught in a vicious cycle of death and rebirth. Cursed. This time the cycle will be broken.

Timeframe: Set as an alternative story to Twilight Princess. In order to enjoy this tale, take what you know about that game and throw it right out the window.

Author's Note: Over the years I tried and failed continuously to write what I saw as a fanfiction that I was happy with. This is far from perfect. This is far from what I think I have the potential to some day do. That said, this story got stuck in my head and I felt it needed to be told. For what it is, enjoy and trust that I'm going to take you on a journey where things may not make sense at first, but they'll be clear when the time comes.

Beauty and the Beast

Part 1: The King Is Dead

The king is dead, long live the queen. Chanting in the streets, at once a time to mourn and a time to celebrate. It left a bitter taste in the mouth of the last living royal, a slight girl of fair hair and the tender age of eighteen. Zelda, her mother had spoken so reverently at her birth... only moments before she herself had bled out and left her, the first in a long line of deaths that paved the way to the princess being not the first heir to the throne, but the only heir. Two brothers had fallen before her; the eldest to an arrow they spoke of as a mistake during a hunting trip. Rumors said differently. The death of William had left her parents in tears. The loss of their second son, Alistair, only a year later had devastated the family. He had died from a rare, incurable disease. To this day Zelda could see him laid out on his bed, gasping for breath while his body deteriorated and bed sores tormented his weak form.

One morning he simply didn't wake up.

By then they'd already suffered the loss of the queen as well and the king was beside himself in his grief. Smiles were rare, laughter was even rarer. When her father finally passed, it had come as a relief. A man as tortured as he deserved that rest even if it left her as the last living member of what had once been such a strong, happy family.

Now she would be queen, though still princess until her coronation. First they would have to lay her father to rest and that was a task she did not envy herself or the grave keeper. One week of mourning, then she would be crowned and life would forever change. No, that was a lie. Life had already changed. They said that what didn't kill you made you stronger, but the princess was hardly sure if that was the case. Stronger, no. Colder? Yes. After a while one started to become immune to death, after all.

Every time she read of funerals in books, they were always on the side of a hill on a cold, dreary day. On the day of her father's funeral the sun shone so brightly that even under her parasol she was forced to use a pristine, white handkerchief to mop the sweat from her brow. Summer was at its height and she could hear birds tweeting in the trees even as the priest spoke prayers to the goddesses and Hylia, stood upon display as she was in front of her father's casket in the middle of Hyrule Castle Town. A royal funeral was a spectacle after all. Her father's corpse was the main attraction but she was the side show. Everyone wanted to see the princess cry. Not because they lacked the compassion to care for her loss, but because they felt her passions, above all, should show. She was supposed to fall to her knees and wail. Except she... couldn't.

Dried eyes gazed at the ornate stone in which she knew her father to be contained within. If she pushed back the cover, she'd see him one last time. Her fingers twitched, clutched the handle of her parasol tighter and she exhaled. One, two, three. She didn't have the strength to do it. No more dwelling on the dead. Not like that.

Propriety dictated that she remain put, and so Zelda did. She stayed there until the last spectator had left. She stayed there until even the priest, having put a kindly old hand to her shoulder, walked off as well. She stayed there until finally, she made an about turn on the high heel of her black boot and strode off. Armor clanked then soldiers stepped forward to begin the long process of transporting the heavy container to the royal mausoleum. Zelda didn't look back.

She didn't look back. Not even as her heels clicked a vicious rhythm across the detailed patterns beneath her feet, not even as she lifted her black skirts just enough to climb the white steps to the gates of Hyrule castle, crossed the bridge... stepped through the second set of gates. The courtyard looked far too cheerful for what had just transpired and she set her jaw firm. She was alone. Her father had made the worst betrayal in giving up when he still had one child living that needed him. The fool. The old, senile, loving fool. By the Goddesses she was going to miss him.

Grief was such a curious thing. One could tell themselves that they were fine, that they were used to it all and then without warning it would hit. Like a tidal wave sweeping across the Great Sea, it would hit and take all one's rationality with it. Strength; a word she held so much importance in and yet here she was fleeing past the entrance hall and down to the dungeons so that servants and soldiers alike wouldn't see their soon-to-be queen break down. The dungeons were empty. The only ones down there to see her cry were the mice.