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vampiresuns · 4 years ago

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How Will It Matter After You’re Gone

For Anatole’s day 13 of @arcana-echoes: Aftermath.

Title: From Disenchanted - My Chemical Romance (Nana was an MCR teen, it’s only fair).

Quick guide: Here you can check on the Cassano-Radosevic family tree. Medea Pryce & Leonore Kaur are Anatole’s best friends, I owe them a post. Medea is a community organiser, and Leonore a therapist in training. Althea is his twin sister, and Navneet his eldest sibling (there’s seven Kaurs: Navneet, Sashi, Althea & Leonore, and Isha, Vaishnavi and Ashok). Navneet and Anatole end up together in one of his timelines.

Dear Vesuvia,

It is with the greatest regret that the Cassano of this City inform to the public that Aelius Anatole Radošević De Silva, Of The Cassano of Vesuvia, has passed away in the Lazaret on the date —.

Taking this time to mourn, while the Cassano and the Consul will remain in the city, striving to find a cure, we inform the city that Consul Valerius has taken the decision to close the doors of the Palazzo.

Due to sanitary measures, no funeral will be held.

Milenko & Amparo

Amparo sat in the middle of the stage of the closed theatre. She wanted to be alone, everyone’s energy threatening to drag her down and never bring her back again, down to a place where the sun does not rise. Not that it matters. The sun could rise a thousand times over, and she feels like she will never notice it again. Losing Anzano, her grandparent, was hard enough. Losing Anatole was unbearable.

Her Anatole deserved the brightest of requiems, and he will have silence, in a bitter city which will probably not mourn him. Not that she can hold it against them — but it still hurts, just like it hurt to feel him die. She always knows when people die.

“Vesuvia lost it’s last honest lover,” she tells no one.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there, but she knows she must head back, and for the first time in forever, she dreads Death itself.

When she comes back, she finds Milenko sitting on Anatole’s piano, crying.

Valerian

Valerian Cassano spent three days siting in the winter garden of the Palazzo after his great grandson died. He knew the biggest loss would always be for his parents, he had gone through that long before they had to. Losing a child was something one never truly recovered of.

He remembers so clearly the first time he met that child: golden before his hair caught up with his personality, avid to learn, curious, ambitious, resolved, more intelligent than most people he’s met. He reminded him of Vitale, his father in law.

Sometimes, if you spoke to the dead, they would listen, so he tried his luck: “Elysian, my dearest friend, take care of him. Do what we could not.”

Cassiopeia

Cassiopeia Cassano considered herself a lot of things: dedicated, passionate, fair, reserved, thoughtful. Brave... bravery was something she was beginning to doubt in herself. Seeing your parent die of a disease as invasive as the plague could do that to a person — seeing someone like Anatole, with his vitality of a thousand suns, could cement it a little deeper in oneself.

Cassiopeia didn’t like endings, they were predictable and inevitable and, sometimes, unfair. At least Amparo was back, and she didn’t have to worry about wherever she was and if she would be safe.

A door opened and closed behind her. She turned to find Iris, her spouse.

“How is Lele?”

“She’s eating, at least.”

“And Lenko?”

“Lenko doesn’t want to see anyone.”

“How... how is...”

“Louisa and Vlad? Please don’t make me answer that.”

“And Va—”

“Don’t.”

Her eyes swelled with tears. Holding her own forehead, she began to cry. Iris sat with her, holding her free hand and kissing her knuckles.

“He rearranged the filing system for the Council by himself— he—” a hiccup, “he had so many plans—”

“I know.”

“He was drafting a social reform for—”

“I know.”

“I’m never going to see him walk around with his coffee, nor terrorise the Praetor. I’m never going to see him— I’m never—”

“I know, my love, I know.”

“He would’ve been a wonderful Consul, Iris.”

Iris’ voice trembled. “I know.” They held Cassiopeia closer. The only thing they could think about was how that could’ve been Amparo.

Mircea & Florentino

“Florence?” Mircea Radošević said, looking and sounding lifeless. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No.”

Mircea understood. He didn’t either.

Medea & Leonore

She’s cried too much to be properly angry, but no matter what she does, no matter how much she pets Leonore’s hair she keeps silently crying, snot threatening to make her unable to breathe alltogether. She’s tired, exhausted, and miserably, dreadfully alone. She feels alone in this world like she hasn’t in years. Leonore has his forehead on her forearm, and a hand on his third glass of spiced whiskey. The only reason why he stopped drinking was because he began crying again.

Medea used to think nothing was enough of a hit to fully break Leonore. He had that quality about him: feelings came, they went, and he sat with discomfort running rampant, only to build up after it was gone with a smile on his face.

Not any more.

Leonore sobbed pitifully, choking on his own cries.

After he finally managed to calm down, he looked at her: “How the fuck will I tell Navneet? How am I telling Althea.”

She began crying again. “I don’t know, Leo — I don’t have the slightest fucking idea.”

“Fucking— How the fuck am I going to wake up tomorrow if he’s, if he—”

“I don’t know, Leo... I really don’t know.”

Antupillán

Antu searched the entire city for Anatole, only not to find him anywhere.

He had gone where Antu couldn’t follow, so he did the only thing he could think of: he went back to Anatole’s room, made himself a lair in his wardrobe, and feel asleep.

If you paid enough attention, you could hear him weeping.

Vlad & Louisa

Aelius Anatole, his son, had come into the world at dawn to seal the lesson that Louisa had brought into his life: that if he knows what love is, it is because they exist. He had nicknamed him Lily because he had always been little, shorter than the other kids, yet somehow stood taller, brighter. He figures all parents think the same of their children.

His son came into the world at dawn. Vlad will never know at what time he left it. He will never know if he was scared. He will never know if the fever kept him lucid. He will never have a body to hold, just like he used to before, when Anatole still asked to be tucked in, demanding to be given a hand to tug on while he fell asleep.

He will have no stories to tell him, he will have no more hallway dances to see him dance, no more dreams, no more smiles.

Death has taken so much from him, all he feels is rage. For the first time in years, he wishes he had died too, but he has a wife, and he can’t leave her alone.

Louisa De Silva never expected to have any children, nor she expected her only son to be taken away from her. She thinks, no, she knows she will feel hollow for the rest of her life, that nothing ever will be the same: happiness will be a ghost of what it used to be. Food will taste blander than before. Joy will be watered, and laugh will take a long vacation never to return.

That Anatole is now with her sister is no consolation at all. She’s always loved Paris, but right now, she’s envious of her. Wherever it is that they are, if there is such a place, her sister will get to hold her son while she didn’t have a chance to even see him die. She holds the arm of the chair she’s sitting in until her knuckles go white. She feels like fainting.

Incompetent and despotic rulers have taken so many things from her: her family home, her parents when they sent her away, and now, while a different tyrant, the offence is the same, worse even, because they too have taken her son.

Louisa De Silva, mother of Aelius Anatole, is a doctor: she doesn’t need to be told all of this was preventable, but it was her son the one who paid the price.

Valerius

“Uncle! Uncle! Look at what I learnt today in my fencing lessons!” Anatole was 8 then.

“Uncle? Was that your boyfriend?” Anatole, aged 9, hanged from a tree branch to ask him that question.

“Uncle!” He had screamed of joy at 11, running to him in the Palazzo after Valerius moved permanently to Vesuvia.

Dearest Uncle, he had written at 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.

“Valeriy,” he had called him not two weeks ago, still so sure they would endure this. They are Radošević’s, they are Cassanos, the are Vesuvians but also Balkovian: that meant whatever life threw their way, they survived it.

Or they were.

Valerius feels a knot on his throat: he doesn’t have Anatole’s resolve, his progressive ideas, he doesn’t have his hope, and whatever amount of those he had himself, they died with him. They died with him, giving his life away for a city which would never appreciate him, which would never value him like he did. They did not deserve the soil of Anatole’s shoes and now he’s dead. The boy had given them summer without them asking, a summer which was snatched away from him: Anatole had slipped from his grip like sun-rays between his fingers.

The world should stop without him. That it didn’t was an act of cruelty Valerius would never forgive, even if resentment poisoned him. No amount to lying to himself will change the fact his Aelius died, that he failed his brother in protecting him, that he will have no successor, no one to pass the Consulship to, and that no one will ever be worthy.

A year later, he will watch the Count burn in his bed, and he will smile: Good, he will think, If Anatole did not get to live, then neither should you.

#arcana eotp #the arcana #echoes of the past: anatole #one day i'll catch up but this came to me and i had to hurt my feelings with it #my writing #milenko #amparo cassano #valerian cassano #mircea radosevic #florentino cassano #vlad and louisa #beautiful powerful and stubborn as a ram #leonore #medea #cassiopeia cassano #iris ravella-cassano

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tearofisha · 4 years ago

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Disquiet Ghosts Of Khaine: 1.

The Death Of Aevytal.

As a boy, I was raised on the legends of Asuryan and Eldanesh. Heroes that fought for what was right and whose sacrifice is carried in the blood of every Aeldari walking the blood-soaked stars today. Naive as I was, I hoped that when my time came to die on the battlefield it would be enough to make the vaunted heroes of my bloodline proud. When my time came as I knew it would, I prayed the stars would remember the name Aevytal. I was a fool for thinking the universe would be so kind.

It was a simple mission in essence. The Exodite planet "Isha'Verdane'inais" or "Isha's Grove" as the locals called it was in the path of an incoming Tyranid fleet and was doomed, so an evacuation of the reluctant farmers was needed. In my ritual guise as a Dire Avenger we rode in a Wave Serpent with half a dozen of the evacuated Exodites and all was going as planned; uneventful as all well thought through plans should. But when the Farseers were reading their runes and making their machinations they did not consider the hot blooded idiocy of humanity.

The soft discontented grumblings of the Exodites was interrupted by a piercing scream of tearing Wraithbone and before any of us knew it, the Wave Serpent was plummeting to the forested earth below. Plasma burned through the hull in scintillating heat and panic consumed the evacuees.

"Brace for impact!" the pilot cried, over the distressing din of alarms and screaming. My Exarch, Thermain T'shallak, placed a hand on my shoulder, I had slain a thousand enemies beside the Priest of Khaine and trusted him like no other. "Be steady, Asuryani" he spoke softly, and so I readied myself for what was to come. One heartbeat later, we crashed into the infamously thick forest floor of Isha's Grove.

I don't know how long I was unconscious for, but when I awoke the burning wreckage of the Wave Serpent was distant and the bodies of its inhabitants neatly dragged clear. Exarch Thermain stood over them all, the pilot, all the Exodites and three of my squad were among the dead. Only my Exarch, myself and one other were alive. Groggy, I tried to move and was instantly made aware of my broken right arm when the stab of agony coursed through me. There was to be no resistance, this was an evacuation, something was deeply, deeply wrong. As my head reared in pain, I saw what resembled a shooting star in the cloudless nights sky. Not a shooting star, no, a Drop Pod. Not one either, dozens. Isha's mercy, the Space Marines were coming.

"Deathwatch." the Exarch spoke with contempt. Deathwatch, the Imperium's prime xenos hunters. Of course, we were the xenos. In spite of our lineage in the stars and mastery over the universe before humanity crawled out the primordial slime of their world we would stil be hunted by xenophobic children who hated the things that were different to themselves.

"Exarch, we must retreat. The Webway Gate is not so far, we can make it!" the Avenger pleaded to his officer. By way of answer, the Exarch drew his Diresword and silently watched as the largest Pod in the sky drifted towards the earth mere feet away from the wreckage of the Wave Serpent. One second later, the doors exploded off the pod and five towering warriors stepped out. Clad in black, save for their own pauldron's unique heraldry they marched forward with Bolters raised. One removed his helmet, revealing the harsh features of a hardened warrior, the Sergeant it seemed.

"Xenos scum." it spoke to the Exarch Thermain. "We will accept your surrender or you and your men will die"

"There will be no surrender, Mon'keigh." the Exarch spoke flatly, as he took a defensive pose. Shuriken spat forth from his wrist mounted weapon and was joined a moment later by more from the lone survivor. I only wish my arm were fine so I could join the fire, but I was helpless to do so and as yet unseen by the hulking Marines. One of the gigantic warriors let out a choked snarl as he was wounded but the remaining Space Marines made short work of the sole survivor, his body strewn with bolter-shell holes. The Exarch ducked and weaved the explosive shells, his Diresword meeting the neck joint of the wounded Marine, slaying him but instantly he was met with the Power Sword of the Sergeant.

"If you wish to kill me, Marine, you must do it like a true warrior" The Exarch taunted, before saluting with his blade.

A duel began, the Thermain fought like a fencer feinted and used his speed to scratch and poke at the joints of the Sergeant's armour while the Deathwatch warrior resembled a furious blacksmith, heavy powerful blows slung wide never meeting his agile opponent. With the greatest of finesse, the Exarch finally disarmed his opponent and with Diresword angled towards the heart of his enemy he made for the killing blow. The strike that would never come, as the remaining Space Marines emptied their Bolters into the Exarchs body. As if in mockery, the Deathwatch Sergeant recovered his blade and placed the tip through the Exarchs chest, shattering his Spiritstone. Held aloft from the impact of the strike like a banner raised in victory, the soul of the Priest of Khaine fell into the clutches of She Who Thirsts for a fate worse than death.

The injustice was too much for me and through the haze of agony I cried after the killers in my rusty Gothic tongue. "Honour-less bastards, have you no shame?"

I don't know if it was the anger, the fear or the knowledge of what awaited my Exarch but I found my feet and was marching towards the Space Marines, broken arm and all. From my belt, I uncoupled a Plasma Grenade and held it tightly.

"Face me and meet your false Emperor like warriors." that got their attention. Multiple Bolters instantly pointed in my direction but the bravado of an unarmed and wounded man halted them long enough for my ploy.

"Ah, another. Excellent. The Inquisition will be most satisfied we have a toy for the dissection table." the Sergeant scoffed, to a murmur of laughter.

One foot before another, I continued my approach. The warmth of the Plasma Grenade buzzing in the palm of my hand, I readied for my sacrifice.

"Please, I am wounded. I need help, I need a healer, something. Anything. I'll give you information, coordinates. Whatever you want, just help me."

The Sergeant was within striking distance. With all my remaining strength, I swung my arm in an arc aimed for the face of the Deathwatch Sergeant. Time slowed and the faces of my life flashed before me. My mother, my lovers, my friends and shrine brethren I had spent hundreds of years on dozens of paths with. I closed my eyes, and said goodbye. Please, Gods, let this be remembered.

The expected explosion didn't come and in my emotional and painful haze, I didn't see the hand reach to catch mine. The armoured fist of the Sergeant wrapped around my wrist. like he was accosting a child. One effortless flick later and the grenade fell harmlessly from my hand. I cursed, my plan had failed and now I would be a prisoner to the Deathwatch. The Sergeant raised me off the ground by my arm and I dangled unresistant, he looked me like a giant would a delicious morsel, something resembling a smile crossed his scarred lips. Smug bastard.. With the last of my strength, I furiously kicked the Sergeant in the nose and felt the satisfying crack of cartilage beneath my boot. My death will not be without struggle. Blood poured from the broken nose and a snarl of irritation followed. A hard strike from his bolt pistol whipped me through the air and onto my back. My senses screamed, my ears were ringing and I could taste blood, but that was least of my concerns. The Sergeant threw down his pistol and picked me up by the neck. With the life fading from me, I stared into his features. Cold grey eyes were deep set with the many thousand years of life etched into deep wrinkles. The signs of augmentation poked from the skin like rivets and most notably a tattoo of the Imperial Eagle rested on an angular cheekbone. This was to be the face of my killer. He pulled me close, so he whispered almost intimately into my ear.

"When you meet your heathen Gods, Xenos. Tell them Sergeant Arnam Trask sent you to them."

The sword that killed my Exarch exploded through my gut. A cry came unbidden from deep within, my legs flailed and I weakly striked at my killer as the colour drained from my life. With one last gaze at Arnam Trask, everything faded and I knew no more.

#hey friends #chapter one #ulthwe #wraithblade #fanfic #40k #story #how badly do i want to work for black library huh #anyway #please enjoy #reblogs are very appreciated #more to come #aevytal #deathwatch #eldar #space elves getting space killed #this is me working out my internalised hatred of space marines

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thelastpitchbender · 6 years ago

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Memory | Chapter 6

Summary: Link must relearn how to be a Champion before he defeats Calamity Ganon – but first, he needs to stop setting fires and backflipping off of cliffs. It’s too bad that his attempts to be a responsible hero keep getting interrupted by dumb things like owing people money, remembering hardly anything about who he is, and Yiga Clan assassins trying to kill him.

Rating: T for language, violence, dark stuff, and dumb, bad humor.

Read on: FanFiction | AO3

Chapter index here.

Chapter 6

More Bananas?

Someone was cooking something delicious near him. Or rather, many people were cooking many different dishes. Strangers coming together to share ingredients, a cooking pot, and a meal was a time-honored Hyrulean tradition, and it was comforting to know that it survived in most of the old kingdom.

Link cast his gaze around the main market of Gerudo Town with only the slightest bit of interest. It looked similar to how it had yesterday, but more,somehow. The warm, sharp smell of spices was stronger, the laughter and shouts were louder, and the women of the town were wearing copious amounts of elaborate jewelry that gleamed in the desert sun. Isha was standing next to her jewelry store, looking very pleased with herself and all the new business she had doubtlessly gotten today.

Today was a festival day, Link knew that. A holiday for all of the Gerudo. He forgot what the name of it was in Gerudic, but the Hylian name was the Day of Spirit. There were seven festival days to honor the Seven Heroines, and this was the third Link had been present for. It was always a pleasant surprise when he happened to visit during a celebration. On the Day of Skill, he had won the sword fighting tourney, narrowly lost first place in the archery tournament to a ridiculously talented soldier, and gotten last place in the sand-seal race after falling off his shield about six times. The Day of Endurance involved a long procession out into the desert that ended with a ceremony at the statues of the Heroines to honor the fallen Gerudo soldiers.

The Day of Spirit seemed less serious than the other two so far. The point of the festival was apparently to ingest as much food and alcohol as possible while also wearing as much jewelry as possible. This did not interest Link, not today. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall in the corner of the marketplace. He had tried to get his share of the communal meal earlier, but when he had seen young girls running around, screaming and laughing, he had totally lost his appetite. Staring up at the cloudless blue of the sky, he wondered if Aryll’s absence would always cast a cold shadow on him.

He liked it better when he couldn’t properly mourn his family. Earlier in the morning, Link had remembered who had taught him how to cook and sew. It had been his mother, Anith. Brief, faded images flashed through his memory of his catastrophically failed attempts at brewing elixirs and mixing poultices. His mother planted her hands on her hips and shouted at him to clean up the mess. By all the spirits, Link, I am determined to teach you something more practical than how to swing a sword around! Anith had been the village healer, once upon a time. That was how she and Rossin had met.

Link clenched and unclenched his fist, thinking miserably, I finally learned how to make elixirs, Mama.

The memories of his mother had come back as if they had never left at all, soft and worn at the edges and tucked in the corner of his mind. He’d caught other flashes of insight like this, like he was simply finding something he had lost some time ago. It felt almost like a betrayal, an old grief and pain made suddenly fresh and raw again. It killed him that no one knew, that even his own mind treated it like it was no big deal.

It wasn’t like remembering Aryll. That had been like a lynel’s hammer right in the gut. All of the memories from the pictures in the Sheikah Slate were the same way. Even his memory of his childhood in Zora’s Domain was so abrupt and all-consuming that Daruk had had to step in just so he wouldn’t be killed.

It was strange, Link thought. Those flashbacks had been so much more vivid and intense than any of the other old, vague memories he had recovered. Almost like something was pulling them out of his own mind –

“Little vai!” The voice startled him out of his musings. Link glanced to the side to see a visibly intoxicated Ardin stumbling toward him. He grimaced.

“I drew a contract,” Ardin slurred, shoving a paper in the general direction of his face.

“Drew up a contract,” Link automatically corrected. Ardin liked to learn new Hylian phrases from him.

Ardin frowned. “Uh, why would I draw up? That doesn’t make sense.” She scoffed, then leaned even closer to Link. “Reeeeeeead it.”

There was so much alcohol on her breath that Link half suspected he could get drunk from it too. He twisted to the side in an attempt to avoid her bad breath and her bright red hair. She had a lotof hair, and it was somehow getting in his face. It was probably because Ardin was leaning against the wall like she was about to be sick. Link snatched the contract out of her hand before she could throw up all over him.

It almost did look like it had been literally drawn, Link thought with some amusement. The thick parchment was covered in charcoal smears and irregular, lopsided Hylian lettering. It read:

CONTRAC

-The vai gives all heer stuff to me

-Spera is a dum loser

SINGED

Ardin

____________ (vai)

Link could feel a laugh bubbling up inside him, and tamped it down out of principle. He was supposed to be upset, dammit. “Look, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure this contract isn’t legally binding if you can’t even remember my name,” he told Ardin, who was now laying on the dusty ground.

“Spera suuuuuuucks,” groaned Ardin.

“Not to mention you spelled basically every other word wrong,” Link continued.

Ardin’s arm flopped over her face, shielding her eyes from the sun. “She took my drink away,” she whined.

Link eyed her. “Probably a good thing. It’s still morning and you’re already sloshed.”

Ardin glared at him. “I do not have a problem.”

Link arched an eyebrow in response. “Never said you did.”

Ardin mumbled, “Issa festival day,” just as Spera popped out of her booth and sauntered over to them, a bottle of clear liquor in her hand.

“Looking for this?” Spera teased. Link peered at the label and how much of the liquid was already gone, then raised his eyebrows. It was Hebra wildberry gin. The mountaineers made that stuff strong to ward off the cold. And it looked like Ardin had definitely had more than she should have.

Link gave Spera the contract and said, “She called you a ‘dum loser,’ so I assume so.”

Spera smirked as she gave the paper a glance. “You know, this is technically a violation of AGM bylaws.”

Link blinked. “The what now?”

“The Association of Gerudo Merchants,” Spera said innocently. “Why, I could convene a special session right now and still have a quorum, even with half of the town drunk.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“If Ardin doesn’t take back this contract, we can take away her practicing merchant license and rent her stall to someone else.” Spera’s smile was positively devious. It frightened Link.

He must not have hidden his expression very well, because Spera rolled her eyes and told him, “It’s a joke. The AGM already has a written agreement about how imports from individual registered sellers are to be distributed among AGM members based on demand. Ardin can’t make her own contract violating those terms, but she clearly doesn’t know better right now.”

At Link’s blank look, she gave up trying to explain anything to him and kicked Ardin lightly in the side instead, drawling, “Hey, rehvaq, get up.” Link didn’t know what that word meant, but from Ardin’s grumble, he guessed it was an insult.

Then her words caught up to him, and he incredulously said, “Wait, you merchants cheating me out of all of my stuff has been organized the whole time?”

Spera shot him a glance. He couldn’t tell if it was actually condescending or if she just towered over him. “Well, when you first came here, you confused a blue rupee for a purple one, so we decided not to concern you with the finer details.” Definitely condescension, then.

Ah, yes. The good old days when Link had stumbled around Hyrule while perpetually confused. He had adapted fast when he had awakened in the Shrine of Resurrection. He had to in order to avoid getting murdered by the monsters. But for a long time, the finer points of commerce and social interaction had evaded him. They occasionally still did, he admitted to himself with some embarrassment.

How did anyone keep it all straight? How did you remember the proper Gerudo greeting for each time of the day, each denomination of rupee, the average market value of a lizalfos talon, or how to respond when someone complimented your hair? It was all a mystery to Link. He supposed that before, he’d had nineteen years under his belt to learn that stuff. Honestly, it was unfair to expect him to learn it all again in only one year.

“A purple rupee is fifty, I’m not stupid,” Link blurted out, crossing his arms. He almost cringed after the words left his mouth. Way to sound like an angry kid.

Spera ignored him, electing instead to push Ardin, who was still laying down but now grabbing her legs, away. “By the Heroines, Ardin, you are the most incompetent – “ Spera let out a sharp breath as Ardin groaned and reached her hand up for the bottle of wildberry gin Spera was still carrying. “I’ll strip you of your position of secretary!” she snarled.

Ardin loudly gasped and sat up, wobbling slightly. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would!” Spera shot back. “And so would Isha and Estan!”

The expression of complete and utter betrayal on Ardin’s face was so over-the-top that Link let out a snicker. Both merchants gave him twin irritated looks, and he threw his hands up in surrender. It did not take long for the two merchants to start bickering again, and Link decided to leave them be.

He strolled around the perimeter of the marketplace, mulling over the new information about the Association of Gerudo Merchants. To say his memory was spotty was an understatement, but he somehow knew that such an association didn’t exist a hundred years ago. He bet it had grown out of necessity with the collapse of Hyrule’s royal government. Yunobo had told him that Bludo, the boss of Goron City, was officially the head of the miners’ labor union, but when the Hyrulean ambassadors and administrators stopped coming to the city, Bludo had been given his authority as boss by the Gorons.

All of this would be valuable information for Princess Zelda, when he finally destroyed the Calamity. She would have to rebuild her kingdom, and as the one who had been wandering around it recently, Link would have to help her out in any way he could.

Of course, that was assuming the princess was even still alive. The thought that she might not be chilled him. Very few people still believed she wasn’t dead, but he knew. He had heard her voice call to him from the castle. He refused to believe that she was gone, that the power holding Calamity Ganon back was not just some faint echo from a century gone by. Both for her sake and for all of Hyrule’s sake.

He was so busy getting himself nervous about the Calamity again that he almost collided with a soldier. She shifted her stance and tightened her grip on her spear before she realized who it was. “Sav’otta, Zelda,” she greeted without enthusiasm. “May the blessings of the Heroines light – where is your jewelry?”

Link shrank a bit under the guard’s sudden scrutiny. “Uh, I wasn’t aware that was required.”

The soldier sniffed faintly, her armor clanking as she brought her spear back to her side. “Legend has it that soon after Gerudo Town was first established, a molduking threatened to destroy it. The Heroine of Spirit fought it for seven days and seven nights before she realized that she needed to be creative. Thus, the jewelry.” Her story had the flat, rehearsed feel of a script read off to ignorant tourists.

Link squinted into the crowd, which was now dancing to music from a quartet of Gerudo musicians. The reflections from all the metals and stones made him look away. “Huh? Did she blind it? How are you supposed to blind a giant subterranean sand worm?”

The soldier sighed. Her body language screamed what a stupid question. “No. Moldukings like shiny things. She convinced the Heroine of Skill to give her the stash of gold and jewels she had amassed so she could lay a trap for the molduking.”

“What was in the trap?” Link prodded.

“It depends on who tells you the story,” she told him with a sour look. When she didn’t elaborate, Link huffed and moved on. Hylia, he hadn’t expected her to tell a story like that bard Kass, but did she have to be so terse about it?

There was a large military presence in the town today, he noticed as he continued walking. Spears bristled from every entrance to the marketplace. Soldiers moved around the perimeter of the town like shadows. Had he ever seen guards posted on top of the walls before? They were facing the outside desert, while the guards on the ground cast watchful gazes on the festival-goers. This couldn’t just be security for the holiday, he realized. Festivals brought vulnerability. And where there was vulnerability, the Yiga Clan would be there to exploit it.

But would they really be so bold as to attack a major settlement? They had already attacked Woodland Stable, but the stable didn’t have an army.

Did Riju and Buliara know something he didn’t?

He was startled by the clearing of a throat behind him. He turned to see Captain Teake with an escort of two other soldiers. She was still favoring her injured leg, but she stood tall and proud in an especially ornate and bejeweled set of Gerudo armor. When she shifted, sunlight glinted off of her helmet and made Link squint.

She shifted again and the reflection lessened enough to where Link could see her expression. Her lips were pressed together into a thin line and the look in her eyes was steely. The restrained fury in the way she tightly gripped the pommel of her scimitar made foreboding creep into Link’s stomach.

Teake couldn’t be mad at him, could she? It was probably the Yiga Clan. They were a pain in everybody’s ass. Corralling a bunch of drunk people on a festival day couldn’t be fun either.

“The chief requests your presence immediately,” the captain said tersely. She didn’t stop to wait for Link before she turned and strode to the palace. The crowds parted around her like water, despite being in various states of intoxication. One woman even stumbled backwards into the water framing the central plaza, but Teake didn’t even cast a glance back.

By the time Link and the soldiers finished climbing the steps to the throne room, he was thoroughly nervous and discouraged. Away from all of the drunk and excited festival-goers, he could feel the tension in the air. The soldiers were never too far away from a battle-ready stance and their hands were never too far away from their weapons.

Riju was having a quiet argument with Buliara and a Gerudo covered with a long, sheer gold and purple veil by the throne when Link and Teake entered. They stopped talking as soon as they noticed the newcomers, and Link wanted to shrink under their attention.

“Chief Riju, I present Zelda,” Teake said, curt and almost grudging.

Riju’s gaze was guarded and her posture was stiff. Link felt a wave of guilt crash over him. It suddenly struck him that his reaction to remembering Aryll must have been mystifying for Riju. He’d just stormed out without a single word to the chief, hadn’t he?

Diplomatic. He had to be diplomatic about making amends. The thought of diplomacy made him tense up. Where was Mipha’s kind soul or Zelda’s sharp intelligence when he needed it? He was just a dorky screw-up of a knight, not royalty. Not even a knight anymore, not really. He was some random adventurer with a penchant for killing monsters and accidentally putting innocent people in danger. He was even less than he had been a hundred years ago.

Bolstered by that very comforting thought, he stammered, “Would it be possible to speak in private – “

Buliara interrupted him by slamming the tip of her claymore into the ground. He recognized the anger in her eyes as protectiveness, and his heart sank as he realized that Riju most likely would have told her about his actions the night before. “We do not have time for that!” she practically roared. Link shrank back. He got the message. He would keep his mouth shut. Nerves buzzed in his stomach as he waited for Riju to say something.

What would it be? Hurt? Confusion? Condemnation? Anger? He very nearly averted his eyes, then thought better of it. Goddess curse him, he may not have been the same stoic, capable knight he once was, but he was still better than quaking in front of a thirteen-year-old girl.

But Riju must have heard the pleading in his voice earlier, because she relaxed slightly and her voice was surprisingly gentle when she gestured to the woman in the veil by her side and said, “This is First Priestess Birida. When we are done with our business here, she and I will go down to the plaza and perform the blessings for the Day of Spirit.”

Link nodded hesitantly. He wasn’t sure what Riju was doing. Part of him wanted to think that she was trying to and be charitable after his strange behavior the night before and allow him to explain himself, but another, more irritating part of him thought that he shouldn’t expect anything like that. He was still kicking himself over failing to explain what had happened.

Then Riju placed her hands on the armrests of her throne and leaned forward, a peculiar glint in her eyes. “But first things first. We found your spy,” she said.

Link was surprised, despite himself. “I’m assuming this has something to do with how many soldiers are in town today.”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Riju replied. “We need you to confirm that this woman is in fact the Yiga spy you were talking about.”

Link nodded, and Riju gestured for him to follow her, Buliara and Teake to the barracks. A soldier standing guard in front of a plain wooden door saluted and stood aside for them to pass.

It took several seconds for Link’s eyes to adjust in the dimly lit room. It was barely more than a supply closet, but it had been cleared of all weapons and tools so that a chair could fit.

The Hylian woman who had been giving him funny looks at the Noble Canteen was tied to the chair. Her dark hair was hanging over her face and stuck to her forehead with sweat. She did not look up as they entered.

“Yeah, that’s her, alright,” Link confirmed.

“Excellent,” Riju said. “Now the interrogation can begin.” She sounded much more enthusiastic about that than she should have.

Link heard a low, raspy laugh, and it took him a second to realize it was coming from the Yiga spy. “There’s no need,” she said. She looked up, and Link was startled to find that, although a bruise had swollen one eye nearly shut, her fierce gaze was pinned squarely on him.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the spy declared. “The Yiga will attack your town while all your people are too drunk to defend themselves, and they will continue to do so until the Hylian Champion turns himself over to us.”

Link froze. Although she had been speaking to Riju, the spy’s gaze had not left him a single time since she had looked up. Cold fear settled into his limbs like lead. Was she bluffing? They couldn’t possibly be planning to attack such a large settlement…could they?

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Teake sizing him up. When he risked a quick glance at her, she was staring straight forward, jaw set and eyes full of repressed fury. She had connected the dots, he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Great, now he was about to get permanently kicked out of Gerudo Town too.

He kept his lips pressed into a thin line as Riju and Buliara asked a few cursory questions about the Yiga Clan’s numbers and plans of attack, but the spy refused to answer any of them. Buliara eventually gave Riju a look, and the chief gestured for Link to leave with her, leaving the soldiers to their interrogation.

Once they reemerged into the bright sunlight, Link made a beeline for the north gate of the town. He couldn’t stay here. If worst came to worst, he could fight his way away from the Yiga – escape their hideout if necessary –

“Zelda!” Riju hissed.

Link reluctantly stopped just outside of the gates. The soldiers flanking them gave him an odd look, but upon seeing their chief, straightened up and turned their gazes forward.

Riju glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just leave! We need your help!”

“No, you don’t.” Link shook his head. He couldn’t quite look at her. “I’m putting you all in more danger by staying here.”

“Zelda, that’s not true! The Yiga Clan would have tried something like this at some point anyway!” Exasperation laced her words. Link had the sense that she was bluffing to make him feel better, but her irritation undermined the effect. “There’s something else going on, isn’t there? Is it something we can help with?”

“I don’t think you understand,” Link said, licking his lips. His throat was very dry.

“Then make me understand,” Riju retorted stiffly. “You can start with explaining why you acted so weird last night!” Her elaborate headdress was skewed, and she adjusted it.

Link spread his arms out, feeling helpless. “I…remembered my sister.”

Riju blinked. “Sister?”

He smiled humorlessly. “That was about my reaction too.”

Understanding dawned on Riju’s face, soon replaced by pity. He hated that look, but at least Riju was someone he could talk to.

It suddenly hit him, the enormity of it all. He had known that he had to have had parents, but he hadn’t remembered a single Goddess-cursed thing about them. And then he remembered them, he remembered how much they loved him and how much they taught him, but he realized that they’d been dead for literally a century and there was nothing he could do about it. But that wasn’t the only thing. He had a sister, and he had no idea. He forgot all about her. And she was dead.

The fury boiling in his blood startled Link. He forced himself to take in deep, ragged breaths. Riju was staring at him, stunned. “Li – Zelda, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. You were obviously upset about something, and Buliara said that you were still upset this morning, but I didn’t know…”

Link hesitated for a long moment. “I really appreciate your friendship, Riju,” he said honestly. “I’m going to Kara Kara Bazaar. Probably less drunk people to put in danger.”

“You will do no such thing,” Riju replied, the heat in her voice startling him. “Kara Kara is practically indefensible. Besides, all the voe go there to get drunk anyway.”

Link sighed. “Fair enough.” Besides, he had left all of his gear in the hotel that morning.

He followed the chief back into the town, and chaos immediately broke loose.

Link heard familiar cackling a second before he heard soldiers barking orders. A mere moment later, he saw the first Yiga footsoldiers appearing right in the middle of the marketplace.

The women in the crowd screamed and stumbled for the entrances to the town, only to find that footsoldiers had materialized there too, keeping them hemmed in.

“Behind me,” he ordered Riju. A footsoldier noticed him and stalked forward, demon carver held at the ready. Link reached back for the handle of his broadsword and met with only air.

Right. He was unarmed.

Fantastic.

Well, he always had the Sheikah Slate at his hip. He unhooked it from his belt and held it out in front of him with two hands like a very small shield.

The footsoldier crouched and tensed, ready to spring forward. Link panicked and did the only thing he could think to do in the heat of the moment. He stabbed his finger at the Stasis rune, pointed the Slate at the Yiga, and clicked the button.

The footsoldier was frozen mid-slash, held in place by glowing, golden chains. Link heard Riju gasp and exclaim behind him, and he couldn’t help the small grin that formed on his face. He hooked the Slate back on his belt, snatched up an empty box that had been sitting next to him, and threw it at the Yiga’s mask with both hands.

A second later, after the box had fallen to the ground, the footsoldier flew backward into a palm tree. The mask splintered and fell off, revealing the bewildered face of a young Hylian man.

“Aw, shit,” the footsoldier said, before scrambling up to his feet and running away. Actually, it was more like stumbling away, after the hit he’d taken to his head.

Link was frozen, just for a second. For all of his warrior instinct and knight training, he’d never been taught to defend the chief of the Gerudo from teleporting assassins. While unarmed.

Then his focus came back, all in a rush. It didn’t matter. He was plenty well-armed, compared to most people in the square. He unhooked the Sheikah Slate and held it at the ready.

Link risked a glance back at Riju. The young chief was clearly taken by surprise, but she’d gotten a scimitar from somewhere and was holding it before her, jaw set. She likely had some minimal self-defense training, knowing Buliara. But he would take no chances.

He took a quick inventory of the scene before him. Yiga footsoldiers were backing civilians into each corner of the town. Link didn’t know why, but he suspected they would be hostages before long. Soldiers were skillfully brandishing spears at them, but the Yiga were just teleporting out of range. The air was full of cackling, shouts, and the fluttering of paper. He noted that the archers on the walls were aiming, but letting loose very few arrows, with such a high chance of hitting their own people.

“To the palace,” he commanded Riju. She nodded and kept close to him as he started to skirt the walls of the town. He ducked into stalls, rather than go around and become a clearer target for the Yiga.

Link hastily scanned the area for things he could use in combat. Bombs were a terrible idea within the city walls, and while there was some water surrounding the raised central dais of the marketplace, Cryonis was rarely useful in combat.

Except – there was a footsoldier ready to lunge across the water, ready to strike at him and Riju. With a sure hand, he flicked to Cryonis and summoned a pillar of ice from the pool of water, just in time for the footsoldier’s demon carver to wedge in it uselessly.

Link took the opportunity to seize Riju’s hand and sprint for the palace. If the Yiga clansmen hadn’t realized he was within the city walls yet, they knew now, judging from the shouts and commotion behind him.

Metal scraped behind him, and he acted on instinct. Daruk’s red barrier formed around him and Riju, just in time for a demon carver to bounce off it, right where Riju’s back would have been.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” Daruk’s voice boomed behind Link. He heard the Goron’s mighty grunt, a solid thwack of a stony fist against something, and a footsoldier’s shriek.

“Long story,” Link called back. “These guys really don’t like me!” He pivoted and froze a lunging footsoldier with Stasis.

“I’ll say!” Daruk laughed, watching the extremely confused footsoldier fall to the ground after a few seconds. “I don’t have much time left. Watch your back, little guy.”

Link nodded, already scanning the plaza for a suitable weapon. His gut twisted when he saw a Gerudo soldier sprawled out on the plaza, unmoving, but the glint of a spear caught his eye. He flicked to Magnesis and brought the spear to him with a twist of his wrists, snatching it out of the air in time to slice a blademaster in the arm.

Blood sprayed into the air, but the blademaster just cracked his neck, unfazed. Link set his jaw and shifted into a defensive stance, Sheikah Slate back on his hip. Daruk was gone now, but he hoped that he had granted Riju enough cover to get to the palace. Behind him, he heard Riju’s and Buliara’s shouts as they hopefully reunited, and that was enough reassurance for him to focus all of his attention on the battle.

Combat raged on all around them, but Link and the blademaster held their positions. They sized each other up. Stillness stretched taut like a bowstring between them.

Then, without warning, the blademaster lunged for him.

Link was ready to sidestep, but his foot caught in a groove between two slabs of stone and pain shot up his leg from his ankle. The wind released from the blade cut across his side, and he hissed. His hand came away from the wound crimson.

Link gritted his teeth against the pain. Dumb, rookie mistake. It wasn’t his fault that his vai clothes made absolutely terrible armor, but he kicked himself all the same. He straightened and hefted the spear again, ignoring the way the blademaster cockily rolled his shoulders.

The blademaster punched the ground. A blood-red rune burned in the air above him. Link felt wind fluttering his clothes and snapped out his paraglider. As he rose into the air, he tucked his legs up to his chest, just in time to avoid the pillar of stone that had erupted from the ground.

Link angled the paraglider forward and fell into an aerial strike. He thrust the spear home, and it pierced through the blademaster’s shoulder. Link fell to the ground gracelessly and stumbled backwards, suppressing his nausea born of pain and the knowledge that he’d just stabbed an actual person. The blademaster groaned and warped away in a burst of fluttering papers. The Gerudo spear he’d been stabbed with clattered to the ground.

Link chanced a glance behind him and saw that Buliara and some other guards had formed a protective circle around Riju. He exhaled. He tried to break into a run for the spear, but he nearly collapsed as his twisted ankle failed to support his weight. He ignored the throbbing pain lancing up his leg and managed to stumble to the spear, scooping it up.

He had to get to his weapons in Hotel Oasis. Most importantly, his shield. There was no way he would be able to defend himself without it in this condition.

It was only twenty feet to the hotel. Link had no idea how he managed to drag himself all the way there without being completely beset by footsoldiers. Arrows flew by him, but not a single one hit its target. Inside the relative safety of the hotel, he flopped down on his bed for the second it took to snatch up the rest of his gear.

Once he limped out of the hotel, he found out why he hadn’t already been killed on the way there.

A row of Yiga clansmen formed a rough semicircle around the entrance to Hotel Oasis. He was blocked in.

“Hylian Champion,” a blademaster in the center declared in a booming voice. “It gives us no pleasure to kill innocents.”

“But you certainly enjoy stealing from them!” came Spera’s angry shout from somewhere beyond the circle. Link paled. Was she alright? His vision was growing a bit fuzzy at the edges, and he couldn’t quite tell what was going on with the Gerudo. Had all of the soldiers already been subdued?

“What? No. No way. Shut up,” the blademaster blustered, irritated by her outburst. “That’s beside the point! The pointis, if you don’t come with us, we’ll be forced to resort to violence.”

Resort to violence.Link snorted. But he realized that the blademaster had a point. Link was in no shape to get out of this alive if he tried to continue the fight. The best thing he could do for the Gerudo would be to cooperate. For now.

“And I have your assurance that no one in the town will be harmed, not even the chief?” Link asked. He propped himself up with the spear in an effort to take some weight off his bad ankle.

“Ganon’s blood, we’re assassins, not savages!” the blademaster cried indignantly. “We don’t attack children!”

Link raised an eyebrow and stared at the blademaster until he amended, “Sure, fine, we won’t hurt anyone. Even that super annoying lady over there.”

He pointed, and Link craned his head to see Ardin sprawled out on the ground, grabbing onto a footsoldier’s ankles and sobbing. She was obviously still drunk. “Oh, no,” Link murmured. Spera was on the other side of the plaza, being restrained by another footsoldier. He hoped they would both be alright. They were his friends, even if they were also annoying, cutthroat merchants.

Link tried to take a deep breath and was stopped short by the cutting pain in his side. He felt the eyes of the Gerudo and Yiga on him. He was shaking, and the silk of his clothes was starting to stick to his body with blood and sweat. He was sure that some of the Gerudo had already figured out that the Hylian Champion was never a vai, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Fine,” he bit out. Anger simmered in his belly. “But don’t expect me to walk around in the desert after I twisted my ankle, for Hylia’s sake.”

The blademaster turned to the footsoldier on his right and murmured something. The footsoldier jogged off to the front gate of the town.

An assassin came at Link from the side, and he smacked the footsoldier’s hand away before he realized that she was trying to lend a hand. Link immediately swung his spear behind him and held his hands up before he could get murdered.

He limped behind the blademaster, casting guilty, sidelong glances at all the Gerudo. They mainly looked too exhausted to be angry with him. They were probably happy that he was leaving, given that he was the reason they were at risk. The Gerudo outnumbered the Yiga Clan, but too many of them were drunk civilians for them to be an effective force. Footsoldiers were holding blades against the Gerudo soldiers’ throats. It seemed that fighting within the walls of the town had been a weakness; the Yiga had been able to back the normally very competent soldiers into a literal corner.

And now Link himself was backed into a corner. He caught the gaze of Captain Teake, who was paler than normal. The wound on her leg had reopened, soaking the bandage through, and she was sagging against a wall. Link thought she was chewing something at first, but as he got closer, he realized she was mouthing something. He blinked a few times until he could parse it.

Rito Village, she said. Go to Rito Village.

Link gave her the barest hint of a nod, and her mouth stopped moving.

A harnessed sand-seal was waiting outside the gates for him. The footsoldier who had tried to help him earlier took the lead rope and tied it to his belt. “Sit on your shield,” she ordered him, and so he did, feeling relief as he finally took his weight off his twisted ankle.

“Sorry about all this,” she added, quieter.

“Why in Farosh’s name do you care?” Link snapped. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

The footsoldier glanced at the blademaster, before hesitantly answering, “The Lady said – “

“Hey, don’t tell him that!” another footsolder shouted, before the blademaster raised his hand in a call for silence.

“The Golden Lady can explain her intent for the Champion herself,” the blademaster said, with the air of someone who had already fielded this question a million times.

“Huh? Golden Lady?” Link demanded with the little breath he could comfortably take into his lungs. “I thought you guys were into the smoke thing with the pig head. Are you talking about Kohga’s replacement?”

The blademaster groaned. “Enough questions for now. Let’s just get to the hideout.” He waved his group forward, and about half of the footsoldiers who were there warped away.

They’re underestimating me, Link thought with a grim smile.

As the blademaster took hold of the sand-seal’s reins and started them forward at a walking pace, Link pushed his ankle slightly against the rim of the shield to test how well it would hold up. Not very well, the pulsing pain told him. He winced.

Instead, he waited until they were a safe distance away from the town. He summoned the familiar fury, much easier than usual in the wake of the attack on Gerudo Town. It dulled his aches and pains and he almost saw double.

He reached his arm out in front of him, and one of the Yiga gave him a quizzical glance. Before anyone could react, Link snapped his fingers.

Urbosa appeared in a flare of light. Although her golden outline was barely visible against the yellow dunes, Link could almost see her furious expression as she quickly took in the situation.

“Seven sands,” she snarled as the Yiga Clan members shouted in alarm and pulled out their weapons. Urbosa let out a stream of what Link assumed were foul insults in Gerudic, then raised her arm to the sky.

Lighting rained down on the Yiga, more intense and blinding than Link had ever seen it. “Go!” Urbosa roared at him over the crashing of thunder.

He did not need to be told twice. The blademaster fell to the ground in agony and dropped the sand-seal’s reins. Link snapped the rope tied to his belt, and the sand-seal surged forward into the desert.

Link almost fell flat on his face before he gripped onto the sides of his shield. Shield surfing was much less fun when he was sitting down. Sand sprayed into his face, and for once, he was glad of the veil covering his mouth.

With some careful maneuvering, he wedged his feet into the handles of the shield and pulled himself into a crouch. It was slow and difficult. His body was not cooperating the way he wanted it to.

The sand-seal swam over a dune. Link’s stomach dropped out from under him as the shield came off the sand for a brief moment. The shield swung wildly to one side, and Link pulled on the rope hard enough to pull himself to his feet.

His ankle almost gave out on him, and he dropped into an awkward crouch. The wind tore at his clothes. He wobbled. He couldn’t keep going like this. He would eventually fall off.

A Yiga rune flared in his peripheral vision, and he immediately snapped the rope. The sand-seal dove under the sand and rushed forward, almost yanking Link off his shield. Twin arrows whistled through the air a mere foot away from his head and speared the sand.

The Yiga had found him.

The sand-seal was traveling in a small valley between two dunes. Several more archers were appearing just up ahead. Link braced himself for the inevitable pain, and leaned hard to one side. He carved up a dune and the sand-seal swung in the opposite direction. This time, an arrow grazed his calf, and he bit back a curse.

Now he was headed straight for a cluster of ruins. His heart sank as he saw archers perched on the crumbling arches. He didn’t have time to make a sharp turn. It was the end of the road for him.

Link yanked hard on the rope, and the sand-seal came to a halt. He stumbled forward and fell off his shield. Thankfully, no one was shooting at him. Yet.

“Would you stop that?” one of the archers yelled.

“Stop what?” Link retorted to buy time. Goddess, he really, reallyhated what he was about to do.

“Escaping us!” said the archer. Link unhooked the Sheikah Slate from his belt and scrolled to the map. “Hey, stop messing with the Slate!” the archer continued, aiming her bow at his face.

Link ignored that comment. “Well, it’s too bad you don’t like that, because I’m about to do it again.” He hit the button cued up on the Slate.

As the world around him dissolved into streaks of incandescent blue, he allowed himself to savor the indignant shouting of the Yiga archers that he could still hear. It was the most enjoyment he’d get for a while, he predicted.

Rito Village, here I come.

#fanfic #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #botw #memory #link #riju #buliara #teake #spera #ardin #who is very drunk #yiga clan #and some sand seal shenanigans #it's gettin real now bois

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