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In the cold, dry sands of the Gerudo Desert, just as winter staked its first claim over the land, a young prince rose to power. He was the sole Gerudo male of his era, a rare occurrence that often signaled times of trouble ahead. He was called Denest, though in time he would inherit another name as of yet unknown to him. Within a few months of his reign, he grew aware of his latent power, and from the bowels of the earth and the dark corners of the land he summoned hordes of violent creatures to his ranks and cast them across the rolling fields and treacherous peaks and deep waters, claiming them as his birthright.
Hyrule and its surrounding principalities buckled under the weight of the assault, sudden as it was. But young Denest’s plans were long in the making, and in the tense chill of a midwinter night, while the Hylian armies were occupied with the onslaught of his forces, his spies, having infiltrated her inner circle, kidnapped Zelda, princess of Hyrule and queen regent since the disappearance of her father.
Zelda awoke in a daze, her mouth gagged and her wrists in irons. She was shackled to a granite wall. Her feet barely touched the ground, just enough to take some of the weight off the shackles, but not enough to settle herself. Her cell was dim, the light of some unseen lamp throwing long, diffuse shadows diagonally across the floor.
Her first instinct was to thrash wildly and free herself, but the rough edges of her shackles quickly chafed her wrists raw. Her cushioned upbringing had not prepared her for this situation. The sound of her efforts caught the attention of one of her captors. A tall, muscular Gerudo woman, draped in traditional garb and wielding an elaborate spear, sauntered over to the iron bars. Zelda shouted a muffled curse through her gag.
“It’s nothing personal, your majesty,” said the guard. “You’re a means to an end. Settle down and we’ll see if you can be reasoned with.”
Zelda cursed again and slumped in defeat. Whatever power she held yesterday, it was beyond her grasp today. Someone would rescue her. Someone would do something. But for now, she was at another’s mercy.
The guard left and, a few minutes later, returned with Denest in escort.
He was tall and lean, like a young tree shooting up to overtake the canopy of his predecessors, perhaps one day to blot out the sun and have it for himself. He wore a black Gerudo tunic, red pantaloons, and black leather riding boots. Gold earrings studded with rubies dangled from the lobes of his pointed ears, and a gold chain attached his elaborate scabbard to his braided belt. His skin was the color of dusk, his hair the color of sunset, and his large irises gold like the sun itself.
He ran his long, slender hand down one of the iron bars of Zelda’s cage.
“Apologies for the spare accommodations,” he mused, almost to himself, rubbing a bit of dust between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s been a bit crowded here as of late.” His voice was soft, deep, and edged with poison.
Zelda shot another muffled curse through her gag, lowering her brows and glaring at this haughty child who dared to stuff the ruler of Hyrule into a stone box.
“I’d be offended,” Denest continued, “but there’s likely some truth to whatever it is you’re trying to say.” He held his hand out to the guard, who placed a key into it. He unlocked the cell door and returned the key to the guard. The door swung open with a grating squeal. Denest entered the cell and assessed his captive.
Zelda glared up at him, the promise of death in her furious eyes. Denest raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Like a puppy backed into a corner by a wolf,” he said, bemused. He took her arm and adjusted the shackle, examining her wrist, noting the fresh scrapes dotted with blood. “We’ll have someone tend to that. Can’t have you rotting away like some common vagrant.”
He cradled her jaw in his hand next, looking over her face. She made a sound of disgust and turned her head away. “Now Princess, don’t be shy. I’m admiring the family resemblance. You look just like him.”
At this, she flipped from anger to terror. She understood the implication. Her curses transformed to screams of agony. She looked at Denest wild-eyed, shaking her head.
“He’s alive. For now.” He untied her gag and lowered himself to her eyeline. “Now that you understand where you are and what’s at stake, we can address each other properly.”
“This won’t stand!” Zelda shouted. “Release him! Release me! You have no right!”
“I overestimated you, it would seem,” Denest frowned. He held up the gag. “We can speak as equals, or you can spend more time in silent meditation.”
“Equals?” spat Zelda. “Is that what we are? Equals?”
“We attend the same station,” Denest chided, “but our equality does not derive from there. We are equals in a fundamental sense.” He swiped a drop of blood from her wrist and presented it to her. “The thoughtless whims of Hylia have placed you upon your throne, but this,” he said, examining the blood and then wiping it off on her shoulder, “this is where the balance hangs.”
“I will never be yours, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she sneered.
He glanced over her body then back to her face. “Is that your measure of me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “I have no need to possess you in any capacity but leverage. A bit of succor to lure some beast into the trap.” He stood erect and turned, taking one last patronizing look at his captive before leaving the cell.
“Unshackle her for now,” he said to the guard. “Get her something to eat. And for the sake of my ears, oil those hinges.”
Her meal was insufficient: a hunk of bread and a small fish, with some wine to chase it down. Still, it was this or starvation. Denest had a medic sent to balm and wrap her wrists. Zelda had no idea if it was day or night, but forewent sleep for now. Her bed was a pile of straw covered with a thin bit of cloth. Aside from this, the only adornment to her cell was a chamberpot and a stone washing basin.
Days went by with little to do but ruminate. She ate, slept, woke, relieved herself, washed her face, pleaded to no avail, ate, slept, woke, ad nauseam.
Some time later… a week, perhaps? She couldn’t say… Denest returned to her cell. He did not open it this time.
“You’re not looking yourself, Princess,” he said coyly.
“Are you here for pleasantries?” she retorted. “Or is there something you want?”
“Such a waste, to be so lofty yet to be so bereft of vision,” he sighed. “The third piece – where is it?”
“The third piece of what?”
Denest tapped the iron bars of the cell with his fingernail. “Come now, Princess, don’t play stupid. The third piece of this,” he said, raising the back of his hand. Etched into the rusty skin was the sacred mark of the Triforce, ever so slightly darker than the skin surrounding it.
Zelda did not reply.
“A curious thing, this mark. I wasn’t born with it. It came to me in a dream, and stayed with me when I woke from it. When I touch it, something feels… incomplete.” He gently rubbed the tip of his finger over the mark and let out a sad little hum. “And yet, as I approach you, something strange happens. Do you feel it?”
“Your imagination is admirably boundless,” she snorted.
“Yours could use a little stimulation,” he shot back. “No, I think you’re putting up a noble facade, but you underestimate me. A woman of your upbringing surely must know her history. You’ve seen the Gerudo, walked among them, consulted with their emissaries. There hasn’t been a Gerudo prince in centuries. And yet here one stands before you.”
“There is no Gerudo prince,” she said.
“But there is,” he replied. “I was raised in secret among a small tribe of thieves. The handful of Gerudo boys born since our last prince walked the land were all killed in their beds as babies. Your people couldn’t take the risk. But fate is cruel and dissatisfied. She rebuffs all attempts to stymie her designs. So now you’re locked in a cage. My cage. Perhaps things might have turned out differently if Hylia’s children hadn’t been so sure of themselves.”
Denest unsheathed his sword, resting the flat of it against his shoulder, and unlocked the cell door. Zelda retreated into the back corner.
“Do you feel it, Princess?”
She cradled her hand, tucking her arm into her dress. Denest closed the distance, moving the flat of his sword from his own shoulder to hers, the finely honed edge of the blade an inch from her neck.
“Your hand, please.”
A tear rolled down her cheek as she loosened her arm and lifted her left hand. There, gently burning itself into the back of her hand with a soft golden light, was the mark of the Triforce. Denest smiled.
“As I said. Equals.”
A cold draft blew down the stone steps and into the dungeon as a door was opened to permit the changing of guards. Zelda, now having been in her cell for two weeks, learned to approximate the time of day based on these changes in both temperature and personnel.
Her clothing (a simple night dress) was soiled and dusty. The new guard, a lithe, muscular young thing, tossed a light tunic and a pair of pantaloons through the bars. Beige, uncomplicated, a bit baggy, but clean nonetheless. She stood expectantly at the bars.
Zelda picked up the change of clothing of the cell floor, pausing before looking back up at the guard. “Well?” she asked. “Would a little privacy be too much to ask?”
The guard rolled her eyes and snorted, turning around and crossing her arms. Zelda quickly disrobed and dressed in her new clothes. The guard picked the old night dress up off the floor with the tip of her spear and disposed of it, then returned with a plate of bread and fish. Always the bread and fish. Zelda would have killed for some fruit, but beggars can’t be choosers, so she mindlessly consumed her meal and returned the plate to the guard.
“Your majesty,” the guard mock-bowed, returning to her post.
A sudden itch drove Zelda to scratch at the hemline of the pantaloons. Her finger came across a small, sharp protrusion. She pinched at it and tugged, pulling out a small gray feather.
The days rolled on as Denest unsuccessfully tried to pry from Zelda information about the third member of the Triforce. His patience grew thin, and on his next visit, he had her father, the king of Hyrule, in tow on a heavy chain, leashed around his neck like a dog collar.
Zelda gasped in horror at the sight. Her father, once round and pink and joyous, was now a sallow waste of a man. His ragged beard was splotched with dried blood, his skin was pale and damp, and some of his teeth were missing. She cried out to him, begged Denest to free him, but her father remained silent. He daren’t even look at his own daughter.
“My pet will not answer to you,” Denest said calmly. “Like his daughter, he’s not one for pleasantries. But he does talk. Isn’t that right, pet?” he sneered, yanking the chain. The king fell to his knees and sobbed.
“Tut tut!” Denest said, lightly kicking Zelda’s hand away as she tried to reach out to her father through the bars. “Watch your hands, or I’ll put them back in irons.”
Zelda’s facade of strength failed and she broke down in tears.
Denest knelt down and gently raised the king’s chin with his hand, then gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I see I’ve made my point,” he said, turning back to Zelda. “Now, I’m going to return my pet to his kennel. When I come back, I expect you and I will have a pleasant conversation.”
He tugged at the chain and the king, crawling on all fours, followed after him, still weeping.
Zelda was undone. To see her father reduced to an animal in the hands of this impudent child, it broke her. She would confess all she knew. There was no other choice. Confess or see her father reduced to something even less human than Denest’s pet.
A guard approached her cell, the same one who had given her the change of clothes a few days prior.
“What do you want from me?” Zelda begged. “I’ll speak, I’ll tell everything. Please, just don’t hurt him anymore!”
The guard pulled her key ring off her hip and unlocked the cell door. “Come with me,” she said flatly, opening the door and raising her spear. Zelda complied.
Zelda was escorted up the cold stone stairs at spearpoint. A pair of guards rose to attention as they passed. “The prince wishes to consult with her in the privacy of his quarters,” Berun (for that was her name) told them. They nodded, allowing Berun and Zelda to proceed.
“Straight ahead,” said Berun when they cleared the entrance to the dungeon. A long sandstone hallway, paved with granite tiles and lit with intricately worked lanterns, led them out into a sandy courtyard. A bright moon was high in the sky, not quite full yet, a small cloud passing just to the left of it. At a quick glance, the prince’s dwelling was modest but sturdy. It lacked the grandeur of other palaces in the kingdom. She suspected Denest had little interest in flash or flamboyancy, except in the small details. This was a military fortress serving its purpose.
“Up ahead and to the right,” Berun said, tapping her on the thigh with the flat of her spearpoint. Zelda moved as she was told. Berun directed her to a granite archway and then into a small room, where she closed and locked the door behind them. A candle was lit and set on a shelf. They were in a storage closet.
Just as Zelda drew a breath to speak, Berun stopped her.
“No, Princess,” Berun said, holding two fingers to Zelda’s lips. “You are to do as I say. You are not to speak until I permit you to speak. Your life and your father’s life depend on it. Do you understand?”
She nodded yes.
“Through here,” Berun commanded, pointing to a locked crate resting against the back wall. She unlocked and opened the lid, then carefully removed a false wooden panel, behind which was a small, dark tunnel, barely big enough to crawl into. Zelda looked at the hole, then back at Berun, then back at the hole again. Berun gave her a little shove.
The princess took the hint and lowered herself into the crate, wiggling into the tunnel on all fours. It was dark and suffocating. She reached out in front of her, feeling at the roughly carved walls. “Hurry,” whispered Berun behind her. Zelda could hear the sound of Berun’s spear scraping against the dusty tunnel floor. She crawled faster. “Hurry!” Berun pressed. “We have no time for timidity!”
A great clamor went up in the fortress. Zelda could hear the dull sound of it echoing into the dark tunnel. She sped up, rubbing her knees raw on the floor and banging her elbows into the tunnel walls. She felt the top of her head scrape angrily at the carved sandstone above her a few times.
Berun knew it wouldn’t be long before the tunnel was discovered. It was a small fortress after all, and stocked sufficiently with Gerudo soldiers and a number of creatures with a ferocious sense of smell. Someone would sniff them out. A dip in the tunnel floor told her she was near the failsafe. As Zelda crawled ahead, Berun stopped briefly to feel the wall. A small, hand-carved alcove presented itself, and within it a brass ring attached to a rope. She pulled, releasing a mechanism that caved in the tunnel behind them.
Zelda yelped in surprise, but Berun silenced her. “I’m here, Princess. Keep going.”
They continued on in darkness for several more minutes. Soon the tunnel was discovered, and the muffled sound of shouting could be heard far behind them. Zelda’s heart raced. Her head swam with the pain of injury and the growing sense of claustrophobia gnawing away at her. She bumped into a dead end. “No!” she huffed.
“Silence, Princess. Brace yourself and push with your legs. And whatever you do, for both our sake, speak no more.”
Zelda wiggled around and repositioned herself, then braced her hands against the tunnel wall and pressed her legs into the blockage. Her efforts were met with the sound of grinding stone and a rush of cold, fresh air. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the tunnel, growing as the stone slid farther away into the desert sand. Finally it gave way and the two escapees emerged into the night air. Berun set her spear aside and began to shove the stone back into its place, grunting from the effort until Zelda knelt down and helped.
“Follow,” whispered Berun into her ear, and set off along the cliff face they had just emerged from. Zelda did her best to keep up, though the sand was speckled with small rocks that tormented her feet as she ran barefoot over them. Soon the cliff face opened up into a small grotto. Berun produced the candle once more, lighting it and holding it up to the mouth of the grotto, then quickly blew it out again.
For a tense minute there was only silence. Then a small shape passed in front of the moon and sped downward, swooping up at the last moment and breaking its fall with a powerful flapping. A feathery shadow ran up to the grotto, and Berun threw down her spear and ran forward to meet it. They embraced, and the shadow spun her around once before setting her down and following her back.
It was a male Rito, a large one at that. He brought his gray beak down to Zelda’s ear and whispered “arms out, don’t move.” He then leapt upward, grabbed Zelda by the shoulders, and wrapped his powerful talons under her arms, lifting her into the air with a few laborious flaps. Berun gave the Rito a wave, and he took off into the sky with Zelda in his grasp.
Never in her life had a single moment filled her with such an acute sensation of being: the bracing air, the wind whipping at her clothing, the hard talons pressing into her armpits, the sudden change in gravity that sent her stomach into her feet, it all cut through her senses like an icy blade. She looked down and immediately became dizzy, deciding it may be better to close her eyes.
A few minutes later, she was dropped unceremoniously into a snowdrift.
“There’s a cave a short walk behind you,” her transport shouted. “Wait there. This was all for nothing if you freeze to death.” He sped off like a diving hawk before Zelda even had a chance to respond.
Zelda assessed her surroundings. Before her was a the vertical descent of the great cliff face, and beyond that was the moonlit spread of the desert. Gerudo Town and its nearby settlements twinkled in the distance. To the left, Denest’s palace could be seen on its low precipice, surrounded by the fires of many military encampments. She turned around and saw a rise in the snow behind her. The moonlight cast a tranquil glow on the sparkling white landscape.
Her feet ached as she trod through the freezing snow, but soon she reached the mouth of the cave. She crawled inside and was pleased to find, barely illuminated by the moonlight, a low bed and fur blankets. Without a second thought, she crawled under the thick furs and curled into a little ball. Her breaths came out short and exhilarated. The danger, the freedom, the chill, the sudden enveloping warmth; her whole body felt alive. A wave of tingles swept over her head, and sleep came instantly.
A strange sensation stirred Zelda from her sleep. A sound like brushing. A soft, sweeping sound. She peered out from under the furs.
A red glow filled the room from the low embers of a dying fire. Nearby, sitting close to the fire, a shape moved. Zelda rubbed the sleep from her eyes and focused. It was the Rito. He bobbed up and down, slowly, sinuously. His great black wings stretched out before him, enveloping something. His sharp, powerful beak nestled softly into... Berun’s neck. Her breath came out in short, sensual huffs.
Zelda’s cheeks flushed. She deftly tucked her head back under the furs. Had she…? Were they…? She peeked out again, still hidden. This time she lingered, transfixed.
Berun sat in the Rito’s lap, facing forward, her arms raised and angled behind her, wrapping around the Rito’s soft, feathery head. He moved his wings up and down ever so slightly, brushing them over her sleek, muscular body. Their coitus intensified and they began to move and breathe in unison. Zelda covered her mouth.
Berun came first. Zelda could see her thrust her neck forward. She bit her lip and tried (somewhat unsuccessfully) not to moan. Her body tensed and pulsed. She drooped forward, shaking. The Rito, clenched in the throes of her passion, pressed his head down into her shoulder and hissed lowly, tapping his beak together ever so slightly, clutching her in his wings as his body thrust and shuddered. The climax passed, and they both relaxed into a slow, meditative breathing, still wrapped together in a soft, passionate, unified mass.
Zelda let the fur settle back over her and placed her hands over her sternum, feeling her own racing heart.
The next morning announced itself with a faint trickle of sunlight at the mouth of the cave, which her rescuers had hidden with some snow-covered brush. Berun brought Zelda a porcelain cup full of clean mountain spring water, a handful of sweet red berries, and some roasted, salted fish. It was the first time in weeks she’d had something other than prison food and she could barely keep her composure.
Berun’s guard uniform had been swapped for thick winter garb. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold. She introduced her partner, whose name was Meheva. His feathers were solid black with an iridescent rainbow sheen, his beak charcoal gray. His eyes were a piercing yellow with stark, black irises. He wore a simply gray tunic and leg warmers. Zelda could not help but blush a little after witnessing their tryst, but she righted herself.
“My father,” she begged after introductions. “Were you able to… do you know…?”
“Aside from the Gorons who helped us dig the tunnel, there are only the two of us in this endeavor,” Meheva sighed. “The king of Hyrule remains in the prince’s custody.”
Zelda’s heart sank, and with it her body. Berun joined her on the ground and comforted her. “My father passed long ago, and while that’s of no comfort to you, my heart goes out to you.”
Zelda thanked her and tried not to go crazy with worry. The avenue of their escape was closed. They would not be able to rescue the king in the same way, perhaps not at all. And to think of Denest’s rage upon learning of the ruse… she couldn’t bear to dwell on it.
“Princess, you must brace yourself for the reality of your situation. Unless the goddess herself extends her hand to save him,” Meheva said sternly, “you are the reigning queen of Hyrule.”
“There’s one who might help us,” Zelda said. “But I know nothing of his fate. A knight in my service. Not just a knight, my greatest and most skilled ally. His name is Link.”
“There are ears everywhere, your majesty,” said Berun. “If anyone knows of his whereabouts, we may find him yet.”
“You have my eternal gratitude,” Zelda replied. “And while I appreciate the courtesy, if someone calls me Princess or Your Majesty one more time, I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind. Please, just call me Zelda.”
Meheva left the next day to forage for food and scout for information, leaving Berun and Zelda to fend for themselves. They were to make a trek to another, more discrete hiding place farther away from the cave and, by proxy, Denest and his forces, who no doubt would be scouring the desert and its surrounding districts. There was a larger and better fortified cave deeper into the snowy wastes of Hebra, where a small outpost of warriors would care for them. Berun and Zelda were to sleep by day and travel by night, avoiding the searching eyes of Denest’s scouts by any means necessary.
The first night of the journey was uneventful. The moon was now full, the sky cloudless, and Denest’s forces were nowhere to be seen. Zelda and Berun moved in silence, dancing over the deep snow in wide snowshoes and praying for snowfall to cover their tracks soon. Berun knew the way and had several hideouts squirreled away in hidden nooks. Hebra was riddled with small caves, carved from the frozen rock by centuries of summer snowmelt, some of them stretching far back into the mountains and fed by warm geothermal springs.
They reached the first hideout just as the sun was warming up the morning sky. Zelda was miserable, her lips chafed and her ears practically frozen off. Berun led her into the small cave opening, through a series of slippery tunnels and alcoves, and finally into a wide open chamber where a warm spring filled the whole center of the room.
They undressed and sank neck-deep with an audible groan into the steaming water. No royal bath, regardless of luxury, could compare to the feeling of soaking in the hot spring after a full night of trekking through snow in the dead of winter. All the weight of her troubles floated up with the steam and left her lightheaded.
“Don’t fall asleep now,” Berun said softly, “unless you want to be soup.”
“I want to be soup,” Zelda mumbled.
“I saw you, you know,” she said after a pause.
Zelda shot up. “Saw me what?”
Berun leaned in. “Sneaky, sneaky girl.”
Zelda blushed and groaned.
“Well?” Berun asked.
“Well what?” Zelda gasped.
“Weelllll?” Berun teased, leaning in closer.
“What are you saying?” Zelda asked, abashed.
“Don’t you want to know?”
Zelda sighed and sank under the water, coming back up and pressing the water out of her hair. She gave Berun a reprimanding glare.
“If you weren’t curious,” Berun said, “you wouldn’t have… lingered.” She whispered the last word, poking her finger into Zelda’s shoulder.
“Well you weren’t exactly hiding it!” Zelda said.
“There’s nothing to hide,” Berun said. “You were asleep, and I needed my mate.”
Zelda groaned in embarrassment again. She put her face into the water and gently scrubbed, then gave her hair another dip. “You clearly want to talk about it, so talk about it.”
Berun burst out laughing. “I knew it!”
“You’re impossible!”
“No, your majesty,” she teased, “I just think you need to… lighten up a little.” And then she splashed a bit of water at Zelda.
“Child!” she shouted, splashing back.
“He’s MAGNIFICENT!” Berun shot back, splashing again.
“Exhibitionist!” Splash!
“They aren’t built like Hylians. They have secrets.”
“Stop, you’re killing me!” Zelda begged.
“Imagine a lover that’s one half feather blanket and one half god, snaking up inside of you. Rito women have their own little maze, and they have to guide their mates through it. I have no such maze. I’m at his mercy.”
“Please!” Zelda begged, covering her ears. “It’s torture!”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Berun seethed, a devious grin spreading across her face.
Zelda conceded defeat and slid back down into the warm water. She looked over to Berun, who was completely beside herself at Zelda’s expense. “I’ve… well, I’ve never…”
“I can tell,” said Berun, giving her a little shove. “But listen, if you take a Rito to bed, you’ll be ruined for life. I’m smitten. I’ll never sleep with a Hylian again. Come on, let’s get out of here before we cook ourselves alive.”
They built a little fire in one of the alcoves and dried off next to it before getting dressed again. Then they cooked some of their meager provisions over it (salted fish again). Zelda watched Berun eat. She seemed caught between two worlds – the rigid structure of her former life as a guard, and the burning exhalation of breaking free of it all. She ate patiently, methodically, but happily licked her fingers clean in the end.
“Do you know what I’d kill for right now?” Zelda asked. “Boar, spit-roasted, and a heaping pile of buttery vegetables. A big flagon of new wine. And some cake to finish it off.”
Berun moaned in agreement. “A date cake, drizzled with honey; slices of fresh melon; smoked shellfish; and half a coconut overflowing with sweet milk.”
“Only in my dreams,” Zelda exhaled, shaking her head. One day she’d feast again. For now, salted fish, and sleep.
The next night’s journey was worse than the first. A great gust stirred up in the mountains and swept down into the snowy plain, whipping up a blinding powder. At least they needn’t worry about their tracks. The moon no longer showed the way, except for the slightest glow through the thin cloud cover. Berun had a general sense of where she was, but had to light a lantern against her better judgment.
“We have to get out of this!” she shouted to Zelda. They made for the nearest outcropping and crawled into a small covered space, still freezing but no longer in the direct path of the wind.
Zelda was shivering violently, so Berun held her tightly and forcefully massaged the blood back into her limbs. She untied the sleeping blanket from her pack and wrapped it around them both, continuing to massage Zelda’s arms and legs while Zelda held the blanket in place. Soon she was relaxed and breathing normally again, and Berun was warmed from the exertion. They sat in silence for some time, waiting out the gust. It didn’t relent.
“We can’t sleep here, we’ll freeze to death,” Berun conceded. “We’ve got to get moving again.” She packed her blanket up and they stepped back out into the violent wind. They made it another mile before Zelda succumbed to the cold once more. “Just a little bit farther!” Berun shouted over the wind.
A few steps later, Zelda collapsed into the snow. Berun spread her blanket out on the snow and rolled Zelda over onto it, then wrapped it around her and tied her in, a little butterfly in its cocoon. She then secured the bundle to her waist with a rope and dragged Zelda, one agonizing step after another, through the snow. Eventually she recognized a familiar landmark and made her way to a small hideout tucked away beside a frozen stream.
She quickly set up a fire and untied Zelda, who was still unconscious. She dragged the princess over to it and undressed her. Once the color returned to Zelda’s face and she began to stir, Berun folder the blanket over her and brought her a cup of water that had been warming up next to the fire.
“Drink this slowly,” she said, bringing the cup to Zelda’s lips. After a few timid sips, the warm water melted away her stupor and she returned, bit by bit, to her usual self.
“I’ve failed you,” Zelda said, setting the cup down.
“No, no, you’ve done well,” Berun told her. “We are the ones who have failed you. All of us. We let Denest take the throne. It should never have come to pass.”
“Do you know what this symbol means?” Zelda asked, holding out the Triforce on the back of her hand.
“He wears the same mark,” Berun said gravely. “The royal mark of Hylia.”
“It’s more than that,” said Zelda. “And Denest is more than a prince of the Gerudo. He is… something worse. Something older. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this. It’s written in his blood, as it is in mine. If not him, then another just like him would have risen in his place.”
Berun laid a firm hand on Zelda’s shoulder. “I’m concerned for your health, Princess. You were not built for this journey.”
Zelda lightly placed her own hand atop Berun’s. “Excuse me, but what did I tell you about calling me Princess?”
Berun smiled warmly, admiring Zelda curled up under her blanket with the firelight flickering on her soft face. “Little Vai,” she whispered. “You’re tougher than you look.”
Zelda blushed and let her hand fall. “Sorry, I just…”
“No no, Little Vai, you’re done apologizing. You should get some rest. I’ll tend to the fire.”
Zelda laid down and Berun rolled up her clothing into a little pillow to rest her head on. She sat across from her, watching patiently as Zelda stared at the fire, admiring its dancing reflection in her gentle eyes. She moved closer and began to pet Zelda’s hair, softly humming an old Gerudo lullaby, as the exhausted princess’ eyelids struggled to stay open.
On the third night, the winds relented, and the pair, now behind schedule but fully rested, continued onward. The mountains closed in on both sides and the wide snowfield gradually transformed into a narrow passageway.
“We mustn’t speak here,” Berun warned Zelda just above a whisper. “The walls will amplify our voices, and our side is not the only one with ears.”
They pressed forward into the crevasse, their eyes scanning for any activity. The moon was high overhead, only a day waning from full, and cast great shadows straight down from the high walls. After several uneventful minutes, a clump of snow fell behind them. Berun looked upward and saw the distant muzzle of a wolf staring back down at her.
“Little Vai, we are being stalked,” Berun whispered. “Move surely and confidently. Do not run. If they approach us, I will protect you.”
The two crept along, their ears perking up with each padded footfall real or imagined. A low howl broke out, followed by two more, then another. Four wolves, Berun calculated. She didn’t know if she could take down four wolves. But then, if one had asked her a year ago whether she could rescue a princess from the clutches of a madman and his army, she might have doubted the same.
The wolves were now racing to the back of the opening of the crevasse, leaping down the less dangerous slope to where it met the field. Berun and Zelda were only halfway to their goal. Another quartet of howls, and the pack began racing back up through the bottom of the crevasse toward their newfound prey.
“Berun, are we to continue on like this, or is acceptable to run now?”
Berun braced herself and steadied her spear.
“Climb, Little Vai! Climb as high as you can!”
“But what about you?”
“Be silent and do as I say!” Berun shouted. “Your life depends on it!”
Zelda heeded the familiar advice and ran to the cliff face. She undid her snowshoes, then began desperately searching for handholds. A pile of snow-covered rocks gave her an initial boost, and she managed to find a rough patch of rock to climb onto, then a ledge where she was out of reach.
The wolves ran up on Berun but kept their distance. She swung her spear and then eased backward toward the crevasse wall to avoid being encircled. One wolf closed in, but retreated with a low growl and an angry yelp when Berun thrust the spear and grazed its muzzle. They paced and assessed her, looking for weaknesses and openings, taking a crescent formation to flank her from the sides.
Zelda, fearing the worst, grabbed a small rock and threw it at one of the wolves, falling short a few feet. It looked up at her and barked, the others following suit. The brief distraction provided an opening and Berun struck, spearing one of the wolves across the neck and opening an artery. It yelped in agony, spinning and lowering its tail, blood pouring forth from its neck. The other wolves barked furiously, pulling back and sniffing at their teetering companion, who quickly collapsed into the snow, panting and staring off into the distance.
Berun raised her arms and shouted, advancing with the spear, thrusting with each step. She screamed invectives in her native tongue, none of which Zelda had learned in her formal Gerudo language books, but whose essence she gathered nonetheless. The wolves retreated further, surrounding the fallen one, whose life was now slipping away. The pack leader nuzzled the limp body, and, fearing for the stability and survival of his clan, let out of low growl and backed away into a full sprint, his subordinates peeling off after him.
Berun stood tensely for a moment, breathing heavily, until she was sure the pack had committed to their retreat. She knelt down and put her hands on the beast’s chest, then rested her head on its ribcage. The wolf was dead.
“It’s safe now, Little Vai. Return to me.”
Zelda carefully lowered herself, one foothold at a time, until she reached the bottom. She reattached her snowshoes and joined Berun by the corpse. “I don’t suppose you know anything about skinning animals?” Berun asked.
They reached the next hideout within an hour. Berun dumped the wolf’s body by the entrance and headed inside. This cave was more spacious than the last, and better furnished. Berun taught Zelda how to get a fire started and build it up with the firewood stacked near the pit, then went back outside with her sidearm to skin and butcher the wolf.
She came back inside twenty minutes later holding thick cuts of meat in her blood-soaked hands. Zelda was staring headlong into a small but growing fire. “Look, Berun! I did it!”
“You’ve really grown in the last few days, haven’t you?”
“There’s more to being a princess than palace life, you know,” Zelda chided her. “I’ve spent time outdoors. I’ve been on hunts.”
“I’m sure your servants were thrilled to attend,” Berun joked.
“Show me,” Zelda said defiantly, standing.
“Show you…”
“Show me how to skin an animal,” she said.
“Little Vai, it’s already skinned.”
“Then show me how to cut it.”
Berun shrugged and stood. She instructed Zelda to remove her gloves and brought her to the mouth of the cave, where the wolf’s skin hung limp on a dead branch and its mutilated corpse lay in the snow. Zelda approached and gagged.
“It’s not quite the same as having it brought to you already cooked on a platter.”
Zelda swallowed and knelt. “Show me,” she wheezed.
Berun joined her. “I’ve taken off the best cuts from the largest muscle groups,” she said. “But we could have some liver while we’re at it.” She pointed the knife at the abdomen. “Cut here, then open the muscle. We don’t want any unwashed intestines spoiling our meal so try not to puncture them. You’re looking for a large, brown organ, shaped like this,” she said, drawing it out in the snow with the knife. “It’s going to feel terrible. Warm. Messy. Slippery. But you need to get your hands in there and dig around. Once you’ve got hold of it, you’ll need to carefully take the knife and separate any connecting tissue and vessels. Be cautious not to cut yourself, I just saved your life from this stupid beast. It’d be a shame for it to get one last stab at you.”
Zelda took the knife and pressed it into the wolf’s side. She wretched at the squelching sound as the knife slipped in through the muscle. She stood up to catch her breath.
“Little Vai, I know you’re capable of this. But the body will attract other predators. With your permission, I’d like to take it some distance away from here, where the carrion can dispose of it in peace.”
Zelda nodded enthusiastically and walked back into the cave to tend to her fire. She was disappointed with herself, but the thought of sticking her arm in some dead animal’s body cavity was perhaps a bit too much for today.
Berun returned and cleaned the fur while the roaring fire burned down to embers. Zelda watched her scrape the loose meat and fat from the pelt in something of a trance. She loved to see a woman her age handle herself so adeptly. When Berun was done, she hung the pelt skin-side-out on the rock wall near the fire to dry.
“Now, for dinner,” she said. She massaged some of the leftover salt from the previous day’s fish into the meat, then skewered the cuts onto her spear tip and angled them over the fire, turning the shaft every so often to rotate the meat while it roasted. The smell began to permeate the whole cave. “Keep this turning,” Berun said, handing the spear to Zelda.
She left for only a moment, then returned with a handful of snow. She let it melt in her palms near the fire, rubbing the melting snow over her arms and hands to wash the blood off. It took a few rounds of this to properly clear the blood away. She took the spear back and continued turning, letting Zelda take care of her own hygiene.
Soon the meat was done, and on Hylia’s name, Zelda felt she had never eaten anything so delicious. It was her first proper bite of meat in weeks, and the fact that she helped secure the predator’s death made it ever so slightly more delectable. Every bite was juicy and substantial, albeit a little stringy. No matter. She had been in a persistent state of hunger since her abduction. And now she was full. Full!
The sun came up as the embers finally extinguished. Exhausted from their night of traveling and fending off wolves, their bellies full of meat and their bodies warm from a night by the fire, they laid the finished pelt down on the floor and fell asleep atop it, curled up together under their blankets.
A visitor arrived as the sun was setting. Berun and Zelda awoke to see Meheva staring down at them, looking like he’d seen a ghost.
“Can you please not butcher animals out front?” he huffed. “Imagine how it felt to arrive and find a trail of blood by the entrance.”
Berun broke out laughing so hard she started crying. She got up and stretched, then embraced Meheva, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Not bad huh?” she said, gesturing at the pelt.
“Wolf?” Meheva asked.
“Maybe.”
“No one is injured?” he asked, looking from Berun to Zelda.
“Zelda’s had to deal with some trauma, but I think she’ll pull through,” Berun said, looking back at Zelda with a devilish smile. Zelda pulled the covers over her head and sighed. Then she popped back up, alert.
“Any news of Link?” she asked.
“He’s leading an advance force into Lanayru at the behest of the Zora,” Meheva said. “He’s alive and surrounded by powerful allies. His assistance to their mission is crucial.”
“So my father is dead, then.”
Berun sat down on the pelt next to her. “Until we have seen his body, no one can say for certain. Denest’s anger burns deep but does not consume him. I suspect he will keep your father alive and use him to lure you back under his control.”
Zelda held her emblazoned hand, looking sternly at the Triforce symbol. Torn between two worlds: her own, and the world at large. Hyrule has had many kings and queens. None of them lived forever. The Gerudo have had their share of princes, most of them struck down by a worthy hero bearing the same mark. To deliver herself into Denest’s hands without Link’s assurance would be catastrophic. The decision of a self-serving fool, not a wise leader. She would need to meditate on it.
Night set in and the trio exited the cave. It was only a half night’s walk to their destination. Meheva took to the sky to scout ahead, then behind them to secure the rear. When he was content that they were alone, he returned and joined them on the ground.
“Would it perhaps be simpler for you to… fly us there?” Zelda suggested.
“I’ve been flying nonstop just to get back to you two,” he said. “I don’t have it in me tonight to be your personal carriage.”
“I didn’t mean…! Ohh! You’re teasing again, aren’t you?”
Meheva laughed heartily and Berun joined him.
“Let us not be caught off guard, though,” Zelda said. “Perhaps you saw the lay of the land, but I don’t wish to ruin our good fortune now.”
They carried on in silence. Another cold wind began to blow down from the mountains. Meheva walked in front of the women with his arms partly outstretched to shield them from the cold. As the wind ruffled his black feathers, Zelda noticed something protruding from between two of them. It looked like a rolled up piece of paper. She reached out for it, only to have her hand smartly smacked away by the butt of a spear.
She yelped in surprise and looked over at Berun, who was staring at Zelda as if she, too, was a hungry wolf in need of a spear tip to the neck. Berun’s eyes were aflame with indignation. She turned the spear and pointed it at Zelda’s throat.
“Berun, what’s gotten into you?” she cried.
Meheva turned around and jerked backwards at the sight of the confrontation. “Berun, what are you doing?”
Berun looked to Meheva, then back to Zelda. “She was… she was going to preen you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.
Zelda stared around dumbfounded, cradling her injured hand. “I don’t understand.”
Berun looked back to Meheva, who motioned for her to lower her spear. She suddenly came to her senses and dropped it, falling to her knees in the snow.
“Forgive me your highness, I am not myself. You couldn’t have known.”
“ ‘Your highness’? Berun, please, if I’ve offended you in some way…”
“The offense is mine, your highness,” she pleaded.
“Will you get up and explain yourself?” she said sternly.
“Princess Zelda,” Meheva cut in, “you must understand, we Rito mate for life. To be preened by another is… no small matter.”
“Do you mean…”
“Our new feathers are sensitive. We cannot reach them alone. The first bond of new love is performed in this simple act of grooming.”
Zelda stood aghast at what she’d almost done. “My formal education appears to be lacking,” she said flatly.
They continued on as before. Berun kept stealing awkward glances at Zelda, caught between the adrenaline of protecting her claim and the embarrassment of having assaulted her queen. Finally Zelda caught her eye.
“Please, Berun, you must forgive yourself for striking me, and forgive me for my ignorance.”
“Your highness…”
“What happened to ‘Little Vai’? Has our bond snapped so early on? Can it never be mended?”
“I don’t even know who I am anymore.” Berun hung her head. “I never would have done such a thing to another Gerudo, not even over a voe. We are bound to each other above all.”
“Perhaps,” said Zelda, “there’s a bit more Rito in you than you’d like to admit.”
“Do you think so?” she mused, looking up into the cloud-dotted night sky. “You wouldn’t know, you’ve never lived among us. The bonds of Gerudo sisterhood are stronger than anything, or so I thought. Perhaps it doesn’t extend to our Hylian sisters. Or perhaps it is as you say.”
Zelda pondered while they walked.
“Do Rito women lay eggs?” she asked at length.
“They do,” Berun replied.
“Still… how many days since you last—”
She didn’t finish the thought. Berun whipped her head around and locked eyes with Zelda. They stared at each other for a moment. Then they both looked forward and didn’t say another word.
Whether Meheva heard either of them over the wind, he did not indicate. But for a brief moment, his feathers seemed to fluff up a little more than usual.
In the early hours of the morning, the intrepid trio reached their destination in the heart of Hebra. A winding path led them up into the howling slopes of a jagged mountain. They soon reached a fork, one leg of which dead-ended into the side of the mountain. Meheva pressed his shoulder into it and a large stone doorway swiveled from the center, permitting entry on either side. They descended into the cave and found it to be warm and well lit. A tired Hylian guard stood at the entrance to the next room. He snapped to attention and nearly dropped his spear.
“Princess Zelda… could it be you?” he asked.
“You recognize me,” she said with a slight bow.
“I certainly should hope so, I served at the castle before it fell!”
“Before it… fell, sir?”
“We have much to discuss,” said Meheva, ushering her in.