Morning: a Zelda fanfic
Morning
Destiny smells of dust and the libraries of night. He leaves no footprints. He casts no shadow.
Neil Gaiman in Sandman: "Season of Mists"
Somewhere, somewhen, there is a room. The room takes many forms; in this aspect it appears to be a small, circular stone room with no windows, bereft of torch or sun but somehow lit. It is empty but for a wooden coffin on a raised platform in the middle. The coffin has no body, but is lined with a blanket. The blanket is green, and if you could smell it, it would smell woody like the forest, and carry the unmistakable tang of bloody steel. If you could touch it, it would feel warm and fragile, like a leaf. But it would not break, no matter how hard you tried to tear it. Never. Ever.
The coffin, if you cared to look, is carved from the trunk of a dark tree, and is quite plain; it has no design etched onto its surface.
A woman sits by the coffin. (In this aspect, she appears to be a woman.) She is wrapped entirely in a gold cloth - her sleeves hang past her fingers, and the dress goes long past her toes - that covers even her face but for her eyes, wide with a forest green iris and no pupil. She appears to be near tears, but she is not crying. She has never cried.
An identical woman but for ocean blue eyes enters the room. (There is no door.) She kneels, and places a sleeved hand on the green-eyed woman’s shoulder. (At least, in this aspect, they appear to be a hand and a shoulder.)
“It is not good to mourn,” the blue-eyed woman says, in a language incomprehensible to living ears. “The coffin is empty. He is not gone.”
“I am not mourning because of him,” the green-eyed woman says, with a hint of defiance in her voice. She pushes herself up and away from the hand. “For he is no longer mine to mourn. I am mourning for him, and the world which lacks now him.”
The blue-eyed woman stands. “Indeed, a strange turn of events,” placing emphasis on the third word. “But the stream of time, two-legged as it is now, flows ever on; it is not in our place to interfere with the lives of mortals. Even,” she says, her body flickering as the blue flame that is slightly closer to her true form, “Link.”
“I would not meddle with his life,” the green-eyed woman says, eyes following her sister. (In all aspects, they are sisters.) “I will allow this aspect of him to enter the Forbidden Forest without a guide. But for the river of time that is now without him -”
“-We must wait and see,” her sister says. “You must have patience. Things will turn out -”
“-As things will turn out,” she finishes. It is a line that the three sisters have echoed since they created time. “You forget that the law is static, sister, while life is forever moving, and changing. I am an aspect of life, as you are an aspect of law. I am not satisfied sitting by and idly watching, as are you and your puppet.”
“My - puppet - has never been idle. She merely played a role which supported yours. A role which, I might point out, will always sway the tide in favour of good, however good might be defined.”
As though the words are a summoning bell, the third sister enters the room; identical to the others, her eyes are red as flames. “Ganondorf has escaped,” she says, simply, though her sisters already knew, and perhaps have always known.
The green-eyed sister stands. “In which time?” It is a question that need not be asked.
The red-eyed sister answers, regardless. “He has freed himself in the aspect wherein he was slain and banished to the Sacred Realm; in the aspect wherein he was placed on trial and banished to the Realm of Twilight, which serves as a boundary between our realm and the mortals’, he languishes and bides his time, making peace with the Interlopers.” She shakes her head, and turns to the green-eyed sister. “Farore, this aspect has no Link. Ganondorf makes war on Hyrule; the people cry for assistance.”
Farore turns to the blue-eyed sister. “Nayru, guide your puppet to save her people.”
“You know I cannot.” Nayru’s eyes are turned down. “Wisdom without courage is powerless. Even with the Master Sword -” She shudders, suddenly; the rose-red scent of blood fills the room. Zelda has been slain.
“-The Master Sword is dead,” the third sister says. “Ganondorf has learned our secrets, while imprisoned, and slew the sages while you were quarrelling.” She seems to emanate a certain amount of pride, for the monster that she crafted out of her hands. Though all three of them had known of Ganondorf’s plans long before Din’s arms had created the red earth, the revelation strikes Farore and Nayru as a physical blow, or something approximating one.
“What will you have us do, Din?” Nayru looks to her sister, who suffered the most from Ganondorf’s deception. “We must not interfere. We are but eyes; we can only watch. Ganondorf must have his way. Perhaps -” she seems to be smiling, without a mouth. “-Perhaps this is a reward, for his tenacity in defying us.”
A whimper echoes across the room, which in this aspect resembles the innermost chamber of the Temple of Time. A tear has gathered in Farore’s left eye. Nayru’s eyes widen, ever so slightly.
“Farore, don’t -”
“I won’t let him have Hyrule,” Farore, creator of the green woods and wind, protector of children and aspect of unanticipated change says, rather plainly. “The time has come before and the time will come again when he covers Hyrule in darkness; that time is not now. I am Courage, the doer. I choose to interfere.” And she begins to cry.
It starts to rain.
Destiny smells of dust and the libraries of night. He leaves no footprints. He casts no shadow.
Neil Gaiman in Sandman: "Season of Mists"
Somewhere, somewhen, there is a room. The room takes many forms; in this aspect it appears to be a small, circular stone room with no windows, bereft of torch or sun but somehow lit. It is empty but for a wooden coffin on a raised platform in the middle. The coffin has no body, but is lined with a blanket. The blanket is green, and if you could smell it, it would smell woody like the forest, and carry the unmistakable tang of bloody steel. If you could touch it, it would feel warm and fragile, like a leaf. But it would not break, no matter how hard you tried to tear it. Never. Ever.
The coffin, if you cared to look, is carved from the trunk of a dark tree, and is quite plain; it has no design etched onto its surface.
A woman sits by the coffin. (In this aspect, she appears to be a woman.) She is wrapped entirely in a gold cloth - her sleeves hang past her fingers, and the dress goes long past her toes - that covers even her face but for her eyes, wide with a forest green iris and no pupil. She appears to be near tears, but she is not crying. She has never cried.
An identical woman but for ocean blue eyes enters the room. (There is no door.) She kneels, and places a sleeved hand on the green-eyed woman’s shoulder. (At least, in this aspect, they appear to be a hand and a shoulder.)
“It is not good to mourn,” the blue-eyed woman says, in a language incomprehensible to living ears. “The coffin is empty. He is not gone.”
“I am not mourning because of him,” the green-eyed woman says, with a hint of defiance in her voice. She pushes herself up and away from the hand. “For he is no longer mine to mourn. I am mourning for him, and the world which lacks now him.”
The blue-eyed woman stands. “Indeed, a strange turn of events,” placing emphasis on the third word. “But the stream of time, two-legged as it is now, flows ever on; it is not in our place to interfere with the lives of mortals. Even,” she says, her body flickering as the blue flame that is slightly closer to her true form, “Link.”
“I would not meddle with his life,” the green-eyed woman says, eyes following her sister. (In all aspects, they are sisters.) “I will allow this aspect of him to enter the Forbidden Forest without a guide. But for the river of time that is now without him -”
“-We must wait and see,” her sister says. “You must have patience. Things will turn out -”
“-As things will turn out,” she finishes. It is a line that the three sisters have echoed since they created time. “You forget that the law is static, sister, while life is forever moving, and changing. I am an aspect of life, as you are an aspect of law. I am not satisfied sitting by and idly watching, as are you and your puppet.”
“My - puppet - has never been idle. She merely played a role which supported yours. A role which, I might point out, will always sway the tide in favour of good, however good might be defined.”
As though the words are a summoning bell, the third sister enters the room; identical to the others, her eyes are red as flames. “Ganondorf has escaped,” she says, simply, though her sisters already knew, and perhaps have always known.
The green-eyed sister stands. “In which time?” It is a question that need not be asked.
The red-eyed sister answers, regardless. “He has freed himself in the aspect wherein he was slain and banished to the Sacred Realm; in the aspect wherein he was placed on trial and banished to the Realm of Twilight, which serves as a boundary between our realm and the mortals’, he languishes and bides his time, making peace with the Interlopers.” She shakes her head, and turns to the green-eyed sister. “Farore, this aspect has no Link. Ganondorf makes war on Hyrule; the people cry for assistance.”
Farore turns to the blue-eyed sister. “Nayru, guide your puppet to save her people.”
“You know I cannot.” Nayru’s eyes are turned down. “Wisdom without courage is powerless. Even with the Master Sword -” She shudders, suddenly; the rose-red scent of blood fills the room. Zelda has been slain.
“-The Master Sword is dead,” the third sister says. “Ganondorf has learned our secrets, while imprisoned, and slew the sages while you were quarrelling.” She seems to emanate a certain amount of pride, for the monster that she crafted out of her hands. Though all three of them had known of Ganondorf’s plans long before Din’s arms had created the red earth, the revelation strikes Farore and Nayru as a physical blow, or something approximating one.
“What will you have us do, Din?” Nayru looks to her sister, who suffered the most from Ganondorf’s deception. “We must not interfere. We are but eyes; we can only watch. Ganondorf must have his way. Perhaps -” she seems to be smiling, without a mouth. “-Perhaps this is a reward, for his tenacity in defying us.”
A whimper echoes across the room, which in this aspect resembles the innermost chamber of the Temple of Time. A tear has gathered in Farore’s left eye. Nayru’s eyes widen, ever so slightly.
“Farore, don’t -”
“I won’t let him have Hyrule,” Farore, creator of the green woods and wind, protector of children and aspect of unanticipated change says, rather plainly. “The time has come before and the time will come again when he covers Hyrule in darkness; that time is not now. I am Courage, the doer. I choose to interfere.” And she begins to cry.
It starts to rain.