Lark was surprised by how quickly Darkstar recovered. Within a day she was strong enough to shout insults and throw her empty dishes at him when he came to visit. She made it absolutely clear that while she was a prisoner, she was not to be trifled with.
Lark locked the gate behind him as he pressed a hand to a shallow wound on his forehead that had been caused by a plate that had been launched.
“And don’t come back again!” she screamed after him.
He sighed, wishing that she would sleep so he could see if her wound had healed properly. With all the thrashing and fighting she did he was sure that she had reopened her cut.
He took a different approach. “Has your wound healed?”
There was a stunned silence, and then he heard Darkstar laugh darkly. “As if you care! I’m not a baby, I’ll take care of myself!”
He rolled his eyes and figured that was the closest thing to an answer he was going to get. He turned and looked at her once more before he left her to be.
Over the next few days Darkstar’s attitude toward him did not change. He visited her three times a day to bring meals and check on her. She did not eat much, and Lark wondered if that was typical for a Shekiah or if she was just trying to spite Ganondorf. She had not touched the blankets he had brought to ward off the damp cold of the cell.
“Get under a blanket for the love of the sages!” he exclaimed one day. “You’ll catch your death!”
Her reply was the same as it had been every night. “As if you care.”
A week passed, and Lark soon found himself visiting her more and more often. Her remarks were always biting and full of raw loathing, but he could not bring himself to feel anger toward her. He also found that Ganondorf visited her occasionally, and he worried that perhaps she would tell him that he had visited her far more than the allotted three times a day.
When he asked her she only sniffed disdainfully. “I’m no tattle. We Shekiah may be scum in your eyes, but we still have our dignity!”
From then on, Darkstar’s chidings weren’t as bitter.
One day Lark was called away to a social gathering, and for the first time realized that it almost hurt to be away from her. He was only gone for a day and a half, but he rushed to her cell as soon as he returned.
And then there was the prospect of marriage. He was of the age where most men began to court, and he stalled his father by radical excuses, which barely persuaded him. Still, Damir sent young women to seek him out. He was courteous, but turned each away.
After one such day, he was given a box of sweets as a gift from the last girl. He raised an eyebrow and slipped it under his cloak, then went to grab Darkstar’s dinner from the cook.
He examined the candies and picked out a delicately shaped morsel of marzipan in the likeness of a summer rose. Smiling, he slipped it under her napkin and then left her to discover it herself. When he returned to gather her dishes, he found that she had touched only a small portion of the fruit and bread, but the candy was gone, and he saw her huddled in a corner, nibbling on it quietly.
It then became tradition for him to always give her a candy with her meal, and he discovered from later conversations that she enjoyed the marzipan the most. He made it a point to have it as often as he could.
It was about two weeks into her imprisonment when she began to talk to him freely. She mostly asked about him, and deftly avoided questions about herself. “I’m just another Shekiah,” she said. “Nothing special about me.”
Except that you’re a Shekiah, and that you’re the last one, Lark thought. But he did not voice it.
It was an odd relationship, and it was smooth at first. They talked of everything and nothing. He enjoyed her company, and hoped she felt the same way. Though she still spoke bluntly, her eyes seemed softer when he was around, and once or twice, he had been able to coax a small smile from her.
Lark never questioned what he was doing until the repercussions of his actions were staring him in the face.
Damir was in his study when he called for Lark. He was surprised, seeing as how he and his father had become somewhat distant over the last couple of weeks.
“How is Darkstar?” Damir asked distantly.
“She’s just fine. She gains strength every day.”
Damir nodded. “That’s good. You’ve done your duty well, and you are relieved of your responsibilities.”
Lark had to carefully conceal the shock on his face. “I…I’m glad…but won’t she need to be taken care of?”
His father rose and shook his head. “She won’t need care because she will be dead tomorrow.” He strode out the door without another word.
Lark felt the blood rush out of his face. Though he knew this would ultimately be her fate all along, he had forced it to the back of his mind. “Yes, Father,” he said quietly to the empty room.
He couldn’t bring himself to visit her that night. He went up to his room and stared out the window for a long time, wishing for sleep to come. When he finally closed his eyes, he pictured Darkstar sprawled out on a stone table, thrashing against the chains that held her as Ganondorf and Damir slowly approached. Through claps of thunder he could hear her crying despairingly.
“Lark…Lark!”
He saw himself then, at Ganondorf’s side, with emotionless eyes even as he heard her cries, and he was carrying a knife coated with Sylvic Oil in his hand.
~*~*~*~
Darkstar clutched Sage’s shawl tightly as the two fled far into the night. She had been seven at the time, no more than an infant by Shekian standards, but old enough to remember with crystal clarity. Sage was nearing her thirtieth year, but the prolonged lives of the Shekiah made her look not a day older than thirteen.
“Sage,” Darkstar pleaded. “Please, take me home…”
Sage continued her relentless pace and only pressed the petite Darkstar closer to her as she ran. “No, Darkstar, there is nothing there for you but death.”
“But my brothers…!”
A strangled sob came from Sage’s lips, and for a moment she faltered. “They are…fine. They’re in a beautiful place now.” She peered behind her cautiously, and then gestured to a forest to the east. It was no more than a mile off. “We’ll stop in Kokiri Forest,” she said wearily. “We’ll hide there.”
As soon as Sage sat down, she leaned against a tree, the first sign she had shown of the toll the run had taken on her. Her breath came in labored gasps.
Darkstar went over and nestled in her lap. “Sage, are you okay?”
She opened her ruby eyes and smiled. “Oh, Dark, I’ll be fine.” She raised herself to her feet and gathered some lush leaves that had not fallen too long ago. Gently, she lifted Darkstar and placed her on the pile, draping her own violet cloak over her to provide more warmth. “Sleep now,” she said. And then, with tears in her eyes, “Forget me, forget all of this.”
Darkstar put her tiny arms around her and the pair clung to each other one last time. “Sage,” she said. “Where will we go?”
Sage opened her mouth to reply but she heard angry voices in the distance.
“They can’t have gone far!” one said.
“These are Shekiah we’re talking about!” the other snapped. “They’ll disappear in a second.”
Sage pressed two fingers over Darkstar’s lips and leaned closer. “Darkstar,” she whispered softly in her ear, “in time you will come to despise the people that did this to us, but please, you must learn to forgive. My life is over, but I see great things for you. You must survive!
“And that is why I must do this…please forgive me.”
The bushes on either side of them parted to reveal two heavily armed men. Both bore the insignia of Hyrulean Knights but wore the helm of a regiment that Darkstar didn’t recognize. “You, girl!” the larger said as he whipped his sword up to Sage’s throat. “Are you the one they call Sage?”
Sage drew herself up and stood tall and proud. “I am.”
Darkstar tried to call out but found that no sound came from her throat. She struggled, but found that she was bound. By the looks on the men’s faces, she knew that they didn’t see her and thought Sage was the only one.
The men laughed and the younger of the two maneuvered around her and gripped her hands, holding them tightly behind her back.
“Why are you doing this to us?” she asked quietly. “We are only humble servants of the royal family.”
The larger man withdrew his sword and put his face only a finger’s breadth from her flawless face. Sage didn’t even flinch.
“Traitors,” he said slowly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t—“
But the men didn’t allow her to finish. The younger man administered a well-placed hit and Sage fell unconscious. Darkstar could only watch, helpless and mute, as the older man carried Sage’s limp body away.
“Another victory for the Crimson Followers!” they both shouted triumphantly.
The symbol on their helm burned itself into Darkstar’s mind. Crimson Followers, she thought, you will pay for this…
She didn’t know how long she remained in the dark, but eventually, motherly arms wrapped around her. “Darkstar?” the voice asked disbelievingly. A word from the stranger and she was released from her bonds.
“Impa?” Darkstar mouthed, but lost consciousness before she heard the reply.
~*~*~*~
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