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Whispers of want and longing haunt her constantly, making her doubt herself. The conflict within is enough, and a pull is all that's needed to rip them apart.
She is split in half, where she once stood are two people. The whispers don’t stop, always clouding their thoughts, sowing doubt, feeding hate.
One drinks the honeyed poison with a desperate thirst, the other turns her head away. Spitting bitter words to the whispers, to the man (but neither know it is a man, not yet, they both think it is their own thoughts).
They fight. Magic versus magic, time versus time, dark versus light.
The other loses, and she is deemed the lesser for it, the weaker. The coward who would not take what she wanted.
And as she lies on the floor, soul jagged and body bleeding, she curses at their poisoned half walking away. Throwing their name and destroying all the work they've done with a single flick of her wrist.
I did my duty, she rages, wet copper filling her mouth and drowning her screams. Time unravels before her eyes and she's in too much pain to move, much less stop it. I did my duty and I did it well. How dare you throw it away. How dare you call me weak, when you fold like paper without me. Believing in flowery words and distracted by your hollow lust. How dare you.
She crawls away, swallowing her pride and blood and pushing on. She will not die here, refuses to die here. She knows she looks pitiful, messy and undignified. But she forces herself not to care. She’ll cry and whimper, wallow in her own piss if she has to. She’ll do anything but die.
She can’t. Not here, not now, when she’s needed more than ever.
She thinks of the heroes they always watched, thinks of the numerous times the boys (always boys) had to limp away, holding their sword up with trembling hands. Thinks of the private moments they're forced to see—of them crying and whimpering, sobbing a quiet litany of why, why, why.
(Why them, why not someone else, why was this happening.)
She draws strength on that, has to draw strength on it, she has nothing else. Her own half has left her (her own self, and it's funny in a tragic way, she's truly alone now).
Red stains the floor, her robes, her tears. Soaks her until she feels her skin will be permanently stained with it.
A woman goes to where a dragon guards his home. Living in solitude and content with watching the children of Din strike the rocks of the caves and feed it fire to let it shine. He is content, happy even. Until the woman tells him he shouldn’t be.
The woman whispers promises and vows to his ear, sweet and warm. She paints him a dream with her smiles and touches, with her laughter and gentle voice, with her honesty and sincerity. Lies are only lies if you don’t believe it, and she believes every word she says.
The dragon is cold with her, he does not trust these stranger's words. But that's fine, the woman is patient.
She has all the time in the world.
A woman stumbles upon a forest, painting the grass with blood as she uses her staff to drag herself to safety (the closest thing to safety she can get). Each step is slow and wobbly, but she persists. Crawling to limping to crawling again.
There will be time to heal her wounds, to take a breath and take in all that's happened to her (to them, to her). But she must find shelter first, a base of operations. She can't go back. Too risky.
Time is precious and she can't waste it.
This is how her army is made: with monsters and humans whose bitterness is sprinkled with her addicting sugar.
She has seen the world at different times, has seen it split in three, has seen it through golden and dark ages. History comes to her as easy as her magic.
She chooses an era carefully. One where it would be easy to cultivate warriors and loyalty. One where strength and pain grow hand in hand.
It's easy to lure people when you know what they want. Easier too, if she understands their pain (their bitterness, their jealousy, their grief). She is the listening ear to the quiet voices of the soldiers, the servants of Hyrule that have fought to no end and see no reprieve in sight. She is the sympathetic voice that echoes their anger, amplifies it.
Isn't it unfair that the royal family does nothing? She whispers sadly, healing a soldier's wounds. All that magic, all that wisdom, kept in a pretty castle of stone and marble.
She echoes thoughts that are there, plants new ones, nourishes her work with never ending patience born from experience (time is something she has in spades).
Why wait for the word of a princess we'll never meet? She wonders out loud.
Why wait for a hero? She asks.
Why wait? She muses.
Why not take the Triforce? She echoes in their minds. Why not take fate in our own hands? It's our lives, we should have a say in it. Why not make a wish? Why didn't our beloved princess think of that?
Let’s take it, she says, eager. Let’s take it and make a wish.
The soldiers, swords in hand and fire in their hearts, discard a princess who is always unreachable. For royalty, no matter how kind, will always be surrounded by walls of power and riches, high in a pedestal of their own making. It makes it difficult to listen and see, even with wisdom given by the goddess.
And the people are tired, patience worn thin, sick of a war they never chose in the first place.
She smiles, gentle and sweet.
The monsters are easier to entice.
With wounds knit close and the ache of her soul ebbing into something bearable, pain throbbing softly instead of pounding into her being, she speaks with the guardian of the forest.
The guardian is old, gnarled roots sink deep, deep, deep into the earth. Deeper than one would imagine, deeper than she can think of. To many, he is just an old tree with an older soul. To her, he is a guardian that has made a mark in various eras.
In one timeline, he raises a hero. In another, he looks at the wave that spells the end of his old home and adapts. In another, he dies, but pieces of him grow on. Insistent and stubborn.
She tells him who she is and what has happened. She tells him everything. There is no point in lying. She is a guardian like he is. Different domains, same duty.
They stay and watch, rarely interfering. Rarely, not never. The moment they deem it necessary to take action, they do. They protect their domains with a fierceness born from duty, he understands her rage (perhaps not her hate, but he understands the blood boiling in anger and curdling in shame as she thinks of her home, destroyed and tainted).
"So long as you do not harm this forest," he says. "Then you may stay as long as you need."
She bows, clutching her staff. "Thank you," she murmurs. "I will leave as soon as I can, I don’t want to bring you enemies."
He lets out a rumbling laugh, his children echo it with their soft giggles. Rustling leaves with the clacks of sticks and nuts. "Unwanted enemies will always come here, my lady. If they didn't, there would be no need of a guardian, would there not?"
"A point," she admits wryly.
This is where they first meet: in the ruined fields of Hyrule. The stench of blood mixing with the smell of ash. The clashing of metal, screams, the roaring flames, all creating a chaotic symphony of war.
She arrives in a portal of inky black and glowing violet, robes embellished with intricate patterns of silver and blue. Her steps are casual, voice soft, smile serene.
He sees her in his peripheral, she stands out in the sea of greens and reds of her lizalfos and moblins. But he has more priorities than running towards an obviously skilled mage with his training sword and shield. He’s accused of being reckless many times, but even he has a limit.
They do not talk, they only have time to make eye contact (she beams, he frowns).
He is just a trainee trying to keep everyone, himself included, alive. That takes priority over running to the opposite side of Hyrule Field to attack an unknown. And by the goddess, keeping everyone alive is hard.
A kid appears out of nowhere, and a voice that sounds eerily like his drill sergeant cackles about karma for being a little shit as he tries to keep the kid away from danger. The kid either skipped the process of learning fear and self-preservation or gives no fucks about it; because instead of seeing the monsters as an encouragement to stay in the base, he sees it as an encouragement to bring out a stupidly big sword (what) and run around and attack them ( what ).
Then some kind of dragon warrior appears and attacks General Impa and he steps in to help. Then his hand glows. Then a large dodongo pops from who-knows-where and starts puking balls of flame.
And of course, as if today wants to kick all of them in the nuts in painful succession, they find the princess has gone missing.
The woman is pushed from his mind until they hear reports of an army marching towards Faron Woods.
This is how they first meet: fighting an army in a forest under fire.
He thinks the only reason the forest is still standing despite being barbequed for more than an hour is that the trees are tall and thick enough to withstand the abuse.
The soldiers do their best in getting rid of the monsters. Some who know a few water spells help douse the flames. General Impa drowns her enemies and extinguishes flames in one swing, the kid plays a song that summons heavy clouds of rain, and their new Sheikah ally learns the song and makes her own clouds. Others make a frantic chain of pass the bucket, throwing water in areas they’ve captured and secured.
He has nothing to contribute to the water task force, so he focuses his energy in preventing more fires from their torch-wielding monsters.
They meet in the heart of the forest, where the Great Deku Tree resides. The flames have not reached its guardian, likely because a woman in red and gold defends the sanctuary with a ferocity he’s only seen with General Impa and Princess Zelda.
There’s a sense of deja vu as he looks at her face and sees magic spark between her finger tips. He has no time to ponder about it, with flames and enemies coming at them in every direction. All he sees is a person who isn’t attacking them and it’s fine by him. He’ll take any ally at this point (and they have no choice, so many of their own abandoned them and so little have stayed).
It comes back to him like a speeding mine cart from Death Mountain when Sheik takes one look and says with a cool voice, “Why do you wear the face of an enemy?”
The air is cold, colder than Sheik’s voice and colder than the red-eyed stare she gives the woman.
The woman buffs her nails, unfazed by the sharp intake of breath from General Impa and the glares thrown at her by the nearby soldiers who heard. He wants to protest that it’s unfair to pass harsh judgment on her, especially when she exhausted her magic to keep off the worst of the flames. She didn’t come unscathed from the fight.
But it’s hard to trust things on face value these days.
As if the woman read his last thought, she looks at Sheik and sneers. “Why do you lead an army full of traitors?” She says, giving a sharp smile when General Impa and Sheik wince. “We’re related, so to speak, and I have a bone to pick with her. That’s all.”
“We’ll need more than that to convince us that you’re trustworthy,” General Impa declares, hand hovering over her great blade.
The woman looks at General Impa like how a mother would look at her unruly child, he’s a little impressed by it. “I’m not a citizen of Hyrule,” she says, hand on her hip. “I don’t answer to you or any Hyrulean authority. I neither have the time nor energy to deal with your trust issues.”
“You would risk becoming our enemy?”
“And you would?” She asks mildly, eyebrow raised. “Tell me, Impa of the Sheikah, is your mind so muddled with worry for your precious princess that logic is impossible for you? Your soldiers are very few and burnt out.” She points at the makeshift healing station with her staff. “Is it wise to antagonize an unknown warrior? One who hasn't attacked you in any way?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Really, it’s no wonder your tribe is in a constant state of near extinction with how stupid you all seem to be around royalty.”
“You-!”
“We don’t mean any harm,” he cuts in, voice pitched low and smooth. He raises his arms and gives an easy smile. “But would it really hurt to answer a few questions? Even a name will do.”
The silence is so thick he’s tempted to draw his sword and slice it.
The woman gives him a blank look, lips pursed into a frown. He realizes why it took Sheik pointing it out to make him see the similarities of this woman from the other one in Hyrule Field. This woman has been all scowls the moment they met, a constant state of acerbic and cutting words with a side of tenseness.
Red in a way, like rage and blood, like the dress she wears. Bleeding and burning at the same time.
The other wasn’t like her, he doesn't remember her frowning at all. She was all smiles and laughter in battle, posture relaxed even as he saw her fling trained soldiers like they were nothing. Blue like her robes, a soft shade that blended well with her jeweled accents. Calm and flowing.
“... Cia,” she says eventually, hand gripped so tightly on her staff that he's worried her skin might rip apart. “Cia, the-” She takes a breath. “-the guardian of time.”