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The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, but Ravio took it anyway. It glittered on Princess Hilda’s desk as temptingly as any trinket in an insufficiently supervised booth in Thieves’ Town, and even better, there was no one in the room with him to watch where he put his sticky fingers. Ravio’s hand moved out of reflex, and then, before he had even finished deciding what he was going to do with it, his prize was safely in his pocket. Old habits die hard, he thought with a mental shrug, and continued to pace around the room. Princess Hilda’s office was a microcosm of the problems plaguing Lorule. Sickly grey light filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Many of the tiny glass shapes that had been joined together to form the large window panes had cracked, he noticed, and the faded velvet curtains that had been drawn in preparation of the meeting he was early to had been impeccably cleaned, highlighting their threadbare, moth-eaten, former glory. The baseboards were crumbling, more hole now than wood, and Ravio shivered when he caught a glimpse of a rodent scurrying behind the wall. The door to the room creaked in protest as it opened wide, allowing the princess and her advisor to walk in side by side.
The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, but he was grateful for its grounding presence in his hand as he listened to Yuga convince Princess Hilda to give him permission to travel to the land of Hyrule and take their Triforce. This wasn’t the first time they had discussed this plan, but judging by the intent expression on her face, Hilda was teetering on the edge of being won over. If there was ever a time to speak up in opposition, this was it. Ravio’s mouth opened for a moment, then closed in fainthearted silence. He squeezed the pen in his fist. He was just as worthless as it was, ignored in plain view, unwanted. Their conversation flowed over him like a rising tide, and he felt his helplessness rise in response. Why had he been summoned here if he was only going to be a bystander?
The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, and neither had the bracelet, but now they counted among the most valuable items in Ravio’s possession, sharing the place of highest honor in a box under his bed. Late at night, by the wavering light of a single stubby candle, Ravio would slide the box out into the open, fit the bracelet onto his wrist, balance the pen in his fingers, and write a sentence or two in his diary in a vain attempt to transfer his anxiety out of his soul and onto the written page. Princess Hilda hadn’t noticed the multiple thefts from her office, and in the off-chance she did, Yuga would be by her side to soothe her, offering her one of his own gaudily enameled pens and reminding her in a voice like poisoned honey that there were plenty of other ways to harness and store magical power. Later, he’d track down the maid in charge of cleaning Hilda’s rooms and transform her into another portrait for his art gallery.
The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, and it wasn’t worth keeping anymore, not when it reminded him so keenly of the woman he had stolen it from. He carried it with him the day he left Lorule, still in his pocket, clutching it so tightly his fingers cramped. He hurled it over a rampart into the chasm that ringed the castle like a bottomless moat. He didn’t watch it as it fell, afraid of calling attention to himself as he scuttled along the exposed walkway that led to the Sacred Realm. His bag, full of magical artifacts that had been worth stealing, slipped off his shoulder, and he hoisted it back into place without stopping. If he paused, even for a second, he’d run completely out of courage and he’d be the next addition to Yuga’s collection. The purple gem in the bracelet on his wrist shone dully before he shook his sleeve down to cover it, and he bit his lip in determination. He had enough magic stored in the smelly old thing to get him to Hyrule, he was sure of it, but there wasn’t enough to return. He could help Hilda by leaving. She wouldn’t call him a hero, but it would be enough to make up for stealing her pen.