Fan Fiction Friday: The Era Without A Hero – Part 3

“How much further is this place?” A young soldier asked, peeking his head out from the side of the wagon.

“Depends,” the driver responded with a shrug. He turned briefly to look back, but adjusted his scarf to keep the whipping sand from getting in his mouth, “this is pretty mild sandstorm but if she gets worse…”

The soldier nodded and ducked back into the tent then shaking his face free of the sand that had built up around the chainmail he wore.

An older soldier, nearing the retirement age chuckled and pulled his own scarf up, “told you to buy one.”

“They were far too expensive, I’ve got mouths to feed!”

“Seems like you just got some sand soup, hope it was worth it.”

The younger soldier rolled his eyes and glanced at their prisoner who was seated on the floor and cuffed to the benches on either side. He wore a black hood over his head, with a scrappy burlap shirt and ordinary trousers for pants. His feet were bare and calloused from years of walking in the desert without shoes. And finally, the prisoner’s hands were dark blue, with jagged nails that looked as if they hadn’t been cut in years.

“Don’t stare at him long kid.”

“Why not? He can’t do anything,” the soldier chuckled and gestured towards the prisoner.

“This one is dangerous. Those chains ain’t normal, they had to be blessed.”

“Blessed?”

The wagon bounced along the road and the chains that restrained the man rattled loudly, as if answering the question themselves.

“Few of the Sages came out before he could we could even open the door to his cell. Said to be extra careful, and whatever they say, I’ll follow.”

The young soldier shivered in his armor and looked away.

They rode a while longer without talking, the noise from the worsening sandstorm and the rocky road providing the monotonous soundtrack. When the road noise suddenly began to slow though and come to a complete stop, the two soldiers became instantly aware of something being wrong.

“Stay here,” the older soldier stood up and crawled his head through an opening near the front of the wagon. He returned a moment later and brushed the sand from his goggles and face. His eyes narrowed, and his voice was quick and sharp, “get your blade on him. Anything happens, plunge it into his skull. Understand?”

The young soldier did as he was told and pulled his sword from its sheath, placing the tip against the back of the prisoner’s head. The older soldier drew his sword and climbed out of the wagon fully.

The wind howled outside of the wagon. The young soldier fought his anxiousness and wiped his brow before reaffirming his grip on his sword.

“You are nervous,” the prisoner said. His voice was deep and haunting, almost rumbling like an earthquake.

“What?”

“It’s okay. You can still serve a purpose in this world if you but release me.”

“Quiet, you!”

The prisoner breathed deeply, “I am enjoying the fresh air, Hylian. Does this air not please you?”

“I said quiet!”

“You have a family? You mentioned mouths to feed, did you not?”

“I’m holding a blade to your head, be quiet or I’ll have to use it!”

“Do it then,” the prisoner’s head turned, “and your King will have to suffer the pains his family has tried to keep secret.”

“What?”

There was a sudden commotion from outside, followed by a heavy thud.

“Make your choice.”

The young soldier began to shake as he looked side to side.

“Reynolds!?”

There was no answer.

“Make your choice, Hylian.”

The young soldier looked down at the prisoner and fell back a little. The prisoner had somehow turned all the way around without the soldier’s noticing. He stumbled back onto the ground as the prisoner stood up and extended his palms outward.

“Release me or kill me.”

The soldier firmed his grip on his sword and thrust it forward. He watched the blade pierce flesh, but when he raised his eyes he fell backward again. The blade had not gone through the prisoner as he’d intended. Instead, Reynolds, the older soldier, sat on the bench where he had during the journey with the younger man’s blade extending from his chest.

“Wha-what?”

“Pity that your family will have to suffer now as well,” the prisoner’s voice came from the back of the wagon.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers and vanished. The young soldier collapsed in the back of the wagon with his head twisted around with the last vision being of the prisoner wandering away into the raging dust storm.

*           *          *          *         *

The cheers settled down as Daphnes stepped up to the podium. He wrung his hands together for a moment after he set his speech down on the stand, then let out a contented sigh. He lifted his eyes over the crowd and smiled.

“Thank you, Lord Sagesse for that wonderful introduction. Good evening ladies and gentlemen, friends from far and near, honored guests, and distinguished delegates. I happily welcome you all to this joyous occasion!”

He paused as the crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

“Today, we mark the beginning of a celebration that serves to remind us of our enslavement, our liberation, and the restoration of our great kingdom. When the era following the Dark One’s defeat began, it was immediately called the Era of the Great Rebuilding. Seventy years later, my mother passed away and the crown was handed down to me. I knew then, that I would likely still be the ruler of Hyrule when this day would come. Now it might sound trivial thinking that a celebration would weigh on a king so but considering that we are living in the longest period of peace our kingdom has ever known, every year is one that allows us to celebrate more and more. The burden of this day has caused me many sleepless nights, and I cannot express my gratitude to those of you who helped to put it together nearly enough. Hyrule rose from the ashes because of your forefathers, and she continues to thrive because of you.”

A roar went up from the crowd and Daphnes smiled as he prepared to continue.

“One of the things that caused me such grief about today, was this very speech. I couldn’t think of the words that could describe what this occasion means to us all, then it hit me. This festival is not about speeches. It’s not about royalty, it’s not about the food, it’s not even about our history. It’s about us. Our people, our brothers and sisters, friends and relatives far and wide. All of you who have been part of this event, this year and the many past. It’s about the people who have made this kingdom great and are continuing to do so every day. I share many of the same memories that you do from this festival. And I’d like to share another. Tonight, my family and I will not be eating from our podium, separate and higher than you. Nor will the sages or will our honored guests. We will be joining you. This festival is about people coming together and making Hyrule great, so that’s just what we’ll be doing! Let us feast!”

The cheers and celebration were deafening. Guards scrambled about to make a path for the King and others to come down to the ground level. Within minutes, the bounty of food was being scrambled out from nearby taverns and down from the castle. Food from every corner of Hyrule was laid across the tables. Drinks were poured and sloshed around in goblets of silver, brass, gold, and wood. Every man and woman had their heart filled with joy.
The Royal Family and the Sages made good on the king’s speech, feasting and celebrating with crowd. The massive Sage of Fire, a Goron, took up an entire table and feasted on a boar with several soldiers. The Kokiri Sage of Wind and Zora Sage of Earth played their instruments in one corner, surrounded by singing men and women.

Somewhere in the crowd, Osmond made his way through and found Aldwin. After sharing a few drinks together, they discussed the tournament in the morning.

“Do you think Sir Ralphine would be open to giving me pointers?”

Aldwin laughed and finished off his ale.

“If you wanna go find him in this chaos, be my guest.”

“Oh come on Aldie, you want to pick his brain just as much. Besides, this could get you close to one of the Sages! I thought I saw him hanging out near-“

A heavyset merchant stumbled backwards, dumping his ale all over Osmond. Aldwin smiled and held his mug underneath Osmond’s dripping face. As the merchant turned around, Aldwin shoved the mug into his hands and gave a celebratory “hooray.” The man cheered as if nothing had happened, poured the Osmond-filtered beer down his gullet, then cheered again and waddled off.

“I’m sure Sir Ralphine would talk with you, Sir-smells-like-ale.”

Osmond shook his shaggy brown hair out as best he could. He frowned at Aldwin and got up to leave.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Os, remember there’s a designated training area for contestants. Stop by my house on your way. I’ve got something special for you.”

Osmond gave his friend a thumbs up, then departed the table. He waded through the sea of bodies, dodging other hapless drunks along the way. Just as the crowd began to thin near one of the edges of the square, Osmond saw the pointed blue hat that belonged to only one man.

“Sir Ralphine!” An armored soldier smiled and extended his hand. “I saw you fight a few years ago and decided then and there that I was going to be a soldier! Thank you!”

“No thanks needed my good man,” Ralphine smiled, his perfect teeth shining in the lights. “It is an honor to do what I do, but I am only blessed because of great soldiers such as yourself!”

Osmond stood frozen for a moment. He swallowed hard, then mustered all the courage he could before marching over to the man.

“H-h-hello sir, my name is Osmond.”

Sir Ralphine turned and smiled at Osmond. He pulled the brim of his had up just a little, and his eyes glimmered in the same way his smile did. A part of his slick black hair hung down over one eye, and he brushed it back with one hand as he extended his other.

“Osmond, an honor to meet you. A fan of mine, I assume?”

“Y-y-yes my lord. I’ve seen you fight every year, and it’s inspired me to take up the sword myself you see. I’ve even entered into the tournament tomorrow!”

“A rival blade inspired by mine?” His cheeks flushed with color and his smile grew. “Lad, you are an inspiration to myself. Should our blades meet in the arena tomorrow, it will be an honor to see what skills you possess. Know that I will not hold back though.”

Osmond was beaming, and he eagerly shook Ralphine’s hand, “of course my lord! Nor will I!”

Ralphine gave a small laugh then leaned in with his other hand now on Osmond’s shoulder, “a word of advice, don’t rush through the time trials. Think first. Predict, don’t react. If you can anticipate where the next target will come from, your time will be faster than the others by a solid ten seconds.”

After a quick pat on his shoulder, Ralphine winked and turned back to the group of soldiers he was with. They were mid-song and he seamlessly joined back in, hoisting a cup from the table and clashing it with others.

Osmond slowly moved away, his face beaming with joy and his heart overflowing with excitement. He practically floated on the air as he continued his journey back towards his house. The constant dodging of drunks and party-goers didn’t even phase him. At the edge of the square, where the streets began to form again, he finally felt himself come down a little.

The street was still crowded, however nothing like the square. There were a few soldiers patrolling, a few families that arrived late, and finally a strange man cloaked in black. The man, who’s face was hidden, was leaned up against the corner of a building, simply watching the festivities. Osmond took note of the large scabbard on the man’s hip, and the golden hilt that extended out of it.

“Sir, are you here for the Swordsman Tournament tomorrow?”

The man’s head shifted towards Osmond, but his face remained cloaked in shadow, “yes, I am actually.”

The man’s voice was raspy, as though he had gone some time without a drink. It was also deep and rumbly. He was a strong man, Osmond could tell, and one that was likely from one of the mountain regions in the south or west.

“If you still need to sign up, I believe the tent is open until dawn. It’s west of here, just outside of the Coliseum.”

“Thank you,” the man bowed, then began walking towards the celebration.

Osmond watched as the man was swallowed up by the party, then continued on his way home. The man gave him a strange sensation that he couldn’t place, but it made him uneasy as the streets grew darker and quieter.

When he arrived back at his Uncle’s shop, he went around back, climbed the stairs to the second floor and made for his bed near the window. He wound the alarm clock in the sill, changed his clothes, and laid down. With a heavy sigh, a beaming grin, and the knowledge that he would be competing in the morning, he fell asleep.