Prologue

The first time she sees him is in the middle of a battlefield, between two armies.

Hers and the other woman's.

The Woman trots ahead, sitting in the saddle of a slender white Pegasus -how tacky, Zelda thinks and exchanges an amused look with Link-, green hair flowing in the wind, armour white and shiny.

A waste of time and money, the queen concludes. The white will be splattered with red and brown soon enough, not to mention the Woman will be detectable from afar (of course Zelda's own gilded armour is beyond critique).

As fit for a queen -Zelda herself brought her brother along- the Woman is accompanied by someone.

He's right behind her, on a clearly ill-humoured stallion the colour of mud that looks more machine than horse.

While she refuses to say the Woman's name on principle, his is not known to her.

The two riders come to a halt, just a horse's length in front of the two Hylians.

"Zelda," the Woman flatly says to greet her.

Zelda nods. She will not acknowledge the Woman as royalty, as her equal, neither will she speak her name. In fact, she will speak to her as little as possible. Link will do the talking.

So Link and the Woman talk, exchange their views and beliefs, threaten each other.

And while they do, she turns her attention away from the Woman whose hair resembles withered algae and directs it at the man, whose hair is blue like water under the night sky.

Beorc have the most unusual hair colours.

Her gaze then slips down to his face, and she spends her time puzzling over whether he's highborn or not. With a look as hostile and condescending as possible, of course.

Just for a moment, he scrutinises her too, unaffected by her intimidating stare. Then his blue eyes wander away from her, and the man nonchalantly observes the army behind Zelda.

Link and the Woman stop talking. Her brother comes back. "No agreement", he simply says.

"Very well", she answers. That's what she was expecting, anyway.

She sees the Woman ride back and whisper some hushed sentences to the man; he simply nods. No talking on his behalf. The Woman turns round her Pegasus and gallops away, the animal almost floating over the dirty terrain.

The man does the same, but his dark beast first kicks into the air and wildly shakes its head. White foam splatters its coat and the mud beneath them. The ground trembles as the heavy destrier and his owner follow their queen.

She notices two enormous swords strapped to the man's back, and for the briefest of moments, the queen wonders who he is.

It matters not, she concludes. He'll be just as dead as her.

She slams her heel in her courser's flank and rides back to her camp.

The second time she sees him, he's leaning against a post in the back of the tent, partially concealed by the shadows.

The negotiations are led by a strange feline-man-like creature who has light blue hair, tail and ears— and a name she really can't be bothered to remember.

She talks this time, with the cyan creature, the Woman's husband (an annoyingly charming man with —of course— colourful, sky blue hair) and even the Woman herself, who proves to have a quick tongue.

Zelda hates that about her.

But she's not bad with words herself. She's a queen. So they debate for what feels like hours— but probably isn't.

She notices the man in the back converse with the cyan creature, then step a few times on the spot. He's not as heavily armoured as the last time they met, but the pommels of his swords still stick out from behind his back.

"For the last time, I do not accept this proposition," the Woman shouts heatedly. "This is ridiculous."

For Goddesses' sake. Raising one's voice during negotiations is not proper for a queen. Zelda loves it when her prejudices confirm themselves. "It's profitable, for my party and yours."

"It's not fair," the Woman insists, "it's not profitable for me. I can't possibly work with that."

Then I guess today is not the day the war ends.

Zelda gives Link a sign, and he begins wrapping up her maps and papers. The Woman speaks to her husband in their ugly native language.

"I don't know what you measure profit in." Zelda straightens herself, knowing full well how impressive she looks in her ornate breastplate and armoured breeches. "Your choices seem unreasonable to me, Elincia Ridell," she spits, pointedly leaving out the 'of Crimea' that should follow the Woman's name, "but my offers stand, and they will stand long enough for you to accept them. Whenever you wish. Whenever you're ready, and then this war will end. People are dying. No one's profiting from that."

She wants to make a grand exit then, but someone keeps her from it.

"I know one person whose death we all would profit from."

The man in the back has a Commonwealth accent, so unlike the Woman's nasal one. His eyes stare at her with such intensity that Zelda almost forgets what he just said. What he suggested. Almost.

It's not worthy of an answer, but she always has to have the last word.

"Consider the offer."

Shitty last words. But what's said has been said, and as if to keep anyone from speaking up again, Zelda storms out of the tent into the chilly evening, Link fast on her heels. It is almost dark already, and the air smells like smoke and sweat. Her guards gather around them, someone offers to help her onto her mare's back, but the queen merely grabs the animal's reins and whirls around to face her brother.

"Get me his name," she snaps. "Anything you can find. He'll die first."

Link nods a nervous nod, throws the maps and papers into one of the guard's arms and quickly hurries away.

She's in her tent studying a parchment when he comes back. It took him quite a while, enough for her to calm down.

I overreacted, she thinks, disappointed with herself. I shouldn't let any of these bastards get the best of me.

Which is why she's only half listening as her brother sits down and begins to talk.

"His name is Ike, Son of Greil," Link says, unsheathing his sword to sharpen it. "A lord and the bitch's highest-ranking general. The Radiant Hero, I hear they call him, blessed by the Goddess of Dawn herself."

"Tsh", she snorts and shakes her head over the parchment, a strategic plan of her army.

The Goddess of Dawn.

They're all just a bunch of heretics to her, anyway.

The third time she sees him, he's storming after her, devoid of the two swords she's seen on him before.

As she runs, she wonders why.

But it makes no difference, because his hands can do the job just as well as his weapons can, after he ultimately catches her, grabbing her by the long brown braid.

She doesn't have her sword, either, doesn't have her bow. She feels naked.

She brutally falls to the ground, sobbing, trying to do anything to get away- she kicks and squirms and writhes, but soon she can't even sob anymore, because he turns her around and wraps his reddened hands around her white throat.

Sometimes, she can still feel them there.

"For the Commonwealth," he hisses, his hard mouth curled up in concentration as he's choking the life out of her, "for Crimea."

She recalls the hate in his eyes, the fear she feels, the desperation of her lungs and the hollow sounds of ongoing battle from behind the keep's thick walls.

There is a deafening noise then, but she only registers it on the side. Her mind is clear in those last, desperate moments, trying to find something soothing to take with her into death, but there is only the beast in her blurred field of vision, the one with blue hair, blue eyes and blue fire in his black heart.

Blessed by the Goddess of Dawn herself.

Blue is the colour of peace, but to her it brings death.

She slowly feels her body relax, ceases to struggle. She knows it's over, then, relieved— glad even, to escape the confines of this hell on earth.

Just a few handbreadth over her, his eyes snap out of focus. She feels the beast's hands slip as he grunts.

And that is the last time she sees him.

At least so she'd hoped.

For those who read the Author's Note: I guess you can tell that the story doesn't end here.

Please remember to review and tell me what you think. Critique is most welcome!