Hullo fellow fic writers and readers alike! This is a story I've been just dying to write for a really long time!

P.S. You know what freaking hilarious? When I wrote Ghirahim in Microsoft word, the spell check corrected it to Her/him! Oh the irony! XD

Warning: Rated T for language and suggestive humour

Enjoy!

THIEF

Chapter one—Museum Mishaps

"This is the right place, yeah?" Vaati asked from the backseat in his heavily-accented drawl.

"Why, of course it is." Ghirahim purred, absently licking his lips with that freakishly long tongue of his. "Miss Impa has never been wrong before."

My sympathies went out to poor Nabooru, who had to endure sitting between those two weirdoes. But it was only fair; I'd sat between them last time.

"Yes." Impa answered from next to me in the driver's seat, as she eased into a parking space.

The parking lot of the Museum of Ordon was empty at this late hour. Fitting, as it closes at seven and it was currently eleven-thirty.

The museum was rather small, probably even smaller than my ramshackle high school—which carried a population of less than five-hundred. After all, Ordon was the smallest city of Hyrule, known as the 'hick town' by the people in big cities such as Kakariko and Castletown. I was glad that this was a local job, so I'd only miss one day of school this time.

Impa parked our van and undid her seatbelt. I slipped my cowl on and did the same.

"Miss Impa, there is something that has always mystified me about our dear Miss Zelda." Ghirahim said, leaning past Nabooru and Vaati in the back seat. "Why exactly does she have to conceal her identity?"

Impa growled under her breath, and turned her crimson gaze to meet his dark one. "You know why, Ghirahim."

"Refresh my memory, Mistress." He droned. "For I do not remember."

"It's 'cause she's the Princess, okay?" Nabooru cut in, obviously annoyed with the conversation and eager to get away from those two. "She's gotta make sure no one sees her with us or the shit will hit the fan!"

Ah, yes. The 'p' word. That's what I was; the Princess of Destiny. As in, the destined one who helped the badass Hero defeat evil in several lifetimes. As in, the holder of one-third of the most powerful thing in existence. As in, the reincarnation of a flipping Goddess (I still had yet to fully wrap my head around that part of my history). I even had the little interlocking-triangles birthmark on my right hand to prove it.

"It was merely a question." Ghirahim said, pretending to be offended. "I meant not to annoy you, Miss Nabooru."

"Stop adding 'Miss' and 'Mister' before everybody's names, ya friggin' weirdo!" She snapped, exasperated. "It's the twenty-first century, for Din's sake!"

I bit back a giggle and Impa's lips twitched slightly.

"Nabooru," Impa warned half-heartedly. "Leave him be. We're expected to meet the owner of the museum in a few minutes, so please calm down and make a good impression." She stares at the three of them through the rear-view mirror, one platinum blond eyebrow raised. "That goes for all of you."

We all exited the car into the chilly air of the deserted parking lot and made our way to the glass double-doors of the museum.

As the five of us entered, I spotted an aging, round man pacing nervously near one of the exhibits. What was left of his longish, greying hair was pulled back into a stubby ponytail; he also had one of those stereotypical old-man beards and wore a long, billowing robe. Can you say Hippy Grandpa?

Finally, he spotted us approaching and he stopped pacing. "Ah! You've finally arrived!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Impa nod once and hold out her hand for shaking.

"Mr Gaebora, I am Impa Peers and these are my associates." She gestured to us by name. "Vaati Vaughn, Nabooru Kingsford, Ghirahim Leighton, and Sheik Peers."

Mr. Gaebora shook her outstretched hand. "I'm glad to have representatives from HTPA. Someone had tried to steal the Shield earlier today. He wasn't successful, but we didn't catch him either." The old man tapped his fingers against his chin anxiously.

HTPA was were I worked. It stood for Hylian Triforce Protection Agency.

I'd been at the agency as long as I could remember, training like all of the other employees of HTPA. Only I knew I wasn't like all the others; I was like all of the artefacts we were protecting. Much like the Shield Mr. Gaebora was talking about, I was one of the things the Triforce Seekers were searching for, but I was even more valuable. I had one third of the Triforce within me, after all, and that's supposedly how my parents were killed—by power-hungry Triforce Seekers who wanted my power so badly, they were willing to murder. If the agency hadn't stepped in, I probably would've been prisoner of these awful people even now. Because of all this, the agency was worried that someone might know that I was working for them. And so, my alter-ego as Sheik Peers was born.

"Do you have any sort of description of this man?" Impa asked, crossing her muscled arms.

"Boy," Mr. Gaebora corrected. "They think he was rather young, perhaps a teenager or young adult. Other than that, we have no further information."

I heard Impa grunt, taking in the lack of information.

"My apologies for the minimal information—." Mr. Gaebora started to apologize.

Impa held up a yielding hand and he fell silent. "It doesn't matter. If he appears again, we'll catch him."

Impa had assigned herself, Vaati and Ghirahim to patrol outside while Nabooru and I watched over the artefact at the exhibit.

"I don't get how Impa trusts those weirdies," Nabooru said, as she absent-mindedly ran her fingertips over the glass case that held the Shield. "I mean, they're both totally freaky as all hell."

"I know, right?" I agreed, shivering. "They're both so…" I paused, struggling for the right word. "Odd." I finished lamely.

Nabooru put her hands to her hips. "And I honestly can't tell if they're more interested in each other or themselves."

I doubled over in a fit of giggles. It was so true, too. The two men got along like two, equally strange, peas in a pod. Yet, both seemed to prefer gazing into their own reflections to giving anyone else the time of day.

I finally regained my composure, only to have her wink at me and send me into another giggle-fest.

Finally, I was done with laughing and Nabooru let out a big, airy sigh. "This is boring!" She yelled to no one in particular.

"We should've brought cards." I mused, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Hell yeah!" Nabooru agreed, standing next to me. "I'd whoop your ass at Uno."

"You could try," I countered, polishing my nails on my shirt. "But we all know I'm the world-champion of Uno and the ass-whooping would be done by me."

"Psh. You wish, Blondie." Nabooru snorted, kicking the ground.

"I don't wish, Nab." I corrected. "I know."

"Okay, I gotta hit the can!" Nabooru suddenly announced. "Will ya live without me for a few minutes, Blondie?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Yucko. Just go, Nab. I'm sure I'll survive."

She walked off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving me alone with the artefact I had an infuriating amount in common with.

The Shield was one of the of the items used by the Hero in his conquests, and the thing demanded big bucks nowadays in many underground black markets. Apparently, obtaining the Hero's weapons was almost as good as obtaining the actual Hero himself. Or me, being the Princess, I suppose.

I stood up and stared into the case, at the ancient object. The thing was said to be over a thousand years old, hand-crafted by a guardian dragon and utterly impenetrable. And it showed; the thing didn't look at all degraded by age.

Suddenly, I heard a distant crash. I stiffened and readied myself for a threat, twisting around to scan the room.

It became eerily quiet and still.

I didn't move. Whoever was here, they'd have to get past me to get the Shield.

Behind me there was a very quiet squeak—like that of shoes against a waxed floor— but I still heard it. I whirled around swiftly to find a guy standing behind me, leaning casually against the glass container.

I squeaked in surprise and jumped back.

He was wearing a garb similar to mine, Sheikian, that covered most of his face aside from his eyes and nose. But while mine was a deep blue colour, his was a dark green that would look almost black outside of the light.

His eyes were a deep, brilliant blue that glimmered playfully under his mask; and judging from the crinkle on the sides of his eyes, it seemed he was smiling at me. Chunks of tawny hair poked out from beneath his cowl, and from the small patch of skin I could see around his eyes, he was lightly tanned. Under the suit, I could also tell he was lean-muscled, but not those iky, steroid-pumped muscles some guys have going on.

"Damn. Guess I'm busted, huh?" He says in a deep, smooth voice which I might've found seriously sexy if he wasn't the enemy.

"Yeah," I replied, readying myself for attack. "You are."

He held up his hands in surrender, and I noticed he'd already retrieved the Shield from its case.

I blinked. How hadn't I noticed that?

"Hey now," The folds near his eyes deepened. He was grinning. "We can just talk this over. No need to get violent."

I started circling him. "Scared?" I taunted, trying to provoke him.

He shook his head, unfazed. "Not for me. I just simply feel it wouldn't be a fair fight."

I glared at the mystery guy, vaguely wondering when Nabooru would be returning.

"Sheik, is it?" He asked. "I'm known as Astley."

I froze. How did he know the name of my alter-ego?

He chuckled; a very appealing sound. "Judging by your reaction, I'm guessing I'm right?"

I didn't answer and continued to circle him like a wolf around prey.

"Sheik, I have to say; you're a little rude around guests." He stops leaning on the glass case, but still appeared to be grinning.

"How do you know my name?" I spat, glad that he at least didn't call me Zelda. That would've been bad.

"I heard your mother introduce you to the museum man, Mr. Gaebora." Astley said with a shrug. He leans toward me, and I realized that not only did he have the most gorgeous eyes I'd ever seen, but he also possessed the longest lashes I'd ever seen on a guy. "But I bet that's not your real name,"

I froze again, my eyes widening.

Seeing my reaction, he straightened himself. "Its fine," He shrugged those lean shoulders of his again. "Astley isn't my real name either."

I blinked. This guy is seriously confusing me, and I was losing my patience with his little mind games.

I kicked out, aiming for that sweet spot between his legs that would ultimately land him on the ground, begging for mercy.

He reached out with his empty hand and snatched my ankle before I hit my mark, not in a way that hurt, but firm enough to effectively halt my attack.

"Let go!" I snapped between clenched teeth as I attempted to wiggle my ankle from his grasp.

"Now, that was definitely rude." Astley-or-whatever-his-name-was said with false offence. "Not only did you try to assault me, but you tried to assault me where it hurts."

I hobbled, the leg I was supporting myself with beginning to tire.

He dropped my foot and I fell on my butt, probably bruising not only my tailbone, but my pride as well. I was outmatched, and it sucked.

"Sheik!" I suddenly heard Nabooru cry anxiously from somewhere, distant in the museum's halls. "Sheik! Someone locked me in the bathroom! Stay on guard, I'm commin'!"

I glared up at the mystery guy. "Your handiwork, I presume?" I asked, trying to distract him until Nabooru got here. No matter how good he was, he can't take both of us on.

Not-Astley's brow disappeared into his cowl. "Would you have preferred I killed her?"

My breath hitched. "No…" I admitted.

Evidently satisfied with that answer, Not-Astley started to turn away.

Now desperate, I hooked an ankle around his and tripped him. He didn't fall, but he did drop the Shield.

"Shit!" I heard him curse as Nabooru's hurried footsteps echoed in the hall.

He chucked something at the ground and disappeared in a flash of green.

I blinked until the glare went away to find that Not-Astley had vanished, but the artefact was still lying discarded on the floor.

Nabooru burst into the room, looking frazzled and pissed right off. "Sheik! Sheik, what happened? Is he still here?"

I shook my head, feeling like a failure. "He got away."

My real name is Zelda Genevieve Harkinian. I am seventeen years old, blonde, blue-eyed, and pale as the moon. I live in a small, three bedroom home with my guardian Impa, my adoptive sister Nabooru, and my new tawny-brown kitten, Peanut—a recent addition to our household. I attend Ordon High School, and even have my own beat-up, two-decade-old Chevy I drive to school in everyday.

I was only allowed to live this somewhat normal life and leave the HTPA under two conditions: one, at the first sign that my cover's been blown, I return to the agency immediately. Two, we have to pay our own way. I'll never be able to repay Impa and Nabooru for sinking every dollar they had into this house—into a real life for me.

I never wanted to return to living in the agency. The place was cold and unwelcoming; it wasn't a home.

After taking a day off of school to catch up on sleep, and being assured time after time that Not-Astley's escape wasn't my fault, I went on with my daily morning routine. I woke up, had a shower, brushed my teeth, ate breakfast, got dressed and left the house.

I pulled into my best friend, Midna Llewellyn's, house and honked my truck's powerful horn self-importantly.

I spied her pale face peeking behind the black curtains of her bedroom window, and gave her one long, extra-loud honk until she disappeared from sight.

Her front door opened up, and Midna stepped out. She'd always been really tall and willowy, with narrow, striking features. Her long, bright-orange hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail and streaked with black and aquamarine. Much like me, she was cursed with incredibly pale skin—a woe on which we'd bonded back in sixth-grade, when she first moved to Ordon. She wore a black vest over a white tank-top and a long, black skirt that reached her ankles. The tips of her big black combat-boots poked out from under her skirt. A part of me wondered how she could possibly survive wearing such an outfit on a particularly warm day in April, but another part of me applauded her for doing so.

Midna was really into old fairy tales about twili magic and sorcery and all that jazz—she was known as the town witch. She really played it up too, mostly to annoy and/or freak out the judgy crowd at Ordon High. A lot of people avoided her because of this, but not me. After all, my mere existence was a product of magic; who was I to deny her beliefs about it?

Midna tossed a quick goodbye behind her to her dad, who stood at her front door. She marched down her driveway, yanked open the passenger door, and threw herself onto the creaky seat next to me.

"The twilight gods thank you, Zel," She said sarcastically as I pulled out of her driveway. "You've successfully managed to wake up the neighbours."

I grinned, staring out the back window. "Wow. I didn't think they'd be too impressed with me doing that. Guess I was wrong."

I could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "So, where were you yesterday? I had to take the bus." She asked, tightening her bright-orange ponytail idly.

I shrugged. "I slept in a bit too late." Not entirely a lie. I had slept in… to about one p.m. I was just leaving out why I'd slept in. "Impa let me stay home."

Midna punched my truck's dash board. "Damn you! My Dad wouldn't let me stay home if I died!"

I giggled. "Hey, just because you're jealous doesn't mean you can take it out on my truck."

Midna crossed her fair, thin arms over her chest and sighed. "But I'm just so damn pissed that you get to stay home whenever your little heart desires, while I have to be puking my guts out to even get considered a sick day!"

I shrugged, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable with the subject as we pulled into Ford Ranch; also known as Malon's house.

Malon Ford, our other red-haired friend, stood on the rickety front porch of her house with her backpack ready.

Today she had pulled her unruly, bright-red hair back with a blue bandanna, and let it tumble down her tanned shoulders. She wore a light-blue ribbed tank top, and pair of ripped skinny jeans tucked into her signature mud-caked cowboy-boots.

She was another rare person at school who was able to look past Midna's charming little quirks, like me.

Malon threw open the back door and tossed her backpack onto the back seat.

"Hey," I warned before she stepped in. "Don't drag mud in here! I just cleaned it this weekend!"

Malon rolled her blue eyes and proceeded to kick the mud off of her boots against my truck.

"See, Midna?" I gestured to Malon as she slid in the seat behind me, boots now delightfully mud-free. "She's ready on time." I cut eyes to Midna. "Why can't you?"

"Yeah, lazybum." Malon added. "If I can do it, so can you."

"I say," I mused as I backed out her long driveway. "We strap a rocket to Midna's ass. That way, she'll ever be late."

"And I say we install a zipper on Zelda's mouth," Midna retorted. "That way, she'll never talk."

"I opt for both." Malon said cheerfully as Midna and I glared at her through the rear-view mirror.

Malon chuckled. "Ha, sorry. I just couldn't leave that one." She flipped open her phone, and gasped. "Oh, I just remembered! Sari doesn't need a ride today; she's getting one from Mido.

"Really?" Midna asked, raising a copper brow at Malon. "When do you think he'll finally grow some balls and actually ask her out?"

"Who knows?" Malon answered.

"Probably when he's eighty and they don't work anymore." I guessed.

My two red-headed friends snickered at my comment as Ordon High came into view.

Ordon High was your average high school, except, you guessed it, smaller. It was a two-story, flat-roofed, red-brick building with an army of bright-yellow school buses lined up around the front doors. There was a big white sign out front that blared in bold black letters 'Ordon High School, Home Of The Knights'.

I parked, and the three of us made our way to the front doors, dodging the obligatory crowds filing into the school.

"So," Malon said as we walked down the fairly narrow halls of Ordon High. "Zellie, you look kinda tired today."

I yawned. I knew I looked tired, and while I had stayed home yesterday to catch up on sleep, it screwed up my sleep schedule big time. Last night I'd ended up staying up past two in the morning.

"Oh, I'm always tired." I answered. "The life of an insomniac."

"Poor you," Midna said with fake concern. "Getting to stay home whenever you have a stuffy nose or a tummy ache."

I rolled my eyes and stopped at my locker. "Poor me indeed."

Mr. Gorman had gone off into another one of his oh-so-scintillating speeches in History again. I swear to Nayru I could feel my brain cells committing suicide so that they wouldn't have to hear yet another one of his pointless, off-topic speeches about drug abuse or teen pregnancy or whatever was bothering him today.

My head felt heavier than you would believe, and my eyelids were drooping to the point that I'd swear someone had attached two little weights to them. I rested my head on my desk, and decided maybe I wouldn't be caught if I took just one quick nap…

Something bounced off the back of my head, jarring me awake.

I blinked, finding one half of an eraser sitting on my desk. I picked up the torn-in-half eraser gingerly and turned around, searching for the culprit. I found him—his arm poised in mid-air, ready to throw the second-half of the eraser—and froze.

Oh crap.

Of course, of all the people in class who could've thrown the damn eraser, it simply had to be Link McCormick.

Even among the toughest and stupidest kids in school, no one, I repeat, no one messed with Link McCormick. Even though he'd only moved here six short months ago, he was the kind of guy who most guys avoided and most girls trailed after.

Everything about him screamed bad boy, from the soles of his battered combat boots, to the muscle-hugging v-neck t-shirt which gave a tantalizing view of his collarbone, to finally his entrancing blue eyes. Oh sure, he was the embodiment of sexy if you're into the whole, ruffled, rough, I-just-rolled-out-of-some-girl's-bed look. I wasn't… or at least my mind was trying to convince me I wasn't, but my body, on the other hand, had other plans.

So sue me, I have eyeballs. Everyone does. Except jellyfish and deep-sea creatures.

In truth, his appearance wasn't what scared me so much as his reputation. He was a charmer, and he did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. According to everything I'd heard, the guy's scored with more than half of the hottest girls in eleventh grade—and that's only in this school. His hoards of fangirls were many, and if you as much as sneeze near him, they will be on your case in a flash. He's the star of the fencing, archery and soccer teams, not to mention one of the smartest kids in class, despite not once doing his homework.

When someone had asked him why he moved, he admitted that he'd been expelled from his old school for fighting, and that was enough for fear to set in. Though he didn't exactly go around beating the crap out of people for no good reason, people were scared of him because they knew he could. They also knew he would win, hands down. And although I knew I could take him no problem in a fist fight, he had the ability to screw with a girl's emotions, and sometimes that could be worse than any physical pain.

Basically, you do not mess with Link McCormick if you don't want your high school experience to be a wide-awake nightmare.

I whipped back around, and yanked my blonde hair out from behind my ears to create a golden curtain between me and the rest of the world.

I felt a sigh escape me when the blessed sound of the bell wrung overhead. I was free of Mr. Gorman's nonsensical class discussions and Link's annoyingly gorgeous gaze.

I stood up, gathered my books and raced out the door; not even pausing to wait for Malon, who was leaving the classroom across from mine.

I breathed a sigh of relief and let my tense muscles uncoil as I found my locker.

I had already thrown all my History books into my locker, when I realized I was clutching something tightly in my right hand.

Curiously, I peeled back my fingers to reveal the ripped eraser Link had thrown at me for no good reason. With a huff of exasperation, I tossed the stupid thing into my locker, gathered my English books, and closed my locker with a satisfying thunk.

I proceeded down the hall, glancing up at the hallway clock to find that if I were to enter class now, I'd probably be first. And then I'd have to sit in an uncomfortable silence with the teacher, which was something nobody wants to endure. Maybe I'll go to the bathroom and check my appearance to kill some time, or maybe I could—

My thoughts were cut short as I collided with someone, and as luck would have it, I dropped all my books on the ground.

"Sorry." I muttered as I bent down to retrieve the fallen books.

I had expected the guy I ran into to simply accept my apology, and bypass me; you know, like everyone else would. Instead, he bent down across from me and attempted to help me gather my books.

I allowed my gaze to flick up to his face, and immediately, my face turned the shade of a fire truck.

No freaking way.

But what I was seeing was true; I'd collided with none other than Link McCormick.

What is this? Are the Goddesses taunting me? If so, it's totally not funny.

"Sorry." I repeated in a mumble, as I rolled back from my toes to flat onto my feet. "Don't unleash your army of fangirls on me, okay?" I hadn't really meant for that last part to slip out, but hell, it didn't come out sounding half-bad.

"I don't know;" He murmured. "Fifty-to-one seems like pretty good odds to me."

I looked up, carefully avoiding his hypnotic gaze and spotted some amusement on his face.

Miffed, I tried not to stare at his deliciously exposed collarbone. "Cocky, aren't we?"

"We might be." He shrugged, running a hand through his perfectly messy hair. "But bit-sized Harkinian doesn't appear to pose much of a threat."

I narrowed my eyes at his boots. I didn't like being made fun of; not even by an uber-sexy bad boy who had a bigger following than most celebrities. "Yeah, well, bit-sized Harkinian just so happens to have a best friend who's not afraid to use her twili magic on your ass."

This, of course, wasn't even remotely true. Midna wasn't really a witch and she didn't have a clue on how to cast any twili magic, but she loved reading about it and everyone jumped to the conclusion anyway. She always went along with it and encouraged her friends to do the same, simply for the prospect of freaking people out.

"So, you really don't want to mess with me, McCormick." I finished evenly.

"Oh, I have every intention of messing with you, Harkinian." He said, sending a slight, suggestive smile my way.

I blinked in surprise and frowned.

Was he—was he really just flirting with me?

Hang on a second; that makes no sense. Like, at all. Why the hell would the resident man-whore/sexy-as-sin bad boy go for the completely unremarkable girl he'd hardly spoken to? What, is he simply that desperate for fresh meat that he's lowered his standards?

Not to say that I was hideous or anything, I was just nothing special. Standing a measly five-foot-nothing, with little to no curves to speak of, a bust that rivals that of an eighth-grader, and skin so pale I could pass for a vampire; at best, I could be described as 'cute'. There are plenty of girls around school who beat me out in the pretty department, not to mention probably make a much easier lay.

Then again, I cut my gaze the playboy standing before me; guys like him enjoy a challenge.

Whatever, I decided. Whether or not he was flirting with me, I won't stick around long enough to find out.

I carefully skirted around him and made my way to English without as much as a glance back.

"Spill." Ruto Floria said as she slammed her tray onto the cafeteria lunch table I was sitting at.

I looked up from my chicken soup and raised an eyebrow at her. "Actually, I planned on eating it."

She rolled her vivid, mauve eyes. "Not the soup, silly. I meant about what happened in the halls between first and second period."

Beside me, Midna and Malon pressed closer, intrigued.

I sighed and absentmindedly poked the side of my Styrofoam soup bowl with the edge of my spoon. I knew precisely what she was talking about, but decided instead to play dumb.

"Be more specific," I said. "It's been a happening day."

Ruto opened her mouth just as Ilia Brenner approached our table from behind, clutching her lunch tray.

"Howdy girls," She said, sitting across from Midna. Her green gaze met mine. "So I heard some interesting gossip about you from Ru-boo's big sis, Lulu."

"Yes!" Ruto sang triumphantly, sliding next to her. "She told me about it, too!"

I nibbled at my spoon nervously, eyes downcast on the fake-wooden table that had 'Peater wuz here' carved into its surface.

"I heard that you," Ilia pointed at me with her fork. "Had a little run in with a certain smexy playboy."

I blushed, not answering.

"Tell them who, Ill!" Ruto screeched, happy to have her gossip tanks on full.

Ilia rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her hand, while Midna and Malon were still engrossed in her gossip. "I'll give you one hint," She said. "His name rhymes with kink."

Great Farore, I am so mortified right now.

Ruto squealed and rested her face in her hands dreamily. "Gods, I am so jealous of you, Zellie."

"Nothing happened." I protested, quickly. "We just ran into each other in the halls."

"From what Lulu described, he hit on you." Ilia said pointedly.

I felt my face sour up. Lulu is so dead when I get my hands on her. "She was exaggerating." I insisted. "I won't have my pants charmed off by an irritatingly good-looking player. I have standards that can't be filled simply with hotness, you know."

Ilia snorted as if there was no such thing.

I narrowed my eyes. Ilia was my friend, but her views on love were… controversial, to say the least. And I happened to be a romantic at heart; not that I showcased it like Ruto did.

"Besides," I picked up a saltine cracker from my tray and took a nibble. "Guys like that only aim for the best. And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm roughly as curvy as a two-by-four."

"Hey now," Midna reached over to pat my arm reassuringly. "Be nice. Even two-by-fours have more shape than you."

I scowled at her and aimed a cracker at her tri-coloured head as she indulged in a laugh at my expense.

When I walked into the threshold at home, I could already tell something was up. Wondering how I knew? Well, it was simple.

Impa had baked.

Let me clarify: Impa hates baking. She says it's too time consuming and that it should be left to the pros, despite the fact that she's halfway decent at it.

But she'd baked today.

Not only that but, she'd made my favourite brownie cupcakes with melted caramel and crushed pecans on top.

Crap. What did she do? Or what was she planning on doing? Was it another awkward talk about boys and sex? If so, you'd think she'd realize I understood her after the first eight times she gave me the speech…

"Zelda!" My stone-faced guardian said in her fake I'm-happy! voice, as I passed through the kitchen with my backpack.

She pushed the tray of freshly baked cupcakes at me. "Go ahead, take one."

Raising a brow quizzically, I gingerly took one and unwrapped the flowery paper around the base. She watched me take a tiny bite and chew once, twice, then swallow.

"Okay," I said, dropping my backpack onto the staircase that leads upstairs. "Who died?"

Peanut scampered down the stairs I had previously abandoned my bag on, and proceeded to attack my feet— I was relieved to know it wasn't her who'd met their untimely demise.

Impa, who looked hilariously out of place in a frilly apron, smoothed a few runaway wisps of her platinum hair into her ponytail. "No one died per se…" She murmured.

I took another cautious bite of my cupcake and waited.

"… but I figured yesterday would've been enough time for you to have recovered your pride."

I chewed.

"So I feel that now is the best time to ask you about your… experiences with our thief."

Oh.

Immediately, I felt my face dissolve into an expression of distaste. Suddenly, brownies smothered in caramel and pecans didn't taste so good anymore.

Okay, yes they did; but my mood couldn't be rescued because of it.

"What do you want me to say, Impa?" I asked, exasperated. "I already told you everything I know!"

Impa hesitated. "Well, from what a few of the witnesses said, the boy had been rather… appealing to the eye, so a few of the people at HTPA thought—."

"Thought I purposely withheld information because I had the hots for a Triforce Seeker?" I demanded, betrayal churning my stomach. "Hello! Those people murdered my parents, Impa! I feel nothing but disgust for each and every one of them!"

"Now Zelda, I didn't say—."

"You don't have to!" I screeched, tossing the half-eaten cupcake at the table. I turned my back on her, ran up the stairs—with Peanut following closely behind—and slammed my bedroom door.

Throwing myself onto the bed, I grabbed hold of the pillow and sobbed.

Damn HTPA! Damn Triforce Seekers! Damn them all!

Something small and furry brushed against my arm, and I sat up. Peanut meowed up at me happily from the foot of my bed and I couldn't help but fall under her cuteness spell. I folded her into my arms and buried my face into her soft fur, a small fraction of my anger diminishing.

But only a small fraction.

How dare they! How dare they think that I would betray them and help the people who ruined my life!

There was a soft knock on my door, momentarily putting a halt to my turbulent thoughts.

"Go away." I growled, clutching poor Peanut even tighter to my chest.

Impa came in and sat at the foot of my bed anyway.

We sat in complete silence aside from Peanut's content purring.

"I was appalled when they said it as well," Impa finally said, breaking the silence. "Enraged, even. I know you far better than to succumb to your hormones. I couldn't believe HTPA would suggest something like that." She sighed, and scratched Peanut under her fuzzy chin. "They told me I had to make sure regardless, even though I hated the idea as much as you."

Doubtful. I thought venomously.

"Look Zelda," Impa said, demanding my attention with her tone. "I know it seems completely insulting and idiotic, but they're desperate to find this guy. He could pose a big threat if we don't get him soon."

Sullenly, I nodded. "I get it." I admitted regretfully.

She nodded firmly and stood. "I'll let them know you've offered everything you knew."

I released Peanut and rolled onto my stomach as Impa left, a very troubling idea forming in my head:

HTPA doesn't trust me.

So, what do you think? I definitely feel my writing has improved from my other stories. And if you've read them, you'd know that now is the part where I beg for reviews because I am a sad little soul…