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Hilda looks upon the lifeless princess on her floor. Not dead, only unconscious. And most glaringly not a painting, which has Yuga ranting and gesturing, “The girl resisted me! She’s not worth the paint, refusing my gift with her tacky sorcery. I have no use for a girl who moves!”
Hilda asked him, quite clearly, to curse the princess before he brought her here.
She barely has anyone left who will serve her. Even Ravio has forsaken her, only Yuga left.
“I will deal with her,” says Hilda. “You are dismissed.”
Yuga swans out, rambling to himself. Hilda stays on her throne, hands clasped, watching the princess. She is of the same age as Hilda, her hair light where Hilda’s is dark. Golden as the Triforce was said to be. Her face is turned into the floor where Yuga had dropped her, her mouth parted.
One of her eyelids twitches, suddenly.
Hilda rises, waving her scepter to wrap the princess in ribbons of fog, lifting her into the air.
This is not how she wanted the princess of Hyrule, but she has her now, nevertheless. She will just have to imprison her the old-fashioned way, then.
The princess wakes that night. A typical storm rages that night, winds that scream between the towers and try to wrench the bricks out of crumbling spires, while the low clouds seem to wrap the castle in a shroud. A jealous lover that will not let Lorule Castle go.
Hilda sits in the chamber she selected for the princess, already watching when the lightning strike – and the boom that follows – finally startle her awake.
Her wide, light eyes take in the room, perhaps looking for Yuga, thinking the battle not yet long over and lost. She sees that her hands are shackled together, chained to the wall. Then she sees Hilda, at last, sitting hidden in the shadows, when another lightning strike makes the room flash white.
Hilda, in the same flash of light, sees her eyes widen.
Darkness falls again, and there comes the rumble of thunder. It rolls over the castle, and Hilda can almost feel how one of the many chasms throughout Lorule cracks and gapes a little wider.
“Where am I?” begins the princess. Even her voice is sweet.
“Of all possible choices… and all possible worlds… not every world has been so fortunate as your golden Hyrule.” Hilda rises. “This is the kingdom of Lorule, and I am its princess, Hilda.”
The princess follows her with her eyes as Hilda walks closer, and she quickly makes to rise to her feet from the bed before Hilda reaches her.
“Why… have you brought me here?”
“Oh lovely Zelda… you are luckier than you know. I have need of your hero. Until then… I just need you to stay out of the way.”
Where she cannot tattle to her hero. Somewhere where Hilda knows where she has her so that she can collect her Triforce of Wisdom.
A tower room close to Hilda’s.
“My hero? What do you know of that?”
Questions, so many questions.
“Your valiant Link has already agreed to help me.” Hilda leans closer, though Zelda does not budge, staring her down. “All you need to do is stay here. And please do not try to escape… this castle is mine. You will find no way out.”
The storm will keep her in, keep her voice or magic from reaching Link. The castle is a maze and loves no one but Hilda – and often, not even her.
Another rumble of thunder rattles the castle. In the silence after, Zelda speaks.
“I am your prisoner.”
As if her shackled wrists did not already tell her that.
“Yes.” Hilda takes a step back. “And your hero is quite occupied… so please, understand that no one will come to save you.”
She turns to go.
“Wait!” calls Zelda. The chains rattle as she steps forward.
Hilda stops, looking over her shoulder.
Zelda’s imploring eyes bore into Hilda. “If you told me what you want, I am sure we could find a way to work together-”
“Goodbye, Zelda,” Hilda says. She walks out.
If there was a better option, Hilda would have taken it. This is it.
Hilda did not expect the Princess Zelda to sit quietly and politely in her chamber. However, she did warn her. The castle would not let her escape, and it would be quite a bit easier for both of them if Zelda did not try.
She wears her wrists bloody against the shackles. Hilda cleans and wraps them for her.
Zelda melts the part of the wall where the chains attach. She must have attacked the door with her magic, too, because Hilda finds the errant princess a stair down from her room. Limping on a broken ankle, tears in her eyes.
The castle must have let her fall. These old stairs are so unreliable, after all.
“Oh Zelda,” says Hilda. “There is no point in injuring yourself like this.”
And with a wave of her scepter, she gathers Zelda up and brings her back to her room.
“There is no way home for you,” Hilda tells her, as she places her back on the bed.
“Whatever you seek, that you think may help you… in this castle does not exist.” She peels off Zelda’s slipper, to see the injury. Zelda bites back a sound as Hilda touches her foot.
“You are in my domain... In all of Lorule, there is not one place where you could run to.”
Hilda has no talent for the healer’s arts. She goes back to her office, where she keeps a last few bottles of fairies.
The fairy flies a loop over Zelda’s leg, raining fairy dust, the shine refracting in Zelda’s eyes. When the fairy flies off Hilda pokes Zelda’s ankle. Whole again.
“So please… stay here.”
Zelda tries to negotiate, and Hilda reminds her it is futile. Link recovers the painting of another sage. Zelda, who cannot know and even if she did it would not matter, tries once again to beg for Hilda to reconsider when Hilda checks on her.
“It is not the hero’s aid you want!” Zelda accuses, as Hilda goes to leave. The tray of food Hilda brought is abandoned on the floor as Zelda rushes to follow her, as far as she can go without the chains impeding her dignity. “You would not need to lure him, if that were the case – you would not need me.”
Hilda does not turn to face Zelda. “You say he would help without an incentive?”
“Of course we would.” Even without seeing Zelda’s face, Hilda can well picture her beseeching expression. “What is it you need? I am sure we could provide it. We could be allies.”
Not when Hilda needs their Triforce.
Hilda turns around. “There is nothing you could give me that would help my Lorule.”
“How are you so certain-”
“Would you give me your hero’s head?” Hilda asks.
Zelda stares.
“I did not think so,” says Hilda. “Goodbye, fair Zelda.”
Zelda changes strategy. Hilda does not believe the princess has given up, even as she becomes more quiet and cautious. A bird becoming used to the cage. Either way, for now, this approach gives Hilda less trouble. She checks on her prisoner and leaves her food several times without any protests or pleas from Zelda.
She does not complain, either. Chin raised and blue eyes in a bare face, make-up long since worn off, she meets Hilda’s gaze unafraid. She embodies the dignity of a monarch. Even as a prisoner. Even wearing her filthy dress for weeks, with her hair becoming tangled and dull.
She cannot wash it without water. Or brush it without a brush.
It is a shame to see her in such a state.
Beautiful Hyrule should have a beautiful princess until the end.
Hilda brings a basin and soaps to Zelda’s room the next time she checks on her. The princess watches through the window, as Hilda has seen her do these past few days. A futile effort.
She turns as she hears Hilda enter, watching her. “I have not been the most gracious host,” says Hilda. She lays out what she has brought before Zelda. “Forgive me… and please, use this to wash up.”
Zelda looks at the basin of warm water. “You suggest I do this in my chains?”
Hilda watches her, as Zelda realizes the obvious answer.
Her cheeks flush. Her mouth makes a thin line.
“Would you…” Zelda begins, slowly. “Help me?”
Hilda rises and approaches Zelda. She walks around her and remembers that, once upon a time, Lorule Castle too had many servants. Handmaids and personal servants. Such as those Hyrule no doubt has, who undress and dress their princess, wait on her hand and foot.
Hilda stops behind Zelda. Her shoulders are stiff, but Zelda does not turn around.
Not even when Hilda touches her back, to find the tiny zipper of her dress. She shivers underneath Hilda’s gloved hand but does not move.
Hilda unzips her dress.
Then, for a moment, Hilda unlocks the cuffs. She steps back and watches, and Zelda turns her face away. “If you would,” Hilda reminds. “Before the water cools.”
Zelda steps out of her dress. She strips off her shoes, her diadem, finally her chemise, and steps into the bath. Water splashes over the edge; it is not a very large basin.
Hilda collects her dirty clothes. She will need to wash them.
Zelda hunches in the bath. With a wave of Hilda’s hand, the cuffs snake back up to her wrists and lock.
“I will be back in a moment.”
Zelda says nothing as Hilda leaves.
When Hilda returns, with some of her own garments for Zelda to borrow, she is still washing her hair. She dunks her head underwater as Hilda puts the clothes and towel down. Hilda watches as Zelda, head bowed underwater, tries to untangle her hair with her fingers.
She surfaces and stares at Hilda, then looks quickly away and makes to rise.
“Your hair,” says Hilda. “Let me help you.”
Zelda sits back down. Her expression is drawn tight. She bows her head.
Hilda kneels behind her on the floor. Spilled water soaks into her dress, though she hardly feels it. Not when Zelda’s bared neck is before her, golden hair made dark with water spilling down Zelda’s back.
Hilda peels off her gloves and sets them aside. She takes the bottle of oil and the brush – both hers, but is Hilda not a courteous host? and finally she sinks her hands into Zelda’s hair. Oil to soften the tangles, then the brush…
She works slowly. At each knot the brush gets caught on, Hilda untangles it with her fingers, careful to not pull on Zelda’s scalp.
None of this is so as to be cruel to Zelda, after all.
Her long, long hair. It starts to dry as Hilda works, lightening ever more golden. It smells like Hilda’s perfume, of course.
She brushes it all out, finally. But Hilda sits there for a moment longer, one hand in Zelda’s hair and the other on her shoulder. Hilda’s bare hand on Zelda’s bare shoulder, and she feels her breathe, and Zelda says nothing.
Finally Hilda withdraws and stands. “I brought you a towel and clean garments.”
Zelda rises and Hilda hands her the towel. She turns away to let Zelda dry off, though she hears the rattle of the chain as Zelda moves, while Hilda collects the bottles.
Her face is blank when Hilda turns around again, to unlock the cuffs. She pulls on the chemise without a word. Hilda helps her with the dress, though Zelda could have put it on by herself. As Hilda does.
The dress fits Zelda, of course. They are mirror images of each other.
With a wave of Hilda’s scepter, the cuffs click back on and the basin and the bottles float up. “I will leave you be,” she tells Zelda.
Hilda leaves. In the doorway before she steps out, she looks back, and Zelda is not looking at the window anymore, but at her hands.
Her expression, Hilda cannot decipher.