Chapter Text
In retrospect, the war that would tear Hyrule apart had been inevitable long before matters of succession became involved; the state that King Rhoam built was unlikely to last. – From The Second Calamity: The War that Broke a Kingdom by Lizuli Autumnborn, page 3. The author’s difficulty in separating herself from the Rito perspective on the war should be noted.
It was an unseasonably cold morning. Tabantha was never the warmest region of Hyrule, but the fact that, at the height of summer, Gerial still saw a visible cloud of vapor with every breath could not have been normal. Assumedly. Despite being, in theory, responsible for relations with the Rito, Gerial had never actually visited Tabantha. It was perfectly reasonable, of course; whenever the need would strike him, it would unfortunately be winter, when the roads were snowed over and travel to and from Rito Village became near-impossible for those without wings. Now, he was surrounded by the creatures. His own opinions on them were set aside for the moment; all that he cared for was jealousy for their coats of down whilst he had been freezing for the better part of an hour, simply waiting for something, anything. As his resentment for the situation only grew with each passing minute, Gerial thought back on the unfortunate events which had put him here.
Gerial had never been one for superstition. Yes, supposedly Zelda was an auspicious name for a member of the royal house, but it had given him little concern. He was second cousin to the king himself and still bore the Hyrule name, and yet his young daughter Zelda had shown no signs of any holy powers. That was if the House of Hyrule was even the royal family intended by the prophecy; of the six states within Hyrule, four were monarchies, with multiple claiming direct descent from Hylia herself. If the Princess of legend were born to the Dragon-kings of Akkala or even to the Zora or Gerudo, Gerial Hyrule would not count himself surprised. When cousin Rhoam had named his own daughter Zelda a week before, it had been a cause for celebration amongst most of the family (excepting the one cousin who had just lost the succession, of course); Gerial noted the name only as a minor annoyance, requiring occasional disambiguation as to which Zelda Hyrule one was talking about.
It was only when, as part of the celebrations, a Shiekah mystic had held the young girl, that it had become more of an issue. Any royal daughter, regardless of the kingdom of birth, bearing the name Zelda was given over to the Sheikah for a night, purely for the sake of tradition. Oh, once or twice some devious young Sheikah had decided it would be funny to proclaim an ordinary daughter to be the Princess Zelda, reborn again, but those scares usually resolved themselves quickly. There would be some mistake and the whole charade would be exposed for what it was. Not here; not only was Maza the last person one would expect to pull such a prank, but she had seemed entirely convinced.
Considering the sizable implications the return of Calamity Ganon would have on matters of state, it was understandable that Rhoam had disappeared into his study for the night. What came as a surprise was the way that he acted the next morning. Gone was the aloof king who would enjoy a fine dinner and some wine whilst leaving the actual administration of the kingdom to his advisors. Instead, between the bags under his eyes and his tired gait came an expression of grim determination. When he gave his speech that afternoon before what seemed to be the whole of Castle Town, Gerial would have been sure that someone else was speaking in the king’s voice if not for the gravity of the situation.
“My countrymen,” he had begun, in a more serious tone than Gerial had ever heard from the king, “the fate of our kingdom—nay, all the kingdoms of this land, lies in the balance. The Sheikah have confirmed the worst: Calamity Ganon is to return within our lifetimes. My newborn daughter, Princess Zelda Hyrule, is the same Princess of legend reborn once more.” He had paused here, whether for effect or because he had finally made up his mind. “If we are to stand against Calamity Ganon, we shall do so as one nation, one people. From Akkala to the Gerudo Desert, from Hebra to Faron, we must set aside our differences and fight as a united front. I do not have my doubts that the Hero shall be reborn soon as well.”
Rhoam had gone on for another twenty minutes, but it was only the beginning of the speech that had stuck with Gerial. That may have been due to the fact that Gerial was soon whisked away west. Rhoam had sent messengers to the other kingdoms; outside of the Zora’s Domain and Death Mountain, however, his message had fallen upon deaf ears. It was, perhaps, symbolic, that the people who had most recently arrived in Hyrule had been the first to experience integration by force. It had been a small force; only half a hundred soldiers marched from Castle Town. In truth, the whole thing would likely have been a failure if not for the machine they had picked up at the Ridgeland Ancient Tech Lab.
The Ancient Tech Lab was not a particularly impressive building. Had it not been for the stone furnace glowing with blue light against the east wall, it would have easily been confused for the home of one of the few hardy people who lived in the Ridgelands. When Gerial entered the building, he found himself faced with an elderly Shiekah and a great, lumbering machine on six metal legs.
“My king,” the Sheikah had begun, “thank you for your presence. This guardian here will revolutionize warfare.”
“A bold claim, Kosta, but I have never known you to exaggerate. Please, elaborate,” Rhoam had replied.
“These machines were built by the ancient Shiekah to assist in the fight against Calamity Ganon, but I am certain that we could use them against a more conventional foe. Perhaps a demonstration is in order,” Kosta had replied.
Gerial had watched as the guardian had been brought out, the hulking machine’s legs tearing up small patches of grass as they went. Kosta pushed a few buttons on the guardian’s base—supposedly, they were working on a better control scheme—and then Gerial had watched in awe as the guardian had locked on to a tree at least 50 yards away. A beam of blue light had emerged from the guardian’s eye, and in an instant the tree was aflame. He had been skeptical before, but if this was what his king planned on using, he might actually stand a chance.
They had arrived at the base of Rito Village two days before, to find themselves greeted by a Rito with white and gray feathers, blood-red eyes, a dark, curved beak, and an elaborate outfit, a red and gold embroidered pattern on leather tied around his waist, gold chains at his shoulders. He had been expected to learn at least something of Rito culture, even if he had attempted to escape his duty wherever possible. It was clear that this was a traditional uniform, the pattern at the waist signifying rank. Gerial did not know what was more surprising: the fact that they had run into the First Warrior himself at the entrance to Rito Village, or that this was the First Warrior. His face betrayed his youth; not only did he look young, mid-twenties at the oldest, but his face bore a red patch on each cheek. That was, of course, impossible; he had met First Warrior Noth the year before. Not only was he easily twenty years this Rito’s senior, his blue plumage had been nothing like this one’s. The choice of uniform was unusual as well; Gerial was sure that an outfit like this was worn only in formal ceremonies.
“Stand aside,” he had said. “Otherwise, I might have to tell your superiors that you are impersonating First Warrior Noth. Why else would you have chosen such a formal uniform?”
The Rito’s response surprised him. “Noth Summerborn died this morning, a few minutes short of two hours ago. As the former Second Warrior, I, Karranis Winterborn, have taken his place,” he began, in a tone almost as grave as the king’s. It was an unfortunate occasion, however. “If you have come here in peace, have the men with you set aside their weapons. If you have not, turn back, and exit our lands with all haste or face the wrath of the Rito.” He had stuck the base of his spear into the dirt at the end for emphasis.
“We shall do neither,” the King replied in a similar tone. “Though perhaps the wrath of the Rito, as you put it, will be unnecessary. I do not wish for unnecessary blood to be spilled when our true enemy awaits. If you will not submit, then stand, First Warrior Karranis, or name your champion.”
Attacking Karranis’ pride, then. “As First Warrior, I will stand. Stand yourself, or choose your champion.”
The raised feathers of the Rito’s crest were enough of an indication of his surprise at the next moment.
“Kosta,” the king asked, calling for the elderly director of the Ancient Tech Lab. “Bring out the Guardian. It will serve as my champion.”
It was done as ordered. The hulking machine, illuminated with blue and orange lights, blue swirls in its singular eye, was brought forth, lumbering towards the Rito on six spindly limbs. The First Warrior did not seem particularly fearful of the machine; had he somehow seen its like before, or was it merely misplaced confidence? Karranis leaped off the edge over Lake Totori, being lifted by an updraft twenty feet above Gerial’s head. Kosta pressed a single button on the base of the guardian and it tilted, eye following Karranis’ movements, a red point of light appearing near the Rito’s left shoulder. In one moment, Karranis Winterborn raised his bow, nocking a bomb arrow aimed at the machine’s eye.
In the next, a flash of blue light and a burst of flame, and Karranis Winterborn fell to the ground. He dragged himself over the bridge with his good wing clutching the ropes, while blood seeped from a massive burn stretching across his chest down the whole length of his wing. If the crack Gerial had heard was any indication, he had likely broken bones with that fall as well. Rather than pursue, Rhoam had been content to wait; Karranis’ condition would be sufficient for any other Rito who wished to try their luck.
Above, he had heard Karranis’ voice and another, older male voice; the wind had obscured what they were saying. The voices now, though, were replaced with the click-click-click of talons on wood. There was a brief pause in the sound as its source passed behind the spire at the center of Rito Village, before Karranis Winterborn emerged. His survival was a small miracle; his burns had turned the same angry red as his eyes. They were worse than he had thought, and had possibly festered. A flurry of clicks briefly drowned out all other sound as the crowd of Rito parted for him, in an undamaged traditional uniform. He really did take himself too seriously if he owned multiple.
He gave a pained expression—whether physical or psychological or both, Gerial knew not—as he kneeled before the king and bowed his head. “On behalf of Elder Khalia and the Rito as a whole,” he began, each word dripping with malice, “I, Karranis Winterborn, First Warrior of the Rito, do hereby tend our unconditional surrender.” He offered a piece of paper in his good wing.
The king took it and looked it over, before drawing his sword. Despite audible gasps, as though Karranis was to be summarily executed, the assembled Rito instead watched as Rhoam carved into the rock spire a crude image of the Triforce, freshly-revealed basalt a dark gray in contrast to the beige of its oxidized counterpart. The king muttered something to himself. Gerial watched in curiosity a fledgeling, perhaps four or five years old, blue and white feathers and green eyes, offer a wing to Karranis.
The king gave a clearly prepared speech. “Henceforth, the Rito shall be loyal subjects of the Kingdom of Hyrule. You may keep your Elder, but he will answer to me. You shall assist in the fight against Calamity Ganon. In time, I may ask for one of you to serve me directly; this shall be done with haste and without question.” Hostages, then, to keep the peace. Certainly effective, if cruel.
Karranis looked up at him, defeated, but with silent fury in his eyes. Gerial doubted that he would be the type to serve leally.
“Gerial,” he continued, handing the paper Karranis had given him to Gerial, “if you would please, negotiate the finer points with the Elder.”
He was sure that the look on his own face bore some resemblance to that on the First Warriors. The king truly had changed. For once in his life, Gerial Hyrule would have to actually deal with these creatures. Karranis stood and took him under his good wing, the click-click of talons being matched by his own footsteps. Even for a Rito, known for their stature, Karranis was tall; Gerion was buried by gray feathers as he was marched to the Elder’s roost.
It was ordinary for any building of Rito construction: roughly round, open to the elements, held up by only a few beams. It was a small miracle that Rito Village was structurally sound. The only thing distinguishing it from any other building were the banners at front, the Rito charge in black on a field of brown, matching the muted plumage of the Elder inside. It was the most drab the banner had been in a generation. When Gerial was a child, it would have been garish greens, reds, and yellows; when he had first been appointed, it was a respectable white on teal; until a few years hence, it had been red and gold under Elder Mira.
Elder Khalia was young for an Elder, certainly, but still at least a decade Gerial’s senior. He might have had another decade and a half. Gerial sat, finding himself at eye level with the Elder, producing the paper that Rhoam had given him. The click-click-click of talons on wood behind him indicated that Karranis had left, likely in order to nurse his wounds. The discussion dragged on for hours; the finer points of tax policy, tariff rates, devolution of powers bored him, and he had ceased to pay attention and accept all but the most ridiculous proposals by the end of the first hour. Twice, they had had a brief reprieve for a meal. Gerial found himself unexpectedly liking it; it seemed that if these creatures could do one thing well, they knew how to prepare good food.
Deep into the evening, when the Elder had finally chosen to rest, Gerial walked down to the same platform he had stood on that morning. The stars had finally begun to appear in the sky as the sun dipped below Mount Lanayru in the east. Perhaps another hour and he might have a chance to see the lights in the sky which supposedly appeared in some of Rito territory. Paying no mind to the cold, he had watched the sky intently, sitting over the platform’s edge for at least twenty minutes before he heard a Rito approach from behind.
Turning around to see a tall figure which must have been First Warrior Karranis, the Rito opened his beak. “The wind here can be strong at night. It can be dangerous for Hylians; a strong gust of wind blows you into the abyss, and you have nothing with which to save yourself.”
Gerial heeded the First Warrior’s words, beginning to turn around and stand up, when he suddenly lost his balance and fell backwards. He felt feathers quickly run up his neck as he fell past the First Warrior’s injured wing. From up close, it was clear the extent of the damage; he would never leave the ground again. As he looked up, the last thing he could clearly make out was Karranis leaning over the edge, watching him fall, a slight mirth on his face.
Oh , he thought, before he hit the water of Lake Totori.
A wonderful image by samjokjak from this chapter!