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Triforce of the Gods	By : Frances Category: Zelda > General Views: 1976 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of The Legend of Zelda, nor do I make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
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A/N: This story takes place about three or four years after Twilight Princess, but it’s sort of AU
in that it hovers in the realm of general Zelda fandom. There’s no smut yet, but I do intend on
including it in future chapters. I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of The Legend of Zelda, nor do I make any money from these
writings.

Chapter One
The Prophecy

Far in Northern Hyrule, on the brinks of Peak Province and nestled amongst the snowy
mountaintops, there was a village. Though small and humble, it was the last known settlement
of a once-mighty tribe of warriors called the Sheikah. The royal family knew the village
remained, but it had been over a century since it had called on the Sheikah’s services. Many
things had changed since the founding days. With the royal family’s sophisticated military and
an intricate walled city surrounding the castle-- in addition to hundreds of devoted and
specialized servants-- the Sheikah’s protection had become obsolete. The tribe had all but died
out, and those that remained were held together by empty traditions and a refusal to abandon
their way of life. Like an old lion, the village was proud and full of majestic vestiges... but it
was impotent and faded.
In this sleepy villa lived a passionate, angry young woman. Her heart bled for her forgotten
people, and for the corruption and injustice of Hyrule– for the senseless misery the Goddesses
had set upon the land. She mourned their vulnerability and the fruitlessness of Hylian toil.
When Twilight descended upon the world, the last remnant of her faith was shattered–
irrevocably, like a tome that disappears in flame.
The woman’s name was Zanna, and she hated the Goddesses. She studied the lore of her tribe
harder than any other pupil, scouring it in hopes of finding answers. Instead, she found that evil
had invaded the land of Hyrule time and time again throughout history. In every incident, the
Goddesses intervened with a hero. But the evil always rose again. Why? The question hounded
her ceaselessly. Eventually, through dedicated research, Zanna discovered that the great Triforce
which was created by the Goddesses at the dawn of Time had spawned not only legendary
courage and wisdom, but legendary evil as well.
The Goddesses had betrayed them. Zanna’s sorrow ran deeply, into the lowest chambers of her
soul. It festered there, gradually turning into a loathing that stung like venom. She couldn’t
understand why the Goddesses had created a race merely to be toyed with– to be thrown over
and over again between turmoil and fleeting peace. Zanna’s eyes and her heart were sharp– all
around her she recognized injustices desperately in need of righting. But she was cursed by
Heaven: a mediocre sorceress in a forgotten tribe that no one desired, with a body barely strong
enough to survive her frigid mountain homeland. She had no means to change the world. The
Goddesses had condemned her, it seemed, to a life of bitter confinement. It made Zanna at once
reckless and clinging, like a wounded beast.
Then, one crisp evening, she received a prophecy.
While dreaming that night in her small, stone house, Zanna saw Hyrule field. A thick, black
shadow began sweeping across it like water soaking into fabric– racing through the fertile
ground. All things it touched began to swim and detach, blood spilling from trees that split and
collapsed. She saw people becoming sickly and growing mad. They wandered the streets like
beggars as their skin rotted on their flesh, yellow eyes rolling. Zanna was struck by an
unbearable empathy and she wept for their pain– the physical pain that was aching hot and the
emotional pain that was frightened and yearning. Their minds seemed to swim with fever; they
clawed over one another, all of them crying for help. No one answered.
The Hylians were deteriorating.
Then, suddenly, light erupted from a mountaintop far in the distance. Zanna’s heart leapt with
hope, and she shot toward the peak with an unearthly speed. Her spirit roared across the jagged
cliffs until– halting in surprise– she reached the top. At once, her insides twisted and she gave a
furious, inhuman cry.
“Why have you abandoned us?” she screamed at the floating white orbs, her body clenching
against the scathing winds.
The three divine lights brightened softly, sending out a wave of warmth.
“Forgotten child,” they whispered, the words caressing her. “Beloved seer, restore balance to
our land.”
“You gave me nothing,” Zanna cried softly, crumpling to her knees. “I have nothing to give my
people.”
“Restore peace,” they replied faintly as they began to ascend through the dark fog. “Restore
balance.”
Zanna reached after them, sobbing like an infant. “Don’t leave me,” she wept. “Don’t leave me
with nothing!” The orbs continued to disappear, and Zanna lurched against the void with self-righteous fury. “Don’t leave me as I am! If I am to fix this land, then GIVE ME THE POWER
TO DO SO!!” she roared.
Silence reigned as the Goddesses disappeared. Zanna awoke, screaming and tangled on her floor
as she tore at her bedsheets.
~*~
“Morning, Zanna.” Zanna’s younger sister, Helyn, acknowledged before Zanna was even in the
kitchen.
Zanna came up behind her, ruffling Helyn’s curly red hair almost absent-mindedly. “Morning,”
she responded.
“I was just getting breakfast ready,” Helyn said lightly as her hands guided her slowly around the
room. Wide and unseeing, her pale blue eyes were fixed permanently into space. Helyn had
been born blind, and not even the village’s wisest healer had been able to do anything about it.
Making breakfast was Helyn’s small contribution to the family and a way for her to establish
some semblance of independence. It was not a challenging task, seeing as how there were only
three of them: Zanna, Helyn, and their grandmother Cedra. Zanna and Helyn’s parents had
perished long ago, when Zanna was seven and Helyn was but a babe. The couple had
disappeared on a supply trip and the exact circumstances of their deaths were unknown, even to
Cedra. Zanna was certain, however, that their wagon was raided on the way back from
Kakariko.
You see, Zanna was the most gifted empath the village had witnessed in decades. All Sheikah
sorceresses-in-training were required to practice the art of sensing other people’s emotions, but
Zanna had taken it to another level entirely. She could sense trouble in a village miles away, just
by picking up feelings of terror or anguish. In extreme cases Zanna could also feel the physical
pain of others, although she tried vigorously to contain that aspect of her abilities. The night
Zanna’s parents did not return on schedule, Zanna complained of a sharp pain in her shoulder, an
ache in her head, and then– as the red sun sank behind the horizon– her lower-left abdomen
began to bleed profusely. Cedra barely saved her from bleeding to death, but in the morning
there was no scar to be seen. Zanna’s clothing was caked with blood from an injury that had not
existed.
The village elders generally agreed that it was dark witchcraft, but Zanna knew the truth. Her
mother had been shot in the shoulder and tumbled out of the wagon, and her father had been run
through. Bandits, most likely.
It was the first of many offenses the Goddesses would commit against Zanna.
“What’s the matter– are the eggs undercooked?”
Zanna suddenly realized that while she’d been staring into space, her sister had put breakfast on
the table. “Oh... No, they look great. Sorry.” To avoid further questioning, she immediately
dug in and occupied herself with food.
“You had another nightmare last night,” Helyn observed. Zanna looked warily up at her from
across the simple wooden table. There was a vase of fresh flowers in the center. Helyn always
picked flowers, even though she couldn’t see them. She liked the smell, she said.
“Yeah... I guess I did. Why?” Zanna replied cautiously. She didn’t want to snap at her sister,
but the topic of her dreams was usually off-limits.
“I heard you screaming.”
“Yeah, well. It was a nightmare, after all. It wouldn’t be a nightmare if it wasn’t worth
screaming about,” Zanna muttered. She ignored her sister’s expression of unabashed pity. Just
looking at it made Zanna feel embarrassed, and sad. Somehow Helyn– blind as a bat and six
years younger– had become wiser and more mature than Zanna. When it had happened, it was
impossible to say.
“Grandmother said she wanted to see you when you’re done,” Helyn said brightly, as if she had
just remembered. “She’s in the herb garden, waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Hel,” Zanna said, jumping at the chance to escape further dialogue. She grabbed her
furry coat from the wall and immediately headed out the back door.
In the garden, Cedra was stooped over the frozen ground as she hummed an old folksong. It was
almost time for the ground to thaw, at which point Cedra’s hearty, resilient herbs would come
back in full force. She was preparing the way by singing to the garden-- “nourishing it with
love,” as she called it.
Seeing her there made Zanna smile. “Hey, Grams,” she said, kneeling beside the old woman.
“Good morning, Little Dragon,” Cedra chuckled as she used Zanna’s pet name. “I was just
expecting you.” She slowly brushed the snow off of her knarled white hands and studied her
granddaughter critically. “I see you’re not covering your head.”
It was true, Zanna was bare. The large purple tattoo of the Sheikah symbol was plainly visible
over her right eye, and her thick raven hair billowed in the wind like long, dancing shadows.
She sighed heavily. “Oh, Grandma. You know I hate covering it. It’s ridiculous anyway; we
never have visitors. No one’s going to see me.”
“We do not cover our heads because of visitors,” Cedra said sharply. “We cover our heads
because concealing our identities is the way of our ancestors.”
Zanna made a sound of defeated distaste, then raised her hood and fastened the strip of fabric
that covered everything from the nose down. She tucked her hair away in frustration. “There.
Are you happy?”
“Such a beautiful girl,” Cedra smiled, patting Zanna’s cheek affectionately. “Such lovely dark
eyes. Just like your mother.”
It agitated Zanna to hear of her mother– fueled a flame that had never quite been extinguished.
“Is there something you wanted, Grandmother?” she asked shortly.
Cedra sighed. “Yes, there was a reason I had Helyn send you out. Your dreams have been
troubled lately.”
“What is it with everyone caring so much about my sleeping habits?”
“I have felt the disturbances as well. I believe a great change is approaching, Little Dragon.”
Zanna softened a little. “What do you mean?”
“I received this letter several days ago,” Cedra said heavily, removing a red envelope from her
large coat sleeve. Though it was opened, it was obvious who the letter was from.
“Grandmother, that’s the royal seal!” Zanna gasped, eagerly taking the letter. She ran her
fingers gingerly over the wax crest before removing the parchment within. There was no doubt
about it– it was a royal message.
“I could not believe it myself,” Cedra said. “I still have not told anyone else in the village; I
don’t want them to be disappointed.”
Zanna scanned the letter hastily, reading important bits out loud. “‘And in light of certain events
I will not discuss at this time, I feel guided by the Goddesses to send a representative to your
village at once in hopes of securing your cooperation.’ Grandma! A royal messenger– here? It
says to expect him on the seventeenth– that’s today! And it’s signed by the Princess herself!”
“Not so loud, Zanna,” Cedra scolded softly. “No one knows. I still fear it will turn out to be a
hoax, or that the diplomat will not survive the treacherous highways.”
Zanna sat back on her heels, biting her lip as she reread the letter. “I don’t believe it,” she said
as she shook her head. “Do you really think–“ she laughed joyfully, eyes widening.
“Grandmother, do you really think the royal family could be reenlisting us?”
“I don’t know,” Cedra said, taking the envelope and stuffing it away again. “But I wanted you to
be aware. If a messenger makes it to our village, I didn’t want you to be surprised. My spirit
guide tells me that this letter has much to do with you.”
“Me?” Zanna echoed. “Your guide really said the letter had to do with me?”
Cedra’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she seemed to draw herself up. “Well, he did not say that
exactly. But I have a strong intuition. Nevertheless,” she changed the subject quickly, “you
have a lesson with Sasheh. You’re late already. Go on!”
Zanna rolled her eyes. “Grams, I can’t just forget the letter and go to work as usual! I won’t be
able to focus!”
Cedra would have none of it. “Don’t make excuses. Nothing can distract a sorceress from her
work. Get going– and don’t come back without a jug of milk from Nykko!”
~*~
“Direct hit!” Shasheh cheered, picking up the battered metal target that Zanna had just nailed
with a spell. “Yikes, Zanna,” she laughed, holding it so the hole was clearly visible. “I didn’t
mean for you to blast it to smithereens.”
“Sorry,” Zanna grinned sheepishly. “I’m a little high strung today.”
“I can tell,” Shasheh said as she reset the target. “How’s Helyn these days?”
“Oh, same as ever. She’s been knitting, actually. It’s pretty neat.” A gold-colored concussion
spell shot out of Zanna’s hand again, and the target went flying.
“All right, Zanna!” Shasheh whistled, catching it on the way back down. “Very impressive
accuracy, but if you’re not going to focus on toning it down a notch then this exercise is
pointless,” the middle-aged woman chastised lightly.
Zanna sighed, wincing as she wearily rubbed the back of her casting hand.
“You okay?” Shasheh asked, quickly jogging the distance between them and taking Zanna’s
wrist the way a blacksmith takes a horse’s hoof. Shasheh’s fingertips briefly took on a teal glow,
and then she began massaging the energy into Zanna’s hand.
“It’s nothing,” Zanna answered sincerely. “My spell hand’s always been sensitive, you know, on
the back... The last few months, though, it’s just been killing me when I cast.” She rubbed her
forehead, trying not to flinch as Shasheh sent out a particularly painful zap.
“Have you been practicing your healing?” the older Sheikah asked sternly.
Zanna sighed. “Kind of. I mean, pretty regularly,” she mumbled.
“Zanna...”
“I hate healing spells, Shasheh. They take way too much focus and they’re really–
uncomfortable for me.” She toed the ground, knowing her tutor would now relentlessly drill her
on healing for the next month.
“Zanna, a great empath like you? Your healing spells could be so powerful! Even more
powerful than mine, if you applied yourself.” She patted the girl’s hand briskly and released it.
Zanna flexed, wiggling her fingers tentatively. “Wow, that feels way better. Thanks, Shasheh.”
“It’s my job,” she smiled. “I won’t make you do anything else today, but when you come back
tomorrow I expect you to be ready to focus on healing. There’s no sense in wasting your
potential simply because you don’t like casting.”
“All right,” Zanna sighed resignedly.
“Oh! And I believe your grandmother wanted a jug of Nykko’s milk.” Nykko was Shasheh’s
spotted cow, and the only one in the village. It was too cold in Peak Province to raise anything
other than mountain goats, but Shasheh put an incredible effort into keeping Nykko warm, dry,
and comfortable. Both magic and elbow grease played equal part in the cow’s well being.
Emerging from the nearby barn with a metal jug, Shasheh trudged across the snowy ground.
“Here you are, my dear. Tell Helyn I said hello.”
“Thanks, Shashe,” Zanna smiled. “See you tomorrow!”
~*~
As Zanna emerged from the winding path that led to Shashe’s property, she immediately
recognized more sound in the village square than usual. It was a small cluster of about eighteen
stone houses with a decent sized plaza in the middle. In the very center of the square was a
dilapidated podium raised on a triangular stage, almost invisible from the heavy snowfall. It
hadn’t been used in years, of course. Though all the buildings in the village were extremely
modest, the largest house was at the top of the square, and it was Zanna’s house. This building
always belonged to the reigning village leader, and that leader had been Cedra for over forty
years.
Today, there was a rather large crowd gathered around Zanna’s house. All of the children and
young people in the village were there, and even some adults clustered about the large front
windows, attempting to peer inside. A light snow swirled around them, making their furry white
coats glisten in the lamp light emanating from the parlor within.
“Zanna!” A tall, lithe girl with golden eyes turned around and grabbed Zanna’s shoulders with a
vicelike grip.
“Ouch, Resha!” Zanna teased, batting her best friend’s hands away playfully. “You’ll snap my
collarbone!” Resha was a Gerudo who had been abandoned on the road as an infant and was
fortunately discovered by one of the village’s supply wagons. She was at least six feet tall, and
could snap firewood in two with her bare hands. Zanna frequently teased her about being
freakishly strong.
“Don’t kill Zanna before she hears the good news!” Rowan interrupted, pushing through the
crowd to join them.
“Hey, Rowan,” Zanna smiled, feeling a familiar, bittersweet twinge at the sight of the dark-eyed
boy. She had spent her entire life with Rowan and his twin brother Caell. While she adored
Rowan, Caell had been her most precious friend– they had been so alike it was scary, and rarely
left each other’s sight. This spring it would be the fourth anniversary of Caell’s death. They
were only sixteen at the time of his passing. It was, Zanna discovered, an injury that could never
totally be restored.
“So, aren’t you going to ask us why we’re huddled around your home like a pack of wolves?”
Resha asked, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Why are you huddled around my home like a pack of wolves?” Zanna obliged.
“There’s a royal messenger in your parlor at this very moment!” Resha gushed. “He arrived
while you were training with Shasheh! His horse is in my stable!” The towering young woman
hopped up and down like a child.
“Don’t cause an earth quake, Resha,” Rowan smirked. Resha punched him in the arm, sending
him reeling.
“Shut up, Rowan,” the Gerudo replied. “Did you know Rowan thinks it’s the Hero?”
“The Hero?” Zanna asked, brow furrowing. “The Hero who defeated Twilight a few years ago?”
Rowan nodded vigorously, watching Resha out of the corner of his eye to make sure he stayed
out of range. “It is the Hero!” he defended. “I’d recognize him anywhere. Just because some
people live under a rock, doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” He glared in the Gerudo’s direction.
“The chestnut mare, the green tunic, not to mention that sword. There’s no mistaking it! The
Hero’s in your parlor.”
Zanna’s eyes were like saucers. “In my parlor?”
Her friends nodded.
“I’m out of here,” Zanna declared, pushing people out of her way as she clambered to her front
door.
“Remember everything so you can tell us about it later!” Resha called after her.
Zanna smiled wolfishly over her shoulder, shrugging. Then, she turned the doorknob and went
inside.
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Triforce of the Gods