Hello all, this is my first official story, spawned from my love of Zelda and inability to write my actual book. It's mostly written all the way through, so here's chapter one! Rate and review, please and thanks, even if you hate it. (I promise it gets better.)

Okay, here we go!

Sheik leaned over the counter and sighed.

Three days. She'd been on the road for three days.

She'd entered the city of Nol, the largest trading hub aside from Castle Town, around late afternoon, and had spent the remaining daylight hours tying up loose ends. Now, as night settled into early morning, she sat on a stool, nursing her drink.

She'd noticed the way the rowdy group of men to her right had been watching her all night—since Che's walked in, actually. Had noticed their swords, barely hidden by their cloaks.

A flare of fear flickered to life, and she stamped it out ruthlessly. There was no reason to be afraid. They were just regular men—they were in Nol, after all. Everyone had swords, herself included. And, from what she could see of their tunics—dirty and soiled as they were—they boasted no insignias or emblems. Least of all the Royal Guard's.

They hadn't found her. She was still safe.

Even so, Sheik repeated the mantra to herself, red eyes fixed on the cup in front of her, on the stained wood of the countertop. Contacts, pilfered from the Market, to disguise her natural blue. As she did, another flare willed itself into being—but of indignation this time.

The Royal Guard would never allow such dirty men into its ranks anyway, she thought to herself, hands clenching around her mug. They're much too proud.

At peace at last—somewhat, anyway—Sheik allowed herself to relax. She checked the clock on the wall to her right. It was nearing two in the morning; she supposed she ought to go home.

Maybe just one more drink, she thought, and hailed the bartender.

By the time she was halfway through it, she was so at ease that she hardly noticed the way the room quieted—just a bit—when the door opened. A gust of cold air preceded the newcomer, and Sheik scowled. Summer was closing in, but was still far off enough that the nights retained their chill.

She kept her eyes on her drink, ignoring how the aura in the room bounced back—slowly. Whispers followed the newcomer's footsteps, albeit not quiet enough that they escaped Sheik's ears. She straightens almost imperceptibly, flexing her leg to make sure her blade was still sheathed there. The man himself settled at the bar, right next to Sheik, much to her discomfort.

Sheik found her senses on high alert, watching the man—Hylian, it looked like, and with the long ears to prove it—out of the corner of her eye.

He was average enough, but his build said he could spring into action at a moment's notice. He had startling blue eyes, golden brown hair swept to the side, and was a head taller than Sheik, if she had to guess. He wore a simple traveler's tunic, patched and torn in some places, and Sheik might have dismissed him as such if not for the fine blade across his back.

Sheik's eyes narrowed at her cup. Normal travelers didn't carry swords of such exquisite design. Was he an aristocrat? She snuck another glance at him. No, his features were too rugged. He was handsome, there was no doubt of that: high cheekbones, tan skin, an elegant nose, and a full mouth—and those blue eyes. But there was a hardness to his features, a history of pain.

Sheik thought back to those stuffy nobles, with their lace fans and soft words, and almost snorted. They probably would have fainted if faced with this man.

All too soon, though, her suspicion returned. Who was he? Why was he here? Where did he get a sword like that? He could have easily picked it off a fallen soldier, or even stolen it from the barracks, but somehow she doubted that.

Could he be part of the search parties?

It had been a year—part of Sheik wished they would just give it up. If they hadn't found who they were looking for yet, they probably never would. Besides—their missing charge had no wish to return, or she'd have stayed in the first place.

I would know, Sheik thought sourly.

She remembered the days before—a full year ago, now. She remembered the state of chaos the castle had been in. She'd been sequestered in her room, like always, for her safety. Sheik scoffed. Little had they known she was fully capable of taking care of herself. Fat lot of good the knowledge did them now.

When the news had come, the messenger standing still as a pillar in her doorway, his words had sent a bullet into her heart, and numbness had taken over.

The king is dead, Your Highness.

He'd mistaken her silence for grief, and she'd let him. She'd stood, the book falling from nerveless fingers, as he'd continued, his words fading into nothing. She couldn't hear anymore, couldn't breathe, because there had been one word, one feeling in her heart, and it wasn't grief, or horror, or sadness. It had been something she'd never felt in her life, and she'd been lost in it.

Freedom.

Freedom. The urge to fly down the halls out of the palace had been overwhelming, but she'd been wise enough to play the part. To act the heartbroken princess, stricken by the untimely death of her father, the great King of Hyrule.

So she'd waited. She'd waited and watched, always playing the part. And when nighttime had come, the break in the guards' rotation, she'd slipped into her Sheikah stealth suit and vanished through the window.

She'd never returned—not when her people lamented her absence, not when the council she'd always hated had wished for her safety to the public, then scorned her flight behind closed doors. A coward, they'd called her. Unfit to rule.

And I suppose they think they've done such a marvelous job in my place, Sheik thought scornfully. Ruling the empire? They've hardly enough brain cells put together to make a meatloaf.

Sheik snorted to herself, then cursed silently as the man beside her glanced her way. She kept her eyes on the cup as his eyes roved—slowly, and she tried not to cringe—down her body, and back up. Even when he'd finished, he didn't look away, and Sheik felt her body slip into a slouch, brows slanting down into a glare.

For a long moment they sat there: the boy leaning against the counter, Sheik hunched over her drink.

"Are you a real Sheikah?"

The question caught her off guard; he'd been so silent so far, she'd simply assumed he wasn't going to talk, period. That was a mistake. When the surprise abated, irritation took its place. Sheik's eyebrow twitched. "I wouldn't be wearing this getup if I wasn't."

The boy turned and raised a brow at her. "Liar."

Sheik resisted the conflicting urges to sigh and turn tail at the same time. She compromised. "What are you talking about?" she asked, a note of annoyance slipping into her tone.

The boy grinned—oh, he was dangerous, all right. "It's just that," he said, leaning in. "Sheikah have been near extinct for a while now. And the ones who are still around don't wear clothes so. . ." He searched for the right word, then gave up, limply gesturing to her outfit.

Sheik genuinely wanted to know what word he'd been searching for. Her clothes, a dark blue bodysuit that tied at the neck, lightweight black armor over her shoulders, arms, legs and hips, and white bandages around her wrists, wasn't all that strange. People have been known to wear much more unusual outfits. The only thing that really stood out was the large Sheikah crest over her chest, stitched in white thread. It marked her as different, sure, but it also kept people away.

Most people, anyway.

When she merely raised a disdainful brow, he sighed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it delightfully messy, and turned back to the bar. "All I'm saying is that no matter how intimidating you think you look, your clothes are creating the opposite effect."

She scoffed. "What the hell—"

The boy leaned close before she could think and, whispered, lips brushing her ear, "An outfit that tight just begs to be looked at."

Sheik felt heat rising in her face, all the way to the tips of her ears, but before she could push him away, he was gone, his laugh ringing in the air.

Face hot, she faced the bar again. "Prick," she swore viciously.

The bartended turned, brow raised, but one glance at Sheik's face had him quickly finding something else to occupy his attention. It took longer than Sheik was comfortable with for the heat in her cheeks to dissipate, but when it was gone, she paid for her drinks and left.

She didn't fail to notice how the same drunken men followed soon after. She did her best to ignore them, but it quickly became obvious they were following her. Swallowing a sigh, she took a left instead of a right, keeping to the path she'd laid out in case of this very thing. The last thing she needed was men like those behind her to find where she lived.

Taking as many twists and turns as possible in hopes of losing them, Sheik was disappointed to see that they kept up well—too well. She realized too late that the drunkenness was merely a façade, and they were as sober as she was. Her heart sank.

Fine, she resolved, taking another left. If they want a fight, I'll give it to them.

As she came out into an empty street—her street, she realized with concern—she was about to turn shen another group entered from the opposite end. She turned anyway, but the first group had already blocked the entrance. As they closed in, she became painfully aware of how short the street really was. They had her cornered.

Sheik left her blade sheathed and instead sank to her knees, fists raised. The first of them reached her, a sick grin on his face, and she heard that boy's words rose in her mind.

An outfit that tight just begs to be looked at.

Sheik's anger rose.

When he swung at her, she ducked and rammed her elbow into his chin as she came up. He went down like a brick, his howls muffled by his hands.

The second was no luckier than his friend. As Sheik spun away, she dropped low and swept the man's legs from under him, then rose, quick as a snake, and delivered a punishing kick to his face. He shrieked in pain, holding his shattered nose.

The fight had taken them close to a bordering wall, and as Sheik's leg came down, a third man grabbed it and flung her into the wall.

Stars exploded in her head, and she tried to twist out of his grip, but by then his friends had gathered their courage. Now that she was stunned, they held her there. The man who'd grabbed her released her leg and instead latched onto her arm, like a leech. He leaned close, his foul breath shivering across Sheik's skin, and she shuddered involuntarily.

"Little ladies shouldn't fight like that," he murmured, running his hands down her body. Sheik writhed in his grasp, snarling when he grabbed her. But she couldn't move—she was pinned by four of his friends, like an animal.

Panic fluttered like a bird in her chest, and she stamped it down. Panic would do her no good.

The man stepped back a bit, licking his lips. She'd almost thought she'd calmed down when he started yanked the armor around her hips off.

Panic surged like a tidal wave and she fought like a caged beast, but she could hardly manage to twitch. They held her too tightly. Her breath came faster until she was gasping, she could feel the armor coming loose, and the others pulled at her suit, her hair, licking her face, and she could feel a scream building—

"Well, this is just shameful."

The men stopped abruptly, whirling at the voice. Silence reigned for a short moment, broken only by Sheik's ragged breathing. She tried moving, and found the men had released her—somewhat.

She made a break for it, but one recovered and slammed her head into the wall. Her gasp echoed in the empty street, her gaze blackening slightly.

"What do you want?" Her attacker demanded. "Can't you see we're busy here?"

She could hear the smile. "Clearly."

Sheik blinked hard and squinted, getting a good look at her savior.

She would have rolled her eyes under any other circumstances. In the middle of the street stood the boy from the bar, his fine sword—unsheathed—laying across his shoulders. His stance was relaxed, but she could see the controlled strength behind that calm exterior.

Her attackers were a bit less preoccupied with his posture, however. The leader, the one who'd whispered in her ear, sneered. "And who the hell are you?"

The boy shrugged. "Nobody, really. Just someone who doesn't take well to people attacking a young lady in the dead of night."

Sheik nearly rolled her eyes despite herself, and the leader's reaction was no better. He scoffed, "That attitude's gonna get your in trouble, boy."

At that, the boy's blue eyes sharpened, and he strode towards them, his sword hissing as he sheathed it. "And you would know all about trouble, wouldn't you?"

Sheik's attackers lost none of their bravado. Releasing her altogether, they clustered in a loose circle around the boy. The leader spoke again. "You'd best run home now, boy. You ain't gonna win, and you sure don't wanna see what we're gonna do to this little lady—"

His words ended in an oof, and he collapsed to his knees. His friends turned to see Sheik, her leg still in the air, and the boy raised a brow. "How long were you planning to wait on that one?" he called.

Sheik lowered her leg, rolling her shoulders. Every moment that passed, she felt the panic fade away, leaving only fury in its place. "I was waiting to see how long he would carry on."

To her surprise, the boy didn't scoff, or snort. Instead, he grinned, exposing sharp canines. "Glad we're on the same page, then."

As one, they faced their opponents, who had become rather nervous in the face of their new odds. Nevertheless, they stepped forward, and that was all the invitation Sheik needed.

She exploded forward at the same time the boy lunged, delivering a powerful uppercut to his opponent. She was glad to see her initial assume that had been correct. She ducked a wide punch and aimed her knee between the man's legs, and he went down howling.

The boy glanced at him, wincing, but it lasted a moment. Between the two, it took hardly any time before the lot of them were either moaning, holding whatever bone was broken, or simply knocked out cold. Breathing hard, Sheik turned with grim satisfaction and saw they boy was also out of breath, looking down at their handiwork. Wordlessly, he looked up and met her eyes, and she was surprised at the ferocity in his blue gaze.

"Why didn't you scream?" he asked, voice strangely hoarse.

Why didn't she scream? Sheik swallowed her anger. "People are cowards."

The boy was quiet, his gaze intent as he searched her face. "Not all of us," he said softly.

Indeed. Ignoring her suddenly pounding heart, she stepped around the bodies and looked up at him. She had to tilt her head.

"Sheik," she said. Simple.

". . . Link," he replied after a moment. He bit his lip, then offered his arm. "Shall I walk you home?"

Sheik's brow twitched, but she accepted. As unwilling as she was about letting anyone know where she lived, she supposed this boy was an exception. He had, after all, saved her life.

So she took his hand and directed him to her modest flat, hardly twenty feet up the street. When she stopped, Link glanced at her, surprise evident in his gaze. Sheik shrugged.

Link laughed, and she decided she liked his laugh. It fit him better than the rage from earlier, and it made his blue eyes light up in a very distracting way.

Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous—

At her door, he bowed, still smiling. "Have a safe night, my lady," he said softly, looking up at her. Sheik turned away, flustered and not quite sure she was hiding it as well as she thought. He had a way of disarming her with simply a look.

"You as well."

She closed the door, not waiting to see his reaction, and slid down till she was sitting, and smiled in the darkness.