Chapter Text
Volga. The very origin of his name was described to him as, "what some scaly Lizalfos called you when it found you as a baby, and handed you to us." And what consisted of "us" equated to Volga being passed down from family to family, then tribe to tribe, like a diseased child that nobody wanted to deal with. If his parents, wherever they may be, had ever given him a name, he would likely never know. And so, he was always Volga.
The concept of family itself and belonging was foreign to him. Being his questionable species of course, largely attributed to his predicament. He had tried, and often failed, to control his abilities, particularly the ones that would affect his physical form. But no matter how hard he tried, there was nothing he could do to remove the seemingly most fearsome feature about him - his face.
Ever since he was born, he was cursed with inexplicable, black markings underneath his eyes. The sight repulsed the humans he lived with, and scared the other children. Many regarded it as evil, or some ill-gotten magic. Whatever was the cause, Volga resented it.
He had taken to wearing masks, or any kind of helmet that would cover the area around his eyes - as much as he could. And this too, was unusual to the humans. But at least, finding him strange was easier to cope with, than them being terrified of him.
"You really saw a dragon claw morph from his arm?"
"Y-yes, it was so scary. When I told father, he moved him outside. Honestly, he should just live in the mountains, like a dragon should."
Volga stirred slightly from where he lay atop a pile of rags inside a small shed. He could hear the nearby voices of the children of the village, one of them being the son of the current humans who were raising him. Pressing the leather flap of his helmet closer to his ear, Volga tried to drone out their conversation.
"Do you think his parents were dragons?"
"Doubt it. I heard rumors that his parents fled at the sight of him."
Don't pay attention to these humans, Volga told himself firmly. Don't listen to their words. This is nothing different than usual…
"Actually," said a third voice. "I heard that they tried to raise him at first, but then he began to grow wings." His tone lowered, as if telling a secret. "And that his wings were cut off shortly after. Do you think his father did this?"
The voices were becoming hushed whispers, but to Volga, they were a loud, ringing sensation in his ears. He wished it would stop, that the children would talk about anything else, and go about their day. Or better yet, be further away from the shed.
"If you ask me, I wouldn't be surprised if he tore right out of his mother's stomach with his claws, and killed her. What is a woman to a dragon anyway, if not something to eat?"
"That's a… horrible thought," one of them gasped. "Now I'm definitely going to have nightmares."
Whatever was said next, Volga did not hear them. All he could see was red. A burning anger and pain welling up inside him. His emotions, like his abilities, had become increasingly unstable throughout his childhood.
"What is the orange g-glow from your shed?"
The children gathered around to peer at the open entryway of the shed, but they did not dare to take a step closer. They could make out the form of a boy, standing up from where he had been lying down. Flames surrounded Volga’s body, the cause of the light within the shed, but they did not appear to burn him.
Though Volga made no advance toward them, the children took several steps backwards, paralyzed with fear. The hollow slits of Volga's helmet where his eyes would have been - were on fire.
"Run!" their voices exclaimed. "Run from the dragon!"
Volga watched as they scurried away, remaining perfectly still from where he stood, but fuming. The rags beneath him had begun to set aflame, and he stomped over them in irritation, trying to prevent himself from burning his only place to sleep.
It was a matter of time before his fire dissipated, and the owner of the house next to the shed had come running toward his direction. With two large buckets of water in each hand, he took no time to hesitate when he spotted the flames on the ground. He threw the water over them, putting out the fire.
"You almost lost me my shed, boy," the villager snapped, both furious and afraid. "This is it. It's one thing after another with you. I've had enough. Go pack your belongings… or what's left of them. We're taking a trip to Hyrule Castle. Let them figure out what to do with you. This is out of my hands."
Small fingers strummed along the harp, taking delight in the sounds that were produced. "Oh, the Era of Time had such lovely masterpieces," said Princess Zelda fondly. "But I think it'll be awhile before I fully learn how to play all my favorite songs."
Her instructor chuckled, an elderly woman with knowledge of music across the ages. "And what is your favorite song, child?"
"It's difficult to pick a favorite, but I have to say that I love the Bolero of Fire," she said, gently tugging at the chords, initiating the first eight notes. "There is just something so deep in that tune."
The old woman smiled. "Bolero of Fire is a song dedicated to friendship, and the power of the heart… a timeless classic. You know, there is power in these songs. A magic that may be too advanced for you now, but in time, you will learn how to use it." She glanced at the pocket watch on the table. "Well, it looks your music lesson lasted longer than usual today, but it's always a pleasure to teach you, Princess."
With their music lesson concluded for the day, Zelda thanked her, and set off to search for her father, eager to tell him about the tunes she had been practicing. When she didn't find him in his study, she continued looking, spotting one of her guards as she did so. "Excuse me," she addressed him. "But have you seen my father?"
The guard gave her a salute. "He is in the throne room, Your Highness." A nervous expression crossed his features. "However, there are two visitors with him. I… would not go in there if I were you. There is a strange child there, said to wield abilities of a fearsome beast."
Zelda's eyes widened, and the guard quickly added. "But do not worry, Impa and our men are keeping a close watch on them. I should return to my duties as well." He gave Zelda a bow, and continued forth from his path.
Her first instinct was to go to her room, perhaps to put away her harp and find her father later. But somehow, she could not bring herself to head in that direction. She had heard of this child before, but in the rare occasion that he would be brought up, Impa and her father always shared a mysterious look on their faces, and they'd say nothing more.
She could feel her footsteps begin to guide her, curiosity overcoming what should have been fear. What was so horrifying about this boy?
As she neared the throne room, she could hear a man speaking to her father, in what sounded like an almost pleading tone. Zelda hid behind the wall, observing in silence.
"I just… I just want him away from my home, Your Majesty," the villager all but dropped to his knees. "My family can never sleep properly anymore with him there, even when I had him sleep outside. None of the other people in the village want to take him in, either. He brings great unease to everyone."
The King of Hyrule frowned, the crease prominent on his aged forehead. "But why?" he asked, perplexed. "He hasn't hurt anyone, has he?"
“Well no,” said the villager, shuddering at the thought. "He probably could though. His unusual abilities, and the fire! I… does it really need to be explained as to why we don't want him around? Just look at him."
Zelda, despite herself, peeked one eye from behind the wall to survey this individual, that was spoken of with so much disdain. A boy stood there behind the villager, tall, but curiously thin underneath his oversized clothes. His faded blue shirt appeared vaguely burnt, forming a jagged pattern at where his sleeves should have been. She could not see much of anything on his face, for he kept it covered.
"He's so… strange," said the villager with a grimace. "Don't you see why I'm bringing him here? He has been passed from one to another enough times to where there are no tribes left in the area that want him."
There was something vulnerable about the boy's posture, as he scrunched his shoulders and bowed his helmed head in what might have been humiliation. And there was more. Something about him was subdued, like a dying flame in the darkness of its solitude.
"By all means, no one is forcing any of you to take him," said the king, shaking his head. "Go, then, back to your family, with the comfort that the boy is no longer a problem to any of you." He dismissed the villager, who was all the more relieved to leave, and did not take a second glance back at the child.
Zelda was so shocked by this cold exchange, that she found herself clenching her fingers tightly around her harp, gaping at the villager's back.
When he was gone, her father turned to the boy. "Tell me, how old are you?"
"Twelve, sir," he replied shakily, and it seemed he was finding it difficult to raise his head to look at him, even if it was the proper way to address a king. Formal court behavior was not something he must have been taught, but her father was accepting of this enough to let it slide for now.
Impa exchanged a knowing look with the king that Zelda did not understand. "And what would you say to the idea of living with the Lizalfos for awhile, rather than the humans?" he suggested.
"W... what?"
"Doing so may allow you to feel more at ease with your abilities… the other part of what you are," the king continued. "But if you would rather live with the humans again, we would have to find a different area of tribes to take you. It is possible of course, it would just take some time to arrange."
The boy shifted from foot to foot. "I don't know," he said, his voice faltering with a sadness that made him less inclined on making a sudden life-changing decision for himself. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Maybe the Lizalfos wouldn't be a bad idea. But would they want…?”
"According to the Lizalfos that had found you when you were a baby," the king explained. "You would have to go through a trial, or a set of trials, for them to recognize you as their kin. I believe you may be too young, but if you think this is what you want to do, we can help you get started. Impa can train you for awhile, so that you become more confident in your fighting ability."
Unsure of how to respond to that, he suddenly took off in a sprint. Impa was about to move, but the king raised a hand in the air. Zelda however, retreated from the wall before anyone would see her, leaving the area quietly.
"It's alright, Impa," he said calmly. "He needs some time alone. Let him be."
Impa sighed, heeding his words. "While his circumstances are unfortunate,” she said, gazing at where the boy had disappeared. "Do you really think it's a good idea for me to train him? To make him stronger? If he is indeed, a threat to us one day, wouldn't it be risky to let him in on our fighting techniques? And where will he stay during his training?"
"He is not a threat now, but we will still take precautions," said the king warily. "He will not remain with us for long. In the meantime, his sleeping quarter will be in the guard barracks, the room to the east though - best if he has the room to himself, rather than sharing it with them. Give him a day or two to reset himself, and find his priority. Then you will begin the training."
Volga understood enough to know that he was to stay in Hyrule Castle for awhile to begin his training, and out of survival and instinct, he knew he should comply, at least for the sake of having a roof over his head and something to eat. Emotionally however, he wanted to be away from everyone, away from the cautious or scared expressions that would judge him.
He found himself in what appeared to be a grove, but was in fact, a grand garden. Volga wondered if he had somehow managed to leave the castle, but then he realized that he did not really care right now. Something about this place was…
So many flowers. He had never seen so many of them at once, of such variations and colors. They were beautiful; lively and taken care of, as were the plants and shrubberies. A soothing fountain could be heard nearby, and Volga caught sight of two birds bathing inside it, chirping happily with one another. So peaceful this place was… it almost seemed unreal.
Even as he appreciated the beauty of the garden, he could not stop the swelling in his throat, and the blurring of his vision. He sunk into a sitting position, back pressed against the corner of where two shrubberies met. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he pulled them to his chest, burying his head into his arms. Tears burned within his eyes, past his helmet, and on his cheeks.
He felt like some kind of abomination. If he couldn't fit in with the humans, how would trying to live among the reptilians be any better? Who was to say he would succeed in whatever trial he had to prove to them? Why would he even care to try to impress them?
"Why do you cry?"
The voice startled him, and his heart raced frantically, as he raised his head from his arms to look at the source of said person. There, stood a girl who did not appear much younger than him, holding a harp in her hands. She was outfitted in a simple green dress, and yet of material that spoke of far much worth than that of an average piece of clothing. Her bangs were both braided, while the rest of her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, appearing golden from where the sunlight caught onto it. Deep, blue eyes stared at him curiously.
Volga stared back at her for a moment, before shifting around nervously from where he sat. "I'm not… crying," he sniffed, trying to get a hold of himself, forcing his voice to deepen as much as he could. "And even if I was, so what?"
"When I cry," she said, taking a seat next to him on the grass, and placing her harp beside her. "Father or Impa try to make me feel better. Everyone should have someone like that, don't you think? If you cry, who will make you feel better?" and when Volga made no reply, she spoke again. "I can try to make you feel better, if you would like."
He blinked at her, even though he felt like he should be annoyed with her nosiness and invasion of his space. "Who are you?" he asked, confused.
"I'm Princess Zelda. But you can just call me Zelda. And you?"
A… princess? It made sense to Volga now as to why she was dressed the way she was, but what didn't make sense to him was why a princess would be here, right now, talking to someone like him, and not inside the castle, attending to business affairs.
"I'm Volga," he said frowning. "But I don't understand why you're here."
She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind a pointed ear. "I've been… sneaking around a bit. Impa gets angry with me when I do that, but I can't help myself," she said sheepishly. "Anyway, I heard what happened in the throne room. What that villager was saying and everything. I don't understand what's so scary about you."
Volga gave a choked laugh. "You're joking, right? Isn't a boy wearing a helmet not scary enough to you?"
"Should it be? Why do you wear a helmet?"
Volga instantly grew defensive. "Why else do people wear helmets?" he retorted.
She shrugged. "Our soldiers wear them when they're in training, or when they're going to war. But they don't usually wear them for greetings or social gatherings."
There was a pause, as if Zelda was considering something, but was struggling with herself as to whether she should follow through with it. Finally, she decided. "May I see you?" she asked, somewhat timidly.
It was strange how polite she sounded, but Volga knew what she meant. His initial instinct was to tell her to go away and leave him alone. But then he figured that she would likely go away anyway. He had nothing to lose really. It wasn't as if he had to worry about what she thought of him. She was being curious, that was all.
And yet, even when he gave her the nod of approval, he felt his heart sink as she lifted his helmet. He was afraid, and he did not know why. He never felt like this around the other children, always expecting them to react the way they did. He found himself closing his eyes tightly.
Silence. Volga wondered why she hadn't screamed and ran away by now.
"Why," said Zelda softly, her finger brushing at one of the black markings under his left eye, catching a stray tear there. "Why would people be so afraid of this? Afraid of you?"
He opened his eyes at her words, shocked green ones meeting a searching blue. "Your eyes are so expressive, too." She placed the helmet on the ground next to her harp. "I like how you are."
Volga thought at first, that he was hearing things. That he had somehow imagined the words, that he had imagined this very place. That he had imagined Zelda. Perhaps he was dreaming. But no, he couldn't be, because when her hand reached out for his, the touch felt very real.
"Come on," she said, giving him a warm smile. "Let's go get a bite to eat. We don't even have to go back to the castle, if you don't want. I know of some places in the marketplace we could visit. You must be starving."
"It is something that grows over time... a true friendship. A feeling in the heart that becomes even stronger over time... The passion of friendship will soon blossom into a righteous power and through it, you know which way to go... This song is dedicated to the power of the heart... Listen to the Bolero of Fire..."
- Sheik (Ocarina of Time)