AN: Okay, so this is my first Zelda fanfiction ever so ya know, PLEASE read and review. Updates are not scheduled at all, but this is one fanfiction that will not die. Yippee!
Please note, while Rhian & co. are based on Earth, my geography is appauling. Like seriously, it's terrible. So I'm going to try and avoid place names and stuff like that in this fanfic. If needs be, I will later set it in an imaginary country that doesn't and doubtless will never exist on earth. Keep that in mind while reading.
Oh, that and I can't do fancy chapter names. Excuse the crapiness of them, any spelling mistakes and bad grammar.
Rated for colourful language.
DISCLAIMER: The appearing Zelda characters are not mine, never will be. We can thank Nintendo for them.
Chapter 1: The Parcel
Today hasn't gone well. You know, those days where it starts of a little bad, and gets steadily worse with very few cheerful intermissions? Yeah, it's been one of those days. I sigh and fold my arms, blinking stupidly at the wall in front of me. The man in the poster, with his blue eyes and blonde bangs and that oh-so-recognisable green tunic, stares right back at me. I can't help but grin at him, and as I lean back on my chair and turn away I get the idea of going and playing a Legend of Zelda game on my old but trusty friend the N64.
Before I can consider any true plan of action, a voice shouts at me from downstairs, and in all honesty it sounds annoyed. "Get your ass down here now before I have to come up there and drag you down here!"
"Is that a threat?!" I yell back in reply, shaking my fist while I know he can't see me. "Cause if it is I'll bet it's a damned empty one!"
I only realise a second too late what I've done when I hear the thudding from the stairs, and start to my feet immediately. I duck around the door, and not too soon either because as I scarper out my room a fist flies into the door and therefore forces it to open fully. My brother gives and irritable growl and lunges for me.
Twisting as best I can, I dodge out the way and take a nimble little jump over his outstretched leg. I chuckle as I realise he was hoping to trip me, and then have to stop myself falling down the stairs by gripping the banister and sliding down three. I wince as I release the wooden banister; my left hand feels like it's burning and my right hand isn't much better. A couple of thuds alerts me to my brother, who is apparently still annoyed and intent on beating me up, and I go down the steps in twos, before jumping the last five and hitting the bottom floor neatly. I straighten up and go to head towards the back door when a hand grabs my collar and stops me going anywhere.
"For the record, don't rile up your brother when he's already in a bad mood." Says the voice of my father. I give a sigh and cease even considering fighting back. My brother I can take on in closed spaces, my father I can hardly defend myself against in a huge back garden. "And Timmy, leave your sister be."
"Enough, I said no." The argument's over before it ever really started, and as my father releases my collar and walks past me I can't refrain my snigger. It changes to a sharp intake of breath when Timmy punches me hard in the shoulder, and then again to another snigger as our father rounds on Timmy for laying a finger on me after he was told not to.
I'm spoilt and I know it. And I'm not just talking about the material things, like my several consoles (ranging from a GBC to a PS2 to an N64). No, I'm on about the way I'm treated. I live in the lap of luxury sometimes, especially when it comes to picking fights with my brother. After all, who wouldn't believe the girl who studies hard, avoids fights unless it's really necessary and always picks the arguments with her brother and then blames him, and also has unnecessary mood swings at anyone near by on really bad days? Well, everyone if you really know me. But at the same time, would rather believe my brother Timmy, who was always the rebel and starts fights whatever the conditions?
Definitely not, so I always end up with the benefit of the doubt.
So yes, I know I'm spoilt rotten sometimes and I know it only makes Timmy hate me all the more. Not that he doesn't love me, he has to being my brother and all (and sadly it only seems right I ever return the 'favour') but I know for a fact he'd love to lay a couple of punches on me. And I know firsthand that his punches hurt. Really hurt. Then again, apparently so do mine.
Safe in the knowledge that Timmy has been banned from coming anywhere near me until he feels he doesn't need to belt me one, I return upstairs to my bedroom and sit back down in my computer chair. At first I wonder if it's worth turning on the computer itself and checking any e-mails, but then the thought that I might have art requests, spam and a load of other junk just waiting for me looms above me and I crush the idea. Soon enough I'm back where I was half an hour beforehand, staring at the Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess poster. Heh, I always end up looking at that when I have nothing to do. Dunno why, I just do. Maybe it's because looking at Link will inspire me to do something, but I really can't say. The reason, or possibly reasons, remain beyond me.
As it is, I find myself reaching out and turning on my Nintendo 64, with Ocarina of Time in the slot for the game cartridge, and before I really know it, I'm playing on the damn thing. So much for my earlier scheme of stay-away-from-the-Zelda-games-lest-you-want-to-engage-in-a-war-with-your-parents that I made up about a month ago. God, I can't even remember why I made that.
For a time I have nothing to do on OoT; I cannot remember what the Hell I am supposed to be doing (aside from the obvious save-Hyrule/land in peril stuff you usually end up doing. Duh) nor where I am meant to go to accomplish such a mission. I amuse myself for a short while by throwing the Hero of Time off cliffs and laughing at his girly scream and pathetic excuse for painful landing, and then wonder if anyone else tried to smash Link's ankles in this way. Probably have. It's kind of entertaining anyway I figure.
After proving that my Link at least is suicidal, I run off to the Gerudo Fortress. Returning to the training area and noticing that I've not retrieved the treasure, because there are still two locked doors, I chuckle and leave the training area. Then I run off to the Lost Woods, for no reason. Well, other than because I can, which is the best reason ever invented for someone doing something sometimes. But after an hour of running around Hyrule for no reason, I get bored with it all.
Maybe I could go play Majora's Mask some then. I think. But once again the voice of my irritated brother yells at me, and this time I'm in no mood to go dancing with him, in that sense. With a disgruntled sigh I stand, place down the controller and turn of the television and console. Then I make my way downstairs.
"For me?" I ask dumbfounded. "I never get mail these days."
"Well you've got some now!" Snaps Timmy. He thrusts the book into my stomach (which let it be noted hurts and causes me to wince somewhat) and then stalks off to his bedroom. As he goes out of sight, I stick my tongue out at him. However old I am, that childish trick usually always helps me feel better.
I look at the 'mail' I'm holding, and at once I guess it's not a letter. Or maybe there's a letter with it, but right now I know for a fact this parcel contains a book. I refrain from groaning as I notice my mother walking into the room, and pretend to look chipper and excited. "It's a late present from my great grandpa again, isn't it?" I ask.
"Don't know. There isn't a return address or anything. Not a note from the sender on the outside."
"Just grand. Well let me go put it away safely. Er… I mean that is to say, after I open it."
My mom raises a brow at me, narrowing her eyes after. I gulp slightly, I just hate that face because I immediately know she's trying to pry the lies right out of my very soul. It almost stings too. Thankfully, she desists this behaviour after a minute, and turns away, leaving me free to sneak off.
"Nice recovery." Says my dad as he walks past into the room to speak with my now slightly suspicious mom. His added wink tells me he won't spill the beans. Not that there's much to spill really, since I know I'm going to open this thing now.
After all, I'm interested to find out who sent it. Usually things without return addresses are the work of my forgetful, clumsy but stupidly loveable great grandpa, who is now nearing his deathbed. It's a sad fact that I haven't been able to visit him lately, but the fact he sends me letters on the odd occasion cheers me up a lot. After all, like I said he is stupidly loveable, never mind the fact he is a very sweet man. No one who knows my great grandpa will say one bad word against him. Besides, they know I'd be on them beating them to pulp before they could scream their apologies if they even attempted to do such a thing.
Anyway, back on track, I sit in my chair in the conservatory and set the book on the table. Carefully I undo the neat wrapping, just because… well I don't know, it just feels like this might be something pretty important to me and I don't want to take the risk of damaging it. Knowing my old great grandpa, it's probably a blasted clay model of a book he thought I might like. I'm not the best bookworm in the world, I shall fully admit. But is not-being-a-bookworm such a flaw? I always ask myself.
Once the parcel is fully unwrapped, I immediately know it is not any of my relatives doing. Why do I know? Because none of my relatives would have such a well cared for but slightly worn relic like this in their households. The book is in beautiful condition for it's apparent age, but what amazes me if the jewels encrusted in the cover. This would fetch a pretty price!
So amazed am I by the book's appearance I almost forget it's a book at all. But as I hear the dogs next door burst into a chorus of barking as someone (maybe the postman, who knows?) walks past their house, I snap back to reality. I open the cover, cough at the dust that springs up and flies around me in a cloud, and then look at the small paragraph in the middle of the page.
It seems odd to me, and I wonder at first if it's maybe just a little quote or something. Not wanting to read a quote particularly, I turn the page. But there's nothing, it's blank. And so is the next page, and the one after and…
God damn! The entire thing is totally blank! The only thing in this poor excuse for a book is that tiny paragraph. With a frustrated sigh I return to the first page, and read the paragraph in hopes it might clue me in to why this book, which I assume is not for writing in, is blank.
A page a night
Under Hyrule light
Will reveal unto you
What you must do
Well, that's just peachy. Some idiot has taken advantage of me being a Zelda fan and shoved some poetic nonsense onto what seems to be a beautiful book… I still assume it isn't for writing in. Maybe it is, I don't know, but I'd hate to take the risk.
With the sudden thought maybe I've been scammed by Johnson again (Johnson being a friend of mine who enjoys pulling the wool over people's eyes on certain subjects, or tricking them into thinking he likes them so much he'd send them something worth a lot) I shut the book and tap the 'crystals' on it's cover. To my amazement, they really are real. And… now I look at them they look like rupees. But we all know what a load of bull this is! After all, it's only in silly, foolish Legend of Zelda fanfictions that a real item from a very real Hyrule gets sent to an innocent person's doorstep. It's only in fairytales that spring from the depths and jungles of people's minds that result in people getting items that have real rupees, or crystals or whatever and then get transported to another world! And I'm sure my life is not a fanfiction.
"Must be a Zelda fan's collection item." I conclude, picking up the mildly small book and looking at the back. It is just as beautiful as the front, although lacking in the gems department. Still, that's not to say I'm not impressed. Far from it in fact, the work that must have gone into making this book so beautiful and look so worn, I can't even imagine.
So, I think to myself as I climb the stairs and head to my bedroom, it's not a Johnson scam. This beauty would have to be from a fellow Zelda fan I know, or will be from a very, very close friend. Or perhaps, both. I grin to myself as I place the book carefully down and then pick up my mobile, before slamming in the number rather violently.
"Hello, you've contacted the Kilan family. I'm afraid no one is available at the moment…" Great, I got their answer phone. Ah, never mind. I'll leave a message then.
"Hiya, it's Rhian calling and apparently leaving a message for Kyle. Yeah, ring me later Kyle, and thanks for the pressie assuming it was you. Beautiful book, remind me to give you a present worth about a million in future. Talk to you later!"
There, that should do it. Kyle always knows better not to disobey such direct orders from me anyway, because he has a great sense of personal safety. All the better, because as I look back at the book again I realise I'm just itching to know what this whole thing is about. It has me very confused, and since I'm confused at the best of times I don't need another load of confusion added to my plate.
So then, that's the first chapter done and dusted. What exactly is this book? Will Kyle ring back? And all those other boring questions with obvious answers that could possibly be asked about this chapter. Find out in chapter 2, Random Gibberish. (bad titles, huh?)