#(... sort of)

When they light again, their flames are not the flickering tones of a hearth, but the steady, vivid red of a blood moon. They strike violence against the newcomer's armor - a full set of what look to be onyx plates - the jagged spikes of their shoulders, the brutal horns of their helm. They stalk toward the center of the hall, metal clanging with each move, until they stand before the high table. Then, from their back they draw forth a great, massive blade that can be described as nothing if not hungry. Though you, at the Princess's side, clutch the hilt of your own steel, the strange knight does not lift that vicious thing against her. Rather, they take the hilt in both hands and plant their sword into the old stone floor

Their - his? - voice creates a draft, lowering the warmth of the room by at least ten marks with the echo of that low yet thunderous sound

"People of Hyrule! I have a gift for you," he chuckles, "though, my favor does not come free. Call forth a champion who is sharp of sword or of mind, and should they best me in either, I will grant them my boon."

He claims it matters not, who he is or where he comes from, but turns his head to her when the Princess asks about the terms of his challenge

"A duel of wits or a duel of weapons, my lady. That is what I require. As for my gift... I will announce it upon my defeat. Not a moment sooner."

A breath, and then the Princess herself challenges him to a duel of wits. You are tensed the whole time, your frame taut as you attempt to plot out all the potential weak points of his armor - attempt, as his armor was designed thoroughly. But, he does not move from his position. Simply stands there and intones the most ridiculous riddle you've ever heard

Ridiculous, because the answer is so obvious

" - What am I?" The knight concludes, then settles in to wait

And wait you do, glancing at Zelda with increasing frequency as the seconds become minutes. She doesn't meet your gaze because hers is trained on the table, tracing the wood grain as her lips move without sound. Why is it taking so long, you wonder, when Zelda is the smartest person you know?

Eventually, she gives a short sigh and looks back at the knight. She doesn't know the answer

"Still, I commend you for your effort, Princess Zelda." He then says to the room: "My riddle will be the same all through the night. Any may attempt it. But, while we let others sharpen their wits, would anyone like to dull their sword with mine?"

After a moment, one of the knights volunteers: a man by the name of Sir Derek. You know him - he's been on patrol with you before - all young and flushed with arrogance. Once, the two of you came across a band of hinoxes just a few clicks from the city. You were going to turn back for reinforcements, but before you could move your horse around he was flying in, sword drawn. It's no surprise that he is the first to challenge the ominous knight

Standing in the center of the great hall, candles leave burning trails across steel. Smirking, Sir Derek flicks his sword in a shining arc

Less than five seconds later, the knight has Sir Derek flat on his back, has taken that shiny sword, and left a steep gash upon his arm with his own blade. He holds the tip to Derek's neck, to the tender veins beneath, before flicking it away. A gentleman, he returns it hilt first

The next to challenge him is Sir Gola, a knight far greater in both size and experience. At a weight similar to that of a bull, and at least a bull's length, he was the instructor you had most difficulty with. His flail was the devil of the training ring, its chain ripping weapons from hands and its spike crushing over bone. It took all of your agility and cunning to pass his trial

Thorough the knight's armor may be, but you can't imagine it allows for much movement, let alone the fleet-footedness necessary to hold one's own against Sir Gola

Within moments of the duel's start, you stand corrected. As Sir Gola swings for the foreign knight, his armor - and not just his armor, but his physical form - melts into sheer darkness, as if made from shadows. His greatsword spins with the fluidity of a baton, flowing seamlessly from one position to the next, until he manifests behind Sir Gola, swinging for the crack where helmet meets neck. It is experience that allows Gola to duck, yet it is his size which, minutes later, allows the knight to trip him up, greatsword coming down on his leg hard enough to dent the metal

No, you think, hard enough to cut the metal. For, surely that is a red line where there ought to be unbroken steel. Tis sheer luck that's spared him the limb - either luck, or the knight's mercy

When next speaks one of the newest Hyrulean knights, war hammer pulled from his back, your nose scrunched in a scowl, your eyes narrowed with a ferocity you could never summon the passion for -

Well, you don't very much feel like gambling on the Demon Knight's mercy

"I will take your challenge," you emerge from behind Princess Zelda, calling so that your voice echoes far louder than his. From across the room, you level your even-tempered best until your brother stands down, war hammer firmly stashed away

Then, the knight's intensity is upon you. Like any helmet, his bathes the face beneath in darkness, though with him the darkness seems thicker. Pungent. You must stare directly into the slit to catch any glimpse of the man's true form, and even then, it is only the faintest glow of two eyes, two carmine dots ever as thirsty as their master

"Which: a battle of weapons, or a battle of wits?"

"Of wits."

The knight repeats his riddle, and you let him for there is no purpose in angering him now. Your answer comes as soon as he finishes

Silence. Then, a low, chuckling hum. "Is that your final answer?"

"Yes," you say just as quickly

"If I may, how did you come to that answer?"

It was quite simple, really. The riddle made allusions to the literary works of Sir So-and-So, as well as a nursery rhyme commonly sung by the village children, and when you take each story to its natural conclusion, cross-examining the archetypes in use - simple. Obvious. Why, you wonder, does the rest of the banquet look so shocked? Did truly no one else think of this?

No, you realize, they didn't. For, the answer relied on both a classical education and at least a passing familiarity with the commonfolk, the former of which they possess in spades to the detriment of the latter

"What is your name, sir knight?" the demon asks as his greatsword vanishes in a dark mist

Presumably, this is so that he can deliver to you his boon. Even still, you have heard more than your fair share of warnings about demons and fey alike, so it is that you mind your phrasing: "I am known as Sir Vivian Smith."

As his jagged shoulders, his jagged form straightens, you swear the knight radiates a certain gladsomeness. "Very well, Sir Vivian. You will receive my boon on the morrow."

And with no further explanation, and to the countless shouts of startled royalty, he too vanishes in an opaque smoke

The rest of the night is a passing blur. There are concerned words, there are gentle dismissals. There are hands rough on your shoulders, your brothers singing in your ears. There is another night full of feasting and celebrations, and then there is sleep. There is a cold oblivion broken only by shiny red eyes

The next morning, there is a letter on your nightstand, a letter and a dagger. The arm is intricate, its hilt far finer than even your master of a grandfather could have made, a deep black walnut graced with gold filigree; the blade gleams like jet or onyx, a purple sheen that the Court Mage will later confirm is a poisonous enchantment that's long been outlawed in your kingdom, but well-utilized in the Demon King's domain

The letter is penned in a fine calligraphy with gold along the edges of the parchment. Most of it you do not read, your stare going distant at the following words:

... to the union of Sir Vivian Smith, Knight of Hyrule, with the Demon Prince, heir to the Trident of Power and all who recognize its dominion, to be arranged within a fortnight of their betrothal...

"I've done it," your son says, only halfway formed and already sprawling across his favorite lounger, eldritch goop soaking into the upholstery. Again.

You barely pause from writing one word to the next. Gruffly, you ask just to be done with it: "Done what?"

Despite staunchly not looking at him, you can feel the smug aura radiating from that corner, that particular shit-eating grin. Like a cat who got the cream. "Found myself a partner."

Then, you do stop.

You gaze at your son, your creation who bears your shrewd looks, your foul temperaments, your intimate knowledge of military warfare and your unwavering determination. Your creation, and your partner's, who bears Vaati's preening-feline need for validation

"Tis true, father," rolling onto his side, Shadow props his chin against his fist, "I'm afraid your endless string of eligible suitors have met their match. Through my own efforts, I have found a candidate who meets all your qualifications: of noble status, with a genuine care for his people, strong enough to hold himself steady in the Demon Court, or smart enough to make up for it, mindful of his words so as not to have his identity stolen on the first day - and, as a bonus, he is as fair as the north star."

You set your quill to its pot, considering how just hours before, your son blew from the castle like a bolt of lightning. "All in one night?"