#rova

The young Gerudo stood with her arms folded atop the high wall of her capitol city, cool water from the aqueduct rushing past her ankles in defiance of the blistering midday sun. The moblin beside her adjusted its bow and quiver on its back, and cast a brief and pitying look in her direction. 

Beyond the wall, the marketplace that led to the icehouses stood in ruins. What once was a lively center for trade had been turned into rows of tent-pitched barracks for Hylian soldiers. Further, the coliseum now housed prisoners of war, and towering catapults and cannons, instead of challenges of honor and festivity. It was as if the changes had happened overnight, the unfamiliar soldiers settling like stubborn mites in the sand. 

“It wouldn’t be wise for you to go out on your own.” The moblin said, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them. “If you would like some help down-” “I can manage, thank you.” She frowned, but broke her glare at the market in favor of turning on her heel and leaving the moblin to its patrol. 

Forgoing hopping down to the crates that led out into the desert, she instead returned to the rickety ladder that allowed her to slide back down into the courtyard. Despite a few raised eyebrows from the stationed guards in the area, the girl straightened her posture and strode back into the palace with a confidence usually foreign to children of twelve-or-so. 

Despite the chaos beyond the thick stone of the outer walls, the cool carved and sun-dappled halls of the palace itself were peaceful. The tapping of the girl’s shoes against the colorful floor tiles nearly felt like an affront to the chapel-quiet that had settled toward the throne room. At the very least she was able to slip into the grand chamber without much noise, with the heavy door left ajar to facilitate the collaborative breeze between the vast windows and the sheer curtains of the entryways. 

Bypassing the empty throne and its sunlit grandeur, the girl strolled over to kneel next to the plush couch in the more hospitable corner of the chamber. Ichor-stained hands rested atop a shallowly-breathing chest, the golden warmth of the light and the vibrant tones of a silken shawl unable to hide the sickly fragility of the figure to whom they belonged.

“Baba?” She murmured, pressing the back of her hand to their forehead, “How are you feeling?” A bit of a startle, pale blue eyes opening a little to compliment a soft smile, “I’m fine, baby. Just a little dizzy.” “If you’re feeling poorly, I can go get someone-” “No - No, please don’t.” The girl paused, brow furrowing, “Why?” “You know how he’ll get, when he hears.” A bit of a fidget, as much as they could manage, “Just, very… fussy.” 

She wasn’t convinced, but gentle hands grasped one of hers, “Instead, tell me about practice. Did you beat your time?” “The track is gone.” Her expression soured further, and blue eyes softened. “Oh. I’m sorry, baby.” “He promised he wouldn’t let them have it.” “He tried.” 

“Rova.” As if summoned, the door to the throne room opened more fully. The Gerudo King was stately despite the exhaustion that stained his features, his posture as noble and looming as ever and his golden eyes piercing as he entered the chamber. “Papa.” She answered, still holding one of her other parent’s hands as she stood. 

Whatever conversation she was expecting didn’t come, as the king rubbed a hand down his face, growling slightly as if he were attempting to scare off a headache. “Rova.” He began, again. “Yes?” “Give us a minute.” “But, I wanted to-” “Now, please.” A gentle squeeze at her hand, and Rova cast a wary look back down to the couch. However, a nod toward the door shooed her away, and she stalked past her father and out of the room. Though she ducked behind the heavy door and out of sight instead of truly leaving, crouching to peer through the gap between its hinges and the wall. 

While on any other day the Gerudo King would have noticed immediately and bid her properly to leave, his fatigue had either dulled his senses or drained him of his care on the matter. He knelt next to the couch in a similar way to his daughter and met the open arms of his spouse, pressing his lips to their cheek. “You’re feverish.” He muttered. “You’re exhausted.” They countered softly, already knitting their fingers through his thick, flame-red hair, “And you should go talk to your daughter.” “Later.” “What happened?” A sigh, letting his eyes fall closed, and the king rested their foreheads together. “Your meeting didn’t go well, then?”  “She fancies herself a conqueror.” “It’s not you she wants a war with, though…?” “She wants a supply of soldiers. Territory. Weapons. Hyrule commands that we nullify our treaty with the Rito, until the Highlands are surrendered.” “Or?” “Or we’re combatants, and treated accordingly.” Humming in thought, his spouse idly twisted a loose braid among his locks. He surrendered to the touch, shifting to nuzzle into the crook of their neck. 

“I think,” He continued, after a while, “It will be best if I send you and Rova elsewhere.” “Rova enjoys the coast. I’m not going anywhere, though.” “Don’t be difficult.” “Don’t be foolish.”