Daddy Dearest [Zenethil/Merik] [Fin]

[Nairore]

x x

May the Goddesses bless her. Nairore sat in the chair in the sitting room where she had sat with her father so many times before. They had had all sorts of conversations there, from the meaningless to the philosophical. He liked to engage her brain as much as her body when it had come to it. His training was not nearly as tiring as Merik's physically, but it had always left her mind tired afterward. Oddly it had been much easier to sleep when she had trained with her father, the mental exhaustion taking its toll. Though she and Merik had their own sleeping aid.

Her hand fell to her stomach at the thought. She shook her head and retracted it. Business had to be kept in order at this meeting if she wished to leave it with dignity. Granted she really didn't know what the meeting was for. How do you tell your father you were leaving to become part of everything he worked to destroy? How would she go about telling him that without revealing that Merik was her tutor and had a major influence on her decision. How do you say that when most of your decision was being driven by the baby of your father's mortal enemy growing inside you?

She would be finding out soon, hopefully. Nairore's thoughts really didn't see this meeting going well. There was no way Zenethil was accepting this. She just hoped he let her speak. Her hair was almost as much red as it was brown by now and her eyes were still two different colors, one of them being the gold that her father worked to snuff out. It comforted her knowing that Merik was in the building, just down the hall in a waiting room. The servants were tending to him as though he were a student of Rwaht's.

That disguise would be blown very soon. There was no way Zenethil would buy that lie when Nairore let him know her intentions. He would want to know who her tutor was. But she couldn't let him know. Not now. Zenethil deserved to know everything, but not at one time. He wouldn't be able to handle it. With a shaking sigh, wrought with nervousness, Nairore stared at the empty chair across from her, where her father would be sitting in mere moments, and wondered where that chair would end up before this was all done.

She really hoped it would stay where it was.

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[Zenethil]

For most of the day, Zenethil had been in something of a fit of brooding, of barely concealed annoyance and anger, irritation and, strangely, insult. The first thing Nairore decided to do when she got back home? Take out whatever annoyance had become pent up inside of her on Leon, one of the most non-threatening Knights he knew. At least, non-threatening in the male to female sense of the word. And, if not for Lorina's intervention and his natural resilience, he would likely be severely injured. Perhaps even critically, near-death. Or worse, actually dead. The thought had been eating away at him all day, through drills and diplomacy, in his few moments alone, and in conversations with the important and mundane. And he had not so much as dimmed his maelstrom of emotion. If anything, it had intensified it.

According to Lorina, Nairore should now be at home. He was late. And for once, he did not rue this fact for her benefit, but for his own sanity. He needed to know what in the Goddesses names she had been thinking, if she even was thinking. And to wring the answers he wanted from her. So many things didn't add up. Why had Rwaht not simply spoken to him about the matter? Why had he received nothing from him about his daughter's progress? Why had Nairore's details been so sparse? Why, despite Rwaht being a paragon of temperance and calm, had Nairore returned, seemingly in a worse state than before? He opened the door to their home with his usual, unerring grace, before closing it almost silently behind him, before walking through, head snapping left as he saw her sat in the same chair she had used to sit when he spoke to her, to engage her mind. Opposite his comparatively simple, but robust chair. The soles of his boots made deceptively quiet padding noises across the floor, as he swept into the room, not even bothering to remove the cloak, remaining stood, his eyes narrowed, bearing down upon her.

You, young lady, have a great deal of explaining to do.

The very scene caused pangs of sadness, which only added to his irritation, evident in his voice, which despite the comparative levelness with which he spoke, for Zenethil, to be displayed at all revealed the severity of his emotions. As he stood before her, finally taking in the details that had originally escaped him on first entering the room, it caused him to almost double-take. The red half of her hair, contrasting starkly against the brown. The calm, solemn look on her face at odds with her almost wild general appearance. And most startling, and worrying of all. Her eyes. The vibrant blue in one. And the the colour he had gone to great lengths to cover up, to shield her from the possibility of a life as... One of them...

Well?

[Nairore]

x x

No doubt word of her assault on Leon had reached Zenethil fairly early. Considering her night with Lori it certainly had plenty of time, and gossip never passes up an opportunity to spread. It was like oil; it spread from the source slowly, oozing outward, and once it got there it was near impossible to scrub clean. Nairore always hated how gossip was such a powerful force; it put great power in the hands of people who didn't deserve it and stripped power away from those who didn't. Truth be told it was a similar effect to what had happened with Merik.

She had been told he was the greatest evil, and provided no evidence to counter this, therefore she had come to believe it. And it had taken quite some effort on his part to even break through that belief. And that had all been Zenethil's fault. Though Nairore had to wonder if things would've happened the same had she been more accepting of Merik from the get go. She definitely wouldn't have tried to kill him, thereby not getting a clear demonstration of his superiority. Right from the start everything that had happened could've easily been avoided had Zenethil not provided such a one-sided argument.

It was flawed logic at best. Nairore knew it would not work at all in this coming battle, so she tucked it away to never be used. She needed to be reasonable, even when Zenethil wasn't. She needed to keep her calm, which was often a true task in the best of circumstances. Her hormonal imbalance and weary mind, along with the heavy pressure applied by her father would all work toward cracking her calm, which could be disastrous. It had already happened once and she had nearly killed Leon.

He entered the room and started immediately. Nairore felt small underneath his penetrating stare. Immediately it felt like too much, but she sucked it up and with a deep breath tried to gather her words. There was so much going on here that she really didn't know where to start. Running off with the Gerudo, training with Merik, bearing his child and now she had spent the night with her sister . . . each one of these was enough for Zenethil to lock her away for the rest of her life. "Where do you want to start?" she said calmly, her multi-colored eyes looking up at his almost defiantly.

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[Zenethil]

The nerve of it. The sheer. Unrestrained. Nerve of it. He looked behind him briefly, before sitting down, elegant even in his apparent irritation, naturally flicking the cloak back so he did not sit upon it. He sat bolt upright, his lips contorted in a scowl, his eyes still narrowed, before folding his fingers together, clearing his throat. Where to start? First, he thought, the obvious should be addressed.

Perhaps you can start by explaining quite why exactly you felt the need to pulverise Leon. Irrespective of how naturally difficult he is to injure, the severity with which you lashed out at him, even with your usual brutality, was both extreme and inexcusable. Against any other, they would be lucky to be alive, let alone conscious. It is only the fact that you are my daughter, and that both Leon and Lorina refuse point blank to treat the matter with the severity that it would earn if conducted by any other, that we are not having this discussion with bars between us.

His remained calm. Terrifyingly so. Despite his furor during the day, confronted with the situation first hand was far easier than he had imagined, to repress his anger. It did not, however, make his tone one that would be easy to bear. Cold disdain permeated his every word, mixed with disappointment, tinged with frustration, with the slightest hints of sadness. For Zenethil, a concoction quite unlike any other he had spoken to her. He paused for a moment, before resuming.

Then, perhaps, the sparse details within your letter. While I certainly don't need, require or want a full list of your daily routine, more details as to what you are being taught would not go amiss. Not least because of my interest, as you know, in what is being taught to you.

He did not mention Rwaht's name once. For several reasons. If it was Rwaht, she would know who he was referring to. If not, he hoped it would help to flush some answers. His earlier, somewhat naive hopes of a joyous reunion were quickly evaporating before his very eyes. Those same eyes which never left hers, studying them carefully.

And why, Nairore, has the enchantment broken upon one eye?

The term broken was a stark one. Not faded. Not lapsed. Not eased. Broken. Such an enchantment did not fade this quickly. They did not lapse, wane or ease away. They were permanent until turmoil broke them.

[Nairore]

x x

This was it. The confrontation she had been preparing for a month. An entire month of brooding on the subject on hand, how her father would react, and how she should respond. Of course Zenethil didn't need to learn exactly how Nairore had distracted herself during that month. Once more her thoughts flickered to the sparks of life forming within her womb and she wondered if her father's natural healing abilities, magic that dealt with the body, would help him notice it. She prayed for her life and the life of her child that he wouldn't notice.

His tone was much less outraged than Nairore had been expecting. She had heard her father yell before, though it had never been at her. Not directly. She had been expecting that to change today, yet his tone was calm, his demeanor collected. Everything was curt, straightforward, business-like. Were it anyone but Nairore sitting there they would probably be squirming already, but the Gerudo woman had an edge. She had grown up around Zenethil, she knew him and his mannerisms. So she knew that this new tone was in place for one reason.

He didn't know how else to react. This entire thing was new to him, too, and despite having a full day or thereabout to think on the subject he had not had a chance to truly steel himself. This was the result; a new reaction for a new situation. That told her she had an advantage, having had an entire month to prepare. Of course all that time seemed to soar right by when she thought back and she felt immensely unprepared for this confrontation. But it had to be done; Zenethil would campaign across the world if she simply disappeared from his realm.

"Lori is quite fond of Leon. I saw it clear as day and I simply couldn't stand for it. She deserves . . ." she trailed off, remembering the night before which she had spent not quite sleeping in Lori's bed. "She deserves better than him. I've grown up around the Knights all my life and I know what they are like. I won't stand by while she falls into that same hole. I got a little out of hand, I admit, but Leon was able to walk away just fine. Had it been any other Knight perhaps my fists wouldn't have swung as true, knowing their weak disposition," she said with a casual, dismissive shrug. She didn't need any more digging into that outburst.

"As for my letters, I am often quite tired in the evening, it's somewhat difficult to write letters to you and Lori. If you check the correspondence I've had with her I've urged her to fill you in on the details since it was hard for me to write to both of you. I hadn't known that you two . . . weren't getting along as well." And now the big one. "Finally, the eyes . . . well, I've decided to tread a new path to further my experience with the world. I'm going into the desert, father, to see if I can fit in among the Gerudo there." Like ripping off a bandage. If said bandage were rooted to your very nervous system and tore half of it out with it.

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[Zenethil]

He listened as she spoke, each word catalysing his annoyance, turning it into anger, at her presumption, her lack of remorse, her almost casual decision she had 'gotten a little carried away'. Inwardly, he seethed, regretting his comparative lenience with respect to her continual physical responses to approaches from the Knights. What more did she expect? Even now she dressed in a provocative manner, stomach bared, little left to the imagination. And she expected men who went for weeks without female contact to not make advances? His patience was wearing thin, but still he did not speak, despite his wish to vent his frustrations. He simply sat, eyes relaying nothing.

Each word, each casual gesture, served only to make him more infuriated. Like a rising tide in a storm, against a sea wall, all it needed was a sharp push to cause the whole thing to collapse under the fury of the growing maelstrom. Controlled fury swirled about him, eddies and currents that swirled around each word, each action. And then she gave the shove. Those few select words did more to shatter his wall of calm than his entire experience of war, politics and suffering his life had accumulated. He froze. Unmoving. A tick in the eye. The set of his jaw, muscles tensing visibly. For what seemed like an eternity, he was frozen. Then came the onset of the flood.

You. Wish to go. To the desert. To fit in. With a race, comprising, of little more, than vultures, and viperous thieves, cutthroats and bandits.

He began to rise, eyes flaming with barely controlled rage, each word he had spoken slowly gaining more and more of his fury, rising in volume and harshness, the terms he addressed the foul race with spat. His fists were clenched, breathing heavier, slow, deep, powerful. As he extended to his full height, looking down upon Nairore, his own daughter, with a tempestuous anger he had never felt in his life ever before. Things began to click within his mind, his mouth twisted further into a frown, the tick in his jaw flaring. His voice settled in volume, but became venomous, accusatory, damning.

You never left to study under Rwaht. Did you. You. Lied. To me. Who Nairore. Who was it who tutored you. Do not, so much, as dare to lie to me now.

He slowly paced towards Nairore, eyes not leaving, ablaze with incandescent rage, betrayal, despair, bitterness, and regret. Never before had he felt such a concoction of emotion tumble through him. Bizarrely, it was a strangely liberating experience. Able to speak his mind, with feeling, without the confines of tempering his opinions or instincts in the slightest. The fury that gripped him was born not simply through his hatred of the Gerudo. Or of her daughter's accursed heritage. Most of all, it was her lies. A dark voice in his head whispered. And you thought you could shape one of her ilk differently. How vain. How naive.

[Nairore]

x x

Nairore could see it cutting into him. Her words were going to hurt, that much was inevitable. She has prepared herself to be hurt in this confrontation. But seeing the ocean of emotion going through her father's eyes was remarkably painful all the same. She didn't want to torment him. Her ultimate wish was for him to be understanding of her decision, she didn't even wish him to support it! But she had also come knowing that was practically impossible and that this would boil down to him telling her off. She had steeled herself for that.

Though his words merited a surprising reaction from her. The Gerudo woman heard her father group her people together and dismiss them all under various derogatory classifications and this, oddly, stung her pride. Nairore had never had pride in her Gerudo heritage, not that she knew, but perhaps spending time lately with the Gerudo King changed that. Perhaps she had become much more in tuned to her blood than she had known. Or perhaps it was because she was carrying the only pure-blood Gerudo. That last one was something she held with secret pride, however.

The shot straight to her hidden pride set her off, and despite any efforts Nairore couldn't calm herself down. The imbalance took over again and she jumped from her chair to stare her father down, no remorse whatsoever. "Maybe you've forgotten but I'm part of that race of vultures and bandits. In your bigotry maybe you forgot that despite your zealous ignorance, I was born a Gerudo and that will never change!" she growled, then shook her head. "But then I suppose you'll never change either."

She bit at her lip, realizing she was going to overstep herself, but she couldn't help it anymore. She was furious, at Zenethil and at herself. She couldn't believe she had never seen this blindness of his before. She had been indoctrinated with his racism. "Rwaht Orin was a great man, he stood for something. He stood for equality of his people, against the oppression of the hybrids. Can you say you do anything nearly as great as that? What can you say for your life? That you supported the mindless annihilation of a people just struggling to survive? That you were just another thoughtless peon feeding the Hylian superiority complex?!"

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[Zenethil]

The words fell heavy upon him, like hammer blows. Yes, he was being incredibly prejudiced. Yes, he was blanketing everyone of his daughter's accursed heritage with the same, tarred brushstrokes. He shook his head, sorting through the emotional barrage, looking at Nairore, still incandescent with fury as she snapped back at him. Never before had they had anything more than a civil conversation. Nothing above the raising of a voice to highlight a philosophical point. The two were now locked in a battle of wills, Nairore's growls squaring off against Zenethil's rumbling.

No. I do not forget you are Gerudo by birth. Accident of blood is not cause to define your race. It is your actions. I raised you, not as a Gerudo tribeswoman, but as a woman of the calibre that I would wish to get from any of my Knights, despite your violent outbursts. I wanted you to be better than your birth marked you! I wanted to give you a chance at a life free from continuous, arduous, mindless struggle.

He was overwhelmed by a maelstrom of feelings once again, sadness, grief, betrayal, anger. His best efforts had clearly made not even the slightest indentation upon her psyche. Either that, or someone very convincing had poisoned her mind... A dark thought crossed his mind. Merik would be able to do that... He banished the thought. No. Some betrayals were just too much to consider. And then, at her next outburst, his fury redoubled, intensifying, magnified by the cutting, demeaning tone. The thoughtlessness of what she said. Thought never entered his head, as he closed the distance between the two in half a stride, before grabbing her by the holster of her weapon, forcing her to follow him, as he stormed outside, dragging her as he went.

What do I do! I protect this! I protect this castle, this town! This entire province, and all of the outlying towns and villages! And not just protect them. I provide hope for the lost, the dying and the unloved. I heal the sick, feed the hungry and defend the weak. As for the Gerudo, simply struggling to exist? Are you really so naive? So vain? So blinded by whatever madness, heresy has been driven into your mind, that you do not see what is clear for all?

He paused, lookiing at Nairore, almost pleading to her to see reason, even if that message was almost drowning in a sea of hatred and disgust.

I first found you when we responded to a raid. The same group of raiders had been ravaging medical supply wagons for weeks. People in all corners of our influence began dying for illness and disease, easily cured by the commonest of medicines, that we could not procure, because they were being stolen. We arrived at the camp, to find them burning the supplies. No attempt to even sell them back to us, or to use them for their own ends. Pure spite. No intention but to cause misery for countless families, as their loved ones died of fevers and coughs that could have been allayed by a single antidote.

He visibly shook at the memory, rage boiling within him. His hatred for the vile, abominable people had started that day.

I have seen envoys returned with their tongues nailed to the roof of their mouth. I have freed prisoners, so savagely beaten and abused, mentally and physically, that they have simply elected to die rather than continue to fight. Men cut open, their bodies left to rot in the sun. I do not claim that we Hylians are not guily of our own atrocities. I do not advocate the superiority complex that you seem to believe I hold dear. Why else are the Hylian Knights open to the man you beat so savagely? Why else would I raise a Gerudo child as my own daughter?

Fury gripped him again, hand shivering slightly at the memories that flickered through his mind.

Is it bigoted to hate the very people that strive to butcher, murder and savage the people that you have sworn life, mind and soul to defend? To persecute a race who's only language is war, who make no overture for peace, who cry out at injustice against them, even as they drive a scimitar through your loved ones chest.

[Nairore]

x x

She didn't want to clash with her father like this. They had never fought each other before, outside of sparring. They'd never seriously had it in for each other, yet the anger building up inside of her felt dangerous, and Nairore had no doubt Zenethil was feeling a very similar anger inside of him. She could practically see it radiating from him, and she knew this was only going to escalate fast. Nairore decided with her intention declared she might as well get out of there before things get to that dangerous point.

But Zenethil had other intentions. He grabbed her by the snap sheath on her back and dragged her along. She twisted and writhed, but she didn't want to fight back. Even now she didn't want to hurt her father, even with this building rage deep within her. She growled and struggled but he had her and she needed to keep her footing just to stay up. "Let go of me, what're you doing?" she hissed as he pulled her outside. Her immediate thought was to look around. Escape routes. Get out of there before things got out of hand.

She knew her father wouldn't have her run; he had magic and thus ranged attacks.

"You raised me against my own heritage which you appalled. I'm always going to be thankful for what you've done for me, but it's my life and I want to see my own heritage. I have no love for my mother, I've never had any, and I'm not going to fall in with that kind of crowd. There are more Gerudo in the desert than the bandits, the vicious, heartless raiders. I want to see them, instead of just blindly killing them because you say Gerudo are bad. I'm a Gerudo, whether you like it or not, father!" she growled, taking a few steps back from him. This was getting very dangerous. She was pushing his buttons and it could end badly.

"And don't throw any of that bullshit at me. Leon is part of the Hylian Knights because he still has Hylian blood. You along with many of your colleagues, the leaders of the Hylian Knights, always wanted me in among your ranks but you just couldn't get past your damned superiority complex to allow anyone without Hylian blood to enter. I'm better than any recruit you find, better than most of your senior officers on that note, and yet you couldn't suck it up and let me in. So don't try to turn that around and make it sound like some sort of self-righteous cause. You defend the realm without even thinking about who you're killing.

"Have you ever tried talking to Merik Dragmire, opening the doors of diplomacy to help him instead of tirelessly trying to seek him out and kill him?"

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[Zenethil]

Something within Zenethil began to gain tension. A failsafe, that like a trip wire, now stretched taught, tightening. Tightening. Her optimistic assessment of the Gerudo was probably true. It was all too likely that there would be the occasional Gerudo who was more good than bad. Sekhmet, for example, had shunned that life, and worked as a mercenary. She'd even trained elements of the Hylian Navy. Ships were now able to more effectively defend themselves in close engagements thanks to her. But actions of a few did not outweigh the actions of the many. It was the concept of the big picture against the portrait. As always, it was Zenethil looking at the wider scope, the fact that in the desert, amongst the Gerudo, she would likely find herself amongst remorseless raiders. She, however, saw it merely as self-exploration. And it infuriated him. Why now? Why suddenly after so long did she desire to find out about herself? He had not shown her the cruelest side to the Gerudo because he had felt she simply was not ready to face them in person. And clearly, he was right.

His hands trembled with barely controlled rage, the fail safe within him straining against the burning fury that boiled his blood. He said nothing as she spoke, wheels of his mind turning ever faster, trying to deny what the voice in his head, previously a whisper, now a din of many voices, each vying for his attention. But that one, that sinister, cold and dark one was most distinct. It spoke of a treachery far beyond what he had thought she was capable of committing. The dark whispering became an insistent, constant pushing. Then she mentioned his name. Again. And everything clicked into place. All the voices in his head went silent. He consciously realised exactly the gravity of how deep her corruption now ran. The trembling stopped. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Once again, you see only a small part of the big picture. It is true. It is partially because of your heritage that we never allowed you to become a Knight. Not because we consider ourselves superior to the Gerudo, or to any race. But because you would become a target. A Gerudo Knight of Hyrule? You would forever be reviled and hated by... Your people. But mostly, we rejected you because you were not ready. You speak of being better than many of the Knights, many of my officers. In single combat, yes. You outshine most, if not all of use. But you are reckless. Single-minded. You do not think about the mental discipline required. Your overt manner of dealing with the advances of males is proof enough. When pushed, you lash out. You unthinkingly resort to violence.

His voice had remained dangerously even, level, almost quiet. The realisation filled his heart with rage, his soul with malice, and his mind with clarity. His voice, calm as it was, did more to exemplify this than any show of anger. His eyes locked with Nairore's.

You did not become a Knight, because you are not a Knight. You lack the fundamental qualities that we strive to exemplify. Temperance. Patience. Honour. Duty. Selflessness. As for... Merik... Attempts have been made. All have failed. It is also quite difficult to track someone down who has been travelling for the past few weeks and months...

He paused for a moment, allowing her to realise quite where he was going with this. Conjecture, it may be, but it fit. Merik had not appeared in any raids, nobody spoke of his whereabouts, and Nairore had spoken little of the man who trained her. The very thoughts sickened him utterly.

Travelling not alone, but with a companion. Teaching her blade skills. And poisoning her mind. And you, as someone incapable of seeing beyond the obvious, believed every word of it. Everything he said. About him. About his people. About my people. About me.

He had no proof. But her reaction would be all the proof he would need. And he had not been so sure of something without tangible evidence in his life.

[Nairore]

x x

That couldn't be the truth. Nairore refused to believe it. Zenethil had raised her all her life, he had been her tutor. Even when she couldn't use magic he had continued to help her advance with her swordsmanship, had kept using her to train his Knights because she was better than them. Using her. That was the root of this. He had never had any intention of letting her into the Knights, he had this excuse ready from the get-go. Nor did he ever want it. He had been using her this entire time to his advantage, knowing she would be personal drive for his Knights. She scowled at him, hardly believing he could have the gall to straight out admit this.

"So that's what this all was. I was just a tool. Right from the beginning you saw something you can use to better your Knights, but you were never going to let me in," she growled. Her one blue eye flickered and gold flecks appeared within it. "Never once did you mention these things before. You were going to keep me in the dark? You were going to just keep using me to train your Knights until I became wise to your games. What now? Lock me away so I can't become another one of those raiders and bandits? How can you even say you're taking the righteous path?"

Then she did what she didn't think she would ever do. Not with the intent to use, anyway, but for the first time in her life she drew steel and pointed Naurlambe at Zenethil with the intent to harm. But she didn't swing. She caught her arm, though, before she actually swung. Or actually his words caught her. Her eyes flickered wider before she realized he was going off of assumption only. There was no proof, not that he knew. Or had Merik sold her out? No, he wouldn't do that. She was bearing his child and he had seemed to have every intent to keep the child safe. But then would he have allowed her to even come meet Zenethil like this? The gold flecks that had just appeared in her eyes flickered out again as she found herself conflicted once again.

"You can say what you want about him but nothing you've said or done so far has proven his words wrong," she said coolly, calmly, doing nothing to deny his accusations. "Never once has he tried to sway my opinion toward his own views. It's strictly training, or at least it started such. My opinion formed naturally and I can see that it's true now. You're nothing but a bigoted old man who will do whatever he needs to do to better the position of his own people, even at the cost of others." The gold flecks returned and Naurlambe remained extended between them.

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[Zenethil]

So this was where the line was drawn. His admission that she would, in her frame of mind, never be allowed into the Knights had clearly pushed her past some limit within her. Her words brought about a sense of finality. She had clearly made her mind up, and that was going to be it. Nairore was stubborn enough to never back down when she was set upon a course. He was about to tell her to leave, when she pulled her blade, Naurlambe, squaring off against him. He looked pointedly down the blade, before locking eyes with her, listening as she spoke again. Each word sank in, like a blade into flesh, biting. Tearing. Ripping. Each one carving chunks of his heart, which he had dedicated so much of to raising her as he would his own child. And now, that child was gone. The flickering of conflict in her eyes vanished, the blue in one eye beginning to give way into the gold flecks. Zenethil's eyes went cold all of a sudden.

And Merik is different somehow? If you truly believe his cause is a noble one, then you truly are lost.

The wheels of his mind turned, bringing a solution to the predicament of a Gerudo with a blade pointed at him. He had one crucial advantage. She hadn't attacked. There was hesitation. And he would brook no more of her words. She was no longer his daughter. She had consorted with Merik. Lied to him. And now accused him of using her for his own ends. The thoughts burned him, but the coldness that now gripped him numbed all feeling. He could feel power surging within him, fuelling his limbs, completely imperceptibly. He locked eyes with her, his tone dangerous.

I believe it is time I educated you in quite how much you had left to learn from me.

Without a warning, his eyes blazed alight with golden fury, his hand flicked the tip of the blade aside casually, a discharge of his magical might deflecting the blade away from him, before he extended the same hand, power once again surging through him, his right arm radiant like the morning sun, before he thrust his palm toward her, a kinetic blast from his incredible magical might catching her clean in the chest.

[Nairore]

x x

His words were cold and crisp. They were dangerous. His tone told her everything and she knew lines were crossed. Nairore didn't care anymore. She had already drawn steel, she had initiated this fight. Which was why she was completely expecting his attack when the time came. Her sword went wide but she shifted her weight just to the side, onto one foot, so that when the burst of kinetic energy exploded against her chest instead of being sent backwards she was able to pivot and turn the blast into momentum.

Her foot twisted on the ground, her weight shifting again into the blast as she spun around completely. Her sword remained low, however, as she did not intend to use it. It swept past Zenethil but didn't reach for him, instead her other foot, the one she wasn't pivoting on, spun around and swung upward for one of her infamous roundhouse kicks. This she didn't hold back on. She had delivered many of them to Zenethil over the years, during her training with him. She knew he could take a few with no problems.

Using the remaining momentum from the kick she leapt backward, away from him and anymore kinetic blasts, while at the same time close enough that she could close the gap before he could fire off any of his nastier spells. "Nobility is dead. It died with the stories, it exists only in fairy tales. Just ask any of your damned Knights. Just how shiny is their armor when it becomes tainted with the blood of innocents they kill at your order. I was there with you in that village two months ago when you ordered the villagers killed because you saw they were tainted."

She shook her head and spun Naurlambe around in her hand so that the blade was inside. "Never once did you offer any proof. They were perfectly normal, they were afraid, and their Knights came down on them without mercy. The protectors of the realm slaughtered them mindlessly because they were 'corrupted'. Well, father, you'd better slaughter me, because I'm a Gerudo, I'm going into the desert, and therefore I'm 'corrupted' as well." she scowled, spinning the blade around once before it burst into flames. The flames wouldn't kill, not without the blade, but they would hurt.

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[Zenethil]

The words she spoke bounced off of him. She knew nothing of what he and the Knights had to deal with. That village had been tainted. It was not simply a case of his decree. And they had still managed to save twenty. The way she spoke made it sound like he had killed them all. Naive. Misguided. Thoughts twisted by a man he detested utterly, through whatever nefarious means he had at his disposal. He didn't care how, only that he had. Fury seethed within him, directed fully now that he embraced it, rather than repress it. He had watched as she twisted away from his initial strike, pivoting into her typical lead, the roundhouse kick. His arm swept out, deflecting the kick, a precise blow, but predictable. Trademark attacks always were. She span out before she had spoken of his 'condemning of innocents'.

Listen to yourself Nairore. He hasn't opened your eyes, he's put a blindfold over them. Perhaps if you knew the true nature of corruption, by paying attention to more than simply how best to decapitate someone. Always so narrow minded.

He saw the blade ignite as she span the blade in her hand. What exactly was she trying to prove? Did she have some notion that with Merik's training she was somehow better than him? That because of that, she had the right to leave? Some twisted justification of her actions, using the only thing she ever had any talent for doing? Inside himself, he cursed the day he had saved her from the fate that she now embraced with open arms. His mind worked on two pages at once, as he decided to throw a double blind. He reached up behind his back, twisting Acheron from the holster, bringing it to the customary twin handed blade guard, blade pointed downwards, covering from upper chest to knee.

We saved twenty that day. They are still recovering. The ones we were forced to put to the sword were either so frenzied they would attack their own shadow, so dedicated to the words of the vile creature which caused the corruption that they would have died a hundred times over to save his life, or so locked within their own minds that nothing, not even direct mental contact could touch them. You say no proof, and yet you cannot even remember the twenty lives we saved that day. The ones we saved were afraid. Shell-shocked. They still break down into fits of insanity when anything reminds them of the horrors of that day. That is what true corruption is. You know nothing of corruption. You never have. So swift to judge, but too ignorant to understand.

He glared at her, again cursing himself for his lack of foresight. He had been foolish to think that anything else would come of raising a Gerudo child as his own. His eyes still blazed with holy power. His rage gave him focus, as he channeled it into his blade, which glowed with the same power that filled his eyes, responding to the flames of her blade with the incandescent gold of his own. His eyes never left Nairore.

Your move.

[Nairore]

x x

There was no going back. She had crossed the line, she had said things that would never be taken back. Things that infuriated Zenethil to the point where even if she stood down and accepted his words, staying in his house would prove disastrous. She could already see him slitting her throat in her sleep, as he wouldn't stand for such demonic progeny living under his roof. He had pushed Lorina away and now he was pushing her away. Or she was pushing herself away from him as he continually tossed around false words. She was wrong, he said, yet there was no proof otherwise.

"Merik has never said a word against you," she growled as her fiery weapon was brought down to cross tips with his own magically enhanced sword. Her own multi-colored eyes, now growing more and more monotone as the gold flecks in the blue eye were slowly expanding, kept locked on his. She couldn't believe that she had been so indoctrinated by his lies before, that she hadn't seen straight through them. She had been remarkably naive. Even now she felt so. Between Zenethil and Merik she felt like a child in the world, lost and in need of someone to show her the way.

"In the past two months everything I've known has been questioned or shown to be mere idealism. I thought I knew of the world, but the only world I've ever known was what managed to get through your filter, what you decided to show me. When would you have ever shown me the world, over your ignorant paranoia that I would become nothing but another raider or bandit if you even allowed me a glimpse of what the world was like? When would you have let me think for myself?" she glared at him, considering his guard.

Zenethil was a mage primarily, so he had to have something up his sleeve. She could beat him easily in a straight up sword fight, even he knew that, and by evening the battle by magically enhancing his sword he still put himself at a disadvantage merely by crossing blades. So what was his plan here? Nairore decided she had to test it. She had to be careful; Zenethil didn't know the extent to which he could damage her, considering the child in her womb. With a shift of her weight and a pivot of her foot she lunged forward, using her own weapon to swing his out wide as she spun around, Naurlambe going with her once it was done with Acheron, putting her inside his guard as the blunt side of her blade swung for his flank.

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