Fanfiction: "What the Water Gave Us"
Nov. 8th, 2020 06:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deemoyzaTitle: "What the Water Gave Us" (currently 3,161 words)
Chapters: 1/7
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Rating/Warnings: Teen and Up / Warnings for attempted infanticide, implied child abuse, character death, a child in peril
Characters: Original Characters
Summary: Rejected by her parents as an infant, Thipa is taken in by the blacksmith of Kakariko Village and raised as his own, on the condition that she never drink from the village's well. Though curious about it, Thipa initially obeys this condition; as she grows older, however, and life's challenges begin to mount, Thipa finds herself drawn ever closer to the well, and whatever dwells within it.
Had old Norak not dropped his Rupee wallet and gone back to retrieve it, he would not have seen the hooded figures peering out from the castle town gate, nor would he have seen them fling a tiny bundle into the river below. Norak watched the bundle thrash and bob and begin to sink, and something about its movements, and the secrecy with which it was discarded, prompted him to abandon the rest of his belongings and dive in after it.
The current was strong, but Norak was stronger; a lifetime of smithing had left him with muscles as hard as the iron he worked, and with little fear of injury. With a few swift strokes, he intercepted the bundle, and held it over his head as he drifted toward the bridge. Bracing himself along the side of the bridge, he clambered up the bank, and sat down in the grass there to catch his breath. He regarded the bundle from different angles, cautiously jabbing his finger at it, and was startled to hear a muffled sound from within. Leaning closer, he realized the bundle—or rather, whatever was inside it—was coughing.
The ropes binding the bundle were wet and the knots too tight to pick apart, so Norak retrieved his pocketknife and carefully cut the ropes away. The rough fabric fell aside to reveal a baby, only days old, by Norak's estimation, clad in a thin, frilled gown, the little pockets of which had been stuffed with stones and sewn shut.
The memory of the hooded figures flashed through Norak's mind, and his vision darkened with rage, but another feeble cough from the baby reminded him that there were more immediate concerns than seeking vengeance on its behalf. As gently as his work-hardened hands let him, he turned the infant on its side and rubbed its back, muttering pleas to whatever beneficent forces could hear him that the baby hadn't taken in too much water.
The baby coughed again, spitting up water, and soon began to cry. A frail sound, but the sign of life Norak had hoped for. He relaxed and let out a relieved chuckle, then laid the baby onto the grass while he searched his belongings for something dry to wrap it in.
"That's it, little one," he murmured, clumsily swaddling the baby in a length of hide, "you're going to be all right." Balancing the baby in the crook of his arm, he gathered the rest of his things and began trudging toward the village, the squelching in his shoes and the crunching of gravel beneath his feet joining the baby's sobs and hiccups in the strangest melody Norak had ever heard, but one that shifted something inside of him and moved his heart first to pity, then to affection.
"Don't worry," he said, "the worst is over. I will take care of you, you'll see. From now on, you will know nothing but love."
Chapters: 1/7
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Rating/Warnings: Teen and Up / Warnings for attempted infanticide, implied child abuse, character death, a child in peril
Characters: Original Characters
Summary: Rejected by her parents as an infant, Thipa is taken in by the blacksmith of Kakariko Village and raised as his own, on the condition that she never drink from the village's well. Though curious about it, Thipa initially obeys this condition; as she grows older, however, and life's challenges begin to mount, Thipa finds herself drawn ever closer to the well, and whatever dwells within it.
Had old Norak not dropped his Rupee wallet and gone back to retrieve it, he would not have seen the hooded figures peering out from the castle town gate, nor would he have seen them fling a tiny bundle into the river below. Norak watched the bundle thrash and bob and begin to sink, and something about its movements, and the secrecy with which it was discarded, prompted him to abandon the rest of his belongings and dive in after it.
The current was strong, but Norak was stronger; a lifetime of smithing had left him with muscles as hard as the iron he worked, and with little fear of injury. With a few swift strokes, he intercepted the bundle, and held it over his head as he drifted toward the bridge. Bracing himself along the side of the bridge, he clambered up the bank, and sat down in the grass there to catch his breath. He regarded the bundle from different angles, cautiously jabbing his finger at it, and was startled to hear a muffled sound from within. Leaning closer, he realized the bundle—or rather, whatever was inside it—was coughing.
The ropes binding the bundle were wet and the knots too tight to pick apart, so Norak retrieved his pocketknife and carefully cut the ropes away. The rough fabric fell aside to reveal a baby, only days old, by Norak's estimation, clad in a thin, frilled gown, the little pockets of which had been stuffed with stones and sewn shut.
The memory of the hooded figures flashed through Norak's mind, and his vision darkened with rage, but another feeble cough from the baby reminded him that there were more immediate concerns than seeking vengeance on its behalf. As gently as his work-hardened hands let him, he turned the infant on its side and rubbed its back, muttering pleas to whatever beneficent forces could hear him that the baby hadn't taken in too much water.
The baby coughed again, spitting up water, and soon began to cry. A frail sound, but the sign of life Norak had hoped for. He relaxed and let out a relieved chuckle, then laid the baby onto the grass while he searched his belongings for something dry to wrap it in.
"That's it, little one," he murmured, clumsily swaddling the baby in a length of hide, "you're going to be all right." Balancing the baby in the crook of his arm, he gathered the rest of his things and began trudging toward the village, the squelching in his shoes and the crunching of gravel beneath his feet joining the baby's sobs and hiccups in the strangest melody Norak had ever heard, but one that shifted something inside of him and moved his heart first to pity, then to affection.
"Don't worry," he said, "the worst is over. I will take care of you, you'll see. From now on, you will know nothing but love."
