The Sheikah War

Legends usually start with a blue-eyed boy in a backwards town in the middle of nowhere, completely unaware of the future he would have. The usually encompass epic timelines, battles and wars and sacrifice and heroism. There's always a beautiful blonde girl, typically born into royalty, but so kind and innocent that she opens the hearts of all around her. She's obviously the main driver of the story, a reason for the hero to fight, his purpose in everything he does. He slays the dragon for her, maims the traitors in her name, murders the villain of the piece before returning to her hard-won kiss.
Sahib plucked the strings of his lute with little grace as he stared blankly at the darkening horizon. So many songs were written for these heroes. So many songs that he'd learnt to play flawlessly, tenderly holding each note as if the stories they told meant everything to him. He'd lived the first sixteen years of his life immersed in their histories; hearing the tales of young men who sacrificed themselves for the young princess every single time.
It seemed strange to him. This hero that was born again and again to save the world. Didn't he ever get tired? Didn't he ever just wish that he could live a normal life instead of tearing off to rescue the damsel in distress yet again?
There was never any change. The story was the same. Places changed, names altered slightly, but the basic act remained, as if cast in stone that even time itself couldn't weather. He carelessly tapped out a small melody on the lute, sighing with frustration.
It was a little bit boring that the hero was always so utterly and completely perfect.
Growling, he flung himself up and away from the ground, grabbing his lute angrily as he strode decisively towards the clustering of tents nearby. Sand flew into the air with every step he took, the setting sun rippling red and gold across the sand dunes that stretched into the distance in every direction. The dry heat of the day was already being replaced by the sting of the cold night. He grudgingly pulled his rough cloak more tightly around himself, tugging on the scarf covering the bottom half of his face to shield his chilled ears. Sounds of merriment began to reach him, the celebration still continuing, even if he refused to have any part in it.
Who really wanted to celebrate the fact that they were about to be forced into servitude?
"Sahib!"
Sighing, he quickened his pace, the shape of a frantically waving girl outlined by the roaring fire he could now see between the tents. She bounced excitedly, long red hair sweeping across her back as she danced towards him.
"Come on already! They're preparing the tea!" She latched on to his arm, tugging him towards the tents as he groaned.
"I'm coming already Safiya. Thrice, did they let you drink or something? You're even more obnoxious than ever," he grumbled, rolling his eyes at her as she dragged him along.
He couldn't help squeaking when she poked him in the ribs. "Meanie. I'm just looking out for you. Din knows you don't want to do this. But I'd rather have your head resting on your pretty little shoulders instead of rolling on the floor somewhere you know," with a glare she poked him again, sticking her tongue out as he slapped her hand away.
"Little shoulders?" He raised an eyebrow, reaching up to cautiously pat the cloth wrappings that hid his hair in case they shifted.
"Yeah, little girly shoulders! Goes with your child-bearing hips!"
He glared at her, wrenching his arm away. "Thank you so much for that shining appraisal of my figure Saffy, I'll have you know my shoulders and manly and my hips are… Well… Shapely… But that's all!" He growled and folded him arms in a huff as she giggled unabashedly.
"Well I finally get to find out tonight! I'm so looking forward to catching a glimpse of your naked rear end at the ceremony!"
He whirled on her, only to find her sprinting away already, laughter trailing behind her as she sprang forwards into the circle of people turning towards them.
The camp was full of people, some wrapped in cowls and hiding their features in any manner they could as he was, the other wearing loose white clothing with red hair falling across their shoulders. All the people that weren't cloaking themselves were women, large almond eyes and delicately browned skin contrasting sharply with the figures swathed in fabric and shadowing their faces carefully. Sahib slowed, then stopped as they all went silent, watching him with an air of reverence.
"Step forwards son, it is time to begin." The crowd parted obligingly as a crooked shape hobbled forward, bells chiming as the concealing cloths the figure wore swung with the slow steps forwards.
"Mother," he whispered, falling to his knees in a bow as she made her way awkwardly across the sand. "Mother, I have come to begin the parting of the ways. To begin my rebirth."
She stopped a few paces before him, hands slipping free of her cloaks to spread in the air. "My son, Sahib. Today is a day of much celebration. For today, you shall be born from the shadows of this prior existence and make yourself ready to stand in the light of those we have sworn to protect." With a surprisingly agile swirl, she turned away from him, pacing cautiously back towards the fire.
Gritting his teeth against the furious tears that threatened, he slowly stood, straightening his back with restrained defiance.
Legends usually start with the blue-eyed boy that goes on to save the world with utter purity in his heart. This one starts with an unwilling guardian, stepping forwards into slavery.