Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was a boy child, alone among the sands of an endless desert – dunes as far as the eye could see, the scorching sun beating down overhead.

The dry desert air caught in his chest. Tiny motes of sand danced across the tops of the shifting dunes. His wandering attention caught by the sparkle of the sand by his feet, he stretched down to gather a small amount in his hand. 

The fine grains trickled out from between his fingers, but the winds suddenly shifted. The golden sand surged up into a howling gale of pure darkness; stinging sand and a thousand screaming voices that all hurled itself at his face as if seeking to swallow him – a terrible sight to behold. 

With a child's terrified cry, he threw his arms up to shield his face a second before the storm engulfed him entirely. Darkness.

He blinked again, hands rising automatically to rub the sand from his eyes, but the desert had vanished. He stood before a tall mirror, a man nearly grown; long-limbed and leonine, dressed in a set of handsome ceremonial robes.

He blinked at his reflection, reaching up to touch the gold pins that pinned his hair back, thumbing curiously at the topaz that hung like a star upon his brow, suspended by the gilded chains of the elaborate headdress braided into his thick hair. How vividly red it was – like fire. 

He leaned forward a bit to get a closer look at his reflection, but to his surprise, his mirrored visage did not mimic the movement. It only smirked at him, mouth curving in a cruel smile. 

The reflection dissolved before his eyes. 

Now, he was a man, powerful and prideful, seated atop a massive black charger that had to be 18 hands. Clad in plate barding, the beast's flowing mane and tail had been bound tightly into braids. It bore lash marks on its flanks and champed at a heavy bit between its teeth. 

Impatiently, he urged it forward with a stinging kick to the side. 

The charger reared, surging into a gallop that would have sent a lesser prepared rider tumbling off of its back, but he was well-accustomed to the beast’s foul temper, and maintained a strong grip on the reigns, squeezing tightly with his knees as they went flying forward across the wooden slats of a bridge. A moat lay below, stale-smelling and murky, but he paid it no heed, his gaze fixed firmly upon the speck of white in the distance.

Another horse – a white mare with two riders upon her back. The larger of the two did not look back, too focused on leaning forward, urging the mare to go even faster, but over their shoulder, he caught a glimpse of two enormous sapphire eyes – wide and terrified. 

He snarled and raised the hand with the crop to lay another stinging flog to the charger’s hindquarters. 

The vision faded into darkness – darkness that was quickly replaced by a bright white light.

He was a man in his prime, richly clothed and armored, but his hair hung lank and disheveled about his face, the scabbard at his side hanging empty. He dangled, suspended by his shackled arms from the base of a pillar of obsidian stone, a towering edifice that seemed to stretch up to touch the heavens themselves.

The sound of murmuring voices, like the dry pages of some withered tome rustling against each other, drew him back to himself. 

He lifted his gaze to fix the six robed figures arrayed before him with a sneer, lifting his chin proudly. The nearest of them, a bent old man, his face obscured by the ceremonial mask he wore, took a tiny step backwards. The most central figure, however, met his gaze through the slits in the mask impassively and raised a hand.

The masked men accordingly reshuffled themselves around the perimeter of the stone monument, spreading themselves out in a loose ring around where he hung in the center. 

Though none of them had opened their mouths to speak, the words appeared in his mind, hanging there like a command.

Ganondorf of the Gerudo Tribe. For crimes most heinous against the Royal Family of Hyrule, you have been sentenced, here, this day, to execution. 

No! This was not how things had been supposed to go.

He threw himself at his chains like a feral animal. It did nothing to halt the appearance of the summoned sword, shining with radiant energy that stung the eyes to look upon, to the central sage’s wrinkled hand. A destiny denied - thwarted. 

May the Goddess keep your soul.

The sword hurtled towards him.

* * *

Link jerked awake sweaty and disquieted, a cry stopped up in the back of his throat. His legs were tangled in his blankets, and his mouth felt as though someone had stuffed it full of cotton. There was a deep, persistent ache in the center of his chest, but when he pulled up his shirt, the skin there was smooth and unbroken. 

Kicking the sheets away granted instant relief as the cool air washed over his fever-hot skin, but it wasn't enough. He crawled to the edge of his narrow bed, groping for the carafe of water that sat atop the bedside table. His need was so urgent that he did not even think to pour it into the waiting cup that sat abandoned on the nightstand, simply lifting the carafe itself to his lips.

The water was lukewarm. He hardly felt the dribble that escaped from between the rim of the vessel and the corner of his mouth, trickling down his throat and absorbing into the neck of his sweat-soaked sleeping shirt.

Only a few swallows remained at the bottom of the carafe by the time that he had slaked his thirst. His stomach growled, malcontent. He glanced back at the sweaty impression he had made in the mattress.

Link wrinkled his nose and sat forward, finding that he had very little desire to lie back down in the damp reminder of his night terrors. The sheets would have to be washed. Again. 

It would be the second time this week that he had already washed his sheets. Perhaps he could gather the rest of his dirty clothes to make it seem less strange that he was doing enough washing for a family of three. 

Perhaps he could take the bundle down to the spring instead of the usual washing spot in the village, where the women congregated in the afternoons to chat as they scrubbed grass stains and mud from their children’s clothes. The spring, with its sandy substrate and shallow waters, however, was less ideal for washing clothes than the rocky creek in the village – unless one didn’t mind picking stray sand grains out of their underthings for the next couple of days.

He puffed a sigh and stood, pulling the uncomfortably damp shirt off and draping it over the back of a chair. He padded to the ladder and climbed up to the window, pulling back the curtain to take a peek through the slats. The sky was still dark, stars twinkling, the crescent moon peeking over the tops of the pine trees outside. 

It was early in the morning – still too early to head up the road to the ranch. Likewise, the forge was not an option. At this time of the morning, Rusl would undoubtedly still be asleep. He and Uli had their hands full with their second child, who had clearly taken after Rusl in terms of lung capacity. For a child, baby Yumi sure knew how to use her voice. She had a scream that could be heard clear across the village.

Unfortunately, his own chances of getting back to sleep were looking slim. Not for the first time this week, or even this month, he was awake in an silent, empty house. 

He thought slightly enviously back to the times when he would routinely sleep in well past noon, deaf to the sounds of yelling, pounding on his door, and even small rocks colliding against the slats of his windows – courtesy of a much younger Talo, who had, even then, been a helion. 

However, the thick miasma of his restless dreams lingered on long after he lit a lantern and began the process of stripping the soiled sheets from the bed, bundling them up and tossing them down to the main floor. 

This was the third time this week that he’d had the dream. 

Sometimes, they were the same. Sometimes, they were different. More frequently than not, they were a combination of the old and the new. Snippets of memories, of places he’d never been, people he’d never met. Not his memories, but another's.

Tonight had been no different. He’d woken soaked in sweat, clutching at his chest for a wound that was not there, itching to wrap his fingers around the hilt of the sword that currently sat gathering dust above the mantle of his fireplace.

He had no use for the sacred sword. After all, what use was there for it in a place like this? Ordon was quiet. The darkness had been sealed away. His original intention, after everything, had been to bring it back to the grove where he had found it. He’d even gone so far as to make the pilgrimage back there to those strange woods, but as he’d stood there, poised to slide it back into the triangle-shaped stone, the blade had seemed to hum under his hands, and he simply had not been able to release it. 

So he'd taken the Sword that Sealed the Darkness back with him to Ordon Village, strapped across his back underneath the brightly painted shield. 

The townspeople had welcomed him back warmly, Pergie openly sobbing as she embraced him, her boys standing off to the side looking self-conscious. A gentle hug from Uli. A strong handshake and a firm nod from Rusl. A trembling mustache and a sincere declaration of gratitude from Mayor Bo, Ilia standing by with a bright smile.

Strange to think that it had been a year since then.

One year since the Veil of Twilight had been lifted from Hyrule, since the fight with the tyrant outside of Hyrule Castle, since the Mirror had been shattered, Princess Zelda restored back to her seat of power, and Midna… Well. 

Life had largely gone back to the way it used to be. Except for the dreams. 

Link wasn’t fool enough to be entirely ignorant of whose memories he now found himself reliving every night. The question that had to be asked was ‘why’. Why the deserts and shadows? The fire and blood? The death ? 

Ganondorf was dead. So how could he be haunting Link’s dreams?

* * *

The forge was hot and dim, the air stuffy with heat – oil, singed cloth, and molten metal all lending it a distinct sharp scent. The smoldering belly of the hearth, however, burned brightly enough to hurt his eyes if he dared to meet its baleful glare.

Link leaned away from the small spray of sparks that erupted as he tossed another log into the hearth, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his arm.

As a child, young Link could frequently be found in two places. One, wandering the sparse woods around Ordon, usually with a stick or a salamander or a shiny pebble in hand, or two, following Rusl around the village begging him to teach him how to forge a sword. 

His younger self would have been exceedingly disappointed to find that most of the forge work he’d so desperately wanted to learn was largely farrier work of the same sort Link was already accustomed to from his time spent working on the ranch. 

The long, hot months of summer were well underway, and the number of times that Link had nearly been kicked in the face by an angry nanny or billy this past month alone had to have numbered in the twenties. Trimming hooves was very much a two-person job – one to do the trimming, the other to hold the ornery animal by the horns. However, in the case of some of the bigger billies, they’d even had to recruit Fado to prevent someone from getting trampled.

However, following the big roundup, Rusl, perhaps sensing his apprentice’s pensive disappointment at only being given leave to make horseshoes and other small metal implements, had presented Link with a surprising gift.

It had been after a long, sweaty day of learning the tedious craft of casting nails.

Link had been tired, more than ready to get home, but Rusl had stopped him before he was even able to take a step down the road. Somewhat gruffly, the man had produced a carefully-wrapped parcel from where it had been hidden away in a basket next to the door.

“This is for you. Go on. Open it.”

For him? He wanted to ask the older man what the occasion was, but the stiff way Rusl held himself, the two spots of color high on his cheeks, betrayed something like anxiety. Link obeyed, first pulling away the twine, then unwrapping the layers of cloth that had been wrapped securely around the item.

It was dim outside, but there was enough light for his eyes to make out the somewhat weathered surface of a familiar wooden sword. There was a chip taken out of the handle and only about half of the blade remained – an abrupt split in the broken wood where it had been violently separated from its other half. 

The practice sword that Rusl had made for him, the very same that he’d found on the road to Kakariko while tracking the children down. It seemed like it had happened an age ago. Where had Rusl even gotten this?

Link ran his fingers across the cracked varnish, frowning in slight consternation before he raised his gaze to Rusl, who stood there, arms pinned to his sides in an apparent attempt to force himself not to fidget.

“I don’t understand.”

Rusl’s shoulders visibly tensed before he released a gusty sigh. “Link,” he said quietly, “I made this for you with the intent of teaching you how to wield a weapon – before everything. But then… the beasts, the children… You know what happened. Better, probably, than this old fool does.” He shook his head, gently self condemning. 

“I thought myself some great adventurer, once upon a time, but when they stole our children from us, I was powerless. You were the one who saved them, Link. You brought them back. You brought our son back to Uli and me” He smiled and put his hand on Link’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

“It’s clear to me that you don’t need my tutelage in how to wield a sword. That blade you brought back with you is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, yet you hold it like you’ve been training with it your entire life. But I owe you a debt. For everything you’ve done for us.”

He nodded down at the broken wooden sword, still half swaddled in the cloth padding.

“This is my promise to you. If I can’t teach you how to use a sword, I can at least show you how to make one.”

And follow up on his promise he had. 

Forging a sword was nothing like cookware, or nails, or horseshoes. Link quickly came to the realization that this was an art form a thousand times more complicated than he had ever imagined it could be. There was so much to know. So much to learn. He felt immediately out of his depth. It was not a craft that the uncanny sense-memories of the Hero’s thousand pasts could aid him with, and it was all the more challenging for it – and yet rewarding at the same time. 

It was strange, but every time that he ruined a piece or made a beginner’s mistake, he felt more solid in his own boots; secure in the knowledge that these mistakes belonged to him – only to him. That they had been truthfully and honestly come by. This was the story that he had chosen for himself.

Rusl remained as patient and knowledgeable a teacher as he ever had been. He bore Link’s mistakes with patience and corrected him with grace, and Link was ever grateful for it.

Now, a good year later, the work was coming along nicely. Even after the rough start. He’d frequently burned himself and ruined good iron with stupid mistakes. The first couple of blades that he’d forged had been crude things – unbalanced, ugly, too soft, too brittle, the grip nearly falling off, the tang crooked… A hundred small mistakes. 

But, slowly but surely, his hands had grown accustomed to the heat. He’d stopped flinching from the sparks that popped and burst from the open hearth. His aching joints and sore muscles had grown stronger, no longer tender after a long day of work.

The two of them spent long hours in the forge every day, coming out of it smelling like sweat and oil – so much so that Uli began to habitually set out a small tub of water, a couple of rags, and a bar of strong soap on the porch for the both of them to scrub themselves off with before they went their separate ways for the night: Rusl, into the cozy, warmly-lit house where his family waited for him, and Link, waving a goodbye to his mentor before he trudged down the darkened path to his own home, which was always darker and emptier than he had even last remembered it.

When he was home, alone, he had begun to avoid looking at the sword that hung above the mantle of the cold, dark fireplace, though he could not rightly say why. He had hung the broken wooden sword above his doorframe, and at Rusl’s request, displayed the first crude, ugly sword he’d forged alongside it.

A craftsman should not only display his triumphs. Are our mistakes not also what shape us?

“Oy, Link!”

Startled, Link looked up sharply, meeting the gaze of the grinning boy peeking his head through the propped-open door of the forge. 

Talo had shot up like a weed this summer, putting on five inches practically overnight. He now stood on a height with Link himself. ‘Eating us out of house and home’, Link believed was how Pergie had phrased it, though she had said so with a fond smile. Similarly, the puppy that the family had paid a frankly outrageous price for to obtain from a traveling merchant last summer, once small enough to pick up and hold over one’s shoulder, had grown into a 140 pound monster of a farmstead dog. 

“Hey! I know you’re really busy doing smith stuff, but d’you think you can step away for a second? Just a second, I promise! It’s just… I was keeping watch with Colin in the treehouse by the bridge, and we saw, uh – Well… It’s just really important! Can you come see? Please?”

He danced impatiently in place, hyperactive gaze barely stopping to rest for more than a second. His hair had been tied back with a scrap of familiar red cloth. 

Link raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on, Talo?”

Talo pressed his lips together, but predictably, was not able to hold his silence for long.

“There’s people!” the boy exploded. “They’re waiting on the bridge! They asked about you!” 

He swiftly lowered his tone, looking suddenly paranoid as he glanced furtively behind him. “But they said to ‘be quiet’, because it’s supposed to be a surprise… and not to tell Rusl… Colin said he would go get you, but I’m the faster runner, so I came instead!”

He puffed out his chest proudly. 

“So will you come?”

Link furrowed his brows. People on the bridge… Asking for him by name? 

Ordon did not get many visitors. The closest village was Kakariko, a good six day’s journey away by way of foot. The traveling merchants only passed through a couple of times a year, and he was sure that none of them knew him by name. Meanwhile, out here, mail of the sort that existed in Castle Town and the small villages of Central Hyrule was simply nonexistent. 

A ‘surprise’. Just who was waiting out there on that bridge?

Link glanced back at the fresh firewood he’d just fed into the furnace, then shut the iron hatch decisively, tucking the smithy hammer into his belt and tossing his gloves onto a table.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

The walk to the ravine over which the northern bridge was built was a familiar one, the dirt path worn smooth underfoot by time and the passage of many feet. Talo had adopted a frenetic pace that forced Link to lengthen his strides to keep up. 

His thoughts spun as they approached, trying to conceive all possibilities of who might be waiting just across the ravine. Maybe Renado, or perhaps his daughter? Someone else from Kakariko? But why seclude themselves on the bridge, claiming a surprise?

“Where did you say they were from?” he asked Talo.

However, it all came into perfect clarity as soon as they rounded the bend of the road.

Link squinted across the bridge, raising a hand to block the afternoon sun, however, Talo had broken into a run. 

“I found him!” the boy yelled excitedly, cupping his hands together to funnel the words further down, towards the group of motley figures that stood in a rough semicircle at the other end of the bridge. 

There were five of them, counting the shorter, tow-headed figure that Link immediately recognized as Colin. Two women and two men – one wide, one slim, one old and grey, one youthful and bespectacled.

Heads swiveled towards them upon hearing Talo’s yell and Link felt a surprised smile break out across his face as recognition washed over him.

Telma, standing next to Colin beside her wagon, was dressed in sensible traveler’s clothes – trousers, boots, and a blouse with the top row of buttons popped open to display her usual bust. She raised a hand to wave them over, smiling broadly.

Beside her, Ashei gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. A flustered looking Shad appeared to have been scribbling in a notebook, which he nearly dropped as he startled, hearing Talo’s yell. Auru was seated atop the back of another horse, this one not tethered to the large covered wagon halted in the center of the road. He gave a simple nod as Link’s eyes passed over him.

Dropping his hand from where it had unconsciously been drifting to the hammer at his belt, Link broke into a brisk jog, the slats of the bridge creaking lightly beneath his weight as he made his way across. 

“Well look who it is!” Telma exclaimed. Her eyes danced merrily as she delivered a ruffle to Colin’s bright blond head of hair, mussing it horribly. Link winced sympathetically.

“Link! These two said you were still here, but I almost didn’t believe them!”

Link raised a brow. “Where else should I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mister Hero,” she teased. Link kept his expression neutral. “Riding about the countryside slaying monsters and saving damsels from distress, perhaps. Hero things! But from what Rusl’s boy has been telling me, you’ve been busy in other ways, hm?”

He felt her eyes on the rolled-up sleeves of the grubby, long-sleeved knit shirt he wore. Stretched tight over his forearms and the muscles of his shoulders, it was stained and blackened from forge work, having seen better days. He wore it despite the hot day. Rusl had pounded the importance of protective gear against the flying sparks and hot metal into his head early.

Likewise, he wore boots instead of sandals, a kerchief around his neck that he could raise to block the worst of the fumes, and had done away with his hip wrap and obi in preparation for a day of hard work. 

“You’ve filled out since last I saw you.” In response to his flaming cheeks: “Oh, don’t look so embarrassed, honey, it looks nice on you!” 

She nudged him with a hip and tilted her chin at the hammer tucked into the front loop of his belt with a knowing smile. “So it is true that our Rusl has been teaching you to work the forge, huh?”

“Let the boy be, Telma,” Auru grumbled. He shifted sorely atop his horse – a bony-hipped mare that looked just as ready as he to be out of the midday heat. “We’ve only just arrived. There will be plenty of time for teasing later.”

“Yes, we really should get these crates out of the heat,” Shad chimed in. “I’ve several bottles of good shiraz in there that aren’t especially well known for keeping in prolonged exposure to high temperatures – not to mention that frankly concerning moonshine Auru insisted upon buying from Barnes. Gods, I hope that it doesn’t also have explosive properties…”

Looking worried for a moment, he cleared his throat before directing a small smile at Link. 

“Which isn’t to say that I am not thrilled to see you again, old chap! And in such bucolic surroundings, too! Did you know, I’ve never actually ventured this far South? Beautiful forests. Rolling countryside. But, er – is it always this hot here?”

Good old Shad. Link had nearly forgotten the man’s tendency towards flourishing language.

“In the middle of Loftern, yes,” Link answered, noticing that it was not only Shad who looked a tad flushed from the heat. Poor Ashei’s bangs were sticking to her forehead with perspiration, though she had the control to keep from fanning herself like Shad was currently doing with his journal. 

“There’s a spring just down the road where you can cool off. Your horses look thirsty,” he offered, definitely not missing the way that Shad’s eyes lit up. 

“Oh tiny gods, yes,” the man agreed enthusiastically. “Lead the way, old boy!”

Colin and Talo gravitated towards one another, casting shyly excited looks at Ashei as the caravan jolted back into motion, Telma directing the horse to follow Link and an amiably-chatting Shad across the bridge, down the road. Link answered the man’s numerous questions honestly but generally kept to four or five word responses. Thankfully, the spring was not far away at all and Shad hurried to excuse himself as soon as they arrived, rushing for the clear, cool waters.

Link noted the lack of mysterious motes of floating light or otherworldly voices with something that was not quite relief. He’d come back to the spring many times since last year, but had so far failed to sense any presence other than the small dragonflies that so loved to hover just above the water’s surface. The spirit was quiet and contented — seemingly at peace.

While the rest of the small crew joined Shad at the spring, gratefully splashing their faces with water and refilling canteens, Link hung back to assist Telma in unhooking the horse who had been drawing the cart from its burden.

It was an older gelding with a black coat and white socks – the very same who had bravely drawn the wagon with the injured Zora prince from Castle Town to Kakariko. Link gave him a fond pat on the flank as he released the final strap from the wagon before looking over to Telma, who was doing much the same on the opposite side.

“Telma?”

She did not look up from her task. “Yeah, hon?”

He chewed on his lip for a moment. He’d never been good with his words, and couldn’t think of a good way to ask this. “Not that I’m unhappy to see any of you again, but… why are you here?”

She snorted a laugh. “What – did the kid not tell you? The way he was going on, I was sure he’d tell the whole town before we even made it across that bridge!”

Link shook his head. 

Telma took the gelding’s reins, starting to lead the animal towards the water. “Well, you know Rusl, Auru, and I are old friends, right? Used to be that Ashei’s dad and us three were a little group of sorts.”

He gave a little nod. He’d surmised about as much.

She sighed wistfully, braids swinging as she shook her head. “Those were the days. We traveled all over Hyrule. Ate just about anything that was edible – and plenty of things that weren’t. Slept in old barns and under the stars. Killed plenty of monsters, too. More than those sad excuses for guardsmen ever have, at least!” She harumphed gently. 

“But things couldn’t last forever. Auru got offered some fancy gig by the Royal Family, if you’ll believe it! Rusl, that young pup… well, eventually he wanted to go home. Said it was time, and that someone was waiting for him. After those two left, it was just Chask and me for a while. Then I met someone I thought was important. Bought us a place in Castle Town with the money I’d saved up from our adventures. And Chask went off to explore those damn mountains. Met a girl there. That’s how our Ashei was conceived.”

“I always regretted… well.” She paused, lips forming a rueful shape. “It doesn’t matter. I’m getting off topic. Basically, after all of us being together again, last year, it got me to thinking. Funny, we never know how much time we really have left until we meet the end of our road. So I sent some letters out.”

“The long and short of it — we all agreed to meet next Loftern on the road to Ordon.”

Telma grinned, giving her horse a pat as it stretched its neck down to start drinking thirstily from the spring. “‘Lo and behold, we’re all here!”

Link hesitated.

“...but why are you here?”

Telma blinked back at him. Then she burst into a guffaw that shook her whole body, cleavage trembling. The gelding’s ears flicked in apparent annoyance.

“Hylia’s tits, I really must be getting old if I can tell you all that and somehow miss getting around to the main point,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s Rusl’s birthday tomorrow, honey! We’re here to celebrate!”

Chapter Text

“You never mentioned that it was your birthday,” Link later told his mentor, a quiet hint of reproach in his voice. 

The sun had started to sink behind the peach-colored clouds, and preparations for what was promising to be one riot of a party were well underway. Telma stood with Uli, the two of them directing the bulk of it – a couple of tables here, chairs there, bottles and casks of alcohol unloaded from the wagon and heaped atop one such groaning table. The stomach-rumbling scent of good food filled the air – first and foremost from the bonfire that had been erected off to one side of the spacious, grassy area, a big pot bubbling merrily, the quartered cuts of a slaughtered goat laid out on a metal rack over the coals. Other delicious smells furled out from the chimney stacks and open windows of houses.

A long, colorful cloth banner had been unfurled between two posts. It read, quite clearly: ‘ Happy 40th, Old Man! ’ with motifs of what appeared to be Telma’s cheekily winking face painted onto the margins. 

Several hours had passed since the group had rolled into the village proper. Their arrival had quite the stir among Ordon’s inhabitants.

As luck would have it, Rusl had been perched atop Sera’s place mending the roof, directly within view of the main road into the village. There had been a hail storm earlier that month and the clay tiles had sustained a small amount of damage – just enough to cause a small leak when it rained. 

Upon seeing the small caravan, his eyes had gone wide. Much yelling ensued between him, Auru, and Telma as he clambered down from the roof and into an embrace from Telma, narrowly avoiding rolling his ankle on one of the stray clay tiles. 

Sera then emerged from her shop, roused by the commotion taking place just outside. She had been promptly introduced to Ashei by a beaming Talo. Slowly, the rest of the villagers began to pour out of their respective homes and fields – Fado from the pastures, Jaggle, Pergie, and Malo from the fields, and so on.

To watch Rusl glow as he introduced the Resistance to his family and their baby daughter for the first time had been equal parts heartwarming and… something else. 

Link had crushed the shriveling feeling in his chest, chastising himself harshly for even feeling such a thing. It was only proper that Rusl look so warmly proud as he placed his hand on Colin’s shoulder, nodded his head at tiny Yumi, held firmly and safely in her mother’s arms. These were his two families – finally meeting at last. 

Link was not part of it. It was not his place. Not to interject – and certainly not to envy . 

He’d jumped on the opportunity to walk the horses up to the pasture with Ilia, who had somehow become bosom friends with Auru’s perpetually-grumpy mare in the five minutes she’d had with it. He spent a good fifteen minutes up there curry-combing first the gelding, then Epona, whose warm nose pressing against his shoulder and lipping at his clothes felt like comfort itself. It was solely his business. He felt more like himself again when he walked back down, at least. 

The only hostile reception had been from poor Hanch, who had immediately jumped to the conclusion that the unannounced visitors could only be bandits, and had to be persuaded to drop the piece of reed he’d plucked with the intention of calling down a hawk with. 

Everyone else was really quite curious, and after initial introductions had been exchanged, extremely willing to all lend a hand – or a table… fresh produce… or a whole goat, in Fado’s case – to contribute to the celebrations. 

Looking rueful, Rusl scratched his beard. His nails rasped against the stubble on his chin. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I suppose that I just did not want to distract you. You’ve been busy with your work at the forge – doing me proud.” He hesitated, then shook his head decisively. “No, that’s not right. Doing yourself proud. You are a man grown now, Link.”

Link turned his gaze towards the earth, where he’d accidentally unearthed a clump of grass with his restless boot fidgeting as they’d been standing there together. What if I want to do you proud? he did not ask. 

Rusl continued. “And… as the sign says, I am 40 this year.” He shook his head with a rueful little chuckle. “Who would want to celebrate an old man’s birthday?”

The blue-eyed man had to express exasperation at that. Catching Rusl's eye, he raised a brow, gesturing expansively in answer to the whirlwind of activity taking place around them. 

Jaggle and Hanch were laboring to carry a large keg across the bride. Link recognized it as a keg of the sweet, home-brewed honey mead that Jaggle fermented in his cellar. Meanwhile, Mayor Bo stood on the top step of his porch, holding a bottle of some alcohol and introspectively stroking his mustache in apparent conversation with Auru. 

Sera emerged, huffing and puffing from Mayor Bo’s house, followed closely by Ilia. The two women were carrying a large platter of what was unmistakably a huge, three-tiered cake. Precious wheat flour folded to fluffy perfection, the moist sponge covered by honey-sweetened frosting and decorated with fresh slices of strawberry. There were a handful of small beeswax tapers in a neat circle on the very top of the cake, presumably from Sera’s stock – just waiting to be lit. 

Uli caught their eye from across the way, smiling delightedly as she pointed at the cake for the benefit of the young child she was currently bouncing on her hip. Yumi stared at it with wide blue eyes, her wispy, gently downward tilted eyebrows expressing a serious air that most babies seldom conveyed. 

Rusl had the decency to look slightly ashamed of himself. 

“Perhaps a few more people than I thought…” he mumbled into his mustache. 

Link forgave him instantly, gaze softening. How could he hold a grudge? After all, he should have known that his mentor’s birthday had been today – that it had been this week , even. He had known Rusl for years. It had never been expressed out loud, but the man truly was the closest thing to a father that he had. And he had forgotten his birthday. 

He felt a small pang of guilt. He had been distracted. Too caught up in his own life, his ambitions. The strange dreams, too, but they were no excuse. 

He resolved to himself that he simply needed to pay more attention going forward. Rusl was right. He was a man grown, now. He needed to do better.

Leaning over, he gently nudged Rusl’s shoulder. People had started to gather around the cake at this point, Beth squealing at the sight, exclaiming enviously that she had never gotten a cake this big. “Go on, old man. You wouldn’t want to miss your own party.”

On queue, a laughing Telma cupped her hands together and hollered across the way at the both of them.

“Hey, you two! Get your butts over here! Swordsman! Help us roll this up the hill! Birthday boy! I’ve got a garland from your boy with your name on it!”

There was indeed a flower garland for Rusl. A flower crown , more aptly, constructed from twining daisies and the long-stemmed wildflowers that bloomed on the edges of the pasture. Garlands of this sort were a long-standing tradition in Ordon, though they were usually reserved for celebrating children’s birthdays. Despite this, it seemed that Colin had gone to the trouble of making one for his father. 

Though Rusl reddened ever so slightly upon seeing it, it seemed that it was less embarrassment affecting him than fatherly emotion. He bent his neck and allowed his son to place it on the crown of his head, wearing it proudly throughout the rest of the evening: the cake cutting, the speeches and stories, the seemingly-endless toasting that sustained round after round after Jaggle’s mead got broken open. 

At some point, Telma, a glass of strong-smelling wine in hand and two spots of color high on her cheeks, stole the crown from Rusl’s head and had to be chased down and talked into giving it back. 

As the sun sank far beneath the hills, torches were lit and the bonfire, cleared of its bounty, which had disappeared into the many hungry bellies around, stoked to higher proportions. Food was ample and alcohol flowed like water. 

Twice, Link found himself shooing Talo and Malo away from the drink table, despite Talo’s pleading and Malo’s moue of disappointment at Link’s refusal to give them so much as a taste of the frankly dangerously strong alcohol that Auru was toting around as ‘moonshine’.

A finger’s amount of said moonshine in the bottom of a glass was pressed onto him by Ashei, whose quiet smile as he sniffed suspiciously at the fumes spoke volumes.

“Surely this isn’t actually safe to ingest ,” Shad had protested as he found a shot of the stuff set down before him. Ilia looked concernedly down at hers as well, but was far too polite to protest. Ashei hadn’t looked up from sloshing some of it into her own glass. The four of them were huddled around a makeshift table – a tree stump – near the outskirts of the party.

“Probably not,” she said, setting down the dark glass jug and raising her glass to be clinked against the other three’s. She indicated to Link that he set down his mead. He did so gingerly, trading a glance with Ilia, who had somewhat dubiously picked up her own shot and was watching Ashei with big green eyes, their corners slightly crinkled by the laugh she seemed to be holding in.

Quick as a cat, Ashei looked up and caught the other girl’s stare. Ilia’s pale cheeks pinked as she dropped her gaze, biting the inside of her cheek. Link stifled his own smile. 

Ashei raised her glass, clinking it against Shad’s and then holding it out for the other two to do the same. “Down the hatch!”

It was… vile. Like fire, it burned a liquid path down his tongue and throat, settling in his belly like a stone. Ilia coughed into her fist, eyes slightly teary. Link had to agree with Shad. The stuff really couldn’t be safe to drink. 

Yet, after the initial vile taste (along with the concerning and mildly disorienting sensation of his vision briefly seeming to flicker… ), his body and mind rapidly slid into a warm, buzzing sort of relaxation that started in his stomach and soon spread out to his fingers and toes. 

Shad was soon starting to slur his words, gesticulating without any semblance of his usual prim restraint as he tried to explain something about historic texts and some sort of historical forest dwellers called ‘kokiri’ to them. 

Link found himself smiling lazily, comprehending little to none of it. Ashei, also smiling, had simply sat down on the grass, leaning back with her head tilted up at the night sky. Ilia slid down from where she’d been perched on a stone and joined her, giggling. Perhaps they had the right idea of it. The grass did look wonderfully soft, after all. 

There were more drinks. He finished another mug of honey mead. Then a glass of strong wine that Shad kept asking him if he tasted things like ‘notes of cherry, amaretto, and chocolate’ in. 

He thought that it tasted like wine, mostly. Link told the scholar as much after draining the remainder of the glass. He received a ten minute lecture thereafter about the flavoring and aging practices that went into making a wine such as the one he’d just poured down his gullet.

Beth inadvertently came to his rescue, pointing a finger back towards the water wheel and yelling something about Talo, Malo, Colin, and a bottle of wine. Link gratefully excused himself to go deal with the problem.

The shame-faced boys received a lecture from their parents and were sent to bed. The rest of the wine was promptly divvied up amongst the many empty cups and glasses of the present adults as the party continued. 

However, as the evening began to wear on, people slowly began to peel off from the main party, most stopping to congratulate Rusl before they trickled, wobbled, or in poor Ilia’s case, had to literally be carried back to their respective abodes. Gradually, the number dwindled until only Rusl, Uli, Link, and the rest of the Resistance members remained still outside.

Link found himself sitting in the rough semicircle that had formed adjacent to Rusl’s house, his back pressed against a nearby tree as he slowly sipped on a mug of mead. 

Telma was spinning a yarn about how herself, Rusl, Chask, and Auru had gotten themselves blacklisted from one of the local bars in Castle Town after a night of drunken carousing involving a stuffed bear head and an archery contest.

“...and then, he looks over his shoulder, pants still on backwards, wearing this bear head like a hat – and mind you, the innkeep’s still passed out cold on the floor – and says ‘So did we win the bet?’. I just about pissed myself laughing!!”

The circle erupted into raucous laughter.

“That is not how that happened,” Rusl protested loudly.

Auru smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure. It sounds about how I remember it.” 

“You drank almost that entire cask yourself, you can hardly call yourself a dependable witness!”

Telma watched the squabbling with a sparkle in her eye. Link himself was wedged between a lightly-dozing Shad and Auru, who continued to bicker good-naturedly with Rusl. Ashei, on the outer fringe of the circle, appeared to be whittling something. 

Meanwhile, Uli, apple-cheeked and smiling, pushed herself up from the sitting stool at her husband’s side and delivered an apparent goodnight kiss to the top of Rusl’s head before making her way to the door of their home, their daughter draped over her shoulder, snoring lightly. 

The stars twinkled brightly overhead. It was a lovely night – quiet and mild, with a slight breeze that wafted the smoke from the cooling embers of the bonfire periodically back and forth. If Link stopped to focus, he could hear the chirping of crickets in the rocks, the rustle of the wind through the pine needles. 

His clothes smelled like smoke and charred meat, his own sweat, Telma’s perfume, dry fruity wine… 

It was a strange thing, but ever since it all had happened, he’d felt like his senses were somehow sharper than they had used to be. He could hear more clearly, see better at night, and smell things that most everyone else seemed completely oblivious to. And then, he could just… tell. About certain things. 

For example, he always knew when it was about to rain. Not from the way the clouds looked or even the rumble of the clouds, but the shift in the air. Likewise, he could tell when someone was starting to get sick from the smell of them alone.

Though he was almost certainly doing these new heightened senses no favors standing around all day at the forge pounding away on the anvil, it was unnerving at times. Even for him. Perhaps especially for him. 

A trader had come through town almost a year ago, just after Link himself had started to settle back into the slow rhythm of life in the village. He had been a comely middle-aged man dressed in the typical clothing style of Eastern Hyrule, his mule’s saddlebags packed full of cloth and clothing, jewelry and baubles, as well as more practical items like salt, sugar, and a few select spices. Yet when he had reached out to affably shake Link’s hand, Link had flinched back as he caught a whiff of him. 

Sour. Fetid. A cloying stench that had raised all the hairs on the back of his arms and neck. 

He’d found his upper lip drawing back from his teeth without thought, the beginnings of a growl caught in his chest – like an animal. The wolf, stirring inside of him as the threads of his control started to slip between his fingers. 

He’d been forced to hurriedly excuse himself, drawing confused looks from both Mayor Bo and Jaggle, but the trader had only watched him hurry away with a slightly narrowed stare, like a predator assessing a potential threat. 

The man had left shortly thereafter, not much later that afternoon, and Link had been glad to see him go, though the part of him whose hackles remained raised had wanted to follow down the road behind him on four legs to make certain with the threat of sharp teeth that he did not stray from the path. He'd gone home instead and set himself to the task of chopping an enormous pile of firewood that he subsequently stacked up against the western wall of the house, absorbing himself in the rigorous menial labor.

He’d been so careful ever since to keep those instincts in check and to himself. Midna was gone, the Twilight with her, but that bestial part of himself that had awakened during those dark times remained within him still. He had to be mindful not to wake it. Though he had not been born here, he had a place here, in this village. He wanted, more than anything, to belong as easily as everyone else did. But if he lost control, it would jeopardize everything he had worked so hard for. 

He’d had those dreams, too. Or, nightmares, he supposed they were. He feared what might happen if he ever fell asleep anywhere but his own bed. What if he woke up as a wolf? It had happened before, albeit only a couple of times and always in the privacy of his own home. What if someone saw? What if he started sleepwalking?

A whiff of perfume dragged him back to the present. He dragged his gaze up from his boots to find Telma frowning at him from across the way.

“Those are some serious eyes. What’s going on, honey?”

Link fumbled for a response as four more sets of eyes turned to him. 

“Just thinking,” he eventually settled on.

She did not seem satisfied by his answer, but Auru cleared his throat loudly and pointedly and with a huff, she let the matter rest. 

“Fine, fine. I can recognize when my attention isn’t wanted. How about you tell us a story, then?”

“A story,” Link echoed, caught off guard.  

“Yes, honey. I’ll make it easy on you. How about something they tell little Ordonian kids when they’re growing up, hm?

Link darted a glance at Rusl, but the man appeared absorbed with staring into his mug. It appeared he would be getting no support there. Even Shad had woken up to listen, sipping thirstily from his own nearly-empty mug. Meanwhile, Ashei hadn’t raised her eyes from the little wood sculpture she was carving, occasionally flicking wood chips into Shad’s curls.

“Alright,” he said slowly, desperately wracking his memory for the last time he’d been told a fairy tale. It had been forever since he’d heard one of those… since the time that he still slept and took his meals at Rusl and Uli’s house, in fact – nearly thirteen years ago. 

So he’d have to improvise, then. 

“They say that sometimes, after the sun has fallen, a strange golden wolf can be found roaming the lands of Hyrule.”

He saw Rusl’s head slowly raise, his brow crinkled in puzzlement. Link hastily averted his eyes, focusing instead on the fading embers of the bonfire past Auru’s shoulder.

“A wolf, but not a mindless beast, with a golden coat and only a single ruby eye. They say…” He paused, trying to figure out how to phrase the next bit. 

“They say that this wolf is not a beast at all, but the shade of a Great Hero from long ago. He passed unknown from this world and now lingers in dusk and twilight, waiting for others to whom he can pass his teachings on to.”

That sounded good enough.

“They say that if you are careful and bold of heart, if you listen at the hour of twilight, you can sometimes hear the golden wolf’s song. Those that wish to pass his trials need only seek the singing stones that echo his call.”

Link chanced a look up through his bangs, raising a wary eyebrow, but no-one interjected. They were all quiet, looking thoughtful – save for Rusl, who was still frowning confusedly. Link could tell from just a look what the man was probably thinking. That was no story I ever told him!

Auru was watching him intently. “An interesting bedtime story for children, to be sure,” the old man said, scratching his beard. “I suppose the question that has to be asked is have you ever sought out this golden wolf?”

The gazes turned keen again, but Link saw little point in lying about this. He nodded.

“And? Did you manage to find him?”

Link bit his tongue. “I did.”

Auru’s gaze sharpened. “What was he like?”

His thoughts drifted back to the skeletal visage of that grizzled old warrior, the odd melancholy of its singular crimson eye.

“He felt… sad.”

Telma was holding out a waterskin. He realized that his throat felt scratchy. He accepted it from her, wetting his dry throat, and was grateful when the chatter resumed around him. All except Auru, who was quiet. Link caught his thoughtful stare several times over the course of the next hour, though he could not say why the man looked at him so. 

Eventually, it was Rusl who swayed to his feet, clapping his hands against his knees and declaring that he was going to call it a night, and that anyone who wished to crash on the couch or the floor next to the hearth had best come with him before he locked the door. Only Shad accepted, Telma saying that with such soft grass and mild weather, she would be fine with sleeping under the stars. Ashei shrugged and said she had slept in far worse than this. 

Link watched fondly as the pair swayed off towards the front door of the now-dim house before bidding the other three his own goodnights and making to head up the road to his own dark, empty home. It had to be close to one or two o’clock in the morning, by this time, and he had a sinking feeling that getting up tomorrow morning was going to be especially unpleasant. 

However, to his surprise, Auru hauled himself to his feet, holding up a hand with the universal sign for ‘wait up’. 

“I’ll walk with you,” the old man said gruffly. “You never know what dangers might be lurking in the dark, even in a place as lovely as Ordon.”

Link wanted to protest, but he got the feeling that just allowing Auru to do what he’d already set his mind to would be an easier path than arguing with him otherwise, by far. 

“As you wish.”

The two of them set off up the path. It was a short walk – even shorter still as Link found himself concentrating on the other man’s footsteps. Auru was quiet up until the point they stopped just outside of the ladder that led up into the tree home. He stopped, tilting his head as he surveyed the outside of the house. 

“So this is where you’re keeping the sword and the garb?”

The question caught him off guard, but Auru didn’t seem to need a verbal answer, merely scanning Link’s face with squinted eyes and apparently finding his affirmative there. 

“I had wondered when we would see you again, you know. I suppose that I just did not expect to find the Hero here.” He glanced back to the tree home, then down the path at the faint lights of the village.

“You are content here, then? Minding children and smithing horseshoes?”

“I also smith swords,” Link said, needled. It slipped out more hotly than he’d intended it, but Auru, instead of being offended, only chuckled. 

“As you say. Swords, horseshoes… It matters not. Do not take offense to this old man’s gruff nature. You did your duty when you vanquished that old evil, Ganondorf, from Hyrule Castle. The rest of your life is yours now to choose how you live it.”

Link frowned. “How do you know about that?”

“I have my ways.” The old man nodded up at Link’s front door. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

He clearly saw the old man roll his eyes. “If you invite me in, yes, I suppose that I will.”

“Fine.”

Link clambered up the ladder. He waited at the top to hold out a hand for Auru to heave himself up with. He did so disgruntledly, expressing some muttered cynicism about young people and treehouses as Link got his key out and slotted it into the lock. 

It was very dark inside. Link quickly set about getting a fire started in the cold hearth, while Auru took a seat on one of the few pieces of furniture, wincing as he seated himself on the hard wooden chair. 

With the fire started, flickering as it began to grow, Link stood and folded his arms, fixing the older man with a silent stare. Auru, who had been staring up at the ancient sword mounted upon the mantlepiece, conceded with a sigh. 

“Yes, yes. Your question. How is an old man like me privy to such sensitive information? Quite simply, I was employed by the royal family for a time, some number of years ago, as a tutor to the young Princess Zelda. I still maintain connections to the palace.” 

He fixed Link with a bushy-browed stare. “The Princess spoke highly of you. Indeed, I was as surprised as she to hear that you had elected to return here instead of accepting the position of Royal Knight she had offered you.”

Link grimaced, gaze lowering. It had been too much to hope that the old man hadn’t heard about that, too. 

Auru raised a hand. “Calm yourself. You misunderstand. I am not judging you. As I said before, you have done your due diligence. Of duty served, there is no question.”

Despite the reassurance, Link still found himself flushed with a strange sense of shame. True, he had done his duty, as Auru had said, but for someone like him to refuse the Princess herself… Even a year later, the memory of that day still colored his cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth. What had he been thinking?

That you were tired, and sore of heart, and you just wanted to go home, said the small, traitorous voice in the back of his mind. But in what kind of story did the hero just go home at the end?

Unaware of, or perhaps just respecting the privacy of the thoughts crowding Link’s head, Auru continued, pulling out a pipe, which he began to methodically pack the bowl with some sort of smoky-rich herbal concoction. 

“The history of Hyrule is a cyclical one. Cycles of life, death, and rebirth. Princess Zelda is not the first to bear that name, by any means. And you are not the first Chosen Hero – not even the first that I have met, even.”

Link felt his eyebrows raise. “You knew the Hero?” 

The other man gave a small nod. “Aye. I met him once, when he was an old man. Though not many knew him by that title.”

“...What was he like?”

The older man’s gaze grew unfocused, as if recalling some distant memory. “He was a quiet fellow. Such an air of melancholy he carried with him, as if he bore his regrets upon his shoulders. I was a foolish young lad at the time, and I wondered to myself if he could even lift the sword he wore on his belt. Yet, it was on his word, and that of Queen Zelda’s, that Ganondorf’s treachery was brought to light, many years ago.”

Link chewed on that for a long moment, the crackling of the fire loud in his ears.

"If there have been people like me who came before..." he said slowly. "Then what, too, of the old evil?" He raised his eyes to Auru's and found the old man's gaze grim. "What of Ganondorf? I saw the mark that appeared upon his hand myself. Will he not return?"

Auru's mouth drew into a grim line as he held the pipe to the flame. The rich scent of dried tobacco filled the air. 

"If the legends are to be believed... Then yes."

Frowning deeply, Link returned his gaze to the flames.

"Then what is the point of it all?" he said, and found himself surprised by the hard, quiet anger in his own voice. "Will it just go on, forever?"

Auru was silent for a long time, puffing on his smoking pipe. Eventually, however, he sighed and shifted in his chair, blowing a small cloud of smoke into the air above their heads.  

"I cannot say what the will of the Goddess might be, Link. All I can speak for is that which I have myself lived to see."

Still, Link pursued the thread ruthlessly. "You said that you were a boy when you met the Hero. Then what of Ganondorf? What do you know of him?"

The older man frowned at him, merriment abandoned. "That is an old, dark tale; one that happened before I was born. Why do you wish to know?"

"I'm curious."

Auru continued to frown at him but Link stared resolutely back, emboldened by the cold, hard stone of anger that had formed in his belly. If Auru had indeed worked for the Royal Family and was half the scholar he made himself out to be, he then would have had access to their records. Perhaps they would bring light to the strange dreams that had been haunting his sleep.

"Very well."

The chair creaked as Auru leaned back. He fixed Link with an assessing look from beneath his bushy brows. "What do you know of the Gerudo tribe?"

"Not much," Link admitted.

Auru nodded as though he'd suspected as much.

"A powerful and resourceful people. They once ruled sovereign over the desert of their namesake, the very same where the Arbiter's Grounds were constructed to house the realm's criminals. The Gerudo are a peculiar people. Quite unlike Hylians, or even Ordonians. They are all female, you see, so they must seek partners from outside of their people to sire children. However, very rarely, perhaps just once a century, a male child is born."

"This child, this man, is given great responsibility. He is expected to serve as the leader of their tribe - the Gerudo King. The last King to rule over the Gerudo bore the name Ganondorf. He came to power quite young, at the age of 17 - after the previous Chief perished in the Hyrulean Civil War."

"The Gerudo Tribe were the final holdout, hiding in their desert, where the armies of Hyrule could not follow. They slew Hyrulean soldiers in the hundreds through cunning and sabotage, but were scattered into disarray after the death of their Chief. 

"It was Ganondorf who finally swore fealty to the Royal Family, bringing peace to the kingdom. However, he did so in defiance. It was never his intention to keep the peace, only to maintain it for long enough to sow the seeds of his duplicity throughout the land. He sought to place himself upon the throne by stealing the Goddess's holy power from the Sacred Realm, but he was found out."

"The Princess Zelda and the Hero, both children at the time, discovered his deceit. Ganondorf was arrested, transported to the Arbiters Grounds, and sentenced to execution by the King himself."

"But they could not kill him," Link said softly. 

Auru raised an eyebrow. "So you know this story after all." 

"Bits and pieces only," he muttered. 

"Then you know that he was banished."

"Yes. To the Realm of Twilight."

"Then you know all that I do. Now, please, let us speak upon gentler things. The night is dark. We need not darken it further with the shades of monsters past."

Reluctantly, Link inclined his head. It was clear that Auru would be saying no more on this subject, at least not any more tonight. Yet, later, even as they both bid one another goodnight and Link shut the door behind the old man, he found his mind abuzz with thoughts, imagination running wild. He had to admit, it felt strange to know more of his enemy's history and background than he did his own.

He fell asleep dreaming of sand, and dreamed vividly of a plethora of rusted Hyrulean soldier's helmets mounted atop pikes in the golden dunes. They rattled in the dry, desert wind like a a gust blowing through the empty orbital sockets of a sun bleached skull. 

He blinked and found himself staring up at the limbs of a great tree. The sky was very blue through the limbs and leaves of the tree's boughs, and there was a cool pressure against the side of his face. It stroked his cheek, turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of two luminous blue eyes in a dirty face painted with tear tracks.

"They will not find you here. I'm sorry. I only wish that we had more time..."

A fat tear escaped the corner of one of those eyes. An infant squalled loudly.

"Hush... Rest, now, little one... You are safe."

The voice rose, gently tremulous, and the strains of a song, old and somehow familiar, filled the air.

When he woke late next morning, bleary eyed and foggy with sleep, still, he could remember nothing except the vaguest snippet of an old lullaby.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned far too bright and early for the amount of liquor he'd put into his body last night.

Rolling out of bed, he missed a step on the top ladder and nearly went careening all the way down to the main floor. He did manage to catch himself, but that was just the start of the morning.

Trudging down to the village, he found small comfort, at least, in the fact that the rest of the Resistance did not look much better than he felt. A fair few of the Ordonians going about their morning routines looked fairly foggy as well. 

Telma was still nowhere to be seen, but Ashei, Auru, Shad, and Rusl, closely shadowed by a bright-eyed Colin, were all seated around the remains of the bonfire from last night, which had been stoked back to life just enough to place a well-used cast iron pan on top of the coals, where several eggs and a few thick slabs of bacon were merrily frying away. 

The smell of it alone was enough to bring him out of his mental fog enough to realize that his stomach was empty. Ravenously so.

"Link, you're up late!" Rusl chortled. He was one of the only ones around the circle who looked remarkably unruffled. The same could not be said about Shad, who was hunched over a plate poking at a half-eaten egg, squinting horribly. His spectacles sat crookedly upon his nose, and his cheeks looked rather pale. Ashei, who was naturally pale complected, also looked a tad the worse for wear.

Rusl gestured impatiently at the open patch of grass beside him.

"Sit down, m'boy! How many eggs would you like?"

Link eased himself onto the indicated spot. "Just two."

His stomach rumbled. The older man shot him a knowing look.

"Three it is!"

Reaching into the covered basket set to the side, Rusl obligingly cracked three eggs into the skillet. The campfire hissed and popped merrily. Shad groaned at the noise, raising his hand against the light of the morning sunlight as though it physically hurt him.

"Oh, cheer up, Shad. Don't act as though you've never suffered a hangover before in your life," Ashei admonished.

Now that he was actually taking the trouble to look at her, Link realized why she looked so odd. Her hair was down, instead of pinned into the tight braids she usually wore it in. Her bangs were ruffled, jet black hair swept over one shoulder. The normally pin-straight strands were slightly wavy with dampness. 

She smelled faintly of lavender; a fact only perceptible due to his keen smell. Link surmised that she had risen early to bathe this morning. Shad quickly validated the assumption with his next comment. 

"Yes, well, not all of us can be insouciantly cheerful morning people who rise to bathe with the sun," the scholar grumped. Ashei merely rolled her eyes and jostled his shoulder with an elbow, ignoring his squawk of protest when he nearly dropped his plate. 

"You always get moody when you're hungry. Finish the damn egg."

Rusl, ignoring the two’s bickering, merrily flipped the eggs sizzling away in the bottom of the pan, ladling two eggs and a strip of bacon onto a wooden plate, which he held out for Auru to take. The old man did so with a murmur of thanks.

Link observed silently as Auru speared the slice of bacon on the end of his fork and began shoveling it into his mouth, but the man did not look up at any point during the meal though he could doubtless feel Link's gaze on him.

How much did he remember about the conversation they'd had last night? Most, if not all of it, Link was willing to bet. Though the memory was a little soft around the edges, he clearly remembered the story that the old man had told him about Ganondorf.

How strange it was, to think of the man with the leering grin and burning eyes he had faced and re-imagine him as a seventeen year-old boy crowned and anointed in the midst of a bloody civil war.

If there had been others like Link, the strange shard of power that had enabled him to take up the Hero's sword passed between them, from generation to generation, then he had to wonder... Who had come before Ganondorf? Another Ganondorf? Another Gerudo King, powerful, duplicitous, and cruel? Had there been another Link, another Princess Zelda standing in his way? Who had prevailed? Who had fallen? Did it even matter?

When would it end? What was the point of it all? 

A rough hand landed on his shoulder. Startled, Link looked up into Rusl's face. His mentor was holding out a plate of steaming eggs and bacon, and apparently had been for some time from the concerned look in his eyes.

"Everything okay?"

"Sorry," Link murmured, accepting the plate. "Sorry. Yeah. I guess I'm just still a little tired, is all."

Ashei eyed him strangely as he dug into his eggs, but the other three were too absorbed with their own breakfasts (or in Rusl's case, cooking up another batch of delicious-smelling bacon) to pay much notice.

Shad did in fact liven up after he'd gotten something in his stomach, soon engaging in a lively conversation with Auru about the ancient peoples of Hyrule.

Though the conversation did largely go over his head, Link found himself listening with a perked ear for any mention of the mysterious Gerudo tribe. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that Shad's current obsession was with the forest-dwelling people he referred to as 'the Kokiri'.

"You're still on about this, eh?" Telma said when she joined the circle, holding a steaming mug of what appeared to be tea. 

"Ah, Telma, good morning," Shad greeted hurriedly. "Just in time. Wouldn't you say that the Kokiri were a people? Not, as our dear Auru says, 'forest-dwelling sprites'? I mean, it would only make sense for-"

Telma held up a shushing finger, eyes squinting tightly. Link found himself smiling a little bit. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who was suffering the effects of last night's hangover. 

Shad continued, albeit at a slightly lower volume, turning back to his audience, which was pretty much just Auru and Link. Ashei was once again focused on the whittling she had started last night, not paying much attention to the conversation at hand.

"If the Hero was raised by the Kokiri, as the texts say, surely they would have to be flesh and blood as the rest of us? Not some sort of... wishy-washy spiritual nonsense."

Auru frowned deeply. Link's ears perked up. 

"Which is not to say that there isn't immense historical value in the power of folk stories as well-" Shad hurried to say, though it did little to ease the way that the older man was now puffing irritatedly away at his pipe.

"All that I'm saying is that if the Kokiri did exist, they had to have left traces behind. Dwellings, domiciles, tools... pottery, and the like. You would see, if you would only come with us, Auru, old boy!"

Auru puffed on his pipe, looking a bit peeved.

"The truth, young man, is rarely so simple as what lies between the dusty pages of historical accounts," he said, as tartly as Link had ever heard him before. "And thank you, but no. I have no time for your expedition. As I've told you before, I have business up North."

Link hedged in. Where exactly were they going? "You're planning an expedition?"

Shad had looked slightly crestfallen, but quickly perked up upon hearing Link's question.

"Why, yes. A research expedition concerning the forests to the East of here. I've been just begging Auru here to accompany us, but, evidently, he has very important business in the Lanayru Province that he must not miss." He gave a small sniff, as if to say surely it could not be all that important in comparison to this expedition.

Link, for once, found himself waiting for Shad to elaborate further. When he did not, he found himself forced to prod a bit.

"What are you looking to find there?"

"Well, I'm not sure about Ashei, but I'm hoping to find some evidence of the Kokiri Tribe's residence there. By all accounts, the Eastern Forest was where they made their home after they split from the rest of Hyrule, but I just have to see for myself. Just think, if we were to find historical artifacts, perhaps even ancient texts, I could-"

Shad paused, eyes brightening behind his spectacles. "Say, Link, old boy..." He had adopted a suspiciously conversational tone of voice. Link already had a good idea of what he was about to ask.

"I know that you had some vested interest in the ancient peoples of Hyrule yourself. Perhaps, erm, you might be interested in joining us - Ashei and I - on our expedition?"

Link was surprised to find himself actually giving it his full consideration.

Shad hurried on. "We would be ever so happy to have you, of course! You know that I'm no good with a sword. Ashei is a most formidable young woman, but having one more blade in less-traveled parts can never be a bad thing. Plus, the historical implications for my autobiography of getting to travel with The Hero himself, well, I mean!"

Link grimaced. Shad, who had been watching his face intently as he rambled on, cut himself off immediately. 

"Oh dear. Ahem, that is to say-" he began to correct himself, but Ashei interrupted him, catching Link's eye with a stare of her own as she put down her half-finished whittling project. Link couldn't yet tell what it was supposed to be.

"He tends to put his foot in his mouth when he gets flustered," she said evenly. Shad pushed his spectacles high up the bridge of his nose, looking embarrassed. Ashei herself appeared slightly amused, judging by the slightly quirked corners of her mouth.

"The site we're looking into is about five days on foot from Ordon," she explained, moving smoothly into her explanation. Link found himself relaxing minutely at the cool, unperturbed tone she'd adopted. Or perhaps it was her natural voice and he was just being pigheaded.

"Straight shot from here to the East, discounting some of the hillier terrain. If you decide you want to tag along, you'll need to bring your own supplies; we only packed enough for two."

She paused, contemplative. "And make sure you pack that fancy sword of yours. You never know when you might run into a hinox."

Her cool stare softened incrementally as she really seemed to look at him, taking in the shape of him in a way that made him feel... exposed, perhaps. But somehow warm, at the same time.

"It's alright if you need some time to think it over, yeah? We'll be heading out tomorrow morning, so you have until then to pack your things. Offer stands."

* * *

Rusl, Telma, Shad, and Auru took off after breakfast for the fishing hole with a couple of fishing poles and promises to be back before sundown, shadowed closely by Colin, Beth, Talo, and Malo. Ashei had ended up splitting off for a jaunt to the local spring with Ilia, of all people, which left Link alone with an empty forge and a quandry.

His hands were itching, but practically as soon as he started stacking wood inside of the furnace, he realized that he had little to no motivation for the careful and methodical work that the forge demanded, so he shucked off his gloves on one of the workbenches, locked up, and went for a walk instead.

It was a lazy day in Ordon; everyone more or less still recovering from the last night's festivities.

Link's feet took him away from the village proper up the path to the ranch and into the wide, green space of the pasture. Even with the recent rainfall, the greenery had been cropped low and close to the ground by the relentless grazing of the goat herd.

Horned heads rose as Link made his way over the fence; the animals regarding him warily, but as he simply continued to walk without displaying any intent of interrupting them, they soon went back to grazing, showing little to no interest in his sudden appearance. 

Fado was nowhere to be seen, which was just as well for Link's purposes. He made his way to where Epona stood grazing a little way apart from the rest of the herd. She nickered softly upon seeing him, whiffling through her nose and dipping her head for the customary scratches that he bestowed behind her ears, cupping her strong jaw between his hands. 

He had more callouses now than he'd ever had. She was starting to show silver hairs on her starry brow.

"Hullo to you too, girl," Link said softly, pressing his forehead firmly against hers for a brief moment.

His time as a wolf had been eye opening on a number of levels. It had made him wonder, for certain, about all the times that he had mindlessly spilled his troubles to Epona. How much had she understood? How much did she remember? 

So many times, he'd confided things in her that he had only ever dared voice to himself in the privacy of his own mind. What a friend she had been to him, all those unwitting years. And what a true friend she remained still.

With a sigh, Link dropped down onto the soft turf by her feet. He found a smile brought to his face as Epona brushed her whiskery lips across the top of his head, but she soon went back to grazing close by, leaving him to the privacy of his own thoughts.

He plucked a long blade of grass, tearing it in twain and restlessly twining it around his fingers as he looked out across the open pasture. The sky was open and blue. Without clouds to obscure its cerulean expanse, it stretched out practically as far as the eye could see, wrapping itself snug around the curve of the earth.

Link imagined Rusl and the rest down at the fishing hole doing the same, looking up at the same blue sky. Renado and Luda and perhaps a few gorons, too, out in Kakariko. Yeta and Yeto, up in Snowpeak. Perhaps... perhaps even the Princess herself in Hyrule Castle. Maybe she would look at the sky from her balcony, a brief respite from whatever important businesses it took to run a kingdom. If Princesses did mundane things like looking at the sky, that was. 

He found his gaze drawn from the open clearing of the pasture to the fringe of the dense woods that surrounded this little village. 

The woods to the East... That was where Shad and Ashei were headed, in search of the mysterious Kokiri Tribe. Link found himself wishing he'd paid more attention to Shad's drunken ramblings last night. He'd spoken at length, as he tended to do, about the people he called the Kokiri. A strange and ancient people, just like the Gerudo. A people who had apparently raised the Hero of time's past.

But aside from the foliage that had twined itself around his skeleton, the Hero's Shade had looked quite human, at least as far as Link could discern. Not like some woodland spirit or sprite of the sort that Auru seemed to think the Kokiri had been. Nothing at all like the strange, childlike apparition that Link had chased through the ancient trees of the Sacred Grove. 

To tell the truth, Link cared very little about the archeological implications of discovering crumbling scrolls or broken old pottery.

But if what Shad had been saying about the Hero was true... Link would very much like to see the forest for himself; at the very least, only to try to better understand the man that the Hero had been. Cycles, Auru had said. 

Perhaps the knowledge would help him to sleep better at night. He hoped - no, prayed - that it would.

When he looked back down at his hands, he realized that he had shredded the blade of grass into tens of tiny pieces. Brushing off his legs, he sat back on his elbows and glanced back at Epona, who was munching contentedly on a dandelion.

"How do you feel about one last trip, Epona?" 

* * * 

The afternoon blended into evening seamlessly. Link spent most of it lying uselessly about in the pasture with Epona; his head cradled in his hands as he stared up at the occasional wisps of clouds that drifted across the sky and just generally enjoying the sensation of the sun on his skin. 

This time of year, around Loftern, the days were long and lazy, leaving most everyone with an darker shade or two to their skin by the end of it. With the exception of the elderly or infirm, the village always pitched in to help harvest the crops near the end of the summer; juicy tomatoes and ripe gourds from the vine; straw and wheat from the fields.

Link, however, had spent most of the season indoors this year. When he finally pushed himself into an upright position, he recognized the rosy shade of a mild sunburn on the backs of his arms, no doubt coloring his cheeks as well. It was not the worst he'd ever endured and would probably clear up by tomorrow, but it was as good a reminder as any that it was time to head back. 

With his natural fairness, he had always burned easily. Not quite as badly as poor Ilia or Mayor Bo, whose family had stock in some Northern lineage a generation back, but much easier than the rest of the Ordonian-born villagers. 

He had always surmised that he'd been born somewhere in Northern Hyrule. After all, the fair coloration of his skin and hair was not the only thing that set him apart from the rest of the village, whose ears had the characteristic roundness of Ordonian blood. He remembered asking Uli about it once when he had been just a boy. 

Tucked between the coverlets of the futon mattress, the boy stretched his arm out and ran a curious finger along the round shell of her ear.

"They're not the same." His voice came out crestfallen.

Uli's brows drew low over her grey-blue eyes, and she pursed her lips in apparent consternation as she reached out, sweeping the troublesome forelock of his hair back from his brow to tuck it neatly behind one pointed ear, nudging his hand gently away from where he'd been pinching the tip of his own ear so tightly that it bore two crescent-shaped indents of his nails. 

"They're not," she acknowledged gently. She continued to pet his brow, smoothing his hair back with the same gentle, repetitive motion as before.

The child bit his lip. He was silent for a long moment, clearly struggling to articulate himself. "

"I don't... I'm not like everyone else," he whispered eventually in a small voice.

Uli frowned down at him. "Oh, Link..." Leaning closer, she cupped the back of his head and gently pressed their brows together. "You are wanted here, different or no. That is all you need worry about."

Her words had been a comfort that he had done his best to follow for many years, but it was often easier said than done, particularly as the years went on and he watched Rusl and Uli's family grow from a distance. Colin, now Yumi.

He was not jealous. He had tried so hard for so many years not to feel so. Besides, it was not exactly jealousy that he felt, per se; rather, a gnawing sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach that so enjoyed imposing itself upon what should have been happy moments, spoiling them with its hollowness. Everyone had a personal demon to keep in check. Wrath, greed, sloth, hubris... This nameless gnawing thing, he supposed, must be his.

After giving Epona his farewells, promising to be back early tomorrow morning, he made his way back down to the village proper. The sky overhead had darkened from robin's egg to a subtle shade of cornflower, the sun just beginning to sink in the sky. It was a lovely evening; crisp and lovely, the crickets singing in symphony to the crunch of the graveled path beneath his sandals. 

Link smelled the mouth-watering scent of fried fish before he actually set eyes upon where it was cooking, once again over top of the communal campfire that had been established near Telma's caravan wagon. It made saliva pool in his mouth almost instantly, his stomach giving a hungry rumble as it reminded him of how cruelly he'd neglected it. 

The fishing trip had clearly been successful. It appeared as though they'd caught a large brace of fish: an array of greengills, several large bass, and one monstrous catfish that was hanging by the gills, scales glistening in the light of the setting sun. 

Colin was the first to spot him, grinning brightly and snatching up one of the roasted greengills to wave him over with. Reeled in by his empty stomach, Link approached and took the skewered fish with a grateful smile and a ruffle of Colin's bright blond hair as he sat down.

"I caught the catfish," the boy confided with quiet pride. 

Link arched a brow in surprise, glancing back at where the fish dangled from the makeshift rack that leaned against a nearby tree. It really was monstrous, even closer up. It had to be the length of his arm and then some. 

"All by yourself?" he teased. "And it didn't pull you under?"

Colin nodded adamantly, looking very serious, despite the half-eaten fish skewer he held in his other hand. "Dad showed me how to catch one with my bare hands. It got away, the first time. But I got it in the end."

Link nodded, noting the long, shallow scrape that the boy had accumulated on his outer forearm. He must have scraped himself on a rock when he pulled the fish out of its den. 

"It's a fine catch," he praised. "You'll be catching pike in no time."

Colin smiled back at him and took a big bite of his fish. He had grown taller, too, this summer, limbs lengthening in a way that made Link expect he would be at least as tall as his father - though with Uli's fair coloring and slender limbs.

But beyond that, there was an air of confidence to him that he hadn't had two summers ago. Not bold or brash, as his friend in mischief Talo so often was, but something softer, quieter. That, too, reminded Link of Uli; but as if she had been mixed with Rusl. The best of both of their qualities, distilled into one person. They should be proud to have a son like Colin. 

His fish was a little burnt on one side, but the skin was so wonderfully crisp, seasoned with some of the herbs that grew naturally in the fields and a generous rubbing of salt. It crunched deliciously between his teeth. And if the slumbering part inside of him wished that it were still raw and wriggling, all the better to feel the small bones crunch and bend beneath his teeth, warm blood pool on his tongue... Well. He tried not to think about it too much.

The rest of the Resistance, along with Talo, Malo, and Beth, were there, sitting around that campfire; holding fish skewers as the adults passed back and forth a couple of dark glass bottles that Link soon learned contained a potent blackberry honey wine.

Ashei and Shad, too, but they appeared to be engaged in conversation with Rusl at the moment, so Link refrained from interrupting for the time being, simply enjoying the smoky scent of cooked fish, the chirping of crickets, and the cool air of the rapidly darkening evening.

It was a beautiful night in Ordon. 

* * *

The next morning, he rose early to retrieve Epona from the pasture, pack his saddlebags with clothes and provisions for the journey, and spend a long, long time just staring at the winged sword that sat under a thin layer of dust upon his mantlepiece.

Everything else was ready. He'd dressed himself in sensible traveler's clothes and boots, affixed his sword belt to his waist, his shield to his back. All that remained to be done was what lay before his eyes.

He stretched his arm out towards the sword. It waited; intricate golden trappings on the sheath, inscribed with intricate glyphs in ancient Hylian; the tooled leather of the grip... He could already imagine the cool, perfect weight of the blade in his hand again, as if he'd never even put it down.

The Goddess's mark, identical to the one branded on the back of his hand, glittered in the flickering light of the lantern. 

“He was a quiet fellow. Such an air of melancholy he carried with him, as if he bore his regrets upon his shoulders."

Link's jaw tensed. His arm dropped back to his side, as if some invisible string had been cut, and he pivoted on his heel, snatching up the lantern from the floor by his feet as he went and strode from the house, shutting the door with a bang.

After saddling Epona, he led her by the reigns down to the village, where the lights had only just begun to light up behind the thick panes of the glass windows. Already, Telma's wagon had been packed; Auru and Rusl loading the last of the travel supplies into the covered wagon.

Auru's old mare had been saddled; Telma's gelding hitched to the wagon. Link caught a glimpse of Shad and Ashei standing off to the side, Shad gesticulating at a piece of yellowed paper that appeared to be some sort of map, but he ignored it for the time being as he made his way to the forge instead. 

The smithy's weighty hammer waited for him atop the anvil.

He picked it up without hesitation, testing its heft in his hand, though he already knew the familiar weight; knew the blisters it had inflicted, the thickened callouses they had formed on the palm of his hand. 

It slid perfectly into the loop on his belt, resting against his hip like it was meant to be there. 

When he turned, he found a shadow watching him from the doorway. 

Rusl raised a brow at him. They regarded each other in silence for a moment. 

"Shad said that he'd asked you if you would come with them, but I did not know what decision you had made until I saw you fetch Epona this morning," Rusl said. His weathered face softened and he stepped in, laying a hand on Link's shoulder.

"I am pleased that you decided to go. Not for my sake, but for yours. When you left one year ago, it was a necessary thing, but not by your choice. It is equally important - the freedom to choose for oneself." He smiled, small and slightly self-deprecating. "Even if this old man would much prefer to see you stay safely here."

Link opened his mouth, but it felt like the back of his throat had closed up, inexplicable emotion bubbling up from the wellspring of his chest. Rusl, mercy be, took notice of his difficulty and gave Link's shoulder an assuring squeeze.

"Go on," he said kindly, and stepped aside.

However, Link had scarcely taken a single step outside of the forge when he heard Rusl yell after him:

"And you'd best bring my hammer back with you, boy!"

Chapter Text

It rained. 

Link tugged the hood of his borrowed cloak further down over his face, squinting through the haze of rain. Somewhere off to his left, Shad sneezed again, letting out another miserable-sounding curse as he rubbed ineffectually at his reddened nose. 

Forget the dreaded Loftern heat. It had been raining for the past three days straight. 

The first day had been the usual summer weather. Hot enough to scorch the back of your neck and sap you of your energy as the sweat soaked into your clothes. Nothing he hadn’t been prepared for. They had risen early the morning of the second day, prepared for another long, hot day, but the sun had not risen to greet them. It was already obscured by a looming front of swollen clouds, dark grey with rain. 

It was an unusual enough sight that Link had been utterly taken off guard by the first fat droplet that had splashed against his upturned nose. The rain did not wait long at all to make its introduction, sending the three of them scattering for the shelter of a nearby fir as the heavens opened up above them.

If Link had been a superstitious man, he might have said that it almost seemed as though the Goddesses were sending them a warning.

A warning that they did not heed.

Rain or shine, they had a destination, and so the decision was made to forge on regardless. Ashei retrieved a dark cloak from her saddlebags and tossed it to Link (who had taken the Loftern sun for granted and foolishly neglected to bring any sort of weather gear of his own). Shad fretted as he wrapped his books securely in an oilcloth and twine. 

Epona nosed curiously at the cloak as Link took her by the reins and led her into the curtain of rain that fell just beyond the dripping mantle of the fir’s branches. 

The capricious rain alternated between light sprinkling and torrential downpour seemingly on a whim. 

If there had been a day between to give the sun a chance to shine, it may have managed to dry things out a bit, but as things were, by the second day the heat-cracked earth had been churned into a slick and viscous mud that sucked at their feet with every step. Beneath the canopy of the tree copses they passed under, things were a little better, but it still felt more like they were walking through a marsh rather than woodland.

They made camp under the protection of one such space, huddled together around a small and sputtering fire as they attempted (with little resulting success) to dry their socks and gnawed on strips of dried goat jerky. Conversation was dry. Everything else was damp. 

It was now the third day of rain, and it showed no sign of abating. The storm clouds remained as thick as ever, though, with how hard it was raining, it was hard to say what the sky might have looked like. 

Behind him, Epona echoed Shad’s sneeze with one of her own, showering the back of Link’s hand with mucus. Link grimaced at the sensation of the slightly warmer projectiles, but made no attempt to wipe it off. The rain would take care of it for him soon enough. He probably deserved it, too, for dragging her along through this wet hell. 

It was late afternoon. Ashei had informed him earlier that day that though they were progressing slower than anticipated due to the unforeseen weather, she believed they would make it to the edge of the Eastern woodlands today. 

Link had to take her word for it. He had never managed to venture this far east in his travels. There was certainly something to be said about the natural beauty of these woods, for all that they did not feel like his home.

It was difficult to explain. 

Before the transformation, he could never have realized just how painfully dull his human senses had been. How many times had he been oblivious to a rainstorm rolling in? A distant fire burning? The fear-scent and anxious shifting of the herd as they spotted a predator slinking in over the hills? How many hundreds of times had he looked right at the carvings of Ordona’s spring, splashed in the waters, and never thought anything of it?

Faron and Ordon were not just regions. They had a presence. Watchful, protective, even in sleep. Link could pinpoint when he had stopped feeling that presence – a day and a half past. It felt like they had crossed some sort of invisible boundary, and now, they forged on past the sight of the silent guardian spirits that had watched him all of his life. 

And though he could not say for certain whether that was a good thing or not, it was certainly… freeing. 

Link found himself resting his free hand on the rounded head of the smithy hammer at his belt as he followed half-blindly behind Ashei, solid and weighty beneath the new callouses of his fingers. Lost in thought, he found himself caught off guard by the first ball of hail that bounced off of the top of his head. 

He blinked stupidly as the hail began to trickle down between the rain droplets, bouncing and rebounding off of the muddy ground. Thunder rumbled. 

“Hail!” Ashei yelled, and broke into a run.

Unluckily, they had been walking through an open space for some time, with the next cover some hundred yards ahead.

It was really more of a jog, with how careful the four of them had to be not to slip and fall in the slick mud. Link found his attention divided between looking after himself and guiding Epona along. The horse tossed her head and snorted, clearly unhappy with how the kernels of hail were starting to sting as they pinged off of her flanks, but obediently followed.

Scholarly Shad, huffing and puffing with his hands gripping the shoulder straps of his pack, actually overtook Link. The sight was almost enough to bring a bemused smile to Link’s face, but the hail was getting steadily bigger.

“Come on, Epona!” he called. She needed no more encouragement than that, breaking into a trot that brought them side by side as they fled after Ashei and Shad’s retreating backs. Link would have to make sure to dry and brush her extra well tonight. 

The cover in question was another copse of trees perched atop the crest of a small hill. Unfortunately, they seemed to be somewhat younger than the rest of the forest around them, the cover of their leafy limbs still somewhat thin. 

Link found his boots slipping in the mud. Not for the first time in the last couple of days, he lamented his lack of clawed feet that could so easily grip and provide traction. There were many things he enjoyed about having hands (and thumbs ), but there was no question that, in terms of traversing terrain, four feet were better than two. 

By the time they made it there, Shad had pressed himself against the trunks of one of the saplings in question, hands braced against his knees as he panted. However, Ashei was nowhere in sight. 

“Where’s Ashei?” Link questioned, wincing as he swiped at his stinging cheek, where a moderately sized ball of hail had managed to catch him just beneath his eye as he ran. Concerningly, the hail had started to fall even harder. He practically had to shout the question to be heard over the mixed sound of the hail bouncing off of the ground and the rumble of thunder. In the near distance, a bolt of thunder struck the earth. Shit. 

Shad shook his head and did not reply, apparently still in the process of catching his breath. 

Link glanced around. Where had she gone? He had just seen her crest the hill, surely she could not have gone far?? He could not smell anything but petrichor and the scents of his and Epona’s exertion. Finding a trail might be impossible.

However, just as he began to worry in interest, the muffled sound of his shouted name caught his attention. His gaze snapped back to the hill. There, at the base, Ashei was standing, waving her hands impatiently above her head. She pointed at the mouth of a rocky crevice. A cave. 

Thank the Goddesses. 

“Shad, come on!”

The three of them trundled down the hill, making their way to Ashei. And just in time, too. As they ducked inside of the cave, which was actually far more spacious than it seemed from the outside, a deafening crack of thunder shook the air. It was clear that the lightning was making its way closer. 

Link pushed the hood of the cloak back, running his fingers through his sopping wet hair to push it away from dripping water into his eyes. Shad, the lenses of his glasses foggy and flecked with water droplets, sank down to the floor with a shuddering sigh. Ashei crossed her arms and flashed a small, smug smirk at the both of them. 

“Thought I left you to the mercy of the elements, did you?”

Shad frantically shook his head, but Link cracked a smile, relief tingling through his soaked bones. 

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Only Epona did not seem to share in the relieved sentiment. She maintained her stance rigidly by the mouth of the cavern, tail flicking back and forth even as the rainwater pooled around her hooves. Her large dark eyes were trained unblinkingly on the back wall of the cave. 

Strange.

Link felt the prickle of her unease wash over him as he put his hands on her, patting the muscular juncture of neck and shoulder. 

“Hey, girl,” he murmured, “It’s just a bit of a storm. We’re okay, yeah?”

It did not seem to comfort her.

Ashei and Shad were talking amongst themselves. The sound of a flint striking stone heralded the lighting of an oilcloth torch, at last throwing the mouth of the cave into light. 

Another rumble of thunder rolled over them; dark and deep, like the growling snarl of some colossal titan. At this, Epona tossed her head, stamping her front hooves. Her breathing had changed, now higher in her chest, snortier. 

Link frowned. Dropping the reins, he allowed his pack to slide down from his shoulder to the floor as he transferred his gaze to where the horse was staring.

The shadows at the back wall were deep, but he saw now what he had overlooked the first time. There was a large crack in the back wall, spanning floor to ceiling. The darkness beyond was too thick to see past, but he felt a prickle of unease down the back of his spine, hackles rising as the air shifted and he caught a whiff of a very distinct scent. Rot and sour meat. 

“Ashei,” Link asked quietly, calmly, as another roll of thunder rumbled through the air. “Did you check the back cavern?”

Her confusion was evident in the way she glanced back at where he was looking. She squinted at it. Belatedly, Link realized that with her eyes, she likely had not even been able to see the crack in the wall. 

That was when the darkness shifted . And a gargantuan shape emerged through the hole in the wall. 

A gigantic yellow eye opened in the gloom.

* * *

Three things happened very rapidly in succession.

The first: Link’s heart dropped into his stomach as he beheld the shape of the hinox, monstrous and half hunched, in the space of the cave. 

The second: Ashei, holding a lit torch in one hand, drew her sword from its sheath with the other. 

The third: Epona screamed, reared, drawing the giant’s eye, and bolted into the thunderous downpour outside. 

The spell broken, the giant blinked its singular yellow eye and lumbered forward after Epona. It seemed to have very little interest in the rest of them, at least at the time being; interested solely in the horse for the same reasoning as a wolf that had just spotted a deer. 

Link found himself frozen in a state of mute horror, a sick feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach as he watched Epona’s shape disappear through the curtain of rain, followed closely by the giant as it ducked through the cave entrance to move at a speed that was frankly shocking. 

Then, Ashei seized him by the arm. Her mouth was moving, but the words were coming out disjointed. He stared stupidly at her. Then, all at once, the world snapped back into focus. 

The sour scent of carrion hung in the air, clinging to the trail of the retreating giant. A snarling rumble of thunder split the air–

“–on! We have to go after her!” Ashei yelled above the thunder. 

Link shoved the closing panic away and darted for the cave entrance, leaving his bag where it lay on the floor as he ran out into the rain. 

He found himself almost immediately deafened and blinded as lightning struck the top of a nearby hill. Ears ringing as he blinked the sparks from his retinas, he forced himself to run. Ashei was… beside him? Behind him? He could not tell. 

The hail had turned into sleet, falling thick and heavy from the sky. His boots slid through the slushy mixture and he went down to one knee, a frustrated snarl leaving him.

Epona? Where had she gone?? 

Well and truly desperate, Link cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled her name into the storm.

“Epona!”

Staggering forward, he pursed his lips, whistling the familiar set of notes that the sound of the storm around them covered entirely. 

“Epona!!”

What if the giant had caught her? The thought made him want to weep, but he did not allow himself to succumb to it. He forced himself to think. 

She could not hear him. Not over the thunder, or the downpour. He could not match her speed. That, at least, gave him hope. The hinox had to be struggling to catch her, too. It was clear that Link would not be able to follow her trail – not with these senses, not with this body. 

But the giant reeked of death.

There was simply no other choice. 

The transformation came fast, bubbling up with the same intensity as the panic currently clawing at his rationality. Thick fur erupted from smooth skin, bones shortening and rearranging, sharp teeth replacing dull. The pain was secondary to the fear. 

The wolf hit the ground running. His claws dug into the ground, finding purchase that his boots had simply been unable to. His ears pinned flat against his skull with the next lightning strike, but his keen nose immediately picked up the carrion scent, and he propelled himself after it.

He ran fast. Faster than a human could ever hope to. In the sleet, he passed a pursuing shape that he thought may have been a woman, but he could only focus on the lumbering footsteps of the hinox ahead of him, his breath coming in sharp pants as his body flowed like water over the drenched landscape. 

The giant appeared over the next hill; huge, lumbering. It stood the height of three men stacked upon one another’s shoulders. Its singular yellow eye shone with an intent that the wolf recognized from deep within himself. It was hungry. Hunting. 

But it had not yet caught its prey.

He jumped a gap, fjording the small stream that had grown as the woodland flooded as he took off to the right. Why the right? A hunch? Instinct? Something like that. The wolf did not want to catch the beast’s attention. Best take the long way around. 

His gut feeling bore fruit as the sound of hooves met his pricked ears The wolf that was Link skidded to a halt in the muddy earth, mud piling up beneath his nailbeds, raised his head, and issued a sonorous call through the trees. 

He stood rigidly there as he waited, tail still between his legs. 

Faintly, slightly delayed, there came an answering whinny through the thick rain

The blue-eyed wolf launched back into action. Body coiling and uncoiling as he closed the distance. Leaping from the trees, he fell into stride beside the galloping mare just as she rounded the curve of the hill.

She flinched away from the dark-coated beast initially, rearing up and kicking as she darted off in the other direction.

Epona!

Water dripped from her soaked mane and tail, slapping her flanks as she ran. Her breath came in labored puffs, air blown sharp and harsh through her nostrils, sides heaving as she struggled to keep up the pace. He could see the whites of her wide eyes.

Link? 

Yes, it’s me! Are you hurt? The wolf’s tongue lolled out as he ran alongside her, jaw open and panting. Her answer came swiftly.

I am unharmed. But I grow weary. 

She was tired. Fearful. But her voice was full of surety. I knew that you would not leave me to face it alone, Link. That is why I led it from you; so that your friends might not fall to harm.

Such faith she had in him. Even after he had dragged her along into this danger. He was unworthy of it.

The beast has your scent. It will not stop until it has caught you.

Her response caught him off guard. Or until it is stopped. 

His stomach jumped as the crunching sound of a large branch being crushed underfoot sounded from behind them, followed by a gutteral bellow of frustration. 

You have an idea?

Yes. Link. Do you remember when I was but a filly? One afternoon as I grazed in the pasture, a terrible storm rolled in and I became struck with panic at the sound of the thunder. I jumped the fence and became lost in the hills.

He did… clearly now, as though it had been yesterday. He remembered the petrichor in the air, the thunder rumbling over the hills, how his sandaled feet had slipped as he climbed, calling out his horse’s name. For then, though she had been dear enough to him to risk his life upon the mountainside, he had not known her as he did now. How many years ago had that been? 

You found me upon the plateau. You came for me then, just as you have now. You took me by the bridle and led me to a stony outcropping, and though my limbs shook with fear, you soothed me and calmed my fear and helped me to lie upon my side as you lay upon your belly. 

Link remembered.

He remembered how the fine hairs on his arms had stood on end. He remembered the gritty mud grinding into his elbows. He remembered running a soothing hand across the damp, coarse hair of Epona’s flank as he stared out at the old oak that stood alone upon the top of the plateau, limbs outstretched like a priestess in entreaty to the heavens. 

The lightning struck the tree that day, instead of me. Four, five times before the storm calmed and moved across the mountains like a bad dream. 

The beast follows. But it is no natural-born child of this land. It does not fear the storm. It will follow me for as long as I goad it. I will not allow it to seek smaller prey. I shall lead it to the lightning. 

Will you aid me, Link?

The wolf’s ears pinned back against his skull at the plan she had just outlined. Predator, become prey. It was a risky, brilliant gambit. 

You have my aid, always.

* * *

The one-eyed hinox lumbered through the drenched woodland. Its skin was tough as iron. It did not fear the pricks and pokes of stones, nor the splinters of the branches that it crushed beneath its feet. Raising its head, it snuffled at the air with its piglike snout to reassure itself that it remained upon the trail of its warm-blooded prey.

The scent was fresh. Hay and oats and sunshine. Warm blood and hotter flesh that would steam in the cold. Metallic blood that would trickle down the back of its throat and coat its tongue when it licked its fingers clean.

This four-legged beast was not a raccoon, or a fox, or a deer. It was bigger. Heartier. There was more meat to feed off of – perhaps even another pelt that could be painstakingly stripped from the flesh and added to the sleeping pile. 

The hinox had feasted upon its like before, though the beasts were far easier to catch when they were strapped, trapped and screaming in fear, to the wheeled, wooden contraptions of the two-legs. But this one was fast. It had escaped. 

And yet… The hinox scented the air again, deeply. There was another scent that it did not recognize. 

One of the small, two-legged creatures, perhaps? There had been three of them. Three to chase. Three to catch. Three sets of delicate bones to crunch between its teeth and savor the taste of their meagre meat. 

The thunder crashed again. The hinox’s ears flicked in slight annoyance at the sound, but it did not flinch or falter as it pushed through the cover of the trees and emerged into a roughly semicircular clearing. 

The four-legged beast stood in the middle of the clearing, flicking her long white tail. She danced fearfully in place as the hinox set its singlular-eyed gaze upon her.

She was breathing hard. The hinox snuffled at the air, tasting the salt of her sweat there, appetizingly flavored by the sour scent of fear. The hinox chuffed to itself and began to lumber forward, all previous laziness forgotten now that its prey was within sight. How well it would eat tonight!

A small, dark shape suddenly emerged from a bush at the edge of the clearing, darting out from cover and snapping small, sharp white teeth at the giant’s ankle. 

The hinox bellowed in surprise, more than anything, as the snapping teeth ripped at its skin, pinching and nipping! It stomped its foot, but the foul creature had already retreated back into the range of safety, disappearing into the brush again. 

Taking advantage of the confusion, the mare reared and took off into the trees. Her white tail served as a whipping flag that caught the hinox’s attention – and sparked its anger.

The giant let out a roar of indignance and gave chase. 

Through the trees, it followed, batting angrily at the occasional tree branch that dared to get in its way. The ground began to slope upwards as the mare coursed up the side of a steep hill, and the giant soon found its feet slipping in the fresh mud, but lit by the flame of anger, it followed diligently, craving the taste of fresh horse flesh. 

The mare was running slowly. She was tired.

And still, all around them, the storm continued to rage. The rain continued to fall. The sky was lit by a sudden lightning strike, blinding in its intensity. But the hinox shook its head doggedly as it climbed after its prey, undeterred. 

The top of the hill was practically barren. There was a stand of saplings that stood there, only a couple of years old. They only reached the hinox’s shoulder. And then, prancing nervously in place at the other end of the hill, stood the mare. At her side, the small black thing that had dared to bite the hinox’s ankle.

It stood half crouched upon four limbs, the dense ruff of fur around its neck standing on end as it growled, low and sonorous. It was not, in fact, black, but a very dark shade of silvery grey, lighter around the muzzle, with bright blue eyes that seemed to glow strangely in the gloom of the rain. 

The giant felt an immediate and intense hatred for the bristling animal. Its bones were far smaller than the mare’s. They would make excellent toothpicks.

Bellowing, the giant stepped forward and effortlessly ripped two of the saplings from the ground.

Thunder rumbled threateningly. 

The hinox lurched forward, sweeping the saplings across the ground.

The mare screamed, leaping over the tree boughs and breaking into a run, while the smaller beast, to the hinox’s astonishment, actually leapt on top of one of the saplings, using it as a ramp of sorts to propel it towards the hinox’s face. 

White teeth snapped, a guttural growl leaving the blue-eyed beast as it latched onto the loose skin at the hinox’s throat.

Unluckily for the small beast, the giant’s hide was tough. It barely batted an eye at the attack, dropping one of the saplings in favor of flailing the back of a hand at the dangling beast, slapping it away with a high-pitched yelp. 

Then, pain erupted along the hinox’s foot and shin.

While the smaller beast had drawn the attention, the mare had circled around beneath the hinox and begun to stamp and kick at the exposed flesh of the giant’s right foot with her iron-shoed hooves. Delivering one last bone-breaking kick to the giant’s shin, she took off, heading for the cover of the trees.

Bellowing with rage and pain at the pain in its shin, the hinox raised its last remaining sapling club with the full intent to squash the retreating mare like a bug. Never had it encountered prey that had fought so savagely for their lives!

The hairs on the backs of its arms tingled strangely. 

The giant, perhaps for the first (and last) time in its life, looked to the heavens.

* * *

The BOOM of the lightning striking the ground was ear-shattering, bone-rattling. 

The wolf that was Link found himself hurled into the base of a tree, many feet away from the center of the hill, blinded and deafened. His ears rang, his body tingled.

Momentarily stunned and utterly disoriented, he lay there for a long moment. It was hard to tell how long it was that he just lay there on his side, breathing heavily. Maybe minutes. Maybe just seconds. Maybe many of both. 

When he had once again regained the ability to move, he stumbled to his feet, blinking hard and shaking his aching head. His ribs ached with every breath. He thought that a whine might have slid from his throat, but the persistent ringing in his ears completely masked the sound.

Staggering upright, the wolf unsteadily made his way up towards the edge of the tree cover; the barren top of the hill like a bald crown on the top of a man’s head. 

Still, the rain continued to fall. Perhaps it was just his battered senses, but it did not seem quite as vicious as it had before.

Epona?  

Cautiously, the wolf crested the hill, stepping warily out into the clearing again. He heard and saw no sign of the mare, but his attention was immediately arrested by the gargantuan body that lay in the center of the clearing. 

The air smelled of burnt flesh – roast meat, to the wolf’s nose. But the stink of carrion still lingered too strongly to find the scent at all appetizing. 

The giant lay crumpled upon its belly, arms outstretched, one leg crushed beneath its bulk. The thick, brutish fingers of its outstretched hand were still curled around the now-blackened trunk of the sapling tree that it had torn from the ground. 

Its single eye was open but sightless; the iris a dull, malignant yellow. Its maw gaped slightly open, dark, sour-smelling blood pooling from the corner of its mouth into the churned mud beneath it. 

Despite the light, pleasant scent of the rain, the wolf turned his nose up at the stink of death that emanated from every skin fold and pore of the hinox’s corpse. This was a carcass unfit to be consumed. It deserved only burning.

Link!

The wolf’s head snapped up, ears perking to attention at the sound of a familiar voice.

Epona! I am here!

He did not have to wait long for the mare to emerge from the trees. She hovered by the edge of the trees, alternating between glancing concernedly at Link, the sky, and the giant’s corpse.

Is it done? Is it dead?

Yes. Your plan succeeded. 

There was relief in the sag of her tense neck, but no triumph. No victory. He realized that to her, this was not victory. She had simply done what she had to. The mare’s head suddenly swiveled to look behind her, ears pricking.

What is it? He questioned. 

She turned back to him, even as his own ears perked at the sound of a voice in the distance. Your friends. They call for you. Hurry, Link, you must return to your human form. They approach!

He wavered for a moment, torn between the very present need to do just that and the desire to linger. How long had it been since he had spoken to her like this? 

After he’d come home to Ordon, he’d pushed away this aspect of himself; spending practically every day of the last several months sweating away at the forge, going to the pasture only a couple of times a week. And yet, Epona had been convinced that he would come for her; sure enough to stake her very life upon it. 

What if he’d let her down?

Epona stamped a hoof. 

Link, you must go.

He hesitated for one more moment. 

Wait, I wanted to say… I wanted to thank you, Epona.

Her head tilted to the side as she regarded him through the lightly falling rain with an eye that was, to his gaze, distinctly warm. 

I will always be here for you, Link. Go, now. Return to your true self.