CHAPTER 46: SERENITY IN SHADOW
Only the sound of whirling dust in the wind greeted the plains of Eldin field. The mists of the stormy night had already begun to die away as new light breached the remainder of the graying clouds above. The barrier Ganondorf had erected faded with a final hum of energy. At last the inhabitants of Hyrule and their enemies could converge on Link, but for a long time no one seemed to move as hero and villain stood motionless.
A piercing cry cracked through the winds then, and suddenly, the King of Shadows sprinted toward the broken and blood-splattered hero, flailing his sabers. Link could see desperation in his orange orbs, but Link had no energy and no weapon with which to defend himself. By the time the Hylians readied their weapons and started forward, however, the shadow stumbled and collapsed to the ground … just meters from Link.
Zant cried out, howling and squirming. A rasping sound came from his throat, as if he were choking on sand, and his skeletal hands groped for his neck. He clawed at the coif bunched there, gagging on the light of the dawn. Veins pulsed and throbbed throughout his skull until they ran black at soot. He gasped, frantic screeches gurgled by the pain swelling in his throat.
And then an invisible hand snapped his neck. Zant collapsed to the ground, mouth hanging open and unseeing eyes glaring up at the sky they loathed.
Link understood. The King of Shadows had been revived by Ganondorf. Without his god, Zant could no longer live.
Link held his stomach, cupping his hat over the wound there to better hide it from the Hylian audience, who now took tentative steps forward. As he stood firm, panting against his pain, he looked at the dark body of the Gerudo king. Ganondorf still stood balanced against the field, dead by the blade of evil’s bane. Link could hear Zelda approach as he took a cautious half-step forward, watching closely for any movement. Yet, the only motion was in Ganondorf’s cape blowing gently behind him.
Zelda stood silently near Link, and for a moment she merely stared in disbelief. There he stand, the man who had--with Zant--tortured the existence of her people and trapped them as mere shadows of their former selves. She bowed her head and new tears--happy tears--caressed her cheek. Hand over her heart, she thanked the gods for a miracle.
Silence again overtook the field … until Link staggered and fell to his knees.
Rusl sprung forward, along with a few knights, but only he dared to approach the hero. As Link sat there, however, he was blind to all that transpired around him. His eyes did not focus, as the bulblins and bokoblins skittered and fidgeted, wondering what would become of them, pondering what it was they should do. The general had come forward and offered Zelda her sword. Link’s ears did not hear as the princess faced the opposing army and banished them, never to return to her borders lest they suffer the fate of their master and king. Link did not see them flee, scattering and disappearing into the horizon. He did not see her smile, breathing in the glory of a new day.
Link never heard Rusl kneel, and his comforting words were garbled in his ears. The hero was deep within his thoughts and memories.
His journey had finally come to its end, and yet he had never felt more incomplete. He should have been smiling; he should have been celebrating with the soldiers. He had imagined this day for so long, but now that it had arrived … it was nothing like he had hoped. Link sat there, and he should have felt proud and content with all the smiling, living faces cheering nearby.
But he had never felt more alone.
His companion through all hardships, his one constant, had been ripped from his side. It was as if Ganondorf had cleaved his heart out and left him breathing.
A strange sound washed over the field in that moment, and everyone hushed and turned to look at Link, their hero. Princess Zelda had felt the sudden tension before she took notice of the same sound. When she turned to Link, she saw Rusl crouched next to him. Slowly, Zelda stepped over to the pair, circling around to face Link in the same moment that those of the Resistance drew up behind Rusl.
Link knelt at the broken helm of Midna, fingers grasping bits of its ashes as he cried. The tears of Link fell and crashed against the shards of his memories. His fingers toyed with the pieces aimlessly, as if trying to put her back together and will his companion back into existence. He had once told himself that if one of them were to die in saving their realms, he had wanted it to be him … not Midna. Never Midna.
Nothing could quench Link’s lament, and the hero’s mourning struck the heart of every soul standing on the battlefield. He choked on his cries and drew his arm in tight against his chest; his sorrow crunched his chest and sent sharp pains through his ribs. He unleashed a strangled wail at the pain his cries caused, but he could not quiet his grief as he knelt there, the melody of his aching heart seeping into the soul of Hyrule herself.
As the people looked on, they realized he mourned for his lost friend, the strange creature they had seen upon the breaking of the barrier. How could they have been so selfish--so blind--to forget that even heroes could bleed? How heartless had they been to think that their hero had not lost things most precious in order to save them?
Princess Zelda knelt to Link then, a sad smile adorning her soft lips, but Link could not meet her gaze, too deep in his grief. Now that Ganondorf was dead, he had time to mourn Midna, and his grief had taken him prisoner entirely.
Zelda stretched out a hand and cupped her fingers gently over his golden head. Link felt warmth returning to him, and when Zelda’s hand fell to lay against his cheek, his breaths slowly began to come evenly between gasping cries. His eyes were closed, but he knew it was Zelda before him. He accepted her kind embrace, breathed in and savored the light pouring into him. Yet, in that moment, he found himself wishing the hand to be that of a small imp.
In that moment, he could recall the last moments he had looked upon Midna’s face, the look of happiness there. The kind smile and sparkling scarlet eye of someone with the courage to hurl themselves in the face of death if but to save those she cared for.
Midna … I…. He had come to realize the truth all too late, and the thought of her swift death choked the thought from his mind.
Light poured onto the fields of Hyrule as if to combat the hero’s lament and give new life to a new dawn. As the sun rose, Zelda and Rusl could hear several voices calling out. The words were barely discernible at first, but as more and more heads turned toward the hills, Telma was the first to notice of the Group. She lifted a hand to her brow against the radiant light before realizing what all the commotion was about. She pointed and called to Rusl.
After looking toward the hills and understanding, the blacksmith called to the youth, “Link!” But Link had no energy to listen, no care but his sorrow.
Princess Zelda looked beyond him then and she squinted against the light. She could not tell from this distance, and she supposed none of the others knew the truth either, but it was worthy of attention … and worthy of hope.
She turned Link’s chin up in her hand. “Link! Look.”
He did not know where he found the strength to rise, but at his princess’s command he struggled to his feet. His chest and side pained him greatly and when he stood, his cheeks flushed pale with sweat and he stumbled into Rusl, who had also risen. The blacksmith caught Link and steadied him, realizing the severity of Link’s injuries when he caught sight of the green hat he held at his side now stained red.
For that moment, everyone’s attention fell to Link when Zelda gasped, seeing the same deep bloodstain at the back of his left side.
Link nearly gave in to the arms of Rusl, but then he heard a soft hum, a familiar singsong, combined with a gentle sound like the ocean. He felt warmth against his back as the princess and the Group exchanged looks and words at how to care for Link’s wounds. Link shut out the noise of their uproar and turned to see a strange glow surrounding the eastern hills as the sun rose. After a moment he could make out the shapes of all four light spirits as they returned a natural glow to the rising star. Eldin’s wings spanned the horizon above the other spirits and Link wondered if the others could see them, too. Perhaps this was what they had wanted him to see.
As he watched them, however, they presented another gift. In the midst of their light, a silhouette rose beneath them. Link squinted, trying to make out the shape. Only when the bodies of the spirits faded could he make out the small image that remained.
Link gasped and immediately shoved Rusl from him. He heard several objections as he stood there, staring at the lone figure on the hilltop. It took another moment for him to accept what it might be, his eyes slowly widening and his lips parting in a bewildered gasp.
He stepped toward the distant figure then, slowly at first, each step a struggle from both his pain and his disbelief. Link cast off Rusl and Auru’s attempts at grasping his arm, ignored Telma’s concerned eyes, and by the time Link’s feet sped to a slow walk, everyone’s attention turned back to the shadowy figure atop the furthest and highest hill. Rusl did not race after him when Link broke into a jog, understanding that nothing would obstruct his path.
Running sent searing pains through his body, but Link did not stop. He pushed past the pain and broke into a sprint, struggling up the hills, eyes fixed on the shadow that then collapsed. When Link reached the top of the hill, he stopped suddenly, at a distance from the strange figure that knelt on the ground, its back facing him.
Link did not know what to think as he stood there, panting and aching. He held tighter to his side as his chest throbbed and stabbed at his insides. He had thought beyond all hope that the dark figure he would find here would be Midna, but the body, blanketed by a long black mantle, was quite large and nothing like his imp companion.
After a long moment, the strange figure rose, its black cloak hanging loosely against its figure. Link scanned the white and peridot designs across its back and rediscovered the serene beauty of which Midna had often spoken. Just as it had stood, the figure turned to reveal a feminine face of blue skin curtained by reddish orange hair. The eyes were closed and downcast at first, but as the woman twirled about to face Link, she opened her eyes and cocked her head. The smallest of smiles adorned her beautiful violet lips.
Link’s breath left him. He did not know what to say, what to do. He had never seen this woman’s face before and yet he was consumed by the embrace of her eyes. Under the light of the dawning day, her perfect and smooth blue skin gleamed like starlight veiled in the black drapes of her voluminous attire. Long legs supported a stature that loomed nearly a head taller than him. He could barely see the black toes of her bare left foot due to the black skirt with beautiful white swirling patterns hanging from her hips, but the full slit down the right side bared the entirety of her other blue leg, a grey bracelet hugging her ankle.
His eyes worked their way up her figure, past her bare blue belly and the blackened curves of her torso, shoulders and arms covered by the mantle enwrapping her. The pointed hood of her cloak covered most of her head, leaving room for her voluminous ruby hair to lay freely to the sides of her face, the longer tresses coming together against her breast in an ornate grey pin. Her wavy bangs curved in toward her lips and were held at bay by long strands above her eyes that she had drawn back to either side and tied like ribbons around the top of her hood.
That was when he saw the curious headdress she wore. Its design was minimalistic, much like that of an ornate bar resting upon her head. A glimmering headpiece set perfectly against her forehead, its curving design much like that of two snakes with wings, tails intertwining several times before coming to a point along the bridge of her long, thin nose. A single ruby shined between their necks, and thin chains spouted from their mouths to connect it to the headdress above.
In her face Link saw something kind, something gentle and serene. He looked into her eyes, deep violet shadows against her lids outlined by the darkest black brows and lashes. There was something familiar about her eyes, yellow surrounding the red of her irises that glistened as dark as garnets in the shadows cast from the sun.
The woman only had eyes for Link, gazing upon him with a knowing sparkle. “What?” she finally asked, and her smile deepened into a beautiful thin line. “Say something.”
Link did not understand. The woman spoke to him as if she knew him.
“Am I so beautiful that you’ve no words left?” she asked, her deep but soft voice rising in pitch on her last words. Her red eyes teased him when she tilted her head to the side, looking onto him from an angle that slightly masked her other eye … as if to remind him of something. She turned her head back to him fully, waiting for a reply, still wearing that beautiful smile.
Those subtle signs were what freed Link to the truth. The rising tone of this woman’s voice, the small grin … the single red eye.
At first, Link could not believe it, and he realized his jaw had dropped at this woman’s beauty and the shock that she stood before him. It was as if the gods and the spirits had answered his prayers, rewarded him for completing his task.
The image of Midna … no longer cursed … healed his every hurt. She was … nothing he had ever imagined. He had seen her always as the small imp. Now, high cheekbones and a small, heart-shaped chin brought shape to a once round face, and her high, nasally voice had become deeper, yet soft like Zelda’s. The voice of royalty. The voice of a queen.
But just from her teasing words, he knew … this was still his Midna. She still had her spirit, her laughter, her unfailing beauty.
Link closed his mouth as his eyes stared wide at her, drinking in her image. It was like losing himself in a mirage, but he knew she was real. She had come back to him.
“See you later,” she had always said. And so he had.
Midna was alive.
It took him a long moment before he could blink away the tears that had dried against his eyes. An overbearing emotion tugged at his heart and lifted his lips. He let out a small breath, relieved and happy, as his mouth turned into a wide smile, sapphire eyes twinkling like amethysts in the growing light.
The companions stood there for a long moment as their eyes traded the warmth of their happiness. They had journeyed far and wide together, and now as they stood reunited at the end, Link could not think of anywhere else he would rather have been. When he finally collapsed to the ground from the weight of his wounds, his joy remained.
Link had not felt the crash of the ground, however. Suddenly, he found himself looking up into the eyes of Midna as she knelt, cradling him in her arms as he had once done for her. She supported his head in the curve of her left arm. Link’s strength had fled and his right arm had fallen from his injury. Midna cupped her hand gingerly over his hat covering the wound in his side. He felt her gentle touch and it soothed him. He looked into her eyes and grinned against the pain washing over him. Link had expected to find grief creasing her brows, for they both knew his injuries were great.
But she did not weep. She only smiled that small, silent smile.
Link reached up to touch her new face but found he did not have the strength, and his fingers fell away only inches from her smooth skin.
Midna … I…. he tried to tell her. He wanted to tell her. But the pain was too great.
Midna slid her hand up to rest against his cheek, and he closed his eyes. During the battle and in its aftermath, this was all he had wanted. Her reassuring fingers stroking his cheek. He fell into the feeling and lost himself there. His heavy breaths slowly eased and he vanished beneath a weak grin.
Link did not reopen his eyes as Midna held him. She stroked his ear and the blue ring hanging from the lobe before parting the soiled blond hair from his blood-drenched forehead. As she held him there, she had almost forgotten the masses gathered below in the fields. When she looked away from the motionless hero, she saw the countless faces of the Hylians … and even the Twili. It had not been too late for her people after all. The shadows had receded from their bodies, and they had been reborn.
The Twilight Princess looked on … humbled and grateful.
Just as Midna had shown Link that there was serenity in even the darkest of shadows, it had been he, a boy of only seventeen, who had showed two realms the true meaning of courage and selflessness.
As she watched the faces of every man and woman as they rejoiced, Midna was surprised to see how the Hylians, though cautiously, approached several Twili to introduce themselves and exchange sentiments. Shadow and light had merged, but it had not created darkness as Zant had once
proclaimed.
It was peace. A peace unknown to her realm for as long as she had known. Always, there had been a burning torch of resentment in her people for the light, but now … Midna could feel the brightening sun dousing those flames.
But at what cost?
In the long days before this dawn, the Twili and the people of Hyrule had suffered greatly. Pain, sorrow … death. They were sins that could not be forgiven.
Light and shadow are not meant to merge, Midna realized. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to accept this.
When she looked at Link it was with a heavy heart. She was thankful for the time she had been allowed to walk in his shadow, but she knew their time as companions had come to an end.
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Sticky warmth hung to him and his breath caught in his chest. A throbbing ache vibrated through his nerves. He could hear a shuffling sound and a creak close by, and when Link opened his eyes, a shadow loomed over him. Something touched his face as the figure spoke, but his eyes could not focus as he lie dazed on his back. He felt the cool sensation of water pat against his forehead, but the cold did not last long before his sweat nullified the pleasant feeling.
He tried to move and heard someone shout. A set of hands trapped him, and he tried to struggle against the new figure that bobbed into his blurry vision. He tried to speak, but all he heard was a mumble escape his lips. His torso held down, he attempted to move his legs, to shuffle his body away, but with another shout, another set of restraints seized him.
A stabbing pain jolted through his side then, and Link screamed. He tried to get away, tried to run, but his right arm had been tied down and the restraints across the rest of his body kept him rooted. He cried out at another cutting sting and wrestled with renewed vigor, tossing his head about
furiously.
He heard shuffling to his right, and heard the voice over him call out. “No! Leave, Colin.”
Dazed at the appearance of the name, Link’s muscles relaxed slightly, turning his head. He tried to call the name, to see if it was truly him, but he only managed to croak the first syllable. He saw a feminine body with short sandy hair usher a small figure away, looking back at him just before they escaped through the door.
Link struggled to make sense of his surroundings, tried desperately to understand what was happening. The man above him looked so familiar, and there were four others. A plump woman to his left alongside a man with white hair, a black-haired woman at his toes, and a dark-skinned man with long hair made large by his heavy clothes. It was this man that leaned over his stomach, pinching and stabbing him. Red coated the man arms from fingertip to elbow.
Link roared something unintelligible at this man, and he shouted, not at Link, but at the two to Link’s left. In another moment, the rotund woman was shoving something at his face. He turned away from it, fearing what it might be, but with a hand on his cheek she had pulled him back. A strange scent wafted into Link’s nostrils and it made him dizzy. He tried to fight the effect it had, tried to fight the sensation that lulled his eyelids to close … but in an instant he fell into blackness.
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When Link next awoke, sweat still hung against his cheeks and hair, but he felt cool and light. He blinked several times, trying to readjust himself, trying to get a sense of where he was. Breathing was still a little difficult, but he could not understand why. Memories tugged at his mind like a dream resurfacing, and he could remember the blurry sight of bodies surrounding him and the stinging pains that had ailed him. He lifted a hand to his throbbing head and found a bandage there.
A memory flashed in his mind. Tumbling from his horse. Hitting the ground. Dizziness.
He removed his hand and flexed his fingers. They were sore, blisters covering his bare palm, and with it came another memory of a darkened field and his shinning blade.
Suddenly a sting pulsed through his right arm and he breathed in through clenched teeth. He looked down and saw his arm was bandaged heavily, from fingertip to elbow. He recalled the blow to his forearm, the singing pain when his blade cut his fingers, and the thundering crunch when his hand had shattered under the massive weight of Ganondorf.
Ganondorf!
Link’s nerves jerked at the memory; his eyes widened and he bolted upright.
…Or would have.
The extent of his wounds had made that impossible. He had only lifted himself an inch before collapsing under the pain stabbing through his chest and gut. Link looked down and lifted the sheet that covered his naked body. His chest had been wrapped, and he knew then that a rib or two had indeed been broken or at least cracked during his dance with the devil. Looking farther, he found another large bandage covering his left side, red splotches soaking the white material.
At the sight he remembered the final blow to Ganondorf, the thrust that had been equally fatal to himself … or so he had thought. The memory refreshed the pain, and Link bit his lip as he let the covers fall. He tried to breathe out the pain, but the more he thought about it--and the more he tried not to think about it--the worse the pain became and the dizzier he felt. Suddenly, the cold crept into him again, and he could feel another splatter of sweat trickling from his hairline and neck. He closed his eyes; he felt like a child again, nauseous from the pain of being sick and nearly in tears at the prickle of its fingers stretching his insides.
The ill feeling bottled inside him and he retched, body curling to the side on reflex even with the pain of moving. The sound of his sick splattering against the floorboards and his pained moans and grunts woke the sleeping figure near his bedside.
“Link!” a feminine voice gasped, and she leapt up from her chair. Avoiding the vomit, she appeared at Link’s side in an instant.
Link, lying once more on his back, looked up at the figure blocking the lantern light. Under the woman’s shadow, he first thought he stared up at Midna, but when his eyes focused, he found the concerned gaze of his childhood friend.
“Il…ia?” he managed, realizing how painful it was to talk. His throat felt swollen and when he spoke, the words scratched.
Ilia hushed him. “It’s all right, Link,” she smiled, wiping the sick from the corner of his mouth with a wet cloth. She then laid the cloth next to a basin on the bedside table. “I’ll call Renado. Don’t move, Link.”
Still dizzy, Link tried to digest her words as he heard her footsteps recede from the familiar room. In a few moments, she had returned with the shaman. He looked as exhausted as Link felt, and he made his way from the door near the foot of Link’s bed to stand alongside the resting warrior, smiling.
“It is good to see you awake,” he said, and Link’s eyes wandered from his face to the doorway, where a familiar group of children had gathered. It took him a moment to put names to their faces. Talo and Malo hugging the doorframe and Beth standing next to them.
“…managed to stop the bleeding, but you lost a lot of blood,” Renado was saying when Link looked back to him. “You are still with fever, but with rest and care, you will recover. I ask that you try not to move around.” He must have noticed how bleary Link still looked, for he added, “Do you understand?”
Link nodded, as the young Luda entered the room and stepped to the left side of Link’s bed where several bowls had been scattered. She went to work mixing liquids and herbs together after presenting Link a kind smile.
Renado was turning to leave when Link clumsily reached out to grab the shaman’s sleeve. He had almost lunged for him, for Renado had stood on his incapacitated side. Rising to stretch his arm out pained him, and he grunted against the feeling, holding firm.
The shaman turned back to him and eased him back into bed. “Let nothing trouble you, Link,” he soothed.
But Link’s insides burned as he tried to speak. He was too weak for words, but he only had one question.
“Where…?” he tried.
The shaman smiled. “You are safe in Kakariko Village. Worry not, Link. You are among friends.”
Link had been able to surmise that much, however, and that had not been the intent of his question. He tried again, struggling against the words as they grated against his throat. “No…. Wh…. Mid…. Where … Midna?”
Renado’s eyes lit with understanding. “Your friend is here. And she is well.” The shaman sat on the bed lightly. “Everyone is safe. Link, you need not worry. Hyrule is safe again … because of you. Now, you must rest. Worry on nothing else. There will be time for talk when you are well.”
Link found comfort in those words, and before the shaman had disappeared from the room, children watching him from afar, he had fallen once more into sleep.
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Distant voices echoed into Link’s ears and softly shook him awake. His eyes opened slowly, but he found he could focus almost immediately. He breathed and, though his chest still felt heavy, the pain had lessened. The sweat that had once coated his skin had been washed away and he could feel a natural warmth flowing through him again.
To his left he found Luda asleep in a chair, and to his right he found Ilia, awake and approaching. “Link, how are you feeling?” she asked.
“Thirsty,” he realized; his voice still croaked when he spoke, no doubt from the lack of water.
Ilia went to the basin next to his bed and scooped water into a cup. She helped Link raise his neck and shoulders and kept a firm grasp on the cup as Link also held onto it to take a few sips. He thanked her and nestled back down, weary and light-headed.
He could hear the voices again, and realized that they wafted in from the outside. He turned to Ilia. “How long…?”
“It was three days since you last woke,” she said, and he could see the worry lingering in her eyes, as if she had been crying over the anxiety that he might not wake. “Two before that, when Renado stitched you up.” Link could see her shudder at the memory, but he could only remember bits of confusion and struggle. “Your fever finally broke last night.”
Five days … thought Link, blinking away the sleep in his weary eyes. He tried to rise, but Ilia stopped him.
“I’m not sure you should get up,” she insisted. “Maybe you should eat something.” She said it as though she did not know what to do, flustered at tending to the conscious Link, but then she decided. “Telma made some stew. I’ll bring you some.”
Link nodded and was pleased to know that the ever cheerful redhead was around somewhere. He could recall the way Telma had looked at Renado and the awkward way the shaman had held himself when he knew she watched him. He had seen some spark in Telma’s eye, but Renado just seemed ill at ease under her gaze, and he wondered how the shaman had fared under her lingering eyes over the course of five days.
He chuckled at the thought, but it hurt and he threw up his hand to his chest as if to calm the ache. Link felt a desperate need to stretch his muscles. Every cell in his body ached, and he gathered the stiffness had been the result of both the grueling battles against the demon king and the long days of immobility that had followed. Fighting against the cracking aches, he finally lifted himself to sit against the headboard, stuffing his pillow behind him. He moaned, both comforted at the change in posture and woozy at the struggle to maintain it.
When Ilia reentered the room, he realized he was still quite nude and he bunched the covers closely around his hips, knowing his nakedness would startle her, but Ilia knew the covers were his only clothes and she still felt embarrassed. Though she tried not to show it, offering him a bowl and sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him, she could not hide the faint blush in her cheeks.
Link took the bowl kindly but soon realized that he could not both hold it and spoon the stew into his mouth. He could not use his right arm, and just as he tried to find a polite way to ask her help in feeding himself, Ilia realized her mistake. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she spat, and she only blushed deeper. “I should have realized.” She scooted forward and took the bowl from Link and spooned some of the vegetables onto the utensil. Ilia brought it to his lips so that he would not have to bend his chest to eat.
Ilia’s outburst had woken the snoozing Luda, and when the raven-haired youth sat up, she smiled through sleepy eyes. “It is good to see you up,” she said, and she rose from her seat. “I will let Father know you’ve awoken.”
Link watched her leave as he ate another spoonful. The food tasted good on his tongue. Each bite scratched on its way down, but it was a good feeling, one that soothed an unreachable itch.
“The boys have been worried about you,” offered Ilia with another spoonful. Link listened and watched her eyes as he slowly chewed the food. “Well, Talo mostly. He was trying not to show it, but….” Her voice trailed off and Link wondered if perhaps she was thinking about how Talo’s concern had been mirrored within her. He thought back on how she had embraced him in the spirit spring and how a deep care had returned to her when she had regained her memories.
“…promise me…. Just come home safely,” she had said. Ilia had always been afraid of losing him.
Ilia presented another bite of stew, but Link declined. He had not eaten much, but his belly already felt as if it had swollen. Ilia’s shoulders slumped and she rose to set the bowl down by the basin. A thought came to her then, bringing a little life back to her features. “Colin was never worried, though, you know? ‘Link can do anything,’ he kept saying.”
The corner of Link’s mouth lifted, but when he heard the voices again, joined by some sort of creaking sound, he finally asked, “What’s been going on?”
“At first, we didn’t know what had happened,” she said as she sat back down, “just that Castle Town had been evacuated. Some of the refugees came here. Then … five days ago soldiers started arriving. There were a lot of wounded, and Renado and Luda have been working ever since to tend to everyone….” When Ilia’s voice trailed off, Link knew that some memory had stirred within her, and he let her overcome its hold in her own time.
“When they brought you in…. When I saw you … in Rusl’s arms…. We … I … thought you were….” Tears came to Ilia’s eyes at the thought, and Link put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
Embarrassed, Ilia tried to change the subject, without looking at him. “Most of the soldiers have returned to the castle; I think some of them were still healing, and there are still several in Renado’s care downstairs. I think some of them are planning to stay to help Renado rebuild the town, but most of them are returning to the city once they’re back on their feet.”
Relief spread through Link at these tidings. Rebuild. Hearing the word brought a certain sense of accomplishment. The Hylians had lost much in the swift war against the demon king and his minions, but Link found relief that they were ready to so quickly right the wrongs that had terrorized them.
“Where are my clothes?” asked Link, and Ilia’s head popped up, staring at him blankly before she understood.
“I don’t think you should move around yet,” she said.
“I just need some fresh air,” he promised, and his tone assured her that he was indeed not planning to sprint off to fight more monsters.
Still unsure, she rose and collected his leggings and white undershirt from the windowpane where they had been set to dry. Link could tell they had been washed--no doubt by either Luda or Telma--for the stains that had collected were no longer visible. Ilia knew he needed help to dress but only helped him halfway into his pants, his blankets covering his waist. Once she had tugged each leg above his knee, she let Link do the rest. He struggled into his pants and wrestled to tie the strings at his waist. He rested a moment before asking her help with his shirt. Link lifted his arms in front of him as Ilia slid his sleeves on, taking extra care with his bandaged right. Grunting, Link raised his arms above his head, and Ilia tucked his collar down around his head and neck.
Link thanked her then tried to stand up. His feet gave away and he fell to one knee, clutching to the side of the bed. The pain in his side spiked from the jarring fall, but Link was determined. He felt lightheaded only for a moment, and nodded when Ilia asked if he was all right. He knew his stumble was likely due more to not having used his muscles in nearly a week and less because of his wounds. He knew it would be a struggle, but he could not remain cooped up any longer.
He pulled himself up, holding his right arm in close from some involuntary need to protect his vulnerability. As Link held himself there a moment, readjusting his weight and flexing his legs, Ilia left his side only for a moment before returning and asking for his arm. He offered it out when he realized what she held. Carefully, she slid the cloth around his forearm and then tied it at the back of his neck. Link let his arm rest in the sling and thanked her.
With Ilia at his side--her hands clasped around his left forearm--Link managed to leave the room behind him and come to lean against the railing of the balcony overlooking the downstairs. Tables crowded the floor, and a wounded soldier rested on every one of them. Some slept, some ate, while others still clutched their hurts and hungered for relief. The sight pained Link deeper than his own injuries, and Ilia could see it in the way his eyes wavered.
“I know what you must be thinking,” she said. She had always been so quick to know his thoughts. “But all these soldiers will live because of what you did.”
Ilia was right, of course. His actions had saved the lives of countless Hylians, but the thought of seeing so many injured … of knowing so many had died…. It hurt because he knew that no matter his efforts, there had never been a way to save them all. He wanted to walk among them, assure himself that Ilia was right, that everything he had bled for had indeed been worth it.
He started down the stairs, taking each step slowly with Ilia nearby as he guided himself along with a hand against the wall. He had to stop a few times to catch his breath, but he eventually reached the bottom. He leaned his shoulder against the wall then, taking a moment to rest his cramped legs. Ilia asked if he needed to sit; he shook his head and released her of her concern, asking her to tend to those in need of care.
She left reluctantly and tossed him the occasional glance when she leaned over a woman holding her leg. Link watched as she fetched some herbs, but then his eyes danced around the room. So many faces, so many people he did not even know.
He spotted Talo, with Malo at his side, reenacting some great battle with the wooden sword Link had given him. Three wounded Hylians made up their audience as the children exaggerated every move. Link smiled at this and laughed when the child spun and tripped, prodding a laugh from one of the soldiers, whose merriment was cut short by the pain in his stomach. Link also found his chuckle stifled by pain, and he clutched his chest with a weak cough.
Link took that opportunity to step through the crowds, and was surprised when a soldier held an arm out to him. He saw a gruesome wound in his shoulder and could sense the presence of magic, knowing with certainty that this solider, too, had been lucky to survive the sage-blade. Link returned his gesture and clasped his forearm. The Hylian held him there and through a mangled voice, he said softly, “Young hero. Thank you.”
It still astonished Link whenever the people recognized him, and he only managed a flustered nod in response. When the soldier’s grip fell, Link resumed his slow pace.
Link found Shad a few tables away writing in one of his journals as the soldier next to him slept soundly. Link was glad to see the scholar had at last traded sword for pen once more. His cracked spectacles hung low on his nose as he wrote, lost in thought. Curious, Link approached him quietly so as not to disturb him. Looking over his shoulder at the pages, Link noticed that amongst his feverishly written notes, he had begun a sketch of a rather beautiful and regal woman.
When Shad looked up from his drawing, so did Link, and he caught sight of Shad’s current muse. Near the center of the room, tending to a soldier with a bloodied head, sat Princess Zelda. She had removed her armor and every ornament save her red and silver earrings. She had even removed her glowing golden crown bejeweled by sapphires, leaving her brown and yellow hair to tumble freely around her face and shoulders. Her arms were bare, and her violet kirtle hung low on her chest. When she leaned forward to place a wet towel over the knight’s forehead, Link realized he had never noticed the cut of her backless dress. He found himself captivated by her rare beauty, and he thought that Shad’s sketch--with gentle eyes and a kind smile--captured her perfectly.
Link could hear her singing, but her voice was so soft that he could not hear the words. The gentle tune reminded him of a mother’s lullaby. The melody soothed Link, and he noticed that Shad had stopped drawing in order to watch and strain his pointed ears.
A cough escaped the knight, and Zelda grabbed for the cup next to her. Unsettled, she calmed the man with a palm against his cheek and looked up, spotting Shad in only a few moments. “Master Shad, please, bring us more water,” she asked kindly.
Immediately embarrassed at being caught staring at her, Shad broke into a nervous flutter, dropping his pen. “I--I … Of course, Your Highness,” he sputtered, scrambling after his pen and using it as a bookmark as he rose and stumbled toward the kitchen counter.
Zelda had watched as Shad rose and moved away, but her eyes did not follow when they caught sight of Link, silent and staring her way. At first, she was shocked at seeing him; it almost felt like seeing a ghost, and she gasped when she met his gaze. Her discomfort soon turned to joy when she saw Link smile at her. It was a weak grin, but seeing him here, standing against all odds … it warmed her heart.
Just as Link began his approach, Shad appeared at the princess’s side, offering her a cup of water. “Thank you,” she said, taking the cup.
“You’re--uh--welcome, Your Highness,” came Shad’s clumsy reply.
She turned her attention back to the knight to help him drink its contents just as Shad noticed the advance of a rather broken and beaten individual.
“Link, ole boy!” shouted Shad, and he slapped a hand merrily against his shoulder, which quaked through Link’s body and struck his wounded chest, producing a sharp intake of breath. Shad immediately stumbled over an apology, but Link waved him off. He knew the bookworm was simply happy to see him alive and well. “I say, perhaps you should sit?” tried Shad, offering Link a chair.
He only leaned against the back, however; bending down to sit and rising again would prove more difficult than standing his ground and bearing with the aches throbbing through him. He took in Shad’s battered appearance, violet jacket cut in a few places, and a single bandage wrapped around his upper arm. There were small scratches along his neck, and Link thought perhaps he had been very fortunate against the claws of a shadow beast. Needless to say, seeing Shad’s awkward smile helped the strength return to him.
“Honey, what are you doin’ out of bed?” called a familiar mothering voice from the doorway. Link turned to see Telma and Ashei on approach. “You sure you’re well enough to be walking around?”
“I’m fine,” assured Link.
Even though he was sure Telma did not believe him, she smiled brightly all the same. “Good to see that face again. There was a lot of talk … lot of worry. I’m sure the soldiers here are happy to see you about.”
“You’re too stubborn to die,” Ashei said plainly, without any hint of emotion.
Link laughed at the warrior woman’s sentiments, but it was immediately choked out of him. He held his chest when he spoke. “It seems I missed a few days.”
His body may have been broken but his spirit had gone unscathed, and it brought a wider smile to Telma’s face. “Well, as you can see, we’ve been tending to the wounded here. Once they’re out of the woods, we’ve been escorting them back to the city. Renado’s got his hands full.” She spotted the shaman in the crowd as he applied a paste to a soldier’s head wound. Her smile turned to one more womanly, a smile carrying a secret. “But he knows his trade.”
There was a moment of silence as Telma’s thoughts lingered, and Ashei filled the void. “We’re ready to take another group,” she told the princess.
Before Zelda could reply, Telma made her way toward Renado, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll just see who’s ready.”
Ashei shook her head, and Link wondered if she was sickened by Telma’s behavior … or jealous. She had always been a lone wolf, seeking the aid of no one and nothing but the skills her father had passed on to her. He wondered if she preferred it that way or if she was so set in her ways that it was difficult to let anyone get close. She nearly snapped at Shad then, “You coming?”
Shad caught himself staring down at the princess again, and he awoke from his daze in an embarrassed stammer of syllables before he managed anything coherent. “Oh! Yes, of course.”
“Good. You can help me finish unloading the provisions then,” she spat, and Shad stumbled after her as she stepped briskly for the door.
Link watched them go with a grin, wondering if the two of them would ever get along. He could only guess that the provisions Ashei had mentioned had been brought from Castle Town to help with the care of the wounded.
The battered hero realized he was at last alone with the princess then. The soldier before her had finally fallen into restful dreams, and she held her gaze there a moment before turning her eyes on Link. Her eyes were the only jewels still on her person, two piercing sapphires staring into their twins she found in Link’s gaze. Neither of them spoke; neither was sure what to say.
Then the princess said only a few words, and Link could feel a thousand more carried in the weight of her voice.
“Link, chosen hero…. Thank you.”
Link could read every worry, every thought, she had ever had in her isolation during Twilight’s reign. He could see every prayer she had ever sent, every hope she had ever wished. She thought perhaps that Link was the only person who could realize the weight that had burdened her all this time. The safety and security of her people had always been paramount to anything else, and Link, as the chosen hero, had also carried the same concerns. Their actions had been the weight that tipped the scale in their favor. Had they wavered, had they faltered … they would have instead been surrounded by corpses.
She felt lighter than she had ever felt before. She could breathe again. And it was all thanks to Link. She grasped his hand and smiled.
He did not know how to respond. He had stood against oppression, stood against a false king and prevailed, and he had never taken any action to serve his own ego. Everything he had ever done he had done for the welfare of those he cared for. Link knew he had always had a choice, but there was never any question that he would speak for those without voice and stand for those who could not. It had never really been a choice. It had only ever been reaction. It was in his blood.
Link coiled his fingers around hers and said plainly, “Give anyone the hope to fulfill a dream and they have the heart of a hero, Princess. I am simply … Link.”
Zelda could not help the smile that stretched her cheeks. After all the things he had done, all the hurts he had healed and the prayers he had answered … he was still so humble and true. “Please, call me Zelda,” she answered.
“Of course … Princess Zelda,” he returned.
She gave a light chuckle at his respectful tone, but she sensed an air of joviality in his voice that teased her. This was the Link she would always remember. This modest youth, broken and smiling, was the one the legends would speak of for ages to come.
She drew her hand back and Link shifted his weight. He coughed and held his chest with a grimace.
“Still sore?” asked Zelda.
He nodded then cocked his head. “But well enough.”
“In that case, there is someone who may wish to see you.” Zelda rose from the slumbering knight’s side and led Link through the rows of makeshift beds toward the door, moving slowly as Link took each step carefully.
Daylight broke across Link’s face when they emerged from the house. Its warm fingers wrapped around him, rejuvenating him inside and out. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of the mountain air. His chest did not pain him as badly, and it made him smile; he really had just needed some fresh air.
“So, who--?” he started to ask, but when he looked to Zelda, she had disappeared from his side. He searched the thoroughfare, but only saw the wagons lining the street and Ashei and Shad unloading crates from the one closest to Renado’s house. There were several Gorons about, too, one coming to the aid of the young scholar when he dropped his crate.
Surely the princess had meant to bring him to Midna, the face he had wanted to see again since she had returned to him on the field. He needed to know that it had not been just his imagination or some elaborate dream he had invented while in recovery.
Link found Zelda in front of the town’s old market, but the figure she stood alongside was not Midna. Auru and Barnes were there, stooped and helping to fix the broken wagon sitting in the road, but it was the third man who stole Link’s attention when he turned. The blacksmith’s lips parted in a silent breath. Link’s chest tightened, squeezing his heart and making it difficult to breathe all of a sudden. Here was the man who had carried him through childhood … the man who had carried him broken and dying from the battlefield.
As Link descended the stairs, holding fast to the railing, Rusl approached. They met a meter apart at the base of the stairs. His cheeks paled as he looked at Link but the color returned in another instant; it was as if his heart had stopped at the sight of him and he had to remember how to breathe. Beneath the bandages under his shirt, the dressings covering the side of his head, the sling in which his broken arm hung … there was the smiling boy he had always known. He had grown so much since leaving Ordon Village; he could see it written with every scar that now addressed his features. But through every change, Rusl could still see that small child swimming in the ocean of his eyes.
Rusl threw his arms around Link then, and the sudden, wordless embrace took the youth by surprise. The blacksmith took care not to hold him too tightly, embracing him around the shoulders to avoid his injuries. In that moment Link remembered when he had been six years old. He had gone off into the woods--much like Talo had done once--and gotten lost. The way Rusl had clung to him once he had been found … Link had never forgotten that comfort, and he lost himself again in that tenderness, returning Rusl’s gesture with his only good arm.
“Link!” The young voice broke them apart, and Link found Colin across the road, pulling Epona along by the reins. He had a half-eaten carrot stick in his hand. “Ilia wanted to take care of you, so I took care of Epona for you.”
Rusl stepped back to give Link room as Colin and his horse approached. Link smiled. Colin had not given him an incredulous look like the others had. He remembered what Ilia had said, about how he had never shown concern over Link’s recovery. Colin had that rare and unbreakable spirit, and he tousled his short sandy hair.
“What’s this?” asked Link, and Colin offered out the carrot he had obviously been feeding Epona. Link grinned. “Her favorite.”
Link presented the vegetable to his horse and patted her forehead after she grabbed it up between her teeth and chewed until it disappeared.
“Did Dad tell you?” asked Colin, and Link turned back to him. Rusl had not spoken a word to him yet, but before he could say anything, the boy was already speaking again. Link wondered where the shy boy had gone. “This wagon broke on the way back from the city, and Dad’s fixing it up for us.” Colin pointed to the wagon Rusl, Auru, and Barnes had been leaning over. “In a few days we’ll be going back home.”
Home….
Link was not sure how to respond, so he said nothing at all.
He had not been to Ordon since before he had helped the Gorons recover their patriarch. The children had waited many days longer to see their homes and parents again. Colin’s comment had taken Link off guard, and a strange feeling overtook him. The feeling, strong an inescapable, was difficult to shield from the boy and the others looking on. His memories of Ordon had not faded, but they had dimmed. Link thought perhaps the sentiment of “home” seemed so alien because he had traveled for so long. Now, Ordon seemed like a dream, a fantasy, compared to the constant war he had been fighting across Hyrule. And, often like dreams, it was hard to remember a place without worries and wars.
Just then the reality of the struggle came crashing down again as nearly thirty horses rounded the cliffs in the distance to the north. The sound of their thundering hooves echoed against the mountain walls. Link turned, noticing the familiar figure of the Hylian general riding at the head of the herd.
Zelda came forward and stepped alongside Link just as the general had reared his horse to a stop and slid from its saddle all in one fluid motion. He marched up to the princess and gave a short, courteous bow before speaking. Link could see exhaustion in his face and heard it in his words. “I am returned, Princess, as you ordered, with as many horses as were available.”
“How many?” she asked.
“Thirty-three,” he said. He looked distressed. “That will mean only eight escorts for you on the road to--”
“It will be enough,” she silenced him. It was not a reprimand; it was reassurance that his worry would serve better elsewhere.
“As you wish,” he returned, and he immediately began spouting orders to the few Hylians who had ridden with him on where and how to corral the horses.
Link looked to Zelda. “I’ve missed more than a few things, Princess.”
His tone was light, but it cut through Zelda. She did not know how best to tell him. She had been trying to find the right words since the night Renado had stitched his wounds, and seeing him standing and smiling in the corner of a room filled with recovering war victims … she realized her time to think had come to an end. Her words were heavy when she spoke, laced with a melody much like a mother lying to protect a child. “The Twilight Princess and her people will return home soon,” she said, scrutinizing Link’s eyes’ every sparkle and twitch at the news. She could not read his thoughts as she let her words sink in.
All at once the small grin that had danced across Link’s face had tumbled into a thin line. “It seems we’re all heading home” was his only response … before he realized: “Her people?”
“Yes. When you defeated Ganondorf, the curse on her people was lifted. Twenty-three of the Twili live because of you.” Zelda hoped that the news would cheer Link’s mood, but he only nodded in a show of his gratitude. His thoughts ran deep, impenetrable. Zelda continued, “She has asked for an escort. Myself and eight of my guards will accompany her, and … she asked if you would be well enough to come also.”
Link’s eyes fell inward in that moment, and memories came rushing back to him … of a quiet night at the edge of the desert wastes. It had been the first time Midna had truly opened up to him, when she had told him the truth of her nature. The fear written through her face had been unmistakable. The agony in her eye. The soft tremble in her fragile fingers against his cheek. “You’ll come into the twilight with me … won’t you?” she had asked, almost pleading to never be left alone again.
“She’s never had to ask me,” said Link. He turned away with the intention of asking Rusl when the Ordonians might be ready for their voyage home … when he saw a flutter in the distance. A shadow played with his eyes, and on instinct, he flung his hand up to reach for his sword only to find it missing. In that moment the shape moved and he recognized it immediately. The tips of his raised fingers absentmindedly stroked his cheek as if grasping for a hand that had never truly left him.
Standing at the edge of the spirit spring was Midna, head bowed forward and cloak flapping in the breeze. Link thought that perhaps she prayed, or perhaps thanked the spirits for their help on her quest. He watched her silently for many long moments and wondered how long she had stood there, alone and unmoving.
In truth, Midna had been praying for Link. Every day for the last five days, she had come with her pleas to Eldin to return Link’s health as the spirits had done so many times before. She did not understand the practice of medicine, and thus, shadow had begged light for one last favor.
She opened her eyes and could hear the soft hum of Elidn echoing from the water through her bare toes. It renewed her hope and she turned to head back into the house, back to Link’s sleeping side, where she had always gone after sending her prayers.
Their eyes met then, and she stopped in her tracks. Seeing him there was like seeing him for the first time again. Not as a wolf. He had snarled and barked at her during their first meeting. However, when he had transformed into the likeness of the hero he had now become … she could remember everything about the way his blond hair fell around his cheeks under his hat and the way the water of the spirit spring reflected in his crystal eyes. She remembered how the sight of the light dweller had caught her off guard and how she had buried any feelings for Link. He had been a tool, the one person in all the light realm who could help her, and she had left her thoughts at that.
Now, however, when she looked at him…. She felt such shame for the way she had acted, the way she had let her hatred blind her. She wanted to apologize for everything, but she could not find the words and so remained at a distance.
I found you … was Link’s sole thought when his eyes locked on hers. And it brought a memory back to him. Those had been the first words Midna had ever spoken to him, and it felt like years ago when he had first been transformed and locked away in Hyrule Castle, his only salvation found in a heartless little creature. Thinking back on his first days with Midna, it was strange to realize how much they had grown to depend on and care for each other. In the beginning he had wanted nothing more than to see Midna leave and never return.
He wanted to tell her, wanted to tell her everything, but he stumbled over the words. Looking into her eyes left him as mute as Ilia’s gaze once had. Yet, it was something more. A lingering sadness filled Midna’s eyes. He wanted to comfort her, to ask what plagued her, but then he realized.
There was no need for words. Words would only carry the thing they both now feared.
Soon their path together would divide.
A booming voice broke Link’s musings. “We soon leave as well.”
Link turned to find that the Goron patriarch now stood before Princess Zelda. “Thank you for your help, Patriarch Darbus. May the goddesses shine on you.”
As Gor Coron stepped up alongside his towering patriarch, Zelda explained to Link how the Gorons had descended from their mountain when the battle had broken ground. Once they had reached the field, however, the battle had ended and he had collapsed. Apparently, it was thanks to the Gorons that so many had made it to Kakariko in time for Renado to heal them.
“It seems once again, this puny human has shown strength equal to a Goron,” said Gor Coron with the hideous expression that passed for a smile.
“Strength indeed, human, but not like a Goron!” chuckled Darbus, and Link had to remind himself that the elders had chosen to leave their patriarch in the dark about how the curse upon him had lifted.
The elder looked to Princess Zelda. “If you should ever need the Gorons again, our mountains are open to you.”
“Thank you,” said the princess with a short bow.
Though his chest still rocked with pain, Link lowered his hand from his ribs before asking, “May I go with you?”
“To the mountains?” The thought of this wounded Hylian traversing their cliffs confused the elder.
Link nodded, and Gor Coron looked him over, seeing past his ruse. The Goron had a keen eye for strength and could see that Link’s injuries still pained him, but the will of the small human rose against the pain. There was more to strength than the might of one’s muscles. He could see that Link would ascend their mountain with or without them. For what purpose, he did not know and did not ask. “We leave soon. Meet us at the edge of the village.”
As the Gorons turned away, Link stepped away from Zelda as she and the others watched in bewilderment as he ascended the stairs of Renado’s dwelling. He did not lean against the railing for support, and he struggled on only a stair before regaining his balance. They each wanted to climb after him, to question his judgment of heading into the mountains in his condition, but none followed after him.
Midna remained at a distance, watching Link, understanding. She had spent much time within his shadow, and they had felt each other’s strongest emotions. She understood why he wished to join the Gorons, and she would not interfere.
When Link entered the building and started for the stairs, Renado was there to head him off. The shaman reprimanded him softly for having left his bed. Link apologized but assured the man he was well. He had rested enough. Still, Renado pushed a cup into his hand and urged him to drink the strange red concoction within it. It had the reeking odor of medicine, but Link did not complain. Once the liquid hit his lips, its sweet taste washed away its peculiar aroma. He felt reenergized immediately and thanked the shaman. Reluctant to leave Link, Renado recovered the glass and turned toward his other patients.
Renado worried for the wounded Link and what he might do next, but he could not help the smile that lifted the corner of his lips. He could remember how willful Link had been the first time they had met. Even then Link had been untamable; nothing had held him back, and it was good to see that the challenges he had faced had done little to change his best--if not sometimes flawed--qualities.
The potion Link had drunk had calmed the aches raging through his body, and the numbed pain made it far easier to ascend the stairs. Once back in the upstairs room, he realized he had not been the only occupant--at least, at one time. The other beds covering the room were still unmade from where surely the sickest of the soldiers had rested after treatment. He wondered if they had indeed recovered or if the worst had befallen them.
Link looked about for his tunic and found it among a pile of clothes resting on a chair in the corner by the window. He stepped over to it and the sight of Auru and Barnes arguing over something dealing with the wagon’s repair made him snort a laugh. Carefully, he lifted the collar of his tunic over his head and let the garment fall around his body. With some difficulty, he tightened the laces along its sides before equipping his belt--with the help of his elbow holding one side in place as he clasped it.
He stood there a moment, watching through the window as the others had resumed their work in his absence. Rusl worked on the broken axel as Barnes continued to rage. Zelda had gone to her general--perhaps to discuss their travel arrangements into the desert. The thought of Midna led Link’s eye to the spring again, but the Twilight Princess no longer stood at its edge. Though he knew she had not gone far, her disappearance troubled him, and he turned away from the window.
===============
The road up the mountains had troubled Link little with the assistance of the Gorons. Though he had insisted he was well enough to travel by foot, Darbus had plucked Link up as gently as any Goron could and given up his shoulders as the young hero’s seat for the journey. Link was surprised at how balanced the Goron’s stride carried him. Very few steps sent Link jostling from one side to the other, and he was deeply grateful and honored that the patriarch had seen to his care.
Link sat nearly four meters tall astride the great Goron patriarch, and he watched as some Gorons chose to curl into rocky boulders and roll up the narrow mountain paths while others elected to keep pace with their elders on foot. Though they walked, a Goron’s gait was swift even given their short, stout legs, and they made quick progress through the cliffs. They were mostly silent on the road, words exchanged only occasionally when Darbus gloated to Link about the wonder of their mountains.
After an hour they had reached the base of their central mountain home, and before long, they had climbed the mountain and come to the mouth of the cavern entrance to their mines. It was here that Darbus stooped to allow Link’s departure. Link thanked the Gorons for their companionship and assistance. The Gorons retreated into the cavern with chest-thumping, voice-booming farewells.
Left to his own company, Link turned away from the cavern and stepped up to the edge of the cliff face. He stared out into the surrounding peaks, the sun gleaming across the surface of each summit. He could see every crevice, every slant in the mountain range. He closed his eyes, the breeze gently toying with the unkempt strands of hair hanging from every angle of his head.
A very long time ago, he had stood here, admiring the end of a treacherous day. On that evening he had seen many more arduous days waiting beyond the horizon before he would finally be able to take up rest. Throughout his journey he had looked back on that day, imagined himself standing alive and well atop this very mountain. From here he had once seen lands alien to him, but now, when he opened his eyes he found memories in every corner of the fields and mountains and rivers beyond.
Link struggled to sit at the edge, feet dangling and back resting against a boulder. He blew out a fatigued breath and sat in silence. There were so many thoughts swimming in his head that it was hard to focus. He could barely believe he was even sitting there. “I’ll come back … when it’s all over…” he had promised himself, and he had held true to that.
When it’s over… thought Link. It’s … really over….
It was difficult to absorb. Everything in the last few hours had been hard to swallow. Everyone had had five days to digest what had happened and accept that the time of war had indeed ended, but for Link … it was like waking to a dream. It took him a long time to realize the fighting had truly come to an end, that Ganondorf no longer drew breath. He could remember now with perfect clarity the last moments of the demon and how he had stood, perfectly balanced, in death.
Link had been bombarded with information the moment he had woken, how they had ended up in Kakariko, the fate of the Hylian soldiers, the coming departure of the Ordonians, the wellbeing of the Twili … the coming exodus of Midna and her people.
As evening slowly came, Link’s thoughts lingered more toward Midna and the Twilight. Deep reds hung in the sky, shadowing the mountain range in a tint of orange. The color reminded Link of Midna’s flowing ginger hair and how her bangs now gathered in soft tresses around cheeks that mirrored a perfect, cloudless sky. It was still strange to see Midna in such a human body. All the memories he had made with her had been shared by that sly, round-faced little imp, but seeing her in her true form, in her real body, it proved that all their hopes had come to fruition. Without the death of Ganondorf, retaking her natural form would have been impossible. Her delicate face was all the proof he needed to reassure himself that the end had indeed come.
Link felt thumps vibrate through him and heard roars and cheers from inside the mountain behind him. He remembered the sound of lively Gorons and knew without a sliver of a doubt that the Gorons were celebrating the newfound peace over Hyrule in a round of sumo matches.
Overhearing their festivities made Link think back on all the others he had met throughout his journey. Prince Ralis of the Zoras had left before he had been able to personally speak to him about his late mother. It had been Renado who had told the young boy that his mother had perished. He wondered how Ralis had taken the news and how he was managing his mother’s legacy. Link wanted to imagine that Queen Rutela, though at peace, still watched over him from time to time, easing his ills and calming his anxiety at inheriting the throne at so young an age.
Then there were the yetis of Snowpeak. Link still felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the girl he had nearly killed in his mission to collect the shards of the Mirror of Twilight, how hysterical Yeto had been when he had finally broken into the bedroom. Link had never seen Yeta other than during her illness from the dark magic, and he wondered if she was always as quiet as she had been in Link’s presence or if the departure of the shard had livened her spirits to match that of her boisterous husband. Link had seen true devotion in them; all they needed to survive was each other.
He looked down toward the village. He could not distinguish one figure from the other at this distance, but he knew Princess Zelda, Rusl and Colin, and so many others were among the shapes moving about. In a day or so, each would begin their voyage, some to Ordon, others to the city, while he rode with the entourage heading East.
His eyes fluttered from one figure to the next, trying to decide if he had that one thing--like Yeto and Yeta--that he could not live without.
Every answer he considered frightened him, so he tried not to think about it.
Link turned away to regain his peace. He watched as shadows overtook the evening sky, finding them both beautiful and serene.
A piercing cry cracked through the winds then, and suddenly, the King of Shadows sprinted toward the broken and blood-splattered hero, flailing his sabers. Link could see desperation in his orange orbs, but Link had no energy and no weapon with which to defend himself. By the time the Hylians readied their weapons and started forward, however, the shadow stumbled and collapsed to the ground … just meters from Link.
Zant cried out, howling and squirming. A rasping sound came from his throat, as if he were choking on sand, and his skeletal hands groped for his neck. He clawed at the coif bunched there, gagging on the light of the dawn. Veins pulsed and throbbed throughout his skull until they ran black at soot. He gasped, frantic screeches gurgled by the pain swelling in his throat.
And then an invisible hand snapped his neck. Zant collapsed to the ground, mouth hanging open and unseeing eyes glaring up at the sky they loathed.
Link understood. The King of Shadows had been revived by Ganondorf. Without his god, Zant could no longer live.
Link held his stomach, cupping his hat over the wound there to better hide it from the Hylian audience, who now took tentative steps forward. As he stood firm, panting against his pain, he looked at the dark body of the Gerudo king. Ganondorf still stood balanced against the field, dead by the blade of evil’s bane. Link could hear Zelda approach as he took a cautious half-step forward, watching closely for any movement. Yet, the only motion was in Ganondorf’s cape blowing gently behind him.
Zelda stood silently near Link, and for a moment she merely stared in disbelief. There he stand, the man who had--with Zant--tortured the existence of her people and trapped them as mere shadows of their former selves. She bowed her head and new tears--happy tears--caressed her cheek. Hand over her heart, she thanked the gods for a miracle.
Silence again overtook the field … until Link staggered and fell to his knees.
Rusl sprung forward, along with a few knights, but only he dared to approach the hero. As Link sat there, however, he was blind to all that transpired around him. His eyes did not focus, as the bulblins and bokoblins skittered and fidgeted, wondering what would become of them, pondering what it was they should do. The general had come forward and offered Zelda her sword. Link’s ears did not hear as the princess faced the opposing army and banished them, never to return to her borders lest they suffer the fate of their master and king. Link did not see them flee, scattering and disappearing into the horizon. He did not see her smile, breathing in the glory of a new day.
Link never heard Rusl kneel, and his comforting words were garbled in his ears. The hero was deep within his thoughts and memories.
His journey had finally come to its end, and yet he had never felt more incomplete. He should have been smiling; he should have been celebrating with the soldiers. He had imagined this day for so long, but now that it had arrived … it was nothing like he had hoped. Link sat there, and he should have felt proud and content with all the smiling, living faces cheering nearby.
But he had never felt more alone.
His companion through all hardships, his one constant, had been ripped from his side. It was as if Ganondorf had cleaved his heart out and left him breathing.
A strange sound washed over the field in that moment, and everyone hushed and turned to look at Link, their hero. Princess Zelda had felt the sudden tension before she took notice of the same sound. When she turned to Link, she saw Rusl crouched next to him. Slowly, Zelda stepped over to the pair, circling around to face Link in the same moment that those of the Resistance drew up behind Rusl.
Link knelt at the broken helm of Midna, fingers grasping bits of its ashes as he cried. The tears of Link fell and crashed against the shards of his memories. His fingers toyed with the pieces aimlessly, as if trying to put her back together and will his companion back into existence. He had once told himself that if one of them were to die in saving their realms, he had wanted it to be him … not Midna. Never Midna.
Nothing could quench Link’s lament, and the hero’s mourning struck the heart of every soul standing on the battlefield. He choked on his cries and drew his arm in tight against his chest; his sorrow crunched his chest and sent sharp pains through his ribs. He unleashed a strangled wail at the pain his cries caused, but he could not quiet his grief as he knelt there, the melody of his aching heart seeping into the soul of Hyrule herself.
As the people looked on, they realized he mourned for his lost friend, the strange creature they had seen upon the breaking of the barrier. How could they have been so selfish--so blind--to forget that even heroes could bleed? How heartless had they been to think that their hero had not lost things most precious in order to save them?
Princess Zelda knelt to Link then, a sad smile adorning her soft lips, but Link could not meet her gaze, too deep in his grief. Now that Ganondorf was dead, he had time to mourn Midna, and his grief had taken him prisoner entirely.
Zelda stretched out a hand and cupped her fingers gently over his golden head. Link felt warmth returning to him, and when Zelda’s hand fell to lay against his cheek, his breaths slowly began to come evenly between gasping cries. His eyes were closed, but he knew it was Zelda before him. He accepted her kind embrace, breathed in and savored the light pouring into him. Yet, in that moment, he found himself wishing the hand to be that of a small imp.
In that moment, he could recall the last moments he had looked upon Midna’s face, the look of happiness there. The kind smile and sparkling scarlet eye of someone with the courage to hurl themselves in the face of death if but to save those she cared for.
Midna … I…. He had come to realize the truth all too late, and the thought of her swift death choked the thought from his mind.
Light poured onto the fields of Hyrule as if to combat the hero’s lament and give new life to a new dawn. As the sun rose, Zelda and Rusl could hear several voices calling out. The words were barely discernible at first, but as more and more heads turned toward the hills, Telma was the first to notice of the Group. She lifted a hand to her brow against the radiant light before realizing what all the commotion was about. She pointed and called to Rusl.
After looking toward the hills and understanding, the blacksmith called to the youth, “Link!” But Link had no energy to listen, no care but his sorrow.
Princess Zelda looked beyond him then and she squinted against the light. She could not tell from this distance, and she supposed none of the others knew the truth either, but it was worthy of attention … and worthy of hope.
She turned Link’s chin up in her hand. “Link! Look.”
He did not know where he found the strength to rise, but at his princess’s command he struggled to his feet. His chest and side pained him greatly and when he stood, his cheeks flushed pale with sweat and he stumbled into Rusl, who had also risen. The blacksmith caught Link and steadied him, realizing the severity of Link’s injuries when he caught sight of the green hat he held at his side now stained red.
For that moment, everyone’s attention fell to Link when Zelda gasped, seeing the same deep bloodstain at the back of his left side.
Link nearly gave in to the arms of Rusl, but then he heard a soft hum, a familiar singsong, combined with a gentle sound like the ocean. He felt warmth against his back as the princess and the Group exchanged looks and words at how to care for Link’s wounds. Link shut out the noise of their uproar and turned to see a strange glow surrounding the eastern hills as the sun rose. After a moment he could make out the shapes of all four light spirits as they returned a natural glow to the rising star. Eldin’s wings spanned the horizon above the other spirits and Link wondered if the others could see them, too. Perhaps this was what they had wanted him to see.
As he watched them, however, they presented another gift. In the midst of their light, a silhouette rose beneath them. Link squinted, trying to make out the shape. Only when the bodies of the spirits faded could he make out the small image that remained.
Link gasped and immediately shoved Rusl from him. He heard several objections as he stood there, staring at the lone figure on the hilltop. It took another moment for him to accept what it might be, his eyes slowly widening and his lips parting in a bewildered gasp.
He stepped toward the distant figure then, slowly at first, each step a struggle from both his pain and his disbelief. Link cast off Rusl and Auru’s attempts at grasping his arm, ignored Telma’s concerned eyes, and by the time Link’s feet sped to a slow walk, everyone’s attention turned back to the shadowy figure atop the furthest and highest hill. Rusl did not race after him when Link broke into a jog, understanding that nothing would obstruct his path.
Running sent searing pains through his body, but Link did not stop. He pushed past the pain and broke into a sprint, struggling up the hills, eyes fixed on the shadow that then collapsed. When Link reached the top of the hill, he stopped suddenly, at a distance from the strange figure that knelt on the ground, its back facing him.
Link did not know what to think as he stood there, panting and aching. He held tighter to his side as his chest throbbed and stabbed at his insides. He had thought beyond all hope that the dark figure he would find here would be Midna, but the body, blanketed by a long black mantle, was quite large and nothing like his imp companion.
After a long moment, the strange figure rose, its black cloak hanging loosely against its figure. Link scanned the white and peridot designs across its back and rediscovered the serene beauty of which Midna had often spoken. Just as it had stood, the figure turned to reveal a feminine face of blue skin curtained by reddish orange hair. The eyes were closed and downcast at first, but as the woman twirled about to face Link, she opened her eyes and cocked her head. The smallest of smiles adorned her beautiful violet lips.
Link’s breath left him. He did not know what to say, what to do. He had never seen this woman’s face before and yet he was consumed by the embrace of her eyes. Under the light of the dawning day, her perfect and smooth blue skin gleamed like starlight veiled in the black drapes of her voluminous attire. Long legs supported a stature that loomed nearly a head taller than him. He could barely see the black toes of her bare left foot due to the black skirt with beautiful white swirling patterns hanging from her hips, but the full slit down the right side bared the entirety of her other blue leg, a grey bracelet hugging her ankle.
His eyes worked their way up her figure, past her bare blue belly and the blackened curves of her torso, shoulders and arms covered by the mantle enwrapping her. The pointed hood of her cloak covered most of her head, leaving room for her voluminous ruby hair to lay freely to the sides of her face, the longer tresses coming together against her breast in an ornate grey pin. Her wavy bangs curved in toward her lips and were held at bay by long strands above her eyes that she had drawn back to either side and tied like ribbons around the top of her hood.
That was when he saw the curious headdress she wore. Its design was minimalistic, much like that of an ornate bar resting upon her head. A glimmering headpiece set perfectly against her forehead, its curving design much like that of two snakes with wings, tails intertwining several times before coming to a point along the bridge of her long, thin nose. A single ruby shined between their necks, and thin chains spouted from their mouths to connect it to the headdress above.
In her face Link saw something kind, something gentle and serene. He looked into her eyes, deep violet shadows against her lids outlined by the darkest black brows and lashes. There was something familiar about her eyes, yellow surrounding the red of her irises that glistened as dark as garnets in the shadows cast from the sun.
The woman only had eyes for Link, gazing upon him with a knowing sparkle. “What?” she finally asked, and her smile deepened into a beautiful thin line. “Say something.”
Link did not understand. The woman spoke to him as if she knew him.
“Am I so beautiful that you’ve no words left?” she asked, her deep but soft voice rising in pitch on her last words. Her red eyes teased him when she tilted her head to the side, looking onto him from an angle that slightly masked her other eye … as if to remind him of something. She turned her head back to him fully, waiting for a reply, still wearing that beautiful smile.
Those subtle signs were what freed Link to the truth. The rising tone of this woman’s voice, the small grin … the single red eye.
At first, Link could not believe it, and he realized his jaw had dropped at this woman’s beauty and the shock that she stood before him. It was as if the gods and the spirits had answered his prayers, rewarded him for completing his task.
The image of Midna … no longer cursed … healed his every hurt. She was … nothing he had ever imagined. He had seen her always as the small imp. Now, high cheekbones and a small, heart-shaped chin brought shape to a once round face, and her high, nasally voice had become deeper, yet soft like Zelda’s. The voice of royalty. The voice of a queen.
But just from her teasing words, he knew … this was still his Midna. She still had her spirit, her laughter, her unfailing beauty.
Link closed his mouth as his eyes stared wide at her, drinking in her image. It was like losing himself in a mirage, but he knew she was real. She had come back to him.
“See you later,” she had always said. And so he had.
Midna was alive.
It took him a long moment before he could blink away the tears that had dried against his eyes. An overbearing emotion tugged at his heart and lifted his lips. He let out a small breath, relieved and happy, as his mouth turned into a wide smile, sapphire eyes twinkling like amethysts in the growing light.
The companions stood there for a long moment as their eyes traded the warmth of their happiness. They had journeyed far and wide together, and now as they stood reunited at the end, Link could not think of anywhere else he would rather have been. When he finally collapsed to the ground from the weight of his wounds, his joy remained.
Link had not felt the crash of the ground, however. Suddenly, he found himself looking up into the eyes of Midna as she knelt, cradling him in her arms as he had once done for her. She supported his head in the curve of her left arm. Link’s strength had fled and his right arm had fallen from his injury. Midna cupped her hand gingerly over his hat covering the wound in his side. He felt her gentle touch and it soothed him. He looked into her eyes and grinned against the pain washing over him. Link had expected to find grief creasing her brows, for they both knew his injuries were great.
But she did not weep. She only smiled that small, silent smile.
Link reached up to touch her new face but found he did not have the strength, and his fingers fell away only inches from her smooth skin.
Midna … I…. he tried to tell her. He wanted to tell her. But the pain was too great.
Midna slid her hand up to rest against his cheek, and he closed his eyes. During the battle and in its aftermath, this was all he had wanted. Her reassuring fingers stroking his cheek. He fell into the feeling and lost himself there. His heavy breaths slowly eased and he vanished beneath a weak grin.
Link did not reopen his eyes as Midna held him. She stroked his ear and the blue ring hanging from the lobe before parting the soiled blond hair from his blood-drenched forehead. As she held him there, she had almost forgotten the masses gathered below in the fields. When she looked away from the motionless hero, she saw the countless faces of the Hylians … and even the Twili. It had not been too late for her people after all. The shadows had receded from their bodies, and they had been reborn.
The Twilight Princess looked on … humbled and grateful.
Just as Midna had shown Link that there was serenity in even the darkest of shadows, it had been he, a boy of only seventeen, who had showed two realms the true meaning of courage and selflessness.
As she watched the faces of every man and woman as they rejoiced, Midna was surprised to see how the Hylians, though cautiously, approached several Twili to introduce themselves and exchange sentiments. Shadow and light had merged, but it had not created darkness as Zant had once
proclaimed.
It was peace. A peace unknown to her realm for as long as she had known. Always, there had been a burning torch of resentment in her people for the light, but now … Midna could feel the brightening sun dousing those flames.
But at what cost?
In the long days before this dawn, the Twili and the people of Hyrule had suffered greatly. Pain, sorrow … death. They were sins that could not be forgiven.
Light and shadow are not meant to merge, Midna realized. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to accept this.
When she looked at Link it was with a heavy heart. She was thankful for the time she had been allowed to walk in his shadow, but she knew their time as companions had come to an end.
===============
Sticky warmth hung to him and his breath caught in his chest. A throbbing ache vibrated through his nerves. He could hear a shuffling sound and a creak close by, and when Link opened his eyes, a shadow loomed over him. Something touched his face as the figure spoke, but his eyes could not focus as he lie dazed on his back. He felt the cool sensation of water pat against his forehead, but the cold did not last long before his sweat nullified the pleasant feeling.
He tried to move and heard someone shout. A set of hands trapped him, and he tried to struggle against the new figure that bobbed into his blurry vision. He tried to speak, but all he heard was a mumble escape his lips. His torso held down, he attempted to move his legs, to shuffle his body away, but with another shout, another set of restraints seized him.
A stabbing pain jolted through his side then, and Link screamed. He tried to get away, tried to run, but his right arm had been tied down and the restraints across the rest of his body kept him rooted. He cried out at another cutting sting and wrestled with renewed vigor, tossing his head about
furiously.
He heard shuffling to his right, and heard the voice over him call out. “No! Leave, Colin.”
Dazed at the appearance of the name, Link’s muscles relaxed slightly, turning his head. He tried to call the name, to see if it was truly him, but he only managed to croak the first syllable. He saw a feminine body with short sandy hair usher a small figure away, looking back at him just before they escaped through the door.
Link struggled to make sense of his surroundings, tried desperately to understand what was happening. The man above him looked so familiar, and there were four others. A plump woman to his left alongside a man with white hair, a black-haired woman at his toes, and a dark-skinned man with long hair made large by his heavy clothes. It was this man that leaned over his stomach, pinching and stabbing him. Red coated the man arms from fingertip to elbow.
Link roared something unintelligible at this man, and he shouted, not at Link, but at the two to Link’s left. In another moment, the rotund woman was shoving something at his face. He turned away from it, fearing what it might be, but with a hand on his cheek she had pulled him back. A strange scent wafted into Link’s nostrils and it made him dizzy. He tried to fight the effect it had, tried to fight the sensation that lulled his eyelids to close … but in an instant he fell into blackness.
===============
When Link next awoke, sweat still hung against his cheeks and hair, but he felt cool and light. He blinked several times, trying to readjust himself, trying to get a sense of where he was. Breathing was still a little difficult, but he could not understand why. Memories tugged at his mind like a dream resurfacing, and he could remember the blurry sight of bodies surrounding him and the stinging pains that had ailed him. He lifted a hand to his throbbing head and found a bandage there.
A memory flashed in his mind. Tumbling from his horse. Hitting the ground. Dizziness.
He removed his hand and flexed his fingers. They were sore, blisters covering his bare palm, and with it came another memory of a darkened field and his shinning blade.
Suddenly a sting pulsed through his right arm and he breathed in through clenched teeth. He looked down and saw his arm was bandaged heavily, from fingertip to elbow. He recalled the blow to his forearm, the singing pain when his blade cut his fingers, and the thundering crunch when his hand had shattered under the massive weight of Ganondorf.
Ganondorf!
Link’s nerves jerked at the memory; his eyes widened and he bolted upright.
…Or would have.
The extent of his wounds had made that impossible. He had only lifted himself an inch before collapsing under the pain stabbing through his chest and gut. Link looked down and lifted the sheet that covered his naked body. His chest had been wrapped, and he knew then that a rib or two had indeed been broken or at least cracked during his dance with the devil. Looking farther, he found another large bandage covering his left side, red splotches soaking the white material.
At the sight he remembered the final blow to Ganondorf, the thrust that had been equally fatal to himself … or so he had thought. The memory refreshed the pain, and Link bit his lip as he let the covers fall. He tried to breathe out the pain, but the more he thought about it--and the more he tried not to think about it--the worse the pain became and the dizzier he felt. Suddenly, the cold crept into him again, and he could feel another splatter of sweat trickling from his hairline and neck. He closed his eyes; he felt like a child again, nauseous from the pain of being sick and nearly in tears at the prickle of its fingers stretching his insides.
The ill feeling bottled inside him and he retched, body curling to the side on reflex even with the pain of moving. The sound of his sick splattering against the floorboards and his pained moans and grunts woke the sleeping figure near his bedside.
“Link!” a feminine voice gasped, and she leapt up from her chair. Avoiding the vomit, she appeared at Link’s side in an instant.
Link, lying once more on his back, looked up at the figure blocking the lantern light. Under the woman’s shadow, he first thought he stared up at Midna, but when his eyes focused, he found the concerned gaze of his childhood friend.
“Il…ia?” he managed, realizing how painful it was to talk. His throat felt swollen and when he spoke, the words scratched.
Ilia hushed him. “It’s all right, Link,” she smiled, wiping the sick from the corner of his mouth with a wet cloth. She then laid the cloth next to a basin on the bedside table. “I’ll call Renado. Don’t move, Link.”
Still dizzy, Link tried to digest her words as he heard her footsteps recede from the familiar room. In a few moments, she had returned with the shaman. He looked as exhausted as Link felt, and he made his way from the door near the foot of Link’s bed to stand alongside the resting warrior, smiling.
“It is good to see you awake,” he said, and Link’s eyes wandered from his face to the doorway, where a familiar group of children had gathered. It took him a moment to put names to their faces. Talo and Malo hugging the doorframe and Beth standing next to them.
“…managed to stop the bleeding, but you lost a lot of blood,” Renado was saying when Link looked back to him. “You are still with fever, but with rest and care, you will recover. I ask that you try not to move around.” He must have noticed how bleary Link still looked, for he added, “Do you understand?”
Link nodded, as the young Luda entered the room and stepped to the left side of Link’s bed where several bowls had been scattered. She went to work mixing liquids and herbs together after presenting Link a kind smile.
Renado was turning to leave when Link clumsily reached out to grab the shaman’s sleeve. He had almost lunged for him, for Renado had stood on his incapacitated side. Rising to stretch his arm out pained him, and he grunted against the feeling, holding firm.
The shaman turned back to him and eased him back into bed. “Let nothing trouble you, Link,” he soothed.
But Link’s insides burned as he tried to speak. He was too weak for words, but he only had one question.
“Where…?” he tried.
The shaman smiled. “You are safe in Kakariko Village. Worry not, Link. You are among friends.”
Link had been able to surmise that much, however, and that had not been the intent of his question. He tried again, struggling against the words as they grated against his throat. “No…. Wh…. Mid…. Where … Midna?”
Renado’s eyes lit with understanding. “Your friend is here. And she is well.” The shaman sat on the bed lightly. “Everyone is safe. Link, you need not worry. Hyrule is safe again … because of you. Now, you must rest. Worry on nothing else. There will be time for talk when you are well.”
Link found comfort in those words, and before the shaman had disappeared from the room, children watching him from afar, he had fallen once more into sleep.
===============
Distant voices echoed into Link’s ears and softly shook him awake. His eyes opened slowly, but he found he could focus almost immediately. He breathed and, though his chest still felt heavy, the pain had lessened. The sweat that had once coated his skin had been washed away and he could feel a natural warmth flowing through him again.
To his left he found Luda asleep in a chair, and to his right he found Ilia, awake and approaching. “Link, how are you feeling?” she asked.
“Thirsty,” he realized; his voice still croaked when he spoke, no doubt from the lack of water.
Ilia went to the basin next to his bed and scooped water into a cup. She helped Link raise his neck and shoulders and kept a firm grasp on the cup as Link also held onto it to take a few sips. He thanked her and nestled back down, weary and light-headed.
He could hear the voices again, and realized that they wafted in from the outside. He turned to Ilia. “How long…?”
“It was three days since you last woke,” she said, and he could see the worry lingering in her eyes, as if she had been crying over the anxiety that he might not wake. “Two before that, when Renado stitched you up.” Link could see her shudder at the memory, but he could only remember bits of confusion and struggle. “Your fever finally broke last night.”
Five days … thought Link, blinking away the sleep in his weary eyes. He tried to rise, but Ilia stopped him.
“I’m not sure you should get up,” she insisted. “Maybe you should eat something.” She said it as though she did not know what to do, flustered at tending to the conscious Link, but then she decided. “Telma made some stew. I’ll bring you some.”
Link nodded and was pleased to know that the ever cheerful redhead was around somewhere. He could recall the way Telma had looked at Renado and the awkward way the shaman had held himself when he knew she watched him. He had seen some spark in Telma’s eye, but Renado just seemed ill at ease under her gaze, and he wondered how the shaman had fared under her lingering eyes over the course of five days.
He chuckled at the thought, but it hurt and he threw up his hand to his chest as if to calm the ache. Link felt a desperate need to stretch his muscles. Every cell in his body ached, and he gathered the stiffness had been the result of both the grueling battles against the demon king and the long days of immobility that had followed. Fighting against the cracking aches, he finally lifted himself to sit against the headboard, stuffing his pillow behind him. He moaned, both comforted at the change in posture and woozy at the struggle to maintain it.
When Ilia reentered the room, he realized he was still quite nude and he bunched the covers closely around his hips, knowing his nakedness would startle her, but Ilia knew the covers were his only clothes and she still felt embarrassed. Though she tried not to show it, offering him a bowl and sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him, she could not hide the faint blush in her cheeks.
Link took the bowl kindly but soon realized that he could not both hold it and spoon the stew into his mouth. He could not use his right arm, and just as he tried to find a polite way to ask her help in feeding himself, Ilia realized her mistake. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she spat, and she only blushed deeper. “I should have realized.” She scooted forward and took the bowl from Link and spooned some of the vegetables onto the utensil. Ilia brought it to his lips so that he would not have to bend his chest to eat.
Ilia’s outburst had woken the snoozing Luda, and when the raven-haired youth sat up, she smiled through sleepy eyes. “It is good to see you up,” she said, and she rose from her seat. “I will let Father know you’ve awoken.”
Link watched her leave as he ate another spoonful. The food tasted good on his tongue. Each bite scratched on its way down, but it was a good feeling, one that soothed an unreachable itch.
“The boys have been worried about you,” offered Ilia with another spoonful. Link listened and watched her eyes as he slowly chewed the food. “Well, Talo mostly. He was trying not to show it, but….” Her voice trailed off and Link wondered if perhaps she was thinking about how Talo’s concern had been mirrored within her. He thought back on how she had embraced him in the spirit spring and how a deep care had returned to her when she had regained her memories.
“…promise me…. Just come home safely,” she had said. Ilia had always been afraid of losing him.
Ilia presented another bite of stew, but Link declined. He had not eaten much, but his belly already felt as if it had swollen. Ilia’s shoulders slumped and she rose to set the bowl down by the basin. A thought came to her then, bringing a little life back to her features. “Colin was never worried, though, you know? ‘Link can do anything,’ he kept saying.”
The corner of Link’s mouth lifted, but when he heard the voices again, joined by some sort of creaking sound, he finally asked, “What’s been going on?”
“At first, we didn’t know what had happened,” she said as she sat back down, “just that Castle Town had been evacuated. Some of the refugees came here. Then … five days ago soldiers started arriving. There were a lot of wounded, and Renado and Luda have been working ever since to tend to everyone….” When Ilia’s voice trailed off, Link knew that some memory had stirred within her, and he let her overcome its hold in her own time.
“When they brought you in…. When I saw you … in Rusl’s arms…. We … I … thought you were….” Tears came to Ilia’s eyes at the thought, and Link put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
Embarrassed, Ilia tried to change the subject, without looking at him. “Most of the soldiers have returned to the castle; I think some of them were still healing, and there are still several in Renado’s care downstairs. I think some of them are planning to stay to help Renado rebuild the town, but most of them are returning to the city once they’re back on their feet.”
Relief spread through Link at these tidings. Rebuild. Hearing the word brought a certain sense of accomplishment. The Hylians had lost much in the swift war against the demon king and his minions, but Link found relief that they were ready to so quickly right the wrongs that had terrorized them.
“Where are my clothes?” asked Link, and Ilia’s head popped up, staring at him blankly before she understood.
“I don’t think you should move around yet,” she said.
“I just need some fresh air,” he promised, and his tone assured her that he was indeed not planning to sprint off to fight more monsters.
Still unsure, she rose and collected his leggings and white undershirt from the windowpane where they had been set to dry. Link could tell they had been washed--no doubt by either Luda or Telma--for the stains that had collected were no longer visible. Ilia knew he needed help to dress but only helped him halfway into his pants, his blankets covering his waist. Once she had tugged each leg above his knee, she let Link do the rest. He struggled into his pants and wrestled to tie the strings at his waist. He rested a moment before asking her help with his shirt. Link lifted his arms in front of him as Ilia slid his sleeves on, taking extra care with his bandaged right. Grunting, Link raised his arms above his head, and Ilia tucked his collar down around his head and neck.
Link thanked her then tried to stand up. His feet gave away and he fell to one knee, clutching to the side of the bed. The pain in his side spiked from the jarring fall, but Link was determined. He felt lightheaded only for a moment, and nodded when Ilia asked if he was all right. He knew his stumble was likely due more to not having used his muscles in nearly a week and less because of his wounds. He knew it would be a struggle, but he could not remain cooped up any longer.
He pulled himself up, holding his right arm in close from some involuntary need to protect his vulnerability. As Link held himself there a moment, readjusting his weight and flexing his legs, Ilia left his side only for a moment before returning and asking for his arm. He offered it out when he realized what she held. Carefully, she slid the cloth around his forearm and then tied it at the back of his neck. Link let his arm rest in the sling and thanked her.
With Ilia at his side--her hands clasped around his left forearm--Link managed to leave the room behind him and come to lean against the railing of the balcony overlooking the downstairs. Tables crowded the floor, and a wounded soldier rested on every one of them. Some slept, some ate, while others still clutched their hurts and hungered for relief. The sight pained Link deeper than his own injuries, and Ilia could see it in the way his eyes wavered.
“I know what you must be thinking,” she said. She had always been so quick to know his thoughts. “But all these soldiers will live because of what you did.”
Ilia was right, of course. His actions had saved the lives of countless Hylians, but the thought of seeing so many injured … of knowing so many had died…. It hurt because he knew that no matter his efforts, there had never been a way to save them all. He wanted to walk among them, assure himself that Ilia was right, that everything he had bled for had indeed been worth it.
He started down the stairs, taking each step slowly with Ilia nearby as he guided himself along with a hand against the wall. He had to stop a few times to catch his breath, but he eventually reached the bottom. He leaned his shoulder against the wall then, taking a moment to rest his cramped legs. Ilia asked if he needed to sit; he shook his head and released her of her concern, asking her to tend to those in need of care.
She left reluctantly and tossed him the occasional glance when she leaned over a woman holding her leg. Link watched as she fetched some herbs, but then his eyes danced around the room. So many faces, so many people he did not even know.
He spotted Talo, with Malo at his side, reenacting some great battle with the wooden sword Link had given him. Three wounded Hylians made up their audience as the children exaggerated every move. Link smiled at this and laughed when the child spun and tripped, prodding a laugh from one of the soldiers, whose merriment was cut short by the pain in his stomach. Link also found his chuckle stifled by pain, and he clutched his chest with a weak cough.
Link took that opportunity to step through the crowds, and was surprised when a soldier held an arm out to him. He saw a gruesome wound in his shoulder and could sense the presence of magic, knowing with certainty that this solider, too, had been lucky to survive the sage-blade. Link returned his gesture and clasped his forearm. The Hylian held him there and through a mangled voice, he said softly, “Young hero. Thank you.”
It still astonished Link whenever the people recognized him, and he only managed a flustered nod in response. When the soldier’s grip fell, Link resumed his slow pace.
Link found Shad a few tables away writing in one of his journals as the soldier next to him slept soundly. Link was glad to see the scholar had at last traded sword for pen once more. His cracked spectacles hung low on his nose as he wrote, lost in thought. Curious, Link approached him quietly so as not to disturb him. Looking over his shoulder at the pages, Link noticed that amongst his feverishly written notes, he had begun a sketch of a rather beautiful and regal woman.
When Shad looked up from his drawing, so did Link, and he caught sight of Shad’s current muse. Near the center of the room, tending to a soldier with a bloodied head, sat Princess Zelda. She had removed her armor and every ornament save her red and silver earrings. She had even removed her glowing golden crown bejeweled by sapphires, leaving her brown and yellow hair to tumble freely around her face and shoulders. Her arms were bare, and her violet kirtle hung low on her chest. When she leaned forward to place a wet towel over the knight’s forehead, Link realized he had never noticed the cut of her backless dress. He found himself captivated by her rare beauty, and he thought that Shad’s sketch--with gentle eyes and a kind smile--captured her perfectly.
Link could hear her singing, but her voice was so soft that he could not hear the words. The gentle tune reminded him of a mother’s lullaby. The melody soothed Link, and he noticed that Shad had stopped drawing in order to watch and strain his pointed ears.
A cough escaped the knight, and Zelda grabbed for the cup next to her. Unsettled, she calmed the man with a palm against his cheek and looked up, spotting Shad in only a few moments. “Master Shad, please, bring us more water,” she asked kindly.
Immediately embarrassed at being caught staring at her, Shad broke into a nervous flutter, dropping his pen. “I--I … Of course, Your Highness,” he sputtered, scrambling after his pen and using it as a bookmark as he rose and stumbled toward the kitchen counter.
Zelda had watched as Shad rose and moved away, but her eyes did not follow when they caught sight of Link, silent and staring her way. At first, she was shocked at seeing him; it almost felt like seeing a ghost, and she gasped when she met his gaze. Her discomfort soon turned to joy when she saw Link smile at her. It was a weak grin, but seeing him here, standing against all odds … it warmed her heart.
Just as Link began his approach, Shad appeared at the princess’s side, offering her a cup of water. “Thank you,” she said, taking the cup.
“You’re--uh--welcome, Your Highness,” came Shad’s clumsy reply.
She turned her attention back to the knight to help him drink its contents just as Shad noticed the advance of a rather broken and beaten individual.
“Link, ole boy!” shouted Shad, and he slapped a hand merrily against his shoulder, which quaked through Link’s body and struck his wounded chest, producing a sharp intake of breath. Shad immediately stumbled over an apology, but Link waved him off. He knew the bookworm was simply happy to see him alive and well. “I say, perhaps you should sit?” tried Shad, offering Link a chair.
He only leaned against the back, however; bending down to sit and rising again would prove more difficult than standing his ground and bearing with the aches throbbing through him. He took in Shad’s battered appearance, violet jacket cut in a few places, and a single bandage wrapped around his upper arm. There were small scratches along his neck, and Link thought perhaps he had been very fortunate against the claws of a shadow beast. Needless to say, seeing Shad’s awkward smile helped the strength return to him.
“Honey, what are you doin’ out of bed?” called a familiar mothering voice from the doorway. Link turned to see Telma and Ashei on approach. “You sure you’re well enough to be walking around?”
“I’m fine,” assured Link.
Even though he was sure Telma did not believe him, she smiled brightly all the same. “Good to see that face again. There was a lot of talk … lot of worry. I’m sure the soldiers here are happy to see you about.”
“You’re too stubborn to die,” Ashei said plainly, without any hint of emotion.
Link laughed at the warrior woman’s sentiments, but it was immediately choked out of him. He held his chest when he spoke. “It seems I missed a few days.”
His body may have been broken but his spirit had gone unscathed, and it brought a wider smile to Telma’s face. “Well, as you can see, we’ve been tending to the wounded here. Once they’re out of the woods, we’ve been escorting them back to the city. Renado’s got his hands full.” She spotted the shaman in the crowd as he applied a paste to a soldier’s head wound. Her smile turned to one more womanly, a smile carrying a secret. “But he knows his trade.”
There was a moment of silence as Telma’s thoughts lingered, and Ashei filled the void. “We’re ready to take another group,” she told the princess.
Before Zelda could reply, Telma made her way toward Renado, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll just see who’s ready.”
Ashei shook her head, and Link wondered if she was sickened by Telma’s behavior … or jealous. She had always been a lone wolf, seeking the aid of no one and nothing but the skills her father had passed on to her. He wondered if she preferred it that way or if she was so set in her ways that it was difficult to let anyone get close. She nearly snapped at Shad then, “You coming?”
Shad caught himself staring down at the princess again, and he awoke from his daze in an embarrassed stammer of syllables before he managed anything coherent. “Oh! Yes, of course.”
“Good. You can help me finish unloading the provisions then,” she spat, and Shad stumbled after her as she stepped briskly for the door.
Link watched them go with a grin, wondering if the two of them would ever get along. He could only guess that the provisions Ashei had mentioned had been brought from Castle Town to help with the care of the wounded.
The battered hero realized he was at last alone with the princess then. The soldier before her had finally fallen into restful dreams, and she held her gaze there a moment before turning her eyes on Link. Her eyes were the only jewels still on her person, two piercing sapphires staring into their twins she found in Link’s gaze. Neither of them spoke; neither was sure what to say.
Then the princess said only a few words, and Link could feel a thousand more carried in the weight of her voice.
“Link, chosen hero…. Thank you.”
Link could read every worry, every thought, she had ever had in her isolation during Twilight’s reign. He could see every prayer she had ever sent, every hope she had ever wished. She thought perhaps that Link was the only person who could realize the weight that had burdened her all this time. The safety and security of her people had always been paramount to anything else, and Link, as the chosen hero, had also carried the same concerns. Their actions had been the weight that tipped the scale in their favor. Had they wavered, had they faltered … they would have instead been surrounded by corpses.
She felt lighter than she had ever felt before. She could breathe again. And it was all thanks to Link. She grasped his hand and smiled.
He did not know how to respond. He had stood against oppression, stood against a false king and prevailed, and he had never taken any action to serve his own ego. Everything he had ever done he had done for the welfare of those he cared for. Link knew he had always had a choice, but there was never any question that he would speak for those without voice and stand for those who could not. It had never really been a choice. It had only ever been reaction. It was in his blood.
Link coiled his fingers around hers and said plainly, “Give anyone the hope to fulfill a dream and they have the heart of a hero, Princess. I am simply … Link.”
Zelda could not help the smile that stretched her cheeks. After all the things he had done, all the hurts he had healed and the prayers he had answered … he was still so humble and true. “Please, call me Zelda,” she answered.
“Of course … Princess Zelda,” he returned.
She gave a light chuckle at his respectful tone, but she sensed an air of joviality in his voice that teased her. This was the Link she would always remember. This modest youth, broken and smiling, was the one the legends would speak of for ages to come.
She drew her hand back and Link shifted his weight. He coughed and held his chest with a grimace.
“Still sore?” asked Zelda.
He nodded then cocked his head. “But well enough.”
“In that case, there is someone who may wish to see you.” Zelda rose from the slumbering knight’s side and led Link through the rows of makeshift beds toward the door, moving slowly as Link took each step carefully.
Daylight broke across Link’s face when they emerged from the house. Its warm fingers wrapped around him, rejuvenating him inside and out. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of the mountain air. His chest did not pain him as badly, and it made him smile; he really had just needed some fresh air.
“So, who--?” he started to ask, but when he looked to Zelda, she had disappeared from his side. He searched the thoroughfare, but only saw the wagons lining the street and Ashei and Shad unloading crates from the one closest to Renado’s house. There were several Gorons about, too, one coming to the aid of the young scholar when he dropped his crate.
Surely the princess had meant to bring him to Midna, the face he had wanted to see again since she had returned to him on the field. He needed to know that it had not been just his imagination or some elaborate dream he had invented while in recovery.
Link found Zelda in front of the town’s old market, but the figure she stood alongside was not Midna. Auru and Barnes were there, stooped and helping to fix the broken wagon sitting in the road, but it was the third man who stole Link’s attention when he turned. The blacksmith’s lips parted in a silent breath. Link’s chest tightened, squeezing his heart and making it difficult to breathe all of a sudden. Here was the man who had carried him through childhood … the man who had carried him broken and dying from the battlefield.
As Link descended the stairs, holding fast to the railing, Rusl approached. They met a meter apart at the base of the stairs. His cheeks paled as he looked at Link but the color returned in another instant; it was as if his heart had stopped at the sight of him and he had to remember how to breathe. Beneath the bandages under his shirt, the dressings covering the side of his head, the sling in which his broken arm hung … there was the smiling boy he had always known. He had grown so much since leaving Ordon Village; he could see it written with every scar that now addressed his features. But through every change, Rusl could still see that small child swimming in the ocean of his eyes.
Rusl threw his arms around Link then, and the sudden, wordless embrace took the youth by surprise. The blacksmith took care not to hold him too tightly, embracing him around the shoulders to avoid his injuries. In that moment Link remembered when he had been six years old. He had gone off into the woods--much like Talo had done once--and gotten lost. The way Rusl had clung to him once he had been found … Link had never forgotten that comfort, and he lost himself again in that tenderness, returning Rusl’s gesture with his only good arm.
“Link!” The young voice broke them apart, and Link found Colin across the road, pulling Epona along by the reins. He had a half-eaten carrot stick in his hand. “Ilia wanted to take care of you, so I took care of Epona for you.”
Rusl stepped back to give Link room as Colin and his horse approached. Link smiled. Colin had not given him an incredulous look like the others had. He remembered what Ilia had said, about how he had never shown concern over Link’s recovery. Colin had that rare and unbreakable spirit, and he tousled his short sandy hair.
“What’s this?” asked Link, and Colin offered out the carrot he had obviously been feeding Epona. Link grinned. “Her favorite.”
Link presented the vegetable to his horse and patted her forehead after she grabbed it up between her teeth and chewed until it disappeared.
“Did Dad tell you?” asked Colin, and Link turned back to him. Rusl had not spoken a word to him yet, but before he could say anything, the boy was already speaking again. Link wondered where the shy boy had gone. “This wagon broke on the way back from the city, and Dad’s fixing it up for us.” Colin pointed to the wagon Rusl, Auru, and Barnes had been leaning over. “In a few days we’ll be going back home.”
Home….
Link was not sure how to respond, so he said nothing at all.
He had not been to Ordon since before he had helped the Gorons recover their patriarch. The children had waited many days longer to see their homes and parents again. Colin’s comment had taken Link off guard, and a strange feeling overtook him. The feeling, strong an inescapable, was difficult to shield from the boy and the others looking on. His memories of Ordon had not faded, but they had dimmed. Link thought perhaps the sentiment of “home” seemed so alien because he had traveled for so long. Now, Ordon seemed like a dream, a fantasy, compared to the constant war he had been fighting across Hyrule. And, often like dreams, it was hard to remember a place without worries and wars.
Just then the reality of the struggle came crashing down again as nearly thirty horses rounded the cliffs in the distance to the north. The sound of their thundering hooves echoed against the mountain walls. Link turned, noticing the familiar figure of the Hylian general riding at the head of the herd.
Zelda came forward and stepped alongside Link just as the general had reared his horse to a stop and slid from its saddle all in one fluid motion. He marched up to the princess and gave a short, courteous bow before speaking. Link could see exhaustion in his face and heard it in his words. “I am returned, Princess, as you ordered, with as many horses as were available.”
“How many?” she asked.
“Thirty-three,” he said. He looked distressed. “That will mean only eight escorts for you on the road to--”
“It will be enough,” she silenced him. It was not a reprimand; it was reassurance that his worry would serve better elsewhere.
“As you wish,” he returned, and he immediately began spouting orders to the few Hylians who had ridden with him on where and how to corral the horses.
Link looked to Zelda. “I’ve missed more than a few things, Princess.”
His tone was light, but it cut through Zelda. She did not know how best to tell him. She had been trying to find the right words since the night Renado had stitched his wounds, and seeing him standing and smiling in the corner of a room filled with recovering war victims … she realized her time to think had come to an end. Her words were heavy when she spoke, laced with a melody much like a mother lying to protect a child. “The Twilight Princess and her people will return home soon,” she said, scrutinizing Link’s eyes’ every sparkle and twitch at the news. She could not read his thoughts as she let her words sink in.
All at once the small grin that had danced across Link’s face had tumbled into a thin line. “It seems we’re all heading home” was his only response … before he realized: “Her people?”
“Yes. When you defeated Ganondorf, the curse on her people was lifted. Twenty-three of the Twili live because of you.” Zelda hoped that the news would cheer Link’s mood, but he only nodded in a show of his gratitude. His thoughts ran deep, impenetrable. Zelda continued, “She has asked for an escort. Myself and eight of my guards will accompany her, and … she asked if you would be well enough to come also.”
Link’s eyes fell inward in that moment, and memories came rushing back to him … of a quiet night at the edge of the desert wastes. It had been the first time Midna had truly opened up to him, when she had told him the truth of her nature. The fear written through her face had been unmistakable. The agony in her eye. The soft tremble in her fragile fingers against his cheek. “You’ll come into the twilight with me … won’t you?” she had asked, almost pleading to never be left alone again.
“She’s never had to ask me,” said Link. He turned away with the intention of asking Rusl when the Ordonians might be ready for their voyage home … when he saw a flutter in the distance. A shadow played with his eyes, and on instinct, he flung his hand up to reach for his sword only to find it missing. In that moment the shape moved and he recognized it immediately. The tips of his raised fingers absentmindedly stroked his cheek as if grasping for a hand that had never truly left him.
Standing at the edge of the spirit spring was Midna, head bowed forward and cloak flapping in the breeze. Link thought that perhaps she prayed, or perhaps thanked the spirits for their help on her quest. He watched her silently for many long moments and wondered how long she had stood there, alone and unmoving.
In truth, Midna had been praying for Link. Every day for the last five days, she had come with her pleas to Eldin to return Link’s health as the spirits had done so many times before. She did not understand the practice of medicine, and thus, shadow had begged light for one last favor.
She opened her eyes and could hear the soft hum of Elidn echoing from the water through her bare toes. It renewed her hope and she turned to head back into the house, back to Link’s sleeping side, where she had always gone after sending her prayers.
Their eyes met then, and she stopped in her tracks. Seeing him there was like seeing him for the first time again. Not as a wolf. He had snarled and barked at her during their first meeting. However, when he had transformed into the likeness of the hero he had now become … she could remember everything about the way his blond hair fell around his cheeks under his hat and the way the water of the spirit spring reflected in his crystal eyes. She remembered how the sight of the light dweller had caught her off guard and how she had buried any feelings for Link. He had been a tool, the one person in all the light realm who could help her, and she had left her thoughts at that.
Now, however, when she looked at him…. She felt such shame for the way she had acted, the way she had let her hatred blind her. She wanted to apologize for everything, but she could not find the words and so remained at a distance.
I found you … was Link’s sole thought when his eyes locked on hers. And it brought a memory back to him. Those had been the first words Midna had ever spoken to him, and it felt like years ago when he had first been transformed and locked away in Hyrule Castle, his only salvation found in a heartless little creature. Thinking back on his first days with Midna, it was strange to realize how much they had grown to depend on and care for each other. In the beginning he had wanted nothing more than to see Midna leave and never return.
He wanted to tell her, wanted to tell her everything, but he stumbled over the words. Looking into her eyes left him as mute as Ilia’s gaze once had. Yet, it was something more. A lingering sadness filled Midna’s eyes. He wanted to comfort her, to ask what plagued her, but then he realized.
There was no need for words. Words would only carry the thing they both now feared.
Soon their path together would divide.
A booming voice broke Link’s musings. “We soon leave as well.”
Link turned to find that the Goron patriarch now stood before Princess Zelda. “Thank you for your help, Patriarch Darbus. May the goddesses shine on you.”
As Gor Coron stepped up alongside his towering patriarch, Zelda explained to Link how the Gorons had descended from their mountain when the battle had broken ground. Once they had reached the field, however, the battle had ended and he had collapsed. Apparently, it was thanks to the Gorons that so many had made it to Kakariko in time for Renado to heal them.
“It seems once again, this puny human has shown strength equal to a Goron,” said Gor Coron with the hideous expression that passed for a smile.
“Strength indeed, human, but not like a Goron!” chuckled Darbus, and Link had to remind himself that the elders had chosen to leave their patriarch in the dark about how the curse upon him had lifted.
The elder looked to Princess Zelda. “If you should ever need the Gorons again, our mountains are open to you.”
“Thank you,” said the princess with a short bow.
Though his chest still rocked with pain, Link lowered his hand from his ribs before asking, “May I go with you?”
“To the mountains?” The thought of this wounded Hylian traversing their cliffs confused the elder.
Link nodded, and Gor Coron looked him over, seeing past his ruse. The Goron had a keen eye for strength and could see that Link’s injuries still pained him, but the will of the small human rose against the pain. There was more to strength than the might of one’s muscles. He could see that Link would ascend their mountain with or without them. For what purpose, he did not know and did not ask. “We leave soon. Meet us at the edge of the village.”
As the Gorons turned away, Link stepped away from Zelda as she and the others watched in bewilderment as he ascended the stairs of Renado’s dwelling. He did not lean against the railing for support, and he struggled on only a stair before regaining his balance. They each wanted to climb after him, to question his judgment of heading into the mountains in his condition, but none followed after him.
Midna remained at a distance, watching Link, understanding. She had spent much time within his shadow, and they had felt each other’s strongest emotions. She understood why he wished to join the Gorons, and she would not interfere.
When Link entered the building and started for the stairs, Renado was there to head him off. The shaman reprimanded him softly for having left his bed. Link apologized but assured the man he was well. He had rested enough. Still, Renado pushed a cup into his hand and urged him to drink the strange red concoction within it. It had the reeking odor of medicine, but Link did not complain. Once the liquid hit his lips, its sweet taste washed away its peculiar aroma. He felt reenergized immediately and thanked the shaman. Reluctant to leave Link, Renado recovered the glass and turned toward his other patients.
Renado worried for the wounded Link and what he might do next, but he could not help the smile that lifted the corner of his lips. He could remember how willful Link had been the first time they had met. Even then Link had been untamable; nothing had held him back, and it was good to see that the challenges he had faced had done little to change his best--if not sometimes flawed--qualities.
The potion Link had drunk had calmed the aches raging through his body, and the numbed pain made it far easier to ascend the stairs. Once back in the upstairs room, he realized he had not been the only occupant--at least, at one time. The other beds covering the room were still unmade from where surely the sickest of the soldiers had rested after treatment. He wondered if they had indeed recovered or if the worst had befallen them.
Link looked about for his tunic and found it among a pile of clothes resting on a chair in the corner by the window. He stepped over to it and the sight of Auru and Barnes arguing over something dealing with the wagon’s repair made him snort a laugh. Carefully, he lifted the collar of his tunic over his head and let the garment fall around his body. With some difficulty, he tightened the laces along its sides before equipping his belt--with the help of his elbow holding one side in place as he clasped it.
He stood there a moment, watching through the window as the others had resumed their work in his absence. Rusl worked on the broken axel as Barnes continued to rage. Zelda had gone to her general--perhaps to discuss their travel arrangements into the desert. The thought of Midna led Link’s eye to the spring again, but the Twilight Princess no longer stood at its edge. Though he knew she had not gone far, her disappearance troubled him, and he turned away from the window.
===============
The road up the mountains had troubled Link little with the assistance of the Gorons. Though he had insisted he was well enough to travel by foot, Darbus had plucked Link up as gently as any Goron could and given up his shoulders as the young hero’s seat for the journey. Link was surprised at how balanced the Goron’s stride carried him. Very few steps sent Link jostling from one side to the other, and he was deeply grateful and honored that the patriarch had seen to his care.
Link sat nearly four meters tall astride the great Goron patriarch, and he watched as some Gorons chose to curl into rocky boulders and roll up the narrow mountain paths while others elected to keep pace with their elders on foot. Though they walked, a Goron’s gait was swift even given their short, stout legs, and they made quick progress through the cliffs. They were mostly silent on the road, words exchanged only occasionally when Darbus gloated to Link about the wonder of their mountains.
After an hour they had reached the base of their central mountain home, and before long, they had climbed the mountain and come to the mouth of the cavern entrance to their mines. It was here that Darbus stooped to allow Link’s departure. Link thanked the Gorons for their companionship and assistance. The Gorons retreated into the cavern with chest-thumping, voice-booming farewells.
Left to his own company, Link turned away from the cavern and stepped up to the edge of the cliff face. He stared out into the surrounding peaks, the sun gleaming across the surface of each summit. He could see every crevice, every slant in the mountain range. He closed his eyes, the breeze gently toying with the unkempt strands of hair hanging from every angle of his head.
A very long time ago, he had stood here, admiring the end of a treacherous day. On that evening he had seen many more arduous days waiting beyond the horizon before he would finally be able to take up rest. Throughout his journey he had looked back on that day, imagined himself standing alive and well atop this very mountain. From here he had once seen lands alien to him, but now, when he opened his eyes he found memories in every corner of the fields and mountains and rivers beyond.
Link struggled to sit at the edge, feet dangling and back resting against a boulder. He blew out a fatigued breath and sat in silence. There were so many thoughts swimming in his head that it was hard to focus. He could barely believe he was even sitting there. “I’ll come back … when it’s all over…” he had promised himself, and he had held true to that.
When it’s over… thought Link. It’s … really over….
It was difficult to absorb. Everything in the last few hours had been hard to swallow. Everyone had had five days to digest what had happened and accept that the time of war had indeed ended, but for Link … it was like waking to a dream. It took him a long time to realize the fighting had truly come to an end, that Ganondorf no longer drew breath. He could remember now with perfect clarity the last moments of the demon and how he had stood, perfectly balanced, in death.
Link had been bombarded with information the moment he had woken, how they had ended up in Kakariko, the fate of the Hylian soldiers, the coming departure of the Ordonians, the wellbeing of the Twili … the coming exodus of Midna and her people.
As evening slowly came, Link’s thoughts lingered more toward Midna and the Twilight. Deep reds hung in the sky, shadowing the mountain range in a tint of orange. The color reminded Link of Midna’s flowing ginger hair and how her bangs now gathered in soft tresses around cheeks that mirrored a perfect, cloudless sky. It was still strange to see Midna in such a human body. All the memories he had made with her had been shared by that sly, round-faced little imp, but seeing her in her true form, in her real body, it proved that all their hopes had come to fruition. Without the death of Ganondorf, retaking her natural form would have been impossible. Her delicate face was all the proof he needed to reassure himself that the end had indeed come.
Link felt thumps vibrate through him and heard roars and cheers from inside the mountain behind him. He remembered the sound of lively Gorons and knew without a sliver of a doubt that the Gorons were celebrating the newfound peace over Hyrule in a round of sumo matches.
Overhearing their festivities made Link think back on all the others he had met throughout his journey. Prince Ralis of the Zoras had left before he had been able to personally speak to him about his late mother. It had been Renado who had told the young boy that his mother had perished. He wondered how Ralis had taken the news and how he was managing his mother’s legacy. Link wanted to imagine that Queen Rutela, though at peace, still watched over him from time to time, easing his ills and calming his anxiety at inheriting the throne at so young an age.
Then there were the yetis of Snowpeak. Link still felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the girl he had nearly killed in his mission to collect the shards of the Mirror of Twilight, how hysterical Yeto had been when he had finally broken into the bedroom. Link had never seen Yeta other than during her illness from the dark magic, and he wondered if she was always as quiet as she had been in Link’s presence or if the departure of the shard had livened her spirits to match that of her boisterous husband. Link had seen true devotion in them; all they needed to survive was each other.
He looked down toward the village. He could not distinguish one figure from the other at this distance, but he knew Princess Zelda, Rusl and Colin, and so many others were among the shapes moving about. In a day or so, each would begin their voyage, some to Ordon, others to the city, while he rode with the entourage heading East.
His eyes fluttered from one figure to the next, trying to decide if he had that one thing--like Yeto and Yeta--that he could not live without.
Every answer he considered frightened him, so he tried not to think about it.
Link turned away to regain his peace. He watched as shadows overtook the evening sky, finding them both beautiful and serene.