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Chapter Text

The grim tolling of the castle bell filled the kingdom with mourning. From watching her father’s reign fall, to waging an open rebellion against the Evil King Ganondorf with the Hero of Time, to finally rebuilding a new kingdom, Queen Zelda Hyrule I certainly deserved her eternal rest. The white haired woman looked with scorn at the wax dummy that was going to be buried in her stead and reflected on the legacy it was supposed to represent. 

The first queen tirelessly rebuilt her kingdom upon a foundation rooted in power, wisdom, and courage. In her vision, she would rebuild Castle Town with such grandeur so that a commoner could feel as wealthy as her lords, restore her people’s right to rule, and select the most capable heir to carry on her mission.

“You fool,” she scolded herself quietly for all of her shortsighted decisions and her idealistic ambitions, which had instead invited the whispers of war into her court.

Where did the Beholder of Wisdom go wrong? Should she have remarried and kept the traditional system? Would more festivities have lessened tensions between the Hylians and the many races living in the city? Perhaps she should have prevented her mighty lords from becoming so powerful? Alas, at this point, only the Goddesses knew what might have changed had Zelda made different decisions, but none of her foolishness would matter anymore.

For though the former queen was publicly declared dead, Zelda had one final divine mission.

A frail voice squeaked from behind her, “Are you ready yet?” Zelda gave herself ten more heartbeats to stare in contempt before departing. Impa, who was once tall and majestic but now reduced to hunching over and walking with a cane, placed her hardened hands on Zelda's shoulder, "Don't be hard on yourself. Even Nayru couldn't have ruled as well as you did."

Although Zelda refused to believe that statement, she forced a smile on her face to accept the compliment. But all she could muster was an earnest response, “That means much to me, coming from you.”

It was neither appropriate nor easy to imagine how someone else would have handled rebuilding the kingdom differently, but it was a kind gesture nevertheless. The least Zelda could do for Impa was to make their last memory together a pleasant one. The old guardian was ancient, but because of her family’s extreme longevity, she would outlive the Queen and several others. Impa's counsel to the next queen would be Zelda’s only symbol of hope left.

Wearing heavy robes to disguise themselves through the cold night, they strolled through the lowest levels of the castle dungeons. Beneath the prisoner cells, dark tunnels and narrow walkways twisted and stretched on until they opened the rusty metal door at the end of a hall and revealed the cavernous halls of the old castle that made up the foundations of Hyrule Castle. As Zelda walked across the abandoned ruins that once belonged to Ganondorf, old memories of her historic battle alongside the Hero of Time began resurfacing.

Eventually, the paved walkways turned into rubble, where walking became a struggle for Zelda’s and Impa’s frailer frames. The deeper they traversed through the ruins, the tighter the spaces and the rougher the road, great pains just to sneak out unseen. Afterall, Zelda was declared dead the day before yesterday, and it would be detrimental for anybody to claim that she was still alive.

After squeezing through the tightest tunnels, they finally emerged from the depths of the castle-side cliff to a secluded pathway that led to the old town ruins below. Greeting them on the other side was a single horse bred from the royal line carrying everything she needed to undertake her final mission to the Goddesses. But before she mounted her ride, she hugged Impa for the last time, whose motherly warmth instantly brought tears to Zelda’s eyes.

“Goodbye,” Zelda quietly sobbed, “and thank you. For everything.” It was hard to leave the embrace, for Zelda wanted to stay like this until the end of time.

It was Impa who pulled away, reminding the Queen of her last duty to the Goddesses. She placed her hand on Zelda’s face, “No, thank you, my child, for everything. I know it wasn’t easy for you to transition into womanhood but, I couldn’t have been prouder of all your accomplishments, and I know your father would have felt the same way.”

“Thank you,” Zelda choked back a tear. “May I say a prayer before I leave?”

“Of course, my liege,” Impa bowed her head and took Zelda’s hands into hers.

With the tense state of the kingdom, Zelda sighed, “Divine Mothers of Hyrule, please watch over this kingdom and her people. Guide our new leader unto peace and prosperity. Let the hatred amongst my people wash away. And bless my mother here with good health so she may advise the next several Queens with her seasoned wisdom.”

“May it be so…” Impa replied with a breath of pessimism accidentally while patting Zelda’s hand softly.

Mother and daughter stood in silence for a few more minutes before Zelda finally broke the silence, “... Farewell.” Extending their parting a little longer, she finally mounted and rode down the windy path carved into the cliffside toward Old Castle Town, where the old temple of time was located.

It had been decades since Zelda last stepped inside the abandoned settlement. The fanfare and joviality when she was a child disappeared when Ganondorf took over and never returned. Though she ordered the area to be put to the torch, cleansing her childhood memories with fire, it ultimately did nothing to quell people’s fears. Instead, the ruined settlement became home for lost souls and other dangerous creatures.

Even under the shadow of the castle and the cover of darkness, Zelda could feel seedy eyes glaring at her as she rode down the main road. Completely absent of worries, she dismounted her horse once she could hear noise coming from the Temple of Time and unpacked the blunted arming sword.

From the loud chatter, Zelda’s trained hearing distinguished four different voices. “You’re gonna wake the whole bloody place if you use that much powder!” The first one’s protests could be heard most clearly. Without seeing any of his features, Zelda guessed he was around age twenty, and his impatience grew by the minute the longer he kept watch.

“Don’t matter,” argued the second voice, older and agitated with the young one’s frightened state, “s’posed to be in and out! I’m not trying to dally here any longer than I got to.” Zelda knew there was no force strong enough to destroy the divine doors, but there were also no records of the usage of explosives against them. She would not find out here.

“Shut up!” protested a third male, younger than the other two. “You’re gonna wake the redeads! Let’s just go with what Ofiro said and use the whole powder.”

“Oy, quiet down,” warned the fourth person, “someone’s coming.”

She approached with no ill intentions toward the four men. In the late hours of the evening, it was hard to see any clear details of anybody, but Zelda, who was trained to act in the darkness, could feel their presence as clearly as though they were in the daylight.

“Whadya want?” shouted one.

“Back off, this don’t concern ya!” yelled another, unleashing his blade along with the others.

Zelda responded to their escalation with a long hiss from her own weapon unsheathing. The four ruffians charged at her with a howl.

Four against one at night would have been a disadvantage for any of her finest knights, but for Queen Zelda, who overthrew the King of Thieves with the upbringing of the Shadow Folk, this was child’s play.

As the other three flanked around her, the first attacker, much larger than his companions, initiated a sloppy overhand across her chest, just as she stepped into a shadow. With his sight limited, the big brute extended his hand way too late. Taking advantage of his overcommitted momentum, Zelda lunged forth, met his blade with her own, placed her free hand onto the inside of his elbow, and then guided his momentum over her hip before slamming him to the ground. To maintain control over him, she stepped on his wrist and planted her body weight to limit his movement.

Without wasting another heartbeat, she swung her sword upward at the man to her left before he had time to react, hit him in the wrist, and knocked his weapon out of his hand simultaneously.

Slicing the blade away without cutting him, she continued the momentum of her sword to her right side and caught the next incoming attack.

Parrying and shifting her weight towards the third attacker’s side, Zelda used her free hand to grab his elbow and hold him in place, giving her enough time to deal with a thrust at her belly from the final enemy.

Pivoting on the first man’s wrist, she parried the stab with a downward sweep and slammed the dull edge into his exposed temple, knocking him out without further disagreement. Then without a heartbeat to waste, she stepped off the prone man’s wrist and delivered a devastating kick to his head.

Using the pommel to strike the scrawny thief she was holding, Zelda pushed the tip of her blade into the man’s neck and whispered coldly, “Leave this sacred ground!” before dropping him onto the ground.

“I’m sorry guys, I’m outta here!” he yelped as he carried his unconscious companion away. The other two followed suit, screaming something about finding an easier way to score money without risking their lives.

The Temple of Time would be safe again, for now. Returning her sword back to its scabbard, Zelda approached the ancient temple, now covered in vines, and ascended the steps, kicking aside the unfinished bomb.

When she gently placed her right hand on the temple doors, the Mark of Goddesses on the back of her hand, one of three given to her, the Hero, and the King of Thieves, shined brightly for a brief minute before the doors finally released the magical lock. Stepping through, she found the empty space surprisingly illuminated and untouched, just as it was when the Hero stepped out of the chamber. So much time had passed since the last time she stepped inside the decaying building as a young princess she could not believe the interior, which had seen war and a massive fire, remained undamaged.

Age mattered little to the temple dedicated to the sacred nature of time. The red carpet leading the way to the pedestal holding the Master Sword had not lost any of its vibrancy, nor had the brightness of the white walls faded either. The natural light inside gave Zelda a sense of calm and happiness. No matter how much time would pass, the Goddesses’ blessings would always protect the temple’s enclosure.

The mark on her right hand shined fiercely and beckoned her to come forth and fulfill her divine mission. The sword would know who she was.

Even if someone unblessed with the Mark of the Goddesses had managed to break into the Temple, the Master Sword would not budge for anybody. It had its own spirit and was very picky about its handler. When she gently wrapped her fingers around the hilt, she could feel the sword’s energy sapping her own life force, judging her for all of her deeds. Growing weaker by the heartbeat, she strained and sustained with all her might, fighting through pain and anguish, until the sword finally realized who was pulling it and released itself from its hold.

Zelda wrapped the sword quickly in a velvet cloth and hurried out of the temple before anyone realized that the sacred door that was sealed for nearly five decades was finally open. She placed the Master Sword on the back of the horse and rode out of Castle Town swiftly.

As Zelda rode across the great Hylian fields with the covered artifact resting on her lap, the Master Sword seemed to possess a spirit guiding her. Throughout the uneventful journey, she passed the time by revisiting her favorite memories with the Hero. After ten days of traveling, she finally reached the edge of the Lost Woods, where she departed from her horse at a village on the outskirts. Shielding her identity and carrying nothing but the covered sword in hand, she only traded with the locals for some rations to last her a few days in the woods.

Although anyone who wandered into the Lost Woods would inevitably become that, lost, Zelda’s divine mark on her hand led the way. The Goddess of Wisdom had blessed her with an intuition that would guide the Master Sword to its new home. Zelda had no problem wandering through the thicket, for all the creatures of the forest seemed to know not to bother her. She could simply walk forward, guided by the heat of the mark growing as she neared her destination.

Suddenly, the forest went dead silent; not a bird’s call, nor even the slightest breeze rustling the branches, pierced the silent atmosphere. Zelda could only hear the grass underneath her feet as she stepped into a strange clearing in the woods, with another mysterious pedestal, one she never knew about in her life, in the center. There were many questions surrounding this pedestal, but the sword knew that it was at home.

Zelda could feel the Master Sword pull her toward the perfectly cut, triangular stone, but when she approached the mysterious pedestal, she suddenly felt immense fatigue and collapsed to her knees. Her life was diminishing rapidly, and so too was her breathing. The legendary weapon felt heavier in her hands with each step toward its new home. When she finally reached the pedestal, she lifted the sword up in preparation and prayed with as much emotion she could muster.

“Please, Goddesses may there be someone worthy enough to carry this sword, once again…”

Then she plunged the blade into its eternal resting spot. The sword felt stiff and heavy, as if it were part of the earth. Here, there would be no one who would dare disturb its slumber.

Zelda knelt down by the Master Sword, the eternal memory of the man she once loved. Her memories filled her mind with every sensation she remembered feeling for him. Those were her last pleasant thoughts before she closed her eyes.

Please, let there be just one person worthy enough to carry this sword once again…

Chapter Text

Link could barely see in front of him as he chased after his best friend. Two children had ventured beyond the safety of home and entered the vast ocean of green grass and wavy hills.

Despite the intense sun, his skin caught a malicious breeze from the open skies instead. At first the chill was mild, but as he continued running after her, the breeze began to feel like a thousand daggers scraping against his skin.

Link had to keep on running. No matter how hard his heart was pumping, Link needed to see his best friend again. Just one more time.

It was not until he recognized the familiar dark green, pointed roofs atop Faron Manor, when he suddenly realized where she was going. Familiar but lost memories erupted from Link’s head as they ran into the forsaken village filled with nothing but pain.

“Wait!” Link screamed as loudly as his chest allowed, “Don’t go that way! Come back!”

They ran past a house where all the scary adults wearing metal clothing lived, evoking memories of torture and pain, into the wheat fields where all their bodies broke, past the farms and the orchards that entrapped them, and finally into the path through the forest, to where they called home for many harsh years.

Her bright, golden hair led him further into the darkest recesses of his consciousness, and he dutifully followed her into the darkness. No matter how hard he tried, “Stop! Please!” his breath was wasted on her deaf ears, no matter how hoarse his throat became. When they emerged into a clearing where a barn stood, Link’s heart nearly stopped.

Everything was exactly the way it was the day she died.

She slowed to a walk as she neared the center and her body began to radiate a light as strong as the sun’s. “Stop! No!” cried Link as he circled around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face one last time.

She finally stopped at his request, but she knelt down and clasped her hands together as if praying in the same position the last time Link ever saw her. The light pouring from her whole body blinded Link, and by the time the light consumed all of Link’s senses, all he could hear were her last words ever spoken…

“I’m so sorry… I can’t go on any more… Please…”

No, not again. Not this nightmare again.

“Promise me…”

When Link first opened his eyes, the intense brightness from the actual sun flooded his sight and brutally awoke him. The first thing he felt was the bruised rib from the prior night. Grumbling and recalling his close call with death again, Link rolled over onto his side and winced in pain as he accidentally bumped into a tombstone, further aggravating the broken components within his body.

Somehow, he was able to keep his promise for another day.

By necessity, Link needed to know where every safe, isolated shelter was located, and a temple cemetery was an obvious choice. It was hard enough finding a safe place to sleep for a homeless child in the murder capital of the kingdom, let alone live with no money. The graveyard was one of the few places within the city that had enough soil to sustain green life, and for whatever reason, Link had vivid dreams whenever he slept on grass.

Sometimes they were dreams of his best friend long ago, or of a benevolent energy pulling him towards a forest far away, or sometimes even of children playing within a forest. Whatever they were, most of his injuries seemed to disappear overnight after waking up on grass rather than on a bed. Not that a warm and comfy bed wasn’t nice either, but after last night’s bung up, Link needed to recover as soon as possible.

Urgh, what day is it? Link asked himself as he groaned and stretched out his sore muscles. He examined his childlike body. Yep, he was still a child, and he would have to keep waiting for the first visible signs of adulthood to qualify for an honest trade. So until that happened, he had to keep finding new work. It was close to noon, and if Link was lucky, he could make it to the Chancellery in time to snag a lead.

Link may have known many details about the wretched city, such as what direction foot traffic went in what street at what time, who led what gangs and where, and even multiple languages and various dialects, but he recalled next to nothing about himself. Not even his own birth date, let alone his age, the most important numeral people counted to see how many times they could live through the twenty four hour day, the ten day tendo, the nine tendo season, and the four seasons year.

As far as he could remember, he was just another orphaned urchin. Link could not draw an adult male or female face when he tried to picture his parents, but if he ever did, he swore up and down the sacred realm that he would murder them as painfully as possible if he ever found them.

The earliest memory he could actually recall was being chased out of an orphanage by both the adults and the other kids. The first family Link could ever remember tried to kill him, and the only reason why was because the unholy scar on the back of his left hand had branded him a “witch’s spawn”, becoming his most guarded secret.

People normally reacted violently upon seeing it.

The boy checked the bandages covering his left hand. Sweat stained, dirtied, and musty, the long strip of cloth was all that hid his dark secret, but the bandages had gotten loose last night. He looked around him to make sure his hand was out of sight from the public before unraveling the bandages, revealing the faint light glowing through the fabric.

Nothing upset Link more than seeing the unnatural triangular glow on the back of his hand. Even though he had forgotten almost everything about his past, the death of his best friend was permanently chiseled into his mind as well as the back of his hand. He wiped his hand and wrapped it with the dirty linen until his ugly scar was out of sight and out of mind.

As he secured the bandages into a knot, he heard his friend’s motherly voice whispering once again in his mind, You promised me .

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled back at his past.

His empty stomach churned, and his wallet was even emptier, not a good start to his day. Link twisted and stretched against the temple walls as he yawned. Each crack in his hip and back reminded him of the pain from the previous night. But, he survived another day, much as he did not want to, kept his promise, and brought himself another day closer to adulthood. Once that day finally came, he could ask a tradesman to mentor him and welcome him into their guild, and then he could finally forgo his current way of living just outside the law. Until then, Link would have to continue relying on his hazardous trade.

After last night’s disaster, there would certainly be no reward money, but he could at least get a new job. Seeking a shortcut, Link squeezed between two buildings and sifted through the alley leading to the Western Bowels, one of many unmaintained districts where the air’s stench oozed from carcasses, dung, and rubbish. Even though it was high noon, the many shoddy bunks, ruins, walkways, and stacked stalls kept the sunlight from reaching the bottom. Though no sane person would transgress these perilous grounds, Link knew the layout better than he knew his own past.

As he approached a familiar cross section, he walked towards the southwest corner, where there was a stone fence and a small hole that had been there for years. Link extended his hand until it was just short of the darkness and waited for his friend to come out and say hi. However, there was no response. Huh, that’s weird . She had always greeted him before ever since he found her as a baby in that same hole years ago, what was different this time?

“Maaooow…” he heard from shadows, her youthful mews had been replaced with an aged tone. Kitty was certainly happy to see him, but he could sense fear in her. As he reached into the shadows to touch her, she retreated further back, finally hissing as her last warning. Link retracted his hand as she asked, but then she extended her head into his palm and pressed like she used to, resurrecting their relationship once more.

Her orange fur was no longer silky smooth and felt matted and sticky. Link had a bad feeling this was going to be the last time. After several heartbeats of contact with the cat, he began to hear her thoughts, a special gift he did not share with other children.

I’m sorry, child, I did not recognize you , her elderly voice echoed in his head. I am getting old.

Old? He always remembered her as an energetic young cat but… how long ago was that?

He was not ready to say goodbye, but her bony body felt like it could break at the slightest hint of pressure. His day could not get any worse. I’m so sorry , he thought in his head. Is there anything I can do? Just to make her feel better.

There is nothing. Kitty purred as she continued pressing her head against his hand, Thank you for all these years .

All these years … Link could have sworn on his life she was just a kitten two years ago. How old was she really? And how old was he? Did cats really become that old in two years? Link examined his roughened palm for a minute. He still had the hands of a ten year old boy, but they had the callouses and scars of a twenty year veteran. If only he could remember better.

His sensitive ears picked up hostility off in the distance, cutting their farewell short and sending him scurrying like a rat for a place to hide. Normally, no one was stupid enough to brave the backroads, unless there was a whole crowd of people.

Peeking around an abandoned cityhouse, he spotted an angry mob of peasants dragging tied up children behind them. Link sighed. If the children were lucky, they would be hanged; if they weren’t, they would be burned alive. Times were tough, tough enough for the ignorant laymen to blame anyone not Hylian for all their problems, and they liked to make a show of the many urchins drifting along the city’s underbelly. Most, if not all, of the children were no more than kids born without a family like Link. The only difference between Link and them was that Link was safely hidden.

“Death to the witches!” was their unified rallying cry, a prayer that murdering children would make their problems go away. While the main host marched down the street, several zealots spread forth to search for children through the nooks and crannies of the ruins. Utter chaos followed wherever the mob went. Screams could be heard as kids were plucked from their hiding spots or running for safety. An ugly, bearded man stuck his head past the broken wall where Link was hiding.

Link had to climb up, hoisting his small body into the shadow of the ceiling before the brute could turn his head around the corner. His eye flashed to his left hand which was clearly visible in the shadows, betraying him by potentially revealing his position. However, the dumb man never looked upward and moved on to the next den to continue his hunt.

The boy sprung across the corner and dove into a hole in the floorboard, squeezing past just far enough underneath out of the reach of grabbing hands. As the zealots gave up their pursuit, they moved on to search another building. He did not leave the safety of his hiding spot until he could determine beyond a shadow of a doubt that the mob had passed, until all he could hear was the beating of his own chest.

Poking his head out just enough to see above the floor, he suppressed breathing as much as possible to listen for the slightest noise. Once he determined there was no more movement, he finally climbed out and returned to the hole where Kitty was to say his last goodbye.

“I gotta go, Kitty, I dunno know when I’ll see you next, but I hope it’s soon,” he said as he reached into the hole to pet her once more. He heard a short hiss. Link peeked inside, but she had retreated far into the shadows of the cavity. But she revealed something in her place…

A blue rupee, a small jewel worth enough to buy him a hot meal at a tavern. Wondering how long she must have kept it there, Link stuffed the rupee into his small leathery wallet, and quickly prayed for her health.

Link traveled northward under the afternoon sun, the conditions of the urban environment improving noticeably as he went, until he just crossed the Great Curtain, the massive arch bridge above him that connected the two cliffs above the city. Cutting through the middle of the city neatly, with many watchmen stationed underneath the immense archways to keep the unwanted from venturing further north to where the landlords lived. Link reached the only place in the city, a small bureaucracy neatly squeezed between two residences designed to appear like they were dormant, where he could find work and nobody would ask questions

The Chancellery of Criminal Hunting, the official birthplace of the royal bounty hunter, where any fool who could hold a sword could try their luck at dispatching justice in the name of her majesty, and only one in four lived past the age of thirty. Link had lost track of how long he had been visiting the chancellery for work, but after observing countless hunters come and die, he reckoned he was one of only a hundred who made it as far as he had, enough to have his own personal handler, whose own chancery was located in the rear on the second floor by a courtyard.

The moment Link landed onto the window sill of Oscar’s personal workspace, the candle went out, and from the consuming darkness, the administrator acknowledged the boy, “Scar.” Link hated that nickname. “How did it go?”

“He uh,” Link hesitated before breaking the bad news, “He escaped, and fled the city.”

“Hmph,” Oscar said nonchalantly as he searched for the fire starter, “then let the bandits decide his fate. It saves the Crown from paying failures.” Once light returned to the room, his weary brown eyes were deadlocked with Link’s, “How can I help you?”

After an unknown number of years of working for the bounty handler, there was still no way to read the scheming thoughts festering and colluding behind the stoic, passive face. His tailored robe was made from a modest brown fabric, a cheap color to match a low ranking administrator’s wealth. He wore no gaudy jewelry, just a slightly rusted iron chain.

Link wanted to avoid Oscar’s piercing glare by looking at anything that did not resemble a pair of eyes, but that was near impossible with the plentiful sketches of criminals plastered all over the walls.

Link’s empty stomach roared loudly, “I don’t suppose you have another bounty ready?”

All Link received was a short silence before the middle aged bureaucrat broke the stare and shifted through some unorganized piles of paperwork, “Unfortunately not at the moment…” Fat chance. There was always work in the dangerous city, and with gangs spreading across the city recently, there was no shortage of demand for hunters.

Had Link not spent the last few years studying the art of reading subtleties, he would have missed the sly smirk creeping on Oscar’s wrinkled face. But… Link wanted to say out loud in anticipation.

“But…” Oscar paused to retrieve something through his messy mound of papers, a small envelope, and walked to the window with the candle in his other hand, “the Judicator personally requested me to find someone in the area to, discreetly, take care of an errand.”

Subterfuge; something Link was good at but avoided altogether. Being on the wrong side of the law had far more risks, but if the request came from the law itself… “The old man delivered the request?” asked Link, there was no error that could be overlooked. 

Oscar smiled reassuringly, “From Sir Mawar himself.” His slightly curled lips were not only hard to read, but also carried the exact enigma of the man who employed him. If a retired Royal Guard who sat at the highest seat in the Queen’s court personally wanted someone quietly removed, the bounty handler was surely the best one to approach. The governmental sponsorship was all Link needed.

“What’s the pay?” he asked.

The handler held out the envelope, “The condition is that unsealing it means you accept the task.”

Link’s heart sank. It was a job for the desperate, most likely an assassination, a bounty beneath the law. It must be. No other kind of assignment could be so important that Nayru's Judicator could not trust someone from his own branch with the details. No matter what official sponsored the bounty, this assignment possessed serious repercussions, no matter how trivial the target.

After feeling the painful twist in his empty belly, Link grabbed the envelope. The light from the candle outlined the Royal crest firmly stamped onto the wax seal. It was as good as Sir Mawar’s signature. He released the deep breath he had been holding in and then broke the seal open, pulling out a small parchment from the envelope.

Sabotage
302 Nayru Lane

“Wait, what’s the pay?” Link asked, but before his eyes could search through the four written words and the blank space for the missing answer to his question, Oscar moved the candlelight forward and brought contact between the fire and the parchment. After one lick from the candle and an ill timed breeze, the very flammable instructions burst into flames.

The fire climbed up the dry parchment much more quickly than Link anticipated, but by the time his fingers released it, he realized that the fire was transforming the burning parchment into an orange colored smoke that violently flew upwards into Link’s face. Once he recognized the color and the distinct, herbal fragrance, there was no use covering his nose. He frowned into a deathly glare as the orange wisps gently brushed against his cheeks and nostrils.

It wasn’t long before the dogs could be heard barking through the other side of the door, alerted to the unique smell of the smoke. Normally a punishment for hunters who killed innocent bystanders, the marking smoke remained in the lungs for many years, had only one antidote, and they possessed it. Link finally punctuated his fury, “You. Bastard. Sonuva. Whore.”

Scratching and pounding on the door accompanied shouting, “Open up!” Oscar slowly sauntered to the door and placed his finger just underneath the latch. “Is everything okay in there?”

Link glowered threateningly at Oscar, “What happens if I don’t stay quiet?”

The bluff did not waver the bureaucrat at all, “Then I hope you can find a different career.”

It was fabled to be impossible to escape Sir Mawar’s eyes, which seemed to reach every corner in every basement and even the sewers underneath. However, Link knew exactly how true those myths were.

There was nothing more Oscar needed to say to Link: the task was given, the bureaucrat knew not what the instructions were, and there would be trouble if Link did not leave. The boy plotted a thousand different revenges as he dove out the window, catching a branch on his way down, and landed as the dogs were barking from out the window.

Chapter Text

She came to the city on a journey to search for her lost and forgotten friend and would never forget the moment she regretted that decision.

The sky was blue, the sun was bright, and underneath the beautiful weather was a butcher slaughtering a goat for all the world to see. Miro Miro nearly fainted and fell when she saw the goat’s life force drain from the poor animal’s now opened throat. A nauseating wave washed over any fear of entering the city and revealed a sense of living beyond the force driven by guilt. She truly felt alive for the first time.

Miro Miro’s first instinct upon watching the goat’s final, dying heartbeats was to fly away and get out of the fabled city carved into the mountain, but she couldn’t help but stare at the gore. It was hard to believe that she had never seen anything so grotesque in her hundreds of years of existence. It was common sense, no matter how shielded from the unpleasantries of the Lost Woods’ vicious ecosystem, that monsters ate and killed each other, but this…

This was something entirely different. This poor animal had no choice but to anticipate its final precious heartbeats of life. Miro Miro could almost feel the strong hands clamped on the jaw and the cold steel sliding across flesh. Witnessing death first hand introduced a plethora of turbulent emotions crashing through her head. Next to the butcher was presumably his beautiful wife, a dainty woman who looked like she had no business skinning rabbits, but her bloodied hands and flawless technique said otherwise. Miro Miro wretched in disgust as the woman exposed the bloody fresh meat for her hungry customers to see.

Discomfort brewed within the tiny fairy. She was nothing more than a condensed ball of energy trapped in a strange place far away from her home, with only two wings to keep her safe from trouble. However, her energy was bright enough to attract much unwanted attention, so she hoped there were no creatures at night that would take interest in a little floating ball of light.

Her handsomely young companion, a Hylian man she met in the Lost Woods, took a deep breath of fresh air. The summer sun and his gorgeous smile made his eyes almost look like they were squinted shut. His long, greasy and grime filled hair gleamed in the sunlight, a result of many days without bathing. All along the four day journey with the merchant's caravan to Hyrule Castle City, the other caravaneers kept a distance from him for his strong odor and squalid appearance. It was their loss, in Miro Miro’s opinion. Her new best friend was as friendly as the children in her home and as wise as the Great Deku Tree.

“I take it you don’t see death too often?” asked Rowark.

Rowark’s gentle voice suddenly snapped her focus away from the carnage. “Oh, no haha,” was her uneasy yet honest answer, “I suppose Father had done a splendid job keeping horrifying things away from the Kokiri Village. Still, I have never seen anything quite as grotesque as that.”

“Worse than the skulltula?” Rowark’s reminder violently triggered the memory of the eight legged monster who was about to have Miro Miro for lunch.

“Well, that was just frightening!” Miro Miro countered fervently, “This is just… wrong? I don’t know…” Was it wrong to restrain an innocent life and slaughter it? According to Father’s laws back in the village, the killing of any animal was tantamount to murder and was punishable as so. But if that were true, then she witnessed Rowark commit mass murder.

The Lost Woods contained many dangers and even more unknown dangers. Underneath the dense, dark foliage, the territory only belonged to the strongest. Miro Miro, who had spent the better part of a century living in a village protected by the Great Deku Tree, and Rowark, who grew up here in the city, were certainly outsiders to the Lost Woods, but that had no effect on Rowark at all.

His skills with a soldier’s spear, a scout’s knife, and a torch were proven again and again with each monster he slew. Not only did Rowark cut through babas, skulltulas, countless keese, and even a mighty wolfos, he nimbly danced around each of their attacks with ease. During the many days they spent trekking through the Lost Woods, Rowark made camp, built temporary shelters, and harvested non-toxic foods. Whatever his background was, he was no stranger to the forest.

“... Well at any rate, I still have not been able to thank you properly for your rescue. If you had not shown up-”

“For the hundredth time!” Rowark stressed as politely as possible, “It’s no problem! Thank you for, you know, getting me out of the Lost Woods! I had lost almost all hope of leaving alive!” His hairy grin let out a chuckle, “I need to rejoin my company. You're more than welcome to join me, that is, if you're up for seeing more adventures.” Gut feeling told her to follow Rowark, self-named Hyrule’s most handsome monster slayer.

But guilt told her to betray her feelings instead, “Thank you for the offer, but,” she hesitated, enjoying the last few seconds of her imaginary future life with him, “I must continue my mission.” Her romanticized dream instantly shattered and left only the sting of regret.

“That's fine,” said Rowark with disappointment, “I understand. You seem to care a lot for your companion, so I assume that he means that much to you.” His words felt as warm as his radiant smile did. With him by her side, Miro Miro felt blessed and at ease. Because Rowark was the first person Miro Miro had encountered in ages, it broke her heart to leave his side. “I shall pray for your success. May the Goddesses guide you to your lost friend. But if you're ever bored, just look for me in the Castle Barracks.”

As Rowark was walking away, Miro Miro noticed that his ragtag armor was actually part of a uniform. This was made more clear when Rowark passed by a guard wearing a fresh set. The difference between the two was that Rowark was missing several pieces, and his chest piece was dangling on his shoulder and held together with one strap. One entire season spent in the Lost Woods had reduced the luster of his once golden plates to rust and torn his once regal blue cape, the only thing he possessed to prove loyalty to the Crown, into shredded cloth. The Lost Woods did not treat him kindly. Maybe the civilized society of Hyrule Castle City would?

When a taller, skinnier guard saw Rowark, his scraggly brown beard could not hide his unrestrained excitement in his mouth and eyes. “Rowark!?” his high pitched astonishment squeaked out, “I thought we lost you!”

A loud slap escaped from their fierce embrace, and then a laugh. They continued talking with grins stamped on their faces, but with the deafening hubbub of the city, Miro Miro had trouble eavesdropping on their conversation, reminding her to respect Rowark’s homecoming.

Industrious Hylians, traders and craftsmen, and livestock carrying all sorts of goods crossed in front of Miro Miro on the filthy and rubbish-laid streets. As she hovered in front of the gate’s entrance, next to the butcher’s shop, people crisscrossed in front of her without acknowledging her presence. Strangers of all races paid no mind to each other as they walked through the crowded street.

Anyone who had lived in Faron Woods knew what the Deku looked like. Their flower hats, wooden flesh, bright orange eyes, and short stature were unmistakable. She never thought she would see one, let alone many, so far from the forest, but once she recalled that the Deku were famed merchants and traders, she supposed it made sense that so many would reside in a city filled with trade. None of the Deku were carrying their own merchandise, unlike the physically stronger Hylians. While the rest of the populace walked, the Deku drove horse-drawn carts to distinguish themselves from the rest of the peasants.

The Zora were the next most populous. Miro Miro had never seen before their sleek, muscular bodies, their moist, light blue skin, and their fins jutting from their joints. They walked as uprightly as they could and towered over the average Hylian adult. Their small eyes had a reflective, black surface, which looked so exotic and alien to her. None of the stories about the Zora ever mentioned the unique shape of their heads: humanoid in front with a tail fin stretching out the back, nor did they ever describe the Zora wearing tunics and hose just like their Hylian neighbors did. Miro Miro could not help but marvel at their natural beauty.

Their Zola counterparts, however, were not as aesthetically pleasing. Instead of a long tail fin on the back of their head like their Zora cousins, the Zola had a round head like the Hylians did but with fins sprouting outwards from their crown and where their ears would be. Thick, red lips, sharp fangs, and a flat nose were squished together on their blue, frog like faces. Standing as tall as the Zora did, the Zolas’ bodies were slimy and bulky. In the campfire stories, they were always the brutish bullies, and their intimidating appearance only solidified the horrific rumors.

A gorgeous, Gerudo woman with olive skin and vibrant red hair perused through the butcher’s merchandise. Her left hand’s fingers slid through her handsome, Hylian husband’s hands while her right hand firmly gripped the tiny hand of her infant daughter, who inherited every single one of her mother’s Gerudo traits. When Miro Miro used to listen to Mido’s tales of the fearsome desert bandits, she imagined the Gerudo to be more muscular than this one exchanging colorful jewels for a raw and plucked cucco from the butcher.

The street extending parallel to the gate was filled with shops and stalls as far as the eye could see, reaching both mountain cliffs that made up the city’s eastern and western borders. Calls from vendors and chatter of busy peasants added to the noisy chaos. The main street in front of her leading into the urban forest bustled with even more activity, creating the familiar fear of getting lost again.

Well, you’ve only been lost in the forest for twenty eight winters, Miro Miro reminded herself. Getting lost would not stop her from finding her lost companion. She began to sift through the dense crowds as soon as Rowark disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the city.

Chapter Text

“Rowark!?” Rowark’s closest friend could not believe it. Though the slender man stank like he had been standing at post for the past tendo straight, his moppy red hair and crooked smile was the first thing Rowark was hoping to see. As if the meeting was fated by the very Goddesses themselves, Garreth’s post happened to be just at the main city gate. “I thought we lost you!!”

“Back from the dead,” Rowark jokingly bowed.

The two burst into laughter. “My Goddess, you’re alive!” Garreth grabbed Rowark for a tight embrace and slapped on the back side of his broken chest plate before breaking away from him violently, “Also my Goddess, you smell worse than Lemon! How is that even possible?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a bath in a season,” Rowark earnestly replied, uplifting the two old friends into laughter.

It was hard to tell if Hyrule Castle City had really changed over the past season. Mungoa the Zora the woodworker was outside sweeping his shop, before and after Rowark was drafted to the campaign. Catakay the Deku merchant hawked her wares at passersby, and while it wasn’t Vyotr the Goron warrior publicizing the adventurous life of the monster hunter’s guilds anymore, his Hylian replacement stood in the exact same spot. Conversely, the long line of free laborers waiting in line seeking a day’s worth of work and wages seemed to grow longer. Seeing the exact same, nameless faces standing in that very line that also made it seem like Castle City had not improved in the slightest either.

“Well what ‘appened to you?” Garreth pressed with urgency before nudging him in the shoulder, “Lemme guess, you deserted ‘cause you found a nice country gal to runaway from the life and settle down but it didn’t work out between you after all, and you just wanted to be with your very best pals in your company!”

Rowark laughed off the joke, “No, I wish I were that boring.” He did not want to relive the horrible events and tried to steer the conversation, “But, I couldn’t do that to Alexa.”

“Arright then, tell me what happened Mr. War Hero.”

“Um,” Rowark’s mind immediately brought him back to the memory in which he found his senior outrider, his mentor for half a season, hanged by the enemy rebels. “I um, i-it,” he wanted to say what was on his mind, but he did not want to relive the horror of running for his life, “i-it was a lot. I got chased and, and… and they chased me into the Lost Woods.”

Garreth gaped with his jaw unhinged, “No one walks in and just walks out.”

He nodded, “It’s definitely called the Lost Woods for a reason. I was stuck there through all of spring!”

“Then ‘ow’d you manage to get out?”

“Believe it or not,” Rowark’s lips curled at the thought of his friend, “a fairy guided me out.”

“No way. You told some random fairy in the woods you were lost and it just, knew the way out?”

“She told me she had lived in the Lost Woods for almost 28 years! And here I am."

“Count me a disbeliever. Cuz I thought my story was better.”

“You asked what happened. No bother answering if you’ve already got a better story in your head.”

“Right but, no one would call that a war hero story, y’know? Like the ones where they slay ten-twenty people before goin’ down. And then they took lover after lover.”

“I think those come from actual deserters.”

Garreth sighed, “How much I’d give just to desert and start anew…”

Rowark smacked him upside the head, “For the Goddesses’ sake, what about Alessa and Esparla?”

The husband and father groaned, “Don’t even remind me! I hate that Alessa knows when I go on leave because I work so hard just to get away from them! Deserting them,” Garreth daydreamed blissfully, “would be completely worth it though.”

“You’re hopeless. I was going to ask how your family was.”

“I may be a bad father,” Garreth sighed and looked down, “but at least they’re alive and they got homes. I guess you and I are both stuck here for family.”

Rowark grasped his shoulder fondly, “Guess so.”

“Oy, we made a memorial for ya at the Last End, wanna see it?”

Rowark wanted to delay meeting his commanding knight as much as possible, and Garreth grinned with so much enthusiasm that he could only nod, “Sure.”

One thing was for certain as they walked towards the army barracks, the great Western cliffside supporting the great castle in the sky never lost its majesticness. The midday sun added so much luster to the white sheen that Rowark had to squint his eyes a bit when looking. It was said that buried underneath the rocks were the ruins of Ganondorf’s old castle. 

Equally as majestic was the massive Sky Bridge that spread out over half a league, connecting the castle’s front gate to Valor Island, the tower-like outcrop extending into the sky until it was level with the castle’s base. Considering that any peasant who wanted entry to the castle had to cross through Skyloft, the academy that housed all the knights of Her Majesty’s Army, and then walk across the insanely long bridge, Hyrule Castle was virtually impenetrable.

As Rowark marveled upward at the Sky Bridge, he suddenly felt the back of his neck tingle with anticipation.

Not a heartbeat later, a small group of children dashed past him and Garreth and bumped into them. Having spent three long years patrolling the streets, Rowark quickly reached for his sheathed knife and felt a foreign hand on the hilt while his other hand grabbed the collar of the girl dashing by, catching her just before she could run off with Garreth’s wallet.

The sheepish girl hung her head, while the boy who tried to take Rowark’s knife was struggling to break free of Rowark’s grip. “Help! You’re hurting me!” he yelped to no avail.

“Oho! What have we got here?” said Garreth menacingly. Rowark knew he was about to turn in these hungry urchins to the nearest dungeon cell so that a judge could sentence them to rot in another dungeon, so instead he pulled them to the side of the road out of traffic.

Rowark knelt down and addressed the girl first, “That wallet’s not yours, so please return it to the nice man.” Without lifting her head, she handed back the bag with Garreth’s life savings. Then Rowark pulled his knife out and handed it to the boy, “Here, you can have this. It’s dull, so you can’t really hurt anyone with it, so don’t get any ideas. Take it to Clarence’s forge two blocks north, and I know Clarence will give you a good price for it.” The boy’s expression about-faced in disbelief. He looked at Rowark once again to see if the young man was serious about his offer and, once Rowark smiled with sincerity, took off with the girl, disappearing into the crowd.

“I guess you still haven’t changed,” Garreth remarked.

“I’ve used that thing so much it has completely lost its edge,” Rowark shrugged off the compliment. He understood very well what the children were going through, having shared their experiences once as a street urchin himself.

“No, steel has gotten scarce over the last season. You coulda sold it for some good rupes!”

“Isn’t it illegal to sell Her Majesty’s weapons? Also, I can’t spend it while on duty anyway.”

“Eh, you got a good point, “Garreth scratched his messy head, “I might get in trouble for letting them go later, though,” 

“And you wouldn’t get in trouble for leaving your post?” Rowark raised an eyebrow.

“Hey! I am returning a lost soldier back to his company!” Garreth jokingly defended.

“Pfft,” Rowark rolled his eyes, “I can find my way back just fine.”

They continued west along Nayru Avenue until they finally saw the wooden palisade that reserved space for Her Majesty’s soldiers, but then made a right through a narrow lane two blocks before the entrance. The midday sun was kind enough to drop a tiny ray of light into the area. The Last End was one of the only alleys in the city that was wide enough to fit three horses side by side and did not smell like the contents of a chamber pot. Though the snicket was only several yards away from the main road, no sound could pierce through the solemn air, as if those who laid beneath the ground would not allow there to be any noise, not even the chirp of a bird or the squeak of a rat.

The Last End opened up to a blind alley with a grave cover laid in front of a tombstone adorned with the Triforce on top and a poem:

Courage need not be remembered
For it is never forgotten.

Anyone who died in the line of duty had their bodies chucked into the mass grave marked by the tombstone, built shortly after the Hylian Civil War. Various bouquets were laid across the cover, and a single oak tree stood in the center, providing shade for the dead. Thousands of small trinkets were hung on the low hanging branches, memorializing every soldier killed since the great war.

As Garreth led Rowark around to the back of the tree, Rowark’s eyes searched through a myriad of names carved on household items for Kvirec’s name on it, until Garreth stopped and picked out a small wooden disc with Rowark’s name carved in it.

“Like it?” Garreth unhooked the trinket from the branch to show Rowark, “Boom made it.” Rowark smiled as he took the circular wooden piece. Ever so thoughtful was the fatherly veteran of their echelon.

The small circle fit snugly in Rowark’s palm. Rowark Forester, 17th of Winter, 83 AG - 37th of Spring, 100 AG read the rough carving. Since Rowark had gotten lost in the Woods shortly before the 37th, he assumed that was the date he was reported missing. Even though most of his military career consisted of bad memories, his near death experience and loss of a dear companion made him reconsider what little beauty he could find in his life, such as his friends.

“Thank you,” Rowark said before wandering off to search for Kveric’s memorial in the hanging cemetery. Kveric Smith, 57th of Summer, 80 AG - 37th of Spring . Rowark reached for the low hanging key with the inscription and gently cusped it in his dirtied hands. Touching the metal object summoned every happy memory he spent with his scouting partner. Even the bitter last one.

Tears seared down his face as he finally accepted the loss of his beloved. He bowed his head and prayed through his sobbing, “I’m so sorry, Kveric. I wish I could have been there when you needed me. I’ve spent a hundred days in that damned forest wondering how I could have saved you.”

Garreth put a hand on Rowark’s shoulder, startling him, “You alright, mate?”

Rowark released Kveric’s memorial and wiped his tears, “Mmhmm.”

“No, it’s all right, mate,” Garreth reassured, “go ahead, take your time. I get it.” It took another five minutes for Rowark to finally let go of his companion and stop crying.

“So, who came to my funeral?” asked Rowark, knowing what the answer was going to be.

“It was just us,” Garreth answered, referring to the four others in his company, “plus uh, you-know-who.”

Rowark’s heart sank. He had thought about his elder sister while in the forest, but he had not considered how she had felt about his disappearance, or rather did not want to.

“How is she?” his voice quivered in fear of knowing the answer.

“Oh I dunno, not too well the last time I saw ‘er, but, that wasn’t since your funeral,” Garreth said vaguely, “definitely took your loss ‘arder than we did.”

“Oh… dung…” Rowark began hurrying towards the barracks.

Garreth looked at him funny, “Rowark?”

“I gotta get back as soon as possible.” There was no telling what kind of pain he had caused her. “And you should get back before anyone accuses you of absconding your post!” His plan was to go straight to his sister before he had to officially report back to the upper echelons for duty.

“Oh, it’ll be fine,” Garreth waved off, “I dun’ think anybody noticed. I’ll see you tomorrow when I’m off duty! In fact, all of us should be off!”

Rowark smiled, "All right then, let's catch up over an ale tomorrow. I can’t wait to see all of you again!"

Chapter Text

Link dug into his wallet and retrieved his blue rupee as he strolled through the crowded street. Nayru Street was one of three roads that connected the lowlands of the city to the castle sitting on top of the western cliff, so it made sense that someone would be looking to sabotage an establishment on one of the busiest streets of Hyrule Castle Dump. The address was… 302 , he recalled in his mind, meaning the target was on the western side of the second building just north of the intersection at Farore Street.

It wasn’t the three story building hosting three shophouses that caught Link’s attention, rather it was the heightened security posted in front of a famous forge.

Two bannermen, wearing their liege’s coat of arms proudly on their surcoats over their heavy hauberks, were posted in front of the heavy, steel reinforced front door. The Zawk Brothers’ forge, the most famed one on this side of the city, was indeed worth all the protection. Sandwiched between a tailor to the right and an armorer to the left, the Gorons operated outside the guild system and quickly devoured the surrounding competition. It took less than a season for their reputation to be planted on the lips of everyone that wielded a metal tool or weapon. Of course they made many enemies, but what could they have possibly done to earn the ire of the Throne?

All the windows on the second floor of the smith were sealed shut with thick wooden panes and most likely locked tightly. A pair of city watchmen, armed with their standard issue spears, standard brass plate mail, and the standard royal blue surcoat, were standing at post across the street from the blacksmith, but they were too busy conversing on the other side of the street to notice anything out of the ordinary. They would be gone by the start of the night’s watch, when the shops were left to the protection of the long night patrols.

Link whirled around and began walking the other way, this time paying attention to potential access points. The three story building looked scalable up front, but how was he supposed to scale its stony walls without being seen? His best bet was to find an opening in the alleyway.

When he peered around the corner, he saw a wooden scaffold set up next to the building across from the armorer. Climbing up would be easy, and after that, only a three story fall separated the top platform from the roof across, where three chimney stacks poked upward from its wooden shingles. There was no doubt in Link’s mind that the largest of the chimneys, the one belching a peculiar black smoke unlike the other chimneys’ gray or white smoke, belonged to the Zawks’.

Link closed his eyes, quickly putting together a plan. To sabotage a blacksmith, he could burn away all their peat or use an explosive to destroy the furnace, or both. His best bet would be to lower himself and a portable but destructive instrument with a rope down the chimney. His hand slipped into his wallet and rubbed over the smooth jewel as he began to visualize items he could buy with its value. Bomb fruits were as cheap as three green rupees apiece, but they had an unpredictable blast force and a very short fuse. And since hand made bombs with custom fuses were out of his price range, Link would have to create his own concoction. Once he solidified the plan in his head, it was time for him to trade his blue rupee for everything needed.

He followed the giant building around the corner onto a road that would lead him straight to the Central Market Square, but the sweet aroma from the nearby bakeries and food stalls was infiltrating his nostrils and triggering his empty stomach. Each whiff of the fresh baked bread was a harsh reminder that his last full meal had been two days ago.

His extreme hunger fueled his sense of smell at the worst possible moment. Link steeled his willpower and suffered through the sweet storm of pleasant flavors. From pit-roasted meats cut from the finest Lanayru livestock and steaming meat pies coated in all types of exotic seasonings. Link clutched the blue rupee in his hand as he took step after step through Meat Street. What if he spent one rupee for a juicy fruit? One lousy rupee for a large apple surely would not hamper him significantly. Surely four green rupees could get him what he needed. The struggle in his head immediately stopped once Link saw the price of fruits and vegetables had grown to two rupees per item. Just keep walking , Link reminded himself.

The hunger was so painful that he began contemplating simply stealing a fruit off the stand. Or maybe he could quickly rip off a leg off a roasted cucco on display. Stop! Don’t be foolish! he shook his head, freeing himself from the intrusive suggestions. His hunger was not something he had suffered through before, and certainly was not worth the unwanted attention from the authorities. Once the job was done, he was sure to have plenty of time to enjoy a proper hearty meal.

At the end of the street, the delicious aromas were replaced with the smell of the largest flea market in the city. Spanning three city blocks wide and surrounded by stores and warehouses, what was once known as Central Square was one of the largest open spaces in the city, until the refugees decided to make their homes on the large public space.

High above the community of tents stood the bronze statue of the Hero of Time pointing a sword into the sky. His face was lifted upwards, eyes directed away from the injustice below him, and frozen in the midst of a battle cry. What was once a monument to celebrate some mythical person that saved Hyrule from some grand evil had very rapidly become a vandalized ornament of the square as refugees from all over the realm poured into the city.

Link’s destination took him right into the heart of the market. This was where those who could not afford to pay rent set up shop and lived. The poverty in the Castle Market Square brought significantly reduced prices as well as unchecked criminal activity. Vendors selling everything from food to colorful stones to smuggled ingredients to magic potions were chaotically packed tightly together. Gaps between shops served as pathways for navigation, but they were so unorganized that one could easily get lost in the gigantic maze. Shops grew in size and moved frequently, so pathways were subject to change in any given tendo.

“Little child!” the pressing voice of an older Gerudo called out to him. “You look like you could use a new toy! Come see what I have and share with your friends!” Link did not even stop to peruse through the stall’s wares. He may have been a child physically, but none of the childish games appealed to him.

Next to the toy vendor was an apothecary. Perfect. Link cleared his throat, “Afternoon ma’am!”

The tall woman looked taken aback from the unusual sound of Link’s voice, as did everyone else who heard Link speak. As she sat with a poised posture and looked downward past her long, hawkish nose, she responded with bemusement, “How can I help you?”

Amidst the large collection of many colored dusts and powders, Link’s finger pointed straight to the glass jar with a yellow powder. “I shall have a small bag of that stuff,” answered Link as innocently as possible.

“Hmph!” The aging woman disbelievingly eyed the sincerity of the child who knew exactly what he wanted, “What use does a child have for yolk dust?”

“I dunno, mum said she needed this stuff for her pain,” Link slyly concocted an excuse.

“Hmm, has she considered using ground radish and wormwood?” she asked in return, lightly tapping on her glass containers to indicate them.

Link shook his head pointing straight for the yolk dust, “Nope, she needed that stuff.”

”Three rupees.”

Eesh, used to be only one . Link placed the blue jewel onto the counter next to the display of the apothecary’s various uniquely colored liquids and powders. Satisfied, she took the jewel and replaced it with two green jewels. When the apothecary removed the jar lid, the pungent smell of rotten eggs filled Link’s nose and confirmed the ingredient in his mind. She retrieved a small, paper envelope into which to dump the small spoonful of the yellow powder.

Link searched for the next vendor, a butcher’s shop. Or a spice store. The setting sun had not yet made navigating through the narrow spaces impossible, but Link had no time to wander aimlessly. In about an hour, the unlit pathways would be at the mercy of the ruffians. To search for his ingredient, he followed the smell of meat amidst the heavy odor from sweat and filth stained on everything.

The foul odors were mere obstacles, however, to his hunger driven sense of smell. As he zig zagged through the dynamic pathways, the delicious aroma became stronger, and his stomach squeezed tighter. Finally, he arrived at the charcuterie responsible for the smell.

The owner of the stall was a hefty woman wearing a red, summer dress with a dirtied white apron over it. The slight tan on her skin indicated she was not originally from the city. Her greasy, dark brown hair was tied up into a bun and busily bounced up and down as she went about her work. If her gentle yet swift salting technique was not an indication of her many seasons of experience, then the many wrinkles on her aged face were.

The distinct smell of ground rosemary and peppercorn combined with the sight of pink, lean meat required making conscious efforts to prevent his drool from leaking from the corner of his lip. He cleared his throat before eyeing the legs of lamb hanging overhead. “Excuse me ma’am!” Link called out to her while waving like an innocent child.

The butcher immediately gasped upon seeing Link, “Oh deary.” It was usually anyone’s first reaction upon seeing his face. Nothing a drummed up story of a drunk, abusive father could not explain. She apologized, “Forgive my manners, how can I help you?”

Link continued to use the childish act as best as his battle worn face could allow it, “I’d like to buy some salt to prepare the meats for my Mama to make!”

She warmly smiled at the innocent request for a sale, “Why, of course! Looks like your mother is doing a good job raising a cook in the house.” The enthusiastic boy nodded up and down, exciting the butcher even more, “You know, ‘tis a fast way into a woman’s heart. You best remember that when you grow up!”

She bent over behind the counter, pulled up two hide bags filled with powders, and set them onto the countertop. She pointed to the left bag and lectured, “This here is good ole table salt harvested from the eastern shores. It’s the most popular type of salt us butchers use. I’m sure your Ma wanted more than just me special salt.”

Not that one. “What about this one?” Link pointed to the bag in the middle containing the reddish orange powder.

“Ah, that’s fire salt!” she exclaimed. “It’s a special blend that comes from the Gerudo desert. I like to use this to make my meat taste spicy.” The name of the mysterious powder almost tempted Link to purchase it, but he thought better. It was probably nothing more than table salt mixed in with some Gerudo spices.

The butcher continued her lecture, “Beside the normal table salt, certain tribes of the desert have added their own…” not only was her voice difficult to pay attention to, Link was too busy imagining the savoriness of the raw chops hanging behind her. Gone were the woman’s informative words, replaced by a fire pit roasting a leg of venison with thickened honey wine drizzling over the succulent-

“Did you want to try some of it?” asked the butcher, which brought Link’s attention back.

“Yeeess,” he hungrily replied, still thinking about the taste of the meat, and then he corrected himself once he realized she was talking about the salt, “Oh, I mean no.” He pointed to a bag underneath the table, “How about this one?” hoping it was what he needed.

“Oh, this isn’t salt, this is just some preservative,” said the Butcher with a more hushed tone, “helps keep the meat fresh.”

Commonly known as Keese salt to the other Links, this white powder made his eyes narrow with interest. “I-I can’t remember what my Mama wanted exactly but…” Staying in character, Link conjured his best manners and innocently asked, “Can I take a small sample to take back to her? Just to make sure?”

“Why, take a whole bunch! I’ve no shortage!” responded the butcher without hesitation to Link’s pleasure. He had no qualms with manipulating her generous nature; there was a blacksmith that needed destroying. The woman generously poured some of the white powder into a small, paper box. “Here you go my deary! See you soon!”

Link grabbed the box and expressed his gratitude genuinely, “Thank you thank you thank you!” before running off to the next vendor. She was one of the rare nice people in the city. Link would remember that in the future.

The last couple things could all be bought at the only forge in all of Market Square, which sat on the western path connecting the central statue to the plaza outskirts. It was a matter of finding the bronze statue, and then walking along the path towards the great castle in the distance. Once he reached the statue, he could see the big tent sitting on the right side of the path.

The brawny man hammering at a steel bar behind the counter had a long bushy beard and greasy, sweaty black hair that ran down his back. Great muscles guided the Goron-like figure with every hammer stroke. Even though the night was drawing near, he doggedly continued his work.

Despite the fact that Papa Wapapa’s back was facing towards the counter, he sensed Link’s presence before the boy was even three steps there. Before Link could fabricate another fake story, he was cut short. “Piss off,” the blacksmith spoke in tandem with a hammer striking true. Link’s favorite blacksmith also happened to be the rudest person in all of Hyrule.

“What?” Link replied, “I haven’t even said anything yet!”

The bulky father turned around and loudly slammed his hand onto the counter, “You still owe me twenty rupees for the last three repairs! And don’t think I don’t know who you are! You may be a Link, but anyone can recognize those ugly marks on your face.”

A Link. A nameless. A bastard born. A street orphan. Every unwanted child on every corner of every block. A name Link picked because he did not know what else to call himself. Other Links he knew from years back had grown into adults, learned trades, adopted new names, started families, and lived comfortable lives. It was the dream of every Link to no longer be named so.

“Fine. You got me,” Link conceded as he threw up his arms to the intimidating man, “I do owe you a sum. But!” shifting his tone to pitch a sale, “I just need some of your finest flint and steel for a new job, and then I shall have your money before the first rays of the morning sun strike your tent!”

“HA! Do I look like the kind of guy that lives on promises?” Wapapa’s enraged retort even made Link take a step back, “I don’t! And my family don’t!”

Link raised his arms to calm down Wapapa’s animal-like temper. “Okay then,” he said calmly to a man breathing like he was ready to jump over the counter and strangle him, “I can purchase flint from you. One green rupee for your lousiest flint rock. Another rupee for some sharp steel, don’t have to be fancy.” He slowly retrieved the two green jewels and placed them on the counter.

With a family to feed, Papa Wapapa eyed the rupees sternly. It was obvious he did not want to accept any of Link’s offerings on principle, but those rupees did look tantalizing, those rupees were enough to buy a loaf of bread or a basketful of eggs for his family.

Several long heartbeats passed before Wapapa’s large, hairy hand swiped the two green jewels and replaced them with a small flint stone.

“And the steel?” he asked.

“I would never sell either for less than two, so what makes you think I’d sell you both for less?” Wapapa seethed.

“Fine, fine!” was the boy’s quick response. Link emptied the salt and the egg dust into his now empty leather wallet before retrieving his newly purchased items with a cheery bright smile on his face. But he rudely dashed off towards the western cliff without saying another word.

The boy turned north when he reached the end of the square and began walking back towards the sabotage target asking himself, Where am I supposed to get rope without any money?

Chapter Text

An entire day of searching yielded nothing. Zipping through alleys and people only made her head spin. She had a hard time being able to tell this shop from that shop and this street from that street. Instead of searching for her lost companion, Miro Miro spent most of the day getting lost and trying to find her way back to the gate, which she never found. Even though the city was squished between two cliffs, the tall houses, each shaped and colored differently, the clotheslines, hanging a colorful foliage of moist garments, and the overwhelmingly diversity in the culture of each store made Hyrule Castle City feel bigger than the Lost Woods. 

By then, the darkened streets were no longer as crowded, and the shops were beginning to close down. Torch bearers walked into the darkness with their only source of light, and lit each night torch along the way. As people withdrew from the public back into their private homes, the darkness continued consuming the daylight until night flooded the atmosphere completely, held off only by the night lanterns burning brightly. There was no way to continue searching for her lost companion, if he was even here at all. 

The worst part about it all was that it had been so long since she saw her lost companion that she could barely remember what he even looked like. Miro Miro sulked in defeat and began aimlessly floating down one one of the many similar looking streets. Where was she supposed to go next? 

Rowark! She suddenly remembered that there was still someone that she knew in Castle City residing in the castle barracks! Except, she had no idea where that was … 

He said it was the castle barracks. Her eyes turned upward towards the fading daylight and saw the great cliff that supported the great castle capped on the top. From out in the distance, she could see the small, faint fires dotted on the cliff, showing signs of life from within. She remembered Mido’s stories about the castle, for only he had traveled outside of the Kokiri Forest. A stone house bigger than the Great Deku Tree looked almost like a glowing mountain peak at night. That must have been the Hyrule Castle. So long as the castle’s walls hoisted the torches high into the sky, there was no mistaking about where to go, even if she did not know the city layout. 

She began her journey towards the gigantic cliff, what she guessed was the castle, jutting out into the sunset. She hovered over the stone paved road and concentrated hard on navigating through the street. At least she had a general idea of where to go. 

“Help us!” came the cry of an unseen, internal voice. It was the faint voice of a fellow fairy! But where was it coming from? 

“Help us, fairy!” “Help!” “Oh please save us!” the pleas for help bombarded her head. She looked around the townhouses and shops for the source and found a door slightly cracked open. Was it coming from there? 

“Your presence is nearing us! Come quick!” Encouraged, Miro Miro entered through the door into the general store. 

She looked around the dimly lit store. Three levels of shelves ran along the far side wall and along both connecting sides, separated by a doorway by the far right corner. Differently sized jars filled with colorful liquids and preserved monster anatomy were lined up on the bottom shelf, smaller tools like hammers and other building materials sat on the second shelf, and the top shelf was reserved for the larger tools, decor, and some weapons and shields. Had Miro Miro not felt obligated to help her fellow fairy first, she would have loved to spend time studying each product.

 Sadly, the fairies were not on the shelves, nor were they on the shelf underneath the long, maple wood counter.

"Hurry! We are in the back!” the fairy voice rang in Miro Miro’s head again. She darted for the doorway but stopped short of the threshold, too scared to continue into the darkness. When she first peered in, she could only see the glow of candlelight reflecting off the wall on the other side of a stockpile of wooden crates. But as she crept towards the darkness, she found out that there was a second source of light coming from the far corner of the room. And when she finally flew across the threshold, she instantly recognized the signature bright, colorful light, which every fairy naturally radiated, reflecting off a shelf of the crates.

She recklessly darted towards the light and, upon seeing her fellow fairies floating inside glass jars, exclaimed loudly, “Brothers and sisters!”

Eight different colored energetic balls of light illuminated the room collectively. Suspended in the air with the calm flap of the wing, a grape purple, forest green, deep blue, pink red, leather brown, sunset orange, golden yellow, and a magenta fairy excitedly bounced up and down.

“You fool! Use thought speech!” one of the fairies, whose identity was unknown, communicated with her thoughts. Thought speech? Why wouldn’t they just talk normally?

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Shh!” the interrupting fairy silenced her, “He’ll hear you! Quick, hide!”

“It’s too late…”

Too late? Too late for what?

Miro Miro’s blood froze when she heard the bloodcurdling greeting from an unknown presence behind her, “‘Ello there...”

She slowly turned around and looked up at the silhouette of a frail, balding man, presumably the shopkeeper. There was something about the way his hands slowly reached for a bottle and a cap and his smile looked like he was hiding bad intentions behind his rotting teeth.

Her boiling blood pushed Miro Miro closer to her crucial decision between fight or flight, the point of no return. His ugly, wrinkly face would not prevent Miro Miro from saving her kin. She puffed herself high into the air and threatened with her ultimatum, “I will not leave until you release those fairies you big jerk!”

“HA!” the shopkeeper scoffed at her. Suddenly, his arm swung in the air, and his hand was closing in fast.

The fairy may have been small, but that also meant that she was too quick for him. Once she dodged clear of the bottle’s trajectory, her instinct told her to charge straight into her enemy, to fight. Her super sonic wings beat against the air as hard as they could to shoot Miro Miro through the air like a dart. She focused every fiber of conscience into flapping her wings as hard as possible, feeling the air resist her speed, and aiming straight for the shopkeeper’s chest.

The painful blunt force impact came so suddenly. With no audible sound to warn her, the stopping force hurt much more than she anticipated. “Ugh,” she groaned and reeled, wondering what kind of solids existed in her magical body that could cause her to feel so much pain. She felt her tummy turn again. This must have been the so called “nausea” that all the children once complained about. As she started backing away, she could feel the shopkeeper’s evil, unamused eyes mocking her. There was not a scratch on him, not even a rip in his bright orange tunic.

“Oh, don’tchu worry,” the shopkeeper grunted as he swung his bottle at her again, this time the lip scraped one of her wings. Harmless, but it was a waking call. “I ain’t gonna ’urt ya,” he said as he started inching towards her.

“Run!”

With no way to hurt or stop the much larger Hylian. Miro Miro heeded the good advice and quickly pivoted around. The wind from the old man’s third missed swing with the bottle sent Miro Miro off to the races for her freedom. After turning around the stack of crates, she dove straight for the doorway, into the welcoming embrace of the light. But the sound of the shopkeeper’s rapid, light footsteps reminded Miro Miro that the spry old man was not far behind. If she could make it out the shop, she would be finally be safe.

The rush of the cool night air felt refreshing. Nevertheless, he persisted, shattering the illusion of safety.  After one last exertion from her wings to attain altitude, the fatigue built up from a day’s worth of flying suddenly dragged her down like a pebble. All that kept Miro Miro from flying into the shopkeeper’s reach was her sheer will to survive. And this man was chasing her with a bottle because … Why? she asked herself. But this was not time to leisurely ponder the answer.

Panic guided her every move through the city. She dared not enter the pitch dark alleyways; her light would give off her position for all the bad guys to see. Instead, she sharply turned right onto another lit road. But she was alone on this street and still vulnerable. No time to worry about that! The sharp turn may have tripped up the shopkeeper a bit, but that only bought Miro Miro a few strides of distance. His persistence and energy seemed never ending.

No matter what turn she made, left or right, the shopkeeper was always on her tail. The nonstop sound of his feet chasing after her added even more anxiety to her panicked mind. Up ahead was an overpass, and this time, she felt confident enough to lifted herself up one more time to reach the top. Miro Miro took a deep breath as she bided her energy and forcefully exhaled upon unleashing every known reservoir of power to launch herself as high as she could.

She made it! Taking a moment to catch her breath, her long awaited rest was cut short when Miro Miro saw the shopkeeper running up a flight of stairs that along the overpass bridge. “Waah!” she yelled in frustration before she continued her flight.

A city watchman, wearing the undamaged blue cape and shiny golden armor that Rowark wore, was standing post up ahead, so Miro Miro flew straight toward him for safety. “Hey! Heeeelp!” she cried out to him, but he remained ignorant to her plea. Rowark was a city watchman too, so why wouldn’t this city watchman help her too? Maybe he did not hear her?

She was going to try again when she got closer. But when she approached the watchman, hoping he could help her stop her pursuer, the shopkeeper’s voice reached the guard from a considerable distance before Miro Miro’s could, “Oy, I'll give you a silver rupee to get that fairy!” The guard suddenly looked at Miro Miro with widened eyes, and then there were two men chasing after her.

What a horrid day! She should have never left Rowark’s side! Staying out of reach was easy, she just needed to maintain a certain altitude. Her wings felt heavier with each flap against the wind, and it would not be long before she could no longer maintain a safe altitude. She needed to lose them fast.

The two men ran through the open streets with relative ease, so she made a sharp right and flew through a second story window, into a home where they could not follow her.

“ARF ARF! RRRRrrrrrr!” Bad idea! Her intrusion awoke the house dog, a big and hairy monstrosity who nearly engulfed her whole, and then it was the dog chasing her down the hallway. Miro Miro was too focused on staying away from the protective animal to look for a way out.

Each window she frantically neared was sealed against the sill. As she flew around the living room, frightening a family of four, the dog roared as it continued chasing her. A cool summer breeze suddenly blew through, strong enough to shift her off her intended path. It had to come from outside! She flew against the current, found the opening in the window, and passed through the window, back outside.

A sigh of relief escaped from Miro Miro’s fairy lungs as she escaped from the house.

“There she is!” she heard the shopkeeper say in between heavy breaths.

GAH! Why won’t you give up? she cursed at him.

The soldier reached into his waist pouch, “All right, I'm tired of all this running,” and withdrew a large nut in his hand.

As large as an apple, shaped like a walnut with a smooth surface, Is that… a Deku nut!? Panic instantly flooded into Miro Miro’s body, and she desperately searched for anything to protect herself from the commonly used hunting tool. There was a second story balcony to her immediate right. Instantly flying upward over the balcony’s wooden rail, she had to make it there before the nut would inevitably...

FLASH! The sudden blinding light stiffened her wings and her whole body. Her paralyzed body was at mercy to her momentum and flight trajectory. The momentum lifted her up for a short heartbeat before gravity began pulling her downward. It was looking like she would run into the wooden rail. She closed her eyes, too scared to see what fate her trajectory would choose for her.

Great Deku Father , Miro Miro prayed as she fell, if you carry me to safety, I pledge the rest of the rest of my life to search for your missing child. Please Father, carry me to safety...

She felt impact and a small roll forward. Her body had come to a stop on, something. Was she safe? So far, her luck had proven rotten, so she was not willing to rest until she was absolutely positive her pursuer had given up.

“Damn it! You good for nothing... Gah!” the old man’s angry, high pitched squeal echoed off the walls. It had even sounded like the voice was coming from below her, “You let her get away!”

“Whatever, dunghole. I'm exhausted, and I have left my post for too long,” Miro Miro assumed that was the watchman’s voice in between heavy breaths, “You’re on your own.”

When she released her breath, opened her eyes and saw the wooden floor around her, tears escaped her eyes. She was safe. She was finally safe enough to let loose all of her chaotic emotions that had been trapped inside her psyche.

“THANK YOU!” Miro Miro yelled into the night sky, sending her blessings over the long distance, “THANK YOU!”

The new environment looked like it was full of nightmares, and not even twenty four hours later, Miro Miro felt like she had all she needed to see. But if the city had so many bad people living within the walls...

How could Rowark survive in a world like this? How could her Kokiri companion survive in a world like this? There was always a chance that her companion could be sleeping in an alleyway not too far away. If he was here, then he would need her more than ever.

But first, she had to reacquaintance with herself. Her wings were slowly beginning to respond to her commands. A fluttered attempt to levitate felt discouraging at first, but after two attempts of hopping and maintaining flight, the third attempt did the trick. Miro Miro peered over the rooftop to check on the status of her pursuers. The watchman was walking away, and the shopkeeper was shaking his fist at her, “You're mine! You just don't know it yet!” He made his way back to his shop. She sneered at him before retreating back to the safety of the stranger’s balcony.

Even though she had miraculously survived, she had never felt so defeated. Lying on the wooden floor of an unknown balcony of an unknown building in unknown territory, the forest fairy had no idea where she was and no idea where her beloved forest home was, so she began to sob loudly as she painfully gripped her confused, chaotic emotions and tried to reign them under control.

Get it together Miro Miro! she chided herself in between tears, I have a mission to accomplish!

But how was she supposed to find one person in this great city? The daunting task of finding someone who might not even be here coupled with memorizing the criss crossing streets felt like searching for one particular leaf in the Lost Woods.

On top of feeling hopelessly lost, she also felt powerless. There was nothing she could have done to free those trapped fairies nor combat their captor. If Miro Miro was going to have even a snowball’s chance in Death Mountain Hearth, then she needed help.

At least Miro Miro knew where to find help: the castle. She knew Rowark would be generous enough to assist in her search and would keep her safe. Maybe she could even ask him to free those fairies! Rejuvenated with the hope of seeing her friend again, she took off with her fully functional wings for the tall structure reaching into the dark, night sky.

Chapter Text

By the time the sun began to set behind the castle, the streets were beginning to clear. As the good peasants of Hyrule Castle City retreated into their homes, bolted their barred windows shut, and, for the especially cautious, set their booby traps, Link walked closely along the buildings, near the torchlights and homebound people. Many years of traversing these darkened roads have enforced hard lessons about safety. Everyone knew: it was no one's land where the light was absent. Only a pair of city watchmen patrolling the grounds broke the stillness of the dark. Like a torch in an old, infested hut, their light scattered the vagrants like vermin into the sheltering, dark corners.

All Link wanted was a coil of unattended rope that could extend about four stories long, five just to be safe. Perhaps there was discarded rope in the back alleys? No. No amount of valuable treasure was worth braving the back alleys, dangerous enough during the day, especially unarmed. Of course, he could burgle a home and take a coil from a tool closet. And he would only take the coil of rope, no one would even miss it, and maybe an heirloom or two.

When Link reached the intersection of Tully and Revenant, he was suddenly brought to a decision-making moment. Left, right, forward? There was nothing interesting to the left or down the street, but there was a light coming forth from a residence on Link's right. And why wouldn't he want to check out the place that was open after hours?

Letters the size of an arm spelled out the name of store over the well lit, inviting entrance. Link peered in, expecting someone in the room. No way, his prayer was answered. Some stupid store owner was stupid enough to leave his door wide open for all the thieves to invite. All the candles inside the shop were still illuminating the narrow room with vigor.

There it was, a coil of rope sitting on the second shelf. Link grabbed the coil without hesitation and slipped his arm through the coil, comfortably suspended on his shoulder. That's all he was going to take…

But, as long as the shop owner was missing, Link figured he had time to at least search for a lucrative treasure, which ended up taking only five short heartbeats. The thief almost face palmed at how easily he found the small, locked chest tucked underneath the counter. It was almost a crime not to steal its contents. Even though he did not have the key or any means to pick the lock, he could at least open the chest in relative safety. He firmly grabbed the bottom of the wooden box with both his hands and yanked, only to find that the chest was nailed into the bottom. His plan to unlock it later mocked him the longer Link studied the lock.

A noise stirred him. It was the heavy creak of a door being comfortably open by someone assuming the room was empty. Link froze in place, looking for a way out. After a couple of footsteps, the door suddenly closed followed by the sound of metal bolts being locked into place. Link had overstayed his welcome it seemed like.

He needed a plan. Nearby the register, there was an open doorway into another room, probably storage, a good place to hide and wait for a better opportunity to escape.

He peeked around the corner and saw a balding man with limbs the width of a tree branch. Small eyes and an ugly wart on his cheek made this man's resting face look very unpleasant. Suddenly, he noticed the missing coil of rope. Alerted, he growled, removed one of the torches resting on the wall, and removed a sword hanging on the top shelf next to the shield and helmet. Dung! Now the armed owner was searching for an intruder. So much for simply walking out the door.

Link retreated behind the counter and began listening for the footsteps. His sensitive ears could source the location of each step, and any sequence of footsteps narrated the direction of the man.

He's walking towards the register. It's the first thing he's going to check. Unless Link gave him something else to check first. He quickly removed the rope from his shoulder, tossed it down the aisle, and then took refuge in the shadows underneath the counter.

"Hmm?" Footsteps rounded the counter. Link was close enough to smell the shop owner's feet. "Huh. 'Ow'd you end up 'ere?" squeaked the voice of the old man. That's right, the old man was just mistaken. There was no intruder; the old man had simply misplaced the rope. The relaxed gait in the man's step contagiously spread relief into Link's body.

While the shopkeeper's back was turned away was Link's chance to quietly touch ground again and gracefully roll through the doorway into the storage room. He froze in the dark shadows and listened to the footsteps. The shopkeeper shuffled past the door to the storage room and was putting the rope away.

Link was not leaving without that rope. Maybe he could find the key to the chest as well?

Ideally, he wanted to get the rope without getting seen. His long sleeved tunic, although stained with sweat and too warm to wear in the sweltering summer weather, covered up most of his scars, but there was nothing to shield his face, mangled through years of urban survival, from recognition.

Surrounded by boxes and crates stacked all the way up to the ceiling and occupying about half of the room's space in total, all Link had to do was find any one of the dozens of scattered niches and crevices between the crates and wait patiently for the perfect time to slip by and grab the rope unnoticed, or strike. Although the plan set in his mind seemed cunning and safe and was truly the best option available, a small light protruding from the opposite corner held Link's attention. He should have just waited, but instead he walked down the cleared pathway towards the brilliant light radiating against the swarming darkness.

When he reached the bend in the path, little balls of light froze in the air when they became aware of his presence. Eight jars separated eight differently colored fairies, unfortunate assets trapped in the black market trade.

"You!" the volume of the high register scream in Link's head almost felt like a sudden pressure from within. But he knew that the voice did not come from his own thoughts.

As his eyes adjusted to their bright energies, Link crouched down next to the light source, which felt like pressing his head into a headache, and whispered, "What about me?" unsure which one of the blinding idiots was speaking to him.

"You sold me!" the same voice screamed in his head. Did he? It sounded like something Link would do.

Link shrugged, "Yeah, so? It was probably worth the good meal." And what a good meal that must have been. Any fairy was guaranteed to sell for at least a silver rupee at the local bazaar, where an end user would purchase one for a hundredfold of what Link made. With that kind of money on the line, anyone could have sold this fairy, "Do I even know you?"

"HA!" boomed her response, intensifying her light energy, "You think I could forget that crooked scar from your right lip? That scar on the side of your face?"

"Lots of Links have scars," Link mocked. This was the second time today that someone recognized him by his scars, which was concerning.

"I promised I would NEVER forget the scar on your right lip when you sold me five years ago!" the fairy fired back.

"Sheesh whatever!" Link diverted his fed up frustration into a raspy soundless scowl, "Which one are you?" he asked.

"The Blue one," said the one adjacent to the magenta, green, and orange fairy.

"Okay then, blue."

"My name is Smoxy."

"Sheesh! Smoxy, do you want to be free?"

Silence. Aware that the shop owner could enter into the storage room at any heartbeat, Link looked back nervously and waited for a response to what must have sounded like a rhetorical question. "Well?" Link spurred.

"Hmm," was her hesitant response. Every heartbeat she delayed was a heartbeat closer to the shopkeeper's entrance. "How can I trust you?" she finally asked.

"Because I need you to help me get out of here without killing anyone," was Link's sincere response.

"Ha! I don't care if you kill him!" a different fairy bellowed. A chorus of agreement rang through the group.

"I care if I kill him!" retaliated the intruder, who would be the one to face trial if he were caught for murder on top of burglary.

A richer, alto voice rang in his head, "Shoot, if she doesn't want to be free then I'll assist you instead!"

Suddenly, a cacophonous bombardment of voices filled his cranial space, "Free me too!"

"If you free me, you free all of them," Smoxy delivered her ultimatum, silencing everyone. There was no time for further argument.

"Deal," Link grabbed Smoxy's jar first, "When you're free, distract the old geezer until I can unbolt the door and get us all out of here."

One by one, Link tossed each jar into the air, producing the freeing sound of shattering glass. As soon as the piercing sound glass filled the room, he knew that the shopkeeper would come running immediately. A growl of frustration escaped from Link's mouth as the fairies circled around each other and celebrated prematurely, oblivious of the shop owner about to enter the room at any heartbeat. "Thank you!" they cried and sang in gleeful gratitude, once again bombarding and overfilling Link's head with uninvited happy sentiments.

Before the shopkeeper could say, "Where are you?" before his hide shoes crossed the threshold, before the light from his torch filled the room and revealed all before him, Link was already hidden in the shadows.

And when the light, the shoes, and the shopkeeper did in that order, they were met by the warcry of eight vengeful, bloodthirsty fairies, "GET HIM!" Smoxy led the charge. She dove first towards him and instantly circled around his torch. By the time the old man swung his weapon, the fairies had already followed her and were within striking distance, and the second swing nearly took him off his balance.

Now was his time to strike. Link climbed forth from his hiding spot and wasted not a heartbeat of his precious window of opportunity. Nimble, small, and light, the boy was able to reach the shopkeeper within the blink of an eye. He kept low and sidestepped around the store owner and pivoted around.

His left hand reached for the pouch sitting on the shopkeeper's belt, dexterously undoing the button on the leather flap. One heartbeat was all Link had to feel and rummage through the contents and find the key, and one heartbeat was all he needed to simply grab a handful of the stuff and begone, key or no key.

Link was not subtle about his pickpocketing this time, but before the shopkeeper could whirl around and stop the thief, the old man had to deal with the orange fairy stuck in his right eye. Link searched through the contents in his hand and dropped everything but the four keys, each a different size and shape. Two of the keys were too large to be anything by door keys, and the small, rusted key looked like it could fit. When the minimal torque twisted the locking mechanism open, a sinister smile crept onto Link's face.

The opened chest revealed... a stick. A bent, wooden stick with an orange varnish and a blue jewel embedded on the corner of the bend that looked more like a toy than something valuable.

The owner of the "valuable" toy cried from behind Link, "'EY YOU! Stop - Gah! Getoutta me nose!" reminding Link that he urgently needed to exit. As soon as his hand felt the smooth, cool texture of the stick's surface, the crystal began to emit a bright blue light.

No time to examine what that meant. Link tucked part of the stick in his pants, the other half resting against his back, and hopped over the counter. Before he could leave, Link had to find that rope again. The first place Link looked amongst the impressive collection was its original place, which ended the search quickly. Link grabbed coil again and then slipped his arm through the coil and rested it on his right shoulder.

Then it was time to escape. His fingers quickly undid the deadbolt and opened the door, and as soon as the door swung open, his legs sprinted down the path and did not stop running until his breathing was too heavy for his lungs to continue.

As he ran, he could hear in the distance, "Get back 'ere! I'll find you and kill you!"

Chapter Text

After reuniting with his oldest friend in his unit and taking his memorial off the tree, Rowark approached the barracks riding a high euphoria, but all his enthusiasm and confidence vanished as soon as he hunched over instinctively hoping to avoid direct eye contact with the two men posted at the gate.

Of course Yurel and Diorzhek are posted out front . If Garreth was found by the south gate and the patrol routes remained unchanged over the past season, that meant their hundred person company was posted on the south side of the city, all along the avenue that led straight to Her Majesty’s barracks. Yurel, the bald headed buffoon standing on the left side, and Diorzhek, the horse faced bumhole who loved beating Rowark at their Lance Commander’s bidding, were too busy talking to really pay attention to anyone who came through.

Or so Rowark had hoped. As he nonchalantly stepped across the gateway wearing his unshaved face as a disguise, their conversation suddenly stopped, spiking Rowark’s heart as he felt their eyes crawl over him.

Rowark closed his eyes tightly and sped his walking pace right past the gate, praying for the best case scenario that no one would recognize him. When he opened his eyes, he could no longer see the palisade walls and was greeted by the sight of dozens of cavaliers preparing to embark on another patrol outside the walls.

Just as he took another step, he suddenly heard Yurel’s voice from behind him, “Oy!”

Rowark’s face lit up completely and froze. It would have been better if Rowark had just continued walking incognito, but he could not fight his honest nature.

“Oy! Yeah you!” Yurel repeated.

Rowark slowly turned around with his eyes pointed to the ground,

“What unit you with?” asked Diorzhek.

Rowark knew the second he said anything, they would recognize him by his higher tone of voice, the source of his accursed nickname. He would have truthfully answered with the 41st company but he was still hoping to shield his identity, “Captain Berlon’s outriding company."

There was a great pause between the two guards as they tried to piece together why there was someone in their own unit who they didn’t know about. Just as Rowark thought maybe they were too dense to figure it out, Yurel’s face suddenly widened into an ugly grin, “It’s him! I almost didn’t recognize ya under all that hair!”

“No way!” cried Diorzhek as he turned around with his partner, and Rowark reluctantly lifted his face. “It’s the Princess!” After all that time in the woods hoping for his humiliating nickname to be buried, Rowark looked downward as he turned around slowly. “I didn’t even know you could grow facial hair, haha!”

“Decided to hang after deserting?” Yurel asked jokingly before turning his mood sour, with a familiar frown that accompanied a roughing from this man, “You shoulda stayed dead…”

“Yeah,” his partner followed with derision, “and you’re gonna wish you never came back…”

Rowark sighed, exhausted from all the traveling and wanting nothing more than to sleep in his old, familiar bunk bed, but not so tired that he could not sense hostility. In his short year with the scouts, Kveric stressed the importance of sensing when an opponent was going to strike. After applying his training against the many creatures of the Lost Woods for an entire season, Rowark could no longer be surprised by rookie attacks anymore.

The instant Rowark sensed Diorzhek’s intent to lunge forth, he barked explosively, “Back off!” Taken by surprise, the two guardsmen fell onto their rears at the same time, their shocked expressions 

“HEY!” screamed a lance knight, proudly wearing his signature plate armor and sallet, covering the top of his head while leaving his mouth exposed for all to hear, “What do you think you’re doing? You’re on gate duty! Why are you not at your station?” Diorzhek and Yurel stood straight up at attention immediately. It must have been the lance commander who had replaced Sir Camelon, who used to command their echelon. So that must have meant that Sir Camelon was either transferred to another echelon!

Or…

Rowark shook the worst case scenario out of his head. If it came to a promotion, then Rowark would have to deal with it somehow. He used the screaming lance knight as a distraction to sneak into the barracks, avoiding eye contact all the way back to the mustering hall, where all companies gathered before being deployed. It was spacious enough to hold several companies at once, with each company composed of a hundred Queensmen, divided into five echelons each led by one lance knight.

As he stood in the center of the busy room looking between the hallways leading to the bath house and the mess hall, Rowark was deciding whether his stench or his hunger was more foul. Feeling his stomach turn before he could catch a whiff of his own scent, he started down the path towards food. Although his meal was going to be naught more than some bread and spiced bean soup, the same meal served mostly everyday, Rowark was glad that he was going to eat something he did not have to hunt or forage.

After waiting in line and seating himself at one of hundreds of mess tables, Rowark looked around to see if his sister happened to be walking by. Even though he could feel his stomach churn, he needed to make sure she knew that he was okay first. Just before he gave up and went back to his food, he saw a small bob of short brown hair, which was her signature hairstyle. He walked over excitedly and grabbed the small wooden token out of his pocket. Confirming it was her eating with the rest of her echelon, he plopped the wooden token onto the table in front of her.

Picking it up, she was immediately inflamed, “What in Ganon’s name do you think you’re doing, disrespecting my brother’s memory!?” Alexa stood up immediately, but when she looked at the man standing behind her, she suddenly lost color in her face. It took her a moment to recognize him behind all the facial hair, but finally asked in disbelief, “... Rowark?”

He answered with open arms, “Finally made it back.”

“Oh my Goddess!” she tearfully wrapped her arms around Rowark fiercely, “Thank the Goddesses! Y-you, you’re real? You’re not a ghost?” Then she suddenly backed away, “You sure smell real!” she joked through tears.

“Sorry, I decided to eat first before I bathed, but I wanted to make sure you knew that I was back home safe first before I did anything else.”

“Thank you!” she hugged him again, fighting through his offensive odor, “I knew you would come back.”

“I came back as soon as I could,” the two embraced silently until Rowark’s stomach interrupted. “Let me go get my food, and I’ll come join ya!”

Rowark hurried back to his still steaming bowl of soup when suddenly a metal hand swiped the wooden cup away.

That familiar, ugly voice made Rowark drop his eyes. “Look at who it is…” Sir Camelon erected himself proudly for his petty deed. A massive man child who was certainly qualified to be knighted based on physical prowess alone, Rowark’s former lance knight nearly reached the top of the doors and had to lower his head every time he wore his full armor.

“Princess Fairy…”

It started off as a name meant to ridicule his feminine face and voice, but it had turned into something far worse, a reminder of his utter helplessness. The name alone meant trouble was coming.

But not today. He knew how brave fairies could be because of his kind companion. He could still hear the laughter of Miro Miro, the most loyal and honest friend any person in the kingdom could have asked for. His mind flashed to their journey through the woods in the past season. His cursed nickname no longer felt like a slur for shame. Rowark felt a sense of honor, and a sly grin began to creep on his face.

When Sir Camelon roared his command, “Look into your commanding officer’s eyes when he’s talking to you!” Rowark stood straight up the way he was drilled since childhood, chin up, chest out, shoulders back, and waist in. As his eyes crept up Sir Camelon’s new armor, Rowark instantly recognized the red ribbon hanging on the upper left corner of the breast plate. He gulped hard as he accepted the horrible proof that he was the new commander of their company. He now wielded the power to make a hundred men make an example out of Rowark.

His only hope now for a peaceful end to his military career was that Her Majesty’s tribunal judges sentenced him to death by hanging.

“So you finally came back… And here, I was this close to thinking that maybe you did die and take one for the cause,” Sir Camelon turned his hands upwards, in prayer, “and I was about this close to finally having peace, knowing that you didn’t indeed just let Captain Berlon help you escape from my control. I never thought you would outlive your cowardice.”

He slammed a fist on the table so hard it killed all the chatter in the air, “Was chasing after boys not good enough for ya?”

“HEY!” Alexa suddenly called out from ten yards away.

Sir Camelon responded to her challenge with a smug smirk, “Oh if it ain’t Princess Fairy’s prince charming, come to save your little love?”

“I told you what was gonna happen the next time I see you with him!” Alexa approached brazenly.

“Yeah, I damn well remember.” The clear authority waved his hand regally to all the recruits eating in the hall, “Now, I want you to say in front of every person standing in the mess hall for the record. There’d be a lot of witnesses I can call on for this boy’s upcoming trial.”

Alexa’s knuckles began to crackle as she curled her hands into fists, “Oh I don’t need to say anything. I’m gonna make you remember every bit…”

Sir Camelon mockingly took offense with the hand on his chest, “Is that a threat?” before he belched out his condescending laughter, “from a grunt to a company commander? Are you sure you want to ruin your brother’s chance for redemption before the military tribunal, and earn a trip to the court martial yourself? All for what? Because you don’t like the way I talk to my boys ?” Leaning in threateningly, he searched for any disturbance in Rowark’s emotions. But there was none. In one season’s time in the Lost Woods, he had survived much worse horrors than all the terror Sir Camelon could muster from his rank.

Alexa stepped up undeterred, “That’s not just some boy , that’s my family! And I don’t care-”

When she got within punching distance, Rowark intervened. “Alexa! It’s fine!” Holding out his arm in front of her, Rowark spoke as if there were no threat at all, “I’m gonna be okay. I’ll meet up with you later tonight, okay?”

She did not stop glaring at Sir Camelon as she reluctantly grumbled, “Fine.” Then as if fate had ordained, someone from her company called to her. “I’m holding you to that!” She hugged him and retreated to rejoin her unit.

“Smart woman. Unlike you, if it were me, I woulda ran and never come back,” Sir Camelon’s mouth was so close to Rowark that he could feel the moist heat from the giant man’s breath, “And now you’re here, I’m gonna make you wish you had never come back! Now here is where it stands the way I see it.” He leaned in further. “While you were off chasing little boys, I had been hard at work doing favors for different tribunal judges. I can either put in a good word, or a damning one. Cooperating with me just might be your best hope, Princess…”

With his usual pompous attitude, he commanded Rowark just like he had done before, “Until your trial, you are to report to me at seven o’clock in the morning. And this time, it’s not just your echelon’s latrines you’ll be cleaning this time, it’ll be your whole company’s. I’ll see you at seven, Princess Fairy Boy!”

The smell of the latrines would still have been more tolerable than his commander’s breath.

Chapter Text

As the fading sunlight cast a silhouette jutting out into the sky, Miro Miro looked up in awe at the mighty building sitting on top of the edge of the massive cliff. This may have been the first time Miro Miro stepped outside of the Kokiri Forest, but even she knew that this gigantic house, called a castle apparently, was the seat of power in all of Hyrule.

As she drifted closer towards the gigantic silhouette in the distance, she could start to see the shape of the castle better. How many decades have past since Mido, the leader of the Kokiri village, would describe his almost mythical trips to see the Queen. No matter how he described the castle, it was hard to believe that Hylians could build something bigger than the Great Deku Tree.

The fairy, incredibly aware of the dangers below, flew high in the air at an excessively safe altitude. The wider streets had torches fighting the darkness of the night. The only ones brave enough to walk in the uncertain comfort of the night lights were the patrolling guards. Single guards were placed along strategic vantage points, and the patrols roamed the roads in pairs.

From her vantage point, she could see a better layout of the city. To her left was the city wall, and according to Rowark, the massive man made border was as tall as the tallest tree in all Hyrule, though Miro Miro was heatedly quick to dispute that. On her way to the city, Miro Miro remembered spending a long minute or two traversing the tunnel underneath. From up above, she could see why. The rampart was wide enough to easily fit two carriages side by side, and it stretched as far as a league from end to end, jointed by two towers midway between the gate and both ends.

To her right, night torches vibrantly danced against the darkness, and their light could be seen from leagues. No way, there couldn’t be THAT many people here, right? Miro Miro asked herself. The numerous dotted lights in the distance became more concentrated the higher the neighborhoods were located. Like a warm sheet glowing in the distance, the night lights brilliantly highlighted the many layered terraces cut into the mountain.

Down below, the sound of crickets pierced the night sky. Even though she hovered higher than any of the many tall spires poking into the darkened sky, she still followed along one of the illuminated, stone paved roads. Between the blocks of buildings and houses was a dark void, a space where no light entered or left, one that gave her chills thinking about that horrors that could be dwelling under the blanket of the night. The very idea of flying over that void of safe lighting made her tremor.

The great wall to her left eventually ended at the base of the cliff supporting the castle, and while the height of the wall certainly impressed Miro Miro, the natural, geological barrier, naturally the city’s western border, was three times as tall as the city wall. As she approached the base of the massive, wall of rock, Miro Miro could tell that the rock formations were not natural. She looked all the way up and thought to herself, Oh no, do I really have to fly all the way up this cliff?

Fortunately, Miro Miro spotted a group of city soldiers sitting in front of a bonfire. Where the wall met the cliff stood a large structure connecting the wall to the mountain and to the rest of the city below. All the windows from top to bottom were brightly lit with activity brimming from within the monumental house. Behind the bonfire, a wall of wooden stakes, cut more finely and uniformly than the crude fences made by the Deku, stood stalwartly between the soldiers and the peasants; the entrance was nothing more than a gap in the palisade large enough to fit an entire elm tree snuggly. Judging from the number of other guards leisurely walking behind the group posted at the bonfire, Miro Miro had finally reached the soldiers’ home.

The fairy uneasily lowered herself into the well lit street leading to the bonfire and hid behind a barrel sitting in front of a store. She was hesitant to approach the gate after the last soldier she encountered had helped the shopkeeper capture her. Miro Miro hovered low over the barrel, partly studying the soldiers and partly fighting her nerve, for many minutes, before she decided that the soldiers were going to do more than sit and then got a grip of herself.

Of course, waltzing nonchalantly up to a group of soldiers was easier said than done. The anxious thoughts and doubts racing through her head made every heartbeat feel like hours. Thankfully, she displayed none of the physiological symptoms of her anxiety unlike her Kokiri counterpart, who would sweat and tremor until he either cried or wet himself. Once she could feel the heat of the fearsome fire cultivating on the ground, she cautiously and timidly grabbed their attention,“Um, excuse me. Um, can you tell me where the Castle Barracks are?”

The group of soldiers, a little less than a dozen men and women, stood and turned toward her. She froze, thinking they were going to catch her like the last one tried. But then the tallest of the men responded, “Yeah, behind us. Why?”

His hostile question froze Miro Miro into a frenzied silence. No good words could form a proper answer to the question. His large eyes furrowed from his distrusting frown, covered by his thin, scraggly beard. The bonfire’s radiance reflected brilliantly off of his golden breast plate, but it was preventing her from seeing Rowark ever again. But then she remembered why she was here! “I’m looking for Rowark. He’s my only friend I have in, in,” she was going to say the city, but she had been alone for so long, that she said instead, “in all of Hyrule.”

The man’s frown curled upward from the namedrop, “A friend of hero boy eh? Good to meet ya, then. A friend of hero boy is a friend of mine!”

The short haired, brunette soldier slapped the man on the back of his head with her golden plated gauntlet. “Have you forgotten already? Rowark said he got help from a fairy, this is her! Am I right?” she asked Miro Miro.

“Yes!” this was going well so far, “Please! Can you take me to him?”

“Well,” the taller man began with the word that presumed all disappointing sentences, “We’re on watch here tonight, so we can’t leave this place. But I can tell you he’s having a good time at the homecoming party back in the mess hall.”

“Yeah he is!” chimed in a man that Miro Miro noticed could not stand straight. The shorter, heavier set soldier held a small vase of something in his right hand as his left hand leaned on one of his taller compatriots. “He had a good amount to drink tonight that’s for sure!” he said before belching out a laugh. “Oy, when’s your watch done?” he asked Rowark’s friend.

“Midnight. Will you still be at the pubs by then?”

“We ain’t going to the pubs, we’re going to the brothel! HAHA!” he fired a lewd laughter into the night sky, and all the men laughed along. “But hero boy ain’t coming with us.” That statement brought down the mood with a few awws. “Can you believe it? He’s going to bed! After surviving an entire season out there, a place where there’s nothing resembling a woman’s sheath, he prefers his own, rock solid bed over the loving warmth of a Gerudo bosom!” The comment drew laught from all the men, but their female compatriots looked at each other with thick-skinned silence.

“We all know why,” snickered a soldier at the end of the queue, which drew laughter from the others.

“Will you piss off?” the tall soldier responded defensively, “For the last time, he’s not Queer, he was just raised piously! Said he came from one of the forest villages, you know, where you gotta pray to the three Goddesses in front of a bishop before he’ll even let you put it in your wife.” Rowark wasn’t lewd like that, Miro Miro knew this to be true in her heart and believed heavily. The man then addressed the fairy, “Rowark’s back in the main mess hall. Go through the main entrance into the barracks all the way to the end of the hall, make a right, go all the way to the end of that hall, make a left, and then any of the three doors on the right lead to the mess hall.”

Main entrance, end of hall, right, end of hall, left, right doors , she reminded herself while the memory was still fresh. “Thank you!” Miro Miro said with much gratitude and relief from the stranger’s assistance before flying past him.

The unpaved path to the entrance lead straight to the great, elm door, and about a dozen torch stands and heavily armed sentries stood posted along the road. A great field lay between the great borders, the barracks to the north, the wall to the west, the cliff to the east, and the barracks palisade behind her. Every piece of space in that field was occupied with a tent or a fire pit. There, there couldn’t be that many people either, right? she asked as she estimated that the entire Kokiri populace could comfortably live in these tents.

Along the western border, armorers, blacksmiths, provisioners, and stablemasters were busy servicing and selling their wares to the crowd of armored Hylians into the late evening. Many ate, drank, and told stories around the campfires far and few between each block of residents; otherwise, they were either busy with their duties, whether it meant going somewhere or standing still.

Despite how tall the city wall looked, it paled in grandeur to the city barracks. Layered roofs covered with bowmen and big, scary looking weapons could deter the nastiest of all the forest monsters. Nothing about the fearsome defenses and torch lighting could make the fortress feel inviting and warm. Like an unwanted house fly, she zipped inside past the half open door.

Up high near the tip of the arched ceiling, no one noticed that she existed. Immediately upon entry, the various banners hanging along the walls, brighter environment, and immense space of the foyer took Miro Miro aback. She flew past above all the hubbub and the activity going on below, and she paid special attention to the long, red rug along the floor leading down a very wide hallway. End of the hall .

But was she supposed to turn right or left? Curse her memory!

The tiny ball of light sunk slowly until Miro Miro found an isolated soldier, a larger, mature woman with wavy red hair, and dove in after her. “Excuse me!” Miro Miro called out.

When the woman turned around, her foot got caught on the ground, causing her to tumble backwards onto the ground. When the woman would not open her eyes, Miro Miro thought she might have accidentally killed her. Then a booming snore exploded from the woman, then some babbling spilled out, “Mooore wine, puh-leeesh….”

Unsure of how to make of that response, Miro Miro asked again, “Um, excuse me?”

Another powerful snore erupted from her, and then more sleep talk. “Oh, Sirrr Jormax, yourr embraashe isz sssoooo waarrm...!” a smile crept on her face as she curled into a ball.

“Are you, are you okay?” Miro Miro asked.

“Eh, she’s fine.” Another voice whipped Miro Miro around. A brown haired, female soldier, slightly more petite than the one laying on the ground and much younger, carrying a man slumped over on her shoulders used her short, strong legs to crouch and grab the sleeping person by the arm. “She’s just had too much to drink.”

“Too much to drink of what?” was Miro Miro’s genuine question.

The woman stopped in the midst of hoisting her companion onto her other shoulder to give Miro Miro a dumbfounded look on her slightly scarred face. “You’re definitely not from around here,” was her unnecessary, cold response. “Oy, Malon, come on, up on me shoulder. Let’s getcha home afore someone nastier than me does.”

The remark made Miro Miro feel unwelcome, and suddenly she realized she was amidst a crowd of strangers all wearing the same uniform. This was a place meant for Hylian soldiers, Miro Miro had no right to be here. Right… Right! She had to make a right at the end of the hall, then she had to make a left at the end of that hall!

Having recalled the instructions, Miro Miro flew back to the safety of the ceiling and faithfully followed the directions. When she rounded the left corner, she saw that the three wide doors were swung wide open, leading to one of the biggest spaces Miro Miro had ever seen before.

No cavern she encountered could house hundreds upon hundreds of men and women dining beside each other. Tables and benches stretched as far as the eye could see with golden armored soldiers occupying every available seat. All except for the curious group jumping all over their small section of the mess hall. The way they tumbled, rolled, and horsed around the bench and the table reminded Miro Miro of the way the Kokiri used to play during meal times.

The only way to find Rowark without searching through hundreds, maybe even thousands, of unfamiliar faces was to ask someone. Miro Miro built up the nerve to approach a soldier again. “Excuse me,” she flew beside a man with a pointed beard carrying a tray of empty dishes, “Could you help me find my friend Rowark?”

The scruffy soldier cleared his throat and spit it out, “Rowark? He went back up to the living quarters,” and then continued his way.

“Wait!” Miro Miro called out again, “Where is the living quarters?”

The guard let out annoyed grunt and pointed to a distant door on the other end of the dining room, “You’re gonna have to go all the way back to the entrance, but the door will be on your right as you go in. Rowark’s on the fifth floor I think. Now leave me alone!”

Back the way she came. “Thanks,” she muttered, feeling weak and defeated. After everything she had gone through in one day, coming all the way here for nothing felt like insult added to injury. With a heavy heart of frustration weighing her down, she sulked back towards the main entrance without caring who or what in the barracks’ walls could harm her. She just wanted an end to the day.

None of the soldiers’ looks bothered her one bit by this point. Her instructions were as clear as day by the time she entered the main foyer from whence she arrived. There were two doorways on her right, which would have normally made Miro Miro scared to guess incorrectly or ask the next rude person, but her mood put her in a mindset that deduced that the doorway experiencing more traffic was the way to the living quarters.

She had to be sure though, so she approached an old, hairy man walking from the traffic wearing nothing but a towel wrapped his big waist. “Have you seen Rowark?” she asked him plainly.

“Yeah, uh,” he grunted back at her as he pointed behind him, “I think I saw him back that way.”

Then it was beyond reasonable doubt. Rowark and the living quarters were just up ahead. Miro Miro zipped past the open door and through the hall as fast as she could, too excited to see her friend again for her to pay attention to the steam...

Only to find herself at the barracks’ bath room. She stopped dead in the air and felt her body flush at the sight of nude men walking around the tiled room. She scanned the steamy room, trying not to get distracted by the nakedness around her, unsure if Rowark was here or not. Sifting through the steam, she searched each bath for him, calling out his name timidly, so as not to attract too much to herself.

Her eyes instinctively transfixed on an unmistakable muff of hair and thick, shaggy beard. There he was, submerged in water from his chest down. His beautiful eyes were transfixed upon something moving. His jaw was hanging, and underneath the forest of Rowark’s blonde hairs was a sheet of bright red skin. Miro Miro turned around to curiously see what Rowark was looking at, but all she saw was other men walking around naked.

“Rowark!” she dashed to his bathtub.

Taken completely by surprise, Rowark yelped and submerged his head underwater. After a few heartbeats, Rowark poked his head out of the water slowly, “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“You told me to find you here!”

“Oh,” he sat up looking sheepish. What was he embarrassed about? “Um, h-how was it, finding your companion?”

Miro Miro began sobbing, which immediately shifted the mood of the moment, “Rowark! I was so scared! It was so horrible!”

He perked up immediately, “What happened?” Rowark extended his hand so that Miro Miro could land on his wet palm.

“No,” was all she could muster before she crashed onto his moist skin and cried into Rowark’s warm, welcoming essence. “I hate Castle City!” she screamed into his hand and continued sobbing. “Castle City is so big, I didn’t know where to go, I kept getting lost, and EVERYONE is so rude!”

“I’m so terribly sorry, I should have known leaving you alone was a very bad idea,” Rowark interjected regretfully.You should not apologize for my naivete and foolishness , she wanted to say to him but could not because of her uncontrollable hiccuping between sobs.

She then had to unload a thought weighing heavily in her mind. “And then there was a scary shop owner who kept all these fairies trapped, and then he tried to kidnap me!” she said in between sobs.

Rowark dipped his head in remorse and sighed, “I must apologize once more. Before we parted ways, I should have warned you that fairies fetch a high price in Hyrule Castle City.”

“But,” What was a price? Why were people after fairies? So many questions about this city and how it worked. “Why?”

“Um,” he hesitated for a few heartbeats, “You wouldn’t like the answer if I told you.”

Miro Miro gave that response a moment to think over, and then she finally said, “Not today then, I don’t wanna know.” She had experienced enough trauma for one day. The truth could wait.

“How about your friend? Do you think he is here in Castle City?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But the problem is that I have not seen my companion in many years, so…” She focused and recalled all her memories as best as she could to conjure up a picture of him, “I barely remember what he even looked like.”

Rowark could not reply, for both suddenly concluded impossible odds against Miro Miro in her quest. How many rooms of towers, houses, warehouses, and other kinds of buildings she did not yet know exist would she search? How many possible living spaces in all the roads and all the alleyways did she have to search? How was she going to be able to tell her companion from the countless possible thousands of people living in the city? How was she going to definitively prove beyond reasonable doubt that he was not here? Searching through every face in Hyrule felt like searching for a tree in a forest. Even though Miro Miro had an eternity to search underneath each and every roof and rock, Rowark did not.

His boyish voice broke the silence, “How long did you say you were in the forest?”

“Twenty eight winters,” Miro Miro answered without hesitation.

Rowark brushed his long, light brown beard, “Curious. Then, wouldn’t your friend look very different after 28 years?”

“You don’t understand, he’s a Kokiri. He looks like a child.”

Quiet followed Rowark’s state of deep thought, “I, uh. You are correct, I don’t understand. What?”

“They stay children forever.” Silence. Did he not understand? Miro Miro thought she could not get any simpler than that. “The Kokiri do not age.”

“I get it, but,” Rowark still looked puzzled, “How’s that even possible?”

Miro Miro pondered upon the question as well. Until then, it had never occurred to her that she had never encountered death. “No one knows, and no one asks. All we know is that all this is made possible by the Great Deku Tree.”

“Great Deku Tree, huh,” Rowark scratched his chin even more. “I recall him from the stories, is that the talking tree who raised the great Hero of Time?”

The term “talking tree” felt disrespectful to her, but she also knew Rowark had never seen Him before. “The Great Deku Tree who raised the Hero died by Ganondorf’s hand. But a new one was reborn when the Hero returned as an adult and defeated the evil in the forests.”

“So, if the Hero became an adult because he was a Hylian like me, then how did he arrive in the Kokiri Village?”

“I still remember the night he arrived to the village,” said Miro Miro to a fully absorbed adolescent, “That night, a local druid of the Lost Woods rode a horse carrying a child. She was gravely wounded, and it was too late for the Great Deku Tree to save her. We mourned for her, for she was a friend of the forest. The child was orphaned and had nowhere to go, but because the Great Father cherished all life, He decided to care for the child of destiny.”

“You’ve,” shock coursed through Rowark’s body, “you’ve met the… the Hero of Time?”

“Definitely! He was a wonderful and polite boy as he grew up, just like Father was. The Hero spent most of his time with the Great Deku Tree because he could not get along well with the others.”

Again, silence. Rowark’s jaw gaped wide open in disbelief, his dirty beard dipping in the bath water. He wanted to form words with his mouth, but somehow the incredibility of her story seemed to have paralyzed him.

Miro Miro made sure he was still healthy, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Rowark snapped out of his state of disbelief, and then started laughing. “Haha! I just. Wow! I have so many questions I want to ask you. It was my favorite story when I was younger, you know? I always asked my father to tell that story at least once at every campfire.” His face then faded into a frown, as if his own words had triggered an unpleasant memory. He looked down and began shaking.

It was clear Miro Miro had upset him, which upset her, “I’m sorry…”

“No! It’s…” Rowark sniffed as drops fell into the water, and then he raised his red, moist eyes to show that he was smiling, “I’m crying out of happiness. It’s the only pleasant memory I have left of my father, so… forgive me. I am still in disbelief that I have met living proof of the legend, which makes it history, now, I guess, haha.” He paused to wipe the tears from his face and force a laugh. “I, I must finish washing up, and I would like my privacy. There’s a lot going on in my head, so I need some time to myself as I finish getting ready for sleep.”

“It’s okay, I am just relieved that I did not make you mad.”

Rowark chuckled through the tears, “Oh don’t worry, haha. I’ll be finished momentarily. Meet you outside the bath room, okay?”

Miro Miro hopped off his hand, ready to flee from all the nudity, “Deal!”

Chapter Text

Quietness shared the space with the dark. Link leisurely walked back to the Zawks under the safety of the torch lights and posted watch. While any watchman had the right to arrest Link and take him in for wandering outside past curfew, any watchman also knew that the city streets were full of ruffians and monsters much more dangerous than any threat Link posed. Not a single watchman even glanced over in Link’s direction as he strolled through the familiar streets.

Unfortunately, he had strayed quite far from the target in his quest for his necessary items, but he had until sun up to destroy the blacksmith as well as the day after’s sun up if his empty stomach could handle another day without food. With only five rupees worth of materials, Link was quite proud of what he had bargained for, but it was not enough. The blacksmith would have to provide the rest of the missing items.

A growl of hunger erupted from within his malnourished frame. Luckily, it brought attention to none, as far as Link could tell from the vacated street. Not a stir in the light or in the dark. His stomach painfully distracted him from his journey, but with a strong image of his destination in mind, Link trudged forth against the pain. By now it was pointless to find food. The only places to find anything edible at this hour were located in the back alleyways, and they were also commonly known as heaps of rubbish.

Although Link’s legs did not feel any weaker than normal, his stomach became a void that seemed to drain the energy in his torso. He diverted all thoughts away from his inner void so that his feet could march on faithfully to the destination, but each step eventually felt like his feet were pushing through soft mud. After trudging through the agony, Link had at last reached the street intersection preceding the blacksmith.

The same two sentries were the same as before, but the posted watch across the street was no longer there. Perfect. Link looked both ways before entering the darkness that occupied the center of the street. Under the cover of darkness and guided by his experience in stealth, the boy slipped into the gap between buildings.

The alleyway was so dark Link could not even see his hand held out in front of him. But a good short term memory could pinpoint the scaffolding exactly where he remembered it. He confidently reached out and grabbed the invisible wooden beam. And without any light whatsoever, Link lifted himself up off the ground and grabbed onto another beam. Heh , he thought to himself, I coulda done this blindfolded .

Near the top, moonlight from the sky bled onto the rooftops and soft wind flowed like a river. With his eyes adjusted to the pitch dark, Link could see the cityscape, as well as his own surroundings, as clear as day. It was a one, two, and a hop off the scaffolding, over the three story fall, onto the slanted roof…

Which was more slippery than Link had anticipated. His landing could not have been more perfect, but his bare feet slipped against the wooden shingling, giving him a jolt of bloodrush coursing from his heart. His prone body kept Link from slipping any further. He rose to his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way up.

It was the big chimney. There was no more smoke coming out of it, but the wind carried the ashy smell straight into Link’s face. He unwrapped the coil of rope and then wrapped the chimney once around before tying a firm knot. The rest of the slack went once around his waist and under the drawstring in his pants before climbing to the chimney top.

Link threw the rope down the chimney, and then the sweet satisfying sound of impact upon ground echoed up through the chimneys. With one hand firmly gripping the slack and the other gripping the end, he hopped over the chimney. Immediately, he felt his free falling body tighten the rope around his waist and his drawstring tighten around his back, but he was safely suspended. By gently releasing the brake and feeding slack with the other, Link lowered himself back into darkness without any hassle.

Upon touching the rocky bottom, Link unwrapped the rope around his waist and searched for the exit of what he assumed was the furnace. His eyes may have adjusted to the darkness, but finding his way around was still impossible in the absence of light. Finally, his hand felt the mouth of the furnace, and he hopped out into a large room that only had a single torch in the entire work space.

Link went straight for the counter in the center of the blacksmith which had all of the blacksmith’s tools and began feeling around in the darkness. Metal instruments were scattered everywhere, and although the lack of lighting lighting made discerning the tools from one another difficult, it was not hard to find the wooden handle of the hammer, and so he grabbed it.

Next, he needed steel against which to strike the flint. Sure he could pick one of many iron instruments on the tables, or he could pick one of the Zawks’ finest blades resting proudly against a rack, but he would need both his hands to climb back out of the chimney, so the blade would have to fit snuggly in his pants. Once again, his fingers went back to feeling for the sharpened edge of a blade. Ow! His finger felt the nick of pain as it slid across something sharp. Good enough. His hand found the blade handle, while his other withdrew the flint in his pocket.

Sparks flew out as Link’s hand guided the stone onto the blade in total darkness, but the torch was stubborn. Finally, a spark caught onto the end of the torch, and light quickly filled the room shortly after. The small knife in his left hand turned out to be a woodsman’s blade. It was a good blade, one durable and sharp enough to cut through wood, so he tucked it in the drawstrings hoisting his pants. Link grabbed the candle off the table so that he could continue exploring more of the blacksmith.

Next, he needed to find the fuel source. There had to be some place where they kept the peat, or the charcoal, or the firewood even. But there was none as far as Link’s limited nightvision could see. From dark corner to dark corner, the shop only had counters, anvils, shelves, and racks full of works in progress. No, there had to be a fire source somewhere in the blacksmith shop; Zawk swords were not made with Goron magic, only Goron smithing techniques.

Think! he urged himself, The heat source must be near the furnace! Link checked the area near the furnace; nothing but the entrance, the tools hanging by, and the short little rope hanging off of the floorboard? He grabbed the rope and pulled upward, but it would not budge. After several unsuccessful tugs, it dawned on him that he was stepping on a trapdoor, and so he moved over and pulled wide open the door leading into the cellar below.

He descended down the stairs into the darkness, guided by the candlelight. The cramped space underneath, nothing more than rubble beneath a wooden floorboard, had two torches. When the flame from the candle touched the fuel of the torch, the light in the room revealed a pile of firewood in one corner and large pile of… black rocks? Link picked up one of the stones. It felt like charcoal, and it yet it felt like a rock. What was this?

It was a question for another time. Link put his faith in the rock, praying to the rock that it would burn as fiercely as charcoal. He grabbed many handfuls and laid them out on the ground, and then he smashed one with the hammer. The rock shattered into many pieces with little force just like charcoal did. To test their flammability, he grabbed a sprinkle in his fingers and threw it into the fire of the torch; to his happy surprise, little specks of flame flew out the other side. With an evil grin on his scarred face, Link began hammering away at the black stones until they became black dust.

The rocks must have been the Zawk brothers’ trade secret. And the fire Link was about to start was going to burn their trade secret to ashes. It was his final, missing ingredient. Collecting the dust, Link poured the black powder into his leather wallet, which contained the egg dust and the poop salt already, and mixed the ingredients with his hands every once in a while until the bag had ripened into a large, leathery fruit.

The firewood piled next to the black fuel all he needed to create the fire. Link carefully placed each log of wood on top of the pile of the black stones. After crushing more of the black stones, Link sprinkled the powder around the flammable pyre. All that was left to do was to plunge one of the torches into the pyre, and hopefully by the time anyone discovered that a fire was consuming the premises, it would already have been too late to stop the flame. But before he did so, he bent over and grabbed a large piece, stuffing it into his belt pouch. Surely someone would pay good money for this trade secret.

Sinisterly laughing to himself as he felt the heat grow upon his skin, Link walked back up the stairs with his homemade bomb and set the bomb in the mouth of the furnace. The woodsman’s blade cut through the rope like butter so that Link could use one end of the slack to plug the opening of his bomb and laid out the rest of the slack in the general direction of the bomb.

Suddenly, Link’s feet began to feel hot. Smoke was beginning to seep through the tiny gaps in the floor. The fire burns this hot already? Panicked, Link dropped the rest of the slack and instantly headed for the furnace. The fire from the cellar was going to ignite the fuse any minute now. There was no time wasted between his climb through the mouth of the furnace to his hand grabbing the rope. Blood rush coursed through his body and guided his hands as they grabbed rope after rope. The athletic child scaled upward with his strong arms at a fast pace, but nothing made his blood rush harder than when he suddenly felt the rope break…

Of all the times , Link thought to himself as he fell. His leg was the first part to feel impact upon the ground, and so a searing of pain coursed from his leg into the rest of his body as he landed painfully next to the bomb. All the wind had been forced out of his lungs, luckily rendering him unable to scream in pain, only grunt pathetically. Any movement was denied by excruciating pain. As Link struggled to gasp for air, he could see the flames poking through the floorboard. At any moment, the floor would become too hot for Link to stand on, let alone cross. Oh well , he thought to himself as he relaxed his body and closed his eyes, I guess this is as good as any excuse to finally die .

There was no future for him in this wretched world anyway. Only pain and misery.

Promise me! her familiar voice pounded into his head. A tear rolled down his eye.

I can’t , Link spoke back to her memory, I’m so tired. I just wanna sleep. Just like the rest of you.

No! she retorted sharply, instantly quashing all potential comebacks, You promised me!

Link opened his eyes and sighed, “I did promise you.” A new will to survive and blood rush awakened within him. It was only a matter of heartbeats before the makeshift fuse would catch on fire. First, he had to regain his breathing. Only when he could control his inhales and exhales did he begin pushing off of his healthy leg, painfully scooting himself towards the mouth of the furnace against the rough, sharp rocks underneath him. Once he reached the lip, he used his arms to lift his tender leg over the edge and onto the ground.

Damn the pain made walking feel impossible. It would have been under any situation less life threatening than his current one, however. He wasted no time in reaching for the door, but while rushing out, he tripped over a stool and fell prone onto the hard surface. Immediately he could feel the front of his body begin to cook from the fire underneath, but survival instinct told him there was no time for pain. His knees and feet seared but would not quit until he reached the door.

His hand reached for the doorknob, and he lifted himself up to unlock the deadbolt. It was stuck. His heart raced faster and faster as each heartbeat ticked by. With a final twist, the deadbolt came loose, and the twist of the doorknob sent the burglar crashing forth onto the town street.

Link sighed in relief, but that was before he was looking at the pointy end of two spears. “What do you think you’re doing, chump?” asked one of the blacksmith’s guards.

“Uh, I obviously just broke in,” Link said as he caught his breath, “but what I just did isn’t as important as what is about to happen,” Link retorted while using his good leg to continue pushing himself away from the building.

The two guards looked at him confused, and then the loud blast, louder than any normal bomb could make, clarified that statement...

Chapter Text

When Rowark emerged from the bath house, he was almost unrecognizable. His dirty and oily hair was replaced with a clean and bright blonde haircut; his dark beard was no more, revealing a boyish skin that made him look like a teenager; his smile was even more enchanting when he spotted Miro Miro. Wearing casual wear, a long sleeved, red tunic and tight, matching pants, and a fresh bandage wrapping around his left hand, Rowark waved at her. “Do you mind following me? I promised my sister I would catch up with her before I go to sleep.”

Miro Miro nodded. She was excited to see his family! If his sister were anywhere as nice as Rowark, then Miro Miro could have two friends in the city! Surely his sister would help them on Miro Miro’s mission. Next to the bath room was the stony stairwell leading up to the dorms, and the climb up the three flights was quiet.

“How many flights of steps are there?” asked Miro Miro’s curiosity as Rowark opened a door.

“Six on this side. These flight of steps lead to the top of the wall.” They entered a long and cramped corridor that seemed to stretch on forever, dimly illuminated by the torches suspended between dorm rooms. Rowark continued his lecture, “On the other side of the barracks, those flight of steps lead up to the sixteenth floor so far.”

“Wh-what do you mean so far ?” A sixteen story tower would have been impossible to miss on her way here.

“Most of the barracks are actually built into the western cliff, right underneath the Castle, which gives us plenty of room to excavate more of the old castle and build more floors.”

“Huh,” was her dumbfounded response. Hylians amazed her all the more. They continued walking down the hall until Rowark stopped in front of a rectangular door with a small, metal plaque with the engraving “367” before knocking.

“It’s unlocked!” they heard from the other side of the wooden door.

Rowark took the cue to open the door and enter. The heartbeat Rowark’s foot crossed the threshold a woman, the same blonde from before who carried the two unconscious soldiers on her shoulders, instantly jumped from her seat and wrapped her arm around Rowark, who returned the embrace immediately. Unreal bliss exploded between the reunited siblings and emitted their happy sentiments to everyone in the vicinity. Except for Miro Miro, who remembered exactly how rude she had been in their previous encounter…

The bedroom was cramped. The two bunk beds resting against the corners opposite the entrance took up most of what little space there was. Two small desks occupied the adjacent corners, each designed as a workspace for two as there were two chairs to a desk.

“Rowark,” she longingly whispered into his breast and tightened her grip, “Thank the Goddesses. I knew they wouldn’t take my only family away from me.”

“Alexa,” Rowark responded to the warm welcome and planted a tender kiss on the top of her hair, “you could have returned to Ordon if you wanted to.”

She broke away from the embrace with tears streaming down her face and delivered her ultimatum, “I would rather die avenging you than go back home!” Then she buried her face into his tunic as more tears moistened Rowark’s sleepwear.

The uncomfortable feeling of tears and snot draining onto his tunic was the last thing on his mind. Rowark slowly rubbed her back, tenderly reminding her that her brother was safe at home, and all was good. Then, he broke the embrace and extended a hand towards Miro Miro, who was caught off guard.

“Alexa, this is Miro Miro,” Rowark introduced, “I would not be here without her help.”

Miro Miro instantly remembered the woman’s rudeness from their prior engagement, giving her a tinge of anxiety. An awkward feeling washed over her, and she could sense that the poor young woman was feeling that exact same sensation. “You were, that fairy that I…” Her shocked expression spread guilt all over her face, “Please forgive me!” Alexa groveled with her head bowed onto the fur rug, “I should not have been so foul to you. I beg forgiveness, Fairy. I prayed to the Goddesses everyday that Rowark would come home safely, and had I known that the Goddesses sent you to guide him home…” the rest was lost in her sobbing.

Her brother lifted her by her arm and comforted her, “There, there…”

Well, now Miro Miro felt bad. “I forgive you. You are Rowark’s family, after all.”

Alexa looked at the fairy dead center with runny eyes and nose and pledged, “My life is to Rowark, as is to yours too!”

“Okay, um…” Miro Miro was just beginning to grasp the gravity of guiding Rowark to safety. She may have been immortal, but she had never felt so insignificant before. Had Rowark never come across Miro Miro, a hungry Skulltula would have eaten her, and no one would have ever known the world had one less fairy. Rowark, on the other hand, had friends and family who were feeling pain from their loss. “Well actually,” she corrected, “Rowark saved my life first, so accompanying him home was more of returning the favor.”

“Miro Miro,” Rowark said with playful annoyance, “you’re too modest!”

The comment had made her blush, even delighted her, “It’s true though!”

He could only smile back, exciting Miro Miro with giddiness. Alexa and Rowark both sat down before he began his questions, “So sister, what news I have missed in the past season?”

Alexa opened her mouth to speak, but an scowl exhaled instead, “Ugh, where to even begin?”

“We can begin with news about the realm.”

“Not good, if it ever is,” Alexa started, “People talk about Moblins pushing further from the southern woods.” Miro Miro did not know what “pushing” meant in this context, but she had heard of Moblins, the burly, leather skinned, boar headed beasts best known for kidnapping princesses and children. However, no one in the village had ever laid eyes on one, so the threat they posed to Kokiri was nonexistent.

“That’s not new,” said Rowark dryly.

“What is new is how far they’ve come and how much they’ve grown. Lord Springbock’s diplomats constantly pester the Queen for Royal reinforcements and clearing parties.”

“But doesn’t Castle Springbock have mighty walls?”

“They do, but Springbock’s armies cower behind them, leaving no one left to defend the villages. Most of the southern settlements are occupied by the Bokoblins now.”

This news was certainly shocking, “Bokoblins!? How?” The little tribal cretins were very real threats that lived outside of the Kokiri Village. Many children who had wandered too far from the village had met a terrible fate at the hands of these vermin.

“I was just as surprised as you were when I first heard the report,” Alexa had to take a heartbeat and a breath, “There is no mistake about it, the Bokoblins and the Bulblins have allied with Moblins within the past season.”

Yikes! Miro Miro reactively thought to herself. Bulblins were rarer, but they were far scarier. They looked like Bokoblins, but they were much taller, some even as tall as Rowark, and were said to be armed with Hylian weapons. But they were more or less on the side of myth. Many fairies had claimed they had seen one, but no one ever dared to venture too far outside the Kokiri village to prove it.

This was the first time Miro Miro had ever heard about Bulbins and Moblins being a tangible threat.

Rowark spoke in a solemn voice, “The Queen will have to appoint Din’s Champion soon to combat the invaders. Until then, Duke Faron and his people will be in my prayers.” Miro Miro had the chills thinking about what an army of the Lost Wood’s nastiest creatures looked like.

“Not mine!” Alexa’s response shocked both Miro Miro and Rowark, “His incredibly absurd requests to send troops and rations that far south are unnecessary and are doing us more harm!”

“What is absurd about defending the realm?”

“He has his own armies to protect him, and Lord June sends his own clearing parties out already!” He had hit a nerve, and her news about the realm quickly became an venting of emotions, “Outlying Goron tribes still fight the Alliance, so they ask US for more troops! Castle Ingo claims they have cannay spare the manpower to protect their own damned holdings, so not a single soldier is spared to aid their people from the highway lords, so they ask US for more troops! Zola bandits disrupt trade between the Zoras and the Deku -”

“So they ask us for more troops. But we have a vested interest in protecting our own trade too.”

“You get the idea, though,” and that was enough to calm her down. “Our forces are already spread thinly enough. We have no more heavy infantry and cavalry divisions garrisoned here anymore, they’re all out there, fighting wars started by the other Lords! And because of that, we don’t have enough watch to effectively protect the city!”

“How bad is it?”

“Hoy, it’s bad,” she said as she was about to drop the bad news, “We’ve gotten at least thirty new gang profiles in the last tendo alone.”

“Thirty!?” Rowark couldn’t believe it. Hmm , Miro Miro thought to herself, this gang profile monster sounds scarier than a moblin.

“Aye. Slug the Quick, the Craver, and Polleck the Drunkard have come out of hiding because of the new competition.” Such peculiar names for monsters that could scare Rowark. “Fighting is fiercest near the Eastern border, so lots of watchmen are posted in that area. And the higher ups have been chaotic as of late due to the Princess.”

“Why? What’s been going on?”

Alexa’s face instantly dropped, “Oh my, you haven’t heard…”

“What?”

“The Princess fell deathly ill about two tendos after you disappeared. I took it as an omen that the Goddesses had finally abandoned us.”

This news hit Rowark with shock, “Can they save her?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Three days ago I was at the Castle, and several of the maids told me about the Princess’s worsening situation. The entire place was just chaotic because of it. Everyone was running around like it was a madhouse.”

“I suspect it is because the Queen is trying to assemble an emergency Parliament to vote in a new heir.”

Parluhment? Vote? Air? These words made absolutely no sense in Miro Miro’s mind, but maybe she would find out soon.

“They’ve been at it for tendos now, and at this rate, I’m gonna die at a ripe old age before they even put the first of hundreds of votes together.”

“Such is our system. You and I are powerless to change it.”

“And that’s why I never paid attention to politics!” Everyone lightheartedly laughed finally.

“Fair enough. Did you perchance hear talk about which Princess will be representing each house?”

“What’s the difference between them? They’re all blonde haired, blue eyed,” Rowark began stifling an uncontrollable laugh, “pompous, Hyborns with fake breasts looking down on the rest of us. Oh, and they’re all named Zelda!”

Rowark and Alexa burst into laughter before they fell on the floor. The joke was completely lost on Miro Miro, and as the laughter went on, she continued to wonder why. But it looked like both needed that.

“Hoh, that was funny!” Rowark said as he stood up.

Alexa, still laughing, followed him up. “Heh heh, well you know how I’ve always felt about them Hyborns.”

“You never change.”

“Neither do you.”

The laughter had died but left great smiles on their faces, “How about I end the night on that good feeling?”

“Aye, ‘tis getting late,” she smiled, stood up from her seat, waited for him to do so, and then wrapped her arms around her brother. The heartbeat Rowark’s arms embraced her too, tears fell from her face once again.

“It’s okay, Alexa. No matter what, I am always here for you,” Rowark placed his hand on her hand, “So if you need anything, anything at all, you let me know, okay?”

Alexa sniffed and nodded her head in response, dampening the cloth underneath her chin. “Okay,” she hoarsely said.

“We’ll talk more,” said Rowark as he broke the embrace and gently kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight.” Alexa was closing the door behind Rowark when she suddenly said, “You know, you remind me of the Hero of Time.”

Rowark looked at himself in embarrassment, “How? I’m far from the warrior he was.”

Alexa’s eyes briefly glanced at Miro Miro, “Well, you emerged from the Lost Woods with a fairy, just like he did.”

“Maybe, but that’s the only connection we share,” he shared a glance with Miro Miro, who had witnessed the legend unfold before her eyes a century ago. She honestly thought Rowark was as kind and as courageous as the Hero once was, but she could not compare herself against the late, great Navi. “Goodnight.”

Miro Miro followed her companion down the hallway opposite the way they came. His short hair gleamed beautifully with every flicker of the torchlight and bounced with every slightest draft of air.

“May I inquire about your lost companion?” asked Rowark suddenly as soon as he entered the stairwell.

“What would you like to know?” her voice echoed up and down the dark, cylindrical shaft.

“For starters, you’ve never shared his name with me.”

“Topah. That one is easy. What else?”

“Tell me about your relationship with Topah,” he asked her.

“Hmm, that is tougher. I don’t know how to describe it,” Miro Miro had a difficult time remembering the life that she had taken for granted for the majority of her existence, “We fairies are like mothers, but not really. The Great Deku Tree assigns a fairy to each Kokiri.”

“Just like the Hero was paired with the fairy Navi!” Rowark’s face beheld the wonderment of a child once again, “Sorry. It was my favorite story growing up. I loved hearing about the Hero of Time’s adventures. Things are so different now from the stories that I just find it hard to believe that heroes once existed.” In the one day Miro Miro spent in Hyrule Castle City, she understood his sentiment all too well. “Sorry for getting off topic. So back to you and Topah.”

“Topah was born after the war ended. The new Deku Tree used his youthful energy to create more Kokiri and populate the village, and then he invited fairies from all over the forest to live in the village and become a child’s companion. I'm like his eternal parent.”

As they rounded the corner and exited the dorm halls, Rowark hesitantly asked, “Do you feel responsible for losing him?”

“YES!” Miro Miro stopped to let out that cry, “He loved playing hide and seek so much, and one day, we were too deep in the Lost Woods, and then I just couldn't find him. I haven’t stopped searching for him since. During the many years I’ve been searching for him, I kept thinking what I could've done differently to prevent all of this!” Confessing that after years of solitude felt surprisingly good. However, in letting out her feelings, she also began sobbing.

“Hey,” Rowark consoled, “that doesn’t matter! We’re going to find Topah, all right?”

She hiccuped, “Mmhmm.”

“Do you know if he’s in Hyrule Castle City?”

“I don’t even know if he’s still in the Lost Woods! Goddesses, so much has happened in twenty eight years, he could be anywhere! Do you come across a lot of Kokiri?”

“Not really, I don’t know.”

Miro Miro perked up and stopped crying, “I don’t know?”

Rowark sighed, “Well, the way you describe him, a boy that looks like he’s ten, that could be any street urchin on the street. Any kid that I’ve encountered on patrol could have been a Kokiri!”

“I’m sorry,” Miro Miro quickly retreated her question.

“No, don’t be sorry! Gah!” Rowark apologized in frustration, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“No, you are right,” she relented. Rowark climbed the rest of steps in awkward silence; the only sound made was the impact of the sole of his boot against the stone floor, until he opened a door leading into a lonesomely creepy hallway. Lighting was spaced more sparsely, and there was no shortage of cold air. Each breeze chilled Miro Miro down to her core, but Rowark did not waver once.

“Hmm…” escaped from Rowark’s lips.

“What are you thinking about?” She did not care what was on Rowark’s mind, as long as he said something to break the unsettling silence.

“Hmm,” Rowark seemed deep in thought as stared forward, “I was thinking about a rumor,” his words brought interest back into Miro Miro’s heart. “Many years ago, around the time when I first enlisted, back when slavery was still legal, there was a duke who owned a manor near the eastern side of the field.”

“What is slavery?” After that, she wanted to ask what a “dook” was, and then what a “manner” was afterward.

“Oh Goddesses...” Rowark hesitated for a long heartbeat, “I am about to explain something that may lower your opinion of us Hylians. Do you wish for me to continue?”

Such an odd preface. “As long as I know you’re not one of the bad Hylians, go on.”

“It is when someone is forced to work for someone else and treated as property for the rest of their life.”

Miro Miro gasped, “That’s terrible!”

“That’s why the Queen outlawed it,” Rowark responded with nonsensical jargon again.

“I don’t understand…”

“It means it’s against the rules to own slaves.”

“Oh, okay. So, what happened to the ‘manner’?”

“Burned down mysteriously. Duke Faron lost his eldest son, his future heir. But no one knows how or why the fire started. There are many conspiracies afloat, but the most common story was that the lord had enslaved sons of witches, and that it was their magic that burned the manor down. I’m wondering if those ‘sons of witches’ were the Kokiri you speak of.”

Another awkward silence dominated the air between them. Could Topah have been one of those poor children? She pictured a malnourished, blonde haired boy with skinny arms toiling under the hot, summer sun, tilling the field and picking crops against his will. And then she pictured a great big fire engulfing the field, and poor Topah running away scared. Maybe he got away. Or maybe his body was burnt to the ground.

She started crying loudly again. Rowark attempted to calm her down, “Oh no, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I was just thinking out loud. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s not that,” she tried to stop crying, but all it did was made her talk in between hiccups, “I-I-I need to prepare for the worst.”

“Oy! Queerdo!” A padded glove extended and firmly gripped Rowark’s shoulder, interrupting the mood immediately. So engrossed in Miro Miro’s crying were both that they did not see the watchman urgently coming towards them, “There’s an emergency deployment. Sir Triss needs every available volunteer to suit up and report to the campground.”

“All right, I’ll be there,” Rowark nodded, “Sorry, I have to get going, but you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

“No! I'm coming with you!” she exclaimed amidst tears. After the other town guard tried to kidnap her, Rowark was still the only person in Hyrule Castle City that she could trust.

Rowark smiled in response, “I was hoping you’d say that! Let’s hurry!” before taking off for the stairs.

Chapter Text

Distant footsteps. Still at the scene of the crime. Painful broken leg. All three thoughts woke the boy up. The two men-at-arms that were guarding the smith were out cold. Link was the first to wake up. And now he needed to disappear.

A grunt escaped from his lungs as Link tried to move his body. Disappearing was easier said than done. Try as he might, he could not contain the burning pain coming from inside his leg. By now, the blood rush had subsided, and all that was left was the excruciating hell that prevented any sort of movement in his leg or the rest of his body for that matter. That did not change the urgency of his situation, it only changed how he was going to get moving. “You... promised...” he painfully uttered to himself.

His head swiveled, looking for something to help him get up. The spear lying next to its unconscious owner would have to suffice. Link reached over with his hand and pulled himself across the stony pavement to the body. His rapid breathing was more or less the result of his shrunken lung capacity. Once his fingers firmly wrapped around the wooden shaft, he reached around with his other arm, but pain restricted any potential movement. Link recognized this pain before: his right shoulder was dislocated. He planted his knee onto the ground, then the foot, and finally the spear uprightly before helping himself up. The pain did not lessen one bit, but he finally stood up on his good leg.

It was hard to concentrate on leaving the area when a fire was blazing fiercely in front of him. The entire first floor had caught on fire, and smoke was escaping through the second and third floor windows. He heard panicked and frightened screaming from inside. It was not in Link’s nature to mount a rescue, and he could also begin to hear the sound of multiple footsteps getting louder and louder. The fire blasted its way into the alley with the scaffolding, but he decided to brave the flames anyway. It was his best chance of escaping unseen.

And yet somehow, he knew his promise would dogmatically get him through and keep him alive.

Between the suffocating, dark smoke, the intense heat, and the painful leg, laying down and dying sounded like a very tempting idea. With each step taken, Link’s consciousness slowly dwindled, although this helped to numb the pain in his leg and his arm. He coughed heavily, and soon he had to grip his walking stick with two hands just to keep his body upright. The end was in sight, but would he make it?

A loud crash behind him startled him awake. The scaffolding had come down, making pursuit, and retreat for that matter, impossible now. It was either move or die now. Still, Link’s body struggled to obey each command. Endure the pain or die. The story of Link’s wretched life.

Smoke had been entering his lungs, but as he strained through injuries, his breathing became heavier, until finally his lungs autonomously decided to have uncontrollable coughing fit, and Link soon fell hard onto the stony road. Upon landing, every misplaced piece in his body could be felt. Come on! he rallied himself through the coughs, Not much farther!

It was easier to use his healthy limbs to crawl the rest of the way. No need to worry about falling over and breaking his fragile body any more, the smoke was not as thick, and it was his best chance of survival. Pushing himself forth meant antagonizing the friction between his broken bones and the ground, but he could also feel the less heat and breathe easier. He could finally see the end of the alley just up ahead.

When he finally reached the corner, Link immediately relaxed and released a deep breath, but he also began looking for a place to hide for the night, using only the distant light that blazing fire provided. The sour, pungent odor of dung punched into his nose. Perfect. A pile of human waste is the last place anyone wants to check. He scooted towards the smell along a dirt pavement, towards the fenced enclosure of the dung pile.

In his mind, Link was still gradually getting closer to the foul smell. But in reality, his consciousness had given in before he had even crossed the fence.

Chapter Text

As Miro Miro briskly followed Rowark down the winding tunnels and paths, he explained to her what was going on and the difference between a regular deployment and an emergency deployment. However, the only information she could digest from all the garbled technical jargon was that nobody, not even Rowark, knew what the emergency was until after they had convened in the foyer.

With the turn of a corner, she saw a crowd of soldiers chaotically entering a wide door wearing uniform fatigues and exiting wearing golden armor. Before Miro Miro could ask another one of her hundreds of questions about what was going on, Rowark told her, “Wait here!” and plunged into the crowd.

Miro Miro then looked for Rowark in the emerging crowd. When he did, her wings skipped a beat. Looking like a professional soldier, Rowark stepped out of the crowd wearing a golden breastplate engraved with the familiar Hylian crest, golden pauldrons that covered the shoulder and upper arms, a short, golden gauntlet that extended up to his right wrist, a longer, reinforced gauntlet that extended up his left forearm, a gold plated skirt that stretched down to just above his knee, and sturdy leather boots that looked ready to withstand any kind of weather. He carried his conic helmet at his side, right by the leather belt and the sheathed long knife (or a short sword depending on perspective) resting at his side.

Once they made eye contact, he beckoned her to follow him.

But a lanky authority figure dressed in heavy mail stared straight into Rowark’s eyes. “Oh no… No no no. Absolutely not,” said the bony man wearing a full suit of plate mail that seemed too large for his skinny frame. Wavy, golden hair flowed down the dull metal plates to his upper back, and stern, lake blue eyes showed a great displeasure upon seeing Rowark suited up in his watchman armor. Though Rowark’s plates shined with a new luster of gold, it was nowhere nearly as protective, as thick, nor as layered as the knight’s steel armor.

“People need my help, Triss!” Rowark clasped his hands together to beg, “Please!”

“That's Sir Triss to you! And I said no!” was the knight’s immediate, high-pitched response. “Why? You just got back, and now you want to risk your life again?” Only then did it dawn upon Miro Miro what Rowark was getting himself into. “Listen, you’re an excellent volunteer. One of the best in city for sure. But this emergency is dangerous, and there’s no need for you to risk getting hurt. I have more than enough volunteers to get the job done. Get a good night of sleep. You deserve it. Please, I can’t risk your life, not after Alexa and I both thought you were dead for a damned season!”

Rowark shrugged off the prospect of death, “It’s my job. I’m coming along, and you can’t court martial a volunteer for volunteering.” He concluded with a boyishly cheesy smile that quickly melted Sir Triss’s mature, cold expression.

The knight face palmed in frustration, “Fine! I know you’d just show up anyway.” After a deep pause, a friendly grin crept onto Sir Triss’s lips, “But I’m making you swear to Hylia after this to take a serious tendo of leave. Are we agreed?”

Rowark hopped giddly and happily answered, “With Nayru as my witness!”

Only the most hesitant groan could follow Rowark’s enthusiasm, “Alright, fall in then.”

Rowark put on his golden helmet and walked up to the crowd of other volunteers while Sir Triss walked up to the small dais in the center of the spacious foyer. Meanwhile, several other soldiers not wearing armor were quickly running back and forth, carrying buckets and stacking them behind the majestic knight.

“Listen up men, I’m your commanding knight for this urgent sortie. Thank you for volunteering on such short notice. We’re on fire fighting duty tonight, so we cannot afford to waste any time. No weaponry will be needed. Your orders are to grab an empty bucket and congregate with the fire brigade at the intersection of Nayru and Bilbury!” So many technical terms spat out made Miro Miro’s head spin. “Move out!”

Those two words cued all the golden soldiers to frantically scuttle past the golden haired iron sentinel and pluck a wooden pail from the many stacked in neat piles. Once Rowark yanked one out, he hurried to follow his fellow volunteers out the door, and Miro Miro darted after him just as hurriedly.

It felt like Rowark was following a trail of soldiers, each one trusting the one in front to get to the destination. Following the paths on the street level made Miro Miro realize how uneven the ground was, as if the entire city was built on a gigantic rolling hill. And if the barracks’ hallways weren’t dizzying enough, the streets cutting through the city blocks were dense, monstrous forests of Hylian-made townhouses. The paving stones and sizes of the roads traversed were as varied as the architecture of each building. After what felt like hours, Miro Miro and Rowark began to smell the smoke before seeing it.

By the time Rowark and the rest of the golden troop had arrived at the fire, half the block was filled with bystanders watching the theater of events unfold. The massive flames illuminated the entire intersection and was spread out across three different buildings across the city block. Between the bystanders and the fire were the brave men and women chucking water from their buckets into the inferno.

The first watchman to reach the scene yelled out to the rest of the group, “We got two unconscious here! Let’s get them out of here!” Three volunteers descended from the sea of gold to drag the two men lying on the ground away from the fire. Miro Miro could not help but notice the difference between Rowark’s armor and the unconscious ones’, which had small metal links, hundreds of them, chained together to make something resembling a long shirt and a sleeveless black and blue coat with an insignia of a spear facing northeast. Their bodies were finally left by the bystanders.

Finally, one of the fire fighters, a portly man wearing a red uniform and a bushy mustache, approached the leaderless group of soldiers. “Which one of you is in charge?”

Each soldier turned towards one another with no answer for the man. “I am,” rang out a voice in back. The soldiers parted a way for their commanding officer to address the fire fighter, “Sir Triss, commanding knight of the fifth volunteer battalion.”

“Tomas Mason, brigadier of this lot, but I guess you’re the authority in charge now. The nearest water tower is three blocks north west of here and the nearest well is two blocks south. Direct us wherever you need us.”

“We must stop the fire from spreading at all costs. Assemble your men by the nearest water sources and keep my men supplied. We’ll take care of the rest,” replied the knight. Once the brigadier left, Sir Triss faced his own men and began barking out his orders, “We will divide our forces in two and focus our efforts at either end of the fire. Sonja, you take the half on the left and stop the fire from spreading further east. Nooth, you lead the other half and head south! You five,” his gauntlet pointing far away from Rowark, “you’re on me. We’re going to focus on the front and mount a rescue.”

The soldiers broke into their groups, Rowark joining the group that headed south. The golden soldiers briskly jogged past the red fire fighters, and soon supply chains were established all throughout the streets. The fire fighters drew water from the well and the water tower and then passed the buckets down the line before dropping them off in front of the burning street corner. Then the soldiers picked up the full buckets from the communal source and dumped the contents into the flames before delivering the empty ones back to the water source.

The first few attempts were met with futility. The fire hissed at the feeble attempts to quell its ravishing hunger, but after several more bucket-fulls of water, it seemed like their efforts were finally paying off. Little by little, the flames and the heat retreated back into the smoldering store front. The lessening of the heat felt relieving to all.

“Stop what you’re doing!”

All eyes turned to see a bald knight wearing a darker shade of steel armor followed by two shorter but equally well armed knights behind him, followed by an enormous bevy of soldiers behind them. Their numbers, and the forest of spears held by an enemy armed to the teeth, ready for a fight, heavily outnumbered the thirty or so unarmed watchmen.

Sir Baldy, Miro Miro dubbed him, had a scar on his right cheek running down to his neck, a gap in between his two front teeth, and an angry expression on his face that frightened her. She couldn’t tell whether this situation necessitated the violent look on his face or he was always seriously scowling; the scars all over his face and especially the giant one running along his neck only intensified his demeanor. Judging from the heavy wrinkles all over his face, she guessed this man was around forty years old. Sir Triss looked majestic and noble with his shiny armor, but Sir Baldy, standing tall above everybody else, just looked mean.

“The situation is under control. My men are cooperating with the fire brigade and handling it,” said Sir Triss as calmly as he could, clearly not trying to provoke the company in front of him.

But his words of calm did little to change Sir Baldy’s expression. Maybe he was born with a permanent scowl on his face. His deep voice had a roughness that matched that of his facial expression, “This is Mister Praetonmore’s estate, and therefore not under your jurisdiction.”

“This fire threatens the safety of the public. I am fully authorized by the Crown to act accordingly,” Sir Triss fired back ferociously like a possessive animal protecting his territory.

“And I am fully authorized to protect my liege’s interests. Any interference with our work will be considered an act of aggression against Mister Praetonmore and his allies, and if it comes to that we will be fully authorized by the ruling party to dispatch with you and your men as we please.” He glared threateningly at Sir Triss, “Is that understood, sergeant?”

The word “sarjent” clearly hit a nerve for Sir Triss stepped closer defensively, “We are representatives of the Queen! An assault on us is an assault on Her! Are you truly foolish enough to threaten Her Majesty’s soldiers?”

The bald knight leaned in to sneer with the might of a small army behind him, “I am certainly not so foolish as to arm my men with pails.”

“What is foolish is treating the streets for common folk as a battlefield!”

“And that’s why I’m a real knight, and you’re just a sergeant of the Throne.” Sir Baldy was so tall that the tip of his bald head was still higher than the tip of any helmet. Leaning over Sir Triss aggressively, he mumbled softly, “Think about your men before you try anything stupid.”

Confident that he would encounter no more resistance, it was Sir Baldy’s time to issue new orders, “All right men, grab these pails and focus water on the blacksmith! You three, assist with water transport!” Their chainmail shirts rattled and rang in tempo as the men carried out their orders. “Oh, and sergeant? Thank you for supplying the pails,” Sir Baldy looked like the type of man to add insult to injury.

“Are you out of your mind!?” snapped the unrelenting Sir Triss, even if his urgency and violent hand expressions fell upon deaf ears, “If the fire is not contained at either end, it’s going to spread!”

“My liege paid a lot of money to set up this residence, and it is my duty to protect my liege’s interests.”

“You’re going to prioritize the wellbeing of your liege’s estate over the wellbeing of the public?”

“The public be damned!” Sir Baldy blared loudly to Sir Triss a fire brigade that was watching the debate unfold, “What are you waiting for? Get back to work!”

Tomas stepped forth, “Sorry Sir, but you’re not a part of the chain of command. The fire brigade is a public department, paid for by the Crown.”

“Listen here!” Sir Baldy roared in return and met the equally masculine man with a firm, metal grip on the collar, “I’ll have you gutted for your insolence you hear me? You are nothing but a-” The rest of the words were too unpleasant for Miro Miro to listen to, so she tuned out the rough and gruff voice out as much as possible. Still, it was hard to watch the poor fire man stoically react to a frightening knight go on about his low birth status, low quality of character, and low prospects for his family with the frequent death threat thrown in there as well.

Only one man was finally able to step up and stop the madness. “That’s enough!” Rowark’s voice rang out from the silent crowd. All heads turned towards him, and Miro Miro indirectly felt all their stares at him. But the most intimidating gaze came from Sir Baldy. Rowark was suddenly scared silent, now that the spotlight was on him.

The teeth in the ugly leader’s mouth gritted in anger, “What did you just say?”

Rowark took a deep breath to keep himself together. “Fire brigadier,” Rowark’s composure stayed true in the face of Sir Baldy, “Drop off the water from the tower on the intersection of Nayru and Saria! Drop off the water from the well over here by the armorer!”

Sir Baldy fired back, “Who do you think you are you runt?”

But as soon as the knight let go of the fire brigadier, the short man stood as straight and tall as possible and gave him the military salute, “Yes Sir!” before his thick legs carried him as fast they could north.

An incredibly large silhouetted person move inside the blazing blacksmith. A loud and thundering groan boomed from within, and the sound continued echoing down the street. What could possibly make such noise? To answer her question, a large hand emerged from the door and gripped the side of the doorway, pulling forth a towering Goron, a being which was almost half a head taller than Sir Baldy. His other arm covered his cone shaped head as he walked forth into the outside and coughed the smoky air out from his lungs.

Gorons were the stuff of legends and stories in the forest. These people lived far away in the mountains and were said to be famous craftsmen. The stories and tales were enough to identify the Goron as such, but even with all the tales and bonfire stories she had heard over the years, seeing the large creature step forth left her awestruck. He had small, beady black eyes, light brown skin and muscles that looked like a combination of flesh and rock, white stone-like hair that grew from his the top of his head down his back, a healthy looking belly, and peculiarly short and skinny legs to support all that weight.

A second Goron stepped forth from the fiery blaze, unscathed by the flames like the other, coughing heavily. He looked almost identical to the first one, save for the style of hair. “Brother, are you okay?” said the one dragging behind as he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Yes, I am. Are you?” replied the other. They turned around and watched the blazing inferno engulf their home.

“No.” His deep, solemn voice quietly vibrated in everyone’s hearts. “No! Noo! NOOO!!” he shrieked with helpless fury into the starry, summer night. The anguished cry resonated throughout the market in all the bystanders’ eardrums. “When will we finally be safe!?”

“Brother, it’s okay,” stony arms wrapped around the weeping Goron, who even had water tears trickle from his rocky eyes. “We are Gorons. Fire does not bend us or change who we are.”

“I don’t give a damn about the fire! I am tired of running!” Every Hylian man and woman steered very clear of the powerful Goron’s wrath, “I am tired of fearing for my life! I am tired of believing in their silly Goddesses!”

His brother embraced him once again, “We believed in their Goddesses so we could have a new identity and start a new life.”

Furiously, the enraged Goron turned around, and his eyes fixated on Sir Baldy. “You!” the Goron found his outlet for his anger as his voice shifted from powerless anguish to hateful blame, “Your Mister guaranteed us safety and security! Is this what his promises look like?”

“Turek-Zawk, this is all most unfortunate and unforgivable! A-a-and,” Sir Baldy’s uncharacteristic stutter caught her off guard, “I assure you Mister Praetonmore will take care of everything for you.” The viciousness Sir Baldy once had when speaking to the Rowark’s commander disappeared without subtly as soon as he began talking to the Gorons. Miro Miro guessed it was because Turek-Zawk made him, and everyone else for that matter, look like a cucco, but as Miro Miro had learned, there was always more to the story in Hyrule Castle City. Sir Baldy continued pampering, “We will find out who did this, bring him to justice, and rebuild your esteemed brand. I promise.”

Something about Sir Baldy’s tone of voice bothered her; the words spoken felt like empty air coming out of his mouth. It reminded of the way the shopkeeper who tried to kidnap her earlier said, “I’m not gonna ‘urt ya.” Kokiri would frequently fib, but they were normally pretty terrible fibbers due to their innocent nature. “Psh, he doesn’t care,” Rowark remarked quietly, as if reading Miro Miro’s mind. “None of this is his problem.”

“Somebody help us!” From the third floor of the tailor side of the building, a man stuck his head out the only only window and waved his whole arm. All eyes were drawn to him, and then they fell onto the fire burning door that was the only entrance, hitting the second story on its ascent.

A knight with red armor standing next to Sir Baldy turned to him, “Should we send someone up there to rescue him?”

“All efforts are to be focused on putting out the blacksmith fire.” He turned around to give the knight an icy glare, the type of glare that silenced any further protests against his orders.

Miro Miro, Rowark, and the rest of his company watched in disbelief as Sir Baldy’s soldiers, ignoring the cries for help, continued dumping water into the forge. The only ones satisfied with the decision were Sir Baldy and the Gorons, who only seemed to be concerned with their forge. From the furrowed look on his face, Sir Triss debated intervention intensely yet silently, while his men were quietly discussing amongst themselves whether they should help or not. Miro Miro looked down and saw Rowark clenching his fists.

“Farore, grant me courage,” he quietly whispered before he bolted towards the tailor.

“What are you doing?” Miro Miro screamed as she followed him.

The first kick did not move the fiery door, but the second kick sent the thick obstacle crashing down. Rowark turned toward Miro Miro, “Someone has to rescue him! Don’t follow me!”

It was then Sir Triss realized what Rowark was attempting to do, “Wait! STOP! ROWAAARRK!”

Against Rowark’s wishes, Miro Miro bravely plunged into the raging flames to follow him. Thanks to firefighting efforts, much of the fires on the first floor were reduced to various small embers burning small patches on the floor. However, that left a lot of smoke, and Rowark’s lungs and eyes immediately began to feel the effects. He reached around for his cape to cover his mouth and nose, but the black smoke stung his eyes. Fire normally did not produce black smoke, she thought. Since her eyes had been exposed to many new things within Castle Town, she thought little of the odd color.

She had bigger things to worry about. Seeing Rowark blindly search for the stairs, she flew to the stairs leading to the floor up. “Rowark! Follow my voice to the stairs! Hurry!” she called out to him. Rowark looked up and started stumbling in her direction. Grabbing a hold of the handrail, he quickly launched himself up the steps onto the second floor.

The fire consuming the staircase up to the third floor prevented him from climbing up any further. “Help! We’re up here!” Rowark’s eyes darted for the source of the man’s voice and found a weasel sized hole in the ceiling, with no way up. When he looked through, he saw a frail father, his wife, and their auburn haired young daughter looking back down at him.

Rowark called out to them, “I’ll catch you on your way down!”

“Go ahead,” said the father.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” replied his daughter in the midst of her crying, understandably so since she was beset by danger everywhere.

“It’s okay, Daddy and Mommy will be right behind you. Okay, she’s coming down!” The girl, wearing a long, white nightgown, hesitantly planted her feet on the edge of the hole and crouched down.

Despite the direness of the situation everybody was in, the girl could not bring herself to remove her feet from the edge and simply dropping down, making the process all the more painstakingly slow. A loud creak coming from the top floor stopped everyone’s breathing for a second. Then the crashing sound came. The force of the roof’s collapse caused the girl to lose her grip and fall forward, “EEEEk!”

Into a ready Rowark, who outstretched his arms and caught her, “I gotcha!”

The girl, Miro Miro, and Rowark looked back up at the hole and saw nothing but the burning remains of the roof covering the hole in the ceiling. “Mommy! Daddy! Nooo!” the girl screamed in grief, extending her hands upwards as if trying to grasping the remains of her parents with futility. A part of the ceiling collapsed underneath the weight of the roof; there was no time to waste. “Nooo! Go baaack!!”

Throwing the sobbing girl over his shoulders, Rowark started for his way back to the stairs. He did not set her back down until they reached outside. He kneeled in front of the girl and brushed her long, chestnut colored hair, “Hey, are you okay?”

Of course, it was a silly question to ask a young girl, probably no older than thirteen, who had just lost her parents. The girl wrapped her arms around Rowark and embraced him tightly while crying uncontrollably into his shoulder pauldron, speechless to what she witnessed. Rowark’s face bore guilt. But if the girl was not there, Miro Miro would have told him that he did all he could. She would have praised him for being the first person to be brave enough to do the right thing. She would have commended him for having a moral code that was above all the petty politics. However, she could not bring herself to say these things in front of an orphan grieving for her lost parents. Telling Rowark that he did all he could do meant the girl would hear that his best efforts meant the death of her parents, that he was the only one who cared enough to save her and her parents, that she was standing amidst a crowd of bystanders and cowards.

“I'm gonna find the person who did this,” he whispered into her ear. His whisper was quiet but full of conviction, “I promise I will get justice for you.”

A rescue party emerged from the armorer carrying two unconscious men. All of the town guards ran to their aid, while all the soldiers continued throwing water into the inferno. The speedy and efficient movement of water meant constant supply to the front line and throwing water at any flame that dared to encroach upon the fire fighters.

She noticed that Sir Baldy was absent from all the firefighting. Instead, he was hunched over, talking in a hushed voice to one of the guards sitting against the wall. Out of curiosity, she slowly flew closer to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“It was kid, eh?” Sir Baldy nodded. His hand reached around and grabbed onto the hilt of a weapon sitting on his lower back, “What did he look like?”

She could barely hear the guard whisper back, “He had scars.”

“Where?”

“Lots on his face. A wicked one… on his cheek.”

“Thankee.” Quicker than a cat pouncing on a mouse, Sir Baldy drew a knife from its hilt. The sickening sound of steel entering flesh froze Miro Miro’s blood, almost as effectively as the flashing Deku nut did. “For your service,” said Sir Baldy. Watching a goat die was one matter. Watching the man die with a shocked and painful expression was unbearable. Right before she turned away, she saw his eyes opened wide as he fought to cling to life, and when she turned back around, she saw the same expression, except without life, drained from his body in a matter of heartbeats.

“No, please Sir Rhychester, spare me,” pleaded the other soldier as he crawled away from the heartless knight and the fresh new corpse.  With tears streaming down his face, he crawled toward Sir Triss, “Please sir, save me, I got a boy, he needs a father. I don’t wanna die!”

Sir Triss stayed silent. Sir Baldy stood up and drew his sword. The soldier looked up to Sir Triss, even wrapped his arms around his leg, hoping this man would be his salvation and savior from the wrath of Sir Baldy. Miro Miro saw in Sir Triss’ face that he wanted to be that savior. He locked his eyes with the evil knight as if trying to fight him back with his glare. But he took too long to decide.

Sir Baldy raised his blade and then plunged the tip into his own soldier’s back, without breaking his glare at Sir Triss. Then for good measure, he twisted the blade and made a sound that almost made Miro Miro faint right then and there.

Instead, she buried herself in Rowark’s armor and cried privately to herself. “Make it stop Rowark, please. No more. I don’t want to see any more people die. Please, Rowark.”

“Throw these two into the fire,” said the evil brute. Watching this man end the story of two perfectly sentient beings had changed Miro Miro’s entire perspective of him. When she peeked over his shoulder pauldrons, all of Sir Baldy’s men quietly looked at the dead bodies. “When I say protect this property with your life!” Sir Baldy sheathed his bloodied sword, “THIS is what I mean! Now get back to work!” Dutifully, the other two knights stripped the carcasses down to the naked skin before carrying each by the wrists and ankles and throwing them into the raging inferno inside the armorer.

Sir Triss had a less than pleasant look on his face when he finally confronted his own soldier. “You! IMBECILE!”

“I wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing! I had to!”

“Shut up I know! Just- Gah, you reckless fool!” Sir Triss seemed to have been at a loss for words all night but he extended his finger straight down the road, “Leave the girl with me, and go home. You’re dismissed.” Wow, so that was the thanks that Rowark received for saving a girl’s life.

With a sigh, Rowark took one last good look at the blazing fire, which was still growing towards the south. From afar, the soldiers on different sides all looked like they were working together. Miro Miro knew better now. Rowark then turned around and began the long, quiet walk home.

Chapter Text

The fires that burned the field all around him matched the fire that was in Link ‘s soul, the one he had to embrace in order to survive. In front, a fierce, rugged guard, armed rudimentary chainmail, leather pads and boots, and a short spear aimed at Link, slowly closed the distance. Fear was long gone from Link’s mentality as he stubbornly marched towards certain death. The man was now the first of many obstacles to survival, and he was sure to best the child standing in front of him. Link, wearing only a tunic and ragged pants, waved a burning fence post back and forth to maintain distance between himself and his full grown opponent.

Waving his makeshift torch was of no use; the longer, pointier spear ultimately decided the distance between the combatants. With each of the weapon’s jabs, Link had to jump backwards, creating a window of opportunity for the spearman to quickly close the distance between them. Link had to steel himself to resist the urge to jump back whenever the spear’s thrusts came. He was so focused on anticipating when and where the tip would strike that when the attacker thrusted his weapon forward, Link jumped back, but only then realized that he was too close to the raging field of fire behind him. And while Link’s mind raced and panicked, the next spear thrust came in contact with the right side of his hip, striking muscle and bone.

The pain was immense, but the attack missed, the speartip grazing past, and gave him the opportunity to charge forward. There was no time for pain. When the spear withdrew, Link’s lunge forward took the spearman aback. Link wildly swung his torch at him, forcing him back to avoid the flame at the end, but kept his feet moving forth. The spearman backpedaled from Link’s aggression, but his feet could not keep up with his backwards momentum.

The boy triumphantly stood over his frightened enemy. Lips were mouthing words, but no sound came forth. Link could tell he was begging mercy. The pleas of mercy were pointless. The fires burning the fields closed in on the two rapidly. Link smiled, knowing that the last thing he would do before the flames consumed them was killing his tormentor. And then he plunged his torch downwards into the man’s face.

Link jolted awake in a bed. How? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep to the smell of dung penetrating his crooked and beaten nose.

He sat up straight and looked around, surveying his surroundings. The dark, shanty room of probably a hovel stuck behind a house or something was furnished with nothing more than a dresser, a candlelight on a low table, chairs, and the bed he laid in. The stink of smoke on his clothing dominated his sense of smell, and his awakening stirred a noise. Next to the stink of smoke was the stench of mold seeping from the old, wooden walls.

Of course, the first thing Link should have seen was the baby faced girl with a boy’s haircut sitting attentively at his side. “Mum!” she called out, piercing Link’s eardrums, “He’s awake!”

Link groaned from the sudden noise filling his ears, “Wh-where am I?”

The girl’s freckled cheeks and small mouth curled into a hospitable smile, “You’re at me home! Me and me mum found ye asleep outside right by our manure pile.” She could have been no older than thirteen.

“And you brought me in?”

“Well,” she began, but she was cut off when the door into the bedroom opened.

A bearded man with silver, well groomed hair and a tall gait stepped into the room. He smiled at the girl, “Thank you, Woaphie. Go and see your mother.” He looked at Link with no emotion, sighed, and then walked to the window, looking out the very early morning view. The faint, blue morning light shining through the sole window of the room highlighted the blue color of his cape and dulled the redness of his robe, and the colorful jewels hanging on his golden chain reflected light all over the walls.

Of course, Link’s eyes flashed to sword hanging on the belt. The sword and its scabbard always revealed much about the owner, even if they were not his originally. Judging by the length and width of the scabbard, the sword was meant for civilian use. The metal disk at the end of the hilt held a spherically cut ruby, a symbol of power, but the cross guard flamboyantly swirled around the hilt and the blade like a flower, a symbol of beauty. A gilded scabbard suggested this sword was most likely only used for ceremonies. It was the long knife with the plain leather sheath and worn out wrappings on the hilt that was used for killing.

“Perhaps you should think twice before you decide to utilize such drastic means for such a simple task,” his chastising tone was, without a doubt, exactly what Link expected to hear from the mouth of Nayru’s Judge.

“Next time leave more instructions,” was Link’s response.

“It’s not me Lord Praetonmore and the Zellink Alliance will be hunting for,” the truth bit hard into Link’s leg, which was still broken and very much in pain, but then he noticed the wooden stick splinted onto his leg and held together with some very bloodied wrappings, and a bandaged sling held Link’s pained arm in place.

Link groaned from the slight movement, “You could have warned me that the blacksmith was connected to the Zellinks.”

“I needed to leave as little information as possible. Safety reasons.”

The pain was not nearly as bad as he last remembered it, but there were still very unnecessary reminders of his wounded limbs. “How did you know I was here?”

“A little bird told me,” one of his lackeys was sent, “And that little bird also convinced the wonderful family in this household to hide you.” Instantly, Link felt suspicious.

Sir Mawar had retired out of the Royal Guard, her Majesty’s personal bodyguard detail, for many years now, but he enjoyed keeping the title if only to remind him, and perhaps others, of his service to the Throne. A veteran knight looked better in the eyes of the people than a power hungry politician, but anyone who truly worked with him knew that he was both. Link’s only form of leverage was testimony of very questionable decisions Sir Mawar had made in the pursuit of justice. Unfortunately, death was an easy solution to this problem, and Link was currently at Sir Mawar’s mercy. Link pressed, “You went out of your way to sweep me off the streets, probably before anyone got a good look at me.”

“News about the fire spread quickly, so yes, I dispatched someone to survey the area, and that’s where they found you cuddling next to a large mound of manure. She had to rescue you before Sir Rhychester led his men through the alleys to search for you.”

Link looked down and realized he his shirt and pants were changed, although they felt a bit large on him. He supposed the rank of smoke smelled better than the rank of dung anyday.

“After working with you for the past few years, I know you better than to just save anyone’s life for the sake of charity.”

The old man whipped his head around, “I have never seen anyone so ungrateful for having their life saved!”

Link returned the glare with a cold and fierce stare of his own, “You didn’t save my life, you saved the chain to my life!”

Sir Mawar sighed and returned his gaze out the window again, “Hmph, you’re free to live as you may, just not as a bounty hunter for the next ten years. Or, you can continue following my instructions as you are told until I decide to give you the antidote.”

Link narrowed his eyes at the euphemistic twist of words. “What instructions?” Link asked out of curiosity.

The old man smirked. All the white hair on his face could not hide his crooked scar drawn on the left side of his cheek. He began to walk back the same way he came in and then stopped at the doorway before turning to look directly into Link’s eyes, “In due time, you will be notified of the task. The revelation of my information must adhere to a strict schedule. In the meantime, I suggest you lay back, relax and let your body heal. I have instructed the wonderful family here to shelter you and feed you until such time comes.”

Link grumbled, “So then why did you come see me?”

“I’m sure you were going to have questions about how you got here. I also came by to tell you to take better care of yourself,” as if years of bounty hunting could not tell Link how to take care better of himself; and yet here he was, bedridden by a broken leg and only too lucky to be alive, and not rotting with a noose around his neck. There were days Link wanted nothing more than to strangle Sir Mawar. This was one of them.

Sir Mawar was an interesting man with an interesting history to say the least. The fact that he once served as one of the Queen’s royal guards was no secret. The confidential missions and bounties given by the man were clearly benefitting the throne, but what consisted of his network of spies was nothing more than a conglomerate of self-serving thieves, ambiguously moral swords for hire, and some of the worst gang lords. By day, he would don his robes of justice and his title of Nayru’s Judge and rain justice down on the criminal scum. By night, he would employ the very people he swore to protect the realm from.

Link never bothered to ask why. He received a job, to kill or kidnap someone usually, and then received money for each head. The more politics got involved the more problems occurred during the job, so Link avoided knowing as much as possible. Then he supposed knowing the politics alone was the reason why Sir Mawar could control the whole city from behind a desk, and not knowing was why Link was just a Link. The secret was in Sir Mawar’s ability to empathize; in Link’s case, the old man knew Link wanted, needed really, food and shelter most.

Sir Mawar parted with a his last reminder, “You are always free to hide from the Zellinks here, where I can find you, or you can hide out there, where the Zellinks can certainly find you.” There was no way in Din’s Hearth Link was going to stay here. Link had been chained like this and ordered around under penalty of death way too many times to not understand how being a slave worked.

Link would rather deal with the Zellinks. “No thanks to you!” he fired back at him, but the mysterious man was gone, and the door had already closed behind him before the last sentence was finished, “Tch, dunghole.”

The last time Link had seen Sir Mawar in person had to have been over a year ago. Memories in his brain could only stretch back about a year, for the most part. So many answers to his questions about his past life had faded into irrelevance. How old was he? Who were his parents? The only question he could answer with descriptive detail was how he received each scar.

He suddenly checked his left hand, and to his relief, the fortnight old bandage wrapping was left untouched. No sense in opening that bandage and reliving that horrific memory. He shuddered thinking about the nightmares his cursed scar, the first one, gave him. There was only the now, and right now, Link needed to find a way out of Sir Mawar’s grasp. The negative sentiments about his employer translated into different ideas plotted in his mind, but in order for Link to do anything stupid like that, he needed to heal, and fast. And then he needed to move somewhere else. Somehow, he needed to snag a…

The door violently flew open, the same young girl wearing her night gown waved her hand and danced her way inside with clumsy, flat feet as she introduced herself, “Hiiii! My name is Woaphelia, but everyone calls me Woaphie! What’s your name?”

The last thing Link wanted to do was talk to her. “Link,” he replied with the generic no name.

“Wow! Me mum told me not to talk to Links, but she told me I can talk to you!” Woaphie lifted her hands and hopped on one foot, before losing her balance and tumbling softly on the floor. Then, with renewed energy, she kicked herself back up onto her feet and struck a far reaching pose, “So we’re gonna be friends whether you like it or not!”

Link groaned loudly. Today was going to suck. Again.

Chapter Text

“Rowark,” Sir Triss awoke Rowark with a firm grip on the shoulder. Miro Miro wasn't sure how long she slept, it could not have been more than a couple of hours. The events of the previous night were so stressful that sleep seemed like a hopeful wish.

Rowark and Miro Miro kept their eyes open most of the whole night. Every time they were closed, the memory of the fire, the roof collapsing on the girl’s parents, and the brutal murder of the two guards would become all too vivid for comfort. So much had happened in one day. So many had died in one night. The great inferno claimed the lives of five and turned one girl into an orphan. The tears and grief were burned into their minds. They could still feel the raging heat of the fire and smell the smoke. Miro Miro wanted to talk about the night as she and Rowark lay awake, but any attempts to communicate was met with silence.

“We have to talk about what happened last night,” the knight sighed. Miro Miro did not like the sound of the word “talk” at all. He continued, “but first I need you to accompany me to a meeting with the Queen.”

Rowark perked up immediately, “Oh, um, yes Sir. Let me get dressed in something more appropriate.” The tired teenager rubbed his eyes together and clearly wanted to spend his day off sleeping, but the morning sun shining through the east facing window had awoken him to the point of no return.

Sir Triss certainly dressed like he was ready to meet the most powerful person in all of Hyrule.  A fancy, red doublet and fancy beige breeches looked very foreign and impractical for the summer heat. The handsome smile on the knight’s face almost melted Miro Miro’s heart, “Thank you, as always, for your blessed attitude. And don’t worry about attending the meeting in formal dress, since we have to be there in less than ten minutes.”

That last sentence forced Rowark’s eyes wide open, and he hopped off his top bunk before digging through the footlocker at the base of his bed, retrieving, and finally slipping on his black boots, white pants, and a blue, crew cut tunic. It could not have taken Rowark more than half a minute to get dressed.

“Ready?” Sir Triss had his hand on the dorm room door and was in the midst of opening the door by the time Rowark finished smoothing out the wrinkles of his tunic.

The young lad nodded in silence and followed the knight through the dark hallways, untouched by the morning rays of sunlight. Where they walked, only the torchlight led the way.

Sir Triss lowered his voice into a hush as he kept up with his brisk pace, “Alright, this is between you and me, before we get to the meeting.”

Rowark gulped, “What is it?”

“I’m… glad. You did something great when I couldn’t,” the knight deeply sighed, relieving himself from that confession. “But that doesn’t mean I’m still not mad at you, though!”

“Wh- why?” asked Rowark, taken aback by the sudden change in tone.

The knight whipped his face sternly around, his long, straight golden hair waving behind him, “Are you joking me!? Do you know what was the first thing that came to my mind when I first saw that house go down?”

Rowark kept up the pace in silence.

Then without warning, Sir Triss roared in his face, “HOW AM I GOING TO EXPLAIN THIS TO ALEXA?”

There was no answer to the rhetorical question except… “I’m sorry,” Rowark squeaked out as his gaze fell to the floor.

“You’re damned right you’re sorry!” the mean look on Sir Triss’ face also held sadness behind his blue eyes, a sadness that Miro Miro instantly recalled from many decades past, when she used to look after her companion. “Look, I care deeply about you, you’re like my own little brother, not just because of Alexa, but because you truly are one of a noble few, and this realm needs more men like you.”

“Oh stop,” Rowark quietly muttered.

“Ever modest, as always,” said the knight with a smile. The further the men walked down the hall, the darker the hallways seemed to get. It was hard to believe that it was morning outside. “Listen, the realm needs you. Alexa needs you. We need you to serve the crown, but more importantly, we need you alive to do so.”

By the time Rowark lifted his head to meet Sir Triss’ friendly smile back, they had reached a doorway leading to a wooden tower stuck inside a cave… “Where are we?” Miro Miro asked her companion.

Both turned their heads toward her, and it was then Miro Miro had awkwardly realized that Rowark had never properly introduced her to his friend, and thankfully Rowark felt the awkwardness with her, “Oh um, Sir, this is Miro Miro, she is the one who saved me from the forest and also helped me rescue the girl last night.”

The man’s face first beheld surprise, “Oh!” and then turned into a deeply respectful smile, “Sir Triss Yeoman, knight of the fifth volunteer company. Honored to meet you!”

“And we are at the elevator, to answer your question,” chimed in Rowark.

“Eluhvater? What’s that?” she asked before suddenly feeling stupid for asking the question, “I’m sorry Sir Triss, I have never been to the city before, so I don’t know what anything here is!”

“After saving Rowark’s life, I’ll gladly explain anything to you,” was the knight’s warm, chivalrous answer. He began walking toward the entrance, which had two men standing by on duty. “This elevator will take us straight up to the castle. ‘Tis easier to show you how it works than to tell you what it is.”

The knight led the way and waved to the two men sitting unamused, “Top of the mornin to ya!”

The two immediately erected themselves straight and gave Sir Triss a salute, right arm raised, elbow bent, and hand facing downward, like he was shielding his right eye from the sun. Such an odd gesture. “Sir!” they simultaneously said.

“At ease men,” said Sir Triss who returned the salute, cuing the guards to lower their hands but still stay erect and unmoving, “I got an urgent meeting with the Queen, and I’m supposed to be there yesterday.”

“Yes sir!” they simultaneously said again. Miro Miro watched in awe as the two men scrambled to work, seemingly knowing what to do given all the knight had to do was explain his circumstance. One opened the door and the other readied the lever on a large, infinitely complex piece of machinery. Once Rowark and Sir Triss were standing in the middle of the platform, the lever puller signaled he was ready.

As soon as the lever was pulled downward, a thunderous click erupted the from beneath Rowark’s feet and a mechanical hum flowed out of the machine. The sound was just a warning that the platform was going to rise, something that caught Miro Miro completely off guard. The ground and the two men standing on it began to slowly rise. Miro Miro supposed that the term “elevator” was appropriate to describe the machine’s one job.

The ride up felt eery for the most part. Traveling through mostly darkness, with some strategically placed torches, made the trip upward feel longer than it actually was, but eventually, sunlight began to bleed onto the platform surface. Another loud, metallic click stopped the platform in place, and Miro Miro was now looking at a room bathed in the warm, summer sun.

Miro Miro was now looking at smoothly cut stone walls; though the room enclosure was small, the tall ceiling made the room feel more spacious than it really was. Two men, like before, greeted the knight with salutes as Rowark opened the elevator gate. Same as before, Sir Triss returned the salute to his men, “At ease men.” Just like before, the men lowered their arm, but still stood upright statically as Rowark and Sir Triss walked past. Past the threshold was a hallway well lit by the many windows lining the walls and the white stones reflecting the sunlight, unlike the drabby, dark hallways of the barracks. A blue carpet stretched underneath Rowark’s feet to both ends of the hall, giving anyone traversing across a regal invitation. So if the dark place before was the barracks, then, was Miro Miro in the castle?

As soon as the three reached the end of the long hallway, the next room answered the question for her.

The grandeur of the foyer was enough to make Miro Miro stare in awe. Two stairwells flanking the two story entryway led up to the second level. A door just as large as the main entrance was wide open in front of them, inviting whoever wished to request audience with the Queen. Stained glass windows brought vibrant colors to the drab colored walls, but this one was the most interesting because it seemed like they were supposed to align with the triforce engraving on the ground. Various torch stands in the shape of a sword were placed in strategic locations to produce the most light at night, and a gigantic chandelier hung over the foyer.

The floor consisted of gray and white tiling all throughout the castle, except for the blue tiles that formed a path leading to the throne. From a distance, the throne looked like a small chair. But as the three walked into the throne room and closer to the chair, Miro Miro saw that the chair was anything but small. First, she was amazed by the sheer size of the throne room. It was easily twice the size of the foyer, if not larger. The throne room had a second level on either side of the room to fit additional audience members. As for the throne, it was made of a darker looking wood, and the sheer size almost made it seem like it was meant to seat a large Goron. It had red cushions, and it had a finishing touch of the triforce carved on the top. Anyone sitting on that throne could look regal despite their upbringing; the two fully armored knights standing in front of the throne sent a clear message to anyone who thought sitting in the Queen’s throne was a good idea.

They veered to the left of the throne and entered a door behind the seat. Weaving through hallways, busy castle servants, and guards, Miro Miro was unsure of their location and got turned around due to the walking. The spiral staircase only furthered the dizzying experience. But no matter how lost she felt in the castle, it could not compare to being lost in the Lost Woods. At least the castle had structure, and there were only so many rooms and so much space in the Hylian wonder. She figured that all she had to do was stay by Rowark’s side. His warm personality and bright mannerisms were enough to make Miro Miro feel safe in the gigantic stone maze.

Sir Triss stopped in front of a door and opened it. A rush of loud noises in the form of a back and forth argument erupted into the narrow hall space. Even with Rowark at her side, Miro Miro’s sense of wonderment quickly turned into anxiety.

“He absolutely made the right decision! I invested enough for the Zawk brothers to raise an army!” shouted an old man wearing a long, blue robe and a blue surcoat over. His long chain wrapped around his neck, and a small, golden triangle uniting the two ends of the chain extended down to his belly. Four men accompanied the old man, one of them being the infamous Sir Baldy. This time, he was wearing a tight fit tunic and breeches, highlighting his large yet chiseled muscles. Even though he was not wearing any armor, he still looked just as intimidating as before. He and Sir Triss shared an uncomfortable glare.

Across the large table from Sir Baldy was a middle aged woman sitting passively at the head. The ornate crown, adorned with a big red jewel, on her head proudly displayed her regal status. She wore a simple, pink top with white sleeves, and her white skirt reached down to her ankles. The beautiful jewelry adorned on her clothing may not have been as big as the crown’s jewel, but the morning light streaking through the eastern window reflected powerful colors throughout the room. The inconsistent wrinkles on her face showed that she was either aging aggressively or under heavy stress, though the graying of what was once luscious blonde hair and her weary frown suggested it was the latter.

Perhaps the most distinguishing factor was her seemingly calm look and her deceptively loud voice that erupted and echoed throughout the compact space when she welcomed the newcomers, “Enough!” All stopped and gave their attention to her Highness, “Now that all parties are present, we may start. Sir Triss, can you recount for us the events that transpired last night?”

Sir Triss cleared his throat, “Certainly your majesty. The fire brigade was the first on the scene before we had arrived. Brigadier Tomas Mason was leading the team. We then cooperated to prevent the fire from spreading. And that’s when Sir Rhychester interrupted our efforts, even threatened us.”

“I beg pardon for the interruption, your majesty,” interrupted Sir Baldy, “But I-”

The Queen gave Sir Baldy a glare that could petrify Miro Miro, “You will speak when permitted.” In the face of the Queen, Sir Baldy quietly complied with gritted teeth. “Please continue.”

All eyes fell back onto Sir Triss, “So my company and I let Sir Rhychester carry on with his orders, which was to put out the fire in the blacksmith, while the fire brigade and the volunteers worked to stop the fire from spreading and mounted a brave rescue.”

“That’s a damned lie!” interjected Sir Baldy again.

“Sir Rhychester, hold it together,” Lord Praetonmore extended his hand to hold his knight back. Then he apologized to the Queen, “Please pardon him for his outburst.”

The Queen blinked, “Pardoned. Sir Rhychester, would you like to enlighten us on this lie?”

“First off, this guard,” Sir Baldy’s accusatory finger pointed straight at Rowark, “obstructed our efforts to stop the fire by directing water away from the source.”

Sir Triss fired back at him, “Rowark here contained a public hazard and was the first to mount a rescue while you and your men did nothing!”

The Queen had to intervene, “Silence!” The command filled the space in the room. “Go on, Sir.”

“I did what was asked of me,” retorted Sir Baldy without giving Sir Triss the courtesy of eye contact. “And secondly, no threats were ever used,” the words out of Sir Baldy’s never sounded more false, “I merely reminded this sergeant-"

“Sir Triss is a knight of with full honors,” the Queen sternly cut him off, “Remember that in my presence.”

“Ahem, apologies,” patience was leaving Sir Baldy by the heartbeat, “I reminded this, knight,” the way he said that word held the utmost contempt behind every breath until the last ‘t’, “that there were consequences for interfering with our work.”

“And did that consequence involve death?” asked the Queen.

“No, your highness, such words were never used.”

“Nonetheless, Sir Triss was doing his duty, which was protecting the public space. You are aware that without the efforts of the brave men and women of the volunteer force and the fire brigade, the fire would have spread to other buildings, and you would have shared some responsibility for the damage.”

“That responsibility falls solely on the scum who started the fire!” the lord fired back at her.

“I would be inclined to see more of your reasoning, but your knight here did indeed issue a threat to my men.”

Sir Rhychester let out a restrained growl, but his lord held his hand in front.

The Queen looked like she had handled worse kinds of men, “You outnumbered him and used your men’s armed presence to coerce my knight to comply with you. Your definition of a threat may differ from mine, but as Queen I will stand by my definition.” The Queen returned Sir Rhychester’s killer eyes with a killer instinct of her own, “Thankfully, no other property was damaged, so we can and should move on from this topic. Sir Rhychester, I will forgive this transgression against the throne.”

Sir Baldy bowed with a stoic look on his face, “Your mercy is graciously received, my Queen.”

“That leaves us with the issue of justice,” the Queen let that word hang in the air for a minute, “This fire left five of your tenants dead, and three families are now homeless. This criminal is obviously very dangerous, and justice needs to be harsh and swift. So I have decided to take justice into the throne’s hands.”

“This is outrageous!” Lord Praetonmore exclaimed, “This is a crime against my people, my property, and my reputation! Justice must be served by me!”

“Your emotional state is exactly why justice needs to be served by the highest court in the land. There is no telling what lengths you and your men are willing to go to achieve justice. You already damned five people to their deaths by refusing to rescue them. I cannot trust the judgement of a lord who values property over the lives of people. This is final. There is to be no interference with the throne’s investigation of this matter.”

Lord Praetonmore and his men stood in silence; they knew better than to challenge the Queen’s authority, but Miro Miro was afraid they were going to do so anyway, at least away from the Queen's watchful eyes. The lord’s hands were clenched tightly, so much that she could see the whites in his knuckles. He pointed an accusatory finger at the Queen, “You made a deal with the Zawks didn’t you?”

“I can assure your disrespectfully pointed finger that the first item on my agenda after waking was meeting with you, Lord Praetenmore,” said the Queen.

“Hmph!” Lord Praetonmore’s men escorted their frail and hunched lord out of the room.

With Lord Praetonmore gone, Miro Miro noticed the other men standing beside the Queen. Two of them, flanking the Queen and her advisor, were knights wearing some of the most beautiful armor she had seen in Hyrule so far. The armor was mostly reflective with a slightly green tint, the pauldrons almost looked like miniature shields with two spikes jutting outward, the plates themselves almost looked cumbersome and too large for practical use, red capes draped along their back, and their helmets had a piece of cloth in the back that resembled the hats that the Kokiri wore, a tribute to the late Hero of Time. They stood like statues with one hand gripping the hilt of their gigantic swords and the other one gripping a halberd, a frightening looking weapon with a long spear tip and an axe head the size of a man's face.

Standing next to the Queen was a man with short, white hair and a well-maintained beard. Miro Miro could not help but also notice the scar that stubbornly ran through his beard on his left cheek. He wore a beautifully adorned robe colored in tribute to the three goddesses; if his demeanor did not show that he belonged in the high court, his attire did.

The silver haired man started walking slowly towards the door. “It would have been nice to inform me of your decision to escalate the investigation into my hands before the meeting. Why are you so concerned with finding this culprit?” he asked as he opened the door for his liege.

The Queen stood and began following him towards the door, and everyone else subsequently followed her out. The loud clanking coming from the guards’ oversized armor forced the Queen to raise her voice, “The steward met with the Zawk brothers this morning and informed me that they will only work for the person that brings the criminal to justice.”

“Surely there must be another way to convince the Zawks to work for us,” the old man walked behind the Queen closely as she descended the spiral steps, followed by the Queen's guards and then Rowark, Miro Miro, and Sir Triss.

“There is no other way. The fire scared them out of their wits. They want protection more than they want money, and they want this criminal’s head on a stick more than they want protection.”

“If there is no other way then. There will be others trying to look for the culprit.”

Miro Miro noticed that as the party walked through the hallways and down the stairwells, all the maids, guards, and courtiers turned and bowed towards the Queen, too absorbed in the conversation to pay them any mind.

“Yes, but our investigation takes priority. We will be the first to have access to all information, all witnesses, and all locations of interest. And all the Zellinks can do is complain about it.”

“An investigation won't be necessary.”

“Oh?” the Queen's interest slowed the pace of their walk, “Something you wish to tell me?”

The old man hesitated for a few seconds before answering, “I already know who did it.”

The ends of the Queen’s curled into a less intense frown, “You never disappoint. I want him in the stocks by tomorrow.”

“Your wish is my command, my Queen.”

“For once, I can say that I am winning this war against my own people,” the cryptic statement from the Queen echoed loudly in the throne room and resonated sadly in the faces of Rowark and Sir Triss and the old stranger. She looked around the room with a confused look on her face, “I had some important business to conduct here, but my memory is failing me.”

“Um, the knighting, your highness,” Sir Triss timidly whispered. Rowark’s eyes instantly widened and darted around the room. There was no one else that joined their group, and he was the only one who was not a knight.

“Ah, yes, you’re right. Rowark!” the Queen extended her hand out toward her bodyguard, who responded by placing the hilt of his sword in her hand.

Rowark’s jaw slowly began dropping as he tried to contain his disbelief. He snapped his head to the Queen, “Y-yes, yes your highness?”

“Kneel.” Even though Rowark was clearly unused to the highest authority in the realm addressing him, he did exactly as he was commanded. But even his straight face was brimming with excitement. “Sir Triss told me of your gallantry last night. After being stranded in the Lost Woods for over a season, you rose above the call of duty on the same day of your homecoming.”

His eyes emanated with pride with every word spoken from the Queen. Each accomplishment listed by the Queen loosened the strain of keeping a straight face, “You disregarded your personal safety to save the life of a young girl. But more importantly, your bravery inspired your comrades to follow your example and rescue others. In a community driven by greed, your selflessness shined brightly. You are the prime example of the type of man who should be leading in the Royal Army.”

The Queen drew the large sword smoothly from the sheath and rested the end of the blade on Rowark’s left shoulder, “I, Queen Zelda Ingo, ruler and defender of Hyrule, daughter of the goddesses, mother of the Hylian people, and sworn protector of the Triforce, knight thee, Sir Rowark Forester, with the Peers in this room to bear witness and confirm the knighting. I now place upon thee the great responsibility of leading the royal army with power, wisdom, and courage. May justice and compassion eternally rule your actions. You may rise.”

Rowark did as was asked with a bright smile on his face. He looked over to the man who sponsored him, who returned an equally bright smile. “Congratulations!” said Sir Triss. Rowark’s face still had a dumbstruck look. The life changing event slowly settled into his conscience but rendered him unable to respond immediately. “So, how do you feel?” asked Sir Triss.

There were no words for how grateful Rowark was, so instead the former city watchman leaped onto Sir Triss with a big embrace, so genuine and heartfelt that Miro Miro was moved. It was a happiness that she hoped to feel one day again.

“So, let’s talk about your day off.”

Chapter Text

Much of the morning went sort of like this:

“Where are you from?”

“Piss off.” He didn’t know.

“How old are you?”

“Piss off.” He did not even know when his birthday was.

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“Piss off.” Not die.

All Link could do was think about how to heal his broken leg and his shoulder as quickly as possible. Woaphie frowned in frustration, “You’re no fun!” Duh. Living the life of a Link was not fun; it was full of day-to-day struggles for survival. And nothing helped him survive better than anonymity. That and a full belly.

“Tell you what...”

“How did your voice get all nasty like that?” Woaphie interrupted him.

Link smiled, though he could tell his scarface unsettled her, “I’ll answer one question if you get me some more bread.” The one wasn’t enough to settle his hunger, but it was enough to calm his gastric protests.

The young girl jumped up in excitement and dashed out the door. That was one way to get her to shut up, although talking to the annoying, hyperactive girl was a small price to pay for free food. She returned not a minute later with half a loaf of bread and a juicy apple.

“Here!” Woaphie handed both food items to Link, who then hungrily inhaled the bread and left nothing of the apple but the stem. She giggled at the way Link crunched through the apple’s core, “Mum said there’s more food for you if you want because the old man gave her rupees to pay for your stay here.”

“Huh…” an idea began to formulate in his head.

“So now you have to answer two questions now!”

“Urgh, fine,” the full stomach made Link feel a little less hostile towards the girl. She was just some lowborn living in the back alleys, what harm could possibly come from answering her questions? He asked her, “What do you want to know?”

She paused to think for a second, “Well, I’d like to know how you got so many scars.”

“Fair. It’s the first thing people notice about me. That and me voice.” It didn’t come about overnight. For as long as he could remember, Link had been fighting to simply survive in this dump. His voice and scars were reminders of his many close calls with death. Though he could not remember every single detail of his poor, wretched life, there was a distinct memory attached to each scar. “I fight a lot. Bigger Links like to pick on smaller Links because… well, because they can.”

Woaphie’s eyes widened, “Is that why my Mum won’t let me outside to play with the other kids on the block?”

“That’s question number two.” Woaphie pouted. “And yes. Links also don’t like kids with names,” he replied. That was a lie, Links loved kids with names because they always had something worth stealing and selling for scraps on a dinner plate.

“If I get you more food, will you answer more questions?”

“Uh, no, I’m not that hungry anymore, but I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna change the game up a little bit. But first you gotta come closer,” Link’s words drew Woaphie in, close enough so he could whisper in her ear, “I’ll answer any question you have for me if you can get me a red potion.” The magical cure-all medicine healed all wounds and purged all illnesses short of death. “But you can’t tell nobody, not even your mom,” he added at the end.

The girl backed away, not happy about what he was asking of her, “How am I supposed to get one? I don’t have any money.”

“How much money did your mom get from the old man?”

“I don’t know,” she looked like she was hesitant to answer. “He brought a chest about this big, with all blue rupees,” her arms indicated that the chest was about the size of a small dog. Link estimated that Sir Mawar had given the family at least two silver rupees worth in that chest.

“Just take four rupees from the chest. No one will miss it. Take them down to the Market Square and find an apothecary. They got the masks that got a long beak.”

“I-” Link already knew what her answer was going to be, “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble.”

“I’ll be your friend forever.” It was Link’s final card to play.

A long sigh escaped her lungs, but then she nodded, causing Link’s heart to skip with joy, “Okay.” She sighed again to affirm her mission, “Okay I’ll do it. And you promise we’ll be friends forever? I can learn all about you?”

Link placed his right hand over his chest and raised his bandaged hand, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she repeated to him, and then again quietly to herself, and again as she opened the door. It was a clear sign of uncertainty, and Link knew by the time she exited the room that her success was a matter of chance, albeit a low one.

Alone in the room at last, Link began to plan his next move. The first thing he would have to do was to retrieve the rest of his work supplies, which were stashed just outside Hyrule’s favorite whorehouse, the Desert Oasis. He would probably then spend the night at Sanctuary while contemplating his next move. As soon as he would leave the room, Link would become a fugitive from both the Crown and the Zellinks.

He sat up and lowered his good foot onto the ground. His broken leg still tinged with pain, but so long as the foot stayed off the floor, the pain was manageable. He hopped on his good leg toward the door, opening it and peering through. Nobody, good. The only person he needed to watch out for was Woaphie’s mother. Keeping his head on a vigilant swivel, Link entered the short hall that led to the living room and kitchen. He hopped over to one of the two windows by the front entrance and saw the mother outside busily hanging her wet laundry on a clothesline. Perfect.

So long as the mother was preoccupied with her own chores, Link had time to scavenge the house for whatever supplies he needed to survive as a wanted boy. His eye flashed to the woodsman’s knife that he stole from the Zawks earlier sitting on the dining table, and then to a broadsword, resting upright on display in the corner of the living room. Forget everything else. Link had struck gold.

The wide blade owned a plain, leather scabbard, and the round pommel of the hilt reached the nape of Link’s neck. He separated the sword from her clothing, making the sweet symphonic announcement that the blade was naked. Although it clearly a sword made for a commoner, it still shined with a brilliant radiance like it was new. When Link held the sword with his healthy left arm, he found out that it was much heavier than normal and balanced towards the tip of the blade. Even an adult would have trouble wielding this sword with one hand. It would require two hands at all times for someone as small as Link, but too bad the grip was designed for one handed use. The unwieldiness was a necessary sacrifice for the durability. He was fed up with the number of times he had to rely on looting dead street thugs for reliable weapons, any weapon really. It was hard to tell how much the sword was worth, but it was for sure worth more than any one of the weapons he had previously held before.

Placing the blade back into her scabbard, Link hopped to the table using the sword as a crutch, grabbed the knife from the table, and slipped the small blade in between the bandage wrapping and the splint. He had to make it back to bed before Woaphie made it home.

When Link reached the bed, he slipped the sword underneath and then slipped himself underneath the blanket. Within the hour, he heard the sound of a door open and close outside the bedroom, and then heartbeats later, Woaphie entered the room huffing and puffing and closed the door behind her.

“So, how did it go?” Link nonchalantly asked her.

The girl looked pale and looked at Link like she had seen a ghost, “I am not doing that again!”

Link anticipated the good news, “But did you get it?” She withdrew a small vial containing the luminescent red liquid and handed it to Link. “Thanks.” Gratitude was the least he could give her for sending her into a chaotic and dangerous part of Hyrule Castle Dump.

Link removed the cover of the bed and extended his broken leg, prepping it for the healing process. He opened the top and downed the bitter liquid.

The initial relief was instant and always pain free. The cool liquid instantly sent warm chills throughout the body at first. But it was never the case with a broken bone. One heartbeat after drinking the liquid, the broken began to send searing pain up his torso. “Gaaaaah!” he screamed as the bone in his leg snapped into its proper place. As his body began to heat up, beads of sweat started dripping down his face. He could also feel the muscles in his bandaged shoulder tighten, removing the pain once and for all. Once the bone was set into place, a cool chill relieved his body from any further agony.

A sudden gasp broke the silence as she stepped back in shock. Her eyes were glued to the ground, staring at the sword hidden underneath the bed. “What is my father’s sword doing over here?”

“Uhh,” thoughts scrambled through his mind as he tried to piece together a reasonable explanation. But before he could get the first word out...

“Woaphie!?” cried a voice from outside the bedroom, sending a rush of blood through Link’s veins. He did not anticipate Woaphie’s mother discovering the missing blades so quickly. Springing off the bed, Link reached underneath for the sword. By the time Woaphie’s mother entered the room, he already squeezed through the open window. Her crying about her father’s sword was the last he heard from her.

Link sprinted with the sword clutched tightly to his chest past a gang attacking a poor man, a thief burglarizing a house, a beggar donating his leftover food to an orphan, and a teenage girl washing the dishes for her sick parents. As the gang of thirteen year olds kicked and beat a shopkeeper for not paying his protection money, Link suddenly slowed to a brisk walk and he refrained from glancing over to the violent scene, only to avoid contact eye contact with the thugs. There was no need to draw their attention. The woodsman’s blade hidden between the bandage wrapping and the wooden splint would not be enough to scare off a gang of thugs, and the sword would not be enough either. No matter what weapon he wielded, numbers and size generally won the day.

Tall buildings made sure these filthy streets were forever cast in shadow. No matter what time of day it was, the sun’s light never seemed to reach the ground. Waste, filth, excrement, disease, and the occasional assassination victim littered the streets that squeezed in the spaces between buildings. The smell was strong and distinct and the air felt cold and clammy enough for a blind man to know he was walking through the back alleyways. A beggar groveled before the boy, who also had no money. Link narrowly avoided an arm that reached for his ankle and briskly walked past the stick thin, grime covered man. Further down the street were two Deku scrubs digging through a dumpster, probably looking for leftover food to sell to someone more destitute than them. Like he did to the old beggar, Link quickly walked past the opportunistic entrepreneurs and paid them no mind.

Once he felt that he was far enough away from Woaphie’s house, he turned his eyes upward, searching for the tower as he walked. He stopped at an intersection, found the spire, and headed North along a long alley. Link’s destination was only a few blocks that way. A young woman wearing a ragged dress scuttled past him and began digging through a pile of garbage, looking for sustenance that would delay her doomed and wretched fate.

The feeling of danger coursed through Link’s body even before he heard a voice call to him from the shadows, “Lookie what we got here.”

By the time Link drew his heavy broadsword from its sheath, it was already too late. A group of kids and their blue, scaly leader emerged from the darkness and flanked Link, who backed himself up against the wall. Better a wall behind his back than a hostile.

Link tossed the scabbard aside absorbed as much information on his environment and the ruffians in as little time as possible. On the outside, the gang looked like a bunch of kids slightly older than Link. They could not have been more than fifteen years old. Each of them wore a matching tan colored vest with no shirt underneath, matching black stockings, matching black boots to match the stockings. Link tried very hard to keep from laughing at their ridiculous outfits. This was a small gang that pretended that they owned the alleyways, but really all they did was beat homeless people for fun, and they even attempted to look professional while they did it.

The two boys on the left had mean looks on their faces, but their soft hands were only good for beating a corpse. They had yet to see any of their own blood spilt. These two would be the first to turn tail and flee. The freckled one next to them had bruises all over his body, so much that Link thought his skin color was purple with fair colored spots. He was as young as they come and clearly at the bottom in the pecking order.

The ugly Zola in the middle stepped forth from the group. His slightly darker vest and size seemed to symbolize his leadership in the gang. He was a full grown adult who used his age to submit the younger ones, who coaxed these children into robbing the poor and the dead. His sleek, blue body was designed to carry him swiftly through bodies of water. His fins on the side of his head were flaring, a war cry or something like that. Link could never tell if Zolas were always smiling with evil intentions or their mouths were just unfortunately designed to always grin. Their large, beady eyes partially embedded into their frog like skin only made their face look all the more ugly.

It was the same, tired old story of the gang promising a better life for the kids.  All it took to subdue a bunch of children and be treated like a king was to wield the largest wooden stick and, in this gang leader’s case, hammer some nails in it. And when one leader fell, two more rose to take his place. There seemed to be no end to these manipulative scumbags.

“Look at him, he’s kinda cute swinging that toy,” said the red headed boy next to the leader. Everything about him, from the way he smiled with an aggressive confidence and the way he postured himself, said he was the second in command. He was the bloodthirsty type, and he probably had seen the most combat out of everyone besides the Zola, though his wooden club was nothing more than a broken off leg from a table. Link planned on killing him first.

The two golden haired idiots chuckled with their lieutenant. They were brothers, one older and one younger, judging by their resemblance. It was always the older one that dragged his younger one into a petty life of petty crime. The taller, leaner boy towered over his younger brother, but had a confidence that had never been tested before. If he died, his brother, the youngest looking of the gang, would be sure to flee.

The Zola rested his jury rigged mace on his shoulder and chuckled with the raspiest and bubbliest of voices, a signature of the River Zola species, “That's a pretty weapon you got there. Mind if I try it out?” Judging from the smirks on his subordinates’ faces, the leader had a genuine smile on his face. “You can barely even hold that sword,” said the gang leader about Link’s trembling arms, “Come on, don’t hog it all to yourself.”

Indeed, the sword was difficult to hold upright. For now, it was okay that Link looked like an amateur; a fight was just what he needed to practice with his new acquisition. Once again, he scanned from left to right, putting together a plan of attack and a plan of escape. When his eyes reached the youngest gang member, something else entered the alley far off in the distance.

Link needed to focus on the Zola leader, the most imminent threat, but … something was drawing his attention in his right peripheral. It had to be a stray fairy that lost its way, which was not an uncommon sight. No. There was a fight ahead of him, and the Zola was closing in.

But it wasn’t just the fairy that drew his attention. It was also... a warm emotion, coursing through his spine, which then spread through his body and even caused him to blush a little. It reminded him of the feeling of eating a big, warm meal at the Hoblin Tavern. But that wasn’t it. No, the feeling was more foreign. It was a happiness that came from, belonging, whatever that meant.

A clang rang through the alley. The nails on the Zola’s wooden club connected with the metal blade of the sword and knocked the weapon onto the ground. His hand shot forth and gripped Link’s neck firmly and lifted him up against the wall. Being choked definitely brought his focus back onto the fishy breath from the leader’s mouth and his slimy face. Link cursed the fairy under his breath and vowed to sell him or her to the nearest merchant.

If he were to survive that was.

Chapter Text

“So uh, gentlemen…” The first people Rowark went to with the news were his friends from his unit. Or old unit now. The four of them huddled around the young man in the mess hall where he found them. Miro Miro recognized two of them the previous night outside the barracks: the short stockier man who could not stand straight and the skinny, curly haired man who called Rowark “Hero boy”. The other two were large, tall, and beefy, and smelled really bad… “I just got knighted! I’m going to be a knight!”

First, their faces burst wide open in happiness. Then, they erupted with a cheer in unison, “EEEYY!!”

“That’s me boy!” belched the the big one with the dark black beard.

“What happened? I saw you run off with the volunteer squad, and then what?” asked the skinny soldier.

“Well,” the way Rowark retold the story felt vague. It was like he was avoiding the details, using many types of unspecified verbiage, and completely left out the part where he rescued the girl. “And then I got woken up this morning, and I got knighted! And the best part is, I got a red rupee right out of Sir Triss’ pay to celebrate! So whadya say guys? Who wants to get day drunk at Tinkle’s Tavern?”

His offer was met with umms and mumbles from his friends. Their lack of enthusiasm brought down the mood instantly.

“Oy, I got a better idea!” said the short stockier one, “Let’s take him ‘you-know-where’ and give him the knight’s special!”

“HEEEY!! That is a better idea!” they said amidst laughter.

The giant one with the small stubble and gross looking dirt all over his skin laughed the hardest, “Alrighty old mate, you’re gonna be in for a surprise!”

Miro Miro knew Rowark looked uncomfortable with the new plan, but he still surrendered to his friends’ whims as they blindfolded him with a white piece of cloth and and led him out of the barracks, and into the busy streets of Hyrule Castle City. She followed behind him, but only from up high, safe from the reach of below.

For whatever reason, the spaces between roads felt more crowded than yesterday. Five men on their day off skipped and pushed through the slow traffic of industry, past wagons and carts, and past tradesmen of all kinds carrying raw materials. Miro Miro could not see any smiles on the peasants’ faces, but she observed a sort of contentment from them. Windows were wide open to receive the summer sun into the homes. No matter what window she spied through, there was a busy parent running around with work to be done.

She had almost lost sight of Rowark! The dense, crowded street hid the men too well. Curses, if only they were dressed like the other soldiers too! Then, Miro Miro spotted golden hair and a white blindfold! One of the big portly ones with the curly hair led the way. He had an aura that seemed to steer pedestrians away from him. Miro Miro could guess why from the way they plugged their noses. The other four men followed behind him unphased by the smell.

They continued walking towards the sun for several blocks and finally stopped him when they made a left turn. In front of them was a tall circular spire, almost six, maybe seven stories tall even, and wider than any tree Miro Miro had ever seen before. In front of the spire was a small, public square with quite the diverse motley of people.

Closest to the spire’s gigantic doors were four gerudo, two dressed to seductively through the streets and attract the lonely men from the streets, the other two stood stalwartly like guards, clad in metal pieces of armor and armed with a long spear with a long, curved spear head. Their eyes stared across to the center of the public square, where a herald, who was a young Hylian with curly blonde hair, rallied a dozen or so people around him as they marched in circles, chanting with each step.

Rowark let out a long sigh, “Let me guess. There’s an angry mob chanting ‘death to the witches’, which must mean we are at the Desert Oasis.” He removed the blindfold and scowled, “You pigs! You guys are absolute pigs!”

“Oh, don’t be that mad,” said the skinny, tall one with the scraggly facial hair as he pushed Rowark towards the entrance, “If we are to celebrate, then let us do it the only way appropriate for a knight!”

“Besides,” his shorter, stockier friend chimed in chuckle, “these rupees came right out of Sir Triss’ pay. It won’t be a good day until I get me a woman.”

“But,” Rowark gulped under the pressure of his friends’ eyes, “I wanted to use that to treat ourselves at a tavern.”

The one with the unkempt, black hair and bushy beard answered right back with a voice that seemed appropriate for a man with a heftier shape, “Oy, that’s why we brought you here! You can get drunk here AND you can have a woman in your arms. It’s like that one saying, you know? Killing two Blins with one arrow!” His strong, meaty hand patted Rowark on the back with a force that almost knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“Besides, we ain’t ever seen you with a woman either!” Everyone simultaneously shot a dirty glance at the short, stocky guard. Miro Miro saw Rowark’s face turn dark red. “What?” the controversial one said, “you guys talk about it all the time too. Rowark here needs to learn how to be a man. This is as good a time as any to learn to properly sheathe a woman!”

Miro Miro felt an instant cringe of disgust when the man uttered the word “sheathe”. Despite the fact that the word had originated in the city, its usage and popularity and spread even to the deepest parts of the forest. Even Miro Miro knew the grotesque word to describe “bump-bump”. The children knew what the act was and why it was done, and thanks to the abundance of wildlife in the forest, they also witnessed bump-bump between animals frequently. She had given countless talks to Kokiri about how the act of bump-bump was strictly forbidden, for the detestable act would cause the Kokiri to lose their innocence, and then they would age and die like a normal Hylian would. The threat of death was enough to scare any child into behaving.

Rowark sighed with defeat, “Is this what you guys really want?” The overwhelming positive response to that question quashed any visible signs of resistance in Rowark’s face. Miro Miro’s heart could feel his sadness.

Rowark hung his head as his friends laughed and made crude jokes and patted him on the back, guiding the bright red, reluctant guest of honor into the doors of the tower. His eyes turned back once more to glance at the fairy, and his face silently apologized to her for caving into peer pressure.

Aside from the fact that she had no interest in seeing what bump-bump between people actually looked like, Miro Miro felt like she had better things to do, like finding a lost Kokiri. Feeling left out, she decided to wait in the middle of the street corner for Rowark to finish his “business”. If she was going to wait, she could keep herself busy and scan the area for Topah, or any Kokiri for that matter. And this time, she wouldn't get lost!

The streets seemed to stretch on forever. Multiple tall minarets poked their heads into the skies in the distance. The pearly white color of the spire contrasted sharply against the blood orange roofing tiles, the wooden frames, and the unique design of each neighbor. It was hard to believe so many people could live in one city! Below her, two rivers full of people, men, women, children, merchants, their horse drawn carts, and soldiers swiftly flowed around a growing group of shouting Hylians occupying the center of the intersection. As she floated above the traffic, she instead paid special attention to the landmarks and the general overlay of the city. At least these buildings weren’t going anywhere any time soon.

With the sun at its noon peak, it crowned above the city. The story Miro Miro had heard back in the forest was that the great capital city of Hyrule was cut into the southern base of the great Eldin mountain range, which stretched as far north into uncharted territory. Truly, the entire city inclined alongside a great cliff, where the castle sat at the southern end of the plateau. In daylight, it looked even more magnificent than it did at night. Like a mountain with many small, orange peaks and one giant peak at its center, nooks and cliffs were carefully carved all over the walls to facilitate whatever mystery was going on within its luminous caves.

Of course, it was hard to miss the stone bridge that extended well above the city below and- Holy Hylia, was that rocky tower always there!? It looked like a piece of land had spiked upward until the tip was level with the castle. Running up along the cliff walls was a wooden shaft that had a platform at the bottom… Oh, that was an elevator, like Rowark and Sir Triss had explained earlier! And at the very tip of the top was also a smaller castle, though it resembled more of a fancy residence than a fortress. Dark red stone was used to construct the walls and roofs instead of the white that the castle preferred. Though the structure occupied almost all the topical area of the natural, yet unnatural looking, tower of earth, its straight and smooth walls surely enclosed enough space to fit The Great Deku Tree within.

Suddenly, a glint of light glimmered in the sky. Someone had jumped off from the edge of the tower! But the person, a soldier judging by his shiny armor, clung to an outstretched piece of cloth that safely slowed his descent into the forest of stone, clay, and daub, just like Mido said the city would look like. As he floated northward, Miro Miro caught sight of another great bridge supported by two man made towers which connected the two cliffs.

“ Hey don’t stay up there! ” Miro Miro could recognize the sound of a fairy’s voice easily by this point! Though the voice sounded like the fairy was very displeased, “ Get down here! ”

Miro Miro spotted the fairy with the green aura floating by in an alleyway and made no time in expressing her excitement, “Hi! Pleased to meet you, I’m Miro Miro!”

The fairy looked at her sideways, “ Are you stupid? ”

Her blood instantly boiled, “Hey! That’s not very nice!” For the first time since she entered Hyrule Castle City, she did not feel scared. Anger replaced that feeling as quickly as the blink of an eye. But of all the forest creatures she could have possibly encountered in the city, why did it have to be the rudest fairy in all of Hyrule?

“ Well, are you trying to get yourself killed? ” the fairy’s question froze Miro Miro in place. She was at a loss for words to answer the rhetorical question. “ What, now you don’t you remember me? ”

“Oh!” it clicked in her mind, “You’re from the shop!”

“ Yeah that’s right. ”

“But how did you get free?”

“ Follow me, ” with a flap of a wing, the fairy zipped into the dark alleyway. Miro Miro didn’t hesitate to follow, but when she reached the shadow, the foul stench, weighing heavily in the darkness between the buildings, overcame her senses.

“PHEW!” she yelped. While it was hard for a fairy to visibly show a facial expression, Miro Miro could clearly tell that the other fairy was displeased, but silence was most important in their situation. She got the message. After all, this did not seem like the kind of place to attract attention.

The fairy comfortably used thought speech to communicate his answer silently through the filthy atmosphere, “ Some kid showed up right after that guy chased you out! It was like, fate, or something. Anyways, kid shows up and then frees us all and then goes running off into the night. So we’ve been tailing him ever since we’ve been free. ”

Miro Miro whispered back to him, “So where is he?”

“ Wait, don’t you know how to use thought speech? ”

“I, uh, Father never gave us the ability.”

“ Wait, what? What kind of fairy are you? ”

“I’m from the Lost Woods, okay, and I’ve had a hard enough time adjusting to this city! So just,” she wanted to expel everything right then and there, but then she withheld herself. No. Whatever its name was, it did not deserve her rage and frustration.

“ Okay, sheesh, I get it, okay? ”

“What about you? Where are you from?”

“ From the city, born and raised. My fairy mother is rotting somewhere in the sewers beneath the streets. ”

“Um, what’s a sewer?”

“ Let us just pray you never have to find out .”

A low, tense moan erupted from somewhere beneath her. It definitely sounded like a redead! “EEP!” Miro Miro squeaked out. And then she rushed to the stranger’s side.

The long sigh of disappointment and displeasure escaped from Miro Miro’s new… acquaintance. It began descending towards the ground, where the hungry, the diseased, and the dead gathered, away from the public eye. They were forgotten, left to rot away until death decided it was time. It was almost hard to believe that the walls along the alleyway, shoddy shacks stacked on top of each other, were part of the same buildings that had a presentable facade facing the main roads.

Why? In the Kokiri Forest, everything was there for the taking. If a Kokiri was hungry, the Great Deku Tree provided food. If a Kokiri needed a place to sleep, the Great Deku Tree provided shelter. If a Kokiri was in danger, the Great Deku Tree provided protection. In this destitute place, to whom could these forgotten souls pray?

“What’s your name?” she hesitantly broke the dead silence.

“ I am called Tandremil, you can call me Tandry. And I identify as he. You? ”

“Oh um,” Miro Miro was caught off guard by the gender identification. In the Kokiri Forest, fairy companions were always called mothers, so everyone thought all fairies identified by she. Miro Miro caught on quickly, “I am Miro Miro. I identify as she.” The silent air grabbed the sound and snuffed it with the smell of mold.

The chill breeze was a sinister reminder of the sun’s absence. The flow of air felt like the only sign of life in this graveyard. The two flew underneath a walkway that ran alongside the outside of the second floor. It was more like a place for people to throw away their trash, and the walkway helped the looters search through the rubbish faster. And just when she did not think she see anything more horrifying, she spotted a teenage girl sitting against the wall and cradling a baby, who, upon closer inspection, had been deceased for quite some time, the greenish gray color of the skin being the indicator. The girl almost had a lifeless expression on her face, but her malnourished torso rose and collapsed with every defiant breath.

“Stop!” Miro Miro protested, “We have to help her!” As soon as she said that, a question entered her head. How? What could Miro Miro, a stranger to the dangerous city, do to keep a poor girl from starving? Fairies were not exactly strong enough to carry objects heavier than an apple, and just because the girl was fed today did not mean she would be fed tomorrow.

“ Shh! We can’t do anything about her, ” said Tandry like he had passed by this situation a thousand times. Sullenly and reluctantly, Miro Miro continued following him. With each breath of the smelly atmosphere, she regretted following the fairy. Between following this complete stranger through a small part of Hyrule Castle City that reeked of death and watching perverted men and Gerudos have bump-bump, the latter choice was becoming the more preferable choice.

Tandry had descended to about Hylian height and began weaving through rubbish piles as tall as a Hylian stood. The starving men, women, and children digging through the garbage for scraps to eat paid no mind to the fairies passing by. A woman’s cry almost jolted Miro Miro upright, but like the rest of the alley’s residents, Miro Miro learned to keep her mouth shut. The cry echoed through the alleys, but it seemingly came from nowhere and went nowhere. The heavy weight of apathy reeked as badly as the rotting corpses Miro Miro just passed.

There was an end to the alleyway, but from Miro Miro’s position, it looked like a small, thin ray of light far in the distance. She wanted nothing more than to fly away from the cold, clammy, alleyway into the warmth of the sunlight. But now more than ever she was curious as to what the other fairy was attempting to see or do.

“Alright, here we are. In here,” he instructed Miro Miro as he dove into a small bucket sitting on top of a pile of filth. “The kid is just up ahead, but he’s dangerous, though. So don’t go near him.”

“Why not?”

“ He’ll sell us if he sees us. ”

“I don’t know what that means!”

“ Be quiet! ” Tandry peered over the bucket lip. “ We are wanted for our blood .”

Hushing into a terrified whisper, Miro Miro asked, “Wh-why?”

“ Because our blood can bring back the dead .” The solemn conclusion had solidly formed in her mind before Tandry had a chance to finish his thought, “ And because of that, we are hunted like animals. ” No, Hylians couldn’t be that evil, right?

Miro Miro shuddered at the thought. If she was caught, she would be put in those little jars. She peered over as well to see what was her acquaintance was looking at.

Up ahead, she could see a group of kids and a Zola, who towered over all of them, gathered around something. Then she noticed that they were all armed with clubs. All except one, a boy maybe tens years of age. From the great distance between her and the child, she could barely see any details of his face.

But she felt something familiar. It pounded through her heart and resonated throughout her light energy. She had to get a closer look.

As she drifted closer to what seemed like a fight. The kids were gathered around two people. A terrifying Zola stood proudly above the rest in the center. He wore a vest like the other kids, so they were friends? A dark haired child stood opposite a Zola, and he was armed with a fierce looking sword.

Even the Tandry’s calls could not snap Miro Miro out of it, “ Hey! What are you doing? Get back here! ”

The boy turned his head and noticed her approach. Even though she was too far to distinguish his eyes, a terrifyingly chill coursed her body. They had made eye contact, that was for sure. His tattered, cream colored tunic and torn, drab trousers to cover his thin frame. How was he able to carry such a big sword?

“Oh no, she’s trying to get herself killed!” the voice pounded in Miro Miro’s head, but it would not deter her. She was too drawn to this sentiment of familiarity. “Oh no, it’s too late. I can’t help her, She’s dead...”

Miro Miro could not figure out why he was so familiar. Was it Topah? She began to picture Topah in her mind. She searched through every fragment of her memory for any image of what he may have looked like. But in her mind, all she could put together was a muddled silhouette of a boy. He may have worn the traditional, Green Kokiri tunic and the pointed Kokiri hat, or he may not have. She felt ashamed for forgetting the face of the child she was assigned to protect.

What she could remember were his likes and dislikes. She remembered a happy boy, a Kokiri who had a resting smile on his face all the time. He had a lot of energy and liked running around the village. She could remember that he liked running around the village naked, but she strained trying to remember any physical features on that naked body. She remembered setting up playdates with other Kokiri, being a mediator for arguments, and sharing stories of the Hero of Time with an audience of Topah and his friends. At the very least, she could remember his name.

A clang rang through the alley. The nails on the Zola’s mace connected with the metal blade of the sword and knocked the weapon onto the ground. Oh no! thought Miro Miro as the Zola picked up the boy by his throat and lifted him off the ground.

Chapter Text

Link’s eyes darted to the Zola’s cheeky smile and then to the Zola’s right arm which was cocked back, ready to dig the wooden club full of nails into Link’s head.

Link quickly lifted his splinted leg, his fingers wrapped around the grip of the knife sitting just outside the bandages and yanked it upwards, cutting through the fabric in the process. Bringing his right palm up and over the Zola’s left arm, Link dug the blade into the fishy, soft muscle. After a raspy cry of pain, the gang leader instantly dropped the boy. As his arm slid downward, so too did Link’s body follow. But not without pulling the blade out of the arm first, and drawing more blood on the way out.

As soon as Link’s feet touched the ground, his instincts prevented him from following up with another attack. Had Link attacked, he would not have seen the mace coming from the side. Just as Link’s instincts predicted for the boy, the Zola leader had just swung his weapon, instead forcing Link to dive out of the way. His acrobatic body and years of practice gracefully helped Link finish a forward roll.

As he turned around, he saw a more alarmed and angry, to say the least, Zola. His opponent had lifted his weapon and was inching cautiously towards Link, but with every feint from the defender, the gang leader would jump back. Their standoff brought energy, as the crowd was excited to see someone finally put up a fight. Their false sense of security was placed in the abilities of their leader, who had never lost in front of them. Wolves chose to eat sheep instead of other wolves for a reason.

Taunts and cheers and jeers were being thrown into the ring as the two circled each other. One was cautiously waiting for the other to make move. The other one was slowly placing his back against the wall so that no one would pounce on him from behind, and he was lining up a shot.

Link set up his attack with another feint stab. Clearly afraid of another wound, the gang leader flinched and retracted defensively, which was exactly what Link wanted. The boy shifted his weight on his back foot, wound his right arm back, and then sent the blade spinning forth as fast as he could. With this much power involved, it was pointless to aim for the lieutenant standing behind the leader. After years of practicing knife throwing, Link knew that hitting his target from his distance was a matter of chance.

The Zola slipped to his right and dodged the knife. Before the Zola retracted even further into a defensive stance, Link sprinted forward and followed the trajectory of the knife. The blade continued spinning past the leader and towards the unsuspecting lieutenant. He had to die first.

There was almost no sound when the blade’s trajectory drove metal into the flesh of his neck. The surprised expression on his freckled face almost looked like he was watching his last seconds escape from his throat in disbelief. The sight of blood spurting from the wound consumed the bloodthirsty energy of the crowd, leaving only silence and shock. The looks on their faces were stretched as wide as their facial muscles allowed in response to their second in command lifelessly falling onto his knees and collapsing onto his side.

While the surprised expressions were turned toward their fallen comrade, their distraction provided the opportunity for Link to reach the lieutenant. His light body tackled the dying body to the ground, and then his legs mounted the chest. When he pulled the knife out, blood shot forth from the open wound. As the blood of Link’s first victim began to stain his shirt, he looked into the lieutenant’s eyes, hanging on for life.

And then Link brought the blade down into the face. Again. And again. With each plunge of the blade, a splatter of blood would escape from the deceased’s face. With each withdrawal of the blade, a splatter of blood flew onto Link’s tunic.

Just as the rest did nothing as they watched their comrade struggle to stay alive, their petrified bodies did nothing as Link continued stabbing the face until it was beyond recognition. As Link had predicted, the two boys at the end turned tail and ran. The one with the bruises had absolutely no compassion for anyone in the gang, and was certainly not about risk death to fight a bloody killer with whom he had no qualms, but he would not run for some reason. The blood soaked killer gave him a threatening glare, and that was the encouragement needed for the bullied child to turn and run after the other two.

Three against one was better odds. “Kill him!” the Zola commanded his remaining two subordinates while nursing his wound. The taller, older of the two looked at Link with the eyes of a soldier ready to obey his commander’s order unto death. Link dismounted the corpse quickly before the first strike came. Link had to jump back from the first swing and again for the second. His opponent’s swings were fast, and his recoveries were even faster. With nothing to stop the force of the wooden club, Link’s opponent utilized his superior reach.

Each swing forced Link backwards, away from his beloved longsword. Link was not concerned. So long as the other two combatants remained idle, Link had all the time in Hyrule to tire out the active one. It would only be a matter of time before the incoming swings would lose their ferocity. Link danced on the tip of his toes around each swing. And after the tenth miss or so, each swing became noticeably slower and slower.

As he ducked and dodged each increasingly burdened attack, he began to maneuver towards his sword. When each attack became sufficiently sluggish and predictable, he stood his ground in front of his opponent, just far enough away from the first swing. His position was a dare for the teenager to lunge forward on his second swing, and Link would move into striking range during his opponent’s short window of recovery.

Blood rushed through Link’s body at the sense of an unseen, imminent danger, but it was too late. The impact of the club forced the air out of his lungs before he could deduce that the younger brother had unexpectedly stepped in.

Thankfully, the swing had no conviction, no experience, and no power. As far as Link could immediately tell from gently feeling the stricken area, there were no broken bones. Still, the forced a cough out of him as he keeled over in pain and quickly backpedaled from the boys to catch his breath and then turned around to make sure the Zola had not made any attempts to enter the battle as well. He needed a new plan, and he needed that sword lying on the filthy ground more than he needed a plan.

Only the younger boy stood between Link and the sword, his older brother flanked on the left, and the Zola flanked on the right. Either way, he would have to get through the boy in front.

Link decided to make the first move. He postured his torso upright and held out the knife hand in front, letting his feet swiftly stride forward to close the distance between him and the timid defender. With an extra push off of his back foot, he leaped forward to attack. He quickly planted his foot to abruptly change direction, but it sent a frightened, unbalanced boy stumbling backwards. It was a nice bonus, but that was not what Link was after.

He did not have to look left to see the incoming, overprotective big brother intervene to protect family. The bigger gang member stepped with his right, lifting his club over his head, and brought his weapon down with as much force as he could. Link had already cut to his left, into the oncoming attacker. His superior agility and timing bypassed the weapon’s deadly range. With both hands on the grip, Link thrusted his short weapon forward and plunged his shorter weapon into flesh. The wounded teenager fell forward, unable to fight his forward momentum, and as he fell, Link turned the body over and yanked the dagger out, sending the incapacitated combatant spinning away.

The younger boy, no longer concerned for his own safety, ran past Link without picking his club. The boy was now occupied with his only family’s survival. So long as Link did not disturb the two, they would pose no threat.

The only thing standing in the way between Link and his beloved new toy was the filth on the ground. Link took casually slow steps to catch his breath, while the Zola stared in disbelief that a boy had bested his entire gang.

He replaced his knife onto his trouser strings and picked up the significantly heavier weapon. After a few practice swings, Woaphie’s prized possession was still just as heavy. Parrying or blocking with this sword was probably a bad idea. It was a disadvantage that irked Link the most since defense was the reason why he even bothered to steal the blade at all. But after the Zola gang leader watched the Kokiri slowly take care of his gang, the boy deserved some respect or fear at the very least.

The Zola licked his dry lips and bent into a fighting stance. He angled his body, right foot forward, and held his weapon across his face. Link responded by shifting his left foot back and, with two firm grips, hoisted the sword up and pointed it at his foe.

“Make this interesting for me please,” said Link.

“Heh.” With a flick of his wrist, The Zola whipped the club around to knock the heavy weapon out of the way. Link was not about to lose his weapon a second time, but impact of metal on metal forced him to move along with the momentum of the heavy blade by spinning around and taking two steps backwards, safely away from the Zola’s followup attack. Link continue his spin until his right foot planted again, and then he used the sword’s undeterred momentum to deliver a powerful horizontal swing.

The Zola would have been a fool to attempt a third strike in the combo, let alone block the incoming attack. He stepped back instead, respecting the sword’s reach. This gave Link the authority to control the distance. He swung his sword again horizontally. When the Zola jumped back, Link used the momentum of his first swing to bring the heavy blade back around and lift him off the ground. With a cry, Link brought down the blade with as much force as his small body could muster.

But the sharpened metal hit the stone ground. The sword was just too slow. The Zola had gracefully sidestepped the blow and was ready to bring his club down on Link’s head. Had Link jumped away from the swing, the club’s reach would have been long enough to split his skull open. Instead, he leaped towards the Zola’s inner space, slipping just inside the weapon’s effective reach and landing on one foot at mere arm's-length away from the Zola, and then used that planted foot to launch his right shoulder into the Zola’s gut.

The gang leader was not expecting such an aggressive move and thus clutched his stomach while backstepping to safety. After knocking back the Zola, Link raised the blade to end the fight, but he was too slow to see the front kick coming. “Ooph!” the force into his chest knocked some air out of his lungs and knocked him over. Link growled for underestimating his opponent.

He was not going to make that mistake again. Link rose to his feet and readied his weapon.

His eyes wandered away from his target for one split heartbeat and caught sight of the fairy again. This time, the fairy was much closer to the fight, too close for safety. Suddenly, Link felt an immense amount of pressure in his head. Images exploded in his mind, like they were trying to escape.

In all these images, Link was in a forest, talking to another child. Were these memories? Whatever they were, they were giving Link a headache. He felt every heartbeat pump blood into his already pressured brain. His left hand suddenly began to sting with pain. His scar underneath the bandage suddenly began glowing. “Grraaaah!” the pain was too much for him to handle. Link backed away instinctively and squeezed his eyes shut to alleviate the swelling ache.

And when he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by forest. All the pain was gone.

The pressure in his head disappeared. He looked around himself and saw that he was wearing a clean pressed green tunic and a green hat with a pointy tip. A small, leather belt with a metal buckle fastened tightly around his waist. He wore skin-tight, white trousers and small, sepia leather boots. It was cleaner clothing than anything Link had worn in the last two years, maybe even more. To his left was the edge of a ridge that overlooked a village built along trees. Miniature treehouses, bridges, vines, and sturdy branches made up the infrastructure of their community. The Kokiri Village. Link was beginning to remember.

The ridge made him feel an emotion that he had forgotten he once had. The same feeling that washed over him when he first spotted the fairy returned to him. He could distinctly smell the lilac and lavender flowers blooming at the beginning of spring. He could pick out each animal call in the background. He could feel every cool gust of air on his skin. This was the place where he spent the most time when he lived in the forest.

The Lost Gate was named so because the top of the cliff was the main entryway into the Lost Woods, and it was only accessible by scaling up the rocky wall. A large vine, though, ran down the center of the cliff, giving the children easy access to the top. Link did not come here to sight see and admire the beauty of his innocent village, whose population had swelled up to the hundreds by this point. He was after the Kokiri sword.

In the village, there always one sword that was sacred. The Kokiri sword was the only weapon in the village with a metal blade, for it was against the rules for the children to possess a deadly weapon in their homes. Of the hundreds of Kokiri that resided in the village, only one was even allowed to wield the blade, and the only way to obtain the blade was to defeat the Protector of the forest. Everyday, Kokiri Village’s champion would defend her title at least five times.

What was her name? She had been Protector of the forest for long enough that the children simply called her by her title. No one called her by her given name for decades now.

Regardless, there was no mistaking that the golden haired girl standing in front of him with the Kokiri sword loosely held in her right hand was the Protector. The strands of her silky mane waved back and forth with the wind. Her flawless skin, beautiful face, tall body, athleticism, skill with the sword, and strong personality were the envy of everyone in the village.

Link tightened his grips on his wooden, two handed sword. “Relax,” said the Protector, who seemed to know his every twitch of movement. He stubbornly kept his grips tight.

Raising his sword into the air, Link proudly declared, “I will be the Protector of this forest!” like he had done many times before.

“Well, you better hurry up and beat me!” the Protector retorted, “Maybe the eighth time will be your lucky time?”

As he spun the blade in his hand, he noticed that his memory began to feel more like a dream. Link inhabited the body with all the skills that he had accumulated in recent years. His feet felt light and controlled. The wooden sword felt like a feather in his hands as he twirled it about. As Link twirled the blade, muscle memory was coming back to him… muscle memory he never had during this lifetime.

They circled each other clockwise, studying each other’s movements, respecting each other’s distance. Link’s eyes darted up and down to observe her slow but relaxed movements. And, like any other Kokiri boy, to admire her looks.

Then the Protector telegraphed her great lunge forward before her front foot pushed forth. Wait, that’s not right, she was much more skilled than that. Her arm was extended, ready to strike, but her body was too vulnerable to attack. No, the Protector would have never done this in a fight. She would never make her first strike so easy to parry.

As the Protector landed, she unwound her twisted torso and unleashed a powerful forehand slash from her right hand. Link timed his own swing earlier. Using the superior reach of his wooden sword, he cut upwards as the Protector’s hand was coming around.

And then the dull wooden sword cleanly sliced through flesh and cleanly cleaved her right hand off. Something wet splashed onto his face. Blood. No, this was not a memory. This never happened. On the eighth attempt, the Protector had knocked Link off the cliff. Right? What was going on?

As the hand and the sword both traversed through the air, a sudden thought clicked in Link’s head. It wasn’t even the Protector to begin with. As this realization washed over his body, he led the upward momentum of the wooden blade into another attack position and back stepped.

Twirling around gracefully like a dancer, Link brought down the heavy sword into the top of the Protector’s left shoulder and, with the sickening sound of metal separating flesh and bone, buried it into her stomach.

It wasn’t her. He knew it wasn’t her. But that did not stop the scar on his left hand from burning with pain. He cried out, not in pain, but in grief. The burning pain brought Link back to reality. It was his cursed reminder of the only thing he knew about his past...

Chapter Text

Miro Miro knew something went wrong when she made eye contact with the boy. He released the grip of his left hand to hold his head. His right hand, unable to keep the blade lifted, let the heavy metal fall to the ground.

Suddenly he relaxed his body. His left hand drooped from his face and dangled at the end of his arm like a pendulum. His torso was bent over, but his legs were active and bent, keeping him in balance even though he looked mentally absent.

Miro Miro was afraid that the Zola would attack while the boy was seemingly unconscious, but at this point she had no idea who to root for: an ugly bully or a demon child. She still could not fathom that the blood stained on the boy’s shirt came from a living, being only moments ago. The goat’s throat being cut open made Miro Miro feel nausea. The murder of the two man-at-arms made the problem worse. But the brutal execution of the poor, red-haired child had truly sent Miro Miro over the edge.

Fairies did not have stomachs. The were given bodies resembling the form of the goddesses, but these balls of energy were never given any of the physiological features. After all, they never ate. So she was in for a surprise when she wretched after watching the execution take place. She did not know fairies were even subject to vomiting, but something liquidy escaped from her mouth. A droplet of, something, forced itself up from inside and expelled downward toward the ground. The droplet produced its own white light that radiated as strongly as Miro Miro’s natural light did. It splashed like a water droplet upon hitting the ground and dripped down the pile of garbage.

That boy wasn’t a Kokiri. She refused to believe it. The Kokiri of the forest would sometimes pee whenever they listened to a scary story, and most would instinctively cry at the sight of a droplet of blood. Miro Miro had just watched the lone boy repeatedly stab a child, only slightly older than he, multiple times in the face. What kind of Kokiri, let alone a young child, was even capable of such cruelty?

Right when both she and the Zola thought he indeed was out cold, the boy bent over to pick up his sword off the ground and lifted the tip high into the air.

“I will be the Protector of the forest!” he cried out with a terrifying, dried up, croak. His declaration sounded like Ganondorf had possessed the body from beyond the sacred realm’s seal.

No way, conceded Miro Miro; only a Kokiri would know who the Protector of the Forest was. It was like the child living back in the forest. His relaxed and unfocused look resembled the calm and looseness in his body. The child and the Zola circled each other clockwise; Miro Miro was unsure what either one would do. The boy toyed with the weapon and twirled it like it weighed nothing. The Zola was clearly afraid of that sword, but because the Zola’s face had that eternal, cursed grin, it was hard to tell what exactly he was feeling.

His two cheek fins flared outward like a bird stretching its wings, and then the Zola jumped forward for the attack. For a heartbeat, it looked like the boy was not going to do anything at all.

Then, before a mouse could finish blinking, the boy raised the sword high into the air, separating the Zola’s hand from the arm and, subsequently, the nailed club from the hand. Miro Miro instantly felt her stomach turn.

And when the sword plunged downwards, separating flesh and bone, Miro Miro wretched again.

It was the sight of the sword buried in the Zola’s body that made the reality of the city full of violence finally settle in Miro Miro’s mind. It was a completely different Hyrule from the one that the stories the Fairy Mothers would tell. Another drop of glowing goo fell onto the ground.

She heard a whisper escape from the boy, who was kneeling on the ground and clutching his bandaged hand, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Was he apologizing to the victim? It was hard to tell once the boy picked his head up to survey his surrounding. He then stood up and yanked the blade from the body, and then wiped the blood off on a part of his shirt that was not yet stained with red.

That only left the two remaining teens, whose expressions were nothing short of fearful. The younger one trembled uncontrollably, hoping the safety of his dying companion would calm him down. The older blonde struggled to gasp for air, but he was succeeding at the very least.

Their eyes looked upward and saw the victor walking toward them with his sword resting on his shoulder. As soon as the boy came within striking distance, Miro Miro looked away as he brought down the sword quickly.

The boy’s croaky voice was low pitched like an adult man’s voice, “Do I have a reason to kill you?” Miro Miro turned around and saw that the sword was extended until the tip was a finger’s length away from the younger one’s nose.

He quickly shook his head, “No! Leave us alone! We’ll never see each other again!”

The boy moved the sword’s steel from their faces, “Good.”

The sight of mercy baffled Miro Miro. Where was the mercy for the slain? Perhaps what upset Miro Miro the most was the child’s power to dictate who lived and who died. The boy wielded this power frighteningly with the utmost authority and arrogance in his every swing. Many years ago, The Great Deku Tree warned that once a person killed, that person was always willing to do it again. This corrupt power of determining life and death was as deadly as a raging forest fire.

That was why the Great Deku Tree entrusted the Kokiri forest’s most sacred weapon with one who understood the consequences. If the sword was used to kill anyone for any reason, The Great Deku Tree would strip the humanity from the Protector and banish him or her into the Lost Woods as a wandering, wicked spirit that roamed the darkest parts of the forest, otherwise known as a Skull Kid. All who lived in the forest knew the legend of Majora, the first murderer of the Kokiri Village. But as cruel as Majora’s fate was, all the Great Deku Tree ever wanted was for the Protector to find new, nonviolent solutions to solve conflicts.

Just as the boy turned around, a glass bottle shot upward, and a metal lid closed as soon as Miro Miro’s body came into contact with the bottom. A bald and wrinkly old man smiled exuberantly as his two hands clamped onto the glass jar, “Gotcha!” That blood curdling voice belonged to the same shopkeeper who chased Miro Miro from the day before.

Miro Miro tried to fly out, but the solid glass painfully reflected her away. She tried to burst through the metal lid to no avail.

She did not want to consider the possibility of asking the cold blooded murderer for help. But she also valued not being trapped more than risking interaction with the ruthless killer. With no other options, Miro Miro pressed herself at the edge of the glass and yelled, “Help!”

The boy rolled his eyes and sighed, as if choosing to save Miro Miro’s life was his absolute last priority. His hands lifted the blade again. “Sorry,” he said before charging at the shopkeeper.

Clutching the jar like it had a lot of value, the frail, old man unleashed a high pitched shriek. The man’s skinny legs worked as hard as they could to get away from the incoming maniac. Miro Miro bounced around the jar, unable to keep up with the jar’s unpredictable movements and unable to see anything outside the jar clearly. She could only hear her kidnapper’s rapid footsteps and breathing.

It was not long that Miro Miro could hear a second set of footsteps quickly approaching. “AH!” the shopkeeper yelped as he tripped forward. The jar slipped through the man’s arms and crashed upon the dirt ground below. Miro Miro flew towards freedom, and turned around to see the child catch up to the shopkeeper trying to get up to his knees.

Miro Miro squealed as the young boy swung his sword, with control and strength resembling those of a full grown warrior, and stopped the blade as it pointed at his next victim’s neck, the tip barely grazing the sweat running down his wrinkly jowl. The blade lifted up, and gently guided the shopkeeper upward, until he was supported by both his bony knees.

“Please,” the shopkeeper clasped his hands together and began trembling as his eyes welled up, “Please.” A tear fell down off his cheek bone, and left a moist, circular mark upon the dirt.

“Please!” Miro Miro spontaneously exclaimed, “Please spare his life!” She had seen enough loss of life for one lifetime, as big of a jerk as the shopkeeper was.

The boy smirked. Then he pivoted on his foot, winding his torso, and unleashed a powerful swing. It was a fast swing, so fast that before Miro Miro could scream, “NOOO!” the body and the head were already in the midst of falling to the ground separately.

Miro Miro violently hurled once again and continued hurling as blood escaped from its once living source. The longer the body was left there, the bigger the pool of blood. After Miro Miro recovered from vomiting, she and the murderer shared an uncomfortable silence between them. He turned around and gave her a frightening stare down.

Scar tissue had turned the boy’s face into a misshapen figure. The green eyes, the nose, and the mouth were all in the wrong places, and the scars holding those parts in place looked like it was digging ditches across his face. The nose was almost sickeningly crooked. The right side of his mouth had a scar that ran from the corner of the lip to his mid cheek, probably the most sinister one The years and years of fighting had permanently painted an evil smirk on his right face. Mud, muck, and blood covered his entire body, even on his open wounds. She wagered this boy had not seen a bath in a very long time.

All the scars on his body could not hide the incredibly chiseled body the boy had. Divots and ditches of scar tissue also ran along his arms and cut into the muscle. Even though his muscular frame was larger than the normal frame of the Kokiri, wielding the sword the way he did still seemed improbable for a child his size.

His tunic was as red as a rose. She wretched again. The evil grin looked even worse when he actually smirked, “You fairies puke this stuff?” He bent over with the bloody blade resting on his shoulder and touched the gooey liquid with two fingers.

“Ew! What are you doing?” Miro Miro yelled with futility. The boy wiped the goo across his evil scar on his cheek. It glowed even brighter when it came into contact with the scar tissue, and then it melted into the concave space. When the glow disappeared, his scar was healed, skin as good as new. His clean, healed patch of skin was now the only part with no grime and muck.

“Neat!” he said as he bent down for another helping. After he applied all that was left on the ground, the boy still looked, ugly, just not as malevolent.

“Wh- Wh-” She wanted to say “Who are you?” but instead it came out as, “Who, why, why did you kill those people?”

Without giving his answer any time for thought, the boy replied, “Because I needed to.” Casually and coldly, he started walking back towards the scene of the fight.

Miro Miro froze at his chilly answer. Curse me! She had twenty eight years in the forest to plan exactly what she would say to the first Kokiri she ever laid eyes on. But here he was, standing in front of her with a bloody sword in his hand, having brutally murdered three people. What could she say to such a menace? Could she even talk to him as a Kokiri then? “You’re still a killer!”

“HA!” the boy laughed out loud, “No dung, you dungbrain!” his laughter continued to echo throughout the quiet alley as if he had no regard for who might hear him. “You know what’s the best part about being a killer?” he asked as he wiped the blood on his blade off of his shirt.

After a long silence, Miro Miro asked, “What is it?”

“I get paid to do it.” His dead eyes and smirk violently displayed his killer experiences like an open book for Miro Miro to read.

“That’s,” she did not know what “getting paid” meant, but it clearly meant that he was encouraged to do so, “that’s no justification for taking the life of another! Y-you were taught better!”

“Oh yeah?” challenged the boy, “By whom?”

The response shocked Miro Miro. He forgot about the Great Deku Tree? How could he forget? “You know, your father, the Great Deku Tree.”

“Heh,” he scoffed, “Now you’re just sounding like a cult leader.”

“No! You are a Kokiri!” Miro Miro tried her hardest to bore that into the childish part of him, if it still existed.

His eyes still looked dead, but his smirk was gone, “I’m lost.”

As they passed by the boy with stab wounds in his face, Miro Miro pressed further, “You’re a Kokiri! You were taught by the Great Deku Tree that all life was precious!”

The boy picked up the sword’s large scabbard and began wiping the muck off, “A Kokir-what? And what in Din’s Hearth is a Great Deku Tree?”

Miro Miro wanted to explode in fury right then and there. How could a Kokiri forget his own parent, the very one who created his life? “How, how can you not know who He is? He gave life to you!”

“Did you come all the way here to tell me I was born from a tree? Did my deadbeat father send you here to judge to me to death? Because I am an ungrateful child? Or are you trying to spread the good word of this ‘Great Deku Tree’?” his insolence towards the father he probably had not seen in many decades was unprecedented, and it made Miro Miro more furious and less understanding. He sheathed the oversized sword and began walking down the alleyway.

“Wait, where are we going?” Miro Miro asked as she followed him.

“It’s ‘where am I going’. There is no we. And I’m going to lay low for a while.”

“What do you mean, lay low for a while?”

The boy sighed, “I’m going to a place that will shelter me for the night. Hopefully.” At least the boy was not driving her away.

Because she did not know whether she would ever come across another Kokiri again, she reluctantly followed the demon child. Miro Miro did not want to let silence make the cold, clammy atmosphere any more frightening than he already was, “You mentioned before that you had a method to killing.” Her loud voice echoed through the shadowed alley, but it did not bother her. If it were to attract trouble, it would be nothing this murderer and his sword could not handle.

“You wanna know why I killed those three and spared the rest?”

It was hard for her to say yes. But her desire to explore the Kokiri’s mind pestered her to continue asking questions she would never imagine asking in her lifetime. After all, he could have been the only person who knew where Topah could be, “Why did you kill the first one?”

“To scare off the first three,” relied the boy without thinking.

She pressed on, “But, did you have to brutally kill him like that?”

“Like what? Stabbing him in the face over and over again? He was dead after the blade hit his neck. A wound like that can end the strongest men in a few heartbeats. All the extra stabs were just to scare off the new guys in the gang.” Miro Miro hated to admit it, but the logic of killing one person in order to avoid killing three others was sound. With little experience in the way of fighting, she had little alternative scenarios to propose.

Miro Miro was disgusted at herself for being satisfied with his answer, but she continued her probing, “Then what about the Zola?”

“He was their leader. If I left him alive, he would have ran off, recruited another gang, and then hunted me until either one of us breathed our last breath.”

She wanted to ask how the boy knew the Zola would do such a thing, but he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Miro Miro moved on, “And why did you show mercy to those two boys?”

“Well, I meant to kill the older one, but he accidentally lived, and so long as he and his brother stayed out of my way, I didn’t have to kill both of them.”

“How did you know they were brothers?”

“I just do okay?” the boy’s impatience raised the level of his voice, “I didn’t survive in Hyrule Castle Dump by swinging a sword, I did it by knowing stuff. They looked alike, and the older bigger guy was acting very protective of the smaller guy, something only family would do. And if the older brother died, I would have had to kill the younger one too in case he decided to avenge his only family.” Once again, Miro Miro cursed herself for having no rebuttal.

She had to press on to the last victim, “And, what about the shopkeeper?”

The boy did not immediately respond, “I needed the practice.”

“What!” the answer shocked her, like she actually expected a reasonable answer from a heartless murderer, “How could you be so heartless? Just because he was not a nice person does not mean he deserved to...!”

The boy came to a stop and swiveled around quickly to interrupt her, “He was about to sell your blood for five silver rupees!” What did he mean by that? Miro Miro reluctantly listened in silence. “If his life was truly worth something, next time escort me to a slaver so I can make some rupees off him,” the boy turned back around and continued walking down the endless alleyway.

What was a slaver? Why were people after her blood? Questions about Hyrule in its current state swirled around her head so violently that she could not figure out which question to ask the boy first. But at this point, she also did not want to know the answer to any of them.

“Let me ask you this question,” he broke the hanging silence and then used a mocking voice to ask her, “How come you do not ask why that guy tried to capture you? How come you do not ask why that gang attacked me? Why do I strike you as the villain?” the questions struck Miro Miro dumb. All the previous questions she wanted to ask him vanished; instead, she pooled all strings of thought together just to find a decent counter.

Although Miro Miro was unable to summon an immediate answer without looking like the judgmental mother that the Kokiri so desperately needed, she could not leave the boy’s flawed opinions, or his bad manner, unchecked, so she squeaked out the most uncomfortable reply to counter what were probably the hardest questions she had ever faced, “Because, you, you committed sin?” Deku nuts! She did not mean to make that answer sound like a question.

“Ha! Sin is just some stupid thing that changes whether you’re this person or that person,” the cold hearted words sent a chill down Miro Miro’s soul.

She had to fight back against his evil! “Killing is a sin! There is nothing to be debated about it!”

“Says who? This Great Deku Tree that you're so fond of?” Miro Miro was quickly getting tired of the Kokiri’s rhetorical questions and his clear disrespect of the Father of the Forest, the being that was responsible for giving her purpose. She could feel the boy’s condescending tone fuel the fire that made her blood boil, “If you are not aware, this is not the forest. In fact...”

The boy turned around once again, but this time he drew his knife and pointed the tip right at Miro Miro. She gulped loudly. Without any caution, the boy raised his voice above a level that seemed wise, “If you’re so disgusted by everything I do, why you are even following me!? If I were you, I would fly straight back to whatever forest you came from, where a gigantic tree can tell you what is right and what is wrong, and everyone lives happily ever after like in all the stories! Because this reality is much different, and I don’t think you’re ready to find out how ugly this city can get.”

Up until that moment, everything Miro Miro had witnessed confirmed the boy’s inconvenient truths. After seeing numerous people die in the past two days, she felt like Hyrule Castle City was trying its best to force her out. Seeing people kill each other made her feel sick. Seeing people suffering made her feel helpless. And it felt like Hyrule Castle City only offered those two feelings to all her forsaken guests.

“No”, Miro Miro steeled herself, this harsh place will not break me! Silence ensued as she mentally battled against the anguish that was slowly trying to settle in her being. She spent twenty eight years wandering the Lost Woods looking for Topah without any sign of hope. This Kokiri in front of her, despite his evil persona, was the first Kokiri she had seen in years. If a Kokiri lived in the city, then there was a chance that Topah could be in the city as well.

“No,” she said again. She prayed to Farore that this was not the case, and not for the obvious reason of cutting her time spent in the city as short as possible.

“‘Scuse me?” the child lowered his dagger.

“No! I came here for a reason!”

Silence. His eyes seemed to dig into her soul, her very fiber of existence. It was like he was trying to pry the truth out of Miro Miro. “And what reason might that be?” asked the boy.

She resolutely declared in the middle of the decaying alley, “I came here to the city to find my lost companion, Topah. Maybe you know something about him?” It was stab in the dark, but it felt better than aimlessly wandering the endless, dark forest.

After several more heartbeats of the one sided staring contest, the boy finally responded. “No, don't know the guy,” he said as he turned around and continued his way to his intended destination, “Follow me.”

Miro Miro felt relieved. She still held contempt and distrust for this Kokiri, but she was somehow confident that this boy, like Rowark, was at least not trying to kill her. Something in her gut told her that she could trust him that much. As he neared the end of the alleyway, the ray of light at the end of the path felt inviting.

Before he stepped into the open space, she felt obligated to ask the most important question, “What is your name?”

For three long heartbeats, Miro Miro prayed to the Great Deku Tree and the Golden Goddesses that the answer was not Topah. “Link,” he finally replied.

Chapter Text

Link: the name flowed from his mouth as naturally as Hyrule Castle City’s rubbish and sewage flowed into the Hylian River. It was a forgettable name. Half the paupers in all Hyrule and their wretched pet rats were named Link. Therefore, virtually all the thieves and murderers of Hyrule were named Link for that reason.

But the name Topah. It thundered in his mind. It sparked an echo and kindled a lost memory inside his head. Did he know someone named Topah? He tried hard to search back through his memories as far as it went, but aside from his only memory of his time in the forest, all he could recall were events up to a year ago and all the other names and faces he could conjure were just people who wanted him dead. No, but he remembered hearing other people use this name around his presence… long ago… how long ago? Link silently questioned and pondered as he walked to the end of the alleyway.

“Wait one moment,” he halted just before entering the volatile, chaotic crowd. Another Fundamentalist protest had gathered steam, bottlenecking the traffic completely. In the middle of the crowd, a religious loony stood on a platform and wore a golden, monk’s robe while preaching about the evils of the heretical Gerudo and their culture. Also poking above the heads were the occasional pitchfork, army issued spear, and torch. Well, so long as Link made no unnatural movements, no one would pay him any mind anyway.

Pointing across the way, he instructed the fairy, “You should not follow me through the traffic. Wait for me in that small gap between the tower and hostel.”

Link dove into the cesspool of people and swam through the bodies like a seasoned pedestrian. There was no crowd so congested that Link could not slip through unhindered. It took him several years to master, but once he had learned the patterns and the behavior of the organic crowd, navigating through became as easy as swimming through water. Each time he slipped into the traffic, he became better at flowing with the direction of the current and redirecting himself with little resistance. This extraordinary ability was one of only a few reasons why he enjoyed being a child.

Link emerged from the dense crowd and into another small space between the Desert Oasis and the Cloud Palace: the Gerudo run brothel next to the Gerudo run hostel respectively. The fairy caught up to him on the other side.

“Ew, what are we doing here next to this filthy place?” she asked with evident disgust.

Link smirked and teased, “You seem familiar with brothels. Curious?”

The fairy chirped back fiercely, “I have no interest in bump-bump! I hope you don't either child!”

“What in Ganon’s name is ‘bump-bump’?”

“I, uh, you know, the thing when... I’m sure you know what it is.” He did. “Are we really going inside?”

He flipped over a rotting, wooden board and smiled when he saw that his work bag was still there. Forgotten was the memory of when he acquired the keystone to his life, but Link never once underestimated its necessity throughout his life. Many different kinds of items came into and went from his ownership, but the black fabric that contained them never left or betrayed him. Large enough to fit himself inside, the bag had one flap and two metal buttons to fasten the top, and two leather straps he had personally sewn on to carry his entire life’s possessions.

“Kind of,” answered Link, “you'll see.” He threw off his bloodied tunic and stripped down, baring his naked body to the fairy. She gasped very loudly. “What?” he asked, “Don't tell me you've never seen a boy’s junk before.”

“No …” she squeaked softly. Link crouched over to the hotel’s designated trash pile. He crouched over and began changing into the black attire that was prevalent throughout the criminal world. “Your scars...” she asked.

“Oh,” Link looked down. Of course that was why she gasped. That was why everybody gasped when they saw his face. He was never self-conscious of his damaged body until someone immediately reacted. The reminder of his long, gigantic scar that stretched from his left collar to the bottom of his right rib cage unleashed the memory of a near death experience. Even though this incident took place over four years ago, and Link knew this with certain confidence, the images flashed in his mind as vividly as they once occurred.

Bodyguard. Mercenary. Discharged knight. Sir Mithen, or was it Sir Buono? Link may have forgotten the name of the brute who gave him the scar, but his past professions and barbaric appearance were burnt into Link’s memory. The Hebran native wore the furs of his prey over his silver armor and a helmet bearing the signature shape of a ram’s head, the symbol of the Eldin mercenary group called Din’s Shield. Though he had forgotten who the target was or how much the bounty was worth, Link had luckily managed to cut open the left side of the bodyguard’s wide neck. He was strong. So strong that his killing blow cleaved right through Link’s rusted weapon and straight into his flesh.

So why could Link only recall these specific details by heart? Because somewhere out there existed a man with a bushy moustache, a scar on his left neck, and a gap between his two front teeth, who fought under the banner of Din’s shield and would not hesitate to kill Link a second time.

Why he left Link to die alone in the alley will never be answered. After the massive opening seared across his torso, Link blacked out… could only remember waking up in the same spot where he was left, only this time open cut had turned into a corrupted wound serving burning agony as punishment for Link’s failure. Still, he never broke his promise, even if it cost him many seasons of pain and suffering. After laying there for who knows how long, the squalid, vile air and a lack of medication guaranteed the wound to fester quickly. Miraculously, Link seemed to be immune to the lethal effects of corruption, whereas untreated corruption in the smallest of cuts could swiftly take the lives of the best the Royal Guards. That was not to say that the recovery was painless. The wound was sensitive for the next season, and the resulting scar looked like a monstrous, furry leech that made his chest a permanent residence.

There were dozens of other scars that criss crossed all over Link’s torso, testaments to his ability to survive any life-threatening scenario, each with a memory as vivid as the one he had just revisited. He took one last good look at his damaged body before slipping on his short sleeved, work tunic.

It was more tattered and worn than the cream colored tunic, but the black color hid the blood stains better. He slipped on his oversized black pants and fastened his belt, where he holstered his five collected knives, to keep his pants hoisted. Even though his black cloak seemed inappropriate to wear in the summer heat, it also served as a blanket in the cooler evening, so he fastened that too around his person. Lastly, Link tied a piece of cloth over his nose and mouth to cover his face full of scars, the only thing that could unveil his anonymity.

“Link! You didn't answer my question!” reminded Miro Miro.

But Link was more concerned with his next task of scaling the circular spire. From his vantage point, the window near the top of several storied brothel was not visible. “Not now, when we're safe, I'll answer all your questions.” said Link, though in the back of his mind, he knew they may never be safe. Which meant he may never answer her questions. That made him happy.

Link walked further into the putrid alleyway and climbed up several boxes stacked against the wall of the Cloud Palace. He reached for the open, second story window above him. Instead of going through the window and entering the hostel, he jumped up and gripped the top edge of the window opening. He was then able to pull himself up to the window on the next floor. As soon as his hands found a solid grip on the bottom of the third floor window, he could hear the sounds of a Gerudo whore sheathing the lucky man who paid for her time.

The fairy shrieked as soon as she saw the couple’s love making, “Eek!” The sudden shriek jolted Link, sparking a blood rush through his veins and causing him to stumble and almost fall backward. The skinny, bearded man and his Gerudo whore both stopped and saw the masked, cloaked criminal awkwardly standing on the window.

“Get outta here!” yelled the naked patron at Link, who was already scaling his way up to the rooftop. As soon as he climbed, he had to take a minute to let his blood rush subside and let his rapid breathing slow down.

But not before he yelled at the fairy, “Why in Nayru’s name did you scream?”

“I'm sorry,” she truly sounded apologetic, but her humility was not enough to make Link calm down. His ultimate downfall was not to be at the hands of some fearsome warrior, instead it was very likely going to be attributed to the carelessness of the stupid fairy.

“Just remember that I can sell you for five silver rupees!”

“You wouldn't!”

She was right, for now. Link had his own questions for the fairy. After they were answered, maybe…

“For now. Just stay quiet.”

“Why is everyone telling me to -” Link’s sharp eyes threatened the fairy into the silence he desired.

Up ahead, there was a short chimney with a thick rope that connected the corner of the chimney to the curved exterior of the Desert Oasis. Not wanting to risk getting startled and falling from at least four stories high, Link took a precaution, “Wait for me by the bell.” He pointed upwards to a small plank with a small bell attached at the end.

The fairy did as was told without question. When Link felt that the fairy was sufficiently far away, he placed his foot on the cable. No matter how many times Link had crossed this wire, he would always feel the initial blood rush from the first wobble. All he had to do was allow his heart some time to relax and then loosen his body’s muscles before taking the next step. There was a slight wind that made the wire a little unstable. It was not the ideal weather condition to cross the wire, but enough experience could carry him across. Placing one foot in front of the other, he slowly and carefully moved across the rope. The closer he got to the middle, the wobblier the rope became. But after he passed the middle, balancing became easier.

The next step after crossing the rope was to grip the protruding rocks on the spire. Rocks were strategically placed along the wall and led him across the spire until his body was facing the opposite side of the main road, at which point the protruding rocks led him straight up the tower. The higher the altitude, the fiercer the wind became. As he scaled up the wall, his eyes were fixated on the end of a rope, which was attached to the plank near the top of the spire where Link instructed the fairy to wait. The end of the rope reached exactly where the rocks stopped protruding from wall.

Once the rope was within reach, Link let go of his right grip and pulled on the end, ringing the bell attached to the other end. He looked up and waited for one of the Ganondorf sisters to peer out and acknowledge the visitor. Half a minute later, a distant girl with blood red hair and dark skin looked down. From where Link was hanging, it was difficult to distinguish the features that were unique to this sister. But both made eye contact, giving him the permission he desired to begin climbing up the rope.

This was the hardest step in Link’s opinion. Climbing up four stories was exhausting as it was. After rigorous, rock climbing, scaling the rope would deter all but only a select few. Certain death awaited anyone who failed. It was what made this destination an ideal place to lay low, metaphorically speaking of course. Link began to feel his arms become strained and his breathing increase in depth. With each pull upward, the weight of his body felt like it was increasing.

But he finally reached the top and climbed onto the horizontal post. And just as he instructed, the fairy was waiting for him at the top, next to the window which served as the entrance to Sanctuary.

Link entered the room. The highest floor of the Desert Oasis had a comfortable breeze that perpetually blew in one window and out the other. It had no furniture due to the impracticality of moving heavy objects to this area, but it had seat cushions and rugs that covered the rough, stony floor. The Gerudo were proud of their weaving, and the beautiful tapestries hanging all around the walls were made in tribute to many aspects of their desert born culture.

He had never paid too much attention to the stories that the tapestries told, but he knew much of it had to do with Gerudo history. Link had no interest in history or fairy tales, whatever the case. His only concern was the Gerudo sitting opposite of him on the stony bench, a protrusion of the circular wall that wrapped along the perimeter, across from him.

She had the olive skin and long, straight, blood red hair tied back into a ponytail, blood red killer lips, and the long, beak-like nose just like all of her sisters. What distinguished her from the rest was her blue left eye and red right eye. Link acknowledged her, “Minja”. Her eyes lifted to acknowledge him back, and then returned her attention back to her smooth hands as they guided a whetstone slowly across her thin, curved blade.

Thankfully, Link never had the pleasure of being on the wrong side of a Gerudo scimitar, the fabled sister to death herself. The blade had probably claimed more than enough heads and limbs to populate two villages. It was said that the Gerudo blacksmiths used to behead prisoners in one swing to test their workmanship before entrusting their craft to their warrior sisters. Needless to say, the story, true or not, significantly inflated the price of their metal work past the point of what Link could dream to afford.

A large and somewhat bulbous contraption with a metal, pointed spear tip was attached to the pommel of the sword. Upon closer inspection, he saw a coil of thin flax coiled in the center of the metal contraption. The ropeshot, or the poor man’s hookshot, was a coveted tool in the criminal underworld, and its notorious price was the cause of many a tale of cunning thievery. The tip doubled as a weapon and as a grappling hook. Link almost salivated thinking about how much this tool (or weapon) could sell for on the criminal market.

“Little Cica,” the wind carried her soft voice delicately and condescendingly, as usual, “I feel like you never come by to see us anymore!”

“Given the difficult nature of reaching Sanctuary, I try to avoid it as best as I can.”

“Mmm, my little Cica must’ve been a bad boy to seek Sanctuary!” said Minja in her native tongue of mockery. Everytime her smile curled just a little more from digging into Link’s nerves, which did not make looking unamused any easier. “What crime sent you running frightened? Surely for more than just a stolen sword!”

Link fired sarcasm right back at her, “How dare you accuse me of such a petty crime! I am an honest citizen doing honest work!”

Minja let a chuckle escape from her mouth, “Oh Cica, you fib like an honest citizen.” Link hated that name more than anything. Any name that identified his person made Link unhappy, even if that name was the Gerudo word for scar. The more he heard the name, the further his face scrunched into displeasure. Minja’s crooked smile intensified, “Aww, don’t look so angry, it takes away from your cute boyish charms!” Despite being a seasoned killer of several years, Link did not have the fearsome reputation of the Gerudo bounty hunter or her sister, and he avoided looking like a cold blooded killer for that matter. Anonymity was what kept the boy alive in the hungry city.

She placed the whetstone aside and examined her polished blade. The look of satisfaction beamed from her face, and then she stood up to sheathe the blade in her sand-colored scabbard, which was nothing more than an oblong, metallic ring to hold the blade in place and a flap that covered the blade. Thin, silver coins resting on top of a red cloth covering her bosom hung from the top of her strapless top, a band that wrapped around her torso. Red baggy pants covered her bottom and flowed gently with the warm breeze.

“Well, you know the rules,” said Minja as she walked past him, “No fires.” Link nodded. “And no fighting.” Link nodded again. Both were rules that would keep him alive.

“Give my regards to Kinja,” replied Link out of courtesy. The Gerudo stepped off of the window and instantly caught the rope, ringing the bell that would alarm Link of anyone that attempted to enter.

Knowing that all the right tools were set in place, he sat on the ledge that overlooked east. Buildings of varying heights stretched off into the distance before the city’s walls cut them off. Past the walls, the only thing in sight was the steep ascent up Death Mountain. Link was still glad he could derive enjoyment from the breathtaking view, far away from any person who could ruin the moment, present company excluded.

He inhaled a deep breath of crisp, high altitude air. He was lucky to be alive. And he felt unlucky to be alive. Until the next sunrise, he could take his life for granted. He exhaled and stared out into the distance. The warmth of the summer sun felt comforting on his exposed, skin. It was certainly more refreshing that dwelling in the claustrophobic spaces he was used to.

The stupid fairy floated beside him, “From up here, the city looks so peaceful.” She wasn’t wrong. The view was always spectacular so long as you couldn’t see what was going on at ground level.

He chuckled at the irony, “From up here, yeah.”

“Do fights and killings go on all the time down below?” she asked him.

“Everywhere, someone’s being killed.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Lots of reasons why.”

“Then list them, one by one. We have until the end of time…”

If only Link had never promised the Protector, then he could just hurl himself off the ledge and never have to spend an eternity answering this question. Link just wanted to ask his questions about his past, not lecture about every single thing that drove people to senseful violence. But, something told him that she needed the knowledge of the city more than he needed knowledge of his past. His past, whatever it was, made no difference on his present.

“Well, from the direction, we’re looking at, we can see where all the misery comes from,” he extended his index finger forward to the eastern terraced cliffs of Castle City. Dozens of layers cut into the cliff formed a jagged stairway to the top of the cliff, where three manors with spires reaching for the heavens, garrisoned with soldiers armed to their fingernails, sat on the top like an ironic beacon of morality. “Over there,” Link pointed to the top, “Those are the Dukes, and they are at the top of the food chain. They collect money from those guys over there, the Counts.” His finger moved down to the terrace just below of five equally impressive looking manors.

Together, they made up the eight great families of Hyrule: Nohansen, June, Springbock, Pilt, Viskard, Ingo, Quela, and Tabantha. “The Counts then collect money from everyone else beneath them. And anyone who doesn’t give money to the Counts or the Dukes gives money to the Crown.” Link pointed at the wall behind him.

The fairy took some time to prepare for her next question. As she contemplated, Link began recalling as many of the details of the vision he experienced. The forest. The long, blonde hair. The girl. No, the Protector. The fight. He feared that if he and the fairy conversed about current events for too long, he might forget everything.

She sighed, afraid of asking the next question, “What is money?”

“Oh boy, it’s,” how was he to explain currency, something he was not all too familiar with either? Money was one of those things that was so hard to explain because it was so ingrained with everyone’s life. “it’s how we pay for everything.”

“Er, what does ‘pay’ mean?”

“Holy Hero, how do you normally get stuff?”

“Well, back in the forest we traded something of ours if it belonged to someone else, and we were allowed to take whatever we wanted if it belonged to the forest.”

“Well, that sounds like a nice, magical fairytale land. Here, it don’t work like that. Paying means trading things or services for these colorful jewels called rupees.” How many of those traded things were instruments of war? And how many of those services involved death? Too many…

“And the rupees allow you to trade for other things?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“Then how do you get food?”

“With rupees.”

“And clothing too?”

“Yep.” If she didn’t get the idea by now, Link was going to give up all hope.

“I see. So how do you get rupees?”

“Uh, you get a job.” It was obviously more complicated than that, otherwise Link wouldn’t have to resort to catching thugs for money. “But to do that, you gotta have an apprenticeship, and to have an apprenticeship, you gotta be thirteen years old.” Link had long forgotten how old he was, but he had always assumed he had less than two years until he grew up and started to look like a teenager. However, that vision in his mind, of him and the Protector in the forest, made him question once again exactly how many years he had exactly until he reached thirteen.

“Okay, but how do YOU get rupees?” she asked.

“I already told you, I kill people,” Link expected some sort of response, but his cold-hearted words were only met with silence, “I’m astonished you have accepted my line of work!”

“No, I have not accepted it!” the fairy sternly spoke, “But I know Kokiri, like children of all races, are products of their environment. I want to know what kind of place created a monster like you.”

A monster like me , the words bounced around his head and rang in his temple loudly. And finally he let out a loud, forced laugh. “You think I’m a monster?” he stopped abruptly and locked eyes with the fairy, “You haven’t seen the men I’ve been paid to kill.”

“Um,” she hesitated for a second, “Are these people even worse than you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘worse’, they just got caught.” Optimistically, it was the only distinction between a bounty hunter and his prey. Pessimistically, the bounty hunter was just a murderer-for-hire on the Queen’s payroll. “And then my job is to kill them or catch them.”

“Are there many that get paid to kill others?” she asked next.

Link sighed, “Too many. Killing is too well paid. Anybody in an army can expect to earn at least three meals and a bed. There are thousands of city watchman that are paid to patrol the outskirts of Hyrule to kill highwaymen and the city streets to kill ruffians. That’s probably the most legal killing profession. Then there are the conscripts that lords and peers hire. The nobles of this city are allowed to use their standing armies to exact justice on anyone who has wronged their family.” The idea of murdering someone legally sounded increasingly oxymoronic the more he tried to ponder the rationale, despite his intimate familiarity with the concept.

“But, why are so many people paid to kill?” asked the fairy.

“Because people are willing to pay rupees to see others die.”

The next question followed logically, “But why?”

Link pointed his finger to the top of the cliff again, “So people can live over there.”

“But why is living there so important? Why can’t everyone just get along?”

He let out a deep sigh. He was so used to the idea that people struggled and killed for domination over others that this was simply a given to him, an unfortunate fact of life. How was he to explain a concept that was born in the minds of every Hylian citizen? And then he had to relate that concept to someone who never lived outside the forest.

“I don’t know, I didn’t make these stupid rules, okay? I was just born into it, learned it, and tried to survive as best as I could for as long as I can.” Or so I thought until now , he reminded himself in his head. “In Hyrule Castle Dump, there are two types of people that live here. Those who fight to survive. And those who fight so they can live at the top.”

“It’s a lot to take in all in one day, but I think I’m starting to understand now,” said the fairy, to which Link responded with a relieved breath. “So which type of person are you?”

“I’m the root of all evil,” he chuckled at his own jest. Judging by her silent response, Link quickly concluded that the fairy did not understand the joke or took that sentence way too seriously. “I’m joking.”

She let out a fake laugh, “Ha. Ha ha.”

Chuckling at her innocence, he held his ripped tunic out to her, “Do you really think I look like that kind of person that can fight to live on the top? Look at my clothing. This tunic is damn near ruined,” stained in the blood of over a hundred people, a detail he deliberately left out for the fairy’s sensitive ears. Even the black fabric mask he wore over his face had holes and rips. “The weapons I got here were either stolen from jobs or looted from the dead.”

“That’s… wrong.”

“It’s not if you’re fighting to survive!” he retorted back with more yelling force than he would have liked. But the permanent laryngitis in his throat took a heavy toll from that sentence, and suddenly he began to cough uncontrollably to alleviate the painful irritation. Inhaling a large amount of smoke from the previous night did not help either. He covered his mouth as he coughed, but that was to cough the blood into the stained fabric of his glove. No need to alarm his new... acquaintance.

Suddenly, the fairy asked, “Are you okay?”

The concern took Link completely by surprise, “Um, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “My throat’s been damaged for a while. Fighting and killing people takes a toll on you over the years. I don’t know if you’re ready to handle any of it.”

“Not yet.” Her quivering, curious response piqued his interest. “You’re a survivor. And I know that I could never understand your struggles or what you have to do in order to survive in this place. But what I can’t understand is... if you were adapted to this harsh world and all the killing…”

A tear fell from her eye. “Then why did you save me?”

Chapter Text

Link looked down. He seemed troubled by the question hanging in the windy air. Rowark saved Miro Miro’s life because he had a genuinely good heart. She could not say the same for Link’s character. What possible reason did a ruthless ruffian have to save a fairy and keep her alive? “Because,” he took a deep breath, “A memory came back to me. When I saw you.” He looked into her eyes, like he was trying to recreate his memories and trance-like state during the fight.

All of a sudden, Miro Miro was no longer looking at a vicious criminal, only a Kokiri trying to remember his past, “What did you see?”

He closed his eyes to better focus the picture in his mind. “The Protector,” he answered with a whisper.

“What was happening?”

With his eyes still closed, he described, “We were fighting in the forest right by the Lost Woods. I was holding a wooden sword, and she was holding the legendary blade.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to be the Protector. I wanted to take her sword and wield it to protect the village. That’s where I was from, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, Link. Go on.”

“I could smell the flowers. I could feel the summer wind. I could feel the freedom of knowing no one was trying to kill you,” Link looked too relaxed to comfortably perch over a six story fall to his death. “What’s that called again? That feeling?”

“Home.”

Link smiled, “That one.” With Link, it was hard to tell if his smile was genuine or not. His eyes opened. The hard, noon sunlight fiercely bounced off his green pupils and pierced through Miro Miro’s soul with a strange feeling of familiarity. Topah had blue eyes , she quietly reminded herself.

“It wasn’t her, though,” Link’s damaged eyes had a seriousness that could not betray his cold, dead voice, “I knew I was fighting that dung-headed dunghole.”

“How?”

“The Protector was right handed in my dream. But she was really left handed. I’ll never forget that.”

“What happened next?”

Link took a deep breath of the crisp air and exhaled, “I killed her.” He hung his head and looked down the wall. “I killed her…” he repeated again with a quiver in his scratchy voice. Was he crying? Was that even possible for him? “I killed her…”

“In, in your dream?”

“Yes…,” he croaked, “And… and… and she’s gone...”

“Gone, as in, actually gone?”

Solemnly, he slowly nodded.

Then the stomach she never knew she had sank. Not the Protector. She was too kind and too pure to deserve a cruel fate. Miro Miro needed to let her “tummy” settle before she could ask any more questions, but the nausea turned into turned into overwhelming tears. She could only sputter out single word questions in between sobs, “How? Why? What happened?”

He turned his head away from her again, removed his black hood and his face mask, and revealed his ugly, scarred face to the sun. The sun’s light was strong enough to catch glimpses of gold hidden in the grime and blood that covered his short hair. Tears began welling in his green eyes. He sighed and paused for a long time. Link’s brow furrowed, debating on the answer mentally. “No,” he finally said, “I can’t. It’s… it’s too, painful…”

Miro Miro could not tell what emotion she felt exactly, but she could feel incredible sadness weighing heavily in her body and in her mood. “It’s okay,” she whispered back. It would be inconsiderate of her to ask Link to relive a traumatic moment in his life.

“Her death,” he said as he wiped a tear from his eye, a tender reminder that he had a heart underneath his damaged exterior, “is my only memory of her. What was she like?”

Miro Miro hesitated for a heartbeat in order to digest all of her welling emotions. She supposed the best way to honor her memory was to talk about the Protector, “Do you remember anything about her?”

“I have a terrible memory,” was Link’s sensible answer. Memories were things that mortals clung to so that they could live on through their friends and family. If she had spent one hundred and fourteen seasons and counting away from home, then it seemed very likely that Link could have been living in Hyrule Castle City for an even longer period of time. She could not feel angry at him for forgetting the people he grew up with in the forest.

“Well,” she started, “She was the Protector, so she had a big responsibility placed on her shoulders.” Link nodded and smiled, “She had a very bright and cheery personality, and she was loved by all. I could go on.”

“Please do,” he sniffed. Link’s encouragement surprised Miro Miro.

Armed with his approval, she perked up and began her rant, “For starters, all the girls didn’t like her. They would make fun of her behind her back for having a boy’s job, but really they were jealous that all the boys wanted to spend time with her.”

“She was beautiful,” Link chimed in, “and she could swing a sword better than anyone.” Miro Miro delighted in the fact that Link was giving some effort to remembering his Kokiri past.

“Oh most definitely!” Miro Miro laughed, “She woke up early every morning to begin her training. And then twice a day she would teach a one hour class of ‘sword art’. When half the boys were all missing from the village, we all knew what time it was. Topah was always the first to arrive and the last to leave her daily classes. And the Protector was always so patient with him when they trained together. She used to guide Topah’s every step and correct every mistake, all while I chatted with the Protector’s fairy guardian.

Link smiled and nodded, like he was happily absorbing the information. “What was her name?” he asked.

“The protector’s fairy guardian was named Renna.”

“No. Her name,” Link corrected, “The Protector’s name.”

“Oh.” She had to pause and think about that for a second. Just as she could not remember what Topah looked like, she could not remember the Protector’s name. What was it? She felt so embarrassed for not knowing.

“It’s fine if you don’t remember, I don’t think anyone called her by her actual name. I was just wondering if you remembered it or not,” he said disappointedly, but the scars on his face made it hard for Miro Miro to see through to his emotions altogether. “Tell me more about... the Kokir-whatever-they’re-called,” said Link as he yawned.

“The Kokiri?” she corrected.

“Yeah, them.”

Where to even start? “Well, the Kokiri are children from the forest. They are born from the Great Deku Tree, and they never grow old.”

He looked up instantly, like he had suddenly awoken. “They don’t age?” His breathing picked up. “They stay children forever?”

“That’s correct."

A little light twinkled behind his eyes, like he had just connected a bunch of dots in his mind, “Huh… I always wondered about myself. All the other Links grew up, except for me.” Other Links? Did he mean to say other children? Were there others that shared his name? As informative as Link had been thus far, each answer only produced more vexing questions. “How old am I exactly?” he asked her.

“Well, you must have been alive before I got lost in the forest,” reasoned Miro Miro, “which means you must be at least twenty eight years old.”

Deep thoughts ran through his mind, at least that was how Miro Miro interpreted his long silence. “Twenty eight years,” he muttered quietly to himself, “Twenty eight years. I’d forgotten so much. It’s good to know for sure I wasn’t born here. I must have came to the city many years ago, but I don’t remember why though.” How in the world did a Kokiri find himself so far from home? More importantly, who was he? Miro Miro searched through the faces in her memory bank and attached each name with a face as best as she could. But there was no one she remembered named Link. The name had a familiar ring, but it seemed to be attached to memories from over fifty years ago. “So twenty eight years before I lived here in this dump, I lived in a village that worshipped a big talking tree?”

“He’s NOT a ‘big talking tree’, he is the Great Deku Tree!” Miro Miro fired back passionately, “A ‘big talking tree’ does not give counsel when times are dire, nor does he protect you from the dangers of the outside world! The Great Deku Tree was the nicest father you could have ever wanted. His heart overflowed with kindness even for those who wished him and his children harm. He was our protector and our provider.”

Link huffed, “Sorry, all right? Sheesh.”

Tears streamed out of Miro Miro’s eyes in anger, “He’s your father! I know not which Kokiri you once were, but no matter what, I know he was your father! He once gave you shelter, gave you food, and gave you love! He loved each and all of his children equally! He loved you, and he loved me like he loved the Protector, and Mido, in spite of his foul disposition at choice times!”

“Who is Mido?”

“He was leader who ran the day to day duties of managing the village…”

He was the leader of the Kokiri Forest, or the supreme overlord, which was what he preferred to be called. He had five close friends who helped him run administrative operations. He was kind of a bossy person and a jerk, but he also had a great responsibility placed on his shoulders, even more so than the Protector did. Kokiri Forest’s population had risen to over three hundred. Not only was he responsible for their well being, but he and his close ring of friends were the only ones who were allowed contact with the outside world to protect the secrecy of the forest.

Miro Miro took no notice of Link as she continued babbling about Kokiri Forest’s open and free society, the playdates, and the festivals. Completely oblivious to his dozing off, she continued her lengthy lecture, “Every beginning of the tendo, everyone in the village would gather to the village center and celebrate with a big bonfire. And then there was a great big festival at the beginning of every season! The children would spend the entire previous day preparing for the festival, and then they would celebrate with dancing, music, and the best smelling food you could ever think of! The seasonal celebrations were always my favorite! Do they celebrate seasons here in Hyrule Castle City? Well, I hope they do…”

At least she was having fun babbling on. Miro Miro eventually found out that Link was carelessly asleep while sitting on a window several stories up. She gathered a deep inhale and unleashed a scream, “HEY! Are you listening?!”

Link jolted awake and then turned his head downwards to examine how close he was to death. And then turned around with a deadly glare in his eye, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.”

Oddly, Miro Miro knew she would feel bad if Link had indeed fallen to his death. She quietly apologized, “I’m sorry.”

Link’s body pivoted around and retracted back into the room. The cone shaped ceiling combined with the extensive diameter made the room seem gigantic. Beautiful and colorful tapestries were draped along the room’s perimeter. Part of the circular wall jutted outwards and created bench space for Link to lay on and pass out. He curled into a ball, back facing away from the wall, on the soft, pillowy cushions covering the stone bench.

Miro Miro continued her lecture about the beautiful home they came from until she noticed Link was lying still, unresponsive to her lecturing. Maybe even asleep.

Link looked like he needed the rest, and Miro Miro now had a chance to examine the boy more closely as he slept. He sure liked to be dressed in black for some reason. His black cloak was completely shredded, but it seemed like he continued wearing it because he liked the hood. A stretchy black cloth extended over his nose and mouth. Upon closer look, there were blood stains crusted over the mouth area.

She felt creeped out for examining Link as he was sleeping. Since she figured Link was fast asleep, she had all the time to observe the room pick apart all the features and details of each tapestry. The one she stopped in front of depicted a Gerudo King standing above dozens of women groveling before him. The sun behind his back had the facial features of a Gerudo woman, was she a Goddess of some sort? Sand dunes highlighted the barren nature of their desert home. Was this man Ganondorf? Red beard with bronze skin, it had to be him.

To quell any doubt in her mind, the tapestry to the right depicted Ganondorf holding his hand up with a glowing Triforce in his left hand. The Triforce of power chose him to go forth from the desert and conquer. But he was not alone in this endeavor. The rest of his Gerudo followers were shown standing guard in front of a fortress looking building. Ganondorf’s ambition to conquer Hyrule was his and his alone.

The next tapestry showed Ganondorf doing battle with the Hero of Time outside the castle. The weaved depiction of the master sword and the Kokiri hat was unmistakable. Everyone knew this story, or history rather. There was a Gerudo, wearing pink Gerudo pants and a white crop top, standing behind the Hero against Ganondorf. Was this the Sage of Spirit Nabooru? And if so, why was only she depicted and not any of the other sages?

In the next tapestry, Nabooru stepped up to lead the Gerudo after Ganondorf’s demise, and she stood with her left foot leaning on the edge of a cliff overlooking her new crowd of followers. But there was something amiss. Some of the women in this tapestry were colored gray, but in all the tapestries before, the Gerudo were depicted as having one skin tone. In the tapestries afterwards, this division in skin color apparently became the theme. What started as skirmishes between the two groups eventually turned into war.

Until finally, the gray skinned group was forced to leave the desert. That was the last tapestry of the tale. What became of the gray Gerudo was unknown. The tragedy evoked much sadness within her. Did people truly fight and kill each other over the difference in skin color? The idea of killing for survival was a matter she could grow to handle. But the idea of killing over a difference in skin color left a rotten feeling in her gut.

Link tossed and grunted as he slept. “Link?” checked Miro Miro, to which there was no response.

He continued tossing and turning violently and began muttering with each breath,  “Fifty. Thirty. Forty five. Thirty five. Forty. Five thousand… Fifty. Thirty. Forty five…”

Chapter Text

The village horn of danger filled the air with dread. Kokiri poked their heads out their windows stepped out of their homes to see what could possibly warrant the horn to be blown for the first time ever. Snowfall from the previous day covered the ground with a thin film of white snow. The full moon made the ground gleam like a sea of crystals. The beginning of the winter season dropped the temperature gradually, but that seemed to bother no one. The imminent threat of danger was present through everyone’s mind, not the cold air.

Perhaps it was a mistake. Only the Protector had access to the horn, and if she believed that the village was in danger, then the warning must have been serious. Dozens of Kokiri closed their windows, but Topah instead grabbed his trusty wooden sword and ran outside. This was the moment he was waiting for. All that training from the Protector, all the time spent carving and crafting his weapon, would finally be used to defend his home from the first attack ever. The grip on the wooden handle tightened as Topah anticipated the imminent danger.

But who could attack the Kokiri? The Great Deku Tree isolated the Kokiri Village by expanding the forest outwards. Mido and his friends were the only ones who interacted with travelers and merchants outside of the village so that the village’s location could remain a protected secret. That only left the Deku, who were the only people to regularly visit the village for the seasonal celebrations.

Another horn sounded, but this time it wasn’t the Kokiri horn of danger. The ominous, mysterious sound blared from the direction of the Lost Gate. The distant sound of trampling could be faintly heard too. Topah’s blood froze. So too did Miro Miro’s. Smoke began to poke through the forest tops, and the smoke was approaching too fast for the disaster to be a raging forest fire. What was going on? seemed to be the question on everyone’s face.

The trampling grew louder and louder, making each heartbeat feel like a thousand bells were being pounded in his heart. A fairy’s unseen cry escaped from the forest into the village, “Bokoblins! Bokoblins!”

Supposedly angry creatures as tall as a Kokiri, Bokoblins were one of many dangerous neighbors of the Kokiri. But because the Great Deku Tree was successful at keeping the swarm of invasive threats away, not a single Kokiri knew what they looked like. Some fairies mothers who had come from outside of the village would describe them at the bonfires, such as green, wrinkly skin with a hooked nose, red skin with miniscule eyes and droopy ears, fat and gray with long ears; the inconsistent details made it hard to put an image with words.

Another deafening horn filled the soundscape. The trampling had stopped. Birds were fleeing and calling out danger. Every heart in every Kokiri’s chest stopped simultaneously for what seemed like five, long heartbeats.

Arrows on fire whistled through the air and struck the dry foliage of the tree houses. The panic spread more quickly than the fire did. The Kokiri instinctively began running for the ladders and the stairs to escape the death trap that was once their homes. The fairies, panicking as well, did their best to guide the Kokiri in orderly fashion to no avail. Children got hurt on their way down. One was pushed over a third story bridge and would not get up after she landed. Her guardian fairy dove towards the body of the black haired girl and tried to wake her up. When that came to no avail, the fairy glowed into a bright light and melted her energy into the sister, who then stood up once again.

Instead of getting stuck in traffic, Topah used his favorite way down which was by climbing down the tree directly across from him, so too did many other of the athletic types.  “Topah! This is no time for doing anything reckless!” Miro Miro called out to the eager child. It was too late. When that fire behind his cool blue eyes ignited, there was no stopping him. He swung from branch to branch just like he always did, with one hand to climb and the other to hold his wooden sword. Miro Miro sighed and powerlessly followed him down.

As soon as he touched ground, Topah gripped his sword with both hands. Those who were not panicking and running around were gathered in the village square, looking up at the Lost Gate for the first sign of the enemy.

The first Bokoblins poked their heads, many different colors and shapes of heads, just over the cliff’s lip. They were small, humanoid creatures with ugly faces, and their diverse appearances almost made the tiny army look like a dancing rainbow. But despite the variety in their outward appearances, each wore a loincloth, each had war paint, and each carried a club, or a net. They formed a tight line, shoulder to shoulder, and began to hop up and down and whoop at the Kokiri.

Then the big Bulblin strolled in riding his Bullos, a furry creature as big as a horse, but had a big ugly snout and two long tusks. The fairies said that these blins were unmistakable. Green skin, built like a man, and his distinguished Bullos tusk helmet, a cone shaped piece of metal that erected two gigantic tusks, even longer than his Bullos’, straight up. He held a large, wooden club with jagged, metal strips wrapped around the tip.

Pointing at the crowd of children and roaring so forcefully that Topah could smell the stink of his breath from such a great distance, “ Take them alive! ” the evil creature commanded using fractured Deku to communicate, “ For every child that dies, I shall take one of your heads! ”

His war cry echoed throughout the village space, and the Bokoblins began to climb, or tumble, down the steep cliff. The cliff was not tall by any means, falling down could at worst break an ankle. The Bokoblins that safely reached the ground began their charge forward with their clubs poised to strike.

The Kokiri began to repel the assault with their slingshots. Deku nuts flew past Topah’s ears and blinded the approaching Bokoblins. Concentrated flashes of light in the enemies’ eyes were devastating on the enemy when aimed at the cliff base. In great waves, the blins continued tumbling down the cliff, and those who fell blindly were slow to get up, or did not at all. But alas, these were non lethal effects, and those who did eventually get up picked up their weapons and slowly began their assault on the village.

This was where the several dozen Kokiri appeared in battle with hand crafted wooden shields and weapons. Topah followed the crowd and built up as much courage as he could muster in his heart. Each step brought him closer to his potentially last moments of his existence. Not a single thought was made in consideration of his life. Only that he had friends and a village to protect.

The biggest Kokiri of the group, Curry, stood at almost a head taller above all the others. With his unusually large stature, it was only natural for him to lead the charge. When Curry got close enough, he took a gigantic forehand swing and landed the dulled blade squarely on the crevice between a Bokoblin’s neck and collar. Next, he used his shield arm to knock away any Bokoblin too close to his left.

Topah’s first action to follow Curry’s inspiring attack was to swing his two handed sword horizontally, making use of the extensive reach and crack the wooden blade across the face of his first foe. The next, blue skinned Bokoblin behind his felled compatriot laggedly reoriented himself as he stood up from the fall, and he could not raise his weapon in time top prevent Topah from striking the top of his head with Topah’s blunt, heavy weapon. Not heavy enough nor sharp enough to puncture skin, but certainly enough to crush an extremity beyond usage.

There were more coming. The longer it took for the Kokiri warriors to knock down the initial wave of attackers, the longer the second wave of attackers had to recover and push the assault forward. Topah would not retreat a step! With renewed vigor, he prepared to another strike to down another foe.

But a Bokoblin saw the incoming attack and raised his club, stopping the momentum of the sword completely. Topah tried again, but this time diagonally from the other side. The Bokoblin raised his club to block the attack again, but that left his belly open. And just like the Protector drilled with him, Topah shuffled his back foot up, raised his lead leg, and thrust his foot out, sending his enemy backward.

The Kokiri was about to follow up his kick with a downward strike on the fallen body, but he felt wood crack across his side, and before he had time to recover, another hit knocked his head across.

Miro Miro cried out, “Topah! Get out of there!” but she wasn’t sure if she got through to him.

He fell over onto all fours. The painful blow to the head left a terrible, dizzying headache. His concussed mind was seeing double. Two Miro Miro’s floated in front of him and were yelling something at him. As the two fairies drew closer and closer, her voice became clearer and clearer, “Say something!” until the two merged into one, panicking Miro Miro screaming, “Follow my voice!” He did as was told without thinking.

Curry was faring no better. As big as he was, there was simply no way he could fight dozens of Bokoblin at a time. As Topah followed Miro Miro towards safety, wherever that may be, he looked over to Curry and saw a pile of colored cretins on top of the poor child. Topah himself had three Bokoblins in quick pursuit. Seeing his fellow Kokiri go down drained his nerve. There were too many. The blue Bokoblin charged forth with his weapon raised. Topah’s courage had fled like all the rest of the Kokiri at that moment. He dropped his sword so he could retreat faster from the onslaught.

His foot suddenly caught a rock. He tripped over and slid across the snowy ground. “Come on Topah!” Miro Miro flew in to rescue her companion by pestering the oncoming Bokoblin’s face. It did little to slow down the creature with bloodshot eyes as red as his skin. Miro Miro watched in horror as the Bokoblin swung his club downward at Topah’s ankles, but breathed relief when Topah retracted his foot just in time.

He picked himself up off the ground and went back to retreating, Miro Miro was only too happy to follow him. But suddenly he stopped.

She is here .

Like a mother running to protect her children, the Protector emerged from the main path cutting through the village with the Kokiri Sword in her hand. She armed herself with a wooden shield like all the rest, but her blade was the one capable of ending life. She dashed past Topah to meet his pursuers head on.

The olive Bokoblin had no choice but to engage her with a hungry look in his eyes. As he cocked his club back, the Protector already leaped forth and began her attack. The Kokiri blade’s long reach and wide girth reached her foe’s throat and severed it before the Bokoblin even had a chance to react.

No . Topah and several Kokiri gaped at her unexpected decision. She was willing to face her fate as a Skull Kid in order to protect her village. She reaffirmed that decision again when she swung her sword around and split open another Bokoblin’s leather helmet and anything underneath it.

Two more invaders approached the Protector and recklessly lunged for an attack, but the Protector’s superior footwork carried her out of harm’s way. As she spun around, her sword hand followed the twist of her torso, forcing the upward blade right into flesh.

A third Bokoblin charged at her. She lifted her foot and kicked it straight into the attacker’s stomach, sending the Bokoblin tumbling backwards into another. By the time the other was turning around, the Protector was already in mid swing. With an exerted, “Hyaah!” the Protector separated the Bokoblin’s head from his neck cleanly. With another, the other’s head was also separated.

Now she had the other Blins’ attention. At first, three began to cautiously circle around her. And then there were five. Then eight more joined in and became aggressive. But no matter how many surrounded the Protector, she would cut through flesh, and her agile movements made her untouchable. She danced around each attack and countered each with fatal combinations. Scores joined in to take down the fearsome killer. Dozens fell. But the Protector could not sustain her onslaught forever; this much was known to Topah.

The rest of the defeated Kokiri volunteers were fleeing from the carnage, or being dragged away. The Bokoblins sent in two groups: the first group had clubs and beat their victims until they could no longer walk, and the second group of three had nets and followed the assault by nabbng the downed Kokiri. Aside from the Kokiri Sword, the wooden weapons and the slingshots made no impact against the assault. The defenseless Kokiri could do little more than run from the Bokoblins’ fearsome clubs and sheer numbers.

The Protector did not need to be reminded of the consequences of failure and death. A downward slash almost caught her off guard, but her shield deflected the attack just in time, allowing her, just as she had once shown Topah, to thrust the tip of her sword into the exposed belly of the beast. No one knew that the Protector, let alone anyone, was even capable of such efficient killing. Quickly dispatching another three attackers within a single heartbeat, the Protector unintentionally turned her back to a scrappy looking brawler charging straight in.

By the time she felt his arms locked together, it was too late. The stick thin, blue Bokoblin with mousy ears drove her into the ground. She tried to wriggle free, even stabbing the blin holding her. More of his comrades began to dogpile her until she could no longer move underneath the crushing weight, and only her head was exposed.

Topah anxiously watched the big Bulblin leader ride towards the pile of Bokoblins and unmount from his Bullos. Up close, the amazing size, standing over twice Topah’s height, and the mean looking two front teeth protruding from his underbite petrified all of the Kokiri into submission. He walked over to his next foe casually and swung his stone club a couple times on the way, whetting his appetite for blood. This was going to be it for the Protector, if Topah didn’t have anything to say about it. He scanned the field for anything to throw at the enormous leader...

Like the unused Deku nut lying next to a deceased Kokiri brother. His name was Rundo, and they had participated in the Deku dance season round. Though tears suddenly gushed out of eyes at the realization he would never see Rundo laugh and play again, Topah would have grieved over this loss longer had he not remembered that the Protector was in real, imminent danger. He crawled over to the Deku nut and swiped it from the ground.

When he rose up onto his two feet, the expert thrower took aim for the dogpile of Bokoblins. Topah was no stranger to throwing Deku Nuts, and his decades of playing Kokiri sports guided the projectile exactly where he wanted it to go.

FLASH! The harsh light was not as bad from Topah’s distance, but everyone within the critical radius of the flash was groaning in pain. The big Bulblin leader reeled back, covered his eyes, and roared fiercely, instilling a terror to every soul in his vicinity. Topah had a closing window opportunity to rush in.

The Protector was also temporarily incapacitated, so Topah had to dash past the other blinded victims and guide her out on his shoulders.

She rubbed her eyes one last time and then looked at him. “Thanks, that unpleasantly helpful!” Once they recovered, she turned her attention back to the Bulblin leader. If he went down, the rest would scatter. “Topah,” she said to him as she regained her posture and readied her mind for the battle, “You need to get out of here.”

“But you need me!” protested an eager Topah, who was also terrified to his bone. But if the Protector was not willing to back down, then neither was he.

The Protector shook her head and gently placed her right hand on his shoulder, “No, I need you to be safe more than anything right now. It is the only way I can focus on winning. Run for the Great Deku Tree. He will keep you safe. And thank you for saving me!” She beckoned Topah to leave and picked up the Kokiri blade once more. Then she turned to lead another one-girl assault on the invaders’ leadership.

“Hey you! Keese dung! I gotta bone to pick with you!” screamed the Protector threateningly at the Blin leader. He grunted with amusement and snarled. The last Miro Miro ever saw of the Protector was when the group of Bokoblin pawns surrounded her to prepare for the big battle.

Miro Miro had other problems and grabbed her companion’s attention again, “Topah! We need to get out of here!” He whipped around and followed her as she flew down the familiar path to get to the Great Deku Tree.

He failed. His failure to help his friend and mentor meant that she was going to die. Topah cursed himself for being so helpless. The feelings of guilt and doubt grew the further he ran away from the Protector. It felt like a growing weight on his heart. Then the first tears began streaming downward. His run slowed into a walk as he became more occupied with expelling his emotions.

And then suddenly he lost the will to walk. He just wanted to cry and wish all the bad guys would go away. What had now grown into an inferno was consuming everything that the Kokiri built over the past hundred years. Two Bokoblins took turns breaking a Kokiri sister’s legs before dragging her away. Cries of pain fell on deaf ears. All around, the destruction and chaos rapidly exterminated everything that was once called home.

Topah started to bawl. He wanted the nightmare to be over. Tears gushed down his face, and his cry halted Miro Miro in her tracks, “What now!? Come on! We gotta get to the Great Deku Tree!” But no matter how urgent she sounded, Topah would not budge. He shook his head and cried even louder.

That was when Miro Miro noticed that a bunch of Bokoblin heads turn towards Topah. Uh oh , she thought to herself. She had to think of something fast.

“Um, Topah, now is not the time to cry,” Miro Miro’s calmer voice was still not enough to make the boy cease his tears. Perhaps she could distract him from his thoughts? “Do you want to play hide and seek?”

The child slowed his crying down and nodded his head. His frown instantly and innocently curled into a cheery smile, “Okay!” She could always rely on Topah’s favorite game to instantaneously change his mood.

“Okay, follow me,” Miro Miro began to lead Topah away from the approaching Bokoblins. But as soon as Topah started walking away from them, the Bokoblins started running. Miro Miro needed to speed up.

Topah looked behind for one heartbeat and panicked upon realizing he was being pursued. He knew he was in danger this time, so he quickened his pace. “Miro Miro, where are we hiding?”

“Go into the woods!” The dense woods that were meant to provide a natural boundary would now hopefully be Miro Miro’s one chance of losing their pursuers. However, she was about to do the unthinkable, and Topah needed to know that, “I’m going to count to one hundred. Hide as best as you can! I am going to keep the bad guys away from you.”

Topah began to cry again, “Miro Miro, I want to go home!”

“Shh, it’s okay,” she whispered, “we’ll all be home by the time I come back to find you!”

“Noo! Don’t leave me!” he tearfully pleaded to her.

“It’s the only way to keep you safe. If I follow you, my light is going to give away your hiding spot. I’m going to get help so we can come back and find you, and then we can go home.” The boy sniffled and nodded his head. “I will find you! Fairy’s promise!” Topah nodded. “Okay, go hide! One… two… three…”

That was Topah’s cue to turn and run. “Four… Five… Six…” Miro Miro zipped through the trees, not thinking about where she was, as long as the Bokoblins were following her it did not matter. As long as she heard the Bokoblin sniveling behind her and footsteps encroaching, she would continue to fly forward.

Night turned into day. Miro Miro could clearly see in front of her, and when she turned around to see if the Bokoblins were still following her, she counted three still jogging briskly on her trail. They simply would not quit! She kept her course and tried zig zagging a path through the trees, but it was no use. The footsteps may have slowed down, but they never stopped coming after her.

Day turned into night, back to day, and then back to night. Tendos passed. The footsteps never relented. At some point, the fairy stopped checking behind her. As long as the sound of feet followed her, she knew she had to get away. After more tendos of being chased, the sound soon faded into likeness of white noise. She could no longer tell whether she was being chased or not.

Only when she finally looked around to check and see if the Bokoblins had continued following her did Miro Miro realize that she was staring at nothing but trees, and she had no idea where she was.

Chapter Text

Link tossed and turned as the nightmare raged in his head. The powerful golden sun hit the ground squarely, heating the stone floor and producing a comforting warmth that finally allowed the bounty hunter to close his eyes and rest.

Squeaky, high pitched voices from the past inserted itself into Link’s dreams, “ Forty! Thirty! Forty five! ” Each time the phrase was repeated, a different number was used. A phrase that meant nothing to him when he first heard the words. Now, things were different, and his life depended entirely on those numbers. Though Link had long forgotten the number placed over his head long ago, his unconscious mind recklessly dug through his troubled past just to find out. Just like the annoying fairy did.

Her voice jolted the boy awake, “Link, someone’s coming!” He sat up, and listened through the sound of quiet winds. There was no bell ring. She could have been alerted to a smelly gas that happened to waft through, but Link felt the hairs on his skin erect; something was off. Fight or flight instincts were triggered, and he wasted no time in readying himself for the incoming threat.

A high pitched whir followed by a loud clinking sound of metallic impact immediately preceded the Gerudo who launched past the entrance and then landed gracefully on the hanging, wooden beam. Then a second Gerudo landed right behind. Her sister. They had shot their ropeshots at the landing beam to bypass the rope and the bell. They were armed, and they meant business.

As soon as the second sister landed on the beam, the Ganondorf twins promptly entered the circular room and quickly flanked the boy. Swiveling his head back and forth was going to inevitably get him killed, so he backstepped to minimize his disadvantaged angle. Getting cornered was going to have to be his only option.

The twins both wore the same armor and were nearly identical. Both wore steel-enforced vambraces, fitted leather pauldrons, and just enough fabric to proudly display their identical tattoos yet look barely modest. The one and only anatomical difference between them were their eyes. Kinja had a bright blue, left eye, and her right had pupils as red as blood. Minja had the left red and the right blue. Or was it the other way around?

More important than the sisters’ eye colors was their weapon choice. Minja had her trademark scimitar-ropeshot hybrid in her dominant left hand and a sleek, curved dagger in her right. Kinja wielded her scimitar in her right, her dominant hand, and aimed the conventional, handheld ropeshot with her left at Link’s head. Everything about the Gerudo’s fighting style and weapon choice was made for taking out individual targets because desert warfare was not kind to those who traveled in large, organized groups.

He brushed his fingers against the handles of the various kitchen knives tucked away in his belt. Five. But they were no use here. He needed to get close enough before they could become useful. The waiting game forced extra blood through his veins.

Minja began the mocking, “Little Cica, I’m sorry it has to end like this.”

Link shrugged calmly against the anxiety of his blood rush.

The other twin found his gesture unamusing and laughed. “ This one is worth forty five hundred? ” said Kinja in her native Gerudo tongue. When he heard the bounty over his head, he felt a booming memory resonate inside him. “ Easiest money I’ll ever make .”

“ Don’t underestimate him ,” Minja cautioned, “ He took down Hroth the Fat by himself .” That was a name Link still heard on the lips of the pub patrons to this day, even though the man had been dead for five years. Most people thought it was an inside job. Minja knew better.

Link’s eyes were transfixed on Minja, who looked ready to pounce like a lioness, but his eyes had to focus on Kinja’s ropeshot being aimed at his head at the same time. Staying calm was the last thing the body wanted to do. Link breathed in and out through his nose as slowly as he could in defiance of his racing heart. There was nothing to analyze about these Gerudo warriors. Any assumptions made about their capabilities was going to get him killed. That did not mean he did not have a plan.

Kinja then asked, “ Does he deserve Aracksheyn? ” It was a difficult word to translate into Hylian, but it was a phrase that meant a challenge to a duel to the death. The Gerudo may have been thieves, bandits, and brigands historically, but they at least had culture attached to their way of life.

Minja looked at Link dead in the eye as her lips creeped into a smile and spoke as if speaking to him, “ Not this time. ” Insulting. But these words were coming from an honorless host who broke her own house rule to claim a bounty.

“Oh come on!” Link whined, “I’m worth forty five hundred, and you won’t do me the honor?”

Clink!

Before anyone could ask Link how he could understand Gerudo, the ropeshot’s arrow-like head fired straight towards him. As soon as Link heard the clink, he ducked under the incoming missile, but its speed was slightly quicker than his reaction time, and he felt a sharp but weak pain in his cheek as the metal projectile grazed by his face and seared his skin. Now was his opportunity to close the distance and engage the one who fired the ropeshot.

No, it’s not going to be that easy , he thought as he stopped his forward charge abruptly and turned to see what the twin was about to do. Sure enough, she too had her ropeshot on her sword aimed and ready to fire.

Clink!

The ropeshot’s head darted straight for Link’s mid belly, but he jumped backwards in time. But before he had any time to reposition himself, Minja launched herself forward to catch the boy off guard. He jumped back to avoid the first, downward slash, and then prepared to slip past her next slash, which never came. Instead, he felt Minja’s leg drive into his exposed chest, which felt like a seasoned knight swinging a metal mace to his side. The power in her very muscular thighs and hips sent the boy flying like a ragdoll into the wall.

The impact upon hitting the stone bench further aggravated what Link was sure was a broken rib. The surge of pain through his chest heavily restricted his ability to breathe. It felt like an imaginary sword had permanently lodged itself into the right side of his chest, and every time he inhaled, Link could feel its sharp, pointed edge plunge into his betrayed lungs. Worst of all, he had no time to recuperate.

He quickly rolled off the bench and scrambled to his feet. He was expecting to hear the ropeshot fire again, but in the heartbeat it took to get to his feet, there was nothing. They had not advanced on him at all.

Standing to his left, Minja was aiming her ropeshot with her crystal blue eye at his legs. Link had time to consider the oddity that she was opting to cripple him. But the focus of his mind was on the sharp pain coming from each breath. Each breath had to be shallow. Link withdrew two knives from his belt: a meat cleaver in his left and a bread cutter in his right, neither blade ideal for defending against a Gerudo sword. His only hope was to get close enough where the blades and ropeshots couldn’t reach.

Kinja raised her ropeshot and fired.

Clink!

Link already dove forward as soon as she raised her arm. The shot missed, allowing him to safely roll to an advantageous position. From here, all he had to do was turn and tackle her legs to the ground. But all that came to pass as soon as he heard the second rope shot fire. His survival instincts guided his second roll around Kinja’s backside.

The Gerudo in proximity swiveled around and gracefully followed the turn with her blade fully extended. The unbelievable skill and speed allowed Link less than heartbeat to move out of the way. Blocking or parrying a Gerudo-forged scimitar with a meat cleaver and a bread cutter was  suicide.

He sidestepped the slash, fighting his urge to cede any of his hard fought distance. But Kinja pivoted backwards, creating the space necessary for her next attack, and unleashed another slash. Link had no choice but to backstep. After regaining his composure, he turned to check on Minja.

Clink!

The ropeshot fired its head right at his feet, so he jumped backwards. She intentionally missed, which meant that was the decoy shot to set up Kinja’s turn with the ropeshot. But Kinja opted not to use her distance weapon, and again decided to use her sword. Something is off , he thought as he jumped backwards to avoid the swing.

Two more swings followed after that attack. He jumped out of the way, but after the first jump, the boy could begin to feel his body straining to keep up and his lungs fighting through pain to draw precious air. Time was not on his side. And drawing a tactical plan in the midst of a battle was not easy to do while ducking underneath a backhand swing.

Kinja followed through her sword swing with a roundhouse kick. Her warrior leg swung through the air horizontally, and Link was not prepared. He tucked in his elbow to protect his already broken chest and planted his two feet, absorbing all of the leg’s impact into his shoulder. How the kick did not tear his arm off he would never know, for the Gerudo’s shin bone must have been made of Goron steel.

The force of the kick was too much for Link feet to maintain balance. His wounded rib screamed in pain as he fell over onto his knee. It’s over , he thought in his head. In his vulnerable state, escape was impossible from the swift, fatal strike of death’s sister. In one clean technique, Kinja twisted, spun around, and fired her heel into Link’s stomach, knocking his body onto the hard, unyielding ground.

“LINK!” the fairy cried.

The overwhelming pain made his limbs feel useless. He had to fight his own body weight to make it up to his knee. The air had been kicked out of Link’s already broken ribs, and the internal stab wound inside his lungs suffocated him harshly. If the ropeshot in Minja’s hand fired, Link was ready to face death finally. No stupid promise or stupid amount of willpower could dig Link out of this conundrum. Like countless times before in the ten years that he had lived in Hyrule Castle Dump, Link knelt at the mercy of his opponent, with no way out. At least he could say this time that the end of his story was written by two, beautiful Gerudo warriors.

Clink!

The ropeshot’s head caught Link on the outside of his raised thigh, and he collapsed upon the floor once the ropeshot pulled the head out of his leg. He laid there, feeling like the butt end of a joke told between predators playing with their food. The pain spread throughout his body and felt paralyzing. He was unsure of the depth of the wound, but getting up at this point seemed pointless.

“ I told you it was easy money ,” said Kinja as she walked up to a downed Link, who was focusing on breathing slowly and painlessly.

“Snar ust rillio.” Kinja’s voice echoed in his head. Not this time , she said . All of a sudden, the twins’ strange tactics made sense. There was a reason why he was never given the proper dueling rites.

Armed with the new revelation, Link had one last gamble to make. He continued to grunt as he did before, but since the blood rush had helped hide the pain, the grunts were just sounds made to convince the Ganondorf twins they had won.

When Kinja stopped in front of him, she was close enough for Link could smell her feet, which was exactly where he wanted them to be. He took a deep breath and lunged forth with his unwounded leg. His hands wrapped around Kinja’s heels, and when his shoulder found the bottom of her shin, he used the power in his good leg to drive the Gerudo down into the ground.

As her body toppled like a tall tree being cut down, the spry boy scrambled on top of her. Once her body made impact with the ground, the Gerudo sat up, trying to get away. And then she raised her ropeshot and quickly pulled the trigger.

Clink!

Had Link not moved his head immediately before the ropeshot fired, there would have been a sharpened piece of metal buried in his face. A surge of blood flooded through his body as it realized how close he had just come to death. His eyes then transfixed upon Kinja’s extended left arm, Link’s next target.

“ Sister! ” cried Minja, who knew her sister was in trouble. Link had less than two heartbeats of total control before this rare window of opportunity closed.

First, Link’s hands had to control her wrist while the ropeshot was reeling back the head. Second, he had to be conscious of the deadly scimitar, so he rose to his knee and moved just out of reach. The ropeshot head reattached itself to the body and loudly announced its availability for use. Third, once Link had total control of her arm, his hand let go of her wrist and reached for one of his three remaining knives. His fingers found the one with the small handle, the utility knife, perfect for what he was about to do.

Finally, he raised the knife and plunged it into Kinja’s arm repeatedly. Blood splattered everywhere as he crippled Kinja’s arm. She screamed and writhed until she found strength to twist over and attempt a slash from an awkward position. Having delivered crippling wounds, Link relinquished her arm in favor of avoiding the blade’s path.

Thus far, his proximity to Kinja had successfully withheld the other sister from firing her long ranged weapon from the pommel of her sword, but as soon as he lost contact with her...

Clink!

Link anticipated the arrival of the ropeshot head and dropped prone onto the ground to snatch the ropeshot from the ground. As soon as he heard the metal head collide with the stone ground, he knew he was safe to roll over and prepare to counter with his own ropeshot. The mechanism itself needed less than a heartbeat for the head to travel back to the body; it was all the time given to Link to figure out how the tool worked and then aim the damn thing. First, it was a matter of finding the trigger, then once he found it…

Clink!

The force of the kickback of the ropeshot was more than he anticipated, and nearly took off his arm. His aim was not true, but it was close enough to convince Minja to move out of the way, towards her sister to regroup. Now that their opponent had the advantage of distance, and of the sisters had just lost hers, they needed a different strategy now. This would buy precious heartbeats of rest.

His wounded leg felt useless, but the blood rush and renewed sense of hope could siphon the pain of his injuries enough to at least escape from this fight. The pain in his lungs still felt aggravating, but he was still breathing at least, maybe even a little easier than before. Each harsh pump of the heart reminded Link that he had a fight ahead of him. Even if he wanted to quit, his body would not let him. And the Protector would not, either.

Kinja scrambled back up to her feet and looked at Link with wrathful eyes of a hungry animal. Her bloodied arm fueled the rage that was seeping through her eyes. Minja, aware of her sister’s heightened aggression, stepped in between her sister and their target, “ I shall finish this! ”

Clink! The head of the ropeshot announced that it was ready to use as loudly as it fired. Kinja snarled back at her sister, “ No, he is mine! ”

Link’s new opponent stood proud and stepped forth as she punctuated her ultimatum in Hylian, “I. Will. Finish. Him!” Minja’s sister had no response to her confidence. She readied herself into her fight stance: sword arm raised above the head and blade pointing downwards, knife hand extended forward with a reverse grip on her curved, Gerudo dagger. She bounced lightly on the toes of her feet. Unharmed up to this point, her body danced around the limping boy, armed with nothing more than a utility knife in his right hand and the ropeshot in his left. His new toy was going to be the thing that would save him. Though his arms felt like they were going to fall off of his shoulders at any given heartbeat, he dared not train his ropeshot on anything other than Minja’s head.

Between her lightning like acceleration and cat like agility, aiming at a moving target was damn near impossible. Combined with the long reach of her scimitar, Minja’s first slash was so fast the blade barely nicked Link’s stomach as he pivoted back on his injured leg without care. And just as quickly as she struck, she pulled back gracefully. The bounty hunter was going to wear out her prey before delivering the incapacitating strike.

When she lunged forth again, her swift, brown hand guided her sword through a two strike combination. Link reacted by barely slipping past the vertical swing and retreating from the horizontal one. Having successfully (and luckily) dodged the combo, he was ready for a third strike to follow, but she pulled back instead, preferring to extend the conflict for as long as possible. Even though it would take too long for Link to recompose himself and fire the ropeshot before Minja would attack again, she still bounced from side to side in between retreats, ever cautious of Link’s deadly weapon.

Each time she dove in for an attack, Link would take one painful gasp of air in panic, land on his hurt leg, and scream in agony. With Minja’s deadly speed and acceleration, timing her attacks was impossible. That was beauty of her hit and run tactic. She chose whenever she wanted to attack, she chose the distance of the engagement, and she never had to worry about her opponent landing an attack.

Blocking or parrying the swings was out of the question, and there was no backing away either. Not only did he had to worry about the swings of her blade and her devastating kicks, but he was all too conscious of the ropeshot at the bottom of Minja’s long blade. Attack, attack, retreat. Attack, attack, retreat. This pattern never seemed to break, and Link quickly formed a tactic in his head.

It was imperative for her to continue her pattern, but avoiding her movements without risking decapitation was all but impossible. Link waited for the first strike and jumped back once she swung her sword. Once she brought her sword up for a downward attack, he saw his sliver of opportunity to slip the attack and catch her leg as she retreated, but he did not see the leg kick that followed the sword swing.

Shin bone landed squarely on his open wound in his thigh, delivering a crippling wave of pain. His defunct leg collapsed under force of the leg kick, and Link fell into a kneel. Minja readied herself for the finishing blow. She took a step forward and twisted her body. Her thick legs carried her into the air, where she unwound her hips and let loose a finishing kick.

The moment her foot left the ground was the point of no return. But when faced against a powerful attack, even a little boy could anticipate and time the impending landing of an attack that required precious heartbeats to set up. It was this moment that Link, taking advantage of her arrogance, ducked into a forward roll.

Once his legs make contact with Minja’s back leg, he wrapped his ankles around her thigh like a python snaring its prey. Using the weight of her planted feet, now trapped with Link’s weight added on, he bent and twisted his torso off the ground to get close enough to place the sharp edge of his utility knife firmly against her tendon connecting the two parts of her leg.

No thoughts were needed to be made as Link pulled the dull, rusty metal blade across flesh. The bounty huntress cried out like a wounded cat as she fell forward onto her knees. Even though Link impressed himself for being able to even land a devastating strike on a Gerudo warrior, he knew it was not the time to celebrate.

The other twin cringed from the pain, “ Sister! ”

Thank the Goddesses he still had a functional leg! He used it to crawl forth and reach his arm around Minja, who was too distracted by the pain in her lower leg. By the time his arm wielding the knife reached around her collar and locked in place, any attempts by Minja to pry off his limbs were futile.

Oh how the tables had turned. His left hand, which was holding the ropeshot, threaded underneath Minja’s armpit and the over around the back of her neck, while his right hand, which was holding his knife, reached underneath his trained ropeshot, around the fleshy part of her throat, and pressed the blade of his knife firmly against the skin.

She tried to struggle out of this position, but to no avail. Rotating her counterclockwise, Link turned his left arm around to aim the ropeshot at Kinja. By the time the other twin raised her Scimitar in alarm, Link was ready at instinct’s notice to end both their lives.

“Release her!” yelled Kinja in her thick accent, heavier than her sister’s. Her trembling hands were filled with uncertainty. It was difficult to bargain with no bargaining leverage.

“I may be worth 4,500 rupees, but am I worth anything to you dead?” He felt the skin on Minja’s neck push against the blade as she swallowed. “Would you value your sister’s life at 4,500 rupees?” As he spoke, he walked and dragged the struggling Gerudo towards the exit of Sanctuary.

Minja whispered into his ear, “You knew?”

“ No ,” spoke Link in perfect Gerudo, “ You told your sister I was worth that much. ” Sadly, neither would ever learn how Link learned to speak the Gerudo language fluently, for he had no intention of leaving either one alive. Simultaneously, he pulled the blade across Minja’s flesh and squeezed the trigger of the ropeshot.

Clink!

Red sprayed everywhere as Minja went limp. Seeing her twin flesh and blood lay dying in Link’s arms, Kinja unleashed a roar as she parried the ropeshot head away with her sword. It took less than two long strides for her to close the distance, and on the third, she unleashed a wild swing that nearly sliced Link in two had he not jumped back as well.

Then he remembered that he was outside, and the wooden beam was the only thing suspending Link from a six story fall. A sudden bloodrush shocked him awake, and he quickly fought to regain his balance, catching his breath once his legs and feet were firmly planted. Before the sisters showed up, he had assumed he had all night to look around and plot his next move. Surveying the vast sea of of wattle and daub was pointless now, the only plan was to survive.

Looking back into Sanctuary one last time, he saw Kinja crying and caressing an unresponsive body with a very bloody head. Hopefully, this would buy him enough time to get a head start on escaping. Once his hand grabbed a hold of the rope, a gripping terrorization ran through his mind: Kinja was going to be out for vengeance. It would only be a matter of any given heartbeat before he and she would cross blades again. With a ring of the bell, he dropped all of his weight down and held on for dear life.

Slowly releasing the grip, he managed to reach the bottom of the rope without burning his hand. But then he had to somehow swing over to the wall and climb back down. Killing a Gerudo bounty hunter, still impressed by his feat, had drained him of any exertable energy. Link simply had no heart to continue back the way he came.

“Link!” that stupid fairy always had to make herself known at the worst times. “Oh Goddess, what are you doing?”

“Sleeping in a Queen sized bed, what’s it look like I’m doing?” he fired back at her before returning his attention back to his environment.

If I were the sisters, I would use the ropeshot… But how? he asked himself. He looked around directly beneath him and, perfect, found long clotheslines connected between the circular spire and the rectangular neighbor. It was probably not the sisters’ solution, and it was a risky move, but it was worth a shot. His decision to take the risk was further encouraged the as he felt the rope slip from his hands. He aimed slightly above one of the clothesline and held his breath.

Clink!

The ropeshot head fired and dropped, and once it began to reel the head back, it suddenly yanked Link off the rope. “LIIIiiink!”

Combined with the reeling force of the mechanism, Link was falling faster than free fall, straight for the line. Instant regret flooded his mind as he reached top speed. As soon as the head attached itself to the body, Link’s momentum began to pull on the Link, against the clothesline which was what he intentionally wanted. The resistance against his arm was so great that he had to use two hands just to hang on. Then, expectedly, the line snapped. This was not the first time Link used clotheslines to safely land, only the first time with a ropeshot.

Quickly, he snapped his torso around to find another clothesline and fired again just as he was passing the roof of the hostel next door.

Clink!

This time, the ropeshot began to yank him to the side, so he began to swing forward, shifting his momentum horizontally. After another great tug against the ropeshot, that line had snapped as well.

Though his speed had been severely decreased, it did not prevent the impact against the ground from hurting any less than he had imagined.

Chapter Text

The Gerudo dancers and servers walked around Rowark busily, but he could feel their eyes crawl over him each time they passed by. A spiral staircase, wide enough to fit two horses side by side, stood in the center, guiding the hungry patrons upwards into lustful bliss. The heightened ceiling and the smooth stone walls made the interior feel more spacious than the exterior suggested. The marble covering the floor was paid for by Hyrule Castle City’s demand for sexual relief. At home, it was a sin. Here, it was a necessary evil. All the local worshippers here told Rowark so. Even his commanding knight once confessed, “I thank the Queen for brothels.”

Rowark’s greatest obstacle to making friends? He had never slept with anyone before. And the only people who cared enough to look past that had just dragged him into the one place he never thought he would ever step foot in. His flushed, red cheeks betrayed his attempt at nonchalance and brightly displayed his embarrassment to every person in that room.

The large rotunda featured several long couches arranged around the circular spire. The men wearing their silk dress shirts flirted with their purchase of the evening. The men wearing the city guard uniforms flirted with the courtesans because that was all they could afford. Four fire pits, fitted between the spaces in between the love cushions, illuminated the cream colored stone lining the walls. No matter the season, the flames would heat the passions of love year round.

The sound of jingling alerted Rowark to someone approaching him. The tall yet volutuous Gerudo walked towards him and then stopped, pausing for a moment to glance over him. Rowark took this opportunity to do the same.

Her tall presence commanded authority immediately upon sight. Small, red eyes quickly scanned the boy, and Rowark felt goosebumps on his skin as her eyes picked apart every detail in his body language. No secrets were safe from her eyes. Tawny beige skin flawlessly covered every inch of her face. There were some wrinkles, but they were so subtle that it was difficult to estimate her age. Her nose was not quite as beakish as her sisters’, and her chin was not as pointy comparatively either. Her ponytail, held by a silk ribbon, extended like a stream of blood down to her waist. A nose ring poking out from her left nostril and several ear piercings decorated her cartilage.

Her curvaceous body was sleek, healthy, and attached to strong arms and toned legs. She chose to wrap a red see-through scarf over her fitted, pink top. Her outfit had loose red sleeves draping from the seams around the shoulders, a feature the other Gerudo lacked in their outfits. As it was customary in Hylian fashion, perhaps it was a symbol a leadership? Her top exposed her midriff, and her skirt, sewn into her embroidered leather belt, was nothing more than white fabric extending down to her barefoot ankles. Thin, metal ornaments hung from the fabric and leather, producing the jingling sound with each encroaching step.

Her lower register voice greeted the new knight with seductive curiosity, “What have we here?” Her Hylian was perfect. Not a trace of any Gerudo accent.

“Uh,” Rowark squeaked out timidly. The snickers and giggles coming from behind him were forcing blood into his face and making it harder for words to form in his mouth. “Um. Hi?”

The high pitched cackle sounding laugh came from Garreth, the tallest of their friend group who had facial hair as thin as his chest hairs. Out of the subsequent uproar of laughter following Rowark’s embarrassment, Garreth’s snort stood out the most. Rowark, now officially the highest ranking official in the group, shamefully hung his head low self-consciously. Bad enough as it was that he was treated like an outcast within his own company, he felt even more of an outcast within the walls of the pleasure house.

A forceful pat on the back almost knocked him over though. “Don’t worry about the shy kid, Sasha,” said Boom, the seasoned veteran of over a hundred seasons of service, as he walked up to save the poor boy from making a fool out of himself, “This kid here won’t give ya trouble, not like Tenny back there.”

“Tenny gives me trouble, but he’s harmless. I want to know if this one is… dangerous .” Sasha extended her right middle finger and exposed the tattoo on her arm as her fingernail brushed upwards along Rowark’s tunic, “What’s your name, boy?”

Boom intervened before Rowark could answer her question, “Pardon me, Sasha, but you are now addressing a Sir!”

Sasha removed her finger from Rowark’s chest to wave off Boom without breaking her gaze into Rowark’s eyes, “He’s not a Sir in my house.” She teasingly bit at him, “Not yet at least. And let the boy answer for himself!”

Rowark could not tell if she was waiting for him to answer her question, but the silence implied so, “Um.” He felt the stares, as he was now the center of attention, “I’m Rowark. New knight of the crown.”

“Sasha. Directorate of the Desert Oasis. Pleased to meet you,” Sasha this time extended her arm forward for a handshake. Rowark received the hand and lifted it gently to his lips. He did not know how else to greet a woman. The Gerudo smirked, “Adorably quaint.”

“All right, all right, let’s get to business, then,” said an impatient Boom, “How much for dinner with your finest girls?”

She leaned in closer, and Rowark, not know what to do, turned away. He could tell from her wide, evil grin that his displeasure was clearly pleasing to her. And after what seemed like a long heartbeat, Sasha pulled her head back slightly to answer Boom, “You and your other two handsome companions can have the watchman special. Tenny knows he’s banned from entering paradise. And just because I don’t like him, tell him the girls are charging him hourly for his appetizer.”

What about me? Rowark asked, and to answer that, Sasha returned to her unsettling deep gaze into Rowark’s eyes, “The boy is mine.” The words sent a sudden rush of blood into Rowark’s face again. Suddenly, Rowark felt a warm, moist hand grip his, “Come, let me give you a quick tour of the place.” Sasha’s hand pulled gently against his gripped fingers, almost as if her hand was guiding him around the rotunda.

Rowark guessed there were no less than thirty girls either waiting for their next client or flirting with the patrons on the couch. All the courtesans were dressed the same: loose, pink top wrapped around their breasts and baggy pink pants. But other than their uniform clothing, the ladies came in all shapes and sizes. Rowark counted two Gerudo flirting with patrons half their size and three flirting with guards twice their size. The stereotype that all Gerudo looked alike was preposterous.

Sasha pulled the knight past the courtesan’s waiting couches straight to a vendor. The behemoth standing with her arms crossed behind the counter had a chiseled face that had absorbed one too many hits. Rowark could only focus on the slightly bent, hawkish nose as the vendor spoke in accented Hylian, “What will it be?” The knight had to look up and down just make sure that it was a woman who spoke in the deep, impatient tone of voice.

Sasha did not immediately answer. Her eyes started browsing from the top shelf of bottles and worked their way across and downwards. “Hmm, what kind of drink do you fancy?” asked the courtesan.

Rowark hesitated, “Um, I do not drink.” It was a lie. He enjoyed mead, ales, and certain sweet wines. The opacity of the bottles on the shelves concealed whatever liquids were contained, and he was hesitant to try any form of foreign drink that he could not see.

The only reply he got from Sasha was a sly smile, “Cobra’s blood, then”.

The vendor nodded and then reached from behind the counter, pulling out a black bottle in the shape of a coiled up snake. The snake’s head served as the bottle’s mouth, and the undisturbed cork in the mouth fit snuggly in the snake’s mouth. “Enjoy,” said the vendor. Sasha grabbed the bottle by the neck and took Rowark’s hand again.

Guiding the guest of honor around the rotunda, Sasha began her lecture, “That was Shriva, master of our drinks. We import various wines from different vineyards out in the country and then add Gerudo ingredients to give it a more exotic flavor. We normally charge for the bottle, but I am making an exception for you.”

“Why me?” asked Rowark, who had been meaning to ask her this question ever since she “picked” him.

“Because I like you!” she said innocently enough. Her insincere answer left a dissatisfied feeling in Rowark’s mind. Sasha continued, “Anyways, our mothers began constructing the tower in year fifty seven After Ganon, just before the great the migration, and finished construction in Fall of year fifty nine. Since the Desert Oasis first opened forty years ago, it not only became the biggest pleasure house in all of Hyrule City, but it also houses the majority of the Gerudo population in the city.”

Sasha and Rowark were approaching a shrine to the Three Goddesses. A wooden frame with a pointed top housed the stone statue of Farore, Din, and Nayru standing side by side. Din’s hands were extended, holding a golden (most likely brass) replica of the Triforce. The light from the two flanking torches reflected off the metal onto the dark stone statues, giving the Goddesses a golden glow. “Our mothers embraced the Golden Goddesses so we could integrate with Hylian society,” said the escort.

This information piqued Rowark’s curiosity, “What was the transition from your old religion like?”

“Seamless,” answered Sasha without hesitation, “Our mothers were branded as heretics of the Sun Goddess and banished from their home. It did not take much to convince them to adopt new Goddesses. One of our mothers chiseled this statue by herself. Din is holding the Triforce because we like to celebrate her the most, and some say that touching the Triforce brings luck. Go ahead.” Rowark did not know why he expected warmth to emanate from the metal, but the cold touch reminded him that the Triforce was nothing more than an ornament.

When Rowark lifted his hand, Sasha threaded her arm through his and continued guiding him around and lecturing. While Sasha was talking about history of the tapestries hung on the wall, Rowark looked over for several heartbeats to see how his companions were doing. Garreth, Boom, Tenpenny, the short and stocky troublemaker also known as Tenny, and Lemon, the foul mouthed, foul smelling soldier, were all engaged deeply in conversation with their girls. Seeing his friends enjoy their purchased company made Rowark feel a little at ease, though not by much.

“... takes at least one season to finish,” by the time Rowark returned his attention back to his hostess, her eyes were turned upwards to the many tapestries hanging along the upper half of the walls. Each tapestry was attached to a wooden bar suspended by a single piece of twine. Some were wider than they were long, some were longer than they were wide, and there seemed to be no method to the arrangement of each art piece. No form of Gerudo culture was spared from depiction: dancing, hunting, warfare, love, and history were the most common subjects.

“The Gerudo used weaving as the primary means of passing stories from generation to generation. This one here is one of my favorites,” Sasha pointed to the tapestry third from the left of the entrance, which depicted a woman wearing a cream colored hood, carrying a bow and standing over bodies of soldiers and Gerudo alike, “This is Moreva, a famous warrior who could shoot arrows from the sand unseen. It is said that she once stopped an invading Hylian force all by herself. The Gerudo to this day use the ingenious tactics she invented for desert warfare.”

Soldiers coming back from desert patrols brought stories of arrows that formed out of thin air. When Rowark was still a young page, the veterans in his company shared tales of invisible, demon archers who breathed arrows. So this is the original demon archer , thought Rowark. With so much mythology surrounding the desert Gerudos, he began to wonder how many had actually met one and lived to tell the tale. Each legend Sasha shared was either about a famous warrior, a battle, or a historic event. As Rowark listened to tales of bravery, he looked around the room and wondered if all the ladies in the room inherited the Gerudo warriors’ culture.

Suddenly, Rowark noticed something about all the tapestries. “If a male Gerudo is supposedly once every one hundred years, he would be able to unify all the Gerudo tribes. He would be pretty important. So why are their stories not told in the tapestries?” asked the knight.

Her beautiful smile instantly turned into a frown, “They are.” The displeasure on her face was all Rowark needed to know that his question had touched a nerve. “Our mothers were exiled from a culture that revered men, only to live in a city ruled by men. Because we wanted to celebrate our femininity, we chose to import tapestries that honored our sisters’ stories.”

Rowark looked at Sasha awkwardly, feeling guilty about offending his host. Not knowing how else to ease the tense silence in the air, he apologized, “I’m sorry.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Oh, you did not have to apologize! This question is frequently asked, so I did not mean to sound offended.” She looked back at the colorful works of art, “You seem like a sensible man who understands this city very well. Tell me, who was the Gerudo’s last king?”

“Ganondorf.” the stories of the Gerudo King’s conquest left a fearful imprint in the minds of Rowark and his peers. But they were more than just campfire stories told to spook the children in his hometown, he recently discovered. Miro Miro’s revelation confirmed that the stories were indeed history.

“Precisely. Since many of our patrons cannot even tell the difference between us sisters, we feared they would mistake any of our kings as Ganondorf,” added Sasha, “It simply would not be good for patronage.”

They spent another quiet moment admiring the art before Rowark felt his hand being tugged again, this time towards the center of the room. The corners of Sasha’s mouth slowly curled upwards, “Are you ready for your four course meal?”

Despite Sasha’s clear body language, Rowark’s scrambled and anxious mind mustered out the words, “Um, what kind of four course meal?”

“You’re so adorable,” chuckled Sasha as she led the knight past a fire stand towards the center of the room. As Rowark looked around and observed the courtesans stoking the passions of love, the heat from the nearby fire sent another wave of bashfulness to his already bright red cheeks. “Why are you so tense? Relax,” she said, bringing attention to Rowark’s tightened grip, “We can start with our appetizer here on the couch, like everyone else.”

As she guided him past the taken spots on the love seats, Rowark could feel the curious eyes point at him and hear the curious whispers fill the soundscape. “Why him?” he heard from the corner of a woman’s lips. The more questions floated in the air, the harder the beating in his chest sounded.

Sasha turned around and gazed him in the eye, bringing his focus back to his hostess. “Your hands are trembling! You need to calm down!” she teasingly whispered into his right ear just before she planted a moist kiss on Rowark’s cornered jaw bone, “Don’t worry about the rest. I’ve marked you as mine.” He had no desire to parse those words into common Hyrule.

The hot color of the satin couch was only too appropriate for the heated atmosphere. Seeing his comrades lewdly act out their behavior just as they had described in their stories of female conquests, Rowark knew he should not have been shocked. Rather, he was more or less disappointed to see that the great myths of passionate lovemaking were nothing more than stories funded by the city tax collector. Boom’s hands aggressively squeezed any piece of curvy skin on his woman. Garreth looked only too happy to finally have company after only one tendo away from his wife. Rowark could not imagine what kind of woman would enjoy kissing Lemon, a man whose stench was constantly felt in the room. Tenny had just found out about his special “deal”.

Rowark was convinced Sasha was reading his mind when she suddenly said, “Tenny comes in here every ninth of the tendo after spending his ‘hard earned’ pay at the tavern and picks fights with every girl that he purchases. It’s why we don’t like him.” Short, crude, and horrendously unattractive, Tenny had no redeeming quality in Rowark’s mind except that they broke bread and fought side by side together

“Lemon is a sweetie, I’m sure you know,” Rowark never thought a woman would use such a word to describe Tenny’s right hand man in all of their pub brawls, “and he pays good money and is very respectful.” Lemon could be as foul as his odor, so hearing that Lemon treated anyone politely came as a surprise. Towards everyone else in the unit, he was as foul mouthed as Tenny could be. Overall, he was a man who harmed none and fouled none, so long as no one told him to or threatened his compatriots. It was also unfortunate that he had a short temper too. The way he tenderly touched his escort’s thick legs and long hair appeared too… unusual.

“Garreth always picks the same girl each time he comes in. Those two have grown very close.” The man who was closest to Rowark in age was probably the closest friend he had in his unit, maybe even throughout all of Hyrule. Despite having attended Garreth’s wedding, Rowark could no longer persuade best friend to stay faithful to his marriage. After many past attempts to stop Garreth’s extramarital affairs, Rowark stopped trying after Garreth continually repeated the same excuse, “I’m a scoundrel.”

“And Boom has such a ravaging appetite that some of my best girls cannot quell.” That little bit of information would have been unpleasant to hear, but the way Sasha put it sounded ten times better than the gross, overindulgent details that Boom never forgot to miss every time he told the same stories.

That didn’t bother Rowark so much. The intrusion into his mind did, “How did you know?”

“They come here often. Our girls keep records of all the patrons in case someone becomes a little extra unruly.”

“No, how did you know that was what I was thinking about?” Rowark was raising his voice word by word, “I could have been thinking about anything.”

“Boy.”

“Sir!” Rowark sternly corrected.

“Relax!” Sasha shushed him, having just sensed the heightened tension between the two, “It is my job to pick at your mind. Here, have a seat.” Her arm beckoned Rowark to sit down on the empty spot. But he looked at the seat with distrust. Whatever magic she possessed could easily put Rowark in a vulnerable position. Sasha sighed, “It’s because your eyes are too honest. You were looking at your comrades because you were thinking about them.”

Rowark took a deep breath and resigned to her innocent explanation by sitting on the couch, and Sasha slid onto his lap without any regard for personal boundaries. She uncorked her snake shaped bottle and poured the dark, velvety wine into two shiny chalices.

The teenage boy took the silver cup and stared at the deeply colored liquid. It did not smell like any average wine that came from the Quela Castle vineyards. Well, the wine was not meant to be stared at , thought Rowark as he lifted the chalice to his lips. A sudden metallic and spicy taste overwhelmed his taste buds, infiltrated his nostrils, and even forced him to cough uncontrollably. “What’s in this?” Rowark said once he regained some control over his coughing lungs.

“Cobra’s blood,” was her ready answer, “A blend of six spices native to the desert; and of course, cobra’s venom.” Any desire to drink the wine disappeared with that ingredient. “It makes you more honest. Drink! It is very expensive!” Sasha raised the chalice to her lips and drank a mouthful with class and posture.

It was tough to withstand the fiery flavors like Sasha could. The venomous wine felt like it was setting fire to every cavity from his throat all the way to his nose. He had to cough again to relieve the heat. “How do you drink something so strong?” he asked.

“Practice,” was her coy reply. After three big gulps, she tipped the chalice towards Rowark to show him that she had finished her drink. “There’s no hurry to finish your wine. We’re here to get to know each other a little better. That’s why we call this, the appetizer.” She poured herself another healthy serving, “Let’s start with your name and your age? And then you can ask me any question you want. Afterall, I feel like the wine is beginning to work on me.”

Rowark was not quite sure if she meant that the wine was making her drunk or more truthful. After taking another small sip, he answered her initial question, “Rowark Forester, I turned eighteen last Winter. May I ask the same?”

“Of course,” said the Gerudo, “Sasha Ganondorf, I celebrated my thirty seventh birth date last tendo. How long have you been in the army?”

“I joined when I was eight,” Rowark answered without thinking.

“So young, why?”

A slight urge within his body wanted him to divulge events that took place before he joined the army. Perhaps this was the truthfulness that Sasha was referring to? “I believe it’s my turn to ask,” he replied, buying himself time to collect his answer.

Sasha smirked, “Fair.”

“How long have you worked, um... ” the boy tried to find the right word to describe a brothel without offending his hostess, but alas all he could come up with was, “here?”

Sasha chuckled, which sent another rush of blood up to his already warm face, and answered, “You are exquisitely adorable! Don’t be embarrassed by what we do!” And that made Rowark’s face feel even warmer. “I was born here like every woman living under this roof, and I will probably work here until I draw my last breath.” Rowark could tell Sasha had pride in her profession, but there was no way he could understand what it was like to be born into such a sinful profession. “So back to my question, why did you join the city guard at such a young age?”

Even with the extra question and time, Rowark was still not ready to answer. He could feel the wine’s ingredients affect his judgement and was no longer comfortable answering any more questions. There were still a few more sips of Cobra’s blood left in his chalice, and his willingness to stomach the harsh taste quickly turned into nausea. “I…” he began his answer, trying to improvise a fib did not come naturally to him, “I was…” He took a deep breath to sigh and calm his scrambled thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurted out, “I am no longer comfortable playing this game. I know you are doing your best to make small talk with the wine, but I do not wish to discuss my past.” Rowark anticipated disappointment from his hostess and searched for clues in her facial expression that would convey that sentiment.

Surprising him once again, Sasha returned an understanding smile, or at least was very good at hiding disappointment, and replied, “It is entirely okay. Perhaps you be more inclined to discuss this in private?”

Every bit of Rowark’s virgin body wanted to say no. Even though he did not understand all the cryptic language used to describe Sasha and her girls’ services, he knew exactly what Sasha meant by discussing in private. But he nodded instead, “Okay.” Considering that the prostitute was kind enough to offer free services, this was going to be his best opportunity to finally quiet the taunts about his virginity that plagued him all throughout his time in the army.

“Excellent,” replied Sasha as she took Rowark by the hand and led him around to the base of the spiral stairway to paradise. His friends’ eyes interrupted whatever activity they were engaged in and followed Rowark and his hostess. Sasha stopped Rowark right before he took his first step up. “We have one golden rule in the stairway to paradise,” she started.

Just one rule? “What’s that?”

“No talking while climbing or descending the stairs.”

Rowark looked up the stairwell, took a deep breath, and began ascending his way towards paradise. His eyes refused to acknowledge the hoot and the hollers of his shame coming from his friends.

Chapter Text

The 15th Day of Winter

When Topah woke up from his horrible nightmare, the crisp, winter air felt a lot colder than the night before. His waking eyes first focused onto a hideous, orange skinned monster with a frightening underbite and a jagged fang poking from underneath, who was holding a torch to fight back the ominous pitch black of the Lost Woods. Then Topah felt the scaly, dry skin wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and he felt his weight suspended in the air as they walked down a path surrounded by thick trees and darkness. There was a red monster just above him holding his wrists, and a green monster just below holding his ankles.

The nightmare has not ended yet . I feel awake, but if I were awake, I would be rising from my bed at home , reasoned the boy. He had to be dreaming. Nothing as catastrophic as the events from the night before could have ever happened to the Kokiri Village. The Great Deku Tree said that he would always keep his children safe.

A soft snarl from the dark petrified all four dead in their tracks. Topah’s heart was pounding hard and fast. The fear in his body felt too real to be a dream. Everyone swiveled their head around in search for the source of the noise. Finally, Topah had a good chance to study their ugly faces, but as their appearance became more and more familiar, a growing ache began to dig into the back of his head. Then the memory of the traumatic blow at that very location hurt like he had landed from a fall on his head.

There was no mistaking the ugly ears sprouting from their heads, they were Bokoblins. The green one carrying his ankles wore his weapon, the very same one that rendered Topah unconscious, on his back. This was the moment he realized that he was awake. The nightmare was real. The fear swelled so much in his heart that he could no longer contain himself, so he unleashed himself.

“WAAAAAHH!!” cried the little one as loudly as he could, “I WANNA GO HOME!” Tears and snot washed down his face, and pee flowed freely and trickled warmly into his winter trousers as he fought the grips of the similarly sized creatures holding him. “LET! ME! GO!” he screamed as his feet exclaimed his strong sentiment through his kicking.

The fuss brought everyone’s attention back to him. The orange Blin carrying the torch blurted “Ix Kahn yumizh dier!” before lifting his tiny foot and kicking Topah’s bruised rib. The pain made Topah gag, the gag made him quiet, and the quiet pleased the Bokoblin, until Topah threw up all over the ground. The torchbearer turned his head down the path and shouted out more gibberish in his native tongue, like he was calling out to someone. “Yuuks ke!” he ordered the two carrying Topah.

They walked more cautiously this time. Something threatening was very close. Hidden somewhere in the darkness, the invisible presence made itself known, however, through its heavy breathing and deep growling.

Topah coughed and spit out whatever was left in his mouth and promptly resumed crying, this time from the pain. “Please!” he tearfully begged the monsters, “Just let me go! Please!” He did not know what else he could say to persuade the barbaric creatures.

But the Bokoblins continued walking obliviously to his pleas. It was not long before Topah could see torchlight reflecting upon the trees farther down the windy path. Encouraged by this sign, the captors picked up their pace.

“AAHH!” Pitch black swamped the area. Everyone turned around towards the squeal, only to find the torch bearer, and therefore the light, being dragged deep into the forest, too late for rescue.

In the darkness, the captors were shouting a nonsensical combination of squeals and sharp punctuations to the group down the path.

A response call echoed in the distance, followed by the calls of many. And soon the first torches from the reinforcement team became visible. Topah could not decide which fate he would rather prefer, get taken by the Bokoblins or face the wrath of the Lost Woods wildlife. He did share a home with the Lost Woods’ beasts, though, so he began to kick himself free, but the grips on his wrists were strong.

The Bokoblins hobbled along the path as quickly as their short legs could carry them. Another snarl from the thick black quickened their pace. Suddenly, Topah’s right wrist shook free, and then he kicked his left ankle free. There was no way for the Blins to see and therefore catch his moving extremities. He then reached over to his other wrist and pulled it free, dropping his torso onto the ground.

All that was left was the grip on his right ankle, but time was quickly running short; the distant torches and Bokoblin faces were steadily closing in. Topah’s free foot thrusted forth and landed on the fleshy gut of the Blin in front, who recoiled and released his grip.

Piercing shrieks and dark wings gradually filled the sky; although the night covered the forest in pitch black darkness, the numerous glowing, yellow eyes began to swell above their heads and light up the entire forest floor. With the sunlight gone, the ferocious Keese were beginning to gather for their next meal. Individually, their black wings, large, buggy eyes, flattened discolored noses, and small white fangs were nothing to be feared. So common were they that whenever one would occasionally fly into the Kokiri Village, the children would promptly chase it out and make sport of the activity.

In the dark night of the Lost Woods and in the company of thousands of others, the Keese were said to be able to tear flesh from mighty monsters alive down to their bones. Both Bokoblins and Topah attempted to cry for help above the deafening sound of the swarm of Keese shrieks. An unseen, sharp claw dug into Topah’s flesh, and soon cries of pain were added into the cacophony. The Kokiri instantly dropped to the ground and covered his head in the fetal position.

The lacerating pain was unending. Topah could not see the blood escaping from the shallow cuts, but he could feel liquid traveling down his skin. No matter how much pain there was, though, he dared not uncover himself.

Suddenly, light began to bounce off his skin, lifting the onslaught. Bokoblin reinforcements had arrived. They waved their lit torches in the air, driving back the black winged swarm and stopping the flurry of cuts and scratches. Because the boy was too scared to run from the Keese, he was also too scared to resist the forceful grips against his arms that pulled him up onto his feet. As the dozens of Blins dragged Topah, he caught a glimpse of his original captors laying on their backs motionless with their clubs in their hands. Their cold, wide open eyes and bloodied, torn flesh told him they were anything but alive.

Capture was ultimately preferable to death. Topah obediently walked along the path, and he offered no resistance to the two escorts holding him tightly. There was not a part in his body that was willing to escape and face the unknowns of the predatory Lost Woods. Instead, his feet placed themselves one in front of the other, and he kept his head hung low.

A foot kicked the back of Topah’s leg, causing him to tumble, followed by the annoying laughter of the perpetrators. But the escorts’ patience ran thin after picking up Topah time after time, until finally they turned around and threatened to trade blows. The whole troop stopped, and the leader turned around with a very displeased look on her ugly face.

Even though a mean, maroon colored Blin wearing a spiky, metal helmet stood five Blins ahead of Topah, he could feel her commanding presence from so far back. And even though Topah’s eyes were pointed towards the ground for most of the walk, the troop leader’s tall, enhanced posture made her creed known to the boy: there was no escaping on her watch. She stomped through the dense crowd, using sheer muscle strength from her arms to wipe a clear path to the troublemakers.

She barked at the top of his lungs to her troop, “ What’s going on? ” in the Deku language, and the would-be combatants instantly turned their attention to their gigantic leader. The Deku language, a language that Topah had learned after celebrating decades of seasonal festivals with his Deku friends, spoken from a Bokoblin’s mouth almost struck him dumb.

The leader towered over the boy, and looked over his head to examine the situation. Then her eyes focused onto Topah, and then back to the escorts. “ You two! ” she pointed at the two Blins standing beside Topah, “ Why aren’t you holding him? ”

The Blins in question looked at each other, clueless on how to respond. The taller leader shot her hands forth and wrapped her fingers around the skinny necks of the accused. Two Bokoblins fought for air as their leader lifted them off their feet, but no matter how hard they kicked their feet into the air or pulled on the constricting fingers, everyone except Topah knew this was the end for the two.

When they finally stopped struggling, Topah watched gape eyed as the leader dropped their corpses onto the ground while locking eyes with the Bokoblins that started the fight.

“Eek!” screamed Topah, who was still not used to seeing death so closely, so his scream quickly turned into more frightful crying.

Unphased, the leader pointed at two of the blue Blins, “ You’re now escorting the eemteebah ! I shouldn’t have to remind you what happens if you ever let go of him! ” The new escorts nodded fearfully and promptly tied a rope around Topah’s wrists while the boy sobbed. One grabbed Topah by his left arm, while the other held the end of the leash.

“ Let’s go! ” There were no more interruptions after that incident.

Long after Topah’s feet began to hurt upon stepping on the cold ground and his stomach began to fiercely growl like the hungry predators stalking in the woods, the sky finally began to brighten again. The faint light began to quiet the wildlife and bring a sense of relief to the troops.

And it was not long after that light from the camp torches, the first signs of civilization, were finally seen. Thick tree trunks held together by rope formed a wooden palisade that seemed to stretch endlessly into the forest. Several torches jutted above the poorly made ramparts, but they did well to light the area and warn the wildlife to keep away. Only two little Bokoblins watch the camp entrance, and patrols of archers dutifully and fearfully watched the foliage for the slightest bit of movement.

As the company of Blins approached the entrance, their pace began to slow down, and cheerful chatter began to return to their mouths. “ We made it! ” a dark blue colored Blin whispered in Deku to his elder compatriot and then shared those sentiments in his native tongue. The grunts’ ugly smiles turned into laughter, and the closer they got, the laughter became cheers. And then their cheers became unison.

“Oostahl! Oostahl! Oostahl the great! Defend us from our wretched fate!” the crowd roared and raised their weapons and torches with every beat, “Oostahl! Oostahl! Oostahl the great! Lead us safely to our gate!”

At first, the Blins pressed themselves towards the middle of the path to fit through the opening. As Topah squeezed through the gates, the Blins around him dispersed and dashed in all directions to see friends and family waiting for them. And as Topah walked through the camp grounds, he saw bright smiles and excited embraces from those who were too happy to be alive, and he saw the lamentation in the Blins who had just received news that their loved one was not returning.

His escorts led him down the pathway of the campgrounds, which looked like a village of hundreds, maybe thousands even, of differently sized tents scattered throughout the grounds. A foul, sour smell hung in the air and Topah sulked as his captors led him past curious stares from Bokoblins of all colors, all shapes, and all sizes. Murmurs and whispers floated into the boy’s ears, even though he could not understand any of it. He hung his head, kept his eyes pointed at the ground, and did his best to remain oblivious to the attention.

Exhaustion and hunger drained any alertness and self-awareness from Topah and turned him into an obedient captive. Even though each step on the ground shot aching pains from his soles into his body, he continued to walk forward one step at a time.

“Topah!” the familiar voice of a Kokiri picked his head up. The children squeezed within a small, wooden box with thick bars walling them in, but the first face he saw was the Protector’s. Her face was cut up, her right cheek was red and puffy, her left eye was swollen shut, and her exposed torso was covered in red bruises and bloody cuts, but she was not the only one with injuries. Curry’s blackened and purple head popped out from behind the crowd of captives, Harna and Harma, the Kokiri village’s favorite brown haired, dancers, were hugging each other tightly, and Fado, the village’s most famed violinist, sadly watched Topah helplessly follow the Bokoblins.

The guard of the cage opened the door without needing any orders, prompting some of the nearby guards to aim their primitive spear tips at the open entrance. The frightened children only naturally retreated as far away as they could and pressed their backs against the wooden bars and each other, except for the Protector.

Her hair, now stained with mud and blood, did not flow with the breeze like it used to, nor did her face, beaten beyond recognition, possess her famed beauty, but those did not change who she was inside. Whatever pain in Topah’s feet and hunger in his belly succumbed to the Protector’s motherly presence. She stood steadfastly in between the frightened Kokiri and the Blins’ sharp, metal spear tips.

Topah was only too happy to rejoin his kin as he climbed into the cage. As the cage door closed shut and locked tightly behind him, the Kokiri captives rushed in to comfort the newcomer, who fell forward and collapsed into their arms and began to sob.

Was this nightmare over yet? If he could just fall asleep and wake up again, would he still be in this horrible place?

“It’s okay,” the Protector said as she warmly wrapped her arms around him, “I’m here for you.” The hugs from his brothers and sisters, frightfully crying with Topah, made him realize that he was not the only one suffering from the nightmare, that others were feeling the exact same torrent of emotions. Every eye rose in the cage rose as the Protector proudly stood up, “I’m here for all of us. I’m just as scared as you, and I don't know what's going to happen to us,” though no one could tell, for her once soft voice for teaching was replaced by the voice of a warrior, “But I swear that I shall protect all of you until my last, dying breath. We will find a way out of this!”

Her inspirational speech only lessened the children’s crying and was met with sniffling, runny noses. It was going to take more than a speech to lift their spirits again, if it was even possible at this point. So the Protector walked around, comforting and consoling each brother and sister personally. Each visit made each frown a little less, frowny, and soon, some were comforted enough to fall asleep, with tears drying on their fragile faces.

“Irma, you are one of the bravest out of us all,” the Protector was overheard saying to one of the village’s shortest, baby-faced, sisters, “I know you bravely lead other harvesters deep into the forest just to feed our village, and now I need you to be brave for everyone else, okay?” As the Protector rubbed her back, the brown haired girl quietly nodded and wiped her nose and eyes in response and then buried her face back into her knees, unable to be consoled any further.

The Protector turned to girl’s, freckled brother sitting next to her and placed her arm around him, “How are you feeling, Onolla?” The curly haired boy buried his face into the Protector’s chest and wrapped his arms around her waist. Onolla was always an honest child, so there was no need for him to say what he was feeling. And as his shoulders shook up and down from crying, the Protector caressed the back of his head, “I always liked the pictures you carved into the tree stumps.”

The boy lifted his head, “Really? You’ve seen them?”

“Of course!” the Protector replied, “My favorite picture is the one of you holding hands with the Hero and the Sage of the Forest.”

“I always imagined being best friends with the Hero and Saria,” said a smiling Onolla as he placed his head back onto the Protector’s chest, “Protector, do you think the Hero will come save us?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t,” hearing the sniffling made the Protector realize that her natural honesty was perhaps not the best tactic at the moment, so she quickly switched to an upbeat attitude, “But, I don’t see why you couldn’t be the Hero!”

Onolla lifted his head once again, “Really? You think so?” Had Topah never seen the craven lad flee from a butterfly, he could very well have taken Onolla seriously. In response to Onolla’s newfound enthusiasm, the Protector nodded and smiled.

The Protector continued making her way around the enclosure, and Topah stopped paying attention to her conversations, until a hand gently touched his shoulder, an arm wrapped him, and it was his turn for the Protector to comfort.

Topah instantly felt the blush run up to his face. “Hey,” whispered the Protector as she laid her head on his shoulder, making the boy blush even harder, “I never got to thank you for saving me during the battle.”

But the Protector’s words brought disappointment in Topah, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Memories of the battle flashed into his mind. His first sword strike was easily blocked. “I fought poorly. I couldn’t,” he hesitated in finishing his sentence because after the many days and the many seasons of training with the Protector, “I couldn’t protect our home!” He began to sob after confessing his embarrassing combat performance.

The Protector replaced her head with a hand on Topah’s shoulder, “There were too many of them, there was nothing we could have done. The battle was lost before it was begun.”

“I embarrassed myself, you, and the village,” he scowled at himself.

“Your job was to prepare breakfast for the village, and you made some excellent pickled eggs every morning!” the compliment lifted Topah’s frown, “Picking up a sword in defense of the village was more than what anyone could have expected from you!”

“Yeah,” Topah protested, “but -”

“It was my job, MY responsibility, to keep you all safe. You made breakfast every day, foraged for food, made music and danced, while I practiced the sword for one purpose only, and I failed.”

Topah was at a loss for words. The Protector had already given kind and uplifting words to many of the children, what could anyone say to uplift the Protector? Before, her role as guardian of the village was simply taken for granted. Now that every child trapped in the cage was facing his or her mortality, the Protector’s role became more vital than ever.

The Kokiri were all fast asleep by this point. The sun was beginning to rise, providing a light coat of warmth against the winter air and most of the children were probably awake until recently. It was a shame though, for the sun’s morning light truly brought subtle relief. The Blins seemed impervious to the climate conditions. The guards stubbornly patrolled the routes with exposed torsos and carried their lengthy spears dutifully. There was not a shiver in their bodies that implied they were aware of the cold.

Topah tried offering his words of comfort, “You got a lot of them though.”

“I did, didn’t I?” said the Protector, almost unbelievingly, as her head barely hung on her neck. A cold breeze chilled Topah down to his bone. “Did I do the right thing though? Spilling all that blood to protect my kin? If we were all going to be captured in the end, was it even worth taking all those lives?”

A silver glimmer fell through the air. Was she crying? “Protector?” he asked, unsure if her tough mindset was about to shatter.

“Sorry,” she sat up and wiped her wet eyes on her arms and sniffled. Topah never thought he would live to see the day. “When I -” she stopped to let the crying subside and gather herself, “when I accepted the responsibility of the Protector, wielder of the Kokiri blade, Father made sure I valued all life like he did. And I followed every word of it.”

He had to lighten the mood up a little, so he placed his hand on her shoulder tenderly and jokingly asked, “What did He say about defending against ugly Bokoblins?”

“Well, we never really talked about it. I think it’s because Father wanted be in charge of protecting the village from outside threats, and He did not want us to even think about the possibility of him failing. He needed me to focus on protecting the village from yourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

"If Father wanted us to defend ourselves, He would have given each of us enough real swords to use. Forbidding all but one sword was done to keep peace and order. It was meant to keep fights between boys from getting out of hand.”

“So you weren’t prepared to fight an army, just like none of us were. So you can’t blame yourself for our situation!”

She looked up with tear streams reflecting off the morning sun and smiled almost as cheerfully as she used to, making Topah’s chest flutter. “Thank you,” she replied genuinely.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was not: Topah would do whatever it took to make sure the Protector could smile like that again. “Out of all of us here, you are the most important one. No one can make us feel safe like you can.” His chest began to swell with emotions, and he needed to pour out everything he was feeling, “You are everybody’s hero in the village. Every boy and girl wants to be like you. Now that Father isn’t here to protect us anymore, everyone here is going to be looking to you to keep us safe, and you will need someone to look after you too. So if leading and protecting you ever becomes too much for you handle, you can always count on me to be there for you,” Topah said as he reached out and grabbed her hand, “All I want to do is make sure you’re okay. We're in this together.”

The Protector leaned in, wrapped her arms around him, and suddenly planted her lips on Topah’s cheeks, a move he definitely did not see coming. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear, causing the boy to blush all over again, “Get some rest.”

Topah leaned back and rested his head on the backs of the two boys sleeping behind him, and the Protector laid her head on top of his chest and snuggled up against him. The warmth, comfort, and safety radiating from her body was most overwhelming, almost uncomfortable. The two laid in silence for a moment, until Topah finally asked, “Aren’t you going to make your way around to the rest of our brothers and sisters?”

“I saved you for last,” the Protector answered.

Taken aback by the answer, he asked skeptically, “Why me?”

She adjusted her head on his shoulder and whispered, “Because you were always my favorite student.”

Chapter Text

“You haven’t even touched your wine,” interrupted Sasha in the middle of Rowark’s telling of his days as a page. There was nothing about the viscous velvet or the pungent smell that inspired an appetite. Not even a desire for intoxication could fortify his stomach for another sip. He had spent the past hour or so talking about shoveling horse dung, polishing swords and shields, drilling, and all the other trivial details of page life just to avoid another whiff of the foul miasma.

Rowark sat on a plush cushion across the circular, cherrywood table from his hostess. Sunlight filled the room and covered all its exotic furniture with a fierce, sunset glow. The sweet, aroma of the room thankfully overpowered the wine’s foul odor.

He politely replied, “I am not thirsty.”

The courtesan gazed deeply into his eyes, as if trying to search for the truth in his mind, “I know that is a lie.” The vexing smile on her face disturbed Rowark more than it put him at ease. Behind the face she wore, it was very difficult to tell what she was feeling underneath. This conversation between the two was merely sport to her, and her defenses were always up. Then she stood up and walked over to her dresser behind her, “After a cup full of wine, I always thirst for some tea. Would you like some?”

Trying to imitate her calculated composure, Rowark shrugged, “As long as it does not burn my mouth.”

“Ha!” laughed Sasha, even though it was hard to tell whether the laugh was genuine or not. “You have nothing to worry about, my friend,” she reassured him as she walked back and placed a dark gray, ceramic cup in front of him. Lifting the warm cup up to his nose, Rowark cautiously smelled the flowery aroma, and then he inhaled deeply once he recognized the distinct yet familiar smell of the deku flower. This was definitely a drink he missed from his time spent camping near the south woods.

“Enough of your young days,” said Sasha as she sat down next to him with her own cup of tea, “tell me about some of your great tales of bravery.”

Rowark sipped on his Deku flower tea and scoffed, “You mock me.” She must have met some of the greatest knights Hyrule had ever seen.

“Was I being condescending?” was her polite response, which did little to reassure him.

“Surely you must have heard them all,” he deflected.

“I have heard many tales from many knights, yes” confessed Sasha, “But I have not heard them all.”

The city guard humbly dropped his eyes to his tea, “I assure you my stories are quite boring in comparison.”

“Have you been in battle before?”

“Yes.”

“And have you killed a man before?”

Rowark paused. He felt uncomfortable answering the question, but not answering the question was as much of an answer. “Yes,” Rowark answered truthfully.

“Then surely one of your gallant deeds must have launched such a young boy into knighthood.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rowark lamented, “I think you got me mistaken for a hero of some sort who has slayed countless men and beasts. Sadly, I am not one of them. I fight in a unit. I have held a spear in my hand, yes, and I have thrust the point into men’s hearts, but that is because doing as I am told and trusting everyone else to do the same is my best chance of survival. Killing people is but the last intention I have. I am not the warrior like Boom is.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Believe me when I say that most of the knights I have ‘personally’ met,” her eyes tilted upwards, as if reminiscing of partners past, “were not promoted for cutting down men by the scores.”

Did a courtesan know something about the military that Rowark didn’t know? “Then, what for?”

Sasha responded with a smile which alone convinced Rowark her words were truth, “Many times, it’s for saving a comrade in battle. Other times it is for accomplishing missions against overwhelming odds. What does the Queen like to say? For rising above the call of duty?”

Did the Queen say that for everyone? Oddly, the answer to his question did not make her words feel any cheaper, only more united with the men who had been knighted by the Queen.

Silence again. For the better part of how many hours they were sitting there together, much of their broken conversations started, carried, and then faded into the nothingness before repeating the cycle. Sometimes, Rowark asked her a question about her heritage, and other times Sasha asked about his military past. Any questions about his life before his recruitment oftentimes killed the flow of dialogue.

During the moments of quiet, Rowark did his best to feel happy for his friends, who were certainly enjoying their time more here than he was. Sasha broke the silence again by summoning a question out of thin air, “So where were you stationed before your promotion?”

“Well,” where was Rowark to start? He had stayed in the city for many years, but he had also been transferred between companies on a few occasions as well, and then there were all the volunteer companies that he had deployed with too, “well, um, I was stationed here in the city for the past five years, I was on watch duty all throughout. Then my company got assigned to a campaign.”

“Which one?”

He hesitated to tell her. Would she even know the difference between them? “The Sixty Fifth Sortie to Quell the Insurgency of Faron Woods.”

“Ah, the peasant’s uprising led by a Runeth Yeoman. You were assigned to that campaign, led by the inspiring Sir Berlon?”

“Yes, um,” inspiring was not the word he would have described the short and portly commander, “how did you know?”

“After the campaign, where do you think all the boys went?” The answer to the rhetorical question stung. Rowark would not have been the least bit surprised if Lemon, Boom, Garreth, and Tenny buried their grief in womanly flesh while he was fighting to live another day in the Lost Woods. “So what was your role in the battle?”

“I never made it to the battle, actually,” said Rowark as he nervously scratched the back of his head, “I uh, I got assigned to scouting duty. I’d never gotten transferred to a different company before, but it was, well, not a good first experience. It was my first time scouting the enemy, but I, uh, made a rookie mistake,” he had never forgiven himself for forgetting to put out the fire before he fell asleep, “and got ambushed on my way back. Nine of them,” equipped with armor too progressive and armed with an arsenal of weaponry too advanced for what was supposed to be a peasant army, “snuck up on me while I was camped in the woods. Goddesses, I still don’t know how I managed to get out of that alive!”

“Oh, but how?” asked Sasha, intrigued.

“I ran, of course,” was the brutally dull, anticlimactic truth he was okay with telling, “I was only armed with a spear, a knife, and a sling, and they had also just taken my horse. So I ran into the forest, and they continued chasing me further inward. But then they suddenly stopped chasing me.”  He remembered the pursuing enemy and could recreate just about every detail, from perfectly timing sword swings to shooting his sling, from his memory. Or perhaps his mind would never let him forget any moment that put Rowark in a fight or die mindset: either he lived, or the pursuant on horseback lived. “Looking back, I could see why now,” he chuckled to himself. No sane man would ever willingly submit himself to the horrors of the Lost Woods like Rowark had unwillingly done.

Her subtle smile conveyed her deepened interest more than her question did, “So what happened next?”

“Well, I got lost,” he chuckled, and she did the same, “Thank Farore it was spring and the snow was melting. I survived as best I could throughout the season until I met my fairy companion, Miro Miro, who led me out of the woods and back here to Hyrule Castle City. Just yesterday.” Only yesterday. Holy Hero, had he returned home only yesterday? “Ha ha,” he nervously chuckled as he concentrated to make sense of everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours.

“Is that why you were knighted?” Sasha’s question broke him out of his train of thought.

“Um, no.” Rowark sighed hesitantly. The events of the prior evening were still burned into his mind, and the last thing he wanted to do was think about the heat of the fires threatening to consume him. “The knight who recommended my promotion wasn’t even my commanding knight. On the day I returned to Castle City, which was yesterday by the way, there was a fire,” Rowark started, not wanting to continue any further, “I’m sure you heard all about it.”

Sasha frowned, “I did. Five people died, and a little girl lost her family. Were you there?”

“I deployed with the 5th Volunteer company to assist with fire extinguishing efforts on the day of my homecoming. Then things got complicated. We were ordered to do nothing, there were people trapped in the building.”

“You saved them.”

“I…” tears began to well in his eyes. Emotions ran through his head, and he no longer cared that he was about to bawl in front of a woman he had just met, “I couldn’t save the girl’s family.” Tears began to streak down his face once he said what had been on his mind all morning. He swore he could still vividly feel the moisture on his shoulders from the orphan’s tears from the night before. The feeling of inadequacy rose from his heart and exited his eyes as salty water, “I did not deserve to be knighted!”

Sasha quickly withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to Rowark, “Aww, do not feel that way. You may not have been able to save the girl’s parents, but saving the girl meant the world to her. You still did the right thing.”

“It was my duty to save her, and her family!” said Rowark angrily as he rejected the gesture, even though the tears flowed fiercely down his face. It was not like him lose his cool like this, but he never knew knights that were too afraid to help out those in need. He never knew politics and laws could be designed to keep innocent people from being saved. “I was sworn to keep Hyrule’s citizens safe! I am no different from any of the other watchmen, nor am I any better! Other men slay bandits and ruffians by the hundreds, and they never get knighted! The only difference is that I’m a failure!”

“You are not a failure, you are different from the rest.”

The word different struck a nerve. Anger pierced through Rowark’s silence, having heard every synonym for the word different but experienced the same harsh treatment from his peers everyday, heard the word queer thrown at him behind his back, heard every excuse behind why he ate alone and why nobody in his company liked him, and heard every question whispered amongst his peers about his affinity for women. He never asked to be different; he only wanted acceptance. Even after killing a man for the first time, a detestable act that forced him to vomit after the battle, he thought he would finally provide common ground with his many thousands of compatriots. Instead, the only people who bothered to eat with him were the ones too selfish to think about what Rowark wanted to do for promotion his celebration. Though Rowark wanted to be angry at his brothers in arms for enforcing their idea of fun on his celebration, they were the closest thing to friends that he had ever had.

“Many men come to the Desert Oasis once they have been knighted, whether by the Queen or their liege. And when they come here, all they do is boast of the biggest creatures they’ve slain or the hundreds of men they have have cut down with their blades,” it sounded like Sasha had heard the same stories too many times, “But when I asked exactly why they got promoted, they always gave me the same answer. They arrive to drilling promptly and follow orders faithfully. They volunteer frequently. And when that pivotal moment arrived with brutality and placed everyone in in chaos or danger, it was he that placed himself in charge of the crucial moment that was the one who eventually became a knight.”

What Sasha said sounded so unbelievably simple and defied any conventional, chivalrous logic. But the way she said it made so much sense. Rowark dared not ask how closely she knew these men, but common sense implied that intimacy also tended to lead to braggadocio. Her conclusion put him at ease. Perspective had granted him forgiveness to himself. I did all I could , he told himself, I did my best .

Sasha broke into a lighthearted laugh and handed him her red handkerchief, “I have never met a man who believed he was unworthy of the honor bestowed upon him by the Queen herself!”

Rowark sniffled and accepted the handkerchief before blowing his nose, “I wish I had more than just my modesty that separated me from the others.”

“Of course there is more. Men tend to think that an act of bravery means being able to cut down whatever foe stands before them, but I see it differently. Any man can swing a sword and cut through flesh if ordered, but not every man is willing to risk his life when he knows the odds are not in his favor. Not only were you willing to act in spite of the odds, but you also prioritized Hylian life above politics,” she had said all of this as motherly as possible, and it truly helped lift Rowark’s spirits. Given all of Rowark’s prior distrust of her, listening to Sasha removed much of the wariness, “It truly takes a wise and compassionate kind of soldier to see through the laws and policies of Hylian society for what they are and protect what is truly important, the people.”

He sniffed and wiped a tear away. All Rowark could do was smile in response to her kindness, “Thank you, I needed that.” A sentimental wave of happiness and gratitude compelled him to lean in for a hug.

“Clearly,” Sasha quickly went back to her teasing self and returned the embrace. Warmth was beginning to build between their skins before she finally broke the gesture and said, “You seem comfortable enough,” before she began slipping off her long sleeves, sending a torrent of blood up Rowark’s face.

“Whoa, um, what are you doing?” Rowark realized how stupid that question was given their setting.

“Getting more comfortable,” she said while slowly peeling the sleeves off. “Tell me you have seen a woman undress before,” she said with her hands gripped onto the bottom of her pink, cropped blouse.

As she slowly yet seductively began peeling the top off, Rowark shook his head and looked away.

“You grow endearing by the minute,” Sasha took pleasure from Rowark’s discomfort, he was sure of it.

“This isn’t funny anymore,” he said, blushed and annoyed.

“Well, I am honored to be the first woman that you will have seen naked,” and with that, the courtesan pulled off her top completely and revealed her bosom to Rowark, who was still looking away, “You can peek. Don’t be shy.”

Once his eyes caught a glimpse of her large, exposed breasts, he looked away again and sighed, “I am sorry for not being, um...”

Sasha chuckled, “Accustomed to this? You have nothing to apologize for. You may be a knight, but you truly are just a boy underneath the title.”

Rowark frowned, “Stop it.”

“The way your eyes are avoiding me is beginning to make me feel unattractive.”

“Sorry,” he took a deep breath and promptly turned to face her. Offending his hostess was the last thing he wanted to do, but seeing a topless woman for the first time made him feel more uncomfortable and self-conscious than any of his comrades’ jests about his virginity could. Why me? Rowark cursed to himself.

Her hand pushed the bottle of wine towards Rowark, “Drink some more wine, that will certainly calm you down.”

Wanting to drink anything other than wine, Rowark still reluctantly poured the Cobra’s blood into his chalice and followed through with Sasha’s suggestion with a big gulp. He then downed his hot, bitter tea which helped assuage the burning in his mouth. He hoped his indigestion would help divert his attention away from her indecency.

“Shall I continue?” asked the temptress as she crept around the table.

“Wait,” he was clearly not ready, and he had other thoughts on his mind besides trying to keep two plump breasts from reaching him.

She stopped her approach at his command, “Do you need some more time to adjust to my nudity?”

“Um, no,” there was no point in hiding his discomfort by this point, “Uh, um, I’m sorry, mmm, I’m just... not ready yet, sorry.” He kept his eyes stared straight down, his hands trembling.

Had his eyes looked at Sasha’s face then they would have seen her frown, sympathetic to his cause. “Listen, if you don’t want today to be the day, then we can simply talk until your companions are done with their meal.” Once Rowark lifted his eyes to meet hers again, Sasha had already replaced the blouse back on herself.

Delighted, he thanked her from the bottom of his now relieved heart, “Thank you so much for understanding! But, um, can we tell a different story to the men?”

“Ha! What would you like me to tell your companions?”

“Tell me it happened, please? Enough for them to get them off my back about it, once and for all.”

Sinister intentions crept into her coy smile, “I have a counter-offer for you.”

“Oh Goddess…”

“I ask any one single question about you, and you must answer it as truthfully as possible.”

A loud, hesitant sigh erupted. It was only fair, “Only if my answer stays a secret.”

Sasha sipped on her tea and acknowledged his response with her eyebrows like loading a question into a crossbow and communicating, If you lie, I’ll know . And somehow, Rowark had to search for that trigger that was hidden somewhere behind her face before she asked the wrong question.

Perhaps, he could take control of the conversation so that she would forget? “May I ask you something first?”

“Oh?” the question threw off Sasha, who Rowark was sure had never had a patron try to delay a good sheathing like he had been doing, “I may have an answer.”

“What will you tell the other women who work here?”

“About what?”

“About, our affair.”

The corner of her lip lifted, “That becomes a Gerudo secret .”

Rowark gulped, “What’s that?” it was not the answer he wanted to hear and not the question he should have asked.

“A secret so long as you know how to speak the language. Don’t worry, though. These secrets never leave the walls of the Desert Oasis. We have, specialists, who handle anybody who would dare break that trust between my girls and our clientele. I am afraid too much of our reputation is largely staked on our power of discretion.”

His eyebrow picked up, “What kind of secrets?”

“You are playing a dangerous game, boy,” now she was talking down on her by the way she emphasized the last word, “If I were you, I would leave that question unanswered.”

Nearly ten years of serving in Hyrule’s military, training in how to survive, and watching men fall lifeless around him still could not give him the resolve to perk up and confidently say, “It is my duty to face danger.”

Her unamused expression remained unchanged, “You may have fought in battles before. You may have even killed a man before. But what you are asking for will put you in a place where you will be anticipating death from unknown enemies. You are just a boy, do not go down this road.”

“Don’t chastise me,” the quick retort from Rowark took her slightly back, “I know I haven’t, done it, like the others, yet, but I have fought side by side with some of the bravest paladins in Her Majesty’s ranks.”

“You are dangerous,” she sighed with a sly smile, “but you are also foolish. What would you do with such knowledge?”

“I would easily put it to use to protect the realm.”

“Ha,” was the forced, sarcastic laugh that came from Sasha’s mouth, “I think you’re protecting the wrong realm.” My sisters are butchered on the streets because people think we are one of Ganondorf’s many offspring. I have watched the Hylian people publicly burn children alive, saw it happen with my own eyes, because they believed they were born from witches.” Her words resonated dissonantly against the strings of truth. Many of Rowark’s previous deployments within the city, both volunteer and official, had to deal with angry mobs. Disciplined, well trained, and orderly patience versus raw, chaotic, and uncivilized hate. Each rise of the sun over the Eastern Cliff seemed to offer a different excuse for the peasants to be upset.

High taxes, medicine shortages, food shortages, ale shortages, unclean water, the Gerudo, the Gorons, the Dekus, the Lizalfos, all the different types of blins, witches, witches’ children, religious heresy, greedy aldermen, high crime, corruption, aggressive army recruitment, unsafe streets, a neighbor nobody liked, even traffic ironically were but a few on the list of invitations for mob violence. Even worse than guessing what they were mad about was guessing where and when one would show up!

“Protecting Hyrule is not worth your time or your life,” she concluded. After last night, even he began to question the very laws he swore to uphold and the very society he swore to protect. Rowark sighed in resignation and looked at his wine. His time serving as a page under Sir Berlon’s campaign had simple instructions: serve faithfully and learn promptly.

It was no secret that many of the Hyborns sponsored much of the criminal activity, and it was obvious that many lords and peers openly opposed the Queen even though they once kneeled in fealty to Her previously. With all the landed individuals of the realm scheming and feuding away from the public eye, it was going to be difficult determining who was friendly and who was not. Even more problematic was keeping up with the alliances that seemed to change as frequently as the weather did.

Rowark suddenly felt a finger brush his straight, blonde hair and found that Sasha had somehow covertly moved into his comfortable space without alerting. “Aww, don’t look so sad,” she said, forcing blood into his blushed face, “There, that’s much better.”

He looked up and forced a smile, “Oh I’m, um, I’m not sad. I do know exactly what you are talking about. I’ve seen it too.”

“Don’t worry about the things you cannot change in Hyrule,” Sasha leaned in closer and planted a succulent kiss on his reddened cheek, “Focus on the pleasure.”

Once again, he felt uncomfortable around her, not because of her intrusive mannerisms, but because of the way her keen eyes was scanning his body language. And then her eyes studied Rowark’s groin as if she could see through his thick trousers. Slowly, Rowark lifted one leg over and turned away from her but also attempted not to be so rude as to avoid eye contact, painfully awkward as it was.

She leaned in closer and placed her hands on the inside of his thigh, sending a flurry of panicked thoughts into Rowark’s head as he fell into chaotic embarrassment. Her eyes trailed from his nethers up to his beet red face and grinned wickedly, “For my question… that you must answer honestly…”

Rowark gulped very audibly.

“Are you…” Please don’t say Queer, please don’t say Queer, please don’t say Queer . Her eyes glanced back down once again before piercing into his eyes. Her advance was too much for him to stay calm, so he backed away and stood up. In that one heartbeat of movement, a minute’s worth of thoughts of insecurities and doubts flooded through his mind.

“Queer?”

He held his breath. He did not know what to do or say. Could he tell a stranger the truth? Images of his past flashed into his mind. He saw his home village again, his family, his sister… his father...

“It’s okay,” she whispered with her subtle attempt to lower Rowark’s guard, “many of my sisters and daughters are Queer…” Rowark’s heart raced faster as he visibly contemplated breaking his oath to keep his promise about being truthful. However, it was not the first time, he had to break the Second Golden law to save himself.

With a violent turn of the doorknob, the door suddenly swung open. A Gerudo wearing a headband and leather pauldrons quickly stepped in. Her hair was not dressed in any fancy way, just a slick ponytail straight down to her hip. The glaive she was carrying meant that she was anything but a courtesan.

“Sasha, we have a problem,” she said with urgency.

Her sister’s intrusion had grabbed the Directorate’s attention, thereby breaking the staring. “What is so imperative that you cannot knock when I’m busy?” said Sasha annoyingly.

“Another mob.”

Sasha scowled, “Another? Leave them be. They will tire soon and go home.” It made sense that the Gerudo were a favorite target of the peasants’ ire. Sometimes mobs were formed in response to something a herald had said by accident, but nothing made Hylians more mad than simply being, well, not Hylian.

“Not just any protest, the entire square is swarmed with the vermin, and they are defacing our homes with feces!” her sister’s choice of terms for the people outside the establishment unsettled Rowark as if he was not uncomfortable yet. Only the pressure building from his lungs distracted him from all his thoughts.

Growling furiously, Sasha followed her sister out the door and unapologetically commanded him, “Stay here,” before exiting and shutting the door as she left.

Chapter Text

“Link! Wake up!” Miro Miro cried out loudly, to which Link responded with unconscious groans of massive pain and discomfort.

After sustaining several serious injuries from the fight and falling from several stories high, it was a miracle the Kokiri was still alive. A trail of blood began where Link made painful impact against the cobblestone ground and followed him to where his tumble came to a halt. Link’s black attire were riddled with bloody openings, and his limbs looked like they were twisted all the wrong ways. Miro Miro wondered if he would ever be able to walk again. However, Link had bigger issues.

Any heartbeat now, there was going to be a very angry Gerudo hellbent on revenge.

She tried to wake him up again, “Link! She’s going to be here soon!”

“Shut up I know! ARGH!” Link rudely yelled back at her before screaming in agonizing pain. His body tensed up as he tried to wriggle the stiffness out of his bones and muscle and fix whatever was not bent right. He then planted his hands onto the ground and attempted to lift himself up, grunting with effort. “AAHH!” he exerted in pain as he put pressure onto his broken arms and hand, and the painful yell echoed between the cream colored walls of the Gerudo establishments.

But to no avail. Link collapsed back onto the stone ground and shallowly gasped for air. If Miro Miro did nothing, she was going to watch Link die at this very location. But what could she possibly do?

“Hey, fairy, what’s your name?” Link’s question caught her off guard.

“Miro Miro.”

Link screamed as he tested the mobility of his broken limbs, which was modest, but painstaking. “Okay. Miro Miro,” he said in between grunted breaths, “I need you to do something for me.”

Miro Miro dreaded that this was going to be Link’s final request before his murderous way of life finally caught up to him. “Anything,” she surprisingly said without hesitation.

Several painful clacks of the bone seemed to restore some rotational movement he needed. “I need you to stall her,” said Link as he slowly yet agonizingly reached for the ropeshot.

“M-m-me?” What could she possibly do to stall Link’s impending death?

“Did I stutter?” karma had responded to his rude remark with acute pain as he attempted to fix his left elbow. “Raagh! Yes, you!”

“H-how, wha, how do I exactly do that?”

“Rrg, I dunno. Bite her, talk to her, just keep her inside the tower for as long as possible.”

No way! This is suicide! I’m not going up there for... “Okay,” she said instead, “I can do this. Yes.” No, no! What have I done!? Her motherly instincts had successfully overpowered her own will. But how would her motherly instincts fare against a fearsome warrior? The very thought of confronting that Gerudo stirred up every negative emotion inside her.

And when she began fluttering back up towards the tower, the tension inside her grew with each beat of the wing. A boy she had just met only a few hours ago had practically just sent her on a suicidal errand, and she willingly agreed! Why!? As Miro Miro climbed higher closer to the little dark window against the bright stone reflecting the fading hours of sunlight, she could not shake the feeling that somehow, fate was drawing her to this place, that she was coming here for a reason beyond what Link had asked of her. How far was she willing to go for this Kokiri? Suddenly, a question popped in her head that had even disgusted her, was this Kokiri even worth saving?

Welp, there’s only one way to find out. Great Deku Tree, please guide me. Without a second thought, she continued climbing until she was level with the window and the two sisters.

One kneeled over and held the lifeless other in her hands. The tears of grief rang in Miro Miro’s heart, for it was an emotion felt by all. Her lips moved and softly muttered Gerudo poetry to her fallen twin. Even though Miro Miro could not translate each foreign word uttered with each breath, but she knew the feeling of a sad poem, like the Ode for Tomorrow which was sung for the Old Deku Tree when he died.

Okay, nothing fancy, just stalling her … Remembering her objective, Miro Miro waited just outside the window, delaying the approach until the very last moment. The woman fell silent after she was done reciting her goodbye to her sister. After planting a final kiss on the forehead, the grieving sister laid her sister to rest and stood up as a warrior. This was Miro Miro’s chance to butt in, “Um, excuse me.”

“Go away,” the cold answer even chilled the summer air around Miro Miro.

“I…” hesitation flooded her soul and prevented her from saying anything further. What could she say? Perhaps honesty was a good place to start? “I feel horrible… for your loss.”

“You don’t know what I am feeling.”

“No. You are right. I am a mere fairy from the forest. Companion to a Kokiri. I had become a mother to a loving boy, but I lost him twenty eight years ago. So, I could never know your loss.”

“Speak and be gone! Unless you speak for Cica !” the way she roared out his Gerudo name had nearly petrified Miro Miro in place, “then there is nothing for you to say.”

“What would it take?” Here we go, she trembled inside, facing an cavalcade of incoherent thoughts and anxiety while she awaited for an answer. “For you to spare his life?” if she was not clear enough.

Suddenly, Minja, or Kinja, picked her head up and finally looked Miro Miro dead in the eye. There was a long, dramatic pause before she delivered her ultimatum…

“You must offer your life to revive my sister.”

Oh no ... Is this what fate had brought Miro Miro all the way out here for? Would she trade her life to save a dying Kokiri, however far astray he may have been led? Link may have turned rotten, but Miro Miro knew that even Father had a place in his heart for the lost Kokiri, for the Great Deku Tree loved all life fiercely. How cruel that this long journey through the Lost Woods and then to Castle City was Father’s way of asking Miro Miro to absolve this boy’s sins... At least then Miro Miro wouldn’t have to deal with the hazards of Hyrule Castle City anymore. I need you to stall her for me , Link’s voice crept inside her head. She sighed and switched tactics, “Is there… any other possible way you could think of? Without involving my life?”

There was silence, and then a slow, deadly shake of the head. The dead seriousness of her dual colored eyes cut through Miro Miro’s soul and caused the fairy to tremble.

“Um…” there had to be another way, “Maybe I could, you know, find another wa-?”

“You must choose now,” abruptly interrupted the woman. An bloodcurdling breeze coursed ferociously between the two, forcing Miro Miro to adjust her flight and carrying the strands of her velvety hair up in the wind. The longer the Gerudo stared at Miro Miro, the more Miro Miro wanted to flee, “Give up your life, or watch Cica die.”

Well, when she put it that way, Miro Miro had to frantically search for another question to throw  at her direction, “Um, wha- what guarantee do I have that you, you know, will hold your end of the bargain?”

“If my sister lives once more, we can collect our bounty, and Cica is only valuable to us if he is alive, so you have my word he will live.”

Miro Miro gulped. It had come down to this. Link was a killer. But he was also one of the Great Deku Tree’s children, and she had a duty to protect all of His offspring. But if she sacrificed her life here, how many more dangers must Link face? Would it be better for her to stay alive and help Link survive instead of letting the Gerudo see her sister live once more?

“HAHAhaha!” laughter burst from the Gerudo’s mouth, drawing confusion from Miro Miro, “Oh, I jest! You fairies sure are gullible! Did you seriously not know?” Miro Miro felt insulted, “Fairies can only bring back Hylians to life. It is why Hylians think themselves above us. Like they are the chosen people or something.” Miro Miro was unsure of which fact was more shocking, that her life could actually bring back people from the dead or that she was about to throw away her life for no reason. “There was nothing you could have offered me to change my mind. I made a pact together with my sister when we were children. He who brought down one, must be killed by the other. At all costs.”

Her hair waved as stood up and brandished the fearsome blade with her bloodied arm and walked over to the edge of the window, “I know he cannot go far in his state. There is nowhere he can go where I cannot find him.”

Oh no , this was it. Miro Miro had done all she could, and afterward she could only helplessly watch the Gerudo fall off the edge to chase her prey. Well, there was no sense in staying in the room with a dead corpse, Miro Miro pursued Link’s pursuant and dove off the cliff after her. She had to reach Link before the Gerudo did and warn him with the little time he had left.

Using her uninjured arm, the warrior scaled down the wall almost as if she were running along it, and at her pace, she was nearly keeping up with Miro Miro. However, the fairy was the first to see the bloody trail paved along the space between the spire and its neighbor whose architecture was starkly different from all the others. When she had arrived, Link was nowhere to be found, only a straight path of blood led to a mess of broken, wooden crates near the end of the alley, where the trail ended in a small, collected pool.

It was not long before Kinja was standing four stories above Miro Miro. The Gerudo jumped off the ledge, caught onto the window sill below, then repeated this three more times until she dropped down onto the fresh blood. She touched the blood and studied the red liquid on her fingers, finally tasting it. Miro Miro helplessly watched as her eyes searched along the blood trail for his whereabouts. Simultaneously, their vision honed in on the cape near at the end of the alley.

As Miro Miro raced towards the cape, she began to hear a cacophony of shouts coming from the sunlit street, and when she rounded the corner, she saw the crowd of people crying loudly in anger. There had to have been at least a few hundred Hylians, packed in tightly, standing in front of the Desert Oasis carrying weapons in their hands. Their aggressive hollers made Miro Miro afraid they were going to attack at any moment. As much as the Lost Woods native objected the concept of the Gerudo house of bump-bump, the angry crowd of people looked like they had less than righteous intentions.

Judging by the way the bloody trail agonizingly trailed into the hostile masses, Miro Miro could only guess that Link had slipped into the swamp of hateful sentiments.

“Burn the sinners!” “Burn the spawns of Ganondorf!” “Burn the witches!” were just a few of the angry messages thrown at Gerudos in addition to the rocks and glass.

Standing at the receiving end of the aggression, the two Gerudo dancers were now reinforced by a dozen of their armed sisters. Their bronze helmets had visors shielding their face, and their dark brown pauldrons were fitted for their petite shapes. Only two metal vambraces protected their arms, and only two metal greaves protected their legs. The Gerudo sentries wielded their fearsome glaives, curved blades as long as any sword blade attached to a wooden pole, and stood unflinchingly against the barrage of stones.

And there was Rowark standing behind the sentries. Although Miro Miro had sort of hoped he was unclothed, as she imagined he would have been inside the Gerudo tower, she was glad he had the decency to emerge from the tower with something on. But she was also hoping that he was armed; maybe he would be the one to prevent any escalation. With the way his face frowned, Rowark looked unsure of himself, his next course of action, and his involvement in this whole matter altogether. The way the Hylians were behaving made defending the Gerudos easier.

There was no time to worry about what Rowark was thinking; Link was in trouble. Miro Miro darted around the tense atmosphere, carefully flying high enough to avoid the attention. What was he wearing? Oh right! she thought to herself. She began looking for his black shirt and black pants. His poor sense of fashion should have easily stood out in broad daylight, but the swarm of Hylians was so thick that she could barely see all the way to the pavement, even as she lowered herself closer and closer to ground level.

The Gerudo had a much different tactic of searching through the crowd. She utilized her free arm, impervious to the bloody stab wounds, to forcefully push people aside and marched straight through the sea of bodies.

“Hey!” yelled the Hylian who was pushed aside. Kinja’s disregard for her surroundings did not go unnoticed.

A burly, bearded man foolishly grabbed her by her injured arm, “Sinner! The Golden Goddesses will puni-” Her forehead shot into the taller Hylian’s face, cutting him short. Her hands extended forth to shove faces out of her way as she pushed her way through the thick masses to find Link.

Kinja’s resort to violence incited the entire crowd. Hands reached forth to grab onto her limbs and immobilize her. She responded with a powerful front kick that sent a poor woman tumbling backwards, which unbalanced the group of people in the way of her momentum. Using this space that she had just created, Kinja walked undeterred and swung her sword, intentionally avoiding flesh while making it clear that she was not hesitant to cut through anything that stood between her and her prey.

The hands retracted back into the crowd, safety was now the top priority. Anyone standing in front of Kinja quickly scrambled out of her path, except for the middle aged woman who was kicked down. Hyperventilating and trembling, the protester backed away from the incoming threat on all fours as fast as her pudgy body could.

Suddenly, a piece of Link’s black shirt protruded from underneath the protester. Oh no! She’s on top of Link! Miro Miro thought in her head. She could not imagine the pain Link must have been suffering through from supporting the weight of the woman sitting on top of him.

Kinja pointed her blade threateningly at the woman in front of her. “Move,” the Gerudo impatiently commanded, to which the protester nodded and crawled out of the way without hesitation…

Seeing only the black tunic and not the body on the ground, Miro Miro then realized why Link did not scream in pain from being crushed.

The unamused Kinja turned around and glared into Miro Miro’s soul, growling, “Where is he?”

The fairy was just as confused as the Gerudo was, “I - I don’t know…”

A gruffy man carrying a pitchfork charged at her with his weapon lowered, “Kill the witch!” The mass of people followed him and quickly enclosed her. Another voice in the crowd cried, “Get ‘er! She can’t get all of us!” Her first instinct was to chop downward at the pitchfork, separating the head from the body. To prevent anyone from closing in behind her, she bent over, lifted her heel and thrust it into the nearest, bearded face.

Swinging her legs in tandem with her sword, the Gerudo warrior danced around trying to create open space between herself and the angry mob. While her sword swings were effective at keeping the people in front of her away, it would not be long before the sea of people behind her shrugged off her high kick, and she did not have the speed to deal everyone at once. It was not long before their hands would reach her. Once enough hands had gripped her sword arm, it was over for Kinja.

Suddenly, Miro Miro felt a strange heat coming from the Gerudo. It felt like a warm breeze at first, but then the current of the air began forcefully swirl through the crowd. As Kinja’s heavy breathing turned into snarling, the air around her rapidly became more heated and more violent.

“RAAHH!!” Kinja furiously yelled. Within a blink of an eye, purple flames began to form around her body and licked the protester’s flammable clothing; before anyone could figure out what was going on, the purple flames had completely immolated the Gerudo and burst forth into a inferno. The force of the fiery explosion pushed everyone back. Screams of panic instantly followed, and the crowd, fleeing from the raging flames, quickly dispersed in all directions. Those that were too close when the immolation began were either dead or crying in agonizing pain as the purple flames consumed their flesh.

Only Miro Miro stayed in place. That was not to say she was not scared; if she were a full grown, Hylian man, she would have wet herself by now. The fully immolated and naked Kinja stood immune to the burning heat and pointed her sword at Miro Miro.

“Where! Is! CICA !?”

Chapter Text

The 20th day of Winter

The children huddled together to stave off the blistering cold. While some of the frailer, weaker children like Topah enjoyed the warmth of being in the interior of the group, the bigger boys, like Curry and Micki, and the Protector stayed on the outside to shield the interior from the windchill. Through the cold and cloudy days and the freezing nights, the Bokoblins marched four by four along the narrow, familiar path.

At first, the route was recognizable. The marching line escorted the children through a pathway made for the Kokiri to traverse safely from their village to the Deku's. It was also the only path Father allowed the children to traverse when venturing outside the village. Though the foliage was dense along the edges of the road, the children knew these fruits and greens, growing abundantly in between the trees, were safe for picking. The road stretched on through the thick canopy until it reached Deko-Ra village, the only known Deku settlement to the Kokiri.

Pulling the cage on wheels, the giant Bulblin, twice the height of its kin, trudged forward mindlessly and left a foul smell that never left a child's nose. Directly behind the children was the King Bulblin, or so they assumed based on three distinctions: his spear length horns were the longest of the Bulblins, his red pupils closely watched them, and his massive bullos was massive, twice as large as any one that his subordinates rode. Always giving the orders, and never the other way around, the King only spoke in his gruntish, native tongue to his heavily armed retainers who then issued the King's orders to the rank-and-file using the mutually known Deku tongue.

"Make camp!" The order would be shouted many times down the marching line before each Blin separated from the marching line to mark a space to sleep for the night. In several minutes, spots of fire began to take sprout throughout the thick woods, a major infraction of Father's sacred rule to never start a fire outside the village, and soon the entire blin army turned the entire forest floor into a glowing sea of light. While the Blins warmed themselves haphazardly with their fires, the children took turns rotating those on the outside with those who had warmed themselves by being in the center of the group.

Of the accommodations given to the Kokiri, between a giant cage for them to sleep in, a single chamberpot to share, a vat to collect rainwater, and an endless supply of meat, the food was the hardest part to adjust to.

On Topah's first day since being thrown in the prison, a hunting party presented to the King hundreds of keese, five goats, three deer, and a fat wild boar. Seeing the dead forest creatures tied and then gutted open caused a great number of children to cry. They were in no shape to eat the first meal the Blins served to the Kokiri captives, which was leftover meat from the ribs, something they had never seen before in a society that only foraged vegetables, herbs, and fruits. When they all smelled roasted flesh for the first time, many of them cried even harder, and the others wretched. Not a single child even dared to go near the meat, so a dark red Bokoblin snatched the food away for himself. The day after, another platter of the King's leftover meat scraps and bones was left before them, and again, no one dared go near the food.

On the third day, one of the Bulblin commanders threw a platter of a fresh cut of meat. Though each child initially felt sick from the smell, the aroma eventually permeated its way into some of the children's hunger, which was causing the meat to smell better and better. The first to approach the foul meat was Merry, a sister who had a weak constitution even when she was healthy and was known for her voracious appetite at all the public feasts.

Protests erupted from her friends, "No don't, Merry! That came from the deer!" "That's my favorite animal!" "You're going to eat one of our friends!"

"ENOUGH!" screamed the Protector over everyone, "We need to survive, so we need to eat! Merry," her expression melted into understanding, "go on ahead. Take a bite for all of us and let us know how it tastes."

Merry reluctantly nodded and then crawled to the browned flesh. She picked up a piece of meat with a bone shoved through and then took a bite. Upon tasting the meat, however, she spat out the chunk of food with disgust.

This had also caught the attention of the King Bulblin, who roared furiously at his men when Merry forcefully coughed out his offering. His voice thundered so loudly that it scattered his Bulblin soldiers and Bokoblin minions in all directions for their lives. They panicked in their own language, but when they settled, they began to complain across species using Deku about wetting themselves.

Finally, a Bokoblin with red, flabby skin and cheeks that drooped beneath his chin approached the children, "Please tell, what do your people eat? " Though he looked frail on the outside, the wooden beaded necklace and his long walking stick with a Blin skull stuck through gave him a venerable silence as all Blins watched the old man converse with the Kokiri.

The Protector, who had up until then done her best to look as strong as the first day, responded fiercely, "My siblings do NOT eat the flesh of the murdered! "

The frail elder kept his poise, "The question was not what do you not eat, the question was what DO you eat? "

"We are a peaceful people who live off the fruits, the seeds, and the greens of the forest! "

The elder nodded and translated the message to the Bulblin King, who then roared new orders to one of his personal guards, a shorter Bulblin wearing a fearsome pauldron with two spearheads attached, who then broke off with his own retinue of Bokoblin riders.

However, the first several attempts were not successful. Out of the dozens of different, colorful flora presented before the children, about a third of them were actually animal parts, another third were known, poisonous plants, and the majority of the rest were parts of unidentified foliage. That left only a child's handful of raw Deku flowers for some of them to chew on. The proportion of edible foods increased day by day, though it took the Blins several days before the edible flora finally outnumbered the monster limbs, and even then there was not enough to go around. However, It was not long before one of the children, a runt named Wikly, decided to nibble on one of the thin keese wings, and other children, including Topah, soon followed his example. He found that though he was not consuming anything, the juices helped satiate his appetite.

By the end of a tendo of marching, none of the children had any clue as to where they were. Some time ago, the Blins had marched off the path and into the deep thick of the Lost Woods. Though the thick canopy allowed no light through, the marching line had more than enough torches to keep the darkness and the monsters of the forest away. How did they manage to travel all the way through the woods without getting lost? Topah wondered.

Though morale was at an all time low for the children, that did not stop the Protector from cheering up her brothers and sisters. "See that one?" she whispered to a giggling Curry, "His head looks like a bird took a dung right on top o' his shiny bald spot." The big boy rolled over laughing, while the Bokoblins looked at him confused. The Protector then tapped the shoulder of Berrywinkle, the shorter girl who liked to play in the village playground, "That one looks like a Deku Baba with his thin arms and his big, fat, blue head." Then Berrywinkle started to giggle uncontrollably and passed on that observation to the next brother and sister, who then caught on to the girl's contagious laughter.

Making fun of their captors was how the children spent most of their time. While surviving took priority, keeping up spirits became equally as important. At least to Topah, snickering about the stupidity of the Blins slightly restored his sense of control over his grim reality. Prodding and probing the rank-and-file members with taunts and spit, the Kokiri immediately learned that the none of the Blins were allowed to retaliate. The one Bokoblin who let his speartip get a hair's width too close to the cage bars set an example for anyone who dared retaliate. However, the gruesome beheading left the children crying and silent once more.

Even worse, the creatures of the night made themselves present to hunt some easy, unsuspecting Blins. Every night Topah would hear at least two screams before the sun rose, and then the day after, gossip was filled who died when and where. However, even the reports of desertion amongst the King's ranks did little to draw his attention. He was so focused on reaching the end goal that he had ignored every warning of his advisors. "March on! " the King's retainers translated the King's command to their own retinues.

Much of their time traveling through the woods was done with the chatter of the Bokoblins' native language surrounding the cage. The grunts spoke more sharply and quickly than their enormous Bulblin counterparts did. Though there were many Bokoblins almost as tall as a Bulblin, they did not possess its muscular build, singular, grayish blue skin color across its species, or the thick bones sprouting from the sides of their heads. The difference in anatomy between species was enough to justify one's authority over another.

The highest authorities all had one thing in common, a bullos upon which to flaunt their status. Upright alone, the top of a bullos's head reached shoulder height to a full grown Bulblin, and their massive tusk on each side of its piggish snout was the length of a sword blade. The King, the largest of his tribe, had also fittingly chose the largest Bullbos of its breed to ride around, and wherever he went, his horde of retainers followed him diligently.

Most of the time it was to ride up and down along the marching line to gather reports from his immediate inferiors, but after a fortnight of marching, something was different. When the marching line halted to a dead stop, the King rode ahead to the front of the line and disappeared deep into the path ahead of him. The children huddled close to one another, awaiting their fate. Even the sudden order that cried out routinely every single day just before sunset, " Make caaamp! " could not settle their nerves.

When the King returned, he ordered the enormous Bulblin grunt to pull the cart down the path, which had been cleared for a straight walk through, and then rode at the pace at which his mute, gigantic grunt could pull a cart full of Kokiri, who awaited their fate in total silence. Topah had no idea exactly how long the marching line was, but it must have taken the whole night for the children to cross the whole army camp site. Seeing the sheer number of campfires spread out across the whole forest floor made him wonder just how many Bokoblins were in the army. There could easily have been thousands, if not more. There was no way the Kokiri could have defended against this many.

Once the sun began to peek over the horizon, the morning's first light shined its first rays upon the wooden embattlements encircling an enormous section of the forest. Each wooden stake was uniformly shaped, sized, and sharpened at the tip, and four tall watchtowers, as far as Topah could count from his point of view, were perched above the wall. After turning around a bend in the forest, the children saw the wooden gate toward which the King was leading them.

Though the city walls were designed to keep any Blin from entering, the drawbridge lay open over the moat encircling the battlements, welcoming the King and his captives. On one side of the drawbridge were tents made of animal skins surrounding crudely made fires. On the other side of the drawbridge was a crowd of Deku, dressed in all sorts of colorful, floral dresses, come to have a peek at the newcomers. Inside the walls, the Deku had built wooden homes with well thatched roofs, and they were organized neatly into blocks with aged lumber streets connecting the homes and shops of the unknown city.

Shortly after the Kokiri had passed through the gate, the number of curious bystanders dropped. Once that crowd had thinned down to several young Deku children, their parents came to scoop them up. The rest of the pedestrians that had to make way for the massive cage of prisoners glared at the children with dirty looks in their beady, orange eyes. Though the Deku shared a signature, wooden flesh and a permanent gape for a mouth, their diversity flourished in their variety in clothing, many of which were sewn outside the forest, and the colorful flowers atop their heads. Once the King turned around a corner, a great marketplace square lay in front of them, and beyond that was the great palace that was going to receive them.

But the Kokiri never reached that far. Just as the heavy cage boarded the bridgeway connected to the wooden plaza suspended over a lake, a Deku leader, sitting atop a litter carried by four reptilian savages from the outskirts of the forest and surrounded by a retinue of his own guard of Deku spearmen, approached the King Bulblin and his dozen of generals from the opposite side of the plaza.

The first difference Topah noticed between the Deku and the Blins was the level of weaponry. While the Bulblin King's personal guards equipped themselves with thick tree trunks and sharpened sticks, the Deku leader's spearmen had pikes with metal spear tips and metal shields to protect them. To compensate for their smaller frames, the Deku soldiers wore padded armor and organized in tight ranks and files. Though Topah had never known the Deku for being warrior-like, these guards nevertheless looked like they were serious about hurting people.

Once both parties met at the center, the Deku litter bearers lowered the leader, who turned out to be much shorter than his peers and his bodyguards, so he could welcome the King with open arms. He stepped down from his miniature, mobile fortress wearing a cape lined with furs, whose size was clearly meant for a Hylian. " Welcome! " greeted the short Deku with the natural squeak needed to speak the language fluently.

The Bokoblin elder who acted as a translator for the Kokiri accompanied the Bulblin King and helped interpret the greeting. " The King would like to see the weapons you promised ," responded the elder.

"Ha! " it was hard to tell if the leader was genuinely amused or being sarcastic, " I like how you skip straight to the heart of the matter! " The Deku leader signaled for one of his men to bring forth a wagon, pulled by two Lizalfos and full of steel weapons: maces, flails, spears, and all shapes and sizes of swords. There were so many that when the wagon entered the plaza, the combined weight of the mound of steel caused the entire platform to shake violently non stop. Many standing on foot, including the elder and several Deku guardsmen, were knocked off balance until the wagon came to a complete stop.

The Bulblin King rode around the wagon to inspect the weapons, and when he picked up a greatsword to test its weight and balance, a satisfied and evil grin crept on his lips. He lifted his massive sword into the air with one hand and roared a command to the subordinate pulling the cage, who grunted in response and released the handle to take hold of the wagon full of weapons. The two Lizalfos who pulled the wagon earlier then switched spots with the Bulblin giant and began dragging the children towards the Deku.

However, instead of taking them straight towards the palace, the Deku directed their Lizalfo servants towards the right, " Take them to the warehouse! " As the children passed by the wagon of weapons, Topah overheard the Deku leader complain to the King, " Wait a moment! Are you trying to cheat me? "

The King grunted at the elder's translation and asked the Deku leader, " The King would like to know if there was a problem ."

"I thought there was more of them! I was told there would be at least three hundred! There's barely over a hundred of them! " protested the leader jumping in fury.

"The King says they rounded up all the eemteebah that were unable to reach the safety of the great tree. "

"It's just a tree! Why weren't your forces able to best a single tree in the forest? "

When the elder translated the message, the King roared furiously, "The King invites you to waste your forces against the great tree in his stead then. "

The Deku leader scoffed, "How dare you! We had an agreement! One weapon per eemteebah! I brought three hundred because you promised me three hundred! "

This did not make the King any happier. He roared again, but this time, he expressed his rage by swinging his new sword at the spears of the guardsmen, cleaving the tips off with one mighty swing. His aggressive gesture alarmed the rest of the guardsmen, who rallied around the leader to his defense. The King and his mighty Bullos backed off from the armed Deku and retreated into his own, personal detail of mounted guards, and that was the last time Topah ever saw the Bulblin King.

The Lizalfos continued pulling the cage through the narrow wooden streets and followed the city guards. The dozen or so guards accompanying them wore leafy foliage over wooden plates for protection. Their helmets allowed the flower on their heads a space for it to grow. However, even with all that armor on, their short stature and round eyes could not make their captors look intimidating. They marched in twos led by a guard with a thicker helmet, who ultimately led them to a warehouse, a three story log structure built around a massive tree. Upon entering the building, Topah had never seen an interior so big holding so many people held in captivity. Layers upon levels of Bokoblins, Lizalfos, Hylians, and even a Bulblin were either chained to the walls or thrown in wooden cages. The sound of wailing and despair never left Topah's ears. Upon seeing the conditions of his new home, he immediately counted his blessing being stuck in one cage with all his siblings.

Many smaller cages were awaiting the Kokiri, and as they were unloaded, they were counted and separated into groups. Only the Protector was singled out. "Careful with that one! She slew a Bulblin captain all by herself ," cautioned the head of the city guard to the two Deku guards grabbing her by the wrist. That was a poor decision on their part, for neither one of them was ready to deal with her explosive strength. With a well placed foot, the Protector kicked one of the the guards right in his gaping, round snot, and then she used her free hand to throw the other guard and pin him to the ground. With two quick punches from her left hand, the Deku was out.

When the rest of the guards joined to restrain the Protector, they still were no match for her strength, and it took at least ten Deku to hold the girl down. Even then, she did not calm down until a guard dipped a metal dagger into a bowl of a clear liquid and then scratched her ever so lightly with it. "Protector!" cried every child in vain. Shortly after, the Protector stopped resisting, and when she was lifted onto her feet, her half dazed eyes seemed unaware of the two guards escorting her to her own, separate cage where she lay down and slept soundly.

Stored away in a dark corner alongside many other captured Lizalfos, Topah huddled quietly and closely with the twenty six boys in his group as the monstrous captives like the Blins wailed and cried all through the night. One Deku guard stood outside each cage equipped with a staff. Even worse than the sight was the smell. Each cage only had a small opening in the corner for the captives to dispose of any wastes, though what stung his nose so much was not the smell of bodily fluids, but of death. Somewhere in this gigantic room, someone had been dead for quite some time.

Earlier, the Deku and the Blins referred to the children as "eemteebah", and unknown definition of the word drove Topah's curiosity mad, until he finally asked the guard outside his cage, "Excuse me, what does the word 'eemteebah' mean? "

This particular Deku guard had aged quite some time by the look of the splinters on the underside of his mouth. "In your language," with a low pitch, he spoke in accented Hylian, "I believe that word means, 'slave'." Topah had no idea what the word "slave" meant, but he was about to.

Chapter Text

“Stay here.” Sasha’s order bounced around in Rowark’s head, but it did little to calm his anxiety.

Whatever was outside, Rowark was thankful that it had prevented him from revealing his greatest secret. He was born a sinner. It had been ten long years since he first learned that his attraction men was a worse sin than murder. Honor the sacred bond between a man and a woman , rang the voice of a priest from days long past. As little intention as Rowark had of ever walking into a brothel, The Golden Goddesses seemed to have guided him straight into the arms of the morally corrupt with ease. Was this Nayru’s test to resist sin? He had never looked at a woman that way before, so perhaps this was Nayru’s way of encouraging him to commit one, small sin to cure his abominable original one.

He never thought the Desert Oasis would be the place that almost outed his secret.

No matter how decadent Hyrule or his comrades would ever become, Rowark worshipped the three Goddesses with fervor. Under circumstances when people killed, Rowark would not. His fellow spearmen hated  Under circumstances when people stole, he would not either. His own dogmatic, religious beliefs came from a promise made to the Goddesses, that he would atone for his curse by adhering strictly to all of Their commandments.

Rowark took the moment to appreciate the trust that Sasha had given him. Who knows what kinds of jewels and treasures could be hidden in the room of the Desert Oasis’ own Directorate? Rowark would not, however. Honor that which is not thine own , his old priest used to recite the fourth Golden Law. And If he had truly earned her trust, then he would at least honor her trust.

But he just could not sit still! Rowark paced around the room anxiously. The sunlit spot on the ground encroached the edge of the rug. There was no doubt in his mind that half an hour had passed. After he felt like he had walked on every square digit of the floor three times, Rowark felt that staying in the room was causing his anxiety. He needed to go outside and join Sasha, at least get away from the space that almost gave him a heart attack! Maybe there was something he could do to help.

He charged out the door into the circular hallway, where the soundscape was filled with moans of women and men making love. Rowark’s blush face was a result of the regretful step outside. The stairwell was his only way out of the heated atmosphere, and he certainly did not want to stay there any longer than he needed to be. He raced down the steps against the clock.

Once Rowark reached the bottom, he was surprised that nobody had ceased their flirting at all. It was as if everyone was ignorant of the the supposed mob outside, or whatever it was that had to draw the attention of the director. After a quick search on his way down the steps, he spotted Boom lying on his back, letting two girls crawl all over him. Garreth, Lemon, and Tenny were nowhere to be found, so they were probably somewhere upstairs. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairwell, Rowark walked briskly towards his friend in the guard.

He patted Boom’s massive shoulders, “Hey, do you know what’s going on outside?” Rowark looked around the room to assess the situation as he waited for an answer from the well built man. Nothing significant had changed in the rotunda, aside from the addition of two fully armed sentries stationed near the entrance. The petite, leather armor strapped to their bodies contrasted heavily with the rumors that the Gerudo had mastered wearing heavy plate mail to battle.

“Oh hey lad,” Boom blissfully said, “Don’t know really. The woman up front keeps telling us to be calm and not to worry and all that manure. But I cannae count a person here who’s worried about what’s going on outside.”

“Purists,” added a nearby patron, probably a nobleman judging by jewels glittering on his three piece suit, leaning over to offer his expertise as an woman planted kisses all over his body, “In recent tendos, they have been gathering mobs together to protest the brothel. From what I hath observed, they are nothing but harmless peasants.” Commoners might be easy problem to deal with for a noble with an army, but Rowark knew the potential danger and risks any one particular “peasant” could create. It only took one spark to ignite a verbal dispute into a bloodbath. Such information only made his anxiety worse.

“Whatever mate,” Boom said in between smooches, “Stop making a fuss and enjoy yourself here. It’s what we came to do.”

It was not the response that Rowark was looking for, but it was the honest answer he expected. That gave him no choice but to see for himself in order to satisfy his obstinate curiosity. He at least needed to see if Sasha was handling the situation legally.

He walked toward the grand exit, where the two sentries guarded steadfastly with glaives crossing in front of the partially opened door. The sounds of yelling and glass crashing upon the outer walls were audible enough to hear even from where Boom was located, just not loud enough to distract anyone preoccupied with a harlot.

Standing in between the two sentries was a shorter Gerudo wearing thin rimmed glasses. Despite her short stature, something about her distinguishing outfit told Rowark that she was ‘the woman up front” that Boom had mentioned. The white garbs of her attire draped over her contrasting yet modest undergarments and hid her body shape well, and the tiara sitting on her blood red hair made her look authentically regal.

“Halt, patron,” she raised her palm as soon as she felt Rowark’s intention to wander outside, “There is nothing to see outside.”

He anticipated the answer as much, “Oh, I’m um,” he stuttered to find the story to allow his passage through. It needed to be believable at the very least, “I have a very important, um, message I forgot to deliver. It’s very important, it’s with regard to a capitan’s orders from the-”

Her sharp, accented voice interrupted him mid-sentence, “I don’t care if the message came from the Golden Goddesses. You will wait until I say so!” Her intensified stare almost sent Rowark running away with his tail between his legs, but the knight was able to stay that fear and gulped instead.

Rowark pleaded, “I can help. One word to a knight is all I need to summon a company of Her Majesty’s soldiers to peacefully disperse the mob.”

The authority in charge looked straight into Rowark’s eyes and retorted sternly, “We have everything under control. We will let you know when it is okay to leave.”

“Sano’a!” the familiar voice called out from the other side of the door. “It’s okay! Let him through!” Sasha’s permission instantly moved the glaives away from the door and held Sano’a where she stood as Rowark stepped around her.

As Rowark passed through the door, a glass bottle shattered digits away from his face. It was at that moment that he wish he were armed. Alerted, he stepped into the blaring cries of anger and hatred and the rain of rocks and excremental trash. The collective voices of well over three hundred angry Hylians were deafening. Rowark was surprised that the tower’s walls were able to muffle all of the sound. Above all the cacophony of shouts and threats, “Burn the sinners!” was the most distinguishable phrase out of them all.

Their clothing were nothing more than rags, their weapons were rudimentary, but their numbers made trivializing their concerns impossible. Pitchforks, torches, and bludgeons were the most common weapons being waved in the air, and swords and other bladed weapons were spread far and few between. The sheer number of all the hoisted weapons made Rowark all the more nervous. People with different varieties of unkempt hair stood shoulder to shoulder and occupied the entire space of the busy street intersection.

Rowark remembered hearing the name Purists whispered in the lips of the city guards, but the unorganized group of zealots staged protests only once a season, and they only protested at Other establishments, hardly a problem worth dealing with for the city guard. But their activity was increasing according to rumors, and Rowark only had a vague idea of how much the Purists had grown during the past season that he went missing.

A foul smell permeated through the air. As Rowark searched for the source, a handful of feces was launched from somewhere in the crowd and landed almost a palm’s length away from his feet. Glass shattering against the walls pierced Rowark’s ears. The most worrisome missile, however, was the stones, some as big as a brick. Rowark ducked underneath an incoming rock, which made him regret not coming to the brothel in a full suit of armor.

Not only did Rowark wish he had some sort of protection, he was impressed with the way the twelve Gerudo sentries withstood the bombardment with what little armor they had. Their vambraces were doubly reinforced with steel, eliminating the need for a shield in melee fighting. Their pauldrons and chest pieces looked tight and flexible, but it would do little against a well placed blade. Their bronze helmets had an opening in the back for the ponytail to escape out the back, and a moon shaped plate of metal hung from the front of the helmet and served as a visor. Their legs were not covered at all.

Despite all the seemingly unfounded rumors of Gerudo warriors being masters of heavy armor, this brigade of lightly armored women was Sasha’s response to the rioting. The sentries stood statue-like against everything thrown at them; their armor protected the vitals, and their hardened, conditioned bodies would take care of the rest, a strategy useful for the desert with a scarcity of iron.

“I suspected you would come outside to see for yourself,” Sasha’s voice pulled Rowark’s attention to his immediate right. “I want to show you,” she said, nodding towards the mass of people not more than a hundred palms away, “the realm that you will be protecting.”

The fearsome glaives in the hands of the warrior sentries were all that kept the sea of hatred at bay. However, the law was on the side of the Gerudos. If the protesters stepped within a ten yard radius from any establishment, the landlord was allowed to use violence to protect his property, so Sasha needed to be there to personally make that decision. Although she could have legally sent her sentries into the crowd at any time in retaliation of the barrage of stones and feces defacing the property, the complexity of Hyrule’s racial problems discouraged violence from any of the Others.

Sasha was an important face of the Gerudo immigrant population. As such, she had an important responsibility to represent her people as best as possible. One wrong move could affect the way Castle City would treat the Gerudo in the future. Rowark wondered how could she make such a crucial decision under the pressure of her position and the duress of the angry crowd surrounding them. Within the chaotic circumstances, Sasha leaned back against the door, unphased by all the undeserving hatred.

To Rowark, there was already no denial that the people he swore to protect would soon become his new, worst nightmares. Protests were already so common that specific companies of the city guard were dedicated to crowd control. However, they were only summoned to protect important government personnel from violent crowds. Everyone else had to deal with mobs on his or her own.

“I can help!” Rowark yelled over the noise. It was a lie, though. There was little Rowark could do and less he could say to persuade a fellow knight to help. It was difficult enough to do as a city watchman.

Sasha smiled in response. Of course she knew Rowark was of little significance. If she could rely on the city guard to help, she would not have armed a dozen of her sentries. At the moment, her only options were either to wait for the crowd to disperse on its own, which could take up to hours, or wait for the crowd to move close enough for Sasha to legally spill blood, a good way to force dispersion, but ultimately not how Rowark wanted to handle the situation.

The authorities needed to settle this, not the Gerudo. Maybe they were on their way? After all, if the Hylian army’s favorite pleasure house was under attack, wouldn’t the guard be more inclined to reach here sooner?

“Go back inside,” Sasha motioned for Rowark to take shelter back in the tower, “There is no need for you to get hurt. This is not your fight,” Sasha tried to wear her seductive smile, but Rowark was able to see through her mask, “Let one of my girls take care of you.”

“I’d rather stay here,” Rowark sharply retorted, “To make sure you are okay.”

“Stop trying to romance me,” jested Sasha in response. She continued to lean against the door, seemingly unworried about potential escalation in violence, but Rowark figured she had good experience leading her sisters through worse conflicts. After all, their problems in the barren desert probably paled in comparison to their current problem. It would be insulting to think Sasha and her band of sentries were incapable of handling anything less than a full scale invasion.

To Rowark, the choice between facing a barrage of life-threateningly sized rocks or braving an intimate encounter with a Gerudo was easy. He was used to the chaos of battle, even though the thought of killing another still unsettled his mind. But between slaying an enemy combatant and sheathing a woman, the former was the easier sin to commit.

His consciousness was actively searching for rocks to dodge, making every heartbeat feel like several hours. Avoiding each incoming missile was tiring, and it made Rowark wish he had a shield at his disposal. He stood his ground, though, like the rest. There needed to be an authority on site to bear witness to what was happening should this incident escalate into a bloody brawl. After personally dispersing dozens of riots, Rowark knew that this result was a very likely possibility.

The constant effort to dodge each of the incoming projectiles made It difficult to determine whether the crowd had diminished, or how much time had passed by. While he danced around the rocks, the Gerudo sisters stood stalwartly. Glass shattered against their armor, rocks bounced off their strong, hardened legs, and not even the foul odor of nearby feces made them move one digit .

It began to feel like he was given more and more time to dodge each incoming attack missile. An hour must have passed by, he was sure of it. The sun was close to setting behind the Western Cliff. And the crowd was also beginning to thin. Rowark smiled as a result of his optimistic thoughts. Eventually, he began to see individuals on the back fringes of the Hylian pool turning away after exhausting their hatred and anger. The crowd would disperse by itself within the foreseeable future. And the Gerudo had to do no more than enduring amateurish attacks that caused little to no harm.

Rowark respected the Gerudo a little more for their courage to stand their ground like a Goron could. But he was also saddened because they had withstood this treatment from their neighbors for decades now.

Something was moving behind the crowd and drawing every person’s eyes. It must have been something rather large scuttling through. By the time his eyes returned to the crowd, their backs and their attention were beginning to turn around. The mass of people was still too thick for Rowark to see through.

A blade flashed in the air. Screams rang into the air. Rowark turned to Sasha and accused her, “That’s a Gerudo blade!”

But Sasha also looked like she had no idea what was happening either.

Rowark barked at her, “We have to stop whoever is attacking the crowd!”

She nodded in agreement. If this was a rogue Gerudo acting independently, then Sasha would be dealing with an even worse public relations nightmare than before. Dealing with this problem was in her best interest. When the tall Gerudo stood straight again and raised her arms to order her sentries, Rowark felt an aura of inspiring leadership coming from her.

She spoke in her native tongue, shouting foreign words with lots of long vowels and unfamiliar consonants. The sentries called in response, “HUAH!” They jogged to their appropriate position in formation and lowered their glaives, like they were ready to charge into the pool of people. Eleven of the blade tips were pointed towards the crowd; only one faced backwards to guard the rear. The tactic resembled the Royal army’s method of rescuing important personnel from chaotic, crowded battlefields.

The team took slow, small steps forward and patiently closed the distance between Gerudo and Hylian. But before the foremost spear tip could reach the closest protester, an explosion erupted from within the crowd. Purple flames burst forth from an unidentified Gerudo and knocked back all the protesters, leaving a ring of burning bodies both live and dead. The rest of the crowd scattered; shouts of anger turned into screams of panic.

“Kinja,” Sasha whispered with a look of dread on her face. The bright, purple flames receded back towards Kinja, the supposed Gerudo attacking the crowd, and coated her warmly, unaffecting her at all. The woman stood bare naked in the middle of the street, her clothing having been burned off, and pointed her sword pointed forward at a miniscule, floating ball of light.

Rowark recognized the pink color, Miro Miro! She was in deep trouble, and so was the rest of the public. The immolated Gerudo unleashed a blood curdling war cry and then turned around and began swinging her weapon at the nearest pot. Rowark watched in horror as innocent shop owners and residents fled from her bloodlust.

Kinja waved her hand and used her native tongue to bark another order. “Huah!” responded her sentry sisters, and then they raised their weapons. Sasha darted for the partially opened door and swung it all the way open.

“Hurry, sisters!” she commanded. The sentries turned and briskly retreated one by one into the safety of the Desert Oasis.

The knight protested, “You’re going to do nothing?”

“It’s too late,” she lamented, “She will die soon, and I will not risk my sisters’ lives to stop her.”

“Someone has to do something!” he retorted. As the last of the sentries were retreating, Rowark firmly gripped the last one by the shoulder, “Give me your weapon!”

“Don’t be foolish! You do not stand a chance against her!” exclaimed Sasha.

But the sentry laughed from behind her visor, “Ha!” and handed over her polearm, which immediately drew a frown from Sasha, “I shall gladly give you my weapon just to watch you get killed.”

The knight gripped the three yard long weapon. The blade at the end was about half the length of a sword’s blade but twice the width, which made the weapon very top heavy compared to the standard issue spear. But he had no time to accustom himself to the unusual balance; there were people to save.

Goddesses, please protect me , he prayed, before rushing toward the purple inferno.

Chapter Text

It was either the broken bones in his body or a sudden, mental reminder that someone was after him that opened Link’s eyes to a world of black. He lifted his head, every injury in his neck crying out in pain, to see his whereabouts, but there was nothing, a void. Like a turtle lying supine, he tried to move about and stand up. Such a fruitless action tired him out quickly, and he began to feel the imaginary, sharp needles threatening to puncture his lungs if he inhaled too hard.

If Link couldn’t even breathe, how was he supposed to live, let alone flee a vengeful Gerudo bounty hunter? Oh well, he laughed. The easy way out was as easy as staying supine and letting the blood collect within his chest. That would take care of the rest quietly. I guess it’s time to give up …

His black world suddenly felt something rough and solid form under his back, and then he felt the cold tickle of the blades of grass sprouting from the newly formed ground. Trees sprouted before him and formed an entire sea of forests before his very eyes. His belly bathed in the soft sunlight, the truest giver of life. Not long after, he could begin to see the small black heads of beetles poking out from the grass and the red shells of the ladybugs crawling within the green fields.

The spring breeze brought together a blend of flowery fragrances that could only be described as, home. Was this the… Kokiri Forest… that’s right… somewhere in between his shallow breaths, Link’s mouth curled into a smile. The great many birds began to sweetly fill the sunny atmosphere with their poems of love.

The ground trembled softly, as if something were about to erupt. What was going on behind him? He decided with great hesitation to move his body and mentally fortified himself for the incoming torture before flipping over his bloody and broken body.

Whoa! was his first thought as he first saw the leaves hanging high above him. Countless small birds, bugs, and mammals had made their homes amongst the branches and paid attention to their own business as they weaved randomly in and out of visibility within the greenery. The sounds of songbirds singing and insect activity aesthetically filled Link’s ears with comforting sentiments. But all the birds living off the branches and all the insects living off the leaves depended on the great, big tree trunk in the middle.

As wide as the main gate into the city, the trunk of the tree alone occupied half of his field of vision. Then, his eyes fixated on something Link never thought he would see again. Two large, circular divots carved into the wood, a protrusion that looked like an undeveloped bough, and horizontal trough running against the vertical pattern of the bark formed the first face Link had ever remembered seeing in his entire life… Father?

The Great Deku Tree’s young, infant smile greeted the dying boy, “Hi there! I’m the Great Deku Tree! I’m your father!”

Link could only nod as a warm liquid that tasted slightly salty with a hint of metal pooled in the side of his mouth and spilled out.

The sudden voice belonging to the one and only Protector startled him, “Hey!” The sound of disappointment. Link looked up to see the beautiful silhouette of his best friend’s head. Even though her face was covered in the shade from the sun, Link could still recognize the features of her face that made his heart flutter. “You aren’t breaking your promise to me, are you?” asked the Protector.

“Protector…” he uttered from his mouth. He coughed out the blood collecting in his throat and then spat the remaining blood in his mouth before he could speak again, “I can’t. I’m dying.”

The hands on her hips showed no sympathy for his excuse, “You promised me!”

“Please… No...” he felt a warm tear flow down his cheek, “Please… Just this once…” He wanted to take one last breath, exhale, and be done with it. No more running around the streets aimlessly, no more starving, no more fear of dying, “I hate being alive…” Memories of recent years flashed into Link’s mind. Running around the back alleys naked because he owned no clothing, chased out of orphanages for being a witch’s son, stabbing a man just to eat, being shunned from the rest of the Links for his inability to grow to adulthood, Link knew one thing in his entire existence since he decided to take his fate into his own hands that fateful night, “It’s so lonely… being alive...”

Despite her disappointment, her motherly blue eyes sparkled with forgiveness and understanding. Then, she melted with sympathy for Link, “It is, isn’t it? Here, let me help you out.”

Her body began to radiate a golden light, which briefly highlighted her ever congenial smile and grew until the light consumed her and shined as blindingly as the sun behind her. The golden energy then began condensing into a little ball, removing the light from Link’s memories and returning him to a world of black, until the ball was as small as a sparrow. The intensity of the light had reduced to a bright ball of energy with a hint of pink on its surface. Suddenly, wings like a fairy sprouted from the body as it floated towards Link.

Miro… Miro?

As it flew closer to him, the worn out linen wrapped around his left hand began to contain a golden light in response to the fairy’s proximity. A soothing warmth emanated from the scar on his left hand, his first one, and crept up his arm toward his chest. Soon, his entire chest was bathing in a comfortable warmth that Link wished would not end. From the darkness, one final message was imparted for Link.

“Find her,” the voice of the Protector echoed in the darkness, “She is your salvation, salvation, salvation…” The last word bounced around inside his head. Salvation? Whatever it meant, it was the last word he heard from the Protector before…

A sudden snap and a pop in his chest suddenly brought Link back into another reality full of pain. With a forceful cough of blood straight onto the ground, he awoke to a splatter of liquid escaping his mouth. He grasped for a lungful of air and was relieved that there was no longer any restrictive pain on his chest anymore. Moving still hurt like he had just suffered a beatdown, but he could breathe finally. Somehow… How exactly? What had just happened? Link laid awake staring at the slit of blue sea mixed with gold and purple colors between the dark shadows of… oh wait, that was the sky.

Once one was deprived of air, one always needed a long minute to catch his breath. Link thought he had coughed out every drop of liquid from inside his chest, and then he began to dry heave. Nothing inside his body felt right. He looked around and traced back his steps. At that moment, he was on all fours in a pool of his own blood. As he agonizingly turned his head towards the way he came from, he could see a trail of red that was paved as if a body had rolled through and bits and pieces of wood that were scattered as if something had smashed into a neatly stacked pile of empty crates… oh wait, that was what happened.

As his vision sharpened and his hearing came to, an eruption of angry voices drew Link’s head back the other direction. Enraged peasants, all dressed the same with shoddy tunics as dirty and drabby as their labored skin, had gathered by the hundreds. Huh , Link did not remember that many people gathered there last time he crossed the river of traffic.

Link closed his eyes hard and attempted to search through his memories until the part when he pulled the trigger of the ropeshot. He remembered painfully sliding along the paved ground and then consciousness faded into black. However, he failed to recall anything during those moments as he tried to bridge the gap in his memory, like many times before when he was on the verge of dying.

Kinja’s vengeful face flashed into his memories and jolted him awake. Now was not the time to reminisce about his frequent courtship with death. Now was the time to get his broken rear out of there! Now that Link could finally breathe, he grasped for as much breath as he could and expelled it all out as fast as he could, just so he could draw in another great gasp of sweet air. One never knew the full extent of how precious air was until they endured suffocation. Though the pain did not once relent in announcing its presence whenever he moved a muscle, he felt like he had at least the strength to fight through it.

Slowly, but surely, he was able to rise onto one knee. Whatever had happened just now, fate decided that Link was not to die here, not today. More than ever, he needed to capitalize on this blessing. He tried to stand from his kneeling position, but to no avail. He simply was not strong enough to walk, but an idea formed as he looked at the angry crowd.

Link was so close to the furthest edge of the gathering that he was surprised no one close by saw him. They were too busy shouting indignant nonsense to pay attention to the dying Link right by their own feet. He would use their occupied attention to make his get away. But first, he unfastened his cape to unburden himself. Who knows if this would buy him a crucial heartbeat or two of time.

Grabbing onto one of the protester’s worn out tunic, Link lifted himself up onto his two feet with the help of his small size. The rest of the footwork just followed instinct. By the time the tall man realized someone was tugging on his shirt, Link had already slipped by, falling forward, squeezing through a forest of hairy legs and body odor, grasped onto the next tunic for support, and let his feet follow along. Eventually, he found a good rhythm to the movements.

“OY!” Link’s grasp on a ragged shirt startled the unsuspecting commoner. Without looking back to see whom he irritated, Link pulled himself forward when he suddenly felt a hand grab onto the back of his tunic collar, “What you think you’re doing?” There was no time, so Link slipped out of his shirt and crawled through the forest of hairy legs.

Pulling against a shirt to help himself back onto his feet, he efficiently utilized the small size of his body to swim past the angry Hylians. With growing capabilities of his legs and blood rush to help numb the pain, Link’s movements utilized less support from the protesters, which allowed him to clear his way through faster. He was doing great until…

“RAAHH!” the shriek split the calm, sunny skies with terror.

Suddenly, a powerful wave of heat pushed the entire crowd of people off their feet. Link felt a rush of hot air force its way through the bodies, and it was their tumbling momentum that knocked Link to the ground. Thankfully, he landed on soft flesh instead of hard pavement.

He turned to see what had caused the intense energy and instantly regretted his decision as soon as he saw what was at the center of the unholy fire. Try as he might to focus on fleeing from her targeted hatred, Link could never unsee the blackened skin, her burning red eye and its burning blue twin, and her deathly white teeth.

Moreover, he could not unsee the piles of burning bodies strewn in her immediate vicinity. Protesters scrambled away from the fiery demon by any means possible. A scream pierced Link’s ears, “Where is Cica !?” A breath of relief escaped from when he realized that she had no idea where he was yet and that he still had a window of opportunity to escape the area.

The first thing Link tried to do was stand on top of probably a dead body, but suddenly realized that his legs were still unable to stand by themselves. He could lift himself onto his hands and knees, but that was about as much weight as his broken limbs could support. There was no way he could escape without some help. At the same time, if Kinja did not know where Cica was, then there was undoubtedly no need to draw attention towards his escape.

As he crawled as quickly as he could on his belly, he could hear the differences between the cries for help and the cries from burning, agonizing pain. Accompanying those noises was the sound of a steel blade entering flesh as if the bones were negligible. The closer the screams of pain approached Link, the warmer the air felt.

Link’s blood immediately froze. “ There you are ,” she said in her beautiful, native tongue. There was no need to look back to know that Kinja was standing right behind him. It was as if the language itself was crafted from the predator-prey relationship. Each step drew the flaming heat closer and closer. Even if his death was drawing near, he was not going to go down without making an honest effort to escape.

He was given a second chance. There was a feeling emanating from his left hand, a pulsing warmth accompanied slight sting, like a message traversing the planes of life and death; somehow, he could feel the Protector’s presence reaching out to him with each wave. His heart picked up the closer Kinja approached, but with each pump of blood in his system, and each pump of heat from his scar, he could feel his strength painstakingly returning to him while he bided his time and energy. You promised .

Then, his scar began to glow through his worn out wrapping. With each beat of warmth, the scar would poke its triangular, golden head through the fabric.

The heat upon his skin built to painful heights in his legs as Link crawled away from imminent death. Nevertheless, he was not ready to give up, nor was he going to look behind to time Kinja’s death strike. Even though his legs felt like they were set ablaze, he bided his energy as he struggled moving across the pavement, spilling blood all along the way.

Finally, when Kinja was but only a step away from Link’s feet, his scar on burned brightly through the cloth. “This, is for Minja…” One last beat of the heart, and suddenly his ears began to ring. It was then or never.

With every explosive energy mustered, Link pushed off from one side and flipped over onto his back like an injured dog, and within a split heartbeat before he landed supinely, he saw a figure clad in a tunic running towards him, holding a polearm, and…

For a half a split heartbeat, Link’s very world froze. Upon the sight of the golden triangle glowing softly on the back of the hand against his bandage, the very same as Link’s scar, his curse, his heart spiked in shock more than it had ever done before. Was there truly someone else who shared his curse?

When his chest was flat against the ground again, the impact brought him back to his painful reality, accompanied by a resounding clang of blades meeting for the first time.

Without wasting any precious heartbeats to see what was going on, Link lifted his hips so that he was supported by only the palms of his hands and the balls of his feet. Standing like an animal already put his weakened body in much pain already. But to Ganon with it! Gritting through all the torturous agony in his legs, arms, fingers, knees, hips, and neck, Link fired every last bit of strength into his legs and launched into a sprint. Live! Though the stiffness in his legs effectively stifled his movements down to a hobble, he would hobble faster than any other Link could hobble out of that plaza.

When prey runs from its chasing predator, it has no destination in mind. No differently, Link ran as fast as he could, following the fleeing crowd. His promise to the Protector fueled his every step and numb much of the pain. However, it was not long after that his drained constitution could no longer support him on his two feet. His labored breathing brought him out of his survival mentality, but at least his chest was filled with weight instead of a knife. As his run slowed to a limp, he desperately searched for a place to heal… and a place to hide…

“ Link !” A foreign, baritone voice called out to him from somewhere unknown.

Me? Link asked himself, it could have been any Link.

“Yes you!” answered the voice back, “Do you see me?”

He was lost. Did someone just read his mind? Who was he talking to? Link looked up and saw people still fleeing the carnage.

A flash of white zipped past him. “I’m here!” A brown tint surrounded the energy of a fairy the size of an eyeball. “ Follow me ! I’m gonna lead you somewhere safe !”

I don’t … I don’t have much longer … the limits to his endurance were nearing. His legs were about to give out any heartbeat.

“No no no no no! We’re gonna make it, okay? Oy oy yoy! ” That sounded weird, was the fairy talking to someone else? “We’re losing him!”

I need … to heal … his body was on the verge of dying a second time twice in one day, and if he did not pull out his hidden healing trick, he was not going to wake up again. A sunny forest flashed through his mind for a heartbeat. Dirt … or grass … or … Even Link couldn’t keep track of his thoughts. He coughed out a mouthful of bodily fluids and fell onto his knees. His breathing could no longer sustain movement anymore, let alone speak. Still, he could breathe.

“I don’t know what he needs!” the voice was faint, as if calling to someone else, “he’s mumbling about dirt or whatever! Oy, kiddo! Stay with me!”

He was glad he did not have to waste any breath to communicate with the fairy. I need … a bed of dirt … to sleep on , he thought to himself, or the fairy.

“Uh, he says, he needs a bed of dirt to sleep on. Oh? All right! Hey kid, this way!” the fairy zipped ahead and turned sharp right around the corner of the building next to Link.

After another huff and another puff of air, he crawled towards the building and used the stone wall to hoist himself back onto to his feet. Once he turned the corner, the fairy had led him to a alleyway swallowed by darkness snuggled between two tall structures. Only an empty, paved street, wide enough to fit a single horse through, laid the foundations for the space in between the two housing blocks, with shoddy, two story hovels lined along the sides.

Torches were hung in front of each entrance, burning perpetually and fiercely through the shadowed part of town, and three fairies, the brown one from earlier, a red one, and an orange one, illuminated the way to the small patch of dirt with some colorful flowers next to one of the entrances. A flowerbed would suffice.

Link’s vision gave out. For a moment, he sensed nothing. Only the rhythm of his breathing and the periodic motion of his walk kept him awake. But then an annoying barrage of voices in his head urged him to hang in there, whatever that meant. And then his body felt an instant draw to mother nature. A healing aura radiated just beneath feet. He could paint the vivid picture in his blackened mind of where the patch of fresh dirt lay just by focusing on the warm sensation that the organic material was sending him.

With his first barefoot step onto the flowerbed, a soothing heat spread upward from the sole, slowly reversing the injuries of the flesh. Once his other foot stepped onto the soil, the exact same feeling seeped into the other leg. There was no name for Link’s little healing trick, discovered by complete accident many years ago. When Link collapsed onto all fours, he could feel his knees and hands connect to the energy that fed all life from a forest far, far away.

He fell asleep feeling the magical warmth of a comfortable bed at home.

Chapter Text

The clash of blades echoed throughout the street and rang in Rowark’s ear. The deathly glare on her face sent a terrifying chill down his muscles when he drew her attention. Heat from the purple fires had turned her skin all black. The only thing Gerudo looking about her was the figure of her female body and her discolored eyes, the red one on her right thirsting for his blood.

The explosion turned the plaza into a chaotic mess as people ran for their lives. All he needed was her attention. “You dare interrupt my vengeance?”

“Vengeance? Is that what this is? You don’t have to kill innocent people to extract your revenge!” Rowark barked right back like a mother scolding an immature child. He very briefly took his eyes away from his immolated opponent to see a Link running away from a bloodied plot of pavement. But that short, half a heartbeat proved to be near fatal.

With no audible warning, the curved blade of her deadly sword swung along his polearm. Rowark had to break contact and jump back, and as he leaned backwards, he could almost feel the sharp metal trim his neck. Blood rushed into his system. He was in for a fight. And this was a fight he was not prepared for. She was faster than lightning, and he was only too lucky that his head was not being kicked around in the street at this moment. To top it all off, the weapon he was holding felt more unwieldy the longer he held it.

The length of the polearm did not bother him, its usage did. Though it was slightly shorter than the army issue spear, Rowark was trained to fight as a unit, just like everyone else in the military was. His years of drilling did not prepare him well for single combat with a weapon meant for dueling. In this duel to the death against a fiery demon, Rowark’s only reliable defense, which he had used countless times in every fight, skirmish, and battle, was distance.

Her scimitar gleamed in the brilliant summer sunlight. Long and broad, the curved blade was the epitome of a masterpiece. The outrageous price for one kept the deadly steel out of the hands of nearly anyone who was not Gerudo. Attempts to recreate the scimitar with normal, Hylian smithing methods resulted in a poorer than standard quality falchion, and no falchion could cut through solid steel plate armor nor clip the wings of a bug like the Gerudo scimitar could.

She spread her arms like a flaming eagle and then declared, “Araksheyn Reyavu!” while pointing the tip of the blade at him.

The heartbeat the demon moved, Rowark backpedaled one step and jabbed his longer weapon forth at her face, opting for the kill shot instead of the disarmament shot. Her parry sent his probing attack away, and she countered with a swift, diagonal slash. He retreated again and brought his glaive up to meet her attack halfway, ringing the clash of metal upon metal throughout the streets. He sidestepped an incoming vertical slash, and before she could follow up with another swing, he had already hopped back out of harm’s reach.

But she was relentless. This pattern kept up with no break. Rowark focused on executing his strategy, which was to stay away from her as far as possible, and hold out until either he gave out or help arrived. Staying light on his feet was the key. He knew that his glaive could cut better than an army spear and impale just as comparably, but the latter tactic kept his opponent at a safer distance and was the only attack he was trained to do. Time your enemy! was the mantra drilled into his head by his commanding knight. Timing could be the factor that saved Rowark’s life.

While the female kept her feet light and danced around her opponent, Rowark flat footedly pivoted around slowly while timing the Gerudo’s rhythmic swings of rage. But not only did he have to focus on defending her attacks, he also had to simultaneously worry about breaking his own offensive rhythm. When he decided to attempt his own attack, he quickly jabbed the extended blade forth at her throat, then her face, and then her body. Nothing!? His spear struck nothing, air, and then steel.

The Gerudo demon slipped a fourth, follow up attack by rotating her shoulder, prepping her for a powerful backhand attack, and then unleashed a powerful swing at Rowark’s face. Had Rowark been half a heartbeat too late, his reactionary block would have been for naught. Good thing the polearm was sturdy! The power of the slash made Rowark worry that the perpendicularly held staff would cave under the pressure, but as Gerudo weapons consistently did, it held true.

A sudden, searing kick into his exposed side knocked the breath out of him, as if a torch had struck his ribcage, and almost set his tunic on fire. Rowark keeled over in pain, but there was no time to recover. The flash of the blade in the air forced him to instinctively raise his weapon to block the attack, just in time to the stop the blade a palm away from his own flesh. Blood rush through his body as soon as he felt the impact against the polearm ring the clash of blades.

Rowark swung the heavy blade of his glaive around to counter her strong momentum. But instead of retreating, the Gerudo ducked under the attack, leaving him wide open for another counter. He jumped as her sword reached forth and nicked his tunic. She spun around and prepared for another high attack. The knight moved his weapon to meet the attack head on, but once he did so, he found out that the high attack was a feint.

Continuing with his momentum, he spun away from the Gerudo’s next attack, but it could not save his leg from being cut. Pain surged through his thigh as the scimitar created a shallow wound in his flesh. Warm blood began oozing onto his ripped pants as he retreated further back.

His leg still felt functional, but only barely. With his leg no longer fully capable, Rowark switched stances from right-handed to left-handed so that his hurt leg would not be exposed, but doing so meant that all of his techniques and skills learned as a soldier would be reversed. It didn’t matter if he was wielding a Gerudo glaive or the army issue spear; wielding anything in the opposite hands of what he was used to was going to feel awkward.

There was not even a heartbeat of rest before the Gerudo kept on with her attack. She swung her sword over her head and then brought it down diagonally, an attack that was hard to block with a polearm, so Rowark hopped back and countered his blade horizontally at her waist, low enough so she couldn’t duck underneath. Just when his long range swing was about to strike her, she indeed ducked low enough, bending her flexible torso over and hovering just over the ground. Within the blink of an eye, the Gerudo planted her hand on the ground and kicked her leg up into the air and straight towards Rowark’s face.

He leaned back just far enough for the foot to whiff past his nose. Then he felt a cold slice down his forearm, and had he not jumped back in time, the steel of the scimitar would have cut his chest wide open. Always counter when the enemy attacks, even if you’re dying! echoed the voice of his Commanding Knight. He gave his long weapon a twirl, something that was not taught at army camp, but felt natural nonetheless with the way the weapon was designed. Once both hands awkwardly gripped the handle of the pole, Rowark thrusted twice.

The first stab was parried away, and the second was sidestepped. Timing! Rowark sensed that she was going to follow up her slip with an aggressive counter, so he retracted the glaive once more and jabbed the blade into her shoulder as she planted her back foot for a charge. The steel managed to nick her shoulder, catching her unaware, and as soon as the blade made contact with skin, a bit of her flesh broke off as if made of ash and disintegrated in the purple flames.

“RAAAAGH!” screamed the Gerudo in rage. The blackened skin behind the flames was no longer visible, replaced by a dark, skeletal figure with bright, murderous red eyes. Closing the distance between her and the knight in one leap, she unleashed a powerful swing, “YAHH!”

That was only too easily timed. Rowark parried the incoming attack with the metal blade of his own weapon, pivoted on his back foot, and unleashed his own wide swing. Her sword stopped Rowark’s attack dead, allowing her the opportunity to grab the polearm’s shaft. He tried to tug back, but her unyielding grip with her sole hand overpowered any attempt to break the shaft free.

With a swift, downward stroke, the demon cleaved the polearm into two pieces, leaving Rowark with nothing more than a metal stick. Dread filled his body as the chance of death became more probable. However, the flames covering her body had noticeably receded. Perhaps she was reaching her limit?

Her onslaught suggested otherwise. His shortened, metal pole met her vertical stroke, and then it met her backhanded follow up. She was going to kick, and Rowark jumped back to avoid her attack just as he predicted. At least this combination became more and more familiar. Her overwhelming attacks afterward proved why the Gerudo were considered far superior fighters than some of the most seasoned knights. Unlike most fighters, she frequently switched attacks between her sword and kicks, aimed both high and low, set up feints, and flowed through each combination of strikes continuously. Guessing where she was going to aim at was like guessing the timing and position of each sting from an angry swarm of bees.

Keeping up with her unpredictable patterns as best as he could, Rowark shut down his flight instinct like many times before to keep up with her quick strikes. His flat footed stance could barely keep up with her dancing feet, his stamina was slowly wearing down, and his breaking point was in sight. After enduring a cut here on his arm and there on his leg, it took every bit of mental focus to keep his exhausted defenses disciplined. His only saving grace was that her attacks were becoming more desperate and less technical, meaning they were easier to see coming.

Just as he thought that, a powerful downward swing nearly caught Rowark unprepared. He lifted his metal pole to block the crushing stroke. The power behind her death blow felt unreal even by Hylian standards. Even with two hands on the stick, Rowark swore he was pushing back against the strength of a Goron. But by the time he felt a burning leg kick out his own leg from underneath him, it was too late for him to deduce that the vertical strike was only a setup.

Small burning embers painfully seared his skin, but he had no time to worry about his burning pants. The next attack nearly caught him off guard, and his last ditch effort to parry the strike ended up costing him his weapon. Her counter parry sent Rowark’s weapon out of his hands. She followed up that attack with another spinning kick to his face, striking him squarely across the jaw. The force of the impact almost knocked him consciousness and sent Rowark tumbling onto the floor, the impact against the ground jolting him awake.

The Gerudo demon slowly closed in on her kill. “Are you prepared to meet your end?” she asked him as he urgently stood up and regained posture. No! he silently answered her rhetorical question. The strategy of keep away did not change. It would be a matter of heartbeats before the watchmen would get here. Rowark just needed to survive until then.

With murderous intent, the Gerudo began another flurry of attacks. Rowark did his best to dodge each stroke, but the movements began to put a strain on the wounded parts of his body. Once he jumped back from a quick, horizontal swing, his wounded legs could no longer keep up with the speed, and he lost balance as soon as his foot hit an unseen dead body. He landed on his rear but did not stop backing away from her. His eyes shot downward to her exposed legs walking purposefully yet unaware. Rowark still had one more trick up his sleeve. Never count a soldier out ‘til he’s dead !

When she was finally within killing distance, she raised her weapon for the final plunge. Rowark lunged in the opposite direction he was going, toward her, as a last desperate attempt to save his life from the incoming sword stab. His foot kicked out and caught the demon in the ankle, shooting through the fiery flesh like it was nothing. Like his Commanding Knight had drilled into him, Rowark rolled over and sat up into a defensive position.

Without a second support base, the demon unsuspectingly toppled over onto the hard pavement. “NOOooo!” roared the demon, unable to move a muscle. What was going on? Her limbs were trembling, a sign that she was using her entire willpower to move the slightest bit. “Not yet! AAargh!” the fire that once fueled her god-like strength and speed seemed to be consuming her alive instead. Her screams started to sound more painful than they did terrifying.

“NOOO!!” was her last cry before the final flames snuffed the last bit of her life.

Where there was once a purple, fiery immolation now only revealed a Hylianoid figure made of ash. The scimitar fell from her charred hand. A warm, gentle breeze blew through the street and carried the ashes along with its journey, disintegrating the body into nothingness. There was nothing left of the Gerudo but the scimitar laying on the ground.

Rowark looked around in disbelief that he was still alive. Only then did he realize how heavy his breaths were. The bodies from the fiery explosion certainly did not have that same privilege. Anxious thoughts raced through his head. As the blood rush slowly subsided, the burns on his face. The bystanders standing from as far a distance as possible looked unsure whether the fight was over or not. This was the opportunity for Rowark to disappear before any watchmen arrived at the scene and asked him any questions. He had his own questions to ask.

“Rowark!” the familiar voice came from Miro Miro as she appeared in front of him.

“Urgh,” the grunt to the intensifying pain was unintentionally the first thing that came out of Rowark’s mouth. “Hey,” he greeted with a tired smile. Exhaustion was rapidly settling into his injured body, his eyelids felt heavier, and soreness creeped through his muscles. He grunted as he attempted to pick himself off the ground.

“How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m, ugh, I’m fine,” he wasn’t, “I think.” Burns in his thigh and his face screamed in pain. Lacerations on his arms and legs screamed in agony too. “Argh!” he could no longer contain his body’s screams.

“Hang on, Rowark, help is on the way,” said Miro Miro, “I think?”

Rowark picked his head up to see who was walking his way. Coming from the street side, three watchmen had emerged from the crowd and were jogging towards him, and judging by how fast it took them to reach Rowark, they were probably watching the fight from afar. Coming from the brothel side, twelve Gerudo sentries were marching towards him with their weapons raised, seemingly innocent, but their glaives would not be present if they did not anticipate trouble.

The watchmen reached Rowark first. The eldest of the three extended his hand forth, “Oy you, you okay? Let's get you to an infirmary and then get you in for a debriefing.” Shoot. Rowark wished instead he would be taken in by the Gerudo instead of being dragged to answer mindless hours of boggling questions about an incident about which he had many questions himself. He groaned as if trying to say, leave me alone .

Sasha responded with the might of twelve, fearsome Gerudo warriors versus their three watchman, “He is an honored guest of the Desert Oasis. He shall remain with us.” The watchmen were army trained, drilled in the same ways of combat as Rowark, but their great disadvantage was showing clearly through fearful faces. These men were old enough to know the tales of Gerudo, the race of women who held off the repeated advances of the Hylian sorties with underwhelming numbers.

“Absolutely not,” responded the bearded one back with the authority of the Hylian throne behind him. Rowark knew not his name, but his middle aged wrinkles had been a familiar sight at the mess hall. That each and every soldier was a representative of the Queen gave this lowly watchman his resolve against the deadly glares of the warriors, “He is a watchman of Her Majesty’s royal forces! He will be treated by Her Majesty’s royal forces, and we will take him by force if need be!”

“He’s staying with us, and we will match your force fourfold if need be,” replied Sasha calmly. It was true. If one of the three left to retrieve help, then their disadvantage would grow to six women to one man. His odds of stopping Sasha were bad enough as it was. With all this in mind, she smiled like a viper who had trapped her prey, “And by the time you send word for help, your superiors will have already ordered Rowark to stay with us.”

What ? “On whose orders?” asked the watchman, but before he could get an answer, Rowark’s consciousness gave in to battle fatigue.

Chapter Text

The 8th Day of Spring

“This way, Sheik! Hurry!” urged the young Laigrethorne Bishop, or Leggy according to everyone but his birth document. The wind blew his long hair back gracefully as the nine year old boy ran through Faron Woods, but his strong, stalwart muscles carried the wooden shield and sword with ease. His invigorated legs were damn near impossible to catch up to for a young Rowark.

Lagging behind his friend by a wide margin already, Rowark had to quickly come up with some excuse to slow the party down before Leggy got too far ahead of him. “Hold on!” said Rowark to his best friend, “A mighty Wolfos stands in the way!” The seven year old withdrew his dual daggers to block the attack and then kicked outward at the imaginary beast in front of him. His thin frame guided the dull blade through the air and then through the flesh of the beast. One wolfos was down, but there were more closing in quickly. “I need help, Hero! There’s too many of them!” He really did not require the assistance, for the Sheikah had a secret attack prepared for such an occasion.

Sheik kicked into a minion’s mouth and used the momentum generated from his foot to spin around with his daggers extended, slicing this way and that way. Unlike the Hero’s legendary spin attack, Sheik’s vortex attack required no charge up but was equally as devastating. The first dagger may not necessarily fell the enemy, but the second one and third one always did. Because Sheik did not carry the Hylian shield, he was more vulnerable, so he had to rely on his superior mobility to overwhelm his enemies.

“HYAA!” screamed the Hero as he unleashed his powerful jump attack. That took care of one beast in one fell stroke. The Master Sword was longer, heavier, yet as balanced as justice was. The Hero then painted a broad stroke with his weapon and followed his attack with another beautiful, powerful swing, cleaving the wolfos in half. Foe after foe fell before the Master Sword, and the Hylian shield stunted attack after attack without so much as a scratch or a dent.

Finally, the last wolfos fell to Sheik’s onslaught. Dizziness first hit him when he stopped spinning, then his heavy breathing had finally caught up to him, and Rowark had to keel over not long afterward. “Hold on,” he gasped in between breaths while attempting to stabilize his vision, who then sat a fallen log to rest.

Rowark’s constitution was never on par with his siblings, even his twin sisters. To his face, his father had always called Rowark a strong boy, just like the rest of his five elder brothers and one younger. But behind Rowark’s back, Rowark could only ever hear his father, the fearsome, bear-like guardian of Ordon Village, complain about his sickly health. Father did not like him and was ashamed of him, this much Rowark knew. It didn’t just come from Father, though. How could such a weakling be born into the mighty Forester family? Rowark had heard whispers of shame from the entire village brought upon the Forester family for the girlish boy Father had raised. Of course, Rowark never knew what was wrong with being weak, but whatever it was, it made just about everyone in the village hostile towards him save a few.

Father’s most agreeable solution was for Rowark to play with Leggy outside. It was no secret that whenever the two would recreate the adventures of the Hero and Zelda, Rowark always opted to play the latter character, and Leggy was more than happy to play with Rowark because there was no other boy in the village who was willing to play the Princess so enthusiastically. Unlike every other boy in his village, Rowark’s favorite hero in the great legend of Zelda was Sheik because Sheik was a boy disguised as Princess Zelda, they were one and the same person. A deep part of him felt connected to Zelda’s gender fluidity.

“You want some water?” asked Leggy as he handed his waterskin to his best friend since birth.

Rowark nodded and accepted the kind gesture. He squeezed a gulpful of refreshing water into his parched mouth. Times like these when he took a minute to catch his breath and enjoy the view with his best friend  truly made him feel immersed in the ancient story. This must have been what it felt like to be Sheik and the Hero, traveling together through the dangerous lands of Ganondorf’s Hyrule, all the while Sheik had a secret identity and a secret love for the Hero. But did the Hero love Sheik the boy, or did he love Zelda the girl?

“We got time, catch your breath,” said Leggy to Rowark who was pacing back and forth.

“What time is it?”

The only way for Leggy to answer that question was by looking directly at the bright globe in the sky and judging its position, “Looks like the sun is just past mid afternoon. I’d say we got about another long hour before it’s sundown.”

“Aw, we don’t got much longer. My father wants me home before then,” lamented Rowark, not wishing to return home at all. The outdoors would toughen up Rowark, supposedly, but trying to keep up with the more energetic Leggy only left him wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep.

“If we make it up the hill, that will still give us some time to fight Ganondorf and then walk home! You ready?” Rowark nodded. “Ganondorf’s castle is just up that hill! Let’s go!”

Stowing the two wooden daggers onto his hips like the fabled Sheikah, they who were charged with protecting the Throne from the shadows, had once done, Rowark charged up the steep, inclined ground with full speed ahead. “Right behind you, Hero!” he cried through each step. All the towers full of Ganondorf’s minions shooting fiery arrows at the Hero and Sheik could not stop them! Not even the Hero’s own, poor stamina and his already fatigued body could stop him from reaching the top.

But heavy breathing caught up to him once again, and his pace slowed to a labored trog. At least the hill was steep enough that he did not have to lean far forward to crawl on all fours. A cool, autumn wind blew past his exposed skin, but he was impervious to the chill because of the sweat coming out of his body. The setting sun just up ahead seemed to be the only obstacle in his way. And yet, if each step he took felt like he had traveled hundreds of yards, then the peak felt like it was leagues away. The boy pushed forth one foot at a time, one hand at a time, one breath at a time.

When Rowark had reached the top of the hill, he had forgotten his imaginary role in their game. Rolling hills of forests stretched as far as the eye could see. The breathtaking view of the setting sun’s golden rays cast a warm light over the waves of gold leaves, enough to make him forget about his exhausted body. Just below on the other side of the slope was a stream that would eventually run past their home.

It was also the physical boundary of Ordon Village. Rowark was given strict instructions never to cross the river at the bottom. What lay beyond was open to Rowark’s, young imagination. Someday, he would grow old enough to journey east of the river and explore to his heart’s content without causing his whole village alarm like he had done once before. The view gave him a beautiful skyline to gaze upon and powerfully inspired his imagination to fill in the forest beneath the sunny day.

Rowark’s torso felt too heavy for him to stand upright, so he bent over and supported himself on his knees. Leggy’s hand patting his back suddenly brought back Rowark back to his own fatigued reality. “You all right? You need some more water?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said even though his lungs were gasping for air. He had to stay strong, just like ancient Hero’s accomplice was, the beholder of the Triforce of Wisdom.

“Come on, walk around a bit with me. It’ll help you breath easier.” Rowark followed his advice and walked around to slow his heart rate, each beat pounding the bones in his torso like it wanted to break free. Only raising his elbows above his head helped relieve the hunger for air. There was no end to the exhaustion, but the longer he rested, the less time he had to defeat Ganondorf. Leggy extended his waterskin to Rowark again, “You sure you don’t want any more?”

Rowark waved it away and grabbed his own. First, he squeezed a handful of water into his mouth and poured the rest of his reserves in his hide waterskin over his face. The refreshing liquid washed over his face and down his mouth.

“Ready, Rowark?” Leggy, who was handsomely posed just like the Hero, was already prepared to take his next step towards Ganondorf’s castle. In the legend, it was Sheik who led the Hero where he needed to go to awaken the seven sages, Zelda revealing herself to be the seventh and the leader. Rowark felt ashamed that his constitution could not fulfill Sheik’s legendary duty to protect and scout for the Hero. Thus far, it had been the other way around.

Once Rowark’s breathing slowed to a comfortable rhythm, he nodded back to the Hero and wore his character once more. The beautiful, red sundown rays highlighted the dangers that flanked the Hero from all sides. Moblins, Stalfos, Wolfos, and of Ganondorf’s minions closed their distance from the Hero and were ready to attack. Not if Sheik had something to say about it.

The Sheikah guardian drew his two daggers and immediately chucked the one in his dominant, right hand, burying itself in between a monster’s shoulder blades. Luckily, there were short blades laying all around him, so Sheik picked up another as soon as he threw the other dagger. The two fallen monsters drew the attention of Ganondorf’s minions, and they split up into two groups, one to continue chase after the Hero and the other to end the Hero’s companion.

With two new daggers in his hands, these ones long enough to be wielded as a short sword, Sheik begun his attack by stabbing his blades forth quickly. The unsuspecting moblin in front of the group fell before the piercing force, and the moblin behind him felt the cutting force of Sheik’s follow through. Even though the bad guys were encircling Sheik, he was focused on his main mission, cutting through the swarm to protect the Hero’s back.

Sheik sensed danger incoming from his left, so he lifted his foot to his side and kicked outward, straight into the Staloblin’s rib cage which sent the skeletal creature backwards into the incoming horde. That would buy him half a minute of time maybe. Without wasting a heartbeat, he turned back to the Hero and began his vortex of blades and kicks to pierce his way through Ganondorf’s ranks, who fell before the Sheikah’s massacre like a sickle cutting through a field of tall grass.

The only problem was, Sheik’s stamina could sustain the attack for only a little while. By the fifth time he had twirled around, he was struggling to stay on his feet, gasping for air deeply. The land violently bucked up and down, creating nausea in his belly. His body eventually forced him to slow to a very fatigued walk. Not giving up with his attacks, Sheik stuck his blade out when his arms had gathered enough strength to move, fulfilling his duty to the Hero to his last breath.

Because Sheik’s head was glued to the ground, he did not see the hand reaching out to grab his own. When he looked up, the Hero had stowed his sword and came back to help his companion. As unsuspecting as the assistance was, a rush of happiness burst forth through Sheik’s heart and rushed up his face, forcing him into an endless smile.

“Hero,” said Sheik weakly, “Go on without me.” Sheik was too exhausted and too worn from fighting off the monsters to continue at the Hero’s energized pace.

“No Sheik, the Hero never leaves a man behind!” he answered resolutely as he supported Sheik on his shoulder and then covered the two with his shield. “Ganondorf is just up ahead!” When Sheik raised his head, he could see the evil Gerudo King waiting for the penultimate battle.

Like a blazing fire atop his scalp, Ganondorf’s hair covered the top of his moldy grey head. The Evil King of legend was said to have stood almost an entire yard taller than the Hero. Wearing the most sinister garbs and his most wicked of capes to protect himself, Ganondorf extended the tip of his greatsword of evil at the Hero and unleashed a powerful laugh of mockery and challenge.

The Hero drew his Master Sword and Hylian Shield and charged at Ganondorf’s castle gate, where the vile villain met the Hero head on. “Follow me! Sheik, you distract him while I go for his weakness!” Circling around Ganondorf, the Hero jumped forth with a downward strike at the Gerudo King’s unsuspecting back. But the Beholder of Power caught on to the tactic and suddenly drew his greatsword at the Hero! Using his other hand, Ganondorf used the Triforce of Power’s magic to ensnare Sheik, who fell to his knees and never even had a chance to launch a single attack.

“Hero!” cried Sheik to his companion through heavy breaths, “I’m trapped!” It was part of the story and also an excellent excuse for Rowark to catch his breath again. He fell onto his knees, helpless before the giant villain.

With one hand concentrated on holding Sheik down, Ganondorf had to split his concentration with his weapon. But finishing him off was not going to be as easy as charging in for a strike, for the Evil King’s clothes were imbued with dark magic, so powerful that not even the great Master Sword could cut through its blackened aura.

“Hero! I must tell you something! My name is not really Sheik! I am Princess Zelda!” Leggy did little to convey surprise unlike the Hero, who was discovering this for the first time. Rowark stood up and twirled around dramatically to convey his transformation. “Use the power of the sages to defeat Ganondorf!” The Princess threw a ball of energy towards the Hero, which attached itself to the tip of the Hero’s arrows.

Leggy put away his shield and mimed the notching of an arrow, aiming it, and firing it. The Light Arrow flew true through the air and pierced the darkness than protected the Gerudo King. The Hero wasted no time in drawing his sword and shield from his back and ran in towards the vulnerable villain. All it took to bring Ganondorf down was a jump attack, followed by a shield block from Ganondorf’s sword, and then a spin attack to cut the Evil King in half.

Instantly, Rowark felt some of his stamina return to him as victory was achieved, “You did it, Hero! I’m free!” Princess Zelda ran to the Hero and looked upon him with eyes of admiration and love, while the Hero returned the gaze, oblivious to Zelda’s emotions.

“All right, Princess,” said the Hero as he stowed away his weapons, “now that you have united the Triforce, you get one wish.”

Princess Zelda’s heart pounded loudly. “I get to wish this time?” The Hero nodded. “And it comes true, no matter what?” Legend had it that the Hero used the wish of the Triforce to return to his own time, but others told the story that the Princess returned the Hero with the Ocarina of Time. Whenever Rowark and Leggy got to this part, Leggy always got the wish, and he’d usually wish to do something fun like take a dip in the river, or build a treehouse, or just lay on the grass and rest.

“I, I…” There were so many things that the Princess could have wished for. She thought about her burning desire for love and declared, “I wish for my first kiss to be with the Hero of Time!”

A silent surprised look hung on Leggy’s face. Rowark’s face hung in suspension, and his heart thumped loudly inside his chest. “B-bu,” Leggy stammered with uncertainty, “But not really, right?’

Rowark looked down; this was going downward, fast, “You said the wish came true no matter what, though.”

“Yeah but, you’re,” Leggy looked away in embarrassment, carefully picking his next words, “you’re a, a boy,”.

“Not right now, I’m not! I’m Princess Zelda!” said Rowark, desperately trying to pull the veil over their eyes again, “Just this once, Hero? Please? We always do what you want to do.”

Leggy released the most hesitant of sighs, “Yeah, but you’re also…” When the two boys’ eyes met briefly, Rowark could feel his emotions bridging out to his best friend. Then, Leggy turned to face Rowark onward, as if to confront his promise. “Okay,” he said uttered quietly, “Just this once. And we don’t tell nobody.”

Happiness and excitement continued filling Rowark’s young body as he prepared to experience a once in a lifetime sensation. He had seen the adults like his parents pressing their puckered lips together and, even though he did not understand what gravity words like “love” and “marriage” held, understood that kissing made mothers and fathers happy. He lifted his head and puckered his lips out, awaiting for his long awaited reward.

As Leggy stood over Rowark and leaned in to seal the deal, Rowark closed his eyes to accept the gesture of love. Each heartbeat rippled through his chest and felt like minutes, but he would endure each strong pulse patiently for his wish to come true.

“No…” came the sudden rejection of Leggy, “This is wrong, this is, Queer…”

“Oh, I didn’t…” Rowark didn’t know what Queer meant exactly, but he had heard the word uttered occasionally during the bi-tendo sermons. He had never even questioned what it meant until now. With anxiety building from his jumbled thoughts, Rowark panicked an response, “I, I didn’t mean to be… Queer… ”

“Well, you did!” raised the voice of Leggy, “What you wished for is the most disgusting sin out there known to the Goddesses, and they would never grant that under any circumstance!” Leggy had no idea he was frightening Rowark, who had never seen his friend suddenly behave this way, “If you were a girl, maybe. But you’re a boy. So wish for something else.”

Sin? Rowark had thought sin was an act detestable to the Goddesses, like killing or stealing. So then, what was so sinful about wanting to share an experience that was supposed to express love? If only there was something to wish for that could cheer Rowark out of his brutal rejection. His mouth slowly frowned into misery, and water began to fill his eyelids, “I, I wish to go home.”

With a scowl on his face, Leggy stormed back towards the village, “Come on, then.” They still had another half hour to spare by the time they made their long, silent trek home.

Chapter Text

The door opening stirred Rowark awake from his deep slumber. He tried to open his eyelids, but the soreness spread throughout his body kept him paralyzed. The immediate sensation that rudely welcomed his awakening was a torturous stiffness that infected his body. It was as if the only way to relieve the tension was to move, but Rowark had felt this soreness before, and he knew that more movement only invited more pain. He was in a bed of some sort, that much he could gather from the cushy, soft feeling underneath him.

It had seemed whoever had entered was in mid-conversation, “... removed before the next morning’s day of light.”

“Okay, but what do we do with… him?” it was a woman’s voice. Sasha’s. It was hard to determine who “him” was, but something about the way she said it implied it was Rowark. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of his name. Though he dared not to move his stiff neck muscles, his eyes did not get sore. A long, wooden frame floated on top and hung pink drapes along the sides, and the ceiling above the bed frame had a familiar, wooden pattern.

“I shall handle that.” His voice was unknown, but somehow familiar. It sounded older, mature, formal.

Unconvinced, she growled in response, “How?”

“I shall make that announcement once he’s awake, which I believe he is.”

Rowark’s blood froze at the revelation and looked towards the voices, which he immediately regretted after every muscle hurt for him to retreat back to his supine position. “Argh,” he groaned loudly. Though a thin, foreign quilt covered Rowark’s body from neck to toe, he did not have to see the bandages and splints underneath to know that his body was almost completely wrapped in first aid.

He slowly, but agonizingly, lifted his head off the pillow to see who was in the room and identify where he was exactly. Immediately after recognizing the shape and placement of the Sasha’s dresser, tables, desks, and decor, he recognized both the beautiful woman that was Sasha and the silver haired old man standing next to her. He was at Rowark’s knighting. Not only knighted by the Queen, but to have the legendary the Royal Guardian be present at his knighting, Rowark was suddenly stricken with the oddity that Nayru’s Judge had come all the way out here, just to see him?

Sir Mawar wore the most complex expression Rowark had ever encountered. His smile seemed genuine yet worn, the skin on his face had aged terribly, but his thick beard helped hide much of the wrinkles. The one thing his blue eyes and Sasha’s red eyes had in common was that both pairs looked congenial at first sight. His each part of his colorful robe all had significance in his status. The blue robe meant that he worked under the judicial branch of the Crown; the dark red sleeves meant he was the top of his branch. The red sash symbolizing his military service held dozens of medals to commemorate his every famed deed on the battlefield, enough to cover the entire front side. Complimenting his sash was the golden ring on his finger, his most valuable possession, to represent his time served as one of the Queen’s Royal Guards, the highest ranking branch of military in all of Hyrule consisting of the nine greatest knights in all of Hyrule, even outranking Din’s Marshall of Her Majesty’s Army.

How Sir Mawar matched his chivalrous mannerisms and tall posture to his esteemed rank! His lengthy legs and upright breast elevated his sharp blue eyes above all the rest so that he could watch all underneath him like a hawk. Complimenting his majestic stature was a gilded scabbard hanging off of his belt.

Sasha motioned to a beautiful, young attendant standing by to assist him, and the beautiful, young servant, wearing surprisingly modest, beige robes, helped Rowark sit up straight and adjusted the pillows for him.

Sir Mawar cleared his throat, “Good evening, Rowark. You never seem to rest, do you?”

Rowark smiled, “The only rest deserved is the rest earned.” He could not believe he just brought up his old village’s proverb. It was on the lips of every hard working man and woman where he grew up.

The old man nodded, “Your diligence is certainly noted. How are you feeling?”

Documenting the extent of his pain by twitching every muscle in his body, Rowark groaned in agony, “I’ll live, Sir.”

Sir Mawar lifted his blue eyes briefly to meet them with Sasha, and then they both nodded. “While Sasha here is sincerely grateful for preventing any further damage,” Rowark looked over at Sasha, who smiled back to confirm the sincerity behind his words. Once he felt confident in Sasha, he looked back to Sir Mawar, “Your involvement was certainly helpful for both parties. But it has also created a problem.”

Rowark gulped.

“Don’t worry. There will be an agreeable solution for all of us, one that I think we can all unanimously accept. But first allow me to explain the situation.” An impatient groan erupted from Sasha. “What you have witnessed is something that must be kept secret.”

“That, purple fire? That explosion? All those dead?”

Without even a blink, Sir Mawar straight-faced said, “You may confirm that people have died in the incident, but we are about to send a story to the crier’s guild that a rogue Wizzrobe summoned a beast in the plaza.”

Rowark unleashed the largest, most hesitant sigh in history of expressions of uncertainty. The Throne was going to straight-faced lie about this incident to the public. And Rowark had to play along or disobey the very Throne he had sworn to protect. The highest judge in Hyrule, an honor which could only given to by the Queen, was coercing Rowark to break the Second Golden Law. Reluctant as he was, he knew better than to show it. “Then, do you mind me asking, what exactly did I fight out there?”

Rowark looked to Sir Mawar for an answer, who did not immediately reply and, instead, looked to Sasha’s frown for an answer. Responding with her own resolute stare, she refused to let up, “The secret does not reach his ears.”

The seasoned knight persisted, “It has already reached his eyes. Without proper supervision, it will only be a matter of time before the diligent, young squire concludes the investigation of the matter anyhow, and then who knows whose else’s ears will hear his conclusion.” Sasha’s eyes narrowed but remained deathly quiet.

Rowark had no idea what was going on behind her deadly glare, but Sir Mawar snapped like a trap catching prey, “Don’t even think about it Sasha! You know the repercussions of harming one of ours in your house!” Rowark felt his heart race from the sudden, sharp tone as he watched Sasha retreat her glare. Did she… think about… killing him just now? “He has been exposed to sensitive information, yes, now allow me to tutor the boy on how to deal with such information. At least please enlighten him from your point of view. I’m sure he would be a fine ally to have on your side.”

Dead silence was painted on her lips and eyes. Then a sigh erupted from her face, lightening her mood, “Fine. But only because…” a sinister glance from her eyes bore into his own, “your secret is safe with me.” A shot of blood rushed through his body. It was too late for Rowark to rebuttal, and the last person who needed to know about his curse was the seasoned judge who could non hesitantly sentence him to prison or execute him for breaking the law.

Once Sasha recognized the panicked look on Rowark’s face, she relaxed her stance, “My family name, Ganford, is a break from Gerudo tradition. Normally, only a male Gerudo can begin a new dynasty. All his daughters’ will inherit his given name to symbolize the birth of a new family line. Any daughters sired from a Hylian man keep the family name of the mother. But our mothers long ago changed our names because…,” another hesitation, “because Ganford was changed from, Ganondorf.”

Even speaking the name of the ancient beholder of the Triforce of Power alarmed Rowark, “You mean to say-?”

“That all Gerudo living in Hyrule Castle City,” Sasha’s hesitant sigh widened Rowark’s eyes, “is a descendant of Ganondorf. What you witnessed is our dynasty’s secret connection to his infamous legacy.” He had just fought someone who had inherited not only Ganondorf’s name, but his powers as well. It all made sense. “When unleashed, it gives each woman enhanced power as well as a burning coat of fire. But we do not possess the Triforce of Power like our ancestor once did, so our bodies cannot endure the extreme heat, nor control it. Once it is begun, the sister has about five minutes before the fire consumes her completely.

“It is a terrible curse that we regrettably bear, and it is a curse we vow upon birth to keep from coming into light. Please do not misjudge us based on our name. Our mothers and sisters were banished from our homeland to this foreign city and have spent half a century trying to curry favor with our hostile neighbors, just to sleep under a roof.”

“Good Goddesses, I could never do that!” was Rowark’s immediate, unthinking response, “Afterall, you certainly did not choose your lineage!” Though Rowark could not offer much in his injured state, the least he could do was have some empathy. How nice it must be if he were born with a name like Nohansen or Ingo instead of Forester, or Ganford. Of course, the idea that Sasha could burst into purple flames at will and that every woman walking beneath her feet could do the same unsettled him, but he could not blame the Gerudo for wanting to shed their cursed bloodline.

Sasha received his goodwill gratefully, “Thank you. Then you understand why it is important that our dynasty must remain a Gerudo secret .” Rowark’s nod was all that was needed to confirm that both parties held information that could potentially destroy the other if shared.

“Indubitably so,” Sir Mawar inserted himself, “But sorry to say, we cannot trust the word of some boy of interest who only received his promotion this morning. You are, to put it frankly, too much of an unknown variable to me and my colleagues. To remedy this, I believe the best solution for all of us is…” a quick glance to Sasha made the pause all the more dramatic... “for me to personally assign you a knight through your Squirehood.” Oh man, he’s gonna watch me like a hawk , Rowark shuddered at the thought of Sir Mawar’s piercing eyes indirectly hovering and judging his every action.

“Um, if,” Rowark turned to Sasha to gauge her response to the old man’s simple solution, which still felt overboard, “if that is what you think best.”

“My wish is not for the scrutiny to impede your growth at all. I do view you as a promising candidate for knighthood. When I first received recommendation of your promotion by Sir Triss, I had to admit, I had no idea who you were at all. Which is surprising because it is my job to know things. Then he told me that you had served over a hundred missions with fifteen different volunteer companies over the past two years,” a chuckle broke from his lips, “Fifty volunteer sorties per year! Usually a soldier tries his best to make twelve at least if he’s trying to impress a commanding knight, and here we have someone who has made it a once-a-tendo hobby.”

“Such recognition from you is a great honor, Sir. Thank you. But I, I wasn’t doing this for fame or anything.”

“Clearly. That was not what impressed me. Your military record, and why you were never recommended, was what impressed me. When I finally read your past on paper, I found that you had deliberately changed volunteer companies each tendo, and you served with nine different volunteer companies only once a season. On top of that, you are a soldier with no bloody blemishes on his record!”

Sir Mawar’s eyes suddenly narrowed into a digging glare, “It was as if you never wanted your name to be whispered into the Queen’s ear or mine own.”

Do not swallow, do not swallow, do not swallow, the young boy exerted his every best effort to manifest his mantra into his stoic, shielded face. “Well,” he had no idea how to diffuse the tense sentiments, “Thank you, at least, for acknowledging my efforts.”

Though gratitude was the first thought that came to his mind, hearing Sir Mawar and the Queen, two of the highest entities of the law in Hyrule, list Rowark’s accomplishments helped make him accept the title of “Sir” more and more, and that he was certainly thankful for. “Of course, I had reached this conclusion after you had been knighted, so had I found out your record said that you were the opposite of what Sir Triss had said about you, then the conclusion would have been just as moot.

“Oh well,” he paused to allow himself a grin, “What I mean to ask is, why do you go to such lengths to serve?”

This time, Rowark ducked his eyes to avert the veteran’s. The complex answer to that question had many ties to his past, something he did not want in the minds of anyone but his sister. There were only positives for spending time to serve, “Well, for starters, I really don’t like latrine duty.”

Sir Mawar’s grin opened up and revealed his pearly white teeth, “You keep your bloody record clean and work overtime... just to avoid latrine duty?”

“And the volunteer companies treat me better than my own company does sometimes,” he wanted to say all the time, but he decided against addressing his grievances against his commander’s practices. He was fortunate that the Her Majesty’s Army had enough numbers by the thousands that each volunteer sortie always had a new cavalcade of unrecognizable faces. “And I, I believe it’s my duty to the Goddesses and the realm, to serve whenever and wherever I can.”

Sir Mawar wanted to speak, but he had to chuckle and express his amusement with Rowark’s answer, sending an uncomfortable chill down Rowark’s spine, “That’s wonderful to hear. Are you devout?”

His spirituality was something he was more than happy to share, “I live by the good Book of Legend and worship twice a tendo, Sir. My original goal before being knighted was to be one of Her Majesty’s chaplains.” Yet something did not feel quite right with his answer, honest as it was. Despite his piety, he had never once felt that his devotion and sacrifices to the Goddesses were adequate enough. Was that why he volunteered so much, to fill that inadequacy?

“I have no doubt you have a magnanimous heart. The Queen is fortunate to have knighted one who is in fear of our Goddesses and holds the highest reverence for the throne. And I would never encourage anybody knighted by the Queen herself to break their solemn oath to act with justice and compassion.

“However,” his sigh and grave look changed the beat of the conversation drastically, “the realm refuses to ever be that simple. The realm’s laws are one layer of rules in our great society that we must obey, morality being another layer. These rules are to be obeyed, as dictated by the Goddess of Wisdom herself. But there are also certain realities that conflict with these various layers, and yet we must obey these additional layers of rules just as the Goddess Nayru commands our bodies to obey the laws of nature.”

“Certain realities? I do not follow.” In a sense, Rowark did understand the Judge’s vague words about laws and morality. If everyone was subservient to the order of power, then why else did people openly whore, kill, and spread hatred?

“While we must always follow the laws of the realm and of the Goddesses, we must also serve the Throne. Sometimes, however, these three entities conflict with each other. That means during these moments we must choose between whom to serve: the laws of the realm, the will of the Goddesses, or the sovereignty of the Queen. I consider my duty, as a sworn councilman to the Throne and trusted advisor to Her Majesty, to be my guiding light. Therefore tomorrow, I will feed an alternative story to the heralds for tomorrow’s news.”

“But, what does lying have anything to do with protecting the serving the Crown and protecting the realm?”

“The Queen is not only chosen by the Goddess Hylia, but she is voted into the Throne by the will of the people as well. For the realm to remain strong, she must become the physical embodiment of both wills. Of course, not all agree with either representation. There are many enemies, foreign and domestic, who oppose the Queen’s righteous rule. The Queen’s most dangerous enemies are the ones who are powerful enough to openly stand against her, but they are only powerful enough to do so because they have crafted countless alliances. In the same regard, the Queen also forges powerful alliances for obvious reasons and the not so obvious but nevertheless more important reason of denying the enemies an ally of their own. It is unfortunate to say this but,” the old man lifted his chin and brushed his long, straight beard, “the Throne is in a, diplomatic war of sorts.”

“In order to win this war without direct fighting, it is important to build good rapport with all the people in the Hyrule,” Sir Mawar extended his hand, dangling the blue embroidery on his red sleeve, toward Sasha,  “Sasha and the Ganfords are one of many such allies… You look a little lost.”

Rowark was suddenly aware of the gawked expression on his face, “I think… I get it…” It wasn’t the amount of information he had to take in all in one day that unsettled him, it was lives that had been lost only hours ago. Since Rowark’s return, he had witnessed too many people die. What was worse was that he had no idea why their lives had ended, and what was even worse was the way Sir Mawar justified keeping it that way.

“Wonderful. You are still young and green, but there is hope yet for you to learn about all the different layers of laws so that you may better serve the realm. You will still have to attend and graduate from Skyloft after squirehood, and then, your assignments will be at the mercy of the higher echelons. But armed with the knowledge to fight injustice in our world, I expect you to go far in your military servitude.”

Skyloft . Rowark’s heart skipped a beat. Sitting atop Valor Island, the great rocky tower that uncaringly jutted out of the Hylian ground, Skyloft not only served as the quarters for all of Her Majesty’s knights, but also trained all of the newly knighted. Before battle had hardened the young pages, Rowark and the other children dreamed of being knighted and then attending the prestigious school that would prepare them for knighthood. But after seeing their first comrades die, their dream quickly changed to simply surviving another day. Rowark was so in shock by the knighting that he had completely forgotten that his childish dream was coming true. His jaw slowly dropped open as the reality was catching up to him. “When does it, does it begin?”

“The next semester of training does not begin until the beginning of Autumn. In the meantime, every newly knighted will be assigned to squire under a veteran. You’ll hear all about it tomorrow, or the day after I believe. So,” Sir Mawar looked around the room, “are all parties in agreement?”

Only one sound was uttered from Sasha’s mouth, “Hmph.” The ambiguous answer became her approval with the copacetic nod on her suspicious face. The way she looked at Rowark made it seem like she trusted the boy she just met more than the man she already knew.

“Excellent.” The old man lifted the lapel of his robe to sneak his hand within and withdrew a small vial with a red liquid inside. Known as red medicine, its contents once imbibed could instantly reverse life threatening wounds on the battlefield. Every soldier carried at least two when deployed. “Here, to aid your recovery,” said Sir Mawar with less than righteous intentions behind his eyes.

“Thankee Sir,” was the only appropriate response to such a gesture.

“Don’t thank me just yet.” The grin on the old man’s lips unsettled Rowar. “You will be shouldering many responsibilities and burdens, which will not be easy. So, Rowark Forester, I’m afraid it has come down to this. Technically as your superior, I order you to take significant relaxation tomorrow…” The stern look on Sir Mawar’s face was almost seemed to say, If you don’t, I’ll know... “The medicine alone won’t be enough. The body needs rest to recover from the terrible strain you have already placed upon it,” he said as he brushed his beard and handed the vial to the attendant.

Her hands opened the bottle and then gently tilted Rowark’s chin upward as she guided the cold fluid into his throat. By now, Rowark had drank the medicine countless times, so he had all but forgotten what it had felt like to feel rejuvenated again; except for the warmth, he had to remove the blanket so as not to feel like he was being cooked alive.

Like a newborn babe, Rowark shook his head and stretched his arms out, “What time of day is it?” He looked out a window opposite the room and saw dark, not even a glimmer of light.

“Late,” answered Sir Mawar.

“ Several hours too late…” added Sasha annoyingly, “again.”

“I arrived with all due haste,” said Sir Mawar unapologetically, “and that haste involved a lot of paperwork that will compensate you for your losses and damages.”

“This is the third time this tendo alone, out of dozens this season already!” she was beginning to unleash Din’s fury upon the old knight, “When will you realize that preventing these damages is more cost effective than paying for them?”

The comment drew an irate smirk across Sir Mawar’s beard. “May we,” the old man threw a quick, subtle glance at Rowark, “discuss this outside?”

“Hmph,” retorted Sasha, “very well. Rowark, have a good night of rest.” She turned for the door and

“So um,” interrupted Rowark, “what of my friends?”

“Your companions have each been compensated for a night’s stay within the walls. They have been notified of the, situation ,” Sir Mawar’s instant, sharp glare felt as severe as the potential consequences for slipping the truth to his companions, “You have a free day tomorrow I believe.  Orientation is usually held at the end of the tendo after the knighting.”

"What day is it today?”

“Today is ninth day eve. So indeed, orientation is the day after tomorrow. Enjoy your day off. You will have a long fortnight after that.” Sir Mawar took his leave for the door, where Sasha had waited for him.

“Oh, before I forget,” said Sasha, “would you like some company for the evening?”

"Uh,” Rowark looked over at Sir Mawar who was walking for the exit, “Um. Please?” Sasha quietly muttered instructions to her attendant with her native tongue.

“One last thing,” said the old man just before he was about to cross the threshold, “Until you graduate from the academy, please don’t be a hero.” The attendant closed the door, leaving Rowark alone with his thoughts and his memories.

Chapter Text

Rowark sullenly walked in through the back door of his family cottage, built long ago before the War. With each pump, his heart drenched his body in heavy shame. Which words that currently existed in the Hylian language could be put together to describe the feelings in his chest? Who was even available for him to talk about his turbulent emotions in his head?

“Rowark!” came the call of the happiest and friendliest person Rowark knew. His sister rushed out her bedroom that she shared with her twin sister and pranced down the hall in her dark blue dress. The dim candle light illuminated her golden bobbed hair with a warm glow. At her ripe age of betrothal, she stood an entire head and a half above a still growing Rowark.

But even the jubilant sound of Alexa’s voice calling out to Rowark could not perk him up. A crushing sadness weighed not only his heart down, but his chin as well. “What’s wrong?” asked his sister elder of five years as she tried to make made eye contact, “Rowark?”

He shook his head and tried to hide his tears. Though he did his best to hide his shame from his sister, that did not stop her from doing her best to console him, the only person in his family who would. He was too ashamed of himself to talk about it. If he had told her what had happened between him and Leggy, would she judge him to be sinful just as his best friend had just done? It was worth bottling up all his sentiments to avoid the worst case consequence.

Suddenly, her arms wrapped around his back and gently compressed Rowark’s head into her warm body. “Hey,” she whispered, “we don’t have to talk about it, okay?”

Rowark nodded and unleashed a stream of tears down into her shoulder while she patted his head.

“Hey,” Alexa broke the embrace and perked up, “Do you wanna play house? You can play Mommy this time.”

At the sound of playing the feminine role, Rowark’s eyes dried up faster than rain did under the Gerudo sun, and he nodded eagerly as if he forgot everything that had transpired only half an hour ago. They hurriedly ran into Alexa's room, where she kept her collection of wooden figurines purchased from her favorite woodworking shop. Laid out in the middle of her bed were a figurine of the legendary Princess Zelda and another of the Hero of Time. Rowark spent much of his days in this room in the comfort of his sister. Only Alexa would play House with Rowark, his favorite game, and only she would encourage Rowark to play as Zelda, his favorite figurine.

He placed the miniature table and chairs down onto the solid, wooden floor and prepared the dining room while Alexa grabbed the miniature bed and dresser and set the bedroom. He then grabbed the Zelda figurine, posed like she was regally introducing herself, and placed it on by the dinner table.

Clearing his voice, he spiked up his speaking voice to imitate the Princess, “Welcome home, Hero! What did you bring today?”

His sister did the exact opposite as she held the Hero figurine in her hand, “Hi Princess! I brought back some fresh deer meat, some mushrooms, and some Hylian greens.”

“I can make something really delicious with all that,” the Zelda figurine made it way to the Hero figurine, took the imaginary food from its stationary hands, and brought the ingredients to the nonexistent fireplace. “Hmm-hm-hmm-hm-hmmm,” hummed the young boy as he quick whipped up a delectable meal for his family. The Zelda figurine placed the newly cooked food onto the table, and the two sat down for a meal.

“Mmm, yum!” said the Hero figurine, “You always cook the best food Zelda!”

“Thank you, Hero! You always bring back the best ingredients.”

“Let me take your dirty plate,” offered the Hero, “I was gonna make some tea for us.”

“Ooh yummy! Make some Deku tea for me!” exclaimed the Princess figurine as it hopped up and down in glee.

The figurines bantered back and forth like they were a wedded couple of countless seasons. Rowark and Alexa snuck in smooches between conversations to make their romance all the more authentic. But the more the figurines, one carved into a clear cut man and the other a clear cut woman, feigned affection for one another, the less he enjoyed the game. As he pondered about the relationships celebrated in the legends of Zelda, he began to feel alienating sentiments seep back into his heart.

A hand his shoulder jolted him. “Rowark?” Alexa’s voice brought him out of his deep thinking, “Are you sure you’re all right?” He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he never even seen her hand reach out in front of his eyes. “You look a little, sadder, than normal.”

Rowark did not want to discuss the day’s events, but he knew the one person he could converse with about his feelings was sitting right across from him. He could no longer hide from the startling truth, so he froze instead. “You can tell me anything,” reassured his sister, but to no avail. Her words forced tears to spill forth from his trapped emotions. Taken aback, she apologized, “Forgive me for prying, I won’t say anymore.”

His arms reached forth, knocking over the figurines, and wrapped around his sister’s warm body. The last thing Rowark wanted was for his sister to think that she was the cause of his disturbed mind. Emotions had overcome his body with sobs. She stroked his straight, thin hair and brushed his cheek with a smile that bore a bit of Rowark’s own sadness. She knew it better than Rowark did, but what Rowark wanted more than someone to talk to was to be able to openly express his feelings.

“Dinner!” the call of Mother’s voice suddenly brought Rowark up.

“Oh dung,” cursed Alexa, “We gotta clean you up, Rowark, before Father sees you!”

Both Alexa and Rowark sprung into action. She used the skirt of her summer dress to wipe away any amount of moisture on his face. He sniffled to hide any sign of a runny nose and stood up straight and forced a smile on his face, “How do I look?”

Alexa smiled back at him, “Like you’re ready for dinner!” She held his hand as they walked out of the room together towards the dining table.

As soon as they turned the corner, they ran into a giant whose head almost reached the ceiling and whose body was as wide as a bear’s. Timidly, Rowark lifted his head to meet Father’s intimidating, downward glance. His shadowed face made his manly glare feel more scrutinizing. His judgement even, worse, “Crying again are we, boy?”

Father carried his last name very proudly. His merits alone were enough for everyone to name him Sheriff of Ordon Village, and that was not considering his brutish appearance. It was his greatest wish to pass his role down to Thook, the eldest with all muscles no fat. It was his next greatest wish that all his children would become big and strong like him. Rowark immediately averted his Father’s gaze, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “Father,” protested Alexa, “don’t…”

“What’s that?” Father raised his voice at the sound of insolence, “Don’t what? Don’t teach my own son how to be a strong Forester?” His large hand swatted Rowark’s and Alexa’s connected hands, and he lifted himself over the frightened Rowark before roaring at at maximum volume, “The only ones who can tell me how to discipline my boy are the Goddesses!”

For a long heartbeat, Rowark thought Father would raise a hand to discipline him and his sister again, a wrath he only too frequently displayed, but he gruffed loudly instead and walked past them, “Go help your mother set for dinner.” Each of his monstrous legs created a loud tremor with each step, and when he kicked the front door open to take a deep breath of fresh air, Rowark could have sworn he felt a slight draft from the force of the kick.

The siblings marched into the kitchen with the heads hung low and were met upon the busy activities of the rest of the family. Before he had a chance to pick up his head and see where he was going, the tall Thook, Rowark’s eldest brother, carried a stack of plates and walked past without paying attention and almost planted a knee into Rowark's face. As the eldest child, Thook had the responsibility of setting the Forester example for his younger siblings. Following his elder brother, Ryp, the third eldest, puffed up his muscular chest as he marched in step behind his brother carrying a platter of meat, followed by the aroma of smoke.

“Rowy deary,” Mother had mysteriously sensed Rowark’s incoming presence without taking her eyes off the stew, “mind ye takin the butter and the jam to the table?” He squeezed between his mother’s long dress and his elder brother’s beefy body to reach the counter where Mother had plated the cubical block of goat butter and the thick, dark red, strawberry marmalade. “Alexa, darling, mind ye helping your sister set the table?”

“Yes, Mother!” responded Alexa. Rowark followed his sister out the kitchen with the butter and the jam in his hands and set both next to the loaf of bread while the rest of the family helped place the wooden cutlery and plates on the thick tabletop, a gift handed to the Foresters by the Carvers just down the dirt paved road. Eleven seats were handmade with the utmost care for each family member, a tradition of the Carver family upheld for every person who was born in Ordon Village.

Rowark sat in his seat, next to his younger brother of one year, Fillipo, and the youngest of the family, Timur, on the other side. He had the responsibility of separating his younger brothers to prevent the mischievous youngins from uniting their disruptive power, a responsibility “meant to toughen him up”. What other extreme measures could Father have possibly missed? Physically demanding chores, dragging the boy along for hunts, bullying by his elder brothers, even forcing him to play outside with the preacher’s son, and countless stern lectures were all Father’s aims to strengthen Rowark, all to no avail.

The boy sat in sullen silence as he waited for Father to return inside and take his seat and eavesdropped on his family to avoid thinking about prior events. Ilia, still wearing her hunting leathers, and Alexa intently discussed the day’s archery lessons. Thook smacked Felton, the second oldest, on the back of his head, who in turn hit Ryp on the back of his head, who, knowing that the eldest started the conflict, in turn reached across with his right hand and sucked punched Thook in the stomach, who retaliated with a punch twice as strong, and Kliifa, the next eldest brother after Ryp, thought to join in on the fun by tossing a small piece of rock salt at the chaos from across the table, hitting Ilia in the forehead instead. When the frightening big sister stood up and shot a death glare into her brother’s soul, all but Kliifa, shaking with terror, paid no attention to her. Nothing unsettled Rowark more than getting used to the idea that this was what maturity was going to look like.

Once the first booming footsteps of Father were audible at oblong the dining table, all frivolous activities ceased. Thook, Felton, Ryp, Ilia, and Kliifa went back to pretending nothing had ever happened. Father was so tall the top of his almost reached the ceiling, and his clothing were specially tailored to his enormous girth and height. There were no shortage of tales told about his warrior father, that the Blins sang songs about the deadly Father to scare their youngins to sleep, that he slayed highwaymen by the scores to protect their caravans. The mighty giant took his seat at the head of his table and stretched his hands out to his side, the cue for the rest of the family to grasp hands together.

Breaking the silence, Father signaled for the beginning of supper, “Ilia, give thanks to the Goddesses for us tonight.”

Rowark’s elder sister stood up from her seat next to her twin and her brother, Timur, sitting on the other side and began to pray, “Farore, we thank you for the plentiful harvest and the happy family you have provided for us tonight. Nayru, we thank you for the peaceful home and the good neighbors you have given our family. Din, we thank you for the heat that warms our homes and our hearts. Hylia, we thank you for the protection and the guidance for our people. We are forever grateful for your bounties, so we pray to you Goddesses that you may bless our meal and our family this evening. We pray that we will forever be in your service.”

In unison, Rowark chanted with his family, “So be it.”

That evening, Rowark’s mother prepared a stew made of carrots, onions, and potatoes for each family member with two big slices of bread and a mound of ribs resembling a mountain made out of dragon bones on a platter to be passed amongst the family. Rowark cut two slices of bread and served himself a dollop of butter and jam, but he passed the ribs platter on to his younger brother.

To which Father had to comment with a loud slam of the fist, “You will eat meat, boy!”

All eyes were on Rowark, who froze in place mid pass, as he dropped the platter of ribs, spilling some onto the table. Today must have been one of Father's bad days. The more Rowark wanted to comply with Father, the more his stomach turned in defiance, preemptively refusing entry to the smoked flesh. The only excuse Rowark could come up with was, “I'm not, really hungry.”

“Not hungry, boy?” roared the bear-like man, “Thook! Take Rowark's dinner away. He shall have none tonight. Since he says he’s not hungry.” The rest of Rowark’s siblings looked down at their food much like Rowark did, happy that they were not on the receiving end of Father’s rage this time.

“Dearest,” Mother placed a soft hand on Father's tensed muscles and softly appealed to her husband, “please, the last thing the poor boy needs is to be starved.”

Father shrugged off her hand and slammed his huge, hairy fist onto the table, never breaking his stare from Rowark's eyes, “I don't know what the boy needs to make him a Forester! I'd say he needs more lessons and more tough love, but he prefers to cry at every hunt and squeal at the sight of fresh blood and play with dolls !” he hocked and spit upon the floor at the utterance of the word, “What will it take, Rowark, for you to be a man!?”

Rowark wanted to pretend everyone’s eyes were not there so long as they stayed true to the table. They did not waver even as Thook reached in front and grabbed Rowark’s dinner plate and stew away from him. “Help yourself to Rowark’s plate and his share of ribs, a man needs to grow. Rowark! You are to stay put and watch rest of the family eat! And if you’re hungry, you can scrape my spit off the floor, which you will do before the end of dinner!” At the end of his sentencing, Father grabbed a rib from his own plate and peeled the meat from the bone with his teeth. The loud sound of Father’s chewing at least meant that he was done.

It took every exertion of control to fight back the tears gathering behind his eyes. This was the one battle he would not lose tonight. He dared not lift his eyes in fear of letting his family, let alone Father, see his weakness, and even if Alexa could not see Rowark’s tears, she knew they were there. He would fortify his mental dam, so that no water could overflow. Nonetheless, Rowark’s stomach audibly rumbled as the smell of warm vegetable broth and bread filtered into his nose. They proved to be the fatal cracks to his dam.

Knock knock .

The unexpected rapping from the front door caught everyone's attention. “I got it,” volunteered Father. And when he opened the door not more than a few yards away, there stood a man that made Rowark’s heart freeze.

Combed back, gray hair covered his head and face, and the symbolic white collar of the Goddesses sat comfortably at the base of his neck. Though the bishop of Ordon Village, Leggy’s father, wore a more casual set of clothing, the clerical collar never left his neck. And although Father stood an entire head and a half taller than the scrawnier bishop, he conversed with the holy man like a mouse addressed a cat. They spoke a little more quietly than normal, for even from where Rowark sat, he could discern each syllable from each word normally, but this time he heard nothing but soft murmurs coming from the doorway.

A glance from the bishop spiked Rowark’s heart. It was hard to tell whether they had truly made eye contact or not, but somehow, a strange sentiment shared between the two told Rowark that Leggy’s father had come for him. “Yes, thankee,” Father said as he was closing the door, “Have a blessed day.”

Father returned to his seat. “The, um, bishop is holding a congregation tonight in two hours. We are all to attend.” Then he picked up his unfinished rib and continued his supper.

“What do you think it’s about, Father?” asked Thook while devouring his fifth rib.

“Probably a Holy Trial,” answered the burly man, “Why else does the bishop congregate the whole village all of a sudden at night?”

Thook shrugged, “I dunno.”

Rowark could not shake the way Leggy’s father looked at him. The way the bishop’s eyes had bore into his own killed any appetite he had for the remainder of the evening.

Chapter Text

The heat underneath Rowark’s back was unbearable as it was, and being stuck in that same spot when Rowark began to heat up unexpectedly made the very tiny gap of air between his skin and shirt feel like Din’s Hearth itself. But despite these infernal conditions, Miro Miro steeled herself as the conversation continued. She was too absorbed in her own misery to care about what unknown babbling they were talk.

But just when she thought she was in the clear, an unexpected knock on the door made Miro Miro curse the blasted lady of luck. “You are,” said unknown Gerudo’s voice, though it was tough to discern her words through Rowark’s back, “ voe , who want vaivoos ?”

“Um, vaivoos?” repeated Rowark with amicable confusion.

“Yes, vaivoos , Sheathe.”

“Oh, um…” Suddenly, Rowark’s heart rate picked up like a fleeing rabbit’s. “No, Not… not tonight.”

“Ho? No Vaivoos ?”

“No, uh, I mean, correct. No, um…”

“But voe said he want vaivoos ?”

“No, I uh, I did, but um… I um, you wouldn’t understand. I just want to be alone tonight.”

“No vaivoos ? Is Pa’olia not pretty?”

“No! Please don’t misunderstand!” his heart was racing twice as fast as before, “You are quite beautiful, but I, I, I changed my mind, before you reached here. I, I would like the night to myself. I’m sorry.”

“Hmph!” whoever she said she was sounded annoyed, “You probably bad in bed anyway,” Rowark’s heart sank once those words pierced the into the room.

But once Miro Miro heard the sound of the closing door, she could no longer withstand the overwhelming temperature and humidity, crawling her way up his shirt to freedom. The first draft of the room’s air propelled her into relief as she shot her way into the open space. “PHEW!” which alarmed the soldier at first, but the instant recognition of her pink hue quickly dissolved his panic. The fairy gasped for as much as her tiny fairy lungs could expand. “I thought for a moment you were going to go through with it!”

A nervous chuckle escaped from Rowark’s very blushed face, “Haha, I uh, I never really, uh, had an intention to go with through it.”

“That's good, ahem!” Score! I always knew that Rowark wasn’t pervy! “But…” she thought about the “other woman” and why she was annoyed at Rowark, “may I ask why you asked for her in the first place?”

“Well, uh, that’s because uh…” Silence. Wow , Miro Miro instantly picked up the way his eyes were fixated downward, hands clenched up, and breathing picked up: telltale signs that Rowark was holding a secret, exactly the same as a Kokiri child’s.

“What?” she pressed on instead.

“I’m-” Rowark cut himself again, as if the thought of telling a soul about his secret put his heart at unease. “I, I’m… No, I can’t… I’m…” he covered his face to hide his shame and began to sob into his palms.

“Hey! Listen to me! Hey, hey, hey!” Miro Miro’s motherly instincts carried her to his side to give him a fairy hug, “It’s okay. Rowark, if, If you don’t want to talk about it, then we don’t have to, okay? I can make a fairy promise of never speaking of it again.”

His sobs turned into aggressive heavy breathing. Uh oh, here it comes , Miro Miro flew away to keep clear of his incoming outburst. The teenage boy whipped around to grab the pillow underneath his back and unleashed a screech…

So raw… So, death defying… What was he hiding this badly? He put down the pillow and revealed his distraught expression. “I feel like I must… say something. Otherwise, good sleep will be naught more than a flighty dream. And if I must discuss my secret, I’d rather discuss it with you.”

“I fairy promise that your secret is safe with me.”

Rowark looked up and searched for her sincerity deep inside her soul, “Are you serious about this promise? Because I could get killed if someone discovers this secret.”

“My fairy promise is bound by the Great Deku Tree, the father of the forest who protects all life in the name of Farore!” No matter the gravity of the promise, she intended to fulfill that sacred fairy pact through to the end of days. Those were the magic words that nudged the children to spill their secret.

“Yes but, if anyone asks you, are you willing to lie for me?”

“Of course I will! I wouldn’t dare dream of spilling your secret to anybody.”

Though her remark cracked a quick smile on his face, it was worth it just to break the somber atmosphere. “Okay, then… um,” Rowark began looking for ways to rephrase his words, “I’m, um. I am, um… cursed.”

“Cursed?” asked Miro Miro incredulously, “How so?”

“Before I explain that, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

“How do you feel about… men, being with other men?”

“What do you mean, being with?”

“Like, marriage.”

“A man marrying another man?”

Rowark nodded.

“That’s an odd question.” Miro Miro had absolutely no idea where Rowark was going with this, “I thought anyone would marry anyone they loved like in the stories. Some boys liked to partner with other boys in the Kokiri Village!”

“Er,” Rowark was suddenly taken aback, “What?”

“Us fairies liked to arrange playdates with our companions,” Miro Miro felt sentimental and propped up her chest as if she was lecturing her companion once again, “They were allowed to play however they wanted so long as the rules were followed! Which was no clothing removal, no nether touching, and no pecking on the lips except for one at the end of the date! Anyways, no one broke the rules, and everybody playdated everybody. And if two liked each other particularly, we called them partners. Boys partnered with girls, girls partnered with girls, boys partnered with boys…”

“So, you are okay with it?”

“Well, of course! Why do you ask?” asked Miro Miro innocently. He responded with a cold silence and stared deeply into his memories. Was it her question? Was it not acceptable? “Are you okay?” The sound of her voice forcefully expelled the images out of his head. Only then did he realize that he was drawing rapid, heavy breaths.

“Yeah, sorry…” he muttered somberly, “I ask because… what I’m getting at is…” his quickened breathing meant was getting closer to sharing his secret… “That, that I am…” Any heartbeat now… “I am…” Another rapid set of breaths before he took the final, deep one…

“Queer.”

Rowark instantly turned away from her, afraid of confronting her judgement.

Queer? What is he talking about? Queer could mean anything! His hands tightened their clench on the blanket with each heartbeat as he anxiously waited for a response. Why’s he overreacting like this? Once a child had spilled the truth out, the child was scared of punishment usually, and Rowark was trembling like he was awaiting divine, motherly justice… But what was the secret? “I don’t get it,” she confessed anticlimactically, “Like, queer how?” she asked anticlimactically.

He instantly opened his eyes “Queer, you know…” The blood drained from his face instantly, “Queer, like, you know…” Rowark looked to Miro Miro to complete the thought, but her curious silence was beginning to drive him mad, “Wait, after all that we’ve discussed, you still don’t know what...” Her confused silence in anticipation of the true secret forced a giggle to escape from him. “HAhahahaa!” Rowark burst into uncontrollable laughter. Out of her countless times dealing with children’s secrets, she had never had someone make fun of her ignorance. Now’s he just laughing at my expense , “You,” his hysterical laughter interrupted him time and time again, “You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Well! All you’re doing is you’re telling me you’re weird!” defended Miro Miro aggressively, which somehow turned into an angry compliment, “Which is, true, you know! Because you’re much nicer than everyone else in this city! And you’re not pervy like everyone in the city.”

“Awww, okay, I won’t, laugh anymore, I promise! Ha! This is why I can be best friends with you,” said the youthful adolescent wiping the last remaining tears of his incessant guffaws. “Okay…” Rowark took a quick breath and expelled out any last lingering bits of nervousness, “Queer is when… a man…” Rowark took another deep breath, “Loves… another man.”

“Ohh!” the recognition of the concept came back to her and froze Rowark’s expression… “That’s not queer at all! Haha! Oh! That’s why you were, that’s why you were worried? Oh that’s funny! Haha!” the laughter from Miro Miro poured relief into Rowark’s overstressed heart like a parched Zora entering fresh water for the first time. “But what is so bad about loving another man that you were afraid to tell me?”

Rowark’s glare cut her laughter immediately, “Between a boy-girl relationship or a boy-boy relationship, which do you think is punishable by death?”

She pondered upon his words briefly, before she reached the conclusion that was too terrifying and too, evil, for her to express. “Why!?” Why would Hylians kill because of… love? “That- That’s…” When the reality had dawned upon her, a tear fell from her eye. She did not want to hate Hylians unconditionally, but the image of Hylians murdering other Hylians for expressing their true feelings of love could only draw a conclusion she did not want to conclude… that Hylians were truly evil. She cried out loud, ”That’s horrible! What is wrong with a man being in love with another man?”

As a tear streaked down his cheek, a fake smile was planted on Rowark’s face, but behind his frustrated, sleepless eyes, he was hiding almost a lifetime spent pondering this question, “Because… it is…” he sniffed, “it is unnatural… according to the Golden Laws of Hyrule.”

Her sudden curiosity soaked up all noise and only left the dry silence hanging in the air. “What’s that? I have never heard of the Golden Laws before.”

“You’ve never heard of it?” The term Golden Laws meant nothing to her. “Have you never read the Book of Legend before?” Again, she knew nothing.

Rowark hesitated for a bit but then began staring into the back of his mind. With one great exhale, “Book of Creations, chapter 1 verse 21,” he recited with a monotone voice, “However, when Toorlik reached the peak of Hylia, he found a monument left by the Goddesses on top of Mount Hylia. An angel of Nayru came before Toorlik the human and taught him language, saying, ‘You have valiantly triumphed Nayru’s trial before all the inferior peoples could. The Goddess of Wisdom bestows upon you mastery of communication, a language with which to call your own, but your people have been chosen to burden a great responsibility. Copy the Laws of the Goddesses before thee and preach them across the lands to each and every home. Go forth, my chosen people, and spread the language of the Goddesses and become the rulers of the land.’ Then, Toorlik began to recognize the engraved shapes on the holy monument, and once he fully learned to discern the patterns, he became the first to read the Golden Laws of Hyrule:”

He drew a deep breath and gulped hard, doing his best not to sound conflicted about the laws he seemed to follow zealously,

“Honor the life you share with thy neighbor.

“Honor the trust between all beings.

“Honor the Goddesses and all their bounties placed before thee.

“Honor that which is not thine own.

“Honor the sacred bond between a man and a woman,” he paused briefly and took another deep breath.

“Honor the love of thy parents,” he managed to squeeze out and then complex sigh afterward, “I have spent many, many years studying these verses, trying to figure out where I went wrong.

“I was brought up to follow the Golden Laws. My father, he revered the Goddesses. He followed the Laws religiously just up to the point where he had to kill to protect. I tried to follow all the Laws faithfully, just as my parents wanted me to. But for all my father’s hard work and devotion, he was cursed with a son that liked boys.”

“Hey, let’s not start calling this a curse.”

“Oh but I am,” raged Rowark, “The Goddesses even kindly left me a reminder of my original sin!”

“You’re not a sinner!” the fairy raised her tone, “I refuse to believe that the Goddesses could be that cruel as to punish love!”

“Oh but they are that cruel!” he fired back intensely, “Because of my curse, I have to live a dishonest lifestyle! I have to break the second Golden Law or die! I am about to be placed in charge of dozens of men’s lives, and I must always tell the same lie again and again... Is knighthood even worth it, then?”

Rowark’s tears were met with silence. It wasn’t he that was at fault. It was Hyrule. How could people be okay with killing for... love? This was the first time Miro Miro heard about the moral code of the Goddesses contradicting the word of Father, who was sworn to the Goddess of Farore to uphold her and her sisters’ will.

“I…” he exhaled like he had no longer had anything left to vent about, “Forgive me.”

“Oh no, it’s fine! There’s no need for forgiveness.”

“Well I’ve been… up and down and up and down, in only a matter of minutes. I’m not, like this normally. It’s just, you are THE second person in my life who has ever allowed me to be fully honest, you know? The only other person who shares that privilege is my sister Alexa.” Wow, such an honor! “And I, I thank Hylia with all my heart today that she has blessed me with a friend I can trust.”

Miro Miro’s heart gushed at the sudden boost in value, “Aww, Rowark! That was so kind of you to say! How could anyone as nice as you be cursed?”

A sigh.

“Perhaps it’s better if I show you,” Rowark looked down at the wrapping over his hand, and it was probably the first time Miro Miro had paid attention to it. She certainly noticed it when they first met, but the color of the wrapping blended in so well with the rest of his outfit that she quickly forgot about it. “The only other person who knows about it is my sister.”

The strip of linen that covered his right hand had been there so long that he oftentimes forgot it was even there, which was exactly what he wanted. After seeing the worn out condition of the bandaging around his right hand, no one would have guessed that they used to be white. His left hand peeled off the end slowly, and each layer removed revealed a dirtier, sweatier layer underneath the rest, revealing the golden glowing piece of skin on the back of his hand.

Replicating the shape of the Triforce, the mark illuminated the iconic three triangles forming the larger triangle and a smaller, inverted one in middle. Upon seeing the familiar shape, Miro Miro gasped, “Is… is that the mark of the Goddesses?”

With utter contempt behind his voice, his answer was as short as death, “Yes…”

His boiling response was beginning to scare Miro Miro. Every fairy remembered what the golden triangles looked like when it last appeared over a hundred years ago. Miro Miro was dead sure she was staring at it once again; it resembled the Hero’s mark so strongly that it triggered ancient memories, “Are you sure, it’s that it’s a curse?”

“I’m sure,” his eyes glowered with hatred, “I’m dead sure.”

Chapter Text

The Holy Trial, Ordon’s favorite pastime, was about to begin. So exciting was the spectacle of execution that the fires and the heretic would be the talk of the village until another trial was held. For tonight’s entertainment, a wooden dais with a hand carved podium was erected in front of Ordon’s great Abbey, the only building in the village made of stone, to project the Goddesses’ divine justice, and as a finishing touch, the Temple’s keepers had laid out the groundwork for the execution with one wooden stake surrounded by the driest of bales of hay. Each of Ordon’s two hundred or so villagers were either discussing who was going to be tried for what sin or placing bets, but the outcome remained the same. Thankfully, Rowark did not hear his name floating amongst the whispers, but bad feelings continued brewing inside the boy.

Because of Father’s role as sheriff, the Foresters and their enormous extended family, constituting nearly half the population of Ordon, enjoyed the front row to the trial. Alexa stood behind Rowark and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Situated closely behind the Foresters were the Millers, the Hunters, the Tanners, and the Yeomans; further behind them were the Shepherds, the Carvers, the Weavers, the Tailors, and the Bakers. Every family prided themselves in their trade, and all were equals in each villager’s mind, and the sheriff was only regarded as the first among equals. Except for one family. One family, the keepers of the Temple, was held upon a pedestal.

Emerging from the doors of the abbey and wearing a dark blue cassock covering everything from his neck to his ostentatious sandals, a white cape with red hems flowing down to his heels, the emblematic white collar around his neck, and his ceremonial golden crown was Leedath Bishop, the divine avatar of the Goddesses in charge of the village’s salvation. Accompanying behind his heels were his senior acolytes, wearing a similar cossack but lacked the cape, and the keepers, wearing naught more than the poor brown robe; both wore their hoods up to conceal their identities. When the wind gently lifted his cape, the bishop appeared larger than life as he climbed onto his theater from upstage. There was no doubt that while Father was the appointed leader of the people, the bishop was the true authority of the village.

For when he raised his arms, the laety gave every bit of their soul to hear what he was saying, “Villagers of Ordon.” His high register voice drowned the morbid, black atmosphere, “I thankee for convening on such short notice. I would have waited until tendo’s end to hold this trial.” Murmurs and whispers erupted at the sound of the word trial. “Who” and “for what” were the most asked questions.

“But a sinner has reared his ugly head in our very own community. The Book of Legend warns us in the second chapter, ‘The enduring spirit of the Demon King lives on through the hearts of the sinner.’ A small sin committed against the Goddesses may seem like a small cut against our village, but sinners spread their influence amongst their neighbors, until the entire kingdom is infected with their blasphemy! Just as the Hero of Time wielded the blade forged by the Goddesses themselves to vanquish the sins of the King of Thieves at their source, so too must we remove a corrupted member so as to preserve the sanctity of our great village, our beacon of light unto the darkness of Faron woods, so too must we purge the sinner as commanded by Din, ‘Break apart the evil of the land and burn all who dare go against the Goddesses.” Book of Redemption, chapter twenty four, verse seventy eight.’

“Blessed is Nayru, Epitome of Wisdom, who has illuminated the path to peace and prosperity through her Laws. Queen Zelda the First warns us, ‘Only by following the commandments of the Goddesses will we prevent the next calamity.’ As an individual, we are time and time again forced to choose, either follow the path to the Goddess Hylia, or follow the path to the demon king, Demise. The Book of Legend also reminds us that the choice of one affects the choice of others. We are gathered here today because one amongst us chose to stray from the Goddesses’ path and put our entire village, nay, our entire realm, at risk of damnation.”

The Bishop was interjected, “When do we get to see the sinner burn?”

“Before I announce the accused, I would like to announce the crime.” Rowark gulped heavily. “The Goddess Nayru blessed our land with her laws, so that peace and order would reign over conflict and chaos. All around, the creatures placed on Hyrule by the Goddesses all share a common attribute: male mates with female to create life.” The bishop leaned forth and spew out his next lines with absolute disgust, “Like mating with like would lead to the extinction of all life.” His punctuation of each word stirred up boos from the crowd. Uh oh… Is this about… what happened… with Leggy? Tears welled up in his eyes, so he turned away so that Father wouldn’t see him. Ganondorf’s fury had nothing on Father when he saw any one of his children cry at a public execution.

“He who chooses to lie with another man like he would a woman forsakes his natural duty to the Goddesses to spread the seeds of their chosen people across all the land.” The boos were turning into shouts. Rowark ran behind his sister when he felt a sudden, warm trickle of, water, down his leg. “We follow the Fifth Golden Law!” cried the Bishop, which was responded to with a powerful, change in public sentiment.

Then, the whole crowd roared in unison with the Bishop, “To ‘Honor the sacred bond between a man and a woman’!” They cheered as they celebrated their time-held tradition since the Hero defeated Ganondorf. “To permit one to be Queer!” And quickly as a mouse’s scurry, the public sentiment shifted back to boos and jeers, “is to permit all to be Queer! To defy the Goddesses is to invite evil back into our homes and our realm!”

A deep grunting, howling hatred shot from the Bishop’s mouth, “Rowark Forester…” The air was so quiet that the only sound that could be heard was his angry grunts of breath. The child did not even have to open his eyes to know that the crowd had backed away from him. Drawing all eyes like a magnet did to iron, he was too scared to face the dreadful silence at first, but when the young boy lifted his head and looked around, he could feel the weight of every man, woman, and child’s judgement sink into his racing heart. Even after looking downward, he could not unsee the hatred, nor could he unhear the boos that were shot directly at him.

Alexa sprawled out her arms to shield what little dignity Rowark had left and screamed bloody fire at the crowd, “STOP! You animals! He never did anything wrong!”

But like a flea fighting an incoming wave, her words drowned underneath their jeers. “Boooo!” “Burn him!” “Kill him!”

“You stand accused of breaking the Fifth Golden Law,” proclaimed the Bishop, inviting his acolytes to snatch the boy away.

“NOOO!” was the cry of Rowark’s poor mother who had collapsed onto the ground. “No, no no no, please, Mickard. I beg thee!” she screamed and clung onto her husbands tunic, “Please, let him go, talk to Leedath! I beg thee, please, dearie, your wife’s one wish, don’t let them take me baby away!” But her tears were shed for a man whose heart had been so hardened by his war stories that he even he chanted along with the rest of the mob.

“Bring him to trial!” ordered the Bishop.

What was Rowark to do? Wishing he could just go back to bed and pretend none of this was happening, he let loose a torrent of tears. “What are you waiting for?” shouted a woman from behind him. “Someone drag the bastard up there!” screamed another. “Burn the sinner!” hollered many more.

“Come on, boy!” this time the cry came from Father, “Get this over with so our family doesn’t have to deal with your shameful existence anymore!”

With all her might, Alexa attempted to push back against the dozen or so men trying to reach past her while screaming at the top of her lungs, “No further!”

Eventually, Rowark’s inaction drew intervention from Father himself, “For the Goddesses’ sake!” He marched to his disobedient children and pried them apart with the strength of dozens of men. With his immense arms separating the two, Father hoisted Rowark by the back of his tunic with ease and began walking up to the stage to deliver his son to his fate.

Father’s other arm was busy keeping Alexa away. “NOOO! STOOOP!!” she screamed at the top of her lungs as she flailed and attempted to reach her brother with futility. Feeling the unbreakable iron grip upon the back of his collar, Rowark tearfully and compliantly resigned himself to his miserable fate.

“Are you trying to damn our village and bring Calamity again?” His eyes raged with unforgiveness. With one arm, Father held Rowark by his collar and delivered the boy to the acolytes.

“He didn’t do anything wrong!” even though father held her by only the collar of her dress, she stubbornly held onto Rowark’s wrist, “He wouldn’t even hurt a bug!”

But with one good tug, Father separated the two finally and then roared into her face, “He will bring ruin to our village and our way of life if we don’t get rid of him!”

“He’s not guilty of anything!”

“He’s guilty in my eyes!” with a swing of his arm, he threw his daughter onto the ground, “Say any more and we’ll put you on trial for dishonoring your father!”

Conflict washed all over her face. Rowark shook his head as the three acolytes dragged across dirt. Don’t die on my behalf , was the message he attempted to convey. Defeated, she let Father grip the back of her dress and drag her back to the crowd.

When Rowark felt the impact upon the wooden floor, a small cheer erupted. Two tall, imposing figures standing at either side of the gallows stepped up onto the platform. Each wearing a black cossack and a black, hooded mask, they held Rowark by his wrists. Though their identities were concealed, Ordon Village was not big enough for the villagers to not know that they were brothers of the Bishop, and executions by the Temple were a tradition passed down the family.

Rowark lifted his eyes to look upon his home one last time, and when he did, the hateful judgement of his neighbors instantly made him regret that decision. His uncles, aunts, and cousins were huddled around Father, his older brothers returned Rowark’s gaze with contempt, and Alexa was nowhere to be found. He searched through the angry crowd for his sister, but it was better, he concluded, for her not to see him die this way. There was never a trial which let the accused live.

The Bishop pointed to a short man standing in the front row, “I call upon my first witness to begin testimony. Willem Forester, please step up here.” Father’s distant cousin ran up to the podium swiftly and then placed his left hand over his heart before the Bishop even prompted him by holding out the Book of Legend. Once the man placed his right hand on the cover, the Bishop asked him, “Do you swear before the Goddesses to tell the whole truth on pain of death?”

In all of Rowark’s seven years of existence, he had only ever seen three trials, but he was never able to piece together what was being said during all those times before. He would pay special attention to his fourth, his last.

“Yes, yes,” The stocky woodcutter dismissed the threat of death nonchalantly, “That kid, he don’t like being a man. He likes to wear tunics too big for ‘im and prance around the village like it’s a dress!” Rowark burst into tears. Was that so wrong that death was warranted? “Oy Mickey! Toldja we’d be rid of the kid! AHHAAA!!” the cousins pointed at each other and began guffawing.

“Thankee for your, insight. Next, I will call upon Urel Hunter for testimony…” The tall hunter swore before the Goddesses and then prattled on about Rowark’s weakness upon seeing blood and his distaste for manly activities, such as skinning, fishing, cutting wood, and practically everything Rowark hated doing. Then the process was repeated: calling a name, swearing before the Goddesses, and then another nasty story.

This time it was about Rowark’s obsession with the Princess of Legend. The boy looked to the night sky, praying there indeed someone out there waiting for him, Please. Goddesses, I swear I didn’t know what I felt was sinful. I vow to uphold your Laws better in the next lifetime .

Whatever Rowark was expecting to get out of his prayer, it certainly was not an unfamiliar call of a woman, “Confess…”

Confess? Who said that? When Rowark picked his head up, he could only hear the cheers for his death. Was that, Alexa? “Confess … ” she repeated again.

Next to stand witness was one of the Tailors, then a Baker, and then another Forester, each testimony as damning as the last. For as long as Rowark could remember, his fellow villagers had never once made a fuss at Rowark for dressing and dancing how he did, except for the hunter who scolded the child at every chance he had. But it was today that he found out that everything he liked, from flowers to dolls, was blasphemy. The sinner returned his eyes to the ground, doing his best to tune out his neighbors, and Father especially.

The Bishop called upon his final witness, “My own son, Laegrethorne.” Hearing his best friend’s name called picked up Rowark’s attention. Leggy’s hair was brushed back neatly and his doublet was the only one in the whole village that had a blue rupee embroidered in the center.

The young Bishop marched forth from his family and climbed onto his father’s theater from stage left. Shooting a spiteful glance to Rowark, Leggy had never looked so resentful before. In fact, he wore a meaner face than when he did pretending to be the Hero fighting his arch nemesis. His eyes beheld a rage hotter than the lava of Din’s Hearth. The Bishop extended the Book of Legend toward his son, “Do you swear before the Goddesses to tell the whole truth on pain of death?”

To which the brown haired boy responded by looking his father dead in the eye and placing his left hand upon his heart and his right hand upon the cover, “I do swear.”

“Go on.”

A pointed, accusing finger shot straight at Rowark, “He’s, he’s Queer all right! He’s the worst kind of sinner across the three duchies!” It took a seven year old Rowark an eternity to digest those very words coming from the only friend he knew outside of his family.

“Yesterday when we were playing, he tried to force himself upon me, like a pervert!” But I didn’t try to do anything , Rowark wanted to tell everyone. But he was afraid, and he knew his responses would be silenced by angry mob mentalities. “He tried to take off me clothes,” Leggy’s venomous words drew more anger from the mob, “and then he tried to touch my, my…!” Leggy buried his face into his hands, “I can’t, go on. I don’t want to, Papa!”

The entire village roared in fury. Every villager except for Mother seemed ready to set the boy ablaze. The sympathy for Leggy suddenly became a revelation for Rowark. Was this what divine justice was all about? Were the Goddesses’ judgements truly predicated on lies? Were Their very laws predicated on lies as well? Or was it the Bishop? And the Temple too? Or was the Book of Legend predicated on lies as well?

“Confess!” Who would be willing to hear his confession? And whom in this entire realm was even worthy of his confession? What was that, damned voice, trying to tell him?

Unable to lift his lying eyes to the public, Leggy sobbed through the rest of the testimony, “And then I told him he was Queer, and shoved him off easily, and then I came home to pray for my sins.”

Rowark blocked out all senses of his body as best as he could. He wanted to spend the last precious minutes of his time contemplating what his short life meant. In short, nothing. He had awoken to a harsh reality of a law that was made to eliminate his cursed kind. Life had been difficult for Rowark from the start with his unusual habits and hobbies, but when the two people that cared about Rowark were gone, life no longer seemed worth living.

From then until the last breath he took on his life, the boy’s virgin ears became filled with the hatred pouring in from the audience. Angry cries urged the Bishop to kill the boy, the loudest one coming from Father, “Burn the sinner already!” Despite the hatred aimed towards him, Rowark could not bring himself to hate anyone. Up until then, they all seemed like decent people, and that was an image that Rowark never wanted to let go. There was only one person to blame for putting him in this predicament, himself. In his great time of need, he needed to place his faith in something.

He chose the Goddesses, I pray to you, if you redeem me, I will forever be in your service!

The Bishop raised his hands, simmering the restless crowd quickly, and he did not lower them or speak until everyone had settled down, “Thankee Leggy, return to your mother. I have enough witnesses to pass a verdict.” He waited for the crowd’s energy to die down before uttering his challenge, “Does the defendant have anything to say for himself?”

Nothing but silence came out Rowark’s restrained lips. He could hear Mother crying out to him, “Tell them it’s not true!” but it was no use. This was not a defense. The Bishop was asking for Rowark’s last words…

“Confess!” Rowark used his every willpower to fight the incessant suggestion. What would confessing to the Bishop accomplish? It certainly was not going to change his fate.

“Well if you’ll say nothing, then you are thereby,” he took a deep breath to belch out the verdict as dramatically as he could, “guilty as charged!” The crowd feverishly cheered as one. “Rowark Forester, in the name of Hylia, I sentence you to death by fire!” Though the convicted boy had already accepted his early demise, the death sentence was delivered as if the Golden Law, “Honor all life as if it were your own,” held no meaning.

But it didn’t change the fact that he was a sinner. So it is right that I should die , he concluded to himself, No one else should be doomed to live through another evil era of Ganon because of me . He looked around for Alexa, but could not find her. It was better that she was not here to see this.

“Prepare the execution!” the order inspired the very fires of Din’s judgement to light the final torch that would end his life once and for all.

Dragged onto the pyre of wood and hay and held to the stake behind him, Rowark had no fight left in his body as the acolytes wrapped a rope around his body, tying a knot firmly just behind his head. There was no escaping his fate now. The only people who could save him, and he still believed they would, were the Goddesses. The boy pointed his eyes up with every prayer behind his thoughts.

“Confess!”

Tears streamed down his face as he was about to count the last few heartbeats before his death. Once the torch was thrown onto the pyres, the fire quickly caught on to the dried materials and spread like spilt water on a smooth surface. Rowark’s lower limbs were the first to feel the increasing heat, and just when the feeling of heat was bordering pain, and he was about to utter his last, final confession to the Goddess speaking to him…

The sudden, splitting sound of an arrow burying into the stake just behind his right ear awoke him from his last thoughts. As the crowd turned to see where the arrow had come from, he felt the rope around him loosen and fall limp to the ground. Was this part of the act? Rowark had no idea what to do.

“Run, Rowark! Hurry to me!” All eyes shot to the thirteen year old holding the nocked bow and aiming the flaming arrow right at the crowd. Father’s twin daughters were Ordon’s prodigies and the pride of Father; no one across all of Faron woods could match their technique and skill with the bow. Rowark used this chance to make a run for his sister. Everyone’s eyes followed the boy as he scrambled across the gap between the mob and the stage, but no one was daring enough to face the wrath of a fire arrow nocked into the bow of Alexa Forester, who had emerged from the north side of town unseen and did not make her presence known until she had a true shot prepared.

He fled to the literal embodiment to his prayers. Wearing a leather sack overstuffed with supplies, the apprentice huntress had packed up everything she needed to last them in the woods. Her quiver was completely stuffed, but the arrows fletched with red feathers instantly caught his eye. Those were the magic arrows that immediately set ablaze anything the arrow struck, and they were only available from the general store. Then it had dawned on him that Alexa had broken the Second Golden Law, and she was about to break the Sixth.

“Alexa!” Father yelled furiously, “What in Din’s Hearth are you doing!?”

“Saving my innocent brother!” she screamed back at him.

“Alexa, think very carefully about what you’re doing,” warned the Bishop, “You are threatening a member of the Temple, and allowing a sinner to run free, both of which are unbecoming of your salvation and our village’s from Ganondorf’s influence.”

“I know damn well what I am doing!” Alexa fired back with every intent to make good on her word, “Anyone moves, you die!”

The mob gasped at her blunt audacity, but the Bishop stepped forward to challenge her threat, “You think I am afraid to die? My mission was delivered to me by the Goddesses, by Hylia. It is they who have given me my life’s purpose, so I would gladly give my life back to the Goddesses, to save our village and our kingdom from another reign of evil.”

“You think this is righteousness? I spit upon your divine justice!” She quickly re-aimed her bow at the stage and fired her arrow, releasing its pent up, fiery energy upon the wooden planks and spreading its infernal rage across. By the time anyone started panicking, Alexa had already prepared another fire arrow ready to launch into the crowd. Clearly evidenced with their silence, it was one thing to die by an arrow, it was an alternate matter to die by burning.

One man, towering above the villagers, dared to curse his children one last time in the face of a fire arrow, “Damn you! Damn you to Din’s Hearth! Just when you think this is all over, know that our bloodhounds will hunt you until your bones decorate my house! You shall never know safety so long as you walk in Faron Woods!”

Then, Ilia decided to have her final say, “Curse you Alexa for siding with a sinner! I will never forget your betrayal to the Goddesses, and I vow to kill you myself with my own bare hands!”

Backing up slowly, Alexa trained her sights onto her sister. “Not if I murder you here and now… Nobody move!” ordered Alexa, “I see one twitch, I’ll empty my entire quiver into all of you godless monsters!”

“Fetch the hounds! We’re gonna put an end to this once and for all!” were the last words Rowark ever heard from Father.

Step by step, they walked backward slowly until Alexa was confident her arrows were out of effective range. She aimed her bow into the air and fired her fire arrow and then fired another into the two nearest straw roofed hovels. “That should slow them down, now follow me!” said Alexa as she dashed past him while withdrawing a torch and another fire arrow and transferring the flame from one tip to the other. They turned and scrambled for safety, while the older sister lit up a torch.

"Come on, we just have to run, that’s the rules of this game.”

This was unlike any game he had unlike played in his life; he knew if they lost, they would die. The weak boy ran faster than he had ever known, for longer than he had ever known. A fatal sense of urgency forced more blood through Rowark’s body than his heart had ever done before. And when the first strains of fatigue began to weigh upon his body, the guiding hand of Alexa kept fueling Rowark’s will to survive. Soon, fatigue gave way to fear, and by the time the rising sun was beginning to pierce the darkness of the forest, blood rush began caving in to his exhaustion.

His legs began to burn, and lungs felt like they were going to collapse at any moment. After all, he had just endured his longest night ever, “I’m tired, I can’t keep running.”

“Can’t stop now,” urged Alexa. Even though she could outrun her younger brother, Rowark was the pace setter, “We don’t even have a half day’s headstart on Father and the rest. We can slow the pace if you want, though. But we can’t rest until we cross the river.”

Agreeable to the plan, Rowark slowed his jog to a brisk walk but kept the threat of death alive in his head. The steps were still increasingly laboring, but the slowed pace allowed him a chance to catch his breath. By early morning, Rowark’s legs were about ready to fall off, and the emptiness in his stomach began to make itself known, but the persistent Alexa would not quit, “Come on! The river’s not much farther! We have to cross before the bloodhounds get here!”

“ Woof ! Woof woof !” Just as she had said that, the faint bark of the hounds stopped Rowark’s heart. Their pursuers were getting close. He dumbly looked to his sister for guidance, but she yelled instead, “Go go go!” The two launched themselves into a full sprint again, but to no avail: the barking grew louder quickly.

Alexa, who had been leading Rowark, slowed down until she was side by side with him, and then she swept the boy off his feet and then picked up the pace for both of them.

“Confess!”

Again? When they were on the verge of death?

Something was moving off in the distance, and it was catching up fast. Soon, Rowark was able to see what was doing all the barking. This is it , he thought again as he counted down the last seconds of his life again.

“Confess!”

“Alexa,” he squeaked out. The bloodhounds were entering striking range, and he did not have much more time to finally tell a soul about his affliction, for he could clearly see the bared fangs of the hounds. “I’m sorry…”

“Save the apology,” she groaned through her heavy breathing, “Grab my torch!” Once the torch was firmly in Rowark’s hands, she instructed him, “You’re gonna have to hold off the dogs for me! Just until we make it past the river! Don’t you worry, we’re getting close!”

The torch felt unwieldy and heavy. There was no way swinging the piece of wood could do any meaningful damage, but he knew that any animal respected the heat of the deadly flame. The fastest of the dogs, a bloodhound named Rabbit Chaser, kept his brown snout at a safe distance from their target. The rest of the pack slowly caught up, but were wary to approach the flame. They could make it so long as Rowark pointed the torch at whichever dog was thinking about pouncing for the kill.

The river bend to the north was going to be their savior. As thoughts of safety, of finally being able to confess to the single person in Hyrule who would not judge him, and of being able to see another light of day, swirled his emotions into a strong gratitude for the Goddesses, who had given him a second chance to live with his curse.

“Confess!”

Then, he unexpectedly felt his body jerk forward. His elder sister could no longer sustain the weight of two and had tripped forth. She fought for each gasp of air while the leader of the hounds quickly encircled his target, cutting off any means of escape. The boy tried to help his barely conscious sister back up to her feet, but her body refused to respond to any assistance. At best, he had lifted her onto his shoulders. Here was where the Forester siblings made their last stand. As the bloodhounds enclosed on Rowark, cautiously due to the torch, he began to feel a great guilt crushing his heart. If Alexa had not come to save him, they would not have ended up like this.

As Rabbit Chaser growled in preparation to pounce, Rowark took one last deep breath, now that he had fully accepted death once again, and spoke his last words, “Alexa. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she replied with effort through heavy pants, “It’s my fault I tripped. It’s my fault we’re both gonna die.”

“No, it’s all my fault that you’re here with me,” with a finite number of heartbeats left in his life, and even then with great hesitation, Rowark finally confessed to the sibling who was going to share his fate, “I should have died alone. I’m the sinner, not you!”

“ Confess! ”

“It’s all my fault because I’m Queer!” Once he accepted his blame with resolution, a blinding light flashed and consumed everything. Even with his eyes shut, the intense light still bled into his mind.

Rowark could not see nor feel anything, but he heard Alexa’s voice spill into the white void, “Nothing is your fault. I loved you and defended you because you are Queer.” She… knew? Suddenly, Rowark realized why the voice, whosever it belonged to, told him to confess. Though his physical senses were overwhelmed with blinding light, his emotions were finally calm like the Floria river. He felt acceptance for the first time in his life, and maybe the last. “You never harmed anyone, so it wasn’t your fault for being yourself.”

After those last words, there were no more sounds. Time stood still. Am I dead ? he asked himself.

The first thing he could sense was warmth of a familial embrace. The next thing he felt before opening his eyes was a sloppy wet lick on his face. Rabbit Chaser, who once was hunting after the two Foresters like a starving, ravaging beast, was sitting with a happy, droopy face and recognition behind his eyes. All around Rowark and Alexa, the hounds that once chased after them sat obediently like they were waiting for their owner’s next command or prancing about energetically. With a deep sense of familiarity and love, evidenced by their enthusiastic wag of the tail, they playfully ran around as the smaller fugitive carried his larger accomplice on his back towards the river.

What was going on defied all logic. Rowark looked around in disbelief but nonetheless did not squander the moment. These dogs were only the farthest reach of the hunting group behind them, and the game was far from over. Alexa’s exhausted body was still difficult to pick up and move, but she cooperated as best as she could with her brother’s guidance. The sound of the trickling stream could be heard now that the barking had ended. It wasn’t much further. “Are, are you okay?”

Alexa nodded weakly as she attempted to pick herself back up to her feet. “Heh, that’s my line.” she said dusting herself off with her two feet planted onto the ground. With one quick inhale, she regained composure, but she could not fully hide her fatigue “Okay, I’m good. Are you good? Wait, what’s with your hand?”

At first, there was no expression on his face when he lifted the back of his right hand. A golden glow emanated from the triangular mark of the Triforce on his hand, the mark of the Goddesses. But why? Why now of all times? Potential answers only brought about more questions. Was this because he… confessed? “I think, it’s because… I’m… Queer…”

“No, don’t be silly! All right, come on, let’s get out of here. Father’s still on our heels, and we still gotta swim across the river until we’re safe, more or less.” More than anything, Rowark just wanted the end to the night, but if safety was but a stone’s throw away, then to Ganon with it. He could put his faith in the Goddesses once more, for they had pulled a miracle for him.

The question about his hand was to be answered another time.

Chapter Text

“My flowers!” the piercing wail of an old hag woke Link up to the familiar sense of danger. Judging by the way her two hands, he was definitely in a place where he was not supposed to be. A beige dress underneath an apron did its best to contain her saggy flaps, but thankfully, she was taking very cautious steps towards Link, giving him plenty of time to reorient himself.

How he ended up laying in a flowerbed was completely lost on him, and furthermore, he had a life threatening problem in front of him. Wiggling his body and shaking the soil off him, Link lifted his arms first, stiff as a beam but at least not broken, and then sat up with his equally as sore, but nevertheless not broken, back. Though he could not remember much of the events that transpired yesterday, Link could recall with infinite detail each broken bone that had once given him crippling amounts of pain. Nothing left a stronger imprint on the mind than crippling pain did.

Kinja ! A sudden bloodrush coursed through his veins and provided the fuel necessary to lift himself all the way up, but his legs were still weak. Link unfortunately moved quicker than his feet could follow, so he stumbled backward and fell onto his rear. Is she still after me?

The old hag called over her shoulder into the open door, “Harolvo! Harolvo! Harolvo!?” After the third time attempting to grab Harold’s attention, the flowers’ caretaker stormed inside the house, “Harolvo, you dumb, lazy fool! Why don’t you ever listen to me? There’s a Link outside! He’s ruined the garden!”

Link was not going to wait to see who this Harolvo was, so he flipped himself over onto his hands and knees, which, minus the pops of pain that lurked here and there, had healed enough to pick himself up and walk. But suddenly he felt a void in his stomach like it had existed for an eternity. It desperately needed something to… his hands unconsciously reached for the lilacs and daisies and began shoving them one by one into his mouth. His mind had shut off to disregard the taste and texture.

Then the hag’s voice brought him back to reality. Swallowing the last daffodil in his mouth, Link started to flee the scene until suddenly, the strain in his tendons and bones reminded him that he had fallen six stories only yesterday. His body instantly froze with pain, and he fell hard onto the cobbled road.

“Get it together, Link!” commanded a young, feminine voice in his head. It wasn’t Miro Miro’s voice, it sounded like… Smoxy ? he answered to himself.

“Yes me! Now pull yourself together cuz you’re a mess right now! And just because I’m helping you out doesn’t mean I forgive you or like you!”

Link groaned through the condescension as he heaved the taste of flower out of his mouth, Then why ?

“It wasn’t my decision to make! And besides-”  her train of thought was caught off guard when Link saw the man referred to as “Harolvo”, a tall, old, graying man, probably the property’s keeper judging by his yellow dyed clothing, who looked like he had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, and the three pronged pitchfork in his hands was every bit as threatening as his attitude was, “What’re you doing here, kiddo?” Then Harolvo marched forth and raised his weapon.

“Back off!” Smoxy threatened the old couple with own voice, “I'm warning you!” She swooped in from above and cut into the space between Link and the old man, “This kid’s a bona fide killer! And I got a bunch of friends protecting him, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go back into your home and close the door on your way in!”

Harolvo and his wife looked at each other and then to Link. As Link’s casual death glare pierced into their souls, the elderly couple began to lose their nerve, and it was only a matter of heartbeats before the old man lowered his weapon and took his first step back into the house, his wife following behind him.

Once the door closed, Link let out a painful groan, Why are you helping me ? Picking himself up off the ground, he searched his body for pains and strains, and found none major enough to call broken.

“Shoe! He’s asking asking questions!” she dodged instead. The fairy flew off to Link’s delight, but another fairy with a mahogany aura dropped in and took her place.

“Hey there, kid! Remember me?” his deeper voice sounded familiar, but Link’s memory of last night were too hazy.

No. Go away. He had other things to worry about. Link surveyed his surroundings in an attempt to locate himself within the giant city. Torches lined the walls of a narrow street, meaning he was in a city dweller’s alley which could not have been too far from the Desert Oasis. The judging by the shadows of the building, Link guessed that it was mid morning.

“Haha, good one! You sure you don’t want our help, even after we helped guide you here?”

Link growled loudly. He begrudgingly began piecing together the last bits of his memory from yesterday. Why are you even helping me?

“That is because you saved us from the black market two nights ago!” Wait, were these the same fairies from the other…? “Yep, we’re the very same ones! Sorry, you thought a little too loudly.”

Link growled like an animal and asked, Is there anyway to turn it off?

“We can only hear the sounds of your thoughts, so if you think in pictures, we would not be able to hear you.”

Whatever that meant… All right, so why are you following me?

“After you saved us , well , we didn’t really have anywhere to go , so we wandered around the city until we found you .”

Huh , thoughts and plans began to formulate in his head. There were always terms and limits to lifebound friends, but their mobility and small size could be useful. He was about to exit into an open, daylit street when the sight of a watchman suddenly jolted him. Hiding behind the corner, Link quickly surveyed the area. It was not just the one, three other brass pigs were in the area, and they weren’t on patrol. Stationary yet keeping their head on a swivel, they were looking for something, or someone, and the fugitive arson had a good idea whom.

Link was shirtless, which meant his easily identifiable scars were on display for everyone to see. He could not pretend to be just “some urchin”, so the great challenge he faced was getting to his bag of supplies, hopefully still hidden in the same spot behind the tower, without being seen.

His eyes shot to an empty barrel sitting amongst other storage containers, then the exposed area he needed to traverse to reach it, and then the four watchmen. Here lay Link’s opportunity to test Shoe’s integrity. Shoe, are you still serious about helping me?

“What can I do for you?”

Count how many men are searching here , Link needed to be sure his count was correct. Any unforeseen people in the area could spell trouble. When Shoe ascended up the cityhouse wall, Link peeked around the corner from within the morning shadow to confirm his number. Two young watch were engaged in conversation, resting their spears between their arms and bodies, and a third was actively searching the area. “Oy,” said the one standing on the north side, “what’s this guy supposed to look like?”

His superior, the veteran of this group, but not their commanding knight, answered the question as he looked through windows without any care for privacy, “We’re looking for a Link.”

“A Link?” sighed the junior, “Any Link? Or a specific Link? One of the many thousands of buggers running around?”

“Uh,” responded the senior who was patrolling around the square with his spear pointed, without any care for whom he may accidentally stab, “I don’t know, just, catch any kid coming through here.”

The sound of Shoe’s voice alerted Link, who retreated back into the alley, “Four.”

Link’s heart stopped for a heartbeat. Four? But where?

“There’s a man with a bow on the roof of a house on the east side,” Shoe answered.

Man on the roof? It couldn’t be… No watchman was skilled enough to wield a bow and scale the walls of the cityhouses to the roof. He could only have come from the sky, and for that to have happened…

Link peered around the corner once more and looked up at the rooftop to verify his suspicion. It did not take him more than a heartbeat, for the glint of the sun against his metal armor gave his position away. It was just as Link feared, the royal sergeant picked the tallest building in the block to land on and oversee the search.

Dung, he brought knights , cursed the boy.

It was just a short run across, but waiting for all four men, especially the knight, to turn away from the barrel at the same time was painstaking. He paid special attention the diligent watchman sniffing through other people’s crates and the knight patrolling across the rooftop, but when they all finally happened to turn their faces away…

Link broke into a full sprint across the open space. His bare feet carried him swiftly and silently over the paved walkway until he reached the first container. Hopping onto the wooden crate, he used his upward momentum to soften the noise of the landing and jump into the barrel, but the heartbeat he saw that there was still rain water inside, he caught the lip with his hands, held himself above the opening lowered his legs, and suspended himself over the water by pressing all four extremities against the walls. It was exhausting, but it was worth it to avoid the noise and stay dry. All eight balls of colored light followed him into the cramped space.

Okay , first things first , Link was beginning to enjoy the idea of communicating with only thoughts, I’d like to know your names . I already know Smoxy , and I take it you’re Shoe ?

“Yep ! I am a he. ” replied the brown fairy.

“I’m Siklayvin. I identify as she ,” said the yellow fairy with the voice uncharacteristic of a “she”.

“We are Kebas. We identify as they ,” said the red fairy speaking as if they had two separate city accent voices.

“I am Mihayl, I identify as she,” said the bubbly, dark purple fairy.

“Tandremil. Call me Tandry. I identify as he,” said the green fairy.

“I’m Rakayla, I identify as she,” said the soft spoken magenta fairy.

“And I’m Marqo. I’m a he.” said the pure white fairy.

Is the pronoun really necessary? asked Link, wanting the answer to be no so he could all address them all as an it or they.

“YES!” they shouted in unison, giving Link a piercing headache. “Fairies are born under varied and complex means, but it is an important part of our identity!” explained Smoxy with hostility.

Sheesh, all right then. I don’t really got an identity, so I wouldn’t really know. You can just call me Link. Now, trusting strangers was something Link strongly disliked doing, but in his current situation, he needed all the help he could get, I need to get to the Desert Oasis tower. Can you guys keep a lookout for me?  

They all agreed except for Smoxy, who glared in defiance, “Why do you need a lookout? Is it because you’re running away from the law?”

Link did not back down from her challenge, And what if I am?

“See!” she proclaimed to the rest of the group, “I told you we’re working for a criminal! I don’t like this one bit!”

“Smoxy, we’ve just discussed this, and many times already in the last twenty four hours!” interjected Tandry.

“And nothing’s been resolved!”

“Well duh, he’s a criminal,” answered Marqo, “He beheaded our seller, remember?”

The old man from yesterday? He was in a dark alley, and anyone knows killing anyone there is fair game , defended Link.

“It doesn’t make it any less legal. Anyways, it doesn’t matter because all of us wanted to see him dead.” His argument drew agreement from the group. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel a pinch of happiness watching Link here decapitate Ganon’s dung?”

Smoxy growled, “I only found it ironic. Fine, I won’t bother anyone anymore about my feelings for Link, and I’ll cooperate. I promise.”

Perfect. Moving on, how far away can you be from each other to talk?

“ Up to a hundred yards ,” answered Mihayl, “ But we have to be practically next to you to hear your thoughts .”

Good to know . Tandry, which way to the tower ?

“ Uh , gimme a heartbeat .” The green fairy flew straight up and then descended not a heartbeat later. “ About two blocks west of southwest ,” he reported. That bit of information pinpointed Link onto his mental map of the city streets. He was on Ruko street, one of the main streets that emptied into the Desert Oasis square. But the fact that the wide street was as empty as it was felt a bit strange. At least he didn’t have to cross the open section with all those guards.

Okay, here’s the plan. Kebas and Marqo, you two scout the Desert Oasis square. Siklayvin, you scout the road west of here, Rakayla, you scout the block past that. Mihayl and Tandry, you scout that road crossing, especially coming from the north and the south. Smoxy, you stay behind me and keep a lookout for my blindside. Keep an eye out for watchmen especially. I think it goes without saying that if any of you get caught, I can’t help any of you. Everyone got it?

“Got it!” they said in unison before shooting out of the barrel.

Except for Shoe, who stayed by his side, “ What do you need me for?”

Shoe, you’re with me. I need you to relay information between me and the rest. But first, Link knew there was no way to hide the words in his mind, so he outright thought it out, I know Smoxy doesn’t like me, but how much do you trust her?

“Listen, each one of us was held in captivity for many years. There used to be more of us, but they got sold. We awaited our final fate together, until it was down to just eight when you met us. We became more than just friends stuck in a jar locked away in a storage room, we became siblings. So you can trust Smoxy. She may not like you, and I’m sure she’s still questioning her decision, but I can at least trust her to put my life in her hands.” His dead sincerity eased Link a bit, but this next test would verify everything. He assigned Smoxy to watch his back for this test alone. If one was not trustworthy, then none of them were, and Link would be as good as dead anyway.

Okay, good enough for me. Tell me what she sees.

“Hey Smox! Whadya see up there?” Shoe’s thoughts were much quieter, as if focusing his communication to a distant recipient greatly reduced the sound of his mental message in his immediate vicinity. And true to Mihayl’s word, Link could not hear Smoxy’s response. “The area still has four guys and that knight standing on the roof of the building.”

All right then , what does Siklayvin see ?

“Only one guard in the area patrolling up and down the street . He says there’s no good place to hide , though .” It was hard to imagine Ruko street, intersecting with a market street just one block ahead, being empty at this time, but the royal watchmen must have taken measures to keep them clear.

Just great . He had to walk across a long stretch of road exposed. Okay, I need you to let me know the instant no one is looking towards this way . That includes the watchmen in the area, the knight, and the guy patrolling down the west road . Got it?

“Gotcha.” Another painstaking wait. So the boy placed his fingers on the outside of the barrel and waited for the good news. “ Okay, the watchman patrolling the left side of the street is about to turn around. ” Good… “The knight is still watching this side of the street.” Better… the news was honest, meaning Smoxy was good on her word so far, “And the mustached watch just went to take a leak, just down the alley where you were in.” Lucky for him he got out just in time. “And… The knight has turned away!”

Trusting Smoxy’s and Shoe’s word, Link launched himself out of the barrel. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the golden armor in front of him, but the watchman was walking west, towards where Link needed to go. It was as Siklayvin had said: not a single object in the residential street to hide the boy under the late morning sun. Link had no choice but to creep up to the watchman and walk at the same pace at arm’s length away. His heart pounded hard and fast in anticipation from the watchman turning around suddenly.

“Smoxy says the knight’s coming back this way!”

Link acknowledged the caution and jumped to the southern side of the road, covered by a thin sliver of shadow running along the walls. Knights were trained to have keen sight, but it would be unnatural to be able to spot anything in the shadows from that distance. Just past the unsuspecting watchman was the road crossing with a thin stream of traffic, thin enough for him to stand out. Beyond that, two more watchmen guarded the middle of the road, three if he counted the useless idiot barking orders at the ignorant masses. They were too busy trying to redirect the flow of traffic, only letting one person through every now and then. There was no getting past that. Link had to take a detour. Report from Mihayl and Tandry .

“Okay, Mihayl says there are two guards on the south side of the intersection , but they’re busy talking to other people . Tandry says there are no guards, but there’s a big cart coming through from the North .”

Perfect. As the watchman approached the intersection, the clapping of horse hooves upon the paved road supported Tandry’s findings. Is the knight still there? Link asked.

“He’s gone.” Shoe’s cue enabled Link to emerge from the shadows and walk behind the watchman once more.

The moment he turned around to patrol the other way, Link quickly scrambled around the opposite direction to follow his blindside and then dove underneath the passing cart. Walking crouched underneath the moving vehicle felt terrible on his recovering joints, but he only needed to follow the cart until it passed the next westward alley. What’s on the left side of me ? Link asked Shoe as they were approaching a shadowy gap between storefronts.

“Nothing , you’re clear on this side .”

Trusting the good news, Link rolled from underneath the cart into the dark, cold gap between two stores. Boxes full of rubbish littered the area, providing excellent cover for the boy. The advantage of traversing here was the copious number of spaces to hide. But the big downside was the dangerous people who also shared the hiding spaces with him. What does Rakayla see ?

“There’s a knight and two guards walking your way,” Shoe reported, “There’s also a bunch of people just sitting around.” Link poked his head out from behind a crate. Just as Shoe reported, a knight was supervising two watchmen as they busily searched through each pile of rubbish and stepped over beggars and drunks. This hunt was serious if the royal watch was brave enough to risk men to search through the alleys. But the knight’s presence also meant that the drifters were going to be tame. It was a blessing in disguise.

“Smoxy says someone’s coming from behind !” Link immediately ducked behind the crate and held his breath as the sound of brass metal plates ran past him. That was twice she was good on her word.

“Sir, a couple has spotted him a block east of here only several minutes ago.”

“Acknowledged. Follow me.” All four royals ran past the hiding spot, giving Link a clear path to the square.

Shoe, tell Siklayvin, Rakayla, Tandry, and Mihayl to join up with Kebas and Marqo in the square, then tell me what’s on the other side of this alley.

"Okay give me a heartbeat.” As Link waited for an answer, his eyes searched through the garbage for clothing, any kind, that could conceal his scars. He found a tattered, red tunic that reeked of rot but did the trick and several other linens to cover up the holes. “Kebas says the square is full of watchmen , but they seem pretty occupied , and there are two watchmen walking around the square perimeter .”

How many total? Link asked as he tore up linen after and wrapped them around his exposed scars. After tying a linen around his forehead and his mouth, Link’s new attire would hopefully make the number of watchmen irrelevant.

“ Marqo has counted twelve so far . But most of them are trying to keep the peace around the center of the square .”

What is going on out there ? he asked himself as he stepped over a homeless man clutching a bottle like a newlywed. As he approached the daylight, he could hear clamoring and fighting not too different from those the day before, but he could only see a thick river of peasants criss crossing in front of the alley’s exit. They would be perfect cover, but he still needed to know where the watchmen were located.

Evidently, Shoe heard his question, “ There’s six guards protecting the city crier at the center of the square , and they’re pushing hard against an angry horde .”

What about the other six ?

“There’s one at each side of the tower , one guarding the north exit and the south exit , and the other two are patrolling around the square.”

In traffic this thick, Link could easily slip by the two patrollers, but the watchmen near the tower would be problematic. Shoe, hide inside my tunic, then tell Kebas to hug the south side of the tower. On my mark, create as big a diversion as possible. While pressed against thick wakes of Hylian traffic, this required dead accurate timing.

The watchman’s efforts in redirecting the flow of people was slowing traffic considerably. Diving into the river, Link almost felt no control of himself; there were simply too many people compressed together for him to wade through at his own pace. His only choice was to follow along with the slow, counterclockwise movement around the roundabout. And if he ever got lost, he could turn his eyes upward to see the Desert Oasis planted on the other side of the square.

Above all the chatter, Link could clearly hear the town crier’s voice, “Hear ye! Yesterday at around the fifth hour, witnesses report a wizzrobe from the Cult of Ganondorf summoned a voracious Flare Dancer to carry out an attack on the peaceful citizens of the city! The demon was quickly defeated by one of her majesty’s knights! Watchmen are still searching for the rogue wizzrobe, and the Crown is offering a reward for any information regarding its whereabouts! Hear ye…” The fact that Link could discern the crier’s repeated message word for word was a testament to his good lungs…

For the responses to the fake news was just as loud, “Drown in a pile of dung you puppet!” “Burn you lying sack of dung!” “How dare you lie to us after we lost loved ones!” “We know it was the Gerudo!”

Once the watchman standing by the southern side of the tower was in view, Link began to swim against the flow of traffic, squeezing past hairy legs and sweaty flesh to reach his destination. Now, Shoe! came his cue, just before he was about to escape the slimy river of Hylians.

“HEY! I FOUND HIM! HE’S THIS WAY!!” Kebas’s loud cry caught the watchman’s attention. He began searching high and low for the culprit, and as soon as he swiveled to his left and pointed his spear at the source of the noise, Link quickly ran past his blindspot into the empty alley behind the Desert Oasis.

Tell everyone to regroup behind the tower . No one else was in the alley thankfully. Link hurried over to the stack of crates where he hid the broadsword and his work bag from the day before. He flipped over the leather tarp covering the crates and moved one box over to retrieve his stuff.

Only to find nothing… his home was gone. Someone had gotten to his stuff before he could. Who? When? Cursing loudly enough in his head to frighten some of his new companions, he vowed to find whoever took his stuff and…

"Ahem!” a woman’s voice called from above him. Link looked upward to the Cloud Palace inn and saw a familiar Gerudo haircut sitting on a sill of the top floor. Sporting her signature twintails look, Nerachmuud extended the very broadsword Link was looking for out the window in a manner that only implied such: looking for something?

Chapter Text

Relief washed over Rowark once he finished the tale of the pivotal moment in his life, followed by a powerful wave of sleep. “I still don’t think you’re cursed,” said Miro Miro just before his consciousness was swept away into a comforting slumber. After sharing his long held secret with his new best friend, all anxiety he had throughout the day had melted away, leaving only the ravaging thirst for sleep. And when the morning sun’s late morning light hit Sasha’s carpet, he awoke and stretched feeling anew. Feeling even more refreshed than his body did was his conscience.

Miro Miro hovered over him and greeted, “Good morning Rowark!”

But before Rowark had a chance to wish Miro Miro a good morning, the songs of jovial men softly filtered through the thick, wooden door. “For he’s the jolly good hero, for he’s the jolly good hero. For he’s the jolly good heroooooo…” Before they finished their song, the fairy was already hidden underneath the covers.

The door bursted wide open as Rowark’s four friends made their grand entrance, “Who got us all laid last niiiight! Aaaay!” With a great cheer, they patted Rowark graciously all over his body, except for Tenny, brooding enviously.

Boom’s bearded lips popped over Lemon’s shoulder and beamed with giddiness, “I recognize that look on any man’s face!”

Lemon, Garreth, and Tenny cooed in unison. “Didja, didja finally do it?”

Silence hung in Sasha’s bed chamber, as if the next words out of Rowark’s mouth would determine the fate of the realm. His four best friends in the army giggled like schoolgirls as they anticipated only one possible answer that could come out of his mouth. Rowark smiled at first, and then nodded, and then sighed at with as much guilt on his mind, “Yes, finally,” in just that order to commit to his lie to his brothers-in-arms, “I did it.”

“Aaaayy!” they cheered, but Rowark could only force a weak smile upon his lying, burdened heart. This was not like lying about his fascination with his own gender as he had done countless times thus far. Today, he had jumped further down his rabbit hole of lies. And all they had to do was ask any one Gerudo.

Garreth patted Rowark on the leg, “Congratulations hero boy!”

"Aha! I told you my boy ain’t Queer!!” declared Boom proudly out to their circle of friends.

That stung Rowark worse than any insult he had endured in his entire life. It brought him face to face with his reality: his four brothers-in-arms could never know the truth. Why did it have to be a sin to be honest? And why did it have to be a sin just to live? His faith in the Goddesses had saved his life once before, so his faith was strong, but why did he, the faithful, have to make such a hard choice between serving Nayru’s laws or serving the Queen? Was knighthood truly worth this dishonest life?

Tenny shoved his pudgy elbow into Lemon’s rib, “Pay up, big fella!”

“Aww come on, mate. Let it slide this time, all right? I picked up your tab the last time!” his reply shocked Rowark… Lemon thought he was, Queer? Did he ever see Rowark as a lesser person because of it? If Rowark came out to him, what would Lemon’s reaction be? Perhaps pressing his luck with a man who only gambled upon Rowark’s mate preference would not be the best idea.

“So?” asked Garreth eagerly, “How was it?”

Oh dung , Rowark froze at the sudden question. Feeling his face flush with blood, he desperately searched for words that he had heard before to descriptively create a believable experience.

Lemon chimed in with drawed enthusiasm, “I’ve always dreamed about purchasing me a good night that woman!”

“No,” retorted Tenny, “You just dream you were important enough to purchase a night with that woman!”

As Lemon and Tenny bickered like an old married couple, blood flushed into Rowark’s face while he repeatedly interrupted his own train of thought to craft a lie for Garreth’s question. But so long as “Lenny” were fighting as usual, Rowark felt no obligation to answer anyone.

“Was she soft in all the right places?” asked Tenny suddenly.

“Did ya weep on your first time like I did?” Garreth’s emasculating question triggered a deadly glare from everyone in the group. Awkwardly, he began to hang his head in embarrassment.

Then the three judges burst into laughter together as if only pulling his leg. “The only time ‘tis ever acceptable for a man to cry,” declared Boom, “is after a good sheathing. Am I right, men?”

“Aye!” cried the attentive audience.

“But! Those tears are between a man and a woman only, just as all deeds behind the doors of a bedchamber are,” Boom shot his fist into the air to emphasize his point. “So no more questions about Rowark’s adventures, okay?”

The other boys lamented, “Awww…”

Boom gave Rowark a wink, “Alright Rowark, we got until noon to report back in to base.”

“Back to watch duty?” asked Rowark, knowing that that was what he was supposed to be doing too.

“Aye,” Lemon disappointedly replied, “Goddesses only know what dunghole they’re gonna stick us in today.”

“Back to the same ol’ for us, while you begin your new life in Valor Island,” Tenny grumbled enviously, “I hate Sir Camelon.”

“Eventually,” corrected Rowark, “I still have to squire for a knight first. I find out more details tomorrow. Until then, I got another free day.”

“Ooh!” Tenny leaned in and ribbed Rowark, “What will you do until then?”

Rowark nervously chuckled at Tenny’s suggestion, “I dunno, I gotta pack my things, that’s for sure. I also gotta pay a visit to Sir Berlon, let her know I’m still alive. I hope she doesn’t blame herself for my disappearance. And I definitely want to see our own commander.”

“Boo!” his comrades jeered disrespectfully at their despised commanding knight. “Really? After every time Sir Camelon singled you out?” Tenny exclaimed worriedly, and for good reason.

The black bearded commander of their company rode his twenty subordinates into the ground with work, but the way he treated Rowark in particular made everyone else feel blessed. There was no one who brought more attention to Rowark’s frail frame than he, who had also burdened the teenager with more work than the rest. He had made Rowark the butt of every joke in the company and the scapegoat to his every failure. And so too did everyone else…

Except for Boom and his crew, but even they were not enough to stave off the petty names thrown at Rowark in his face. To avoid any of that, Rowark took time off to volunteer, whether it was a job to calm a riot, arrest a high value target, or even be just an extra pair of eyes, anything was better than listening to his company call him all different kinds of Queer.

Boom looked worried for Rowark, “You sure, laddy? With the way he drilled ya down tae the bone, I don’t blame ya for wanting to volunteer so much just to get away from that rat’s bastard. One year of that dung, and I’d be out the army if he did to me what he did to you.”

“At least you can shove that nickname ‘Queerdo’ down his face!” remarked Tenny. Rowark forced a smile as best as he could to go along with their joy.

Rowark added, “I definitely wanna punch his stupid face in and get away with it for the first time!” His comrades laughed and cheered in support of his stupid wish.

Lemon groaned to break the up the good mood, “Well, you don’t gotta deal with it no more. We gotta go back to polishing pricks and latrines!” The rest of the company hated these jobs, but because it was a lonesome task, Rowark enjoyed them since cleaning and polishing afforded him some valued peace and quiet.

“Gaah, don’t remind me!” whined Garreth like he always did since he was a page.

Boom beckoned the boys to follow him, “Alright fellas, that’s it for now. All good things must come to an end, don’t wanna be late and miss roll call.”

“Don’t forget to come by every now and then!” said Garreth as he waved goodbye with his wedding ring fitted firmly on his finger.

“Good luck at Skyloft! And whatever you do, don’t turn into our commander!” the command from Lemon, perhaps his last, drew a chuckle from Rowark.

“And let me know next time you’re free so you can buy me an ale!” hailed Tenny on his way out. Rowark waved one more time as his old unit left the room, and Boom shut the door behind him. Being their technical superiors, the knight junior knew that his comrades would see him differently, and as for himself, he hoped he would never see his four brothers-in-arms any differently than he did before he got knighted. To him, they would always be the ones who had fought and bled by his side, who trusted their lives in his hands and vice versa.

But despite the camaraderie, the blood shed, and the victories shared them, there would always be a barrier that would prevent him from being fully honest with his comrades. Unlike his new companion, they would never know who Rowark truly was deep down, and perhaps it was better this way. When he rose from bed, Miro Miro flew out from underneath the pillow. “Ready to go?”

“Yep!” she joyfully followed him out the door. With his own fairy companion by his side, who trusted her life in his hands and vice versa, Rowark giddily trotted down the stairway to paradise.

The hour before noon seemed to be the time most of the patrons left their overnight stay. Following the golden rule of the stairway, no one spoke a word as they climbed step after step. The Desert Oasis was perhaps place that could peacefully house people from multiple layers of backgrounds. It was not hard to tell who held what status, but the surprising equality of everybody. Down the wooden steps they went, one after another, the deafening claps of soles against planks of wood sounded equally alike, no matter whom made them.

Once he touched the ground floor, the songs of conversation removed the awkward atmosphere that all men equitably shared. He had not even a chance to contemplate his next step before the call of Sasha whipped Rowark around, “Sir.”

“Good morning,” he greeted the fatigued director. Sleep was but a dream for the poor woman.

Yet she forcefully kept her facade with a weak but hospitable smile, “I trust your night was good?”

“Never slept better!” answered Rowark genuinely. He dared not ask about hers.

A hospitable relief was stretched upon her strained lips, “Excellent to hear.” However, she then hung her head to release her exhaustion. Rowark’s eyes politely slipped away from her face but instead locked onto the sword she was carrying in her right hand. Though the blade was covered by a scabbard, he instantly recognized the top half. The gilded crossguard with red and blue jewels adorned from tip to tip divided the covered blade from the charred handle. It was clear much polishing had been done to restore the luster of the crossguard, but nothing could be done about the grip, scorched beyond recognition.

Sasha lifted the sword as a tear fell from her eye. “It belonged to my niece. The one you, you know.” That he fought was what she wanted to say in the public area, but couldn’t due to last night’s agreement.

Guilt weighed into his mindset as it absorbed the fact that he had just killed her immediate relative. “Oh, I am so terribly sorry. If I had known-”

She shook her head vehemently, “No stop. Never apologize for doing your duty. She was well on her way to Death Mountain’s Hearth, there were people to save, and you did your duty and saved them.” Sasha lifted her teary face and revealed a hurting deep down inside, “She, she chose this life. Kinja, and her sister Minja. They chose their fate. I know I should not grieve over people who killed for a living,” she closed her eyes to fight more tears, but another stream flowed downward, “but somewhere in my heart I wonder what they would have become had they chosen a different path.”

“May I ask,” Rowark afraid of intruding into private matters where did not belong, “what life, did they choose?”

Sasha’s face dropped and spoke with utter contempt, “Bounty hunting.” A rapidly growing profession. Where the town watch and the royal court’s justice failed to uphold, bounty hunters filled in the gaps. Operating outside of the law to aid the law, each hunter enjoyed the “don’t ask” policy of the many collections agencies that were growing in tandem with the profession. It had then dawned on Rowark that the woman he fought yesterday was a warrior who dedicated her life to killing, and it made him appreciate his miracle of surviving even more. “It was a bounty that brought upon their downfall.”

“How do you know?”

“Kinja’s sister was found.” Sasha reached into the lapel of her uniform top and unfolded a piece of paper with the signature WANTED title written at the top and the Hylian crest stamped in the corner, a sign of its legality. There was no picture, just a description of the culprit. “It was a bounty given out by that rat .”

Shock coursed through his body suddenly, “Sir Mawar?” But his answer was as obvious as his question, it was officially the Judge’s duty to authorize bounties. So the real question was, whom was the bounty after? And why did Sir Mawar resort to a bounty hunter instead of conventionally using a watchmen and a cunning bloodhound to conduct a manhunt?

“Yes, him,” she seethed through her teeth. “Do not always trust everything that comes out of his mouth.” Sasha’s eyes fell to the weapon in her hand as she released a long, content sigh, “Anyways, this sword now belongs to you.” Rowark’s jaw dropped. “It is customary in Gerudo culture for the victor of a duel to inherit the spoils of the dead.  We could not find a suitable scabbard to match the master craftsmanship of this blade, but it was the only one that could fit.”

Rowark’s heart could not stop pounding with happiness. “I can’t be choosy over a gift this valuable!” he said as she handed the scimitar to him. “You are too kind!” He immediately wrapped the leather belt around his own waist and instantly felt more knightly, even if the sword he was wearing was not Hylian made.

Sasha wiped a tear from her eye, “I am just following tradition. Her mother and I want to be rid of this wretched reminder of our daughters’ downfall.” One woman’s trash was another man’s treasure Rowark supposed as he received his gift. “Take the bounty poster too. I don’t want Sir Mawar to find it in my hands.” Rowark retrieved the piece of paper along with Sasha’s caution, don’t let anyone see it, and tucked it into the pocket of his leave tunic.

Upon holding the scimitar, the first thing Rowark noticed was its much lighter weight, probably about half as much as any typical Hylian made sword. Even wearing the sword on his belt felt no different than carrying a knife half its length. After folding the paper bounty and tucking it into his trousers, Rowark then closed in for a hug.

“Thankee for the wonderful present and all the hospitality,” he spoke softly into her ear.

“Thank you,” she replied, “for preventing any more damage to our reputation.” They broke the embrace, and Rowark walked for the exit, hearing Sasha’s last words call from behind him, “Good luck in knighthood! You are always welcome back!”

The high noon sun shined with summer strength and was almost to bright for Rowark to handle after being stuck indoors for most of yesterday. He emerged from the brothel’s doors to a square that had seemed back to normal. People and their goods worked their way around the outside of the square to their scattered destinations. Even the town crier standing on the dais trying to tell the very same story Sir Mawar said he would against the angry shouts of the skeptical audience, was nothing out of the ordinary.

The one thing that was not normal was the heightened watchmen presence. They’re probably investigating the incident yesterday , he guessed with considerable doubt. The two watchmen on both ends of the spire seemed to hamper the harem’s income of customers. Several watch were stationed in the interior of the square, each man being the only barrier between the horde of angry peasants and the town crier. Only a single commanding knight, able to assist any one man once needed, armed with an elongated staff was enough to keep the protests from becoming a catastrophe. Two spear points accompanied by a brass helmet gleaming in the sunlight poked out of the circular motion of traffic. Archers from multiple platoons perched atop the roofs and scanned the ground for… someone, or something.

We don’t normally use this much manpower to conduct searches… Who could they possibly be looking for? It couldn’t be that they’re looking for the same person in the bounty? Rowark took the sheet of paper from his pocket and quickly glanced over it. Wanted: A child, Hylian, approximately twenty eight palms in height. Goes by many names: Lorelli, Ivaaron, Cica, Piscetria… The list of names went on for almost a full paragraph.

“What do all those words mean?” asked Miro Miro.

“Come with me, I should not say them out loud here,” said Rowark as he swiveled his head, heeding Sasha’s caution before walking into the traffic and following it out south on a detour back to the barracks. Wading through traffic was more difficult without a watchman’s uniform and a spear to warn people to steer clear, but once his immediate surroundings were nothing but unfamiliar faces, he began reading aloud to Miro Miro while pointing to each character on the sheet, “Wanted Alive: A child, Hylian, height: twenty eight palms, medium length, messy hair, scars in many parts of the face, notably across right cheek, left eye, lips, nose, and both ears-”

“They’re looking for him, aren’t they?” Miro Miro asked, silencing a stunned Rowark.

“Um… Who are you talking about?”

Miro Miro groaned as if trying to take back what she said and then she too looked around to make sure no one was paying close attention to the two, “I saw everything transpire yesterday.”

“You mean…”

“Everything… I saw the lady turn all fiery, I saw her sister get killed, I met the person that killed her… I was, I was there when everything happened, while you were in that tower doing, whatever.”

“Hold on, let me interrupt you,” said Rowark politely as he tried to contain his shock, before finally expell it, “Start from the beginning.”

“Well, there was this, boy, the exact same one that you were just describing, and I had been so hesitant on saying anything because…” another long hesitant pause, “he’s a Kokiri.”

“Wait, what!?” When Rowark had first heard about the children of witches, he did not believe the tales. When Miro Miro first described a Kokiri, he also had a hard time believing her as well. “You actually met one? But how did you know he wasn’t just some child off the street?”

“Because he said something only a Kokiri would know about. He said he wanted to be Protector of the Forest, a title every boy in the village wanted.”

Rowark trusted Miro Miro without question but, “No way… What was his name?”

"Link.”

Her answer was met with a burst of laughter, “That’s not a name!”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a name given to someone with no name.”

“I don’t understand how someone could have no name. Doesn’t every parent name their child?”

“They do, but only names on paper are official, and a name can only be registered if the parents are lawfully wedded.” When Rowark and Alexa had first arrived at the city, they had indeed faced this problem. In the interest of saving time, Alexa had neglected to snatch their paper certificates of birth, so when the two arrived to the city, they learned the hard way that there was only two lifestyles available for those without any kind of certificate: of a Link, or of a soldier.

“But… I don’t… get it, ah whatever.” Rowark could understand Miro Miro’s confusion. Having been without a certificate, he too understood the injustice of the law. And yet he chose a profession that enforced that very law.

“Was he your very companion you were looking for?” he brought her back to her main point.

She sighed hesitantly before answering shamefully, “I… I don’t know, because he did not give me his proper name as you said. But… so far, I wish he remains nameless.”

“Why?” Rowark was astonished by her answer.

“He’s… not a good person…”

“Oh.” Many more questions were begging to be asked about this Link, but Rowark had a far greater interest in what had happened, “Um, so what happened next?”

“Then I followed him back to the same tower where you were in, but he climbed all the way up to the top floor where there was a scary Gerudo lady waiting at top. She said no fighting, but not long after, the sun had not even set yet, she brought her twin to capture him!”

“It makes sense then. It says here on the bounty that he’s worth nothing dead.”

“Does it say on there what he’s wanted for?”

Rowark searched the document but did not find an answer until his eyes reached the end and when they did, the one word crime pulled him back to the fiery heat of two nights ago: arson .

“Help!” the cry of a child came barreling desperately out from an alleyway to Rowark’s immediate left and persisted through the apathetic traffic to Rowark’s keen ears, “Let go o’ me!”

Perking up like dog, Rowark let his watchman instincts take over and then began chasing after the noise. Unable to disperse the crowd like he could when he was on duty, Rowark struggled to make his way toward the source of the faint noise over the hubbub.

There was a very valid chance that Rowark was walking straight into a trap, igniting his blood rush. There were too many horror stories of ambushes during patrols. If a watchman’s body was not found stripped down to nudity, then it was never found at all. Since four out of every five attempts happened during the evening, a strict policy forbade venturing into the alleys, or the Bowels according to him and the watchmen, during the long night. As soon as the shadowy space came into view, a cold air slowly began to penetrate into his skin. He placed his hand on the sheath, which helped him calm his racing heart.

There was no one there, but the voice shouting, “Help!” into the cold domain helped guide Rowark into the darkness. The foul stench grew worse as he continued around bendy corners and walked on pungent mud, creating an icky squish with each step. “Somebody help me!”

Suddenly, he saw movement and then hid behind a corner next to a rubbish dump. A tall man-at-arms and a short one, each wearing metal maille underneath a crimson surcoat displaying Praetonmore’s signature golden oak tree, were dragging a squirmy child with great difficulty. Long, moppy hair hung over the boy’s bony face.

“Somebody help! Anybody!”

Wearing a shield on his back, each man also carried a longsword by his hip while holding a stick thin boy with long hair by the arms. This was certainly not a trap, but what could Rowark possibly do in this situation? Please don’t be a hero , Sir Mawar’s voice from last night barged its way into his mind. Just from equipment comparisons alone, Rowark had no chance of winning a fight against their armor, shields, and swords, and even if he did triumph, he would never find out where the men were bringing the child.

His best bet was to follow the men to the rest of the party, and then call for help once he was there. Sticking out like a sore thumb in his neat tunic, Rowark did his best to stay out of sight despite fighting every urge to intervene.  But when the two men-at-arms finally reached their destination, Rowark saw a face that instantly brought regret upon his decision.

It was hard to miss Sir Rhychester’s bald head sitting atop his massive figure and his fully plate of mail. The mercenary turned knight earned a bad reputation from the enjoyment he received from ending life. Surrounding him were about twenty men, each bearing a variety of weapons and armor but each wearing the same surcoat of Praetonmore. By himself,, Rowark had not even the slightest hope of winning.

So he ducked down behind a torn down wall and pleaded to his friend, “Miro Miro, I need you to get there out and get help for. Look for anyone wearing a blue cape and bring them here.”

“Okay. How will I find you?”

He had to think about that for a minute, “Tell whoever you find that I am located right behind the burnt blacksmith.”

“Okay, I should be able to remember that!”

“Yes! And then follow whoever you find back here!”

“Will you wait for help to arrive?”

“I will.” Maybe .

Chapter Text

The special suite on the top floor of the Cloud Palace Inn brought a dreamed about comfort to Link. If Sir Mawar’s men weren’t crawling all over the streets looking for him, Link could lie in the queen sized bed for days. Each exhale expelled a little bit of anxiety from his blood rush. What brought him the greatest comfort was not laying in luxury nor having his weapons and supplies lying within arms reach but the certainty that nobody, present company excluded, knew his precise location. The grandiose decorations did well to hide the drab color of the clay walls, the rot of the wooden framework, and the splinters poking through the floorboards, and the quiet setting provided excellent privacy for the two, acquaintances.

Her hair was tied into her signature twintail that swayed when she shook her head disappointingly and spoke in her native tongue, “ Scar, you still have friends, you know. ” When Link first walked into the vacant inn suite, the first things he saw were his longsword, his beloved home bag, the cape he dropped, ropeshot laid out across the bedcover, before he felt massive relief spreading through his body. In one day, Link had acquired an undamaged longsword and a priceless ropeshot, two things that would have taken him a year and a lifetime respectively to acquire under normal circumstances.

Link shrugged off her comment and responded with Gerudo equally as fluent, “ It’s hard to tell who’s friend or foe these days. ” There was only one person he could fully trust… himself, and no one else. “Evidently, it only takes less than a day to turn from the first to the second,” he said as a clear jab at the Ganford Twins’ memories.

“Tch,” scoffed Nerachmuud, “I tried to tell them not to break their own rules. But they told me it would be of no consequence. So long as there were no repercussions to their reputation, they were willing to sell their honor for fifteen gold rupees. I could say no more to stop them.”

Link nodded, “I don’t blame you.” Nerachmuud was not a fighter, merely a survivor like Link. She and each one of her sisters grew up in the brothel next door, where they were raised to please men until they finally earned their way out of that life. And while some, like the Ganford twins, chose the life of the blade they got out, others like Nerachmuud chose a peaceful profession. Disgusting as it was, cleaning up and washing the sheets from the prior night’s activities, the job was still preferable to that of the woman being serviced in the rooms in anyone's opinion. In the face of two bounty hunters, there was naught more she could do with her head held high.

Far be it for Link to call Nerachmuud a friend, though. She was a receptacle for every rumor that passed through Gerudo lips and had made gossiping a notorious hobby of hers. No secret within both houses of the Gerudo capitol was safe so long as Nerachmuud was gainfully employed there. All flow of information passed through her ears, but prying them from inside her head was as next to impossible as a peasant marrying into nobility. Both suffered from the same exception though: rupees. Which then spiked Link’s curiosity, why all the hospitality? But he was never going to ask that to his gracious host. Not today at least.

She walked to the sill and sat on it looking out into the open sky, “So, where to next? ”

He had to take care not to divulge too much, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. ”

“And how will you get there? ”

Link continued dodging her question, “I’m gonna figure that out next. ”

Oy , said Link mentally to grab Shoe’s attention, How are you guys doing?

Shoe whispered back, “They await your cue.”

Link took a deep breath, Go ahead.

“Okay, a pair of watch are patrolling back and forth between the tannery and the guild house on Din Road. One archer is posted on top of a three story shophouse on Din Road west of Nayru. There is a traffic checkpoint to north of…”

The command initiated a stream of information that flowed from seven different directions and funneled into one recipient, who then listed out each observation slowly for Link to paint the mental map in his head. Smoxy was positioned about a hundred yards southwest, Kebas to the west, Tandry to the south, Siklayvin to the north, Marqo to the northeast, Mihayl to the east, and Rakayla to the southeast. The only direction he did not check wa s northwest, straight up the Royal cliff.

“Two watchmen patrolling on the east-west street by the south side of the warehouse. Three watchmen directing traffic at Zelda and Triforce. There’s an archer on a balcony of a house three blocks west of Nayru. Tandry says there’s a watchman posted on the northern street of a six-way crossing. Smoxy sees a watchman…”

“What are you doing?” Nerachmuud’s sudden question almost dissolved his map in his mind, but with a strong, mental imprint, Link managed to retain the mental image.

“Silence, please.” he said in Hylian.

“Hmph, you’re no fun.”

He did not know it, but with his eyes closed and his thoughts focused, Link looked like he was meditating deeply as he sat cross legged on the bed. The extra concentration required absolute silence to prevent him from erasing the mental map he drew in his head, but countless nights spent in Sanctuary trying to find his next move had chiseled the district’s layout into his stubborn, short memory, from every street to every building.

Inside his head, he could visualize Nayru Avenue stretching north, eventually climbing upwards into the mountains, and south, all the way until it reached the end at Farore Road, which ran east from the castle barracks, looped around Valor Island, and ended at the Desert Oasis square. The next major east-west street south of the square, Din Road, ran east until it reached Farore Road’s loop, and ran west, following the Royal cliff south west, until it reached the castle barracks. Behind the well-to-do shophouses that lined these major roads were the city bowels where Link was most likely going to traverse.

“An archer on top of the bakery on Zelda Street. There’s three watch and a knight directing traffic around a smith two blocks east.”

All his new fairy friends were doing was telling him the location of every royal soldier. Archers were posted on top of the buildings touching the major street intersection. Watchmen were littered all over the roads leading north and east; either they were going area through area, or they were redirecting traffic. So far, only two knights had been spotted: the one in the northeast overlooking the district and another assisting with traffic on Zelda Street.

The news that continued pouring in was not good. Sir Mawar had foreseen the boy’s best potential exits and, with naught more than three of four men per traffic checkpoint, had dammed off the way north to the mountains, the way south to the city walls, and the way east to the peerage districts. With the majority of the moving crowd trickled down to a scattered few in the north and northeast domains beyond the roadblocks, Link would be easy pickings for the archers there.

Tell Mihayl to check the way south to the wall and Marqo to check the block behind the Desert Oasis. What does Tandry see past the south roadblock?

"One watchman is posted in the gap between a tavern and a tannery, and Tandry says just about every alley connecting Nayru has one watchman. ” It seemed like Sir Mawar was opting to spend his manpower by blocking access to the city bowels rather than risk men trying to search for him there. “ And there’s two pairs of watchmen patrolling through the avenue as well. ” As expected of the old man. He needed absolute certainty that the southern exit was gone.

Link also knew the city watch’s manpower had its limits, Where do they stop patrolling?

It took awhile for Shoe to respond, but that meant Tandry was scouting beyond the communicable range, “ Until Saria Street.” The short street only three blocks north of the burnt blacksmith. Link would have to keep that mental note as he traversed through the slums.

Which only left the western route open, exactly what the Judge wanted. The westward segment of Zelda Street intersected with the north-south Triforce Lane, and Sir Mawar was kind enough to up a choke point at the southern end. The district north of Zelda Street was an affluent market for those who lived on the northern terraces, which naturally drew a heavy watch presence. His only hope was to find an alleyway that connected south into the Forest of Bowels, one of the largest shanty districts sandwiched between Din Road and Nayru Avenue, and also notoriously the most dangerous one of the slums in the city.

However, getting out of the slum was a problem to be solved later. Shoe, report from Kebas. Link still had to get in, and with Kebas having already identified a heavy archer presence on Zelda Street west of Nayru, he would have to rely on the traveling peasants to mask his way through.

“Past the roadblock, there’s only a pair of archers posted on a balcony of an inn.”

That was it? If Link could cross the Forest of Bowels just enough to slip past the traffic checkpoint, then the trek south on Triforce Lane would be an easy one. He could then turn onto Saria Street and then onto Nayru, and then following that road south would take him to the city walls and the refugee camps nearby. There was just one final piece of his plan that was amiss. Is there anybody watching the alleyway between the guild house and the cobbler on Zelda Street?

… “There’s no one.”

Yes! Link opened his eyes. Okay Shoe, tell everyone to assemble there. With his route mapped out, Link slipped the longsword onto his back and then slid both arms through the two leather straps attached to his home bag, on the run carrying his life on his back once again. He had a dangerous walk ahead of him, but this time, he had a ropeshot in his left hand and eight extra pair of eyes.

Feeling his stomach once more even though he had stuffed himself with bread and cheese only an hour prior, Link asked his generous host, “Nera, you don’t mind grabbing me a loaf of that fine Gerudo bread and a piece of bacon before I go, do you?”

“Of course not.” By the time Nerachmuud returned with the food, Link had emptied himself and was sitting on the window sill looking below, checking for watchmen.

“Thank you,” said Link as he reached for the loaf of bread.

“But,” she pulled the bread suddenly out of his reach, “answer me one question.”

Link groaned, “Fine, what is it?”

“Where are you going?”

He knew what game she was playing. As someone who was known for knowing everything, she was never going to let Link leave without prying something out of his head, which meant had to deliberate an answer for that bread and egg. “ North ,” he lied, hoping she would buy the story and spread it should she want to collect on the bounty herself. It was rude of him to answer falsely, especially to someone who had graciously went out of her way to retrieve the boy’s equipment; however, survival prioritized honor in every situation in Link’s mind.

“Hmph,” she responded, slowly handing the food to Link, who scarfed the bacon down immediately and stuffed the loaf in his home bag through a small slit in the side.

“Nerachmuud,” said Link as he faced the dangerous outside and pointed the ropeshot, at the Desert Oasis across the way, “thank you. ”

His mysterious host grinned and responded with the traditional phrase of accepting gratitude, “My pleasure. ”

Satisfied with their standing, he fired the ropeshot trigger and was on his way. Immediately, Link realized how much he overestimated the difficulty of reaching his intended destination. Sure there were archers posted on rooftops and balconies, sure there were watchmen coming through the streets, but none of that mattered so long as he had one friend to locate them and a ropeshot to maneuver wherever he wanted around them. With the firing of his tool, he could scale roofs over three stories tall within heartbeats.

The journey became even easier once he assembled with the rest of his group. Spread out, he instructed his friends, spot and identify every single person you see. There may have been no watchmen searching in the slums, but Link could take no chances with any of the vagrants that lived in these parts. Any homeless drifter in an abandoned shophouse could easily be a madman waiting to pounce his blindside, or worse, someone he managed to anger in the past. But with eight eyes hovering over and scouting the filthy squalor, Link could safely travel under the cover of wooden walkways just by knowing where the homeless slept. And if his path was blocked, there was almost no safe place to which his ropeshot could not whisk him.

Once he reached the alley exit just behind the Zelda Street roadblock, he dove into the southward traffic, flowing with the movement to the small market square connecting Zelda Street to Saria street. As he traveled with the moving crowd, Link’s mind began to wander. His thoughts recalled the events of the past two nights, and the only things that stood out from his all his memories were the Protector’s voice. After so many years. Why did his memory of her flash into his head so vividly two days ago? If the soft, glowing heat on the back of his hand was her method of communicating to the boy from the beyond the grave, what was she trying to tell him?

His mind was on the verge of playing back his last memory of her, when his heart suddenly dropped and reminded him with with a small taste of what emotion he was about to evoke. However, Link knew he needed to revisit this memory sooner rather than later. Every fight, every struggle, and every obstacle he encountered were somehow begging him to revisit his last and only memory of the Protector. And when he finally decided to conjure their last moment together, the details began creating a saddening pain that Link had to fight against.

Each time he pieced together the Protector’s warm body resting in his arms, each time the fading life behind her blue eyes became clearer, each time his skin recalled the trickle of her warm blood down his arms, a growing urge welled from the bottom of his chest, wanting to expel his emotions through his eyes. He had never gotten this far in remembering the details before, but he knew his destiny lay somewhere in this memory.

Once Link rounded the corner onto Saria Street, he knew his destination was not too far. After only six blocks more of walking, he would soon reach the end of Nayru, and just beyond lay the many refugee camps that could provide shelter. No wonder why the city watch only went as far south as Saria Street, Mister Praetenmore’s men-at-arms occupied the area around his old building block.

As he walked past House Praetenmore’s men, he epiphanized a whisper from his memory, “ Promise me .” Then she whispered his name, the last name the Protector used to call him…

“LINK!” the voice triggered a sudden hot pulse from his scar travelling up his arm and through his body. He knew instantly to whom the voice belonged. If that stupid fairy’s voice weren’t so annoying, Link could have listened to every word Miro Miro said, “HELP! My, my friend is in danger!”

Link was already so close to the street crossing, where just over lay a community of people who didn’t care if he was wanted. The last thing he wanted to do was get involved in someone else’s mess, let alone die along the way. “Then call the city watch, now leave me alone.”

“Please!” another hot pulse flashed up his arm. Instantly, the boy thought of his best friend that he lost. What was she trying to tell him? And why? Even more aggravating, why now!? “You’re the first person I recognized! And, and, I don’t know if a watchman’s going to help me or capture me instead…”

He shrugged off her plea again, “Helping your friend is your problem. Not mine. Living another day is my problem. Not yours. So buzz off.” Link was only a few steps away from the thick traffic of people squeezing their way past each other. On the other side of the road lay many refugee camps at which he could retire for the night. No one would bat an eye at a hungry Link living amongst them.

“I, I can’t turn to anyone else!” she protested.

A final hot flash from his scar stopped him in his tracks, just before he was about to reach into the viscous traffic.

“Link, what are you waiting for?” screamed Mihayl.

“There’s two watchmen approaching the crossing from the east! You gotta go now if you want to get to the other side before they get there!” warned Shoe.

The struggle between doing the right thing and doing what he promised to the Protector froze Link in place. Why was she asking him to do exactly the opposite of what he promised her? For many forgotten years, the Protector and the scar had stayed silent. And for the first time in years, ever since Link had met the pink fairy, it felt like his old friend was trying to communicate with him from beyond the grave.

But she was asking him to risk his life for a stranger.

“Link, it’s now or never!”

A loud growl erupted from Link as he went against his conscience.

Chapter Text

Even with the sun hovering straight above the city, only slivers of golden light could make it past the poorly constructed shacks of the South Bowels. And standing in the natural spotlight was Sir Rhychester, who was rumored to have slayed over a thousand men under the banner of Din’s Shield. Some soldiers said that the color of the knight’s dark crimson armor came from the dried, caked blood of his enemies. The color of his armor helped verify the vicious rumor that he derived endless pleasure from cutting men open, and according to many who had fought alongside him, it was difficult to avoid the lethal pathway of his blade for friend and foe equally.

Huddled in the shade between a score of House Praetenmore’s bannermen and captivity were an impoverished mother and her child, a girl who looked like a brown haired boy wearing clothes that looked like they were fished from a rubbish dump. The older woman wore a messy apron over her tattered dress as if she were in the middle of her chores and a cap to hide her graying hair, but the intrusion of these men upon her otherwise routine life awoke primal ferocity. Two house guards, one wearing a leather right pauldron, and leather pads underneath his surcoat and the other a mixed up combination of steel and leather, held individually sized spears crossed in front of the two captives.

The reason for the mismatch in armor across every personal army belonging to Hyborns such as the Praetonmores was because every soldier was responsible for his own equipment. Unlike Her Majesty’s army, which issued to each soldier a uniform length spear, a uniform set of armor, and a uniform reinforced left vambrace, commonly called the buckler, Her vassals controlled armies lacking anything resembling a structure. Their house guards, from as young as eight to as old as thirty, were used for either personal protection or as pawns for The Coliseum, a patch of bloodied dirt, broken armor, and forgotten corpses in the center of a massive, stone stadium where every city dweller rich and poor congregated to spectate two teams of well armed pawns charge at, fight, and kill each other. By the time the carnage was over, there was always plenty of leftover weapons and arms for the pickings. This was evidenced by the fact that not a single man-at-arm under gainful employment wore a piece of armor without a stain of blood somewhere.

To lead the undisciplined lot, a noble simply had to select a leader from his hardened conscripts, or in Sir Rhychester’s case, hire the largest mercenary on the market, and give him a title and ownership of property within the city, for there was little a man would not sacrifice for the bare minimum requirement to escape the caste of peasants.

The fearless mercenary-turned-knight screamed into the face of his second in charge, “Bring the girl to me!”, who then relayed the order to the nearest grunt, who then obeyed his command and yanked the very girl from her mother.

“No! You can’t hurt us! We have names!” the mother squealed ferociously as she clawed onto her screaming daughter. Though she was threatening Sir Rhychester with repercussions should he break the Queen’s laws, any royal sentencing rested solely on the testimony of the witnesses, and if every witness not wearing a Praetenmore insignia died, then justice was meaningless. “She has a name! She has a birth document! You can’t hurt her!” Rowark’s survival became that much more crucial.

“Shut up!” Sir Rhychester fired at her, waiting for her to calm down, “I won’t do nothing to her. I’m not a lawbreaker, unlike you.” He knelt down to the trembling girl and spoke softly, “What’s your name, girl?”

She avoided his eyesight as much as she wanted to avoid answering him, but his persistent glare finally found its way into her fearful heart. “Woaphelia,” she squeaked out like a cornered mouse.

Sir Rhychester cranked his lips into a sinister grin, “Woaphelia. All right, listen here. Your mother’s right, I can’t hurt you.” Placing a his metal hand on her shoulder to comfort her, he inadvertently made her tremble and cry instead, “Hey! Shh! It’s okay! Everything’s going to be okay! And here is what I can do it all better.” Her sobs failed to desist, so the bald man continued, “According to word around town, your mother decided to harbor a fugitive. Now, that is very unlawful, which means that I can take your mother to court for abetting a fugitive that has grievanced my liege personally. But here’s where you come in. You had a good look at the Link’s face, so you’re going to tell me which one of these little Links is the one you sheltered. If you do, I promise I won’t speak a word of your mother’s crime to a soul.

“If you don’t,” he changed his tactic from comfort to intimidation and towered over the poor girl, “you and your mum will be in worse trouble than you can imagine.”

Wailing even harder in response to his threat, Woaphelia ran for her restrained mother, but a gauntlet shot out and grabbed the girl’s wrist before she got too far, “Mommy! He’s hurting me!”

It took three men to hold the protective mother, and one had even lost his grip when she launched herself forth, “No! My baby! Don’t hurt her, you monster!”

With Woaphie’s arm lifted the air, Sir Rhychester dangled the girl trying to break free, “You talk to her then. Tell your girl to do what I say, and I leave with my men.” He placed his right hand over his heart, “I swear to the Goddesses.”

The girl turned to her mother for an answer, “Mommy?”

“It’s okay sweetie, Mommy’s here,” her mother responded tearfully, “Just do as he tells you, okay? Everything’s going to be okay.”

Woaphelia nodded and submitted to the big knight. Gently, he placed the girl back onto the ground and grunted, “That wasn’t so hard was it, now?” The knight led the girl to a group of five boys standing in a horizontal line, each looking as different as the next, but each had a very defining scar visible on their body. A single man-at-arms wearing thin metal plates stitched onto a leather coat and a metal helmet with a thick-wire grate to protect his face kept the children afraid and behaved.

“You stand there,” Sir Rhychester ordered the girl to stand in front of the accused as he walked over to the child furthest to his left. He drew his sword and aimed the sharp point at the boy’s chest.

With a mean glare, he asked the girl, “Is he the one?” placing the boy’s fate in her hands.

Woaphelia stared at the boy, who desperately shook his head to deny the accusation, and then she shook her head. Sir Rhychester nodded at her answer and, just as everyone was comfortable with the boy’s innocence, plunged the blade into the boy’s chest. With shock planted on his face, the limp body slid off the blade and fell lifeless to the ground.

“NOOO!” screamed the young girl, “No! I didn’t want him to die! Why did you kill him!? He didn’t have to die!”

Sir Rhychester barked back at her protests, “Because he’s useless to me! Just like you will be if you don’t identify my fugitive!” The man pointed his sword straight at the next boy’s heart, “Is it this one?”

“I’m not doing this anymore! Not if you’re going to kill them anyway!” Woaphelia refused as viciously.

“SHUT UP! They’re Links! No one will care if they die!” roared Sir Rhychester back at her defiant tears, “Now tell me! Is it this one!?”

An infinite rage surged through Rowark’s body as he stormed in and drew his scimitar, “Halt! In the name of the Queen, stop this madness at once!” His fury replaced any need to muster courage to run past the encircling soldiers and confront the bald brute responsible for organizing the charade.

When everybody turned their eyes toward him, he almost recalled his very experience from being the subject of a Trial. Once again, he was the center of attention; only this time, there was a woman, her daughter, and four other boys looking to him to save their lives. Though the musty air was silent, the murderous intentions of Sir Rhychester, glaring at Rowark with a ravishing thirst for blood, and every man-at-arms were loud and clear between the walls of the shadowed alleyway.

A thin ray of sunlight managed to poke through the roofs and wet clothing, gleam off of the fresh blood on Sir Rhychester’s blade, and reflect the bright red all over the dark bowels of the city. From neck to sole, Sir Rhychester was covered in blood red metal; each pauldron sitting on his shoulders could easily fit man’s head inside; the great insignia of the Praetenmores seemed to magnify his broad breast; the only vulnerable chinks in Sir Rhychester’s armor, which only meant it was slightly less protected, were his armpits, elbows, and knees. Two nights ago, it was hard to see the details of mail plate against the light of the blazing fire. Underneath the daylit sky, the masterwork of the Zawk brothers craft was about as expressive as it was obvious and expensive. Polished to reduce the friction of blades, thickened to reduce the blunt force of maces, and reinforced to reduce the piercing of arrows, the knight’s full mail could only come from the workmanship of a Goron smith.

“In the name of the Queen, you say? Ha!” mocked Sir Rhychester, unamused by Rowark’s inconsequential claim to authority. Sir Rhychester, like a knights of his tradition, pledged their swords to a landed noble, who then pledged his sword to a count or a duke, who then made the ultimate pledge to the Queen. Though each knight was technically sworn to the Queen’s service indirectly, a great resistance to the Crown’s authority was due to the lack of a direct pledge between knight and Queen. To complicate matters further, the Queen had her own contingency of knights who did serve the Queen directly in her own personal army. Hence, the knights of the old tradition like Sir Rhychester commonly referred to the Queen’s own knights as “sergeants”, the old term for promoted soldiers whose main role in the army was to administer orders from the capitans and provide tactical support for their companies. “Amuse me, what authority Queen allows you to break the fifteenth article of the Hylian Government Treatise?”

Rowark’s blood froze. The most recent, great event in Hyrule’s history was not the Legend of Queen Zelda and the Hero of Time, but rather the end of the Great Civil War and the treaty signed afterward. Countless lives were sacrificed so that the Eight Great Houses could have greater representation in parliament than Queen Zelda the First initially drafted. The resulting treaty gave the members of the Eight Great Houses greater autonomy, damn near legal immunity for everything, and more lawmaking powers but had outlawed the slave trade. The trading of all peoples, Zoras, Zolas, Sheikah, Gorons, Gerudo, Deku, even Fairies, as chattle had halted. Rowark was unsure of the specifics of the article that Sir Rhychester was referring to, but all knew that the Queen’s men were expressly prohibited from interfering with any landed Hyborn family’s “right to justice”, a Goddess given right for Hyborns to slaughter whomever they pleased. As much as Rowark wished to discount this farce as justice, there was no way a legal court would see it from Rowark’s perspective.

Finding an immediate answer to challenge the legality of Sir Rhychester’s mock trial was impossible. From the court’s point of view, Rowark was wrong. Right or wrong, however, he felt the need to challenge the killing of innocent children, “Treaty or not, you just killed an innocent protected under the law!”

“Like it or not, our last queen decided that persons with no birth papers were not protected under the law,” Sir Rhychester responded coldly, “These children are not people, and there is evidence that one of them burned down my liege’s blacksmith two nights ago, justifying my cause for investigation. Therefore my liege does not require your throne’s permission to search his estate to investigate his grievance.”

“You killed a boy for being innocent of a crime!”

Sir Rhychester shrugged off the life of the dead boy on the ground, “He was going to be guilty of something sooner or later. Maybe he’s already guilty of something. Tell me, are you willing to defend every single piece of rubbish you find on the street to your very last breath?”

Rowark drew Kinja’s scimitar, “I am ready to protect ALL of Hyrule’s people unto my dying breath!” Rowark’s sword felt light in his hand, but the balance of the sword was centered in the most unnatural spot for a blade, at least for someone unfamiliar with the fighting styles of the Gerudo. Shorter and slimmer than Sir Rhychester’s broadsword, the scimitar only had the reputation of Gerudo metalworking to withstand the coming battle.

However, the drawing of his scimitar drew a laugh from his opponent, “With what, that Gerudo sword of yours? Who are you really protecting? Hylia’s chosen people, or witches?”

Rowark wanted to make a snappy comeback, but his foe initiated his offense with a quick flick of the blade. As soon as Rowark lifted his own weapon to parry the attack and counter, his sloppy overhand swing made him realize just how unprepared he was to fight in such close proximity. His scimitar felt significantly shorter than Sir Rhychester’s broadsword. In all his experience in armed conflict, he had never utilized a weapon shorter than his opponent’s and had only drawn his short sword, built to stab rather than to cut, only on three occasions outside of drilling. Even worse than wielding a one handed weapon was trying to find some usage for his free, empty hand. Swinging the sword, let alone parrying or thrusting, felt about as unnatural as writing with his left hand.

Even with thick, constricting plates covering his limbs, the veteran knight attacked with a quickness as fast as the naked Gerudo demon Rowark had fought only yesterday. Had Rowark not leaned back in time, his face would have been sliced open, but with the center of his weight hanging over his heels, he was in no position to counter, or move out of the way for that matter. Sir Rhychester understood Rowark’s predicament by thrusting the tip of his broadsword into Rowark’s solar plexus.

Only a last minute parry could save Rowark from death, but the life saving maneuver cost him his balance. Falling backward as the sheer force of Sir Rhychester’s follow through knocked him off his feet, he landed hard on his shoulder against the stony pavement. There was no time to feel pain, though. He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could to avoid another life-ending attack aimed at his throat on his way up. Once Rowark had regained his composure, his lungs began to beg for more air to replenish his stressed body. After only three, relaxed attacks from Sir Rhychester, Rowark was already starting to see an end to his stamina.

“Come on! Is that all Her Majesty’s finest has to offer?” Sir Rhychester taunted with his arms spread open to expose his plated chest. “Since you didn’t seem to be prepared, allow me to even it up a bit by giving you three tries to hack my head off.”

A growl escaped from Rowark as the his opponent’s words twisted the emotions stirring inside his chest. He had seen men with fragile egos fall into the trap of the taunt, compelled to lash out with animal rage, only to be bested every time by the taunter. His head screamed out loud not to cave into his emotions, but his pride as a knight of the Queen’s army had an obstinate way of tuning out reason. He dashed into Sir Rhychester’s strike zone to take advantage of the rare opportunity presented before him.

Rowark flicked his wrist to a snap a cross cut upward into Sir Rhychester’s chin, but the veteran knight calmly backstepped out of harm’s way. Next, Rowark attempted to utilize his follow through from his first swing to unleash a high forehand, mustering as much explosive power behind the swift stroke aimed at Sir Rhychester’s neck. His blade struck nothing but air again when the big knight merely ducked and sidestepped underneath the wild swing. Following the relentless example of Sir Rhychester’s offense, Rowark attempted another backhanded slice diagonally downward across his foe’s chest.

Shortly after Rowark felt the resistance from the block, Sir Rhychester’s gauntlet shot forth and struck squarely on Rowark’s right cheek.

The punch had nearly knocked Rowark off his feet and almost the consciousness from right between his eyes. All Rowark could feel at first were the impact and the massive ache pressing against his face afterward. The only option running through his mind was escape. But if he were to run, who was to going to fight for justice and protect the defenseless? Rowark planted his feet and shook off his lingering headache.

“What’s wrong?” teased Sir Rhychester as he exposed himself openly for attack, “Don’t tell me you’re quitting after three free strikes! How about another freebie?” Setting Rowark further on edge, the veteran knight boldly crept into Rowark’s personal space. Rowark lashed out instinctively to keep Sir Rhychester at bay, but the knight parried the swipe safely away to the outside and then delivered another devastating punch to Rowark’s face, this time landing cleanly on his right eye.

“Gah!” Rowark groaned in agony as he hastily reoriented his vision and let his bloodrush take over. Beginning with a downward cut, his opponent initiated a flurry of swings like furious artist stroking his brush with precise calculation onto a bloody canvas. Each time Rowark lifted his sword to retaliate, a metal fist would land on his exposed face. Each time Rowark lifted his sword to block one attack, he left himself open for a painful follow up. The first cut was a shallow wound on his left thigh, but the second wound was a deep gash just above his hip, and the rest that landed all happened to painfully avoid Rowark’s vitals. There was no doubt Sir Rhychester was toying with him.

An icy cold cut seared across Rowark’s forearm. Sir Rhychester’s swordsmanship was so quick that Rowark had no time to see the incoming blade aimed at his wrist. He reeled away and withdrew immediately, but his opponent gave Rowark no time to recover. First, the young squire had to block a downward swing, then a cross cut, then another moulinet, and finally a low leg slice, but it was a setup for Sir Rhychester to shoot his bare gauntlet into Rowark’s exposed neck.

Expecting a punch in the throat, he felt an iron grip tighten around his neck instead. Lifting Rowark high off the ground and cutting off his air supply, Sir Rhychester growled and pointed his sword at Rowark’s face, “Yield to me so I can end your worthless life quickly!” Rowark struggled to squeeze air through his restrained throat, but he could still freely move about.

Warmth emanated from his right wrist. It sent a soothing, but urgent message up his arm and to his head: don’t yield. Easier said than done, Rowark merely had to precisely time the incoming stab and guess its precise location, all while being strangled. Each heartbeat shooting blood through his constricted neck felt as if it were his last.

Then Sir Rhychester struck. And somehow, Rowark knew exactly when and where to move his blade and parry the life-threatening stab out of the way. Had a gauntlet not been there choking him, he would have felt the relief, but his fight for survival was not over yet. Rowark switched his scimitar from his right hand to his left, just in time to deflect another incoming attack away from his face. Again and again, Rowark parried stab after stab, as if the warmth from his curse mark was almost telling him when and where Sir Rhychester intended each life ending strike. However, with each refusal to accept his final fate, his foe grew more and more frustrated, causing him to squeeze his windpipe even tighter.

Another sudden flash of heat coursed through his body, sank into his bones, and escaped through his skin. Something was coming.

Rowark’s eyes darted to his left after Sir Rhychester’s did. Somehow, the big man could feel an incoming attack before Rowark could and lifted his sword to block.

CLANG!

The clash of steel felt like the longest heartbeat of anybody’s life. When Rowark saw who was wielding the blade, what he saw felt like something straight out of a fairy tale. It was a boy, no older than eleven, with scars matching the bounty’s descriptors perfectly. His face was so mangled, disfigured, and scarred that it looked like his skin had been ripped apart and then sown back together. It was obvious that the buildup of grime and muck had colored his hair unnaturally, but still his each strand of hair looked like it was black with specks of blonde. Suspended in the air and balanced perfectly by the resistance of Sir Rhychester’s sword, the boy had also aimed the impact of his blade and balanced himself on the point of his sword where it received the least stress, called the sweet spot in the military. Was this child, the center of all the crazy events that had been happening, him?

Sir Rhychester threw Rowark aside so he could aside so he could focus his superior strength on swinging his blade against the resistance and pushing the boy away. Instead, the boy redirected the momentum downward and flipped over the knight, landing only palms away from Rowark’s face.

Standing tall with nothing but a bloodied longsword in his two hands, the boy held himself up with a frightening confidence. His curse mark was sending hot signals from his hand, telling him that suggested the boy harbored very ill intentions. Wearing rags stitched onto a ripped up tunic, a cloth sack on his back, and no shoes, the boy scanned left and right, his cold, green eyes were studying each soldiers’ face. No way , were Rowark’s initial shocked thoughts, he’s going to kill every single one of them.

“Oy,” the boy called out to Sir Rhychester with a frightening, dried up voice that sounded like he had inhaled a cauldron of scalding water, “I heard you were looking for me.”

Chapter Text

Wide gap between the two front teeth. Bald head. No, he had a full head of hair the last time they had met, but there was no doubt about the scar on his neck combined with the gap between his two front teeth. Though the bodyguard looked very different from how Link had remembered him, his set of teeth and scar never changed. With every heartbeat, Link could feel his heart pump extra blood through the scar given to him by the very man standing in front.

Surrounding Link were seventeen of Praetenmore’s bannermen in total, five pikemen, eight swordsmen, two axemen, and two macemen, not including the flamboyant, leftenant knight wearing his Goron made armor like a turtle hiding behind a polished shell. Even though the golden maned, golden bearded second-in-command had mail that could protect him from any blade smaller than a battle axe, his smooth and scarless face looked about as green at battle as an army page was. It was as Link’s new scouts told him before he had arrived. To any grown man, jumping into a fight against seventeen men-at-arms and two knights was definite suicide. To Link, he was feeling lucky.

Over the past many years since Link had received his first scar from the Protector, the triangular shape would burn the spirit of her memory into the back of his hand only on several occasions, each of which when he was on the verge of death as far as he could remember. This time, the Protector was blessing him with a soft heat on his hand. All he had to do at this point was hold true to his promise to her.

“Sir Valoo! Now I remember you name!” cried out Link, breaking the tension suddenly, “Wow that was bugging me brain.”

The bald man let out a chuckle, “It’s Sir Rhychester, and I remember you. I thought I killed you six years ago. Looks like you haven’t aged one bit, you son of a witch .”

Link tightened the grip of his blade, “Aww, you didn’t have to say that out loud. Now everyone here has to die.” Every person within hearing distance of Sir Rhychester was exposed to a secret that put Link’s life in jeopardy. Bad enough as it was that mobs of laymen liked to hang loborn criminals and immigrant Others for fun, the way they burned natural abominations such as witches, their children, and Queers at the stake was a public celebration to them. Link had enough people on his heels, he didn’t need the whole city hunting for him too.

“Not if you die first! Kill him!” Sir Rhychester ordered his men, who met his command with vicious battlecries.

The first soldier to approach Link wielded a longsword in one hand and a wooden shield in the other. Thinking the boy was going to be easy prey, he swung downward carelessly, allowing Link plenty of time to foresee the sloppy attack. Fighting against his natural instinct to flinch and block the attack, Link held still and timed his pivot out of the incoming blade’s trajectory just right so he could transfer his momentum to his counter attack. Thanks to his prior usage of the heavy longsword, Link had a basic understanding of the strength necessary to launch the blade quickly enough to handle seasoned fighters, estimate the blade’s reach, and time the point of impact. With another backstep, he wound his hips up for a perfect upward slice into the exposed armpit. The man gasped in shock before he fell onto his knees and began to bleed into the streets, alarming his comrades, and just by dropping his sword down, all it took was the guidance of Link’s arms to sever the head.

Link swiveled his head back quickly to check if anybody behind him decided to join the battle. One of the spearmen was approaching fast. “YAAAAH!!” a maceman’s war cry announced his charge into combat, turning Link’s attention forward. Two men were incoming at one time, but the length of their weapons meant one would reach the center before the other. Link turned his head back one more time and saw that the tip of the incoming spear was a full heartbeat away from impaling him.

It was more than enough time for Link to backstep, windup, and then unleash all his might as explosively as possible to parry the spear out of the way. The momentum of the swing brought Link’s sword above his head ready to swing downward, but the reach of the attack wouldn’t reach him from where Link was standing, so he took two steps forward before leaping into the air with his weapon cocked back and unleashed a powerful swing downward. The spearman, utilizing superior distance against his enemies, had to jump backward out of the way; however, it took him a split heartbeat to regain solid footing, which was a golden opportunity for Link to follow up with another attack.

With a step and a leap forward, Link ran his blade forward and felt almost no resistance when steel met flesh. Link twisted the sword and then pulled the blade from the man’s chest so to spend the last moments of his life bleeding out. Without a looking behind him to check how close the other combatant was, Link blindly swung the sword behind him with a wide, horizontal arc. The attack came a tad bit to early, but the tip of his sword came close enough to the fighter’s face that he overreacted and raised his wooden shield to defend his face for another high attack, blocking his vision and leaving his legs wide open.

Following the momentum of the sword, Link then aimed a low horizontal cut, but he failed to anticipate his opponent punching his shield forth and striking Link on his face. He felt a massive pain and landed on his rear but rolled backward onto his hands and pushed off, flipping onto his feet, just in time to dodge his opponent’s killing blow; however, Link had to leave his sword on the ground to execute the evasion, and the man-at-arms followed his first whiff with a second swing. The nimble child jumped back to avoid the backhanded swing and then dove past the shield to avoid the third strike.

Grabbing the longsword resting on the ground as he finished his rolled onto his feet, Link took advantage of his position behind the combatant and prepared himself for a cut through his foe’s legs. By the time the man-at-arms turned around to follow Link, the longsword was already on its way across. Crippling the left leg gave Link the perfect chance to land a finishing blow on the man’s exposed head. With a crunch of splitting metal, the blade cut cleanly through the thick helmet, ending his life without any further disagreement.

Link’s newest victim slid off of his blade when his dying muscles could no longer support the body’s weight. The knight’s men trembled as they held their weapons, knowing their lives were on the line. Their hesitation gave Link ample time to reach behind into his back bag and slip his hand through the slit in the fabric, feeling for his ropeshot.

Once his fingers were firmly wrapped around the weapon’s trigger, a fully plated man-at-arm wielding a massive, two handed battle axe charged in with his weapon raised high into the air. Not wanting to fight toe-to-toe with such a terrifying giant, Link pulled the ropeshot of the bag and fired at his head with little time to aim.

Clink!

The giant ran foolishly into ropeshot’s trajectory. With a sickening crunch, the shothead punctured through the metal visor, flesh, and bone in that order. After another loud click, the ropeshot contraption reversed the trajectory and reeled the bloody tip out of the dead man’s face. The big man-at-arms, who probably expected a fair fight, fell forward, leaving behind this Hylian world his heavy, but now soiled, set of armor.

Not a single soul was willing to challenge Link. With just one glare, Link forced a whimpering lad with long hair wearing a studded brigandine to wet his pants. His armor was most susceptible to piercing, and he was too scared to fight back. Sorry, nothing personal .

Clink!

Link fired the ropeshot straight for the man-at-arms’ chest, striking him cleanly. However, the hooked shape of the shothead had caught onto maybe a bone or a hard organ and began pulling the dead man back toward Link as the ropeshot reeled its head. All he had to do to finish the job was point his bloody sword forward and wait for the body to slide through steel. He threw his foot in front of him to stop the momentum of the incoming body and then kicked the body to pull both weapons out.

Growling at his men’s ineptitude, Sir Rhychester exploded at them, “Stop attacking him one at a time! If you’re so incompetent that you can’t even best a child in single combat, then attack him all at once!”

His harsh command rallied his remaining men together, while Link’s mind scrambled to find a new tactic to counter theirs. There were a dozen men left, four wielding pikes, the others wielding a shield. If they all rushed in to attack Link, he was done for. The four pikes would reach him first undoubtedly, and even if he managed to avoid getting hit by the four spear points, there were eight others ready to clean up. Link’s only hope of survival was to keep the number of active combatants to a minimum, and Sir Rhychester had just mucked that all up.

Link blinked, and in that one split heartbeat of darkness, time had seemed to stop when he heard the familiar voice of the Protector whisper into his mind, “Squeeze.” And when she commanded so, Link’s left hand pulsed with a soothing warmth that encouraged him to submit to her guidance. When he finished blinking, he saw every man giving his best battle cry with his weapon either raised or pointed forward. It was no more than a scare tactic; Link needed to focus on getting out.

There was no other plan Link could come up with to escape his circumstance, so he took a deep breath and trusted his old friend once again. When his left hand began to squeeze the grip of his sword, he suddenly felt a powerful energy gathering in his scar. The harder and longer he squeezed, the more difficult it became to contain the potential energy building in his hand. If he were to relax his grip, he would submit to the explosive power built up in his hand. At this point, it was a matter of timing the release perfectly and building up his energy until then.

Once Link felt like his hand could no longer squeeze shut to contain the energy, he felt the power slowly transfer off of his hand, up the blade, and towards the tip. His arms began to shake too as he tried to contain the energy building up in his blade. Sir Rhychester’s men howled together to coordinate their attack and then charged in all at once. Before the enemy’s first weapon made contact with Link, he knew he had to dodge the four pikes first, then unleash.

Two were incoming from the front, one from the side, and another from behind. Good thing they were all aiming high at his torso, for a single well timed squat negated their coordinated attack and retained Link’s good footing for the immediate counterattack. Just as Link had foresaw, the other men-at-arms had their arms raised, ready to attack and cleanup the spearmen’s mess, and as a bonus, the other four had overcommitted to their attack and were in perfect striking range for Link.

Release! As soon as he relaxed the grip on his left hand, the sword unleashed the built up power so wildly that it began to take a life of its own. Link’s own body weight served as an anchor to his vivacious weapon, but only as a consequence of him holding on for dear life. The sword swirled around Link and twirled the boy around in a violent vortex. He was spinning too fast too see what was going on around him, but he did feel the cold splash of blood on his skin.

Once the energy within the sword had died, all that was left was a dizzying in Link’s head. He had nearly expended all his own stamina just maintaining a grip on his sword. Once the chaos had settled and all Link could feel was his bottom sitting on the ground and his lungs clamoring for air, only then did he see the destruction his sword had caused. A dozen bodies with a massive cut across their torsos were laid out supine like rings around a rosie painted in blood.

The only people left standing were the big knight commander, and his second-in-command. Sir Rhychester looked over to his only subordinate left and beckoned him to follow the example of their deceased men. The leftenant, evidenced only by a full set of armor similar to Sir Rhychester’s, trembled as he decided between facing the wrath of his direct superior or the cold efficiency of his foe. The grown man, who was at least in his thirties and armed to the teeth, approached an exhausted Link with the heart of a timid mouse. Link gave his golden bearded foe a death glare to catch his breath, a delaying tactic that was successful enough to draw a whimper from the adult.

When Link raised his ropeshot to fire, the man instantly covered his face with his kite shield, but he blocked his own vision as well and did not see that Link redirected his aim at his legs.

Clink!

The head shot straight for the lieutenant knight’s knee, puncturing through the armor, and crushed the joint connecting the two halves of the man’s left leg. “AAAHH!! NOOO!” And just when Sir Rhychester’s right hand man thought the pain was the worst part, the ropeshot began to reel the head back in, dragging the knight with it by the broken knee. “NOOO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” protested the man as the ropeshot pulled him towards his fate, “Please! I have a boy and a girl! I have beautiful wi-”

Link cut him short by stabbing his blade into the gap in his armor between his helmet and his breastplate. Defying his death unto his last breath, the man continued gazing into Link’s eyes like a farm animal begging for mercy, until Link cut his begging short by plunging his sword even further and twisting for good measure.

Looking around at the armored carcasses littered all over the ground, even Link could not believe that he, having entered a near death situation for which he had no exit strategy, was still alive. With no one to stop him from escaping, he had a ropeshot that could whisk him to safety if he wished, but he was dead set on killing Sir Rhychester, who could expose the people of Hyrule to Link’s little secret.

“You’re lucky you’re wanted alive. You get to enjoy a couple more days of life. But don’t worry, we’re gonna make sure you get flogged and put on trial before we painfully burn you in front of all the city.”

Link scoffed at the threat, “Please, I already got a good excuse to kill you. Don’t gimme another.”

“Bold words for a kid.”

Link spit on the ground, “At least put up a good fight.”

They stared each other down and circled each other, studying every single subtle detail about their stance, movement, and surroundings. Link’s longsword was only slightly longer than Sir Rhychester’s broadsword, which was slightly broader than Link’s weapon, but the boy needed to two hands to wield his heavy sword as proficiently as his opponent did singlehandedly.

In actuality, the big, scary sword was the last thing that was on Link’s mind. More importantly, how was Link going to penetrate the knight’s thick armor? The dark, crimson mail had so many parts that each movement caused metal to grind against each other, but that did little to slow his speed down. It seemed unfair that the young boy devoid of any protection, carrying a weapon that slowed him down, had to duel to the death against a full grown man wearing armor that did not impede him one bit. He was going to be as fast and as skilled with the sword as they came.

Of course Link had already come up with a way to kill the man, but that meant ditching his heavy weapon in favor of more intimate tactics. But Sir Rhychester could not know that yet, so Link made the first move. He ran full speed ahead with his weapon wound up ready to swing across. It was better for Link to initiate the timing of the strike than to anticipate the knight’s many possible quick attacks, especially since the weight of the blade required an extra half heartbeat of reaction time. Even before Link initiated his powerful, momentous opening attack, he assumed that the knight was going to parry and riposte with lightning speed…

So when Link followed through on his attack, he ducked and pivoted backward preemptively to prepare himself should Sir Rhychester counterattack. However, his foe opted to simply backstep out of danger’s reach without so much of a response. He’s cautious , analyzed the boy.

Suddenly without warning, Sir Rhychester stabbed his blade forth, forcing Link to jump back from the unforeseen strike. Link’s eyes followed the tip of the knight’s sword and saw a perfect opening for him to close the distance. Afterall, Sir Rhychester was no faster than the Ganford Twins, and as the blade came up and around the boy, he took a step towards the incoming blade and then launched into a forward roll, landing him right inside the big man’s ineffective range.

Link launched upward and swung his sword at his foe’s retreating arms with every intention of cutting off the hand on the way. However, the glossy armor deflected the cut safely as the big man jumped back into the effectual range of his weapon and responded with wide slice across, to which Link responded by rolling away from the tip’s reach. The momentum of his initial attack carried his sword above his head, where it was ready for Link to launch his next attack.

Sir Rhychester, however, followed up his wide slice with another cut across, knowing that Link had no room to slip such an attack. Link leaped back to avoid the attack again, but this time his feet were unable to keep up with his backward movementum, so he backflipped into the air over Sir Rhychester’s third attempt to cut Link’s belly open. Using his sword as a counterweight, Link landed one foot on the ground to establish his balance, then landed his second foot across his first so that he could wind up for his counterattack.

Link transferred his weight from his back foot to his front foot, then transferred that force into the rotation of his hips, adding greater torque behind the strength of his arms, so that all his hands had to do was guide the blade forward as he chucked the longsword forward. If his sword was going to be useless, Link was then going to use it as cover for Link’s alternate strategy.

The unconventional attack caught the knight off guard, but he reacted in time and parried the spinning projectile safely away from his face. But by the time he could recover into his stance, Link was already in a dead sprint running through his effectual range. This time, he dove toward the left side of his opponent and, using his right hand to lead, wrapped his arms around the waist. His hips, which were lifted in the air, then came crashing down, giving Link’s heels the appropriate power to kick into the back of Sir Rhyechester’s knees.

No longer able to suspend his own weight, the big knight fell to his collapsed knees, but he grabbed Link’s left arm and then ripped the boy from his body, tearing Link off his back. However, Link’s hands fastened around Sir Rhychester’s wrists as the man straightened his arm, and then the boy fastened his feet around the shoulder pauldron to finally trap the arm. Pressing his right leg down against the knight’s wide neck, Link hugged the squirming forearm tightly against his chest pressed his hip upward against the back of the elbow, bending it past its capability.

Screaming in pain, Sir Rhychester immense strength prevented the boy from ripping the forearm out of its socket, and he was able to stand back up. Though he was not able to bend his elbow, he was able to move his stiff arm about, so he pointed his sword at Link and was about to thrust it forth, but Link had recognized the big man’s intentions.

Sliding his body towards the back of the rerebrace, Link brought his right foot up and over Sir Rhychester’s left armpit while simultaneously torquing the forearm past the shoulder’s bending capabilities, barely fitting the limb underneath Link’s right knee and over his left thigh. He only needed to push the armpit down and pull the forearm over the head to throw the massive knight forward. The boy may have had thin legs, but it required little strength to maintain the big knight in this awkward position, giving him the leverage to overpower the knight’s unusually strong resistance.

The blade of the broadsword came swinging wildly at Link. Link moved his head out of the way in time, allowing the sharp edge, nicking Link in the bicep, to slice shallowly into the unprotected side of Sir Rhychester’s neck. Blood splattered onto Link’s face as Sir Rhychester retracted his sword and roared in pain. He attempted another blind and desperate attack with his sword, which landed on his armored collar this time.

To prevent another attempt, Link chopped his right leg downward into the armpit, flipping the man over onto his back. Link hopped on top and pressed all his weight down onto Sir Rhychester’s belly. From the mount, the boy quickly punched the man in the face to disrupt his resistance, buying enough time to slide his knees forward into the man’s armpits. Though the knight had absolutely no leverage whatsoever to swing his sword, that did not stop him from trying anyway. Link’s left hand grabbed the wrist while his right hand grabbed the elbow, and with an explosive effort, Link twisted the arm right out his socket.

While Sir Rhychester unleashed a bloodcurdling cry of pain, Link painted a mental target on the forehead as he reached back into his bag for a knife. Once his fingers felt the familiar handle, Link smiled as he pulled the woodsman’s knife he had stolen from Mister Praetenmore’s tenant. Once his eyes flashed to the blade in Link’s hand, Sir Rhychester began squirming with his life on the line to no avail. No matter how hard he struggled, Link’s legs would not let him escape. Slowly, he raised the knife above his head.

Suddenly, Sir Rhychester conceded his defeat. The knight stopped his resistance and spoke by looking Link deep in the eyes: the only mercy he wished for was a quick death. Link’s smirk was his response: gladly. Fulfilling the man’s wish, Link drove the blade through the thick skull and settled the score once and for all.

Since Sir Rhychester was no longer getting back up, Link dusted himself off and wiped some of the blood dripping from his lip. All that was left was Woaphie, her mother, and Miro Miro’s friend the watchman that knew he was a “son of a witch”.

Link knew how to easily rectify the situation with Woaphie and her mother. He picked up the longsword and placed it back into the scabbard before approaching them with the sword, but Woaphie’s mother distrustfully shielded her daughter from him. Extending the sword toward Woaphie, Link apologized, “Sorry about borrowing it.”

The girl gleefully retrieved the sword into her own hands, “It’s okay! I knew Father would always return to us!”

“Huh?”

“My late husband always promised us he would return before he went to fight in the coliseum,” the woman took the sword from Woaphie and clutched it in her arms. “Thank you for keeping his promise, even when he could not.”

“Er, sure,” was Link’s only response to her reference to her sword as her father, for he had a far more important concern, “You two, uh, won’t say nothing about a son of a witch, right? You have my word I won’t ever bother a hair on ya if you don’t say anything.”

Woaphie’s mother nodded eagerly in agreeance, “No one’ll ever hear a peep from us!”

Link had to be sure, “If anyone asks who did all this…?”

“We’ll-we’ll say it was…” but the mother was unsure of a plausible story that Link would be agreeable to, so Link had to tell her.

Link pointed back at the watchman who was struggling to stand up, “It was the watchman over there who saved you.”

He turned his attention to the watchman, who was struggling to get up on his feet. “Stay back!” he demanded and lifted his sword to fend off Link, who grabbed his wrist and sheathed the sword for him. The young man was in no shape to walk, so Link decided to shoulder his weight. “Stop, what are you doing?”

“Shut up, already,” said Link as he aimed the ropeshot at the roof of a building.

Clink!

Chapter Text

Who IS he? There was no mercy. This was no ordinary Link. This Link fought with such ferocious skill that could only have been culminated through many years well beyond what this child could have possibly lived. True to what Miro Miro had said, he could have looked no older than ten years old. Was this the magical child from the forest that she had talked about, the “son of a witch”, the Kokiri?

Rowark felt his curse mark heat up rapidly the closer the boy got. He interpreted the burning pain on his hand as a warning to keep away, but the child harbored no ill intentions towards him. Rowark tried to resist as best he could, but there was no fight left in him. He attempted to lift his sword to keep the Link away, but the kid effortlessly grabbed his wrist before he could put any momentum behind his sword swing. Rather than disarming Rowark, the boy instead guided the curved blade back into its home. Even after slaughtering nineteen seasoned warriors, the Link still had enough strength left to carry Rowark on his shoulders.

Clink!

The loud click of the metal parts unleashed the shothead, propelled by magnetic forces from within the body, into something above. When the reel of rope reached the end of the coil, the reel struck the magneto, a special rock that switched magnetic forces upon being struck, which then rewound the rope with enough tensile strength to launch the boy holding the handle of the ropeshot, as well as Rowark’s useless body, high into the air.

When he yanked against the ropeshot, the shothead released its grip from within the wooden frame of the window sill. The boy landed with grace on the edge and dropped Rowark into the empty, dark room. The floorboards proved a painful landing spot for Rowark’s injured body, and the mold seeping from the wood was sure to corrupt one of his many cuts. “Sorry,” said the Link insincerely, “I only need you alive long enough to get some answers.”

Rowark crawled around searching for something to lift himself up off the musty ground, and the first thing his hands grabbed was the bedpost. He wanted to lay in bed and rest, but he felt fury build up quickly inside and exploded outward instead, “YOU!” He had felt anger before, but never like the uncontrollable immolated emotions that currently dwelled in his mind. Consumed by a burning desire to harm the child before him, he toppled onto the floor instead of diving forth as he had intended.

Nonchalantly, the Link shrugged, “Don’t worry about me, worry about you.”

Rowark screamed with all the force in his lungs as he struggled back onto all fours again, “You murderer!”

The Link looked away from the window and pulled out a wanted poster from inside his ripped tunic, “Really? I just saved your ugly rear from death, and all you can do to thank me is call me a murderer?”

“I’m not talking about the people you just killed today, I’m talking about the people you killed two nights ago! From the fire YOU started!” roared Rowark.

“LINK!” cried Miro Miro.

“Five people died in that fire! Five innocent lives!” Their deaths fueled the rage coursing through his veins, giving him the strength to lift himself back up onto the bed, but no more. Here he had the chance to bring justice to the criminal before him just like he had promised the girl, and yet he could not. “You killed two tailors, two apprentices, and an innocent child! And you made a twelve year old girl an orphan!”

“No,” Miro Miro had such trouble wrapping around the fact that he was the very person who started the fire two nights ago, that she began to sob, “How could you… They were good people! They didn’t deserve to die!”

“Oh? And how do you know that?” There was no remorse for his victims, as if he had killed too many to care, “You knew them personally?”

“It doesn’t matter!” screamed Rowark, “They were innocent!”

“Really? How did you reach that conclusion? How do you know they haven’t joined a hanging mob or watched a trial by fire?” Rowark’s heart skipped at the mention of a trial, “If they did, would they seem any more innocent to you?”

Dead silence.

“But they didn’t commit a crime!” responded Rowark, “The men you killed earlier could be questionably justified, but the ones who died in that fire didn’t deserve to meet their end there!”

“Oh yeah? Well guess what people do, they die! People die everyday in undeserving ways. Get used to it. I have.”

“So why do you get to choose that fate for them? What makes you that damn important?”

“What? Is that a riddle of some sort? I’m a Link. A nobody. No one in this city would trade a rat’s rear for my soul.”

“So because you’re nobody, and they’re somebody, you have to bring everyone down to your level of morality. Is that it?”

Link’s first response was a large sigh, “You’re thinking way too deeply into my life. All I want to do is wake up tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to survive by leaving a long trail of bodies.”

“Is that so, watchman?” asked the Link, who startled Rowark since he was sure he had not revealed his profession to the stranger. “Oh don’t be all that surprised, I can recognize a Queensman’s leisure wear anywhere. So don’t try to tell me you’ve never killed a man before!” Rowark’s heart spiked as Link twisted the soldier’s beliefs with his guilt, “Come on, you can’t hide those eyes of regret. Even though you didn’t want to. You got the eyes of a killer. Not because you were told to, but because it was either him, or you.”

Rowark fired back, “I don’t know how many men you’ve killed, but I have limited my body count to less than the number of fingers on my right hand!”

“It’s not about how many or how little you’ve killed; you’ve done it, and now you understand, you gotta put a man down to survive every now and then, right?” Link hopped off the window sill and landed softly with his bare feet onto the musty floor, “My whole life as I knew it was based on this. I dunno me parents, and I dunno where I’m from. All I knew was that I had to survive, to live like other Links until I grew up, got a name, and then found an honest trade. Only trade where the employer never asked about my background was bounty hunting. But I don’t like it. I don’t wanna kill people all me life. I just wanted survive until I didn’t have to anymore…”

The Link sighed and then glared at Miro Miro, “Until yesterday. I thought my purpose was to live until adulthood. And then you come into my life… and you bring all these, memories, back to me, and then I suddenly realized just before I got here that I was going to be a kid forever. That means that I gotta be a wretched Link forever. It means I gotta kill to live forever. And it means I gotta starve all the same forever. I can’t even believe it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten that I don’t age.”

“I-I’m sorry, ” Miro Miro apologized sympathetically, “I didn’t mean to-”

“‘Tis history now. I’m still breathing, so… What I’m interested in, now, is how you got your scar.” At first, Rowark had no idea that the Link was even talking to him. He wasn’t aware of any major scars that were at least visible to the boy. “You know what I’m talking about. That burning dung stain on the back of your hand.”

The sudden awareness of the focused heat exactly where the Link had pointed out suddenly made Rowark’s heart race. Images of fire and sentiments of fright flooded his mind; he gulped loudly to contain the terror screaming inside him. How did he know about his curse mark? Did he know that Rowark was… “I-I I don’t know what y-you’re talking about!” Rowark spilled out as fast as possible.

“Haaaa!” Link’s laugh sounded more like the parched cry of a toad, but it nevertheless shut down Rowark’s attempt at hiding the truth, “You lie worse than a sheep pleading for its life.”

“I-I s-s-still, don’t, kn-kn-know what you’re t-t-t-talking about.” Hiding his curse from an absolute stranger was entirely worth doubling down on his ignorance and breaking the second Golden Law. No one could find out about his curse. Especially the Link. On the bounty, the Link went by many names, such as Cica, Lorelli, and Babuhell, most likely as a means to stay anonymous and mitigate his vulnerability; though, with a face as cut up as the Link’s, it was hard not to stand out even amongst other Links. Rowark, on the other hand, was so vulnerable that it only took one person, Link or otherwise, to spread a rumor that could end up sending him back to the Holy Trial once again.

The Link then peered into Rowark’s bright blue eyes, as if to dig the truth out from behind them, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your scar, show me.”

“Wha-wha… Wha- what are you talking about? My scar? Y-you must’ve heard wrong.”

“Oh come off it! You’re clutching the bandages over your right hand!” yelled the Link as Rowark cringed and held his curse mark even tighter as a last measure to safeguard his secret, “Your hand’s not hurt, you’re just hiding whatever’s underneath it! And you know the only reason how I know?”

At first, Rowark thought the Link was asking a rhetorical question, but then the Link lifted his own bandaged left hand and revealed the faint, yellow triangle softly glowing through the wrapping. A surge of blood rushed through Rowark’s body in response to his shock. “I did the same thing too. Only you changed your bandage three days ago by the looks of yours. Mine’s so nasty it looks like someone pissed straight into my hand.”

Is he… “N-no way…” Rowark wanted to ask the Link if he was Queer, but he decided to hold onto the question until he knew for sure, “H-how did you get yours?”

The Link answered with a hesitant sigh and left the question hanging for a long while, “I-” He stopped himself again and hesitated with silence, “I… I killed my best friend. Long ago…” The boy hung his head as if his guilt was a heavy weight attached to the end of his chin. “I guess the Goddesses wanted certainty that I would never forget the sin I committed.”

“Who?” asked Miro Miro hesitantly.

… “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Well, you’re the one who brought me here to figure out your curse or whatever,” reminded Rowark.

“I brought you here for you to answer MY questions. I could make this process a lot more painful if I want,” the Link threatened his hostage by drawing a short, woodcarver’s knife and pointing the tip at his face. “Now, how did you get yours?”

“I…” an empty breath left his lungs as the memory of the Trial’s fire flashed in his mind, “If I told you, it could mean my death.”

The Link flipped the knife in the air, caught the blade by the tip and then chucked it at the bedpost. “Not answering my question could mean your death.”

“You don’t understand! It’s just that, the reason I got my curse, if anyone found out, could send me to Holy Trial.”

“Hmph,” was Link’s only response. He walked to the bedpost and pulled the knife out, “Natural sinner?”

Rowark did not want to reveal specifics but was content with the answer implied by his silence. Though the Link hid a very different secret, both faced the same fate should the Temple of Hylia discover their nature.

Miro Miro chimed in with her own hypothesis, “Could it be that your marks are signs that the Goddesses have chosen you two?”

Rowark and the Link looked at each other with similar, skeptical expressions. Both of them knew that if that if Miro Miro was correct, then the Link probably most closely resembled the amoral nature of the Triforce of Power like King Ganondorf once did. As for Rowark, he knew that the Triforce of Wisdom would never choose a natural sinner such as himself as a representative of the righteous. “For what, being natural sinners?” scoffed the Link.

“I highly doubt there’s anyone in this realm even worthy enough to be chosen by the Goddesses,” added Rowark. Nevertheless, Miro Miro had implanted a stubborn idea that would linger in his mind incessantly.

“But,” Miro Miro pressed on confidently, “the Hero of Time had that exact same mark on his hand a hundred years ago. I’m certain of that!”

“Yes, we all know from legend, but he was born with that mark,” Rowark cursed the day he was given his mark. “I was not born with this. The mark was given to me when I confessed my sin for the first time.”

“Even if that were true, why would the Goddesses choose two people that could be hanged publicly tomorrow for who they are?” added the Link.

“I-I don’t know,” answered Miro Miro regretfully. “It’s just, This is the first time I’ve thought about some of the remarkable coincidences shared between current events and the ones from the legend.”

What Rowark’s best friend was suggesting sounded almost… heretical. It defied everything that he currently believed. But then he remembered that his hatred for himself was all predicated upon the belief that being Queer was a sin. This was fact entombed within the minds of the people of the realm. Despite this, it was Rowark’s deepest wish for the people he served with, lived with, and ate with to see him without the sin hiding within the devout person he promised to be for the Goddesses.

Perhaps Miro Miro was mistaken… How could a creature unaware of the harsh realities of the kingdom understand the difference in worlds between the one they shared versus the one the Hero of Time shared with Navi? Things were much simpler back then. There was only one villain, an embodiment of evil and sin, back then. One hundred years later, with just about every single man with a beating heart embodying a sin without his knowing, who was anyone to judge righteousness?

After a moment of silence, the Link threw up his hands, “I might go with the fairy on this one. It sounds stupid, but she may be onto something. I wish I knew more about the legend though…” Link was searching for the right words to conclude the sentence when something suddenly flew through the window and struck him squarely in the chest. All Rowark saw was a streak of blue light shoot across the room, all he heard was a loud thud of something blunt striking Link, and all that was left was the boy sprawled out on the floor.

The object that had struck him in the chest had bounced off and landed softly on his left hand. Rowark instantly recognized the seeker boomerang by the distinctive small, glowing, blue jewel situated in the center and by its wooden body, which meant it was Deku-made. The nasty weapon was an efficient way to knock a lightly armored man off his horse.

“Urgh,” groaned the boy as he sat up and rubbed the point of impact. Once he recognized the boomerang in his hand, he said, “Huh, I was wondering where you went.”

“Well, you must have touched it last,” Rowark concluded, “since the light on the blue jewel means the boomerang is bound to your hand until someone else touches it.” When the Link tested Rowark’s theory out, the boomerang’s trajectory curved sharply into the hand that threw it, catching the wood handle perfectly every time.

“So then who threw it?” the Link asked a good question. Where did it come from? “Cuz it couldn’t have been me.”

“Well, it’s only bound to a person when one touches it with his bare skin. So I imagine whoever took it from you handled it with a glove.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My last deployment was on sortie to the south woods about a season ago. Us scouts had to learn what weaponry we were dealing with before we set off. That was a common weapon used by the rebellion we fought.”

The Link continued playing with his boomerang, throwing it and catching it repeatedly, as he muttered to himself, “Huh, which means that someone threw this and probably used it to… follow… and track…” The face dropped when the Link suddenly realized he was trapped in a ploy meant to find him. “Oh dung…” he mumbled before he ran for the window sill.

The Link had his ropeshot aimed upward, ready to fire, when Rowark suddenly interrupted him, “Wait! I got questions for you too!”

“Believe me, I’ve got a thousand more. But they’ll have to wait for another time.”

“Then tell me your name at least.”

“Link,” answered the boy reflexively.

“Your REAL name. A name that I could identify you with,” Rowark clarified with a feeling that they would meet again in the future.

The Link looked downward and heaved a hesitant breath. “I am,” he cut himself short to correct himself, “I was…” He slipped his cloth mask onto his face, “I am Topah.”

Clink!

Once the shothead had caught a hold of something, Link disappeared out the window as quickly as he appeared to save Rowark’s life.

“Waaait!” Miro Miro’s crying startled Rowark, “Nooo!”

Her sudden outburst shocked Rowark, “Miro Miro…”

Tears were dripping from her floating energy like it was raining, “It’s all my fault! I’m the worst guardian ever! I turned Topah into, into… a Link!”

“No!” Rowark did not know how to comfort his friend, but he had to try, “There were many reasons he ended the way he did, but none of them your fault!”

She hiccuped many times, making her sentence hard to understand, “Of course it’s my fault! I spent twenty eight years away from him, and now I may have to spend an eternity to turn him back to the way he was!”

“Listen! There are some hard, hard truths about how this world works. I want to protect you and help you, but you are wasting your time with that kid!”

“I want to believe that Topah is still good inside, maybe. Is seeing the good in people wrong?” Miro Miro stubbornly fired back, “I want to believe that if the city corrupted him, that I can uncorrupt him! Is that so wrong of me to believe?”

“You are-” Rowark heaved a heavy breath when realized he was about to call his best friend naïve, but when he heard the loud rumbling of footsteps thumping beneath the floorboards, he went back into fight or flight mode. “Hide!” he urgently told his friend, who did so with equal urgency inside a vase sitting on a hanging shelf across the room.

It was not long before he could hear faint shouts softly filtering past the door. Though his hand shot for the handle of his scimitar, he knew the only way his body would allow him to fend off the attackers was to poke away at them. As the rumbling of heavy footsteps came barreling up the stairs, his heart raced with anxiety. This much was certain, whoever was searching for the Link was going to be in for a surprise.

Once the footsteps reached the top floor, Rowark could hear voices shouting distinctly across the door. Every time there was a sudden, loud breaking of a door, someone would yell in response, “Clear!” which was the watchman’s code word that the suspect at large was not in the room. Rowark released the grip on his sword in relief knowing that law enforcement, and not the Zellink Alliance, was on its way to find him.

Nevertheless, when the door burst wide open, and the first wave of spears blue capes pushed through the doorway shouting, “Someone’s here!” Rowark was surprised to see Nayru’s Judge and a mysterious masked fellow follow them in.

It was an odd sight to see the Queen’s personally picked master of the courts working side by side with what looked like a bounty hunter. Rowark had a hard time discerning the gender and age of the person underneath the tight leather chest armor and the black facemask, but the diverse set of tools hanging all over the hunter’s personnel implied this was far from his or her first time working for the judge.

“I’m a watch! I’m one of you!” submitted Rowark as he raised his hands.

The old man glared fiercely at Rowark before scanning the dark, empty bedroom. The first watchmen who entered the room started to search above and below every piece of furniture. Impatiently, Sir Mawar asked his men, “Anything?”

The leader of the search party, a tall, thick bearded man known as the lance knight, responded, “Nothing, Sir.”

Sir Mawar turned to the bounty hunter behind him, “Are you certain the boomerang flew into this floor?” The masked person nodded. The judge scoffed in response, “Damn! He’s as slippery as he is small.”

“Who is, Sir?” asked the lance knight.

The eyes of Nayru’s Judge scared the knight into submission quicker than an axeman beheaded the guilty. Just when the lance knight turned back to continue searching, the Judge roared, “Leave us.” Every watchman turned to him promptly, saluted, and then hurried out the door.

However, Sir Mawar remained in the dark, pacing around the moldy bedroom with a furrowed brow, as if his temper was going to explode at any point, “And WHAT were my precise instructions to you before you decided to throw your life away to the Goddesses?” Rowark looked away from Sir Mawar’s piercing gaze. “That was not a rhetorical question.”

Against the painful cuts in his body, Rowark defended himself, “I couldn’t do nothing while injustice was happening before my very eyes!”

Which did not phase the old paladin one bit, “Answer. The question.”

“... Don’t be a hero,” Rowark capitulated.

“That precisely ,” Sir Mawar paused to add emphasis to the word, “means do nothing as injustice happens before your very eyes.” His answer shocked Rowark beyond belief. How could this man call himself the highest judge of the realm yet hold permissive attitudes towards injustice?

“How can I call myself a protector of the realm while idly standing by!?” Perhaps it was left over from the emotional encounter with Link, but Rowark’s disrespectful outburst was shut down by the decorated veteran’s downward glare. Only then did Rowark realize that he did not deserve the disrespect Rowark had just shown him.

The old man cleared his throat in response, “I understand your passion,” though he sounded more dismissive than he did empathetic. “I was once like you, invigorated with a burning desire for justice,” he recalled a happy but distant moment, “When I was appointed to be a Her Grace’s guard many decades ago. I was elated and filled with a vigorous sense of duty, anticipating great honor by fulfilling all her personal favors…

“But the former Queen I served under soon showed me exactly what it meant to protect that woman sitting on the throne, as well as the kingdom,” reminisced the old man. “Protecting her meant solidifying alliances. Solidifying alliances meant gaining leverage. Gaining leverage…” the Judge sauntered to the one open window in the room, the one Link used to get in and out, and let the dimmed skylight highlight his silver mane, “meant many things. Sometimes it meant helping to rescue important members of the peerage; sometimes it meant arranging for a member of peerage to be eliminated.

“Peace in the realm did not come without a bloodless price, but the greatest lesson I learned from my tenure as a royal guard was this: the order of the Queen’s laws, also the Goddesses’ laws, has a limit. I’m sure you are aware of this by now. Our armies are scattered all over Hyrule fighting marauders, highwaymen, and worse off, the Horde, so we only have a limited amount of manpower and reserves to protect the city. The courts of Hyrule are so overburdened, I have to install more judges to handle the growing number of pending casings and expand our holding cells.

“The point is not that our justice system is incapable, but that it is more efficient to prosecute cases with the most impact. As mere mortals, there is a limit to how much each of us can help protect the peace in our vast kingdom. Rather than directly intervening against small crimes, we utilize the capabilities of Her Majesty’s court system to its fullest potential to enforce punishments and ensure such small crimes are never committed again.”

“Before or after almost a score of men have had their way with a widowed wife and her daughter?” seethed Rowark, who was no longer stranger to Sir Mawar’s sophisticated excuses for questionable behavior.

Sir Mawar closed the blinds, drowning the small bed room in darkness; the only light let in came in from through the door and revealed the scar hiding underneath his silver beard. “After you become the perfect witness to begin House Praetenmore’s downfall,” he said remorselessly as the torch light from outside the door illustrated the age behind his faded blue pupils, “I am going to ask you this once. And only once.”

Rowark swallowed hard in response.

With both eyes staring into Rowark’s soul, Sir Mawar asked him, “Can I trust you to follow my lead?”

Rowark looked downward to hide his visible hesitation, knowing full well what the judge was asking of him. As if his curse had not encouraged him to question the rules of society already, he was now being asked to participate in political subterfuge. “I’m sorry, Sir. I will behave more knightly from now on.”

But his answer left the judge unsatisfied, “Can I trust you?”

“Fine! Yes!” Rowark capitulated. The old man smirked as he walked toward the room exit. There were too many unanswered questions surrounding Sir Mawar’s very presence in this room to let the old man slip away. Just as Sir Mawar was mid step out the threshold, Rowark managed to slip a question, “I take it you did not come here to lecture me, so what exactly brought you here?”

The old man stopped in his tracks. “I have no obligation to answer that.”

The bounty flashed into Rowark’s head. “It’s the Link you’re after.”

Rowark’s guess stirred the judge’s attention around, “Do you know something I don’t know about him?” 

The squire merely grinned wryly in response. Topah. The name no one else knew.

The master face reader smiled back, “If you want to play that game, you’ll have to learn the rules.” His eyes quickly scanned the room’s entirety. “Or else,” he said once he stepped across the threshold, “people you love will be hurt.” He another step out the door and the turned to order the watch squad outside, “Bring Sir Rowark to the infirmary. Then, find the fairy accompanying him and bring her to me. It gives off a pink light. Won’t be hard to find in there.”

Instantly, Rowark’s heart spiked, and Miro Miro popped out of her hiding spot from the shelf. That was why Sir Mawar closed the blinds. She shared a panicked look at Rowark, and then both of them looked at Sir Mawar, who was looking the other way. Without a second thought, Miro Miro flew straight toward his body as fast as she could and managed to slip inside the man’s leather, personal pouch resting on his leather sash, just as the blue cloaks marched past the Judge to carry out his orders.

I didn’t think of that. She’ll be safe, but… for how long? Rowark was only filled with worry and pain as four watchmen picked him up and carried him out the door.

Chapter Text

Since the Blin invasion, the children had ultimately ended up at the Deku capital city of Deko-Ra, where King Debibaba was named rightful king of all Deku and all of the Lost Woods. By being assigned to follow the palace’s steward, Topah picked up on all sorts of information about the history of the realm just from eavesdropping. King Debibaba, however, had become incapable due to illness as of recently, so his younger brother, the very one who received the children many years ago, had been appointed regent to rule in the king’s stead until his eldest son became old enough to handle the responsibility of rulership at age five. Wherever one relative of the king went, so too did a score of personal guards follow.

Over the course of eight years, Topah truly learned what the word “slave” meant. Back in the village, there were many things Topah was free to do, so long as he did not do anything that broke a rule. In the palace where he was forced to serve, there he was forced to do one thing to do, and all else was not permitted. In the village, he was free to wake up whenever he wanted. In the palace, he was woken with a crack of a whip before the sun even rose. In the village, the other Kokiri laid out plenty of different kinds of foods for Topah to choose from. In the palace, there was only boiled oatmeal and a roasted Deku nut twice a day. But perhaps the worst adjustment to make was breaking the rules. In the village, Miro Miro would forbid Topah from exiting his room for that day, maybe more depending on the infraction. In the palace, Lord Deko-Babarey had appointed a guard to whip Topah whenever the master saw fit.

Assigned to attend to every need of the Lord, the boy followed the palace steward, which meant he was allowed to order around other people, but he did not have the power to whip them because they were not slaves. Compared to the tasks the Lord gave to his other subordinates, the types of tasks given to the boy were comparatively menial: put this here, put that there, clean this, clean that, carry this, carry that. It was the master’s way of expressing his frequently espoused belief that a person’s status in society should reflect in the work they did. Everyday, he ensured every person working underneath him had a color coded uniform to symbolize their status and role in the palace. Anyone who did not wear the pink petals of the Deku flower on their breast was forbidden to even cultivate their hair larger than the steward’s own; meanwhile every guard in the city groomed their hair uniformly.

Throughout the changing seasons, Topah’s life followed this routine. Every day he awoke two hours before the master did and donned his slave tunic, a brown, ragged piece of fabric that extended down to his knees. Though it did not have a single embellishment, it shared a uniform color with the tunic of every slave in the palace. Every day Topah woke up in a cage only big enough to contain a dog and went to sleep inside that cage next to the many other slaves of the lord steward; everyday, Topah was slowly forgetting his name and began replacing his identity with the name the Lord called him day in and day out: eemteebah.

What saved his sanity from total decay was the several times a day, he would walk past one of his brothers and sisters. Every time he made eye contact with Saiyu, he would quietly mutter her name, barely loud enough for her to hear so as not to invite a flaying by his master, and she would do the same. Lord Deko-Babarey worked all over the castle ordering and managing the subjects of the palace, so Topah had many chances throughout the day to catch the name of Curry who worked in the stables, or the name of Myreekah who worked in the east wing kitchen, or even the nod of Fado who worked in the palace foyer.

Of course, what gave Topah and all the other children hope for a better tomorrow was catching a glimpse of the Protector, who was put to work washing and cleaning the palace with all the other servants. She had changed jobs many times due to her rambunctious behavior. It was hard to imagine the Protector, the authority that prevented children from fighting one another, being the cause of every fight between master and slave there ever was in the palace. While no Kokiri was as brave as her, they quietly rallied behind her resilience. The Deku King’s regent, the one who received the Bulblin King and the slaves, subsequently ordered two guards to watch her scrub the floors from when she awoke from her cage until she retired into her cramped sleeping space.

Either the Deku regent could not spare more guards to watch her or was just too stupid to learn, there was always at most two guardsmen watching the Protector. When she had beaten the first pair to a bloody pulp, the Deku guard replaced her watch with guards wearing wooden plated armor. However, all their protection served no purpose against the Protector’s superior grappling skills. Once she outwrestled both, they tried arming the guards with staffs, and when that failed, they were given tranquilizing poison. Once that failed, they resorted to whipping her regularly to keep her in line, but that only enraged her more and caused more problems.

As Topah followed behind the steward’s oversized cape, no doubt fitted for a Hylian twice his size, he was able to catch a glimpse of the Protector scrubbing away at the walkway of the palace’s garden. She sensed his eyes and raised hers to meet his. Immediately, Topah felt his heart lifted, like how waking up back in the village made him feel, but his seven heartbeats of bliss were cut short as soon as the guard behind Topah rudely interrupted the boy’s happy moment with a painful whip across the back of his head.

“ Dumb as a donkey ,” remarked one of the steward’s bodyguards. The palace guards followed his brother’s example and raised his whip to strike the Protector; however, he did not anticipate her hand stopping his whip from completing the motion, though by then he really ought to have given her history of conflict.

The Protector pushed back against her watcher with one hand, while the other guard moved in with his wooden knife. Anticipating the guard’s desire to tranquilize her immediately, she then timed her own technique so that by the time she reversed her momentum, dropped to her knees, and spun around, the incoming knife blade drove straight into his back. His armor thankfully stopped the blade from piercing into his flesh, but his body knocked the other guard right into ground. Her well timed technique was executed beautifully, but she did not stop there, for they were still armed, and she was not.

The Protector athletically scrambled on top of the Deku guard slowly recovering from the impact, holding him down with her entire weight. She pulled off his wooden helmet and began beating his poor wooden face in, leaving splinters and breaking his mouth. While the other guard was slowly recovering back up to his feet, Topah’s guard stepped in to intervene. “ No! Stay back! She’s too dangerous for you! ” warned the palace guard, “ Go get help! ”

“ She’s just a slave! ” remarked Topah’s supervisor as he withdrew his own whip and ignored the warning.

No. The Protector was not just some slave. She was the protector of all the Kokiri. She became the symbol of strength for all the children, and Topah was not going to let someone say something like that and get away with it. He channeled all the courage inspired by his best friend, his sister, his protector, and charged at the unsuspecting guard.

“ No! Bad slave! Someone get help! ” Lord Deko-Babarey panicked and pointed at one of his personal servants, “ Go get more help! ”

Topah’s tackle connected perfectly with wooden flesh, and his shoulder drove the Deku guard straight into the ground. Now that Topah was on top as well, he beheld a strange sense of power that felt foreign. Following the Protector’s example, he began to punch the wooden face, but his hands striking the hard wooden helmet seemed to hurt his knuckles more than it did to the guard underneath. The boy then tried rip the helmet off, but then the guard was able to slip his stubby legs out from underneath Topha’s mount, and then he was able to kick Topah in the sternum.

Stunned from the unsuspecting attack, Topah then felt the palace guard hold Topah down as he instructed the other, “ Take care of her! I got this one! ” All it took was one prick of the skin…

And Topah’s entire world went into nothingness. Was this death? His consciousness flashed awake for a heartbeat. His eyes opened and saw a cage and a body next to him. His neck felt cold metal wrapped around. His ears heard metal chains ringing. And after that brief heartbeat of consciousness, everything was nothing once again. And then asked again. Am I dead? And then there was an answer. It must be. There is nothing. I have no control over my body anymore. And then there was another question.

Was his body ever his to control?

And when Topah reflected on the only memories he was able to retain over the past year, he could never remember a single moment when he did ever have control. And if he ever did before he was brought here, then those moments and sentiments had been long forgotten. This was what it meant to have no control over the realities in which his body inhabited: death.

When he did finally wake up fully, he found himself inside a cage again, but this time, there was much more space, even enough to stand and walk around in, than previously before. And even better, there was a familiar, smiling face waiting for him to regain consciousness. But before he could experience the happiness sparked by the visage of the Protector, much less inhabiting the same space as hers, his body had to regain functionality after being in paralysis for quite some time.

The first thing Topah felt was something come up his throat. “Hold on, I gotcha,” the Protector guided him to the corner where there was a small chamberpot meant for the two to share. “I felt it too when I first got poisoned. Just heave.” And heave he did. At first, whatever remnants from his last meal were expelled all over the chamberpot, but his stomach would not stop churning even if there was nothing left to churn. “That’s right, let it all out,” she patted him on the back and then grabbed a small pail of water left for them to share. “Here, drink.”

Topah was so weak that the Protector had to scoop the first few handfuls of water into his mouth, and swallowing even felt weird. But gradually, his body began to relax and ease into his new surroundings; eventually, his shock and anxiety washed away and left only a ripping nausea in his stomach. “How long was I out?” he asked her.

“Almost three days now,” she answered cheerfully. “That poison knocked me out for two nights in a row the first time.”

The Protector triggered the hidden memory Topah retained of he and all the Kokiri shouting and begging for the Protector to wake up nonstop many years ago. “Somehow, I never forgot that,” remarked Topah sullenly. 

“You get used to it. This last time I only felt dazed for less than half a day,” she said with a smile, 

Topah took a moment to absorb his surroundings, but he could only see that which the wall mounted torches revealed, and only a single torchlight brought light to their area in the dark room. “What’s going on? Where are we?” He then felt the cold steel ring around his neck and discovered a long chain connecting his collar to the side of the cage.

Normally, Topah would have had another panic attack trying to adjust to his new enclosure. However, with the Protector by his side suffering the same fate as him, he knew deep down to his very core that they were going to be okay. “We’re in the throne room. They locked us up here right behind the throne to ‘ exercise control’ ,” she explained mocking their uptight Deku accents, “but I bet it’s really because we cause too much trouble.”

Topah laughed, “Ha! I hope our other brothers and sisters are doing the same thing so that they lock us all up together.”

The Protector giggled as well, lifting Topah’s heart once again. He felt at home once again, protected by someone with a resolute head on two strong shoulders. “Oy,” she changed subjects, “I noticed your form with your mount.”

“Oh,” Topah immediately blushed, “I-I’m not good at wrestling, you know.” Though the Protector used to teach both sword mastery and ground fighting classes, he only attended the former ritually.

“It’s okay,” replied the Protector, “you just haven’t been shown how. Here, let me show you.” She beckoned him to lay on his back. Throwing her leg over Topah’s stomach, the Protector sat on his belly yet did not put her full weight behind his rear. “Feel that? In case you try to buck me off, I won’t lose my balance. Now, you let him push against your knees and slip out, right?”

“Yeah,” Topah conceded.

“That’s all right! Here, this is what you could do next time. I’m going to pull against your arm,” the Protector leaned over and grabbed the back of his upper arm, and when she pulled, she slid her entire body forward onto his chest, “and then press my knees up to your armpits. Now try to escape.” Try as he might, the Protector’s simple change in positioning eliminated Topah’s ability to buck her off with his hips and his escape route underneath her.

When she dismounted Topah, he complained, “Yeah, but you’re a lot stronger than I am.”

“Not at all. When I traveled North to Zora’s domain, I studied their way of fighting opponents with hard skin like the Gorons or armor like the Hylian soldiers.”

“Whoa, when did Father allow you to leave the village?”

“All the time, so long as I announced my sabbatical to Father and I returned on time.”

“So those seasons when you couldn’t teach…”

“That’s right. I was on leave to study fighting. I didn’t start off knowing how to sword fight from the beginning, though I apologize for intentionally making you all think that.”

“Ohh! So that’s why you always had new tricks up your sleeve even though you said you had taught us everything you learned in class!”

“Yep!” she replied innocently at her confession. “How about this? When nobody’s around, I’ll show you everything I’ve ever learned. No holding back. I mean everything. Since, you know, I’m not in any position to take leave, haha,” her chuckle at the end allowed Topah to see a bright side behind his enslavement for the first time.

And that’s how the nights went. After the day’s business was concluded and the regent retired to his chambers for the evening, Topah and the Protector were given the peace and privacy to conduct their “flow” lessons. She started off with the basic positions that gave her the most control with minimal effort and then began to expose him to all sorts of deadly chokes and arm bends that could cripple the strongest with the littlest of force. “If the Zora did not have the strength nor the weaponry to pierce metal armor or even Goron skin,” explained the Protector during one lesson, “then they had to resort to their minds to solve their problem. However, this style of flow fighting is only useful against one opponent. If you are facing multiple, then that’s where a sword becomes handy.”

During the day, their activity was limited to sitting in dumb silence as people passed by to gawk at them. The Dekus’ persona behind their beady orange eyes seemed to hold no compassion, only judgement and gratitude that they were not slaves.

Only one did care, the Temple of Hylia priestess and eldest daughter of the incapable King. The Deku and the Kokiri were supposedly once friends because they shared an ancestry, the Great Deku Tree. However, the Lord regent believed that the Kokiri to be descended from a different, specific tree, thus justifying his use of power to invade the village. Whenever the uncle and the niece met, inevitably she brought up the cruel treatment of the two children chained in the cage behind him. “ You condemn our people with your heresy! ” Oddly, she did not defend any of the other slaves.

“ Our soldiers’ failures is not the fault of bad favor from the Goddesses. If you want to blame someone, blame our commanders for allowing our soldiers run like cowards against the barbarians we should be beating! ” the regent Lord Deboka-Kara yelled the same, routine excuse to his niece as he did to all his other advisors. If Topah and the Protector laughed every time they heard that same line, they could compile an entire evening’s worth of laughter at the end of every tendo.

So long as the sun hovered over the palace, all Lord Deboka-Kara heard was bad news coming in from across the Deku held lands. “ My liege! Blins have overrun our strongholds in the east! ” “ My lord! Our peasants are restless at night and gathering in mobs! ” “ Sire! Our coffers have been depleted! ” “ Your majesty! Two villages have been razed and burnt to the ground last night! ” Every day, the news only got worse and more grim.

The regent lord threw every solution he could to deal with one problem at a time. “ Send a score of our palace to garrison Deko-Faro! ” “ Bring the ring leaders to me and then burn them! ” “ Send a message to Duke Faron. Arrange a sale of our merchandise! ” “ Use the money from the sale to purchase weapons from all merchants! ” But the bad news stubbornly continued rolling into the throne room despite all of Lord Deboka-Kara’s efforts. It was as if the Deku people truly had been cursed.

In the end, there was only one solution left for the regent lord. As soon as he received word back from this Duke Faron fellow, he ordered the palace guards to transfer Topah and the Protector back to the warehouse where the children were initially received. They were escorted into a giant cage meant to fit everyone, which meant that for the first time in almost eight years, the children were reunited one more time. Instead of the green tunic and pants they traditionally wore back home, they all equally matched in their drab, slave tunic. It mattered not. All children, all one hundred eighty four made it through, and were all held in the same cell once again.

However, while all the Kokiri were happy to see and talk to each other once again, Topah was overcome with sadness when he almost failed to recognize some of his siblings. Curry used to have baby fat on his face, but all that was left after eating the same small portions every day for almost eight years was nothing but skin and bones. Onolla used to stand uprightly, now she had a permanent bend in her back from all that time spent working in that posture. When he looked at the Protector after noticing the differences in appearances in all the Kokiri, he noticed that her hair no longer kempt nor luscious as it had once been. The collective smell of everyone’s many years without bathing stung his nose.

Of course, who cared how anybody looked at this point? Everyone was all miraculously alive. It was not the appearance of each child before the enslavement that defined who they were, it was their very life, and what little control they still had over their thoughts and body, that defined their existence. Topah felt the warmth from being together with everyone once again and did not hide from their strong musk, until the Deku guards opened the cage and begin corralling the children out into four separate cages with wheels.

The Protector followed behind Topah closely as he stepped into the wooden cell. When forty six children were equally split between the holding wagons, a pair of lizalfos pulled the cage out the warehouse and into the forest beyond.

After traveling half a day through the browning forest, the Deku finally reached their destination, marked by the people they were anticipating. Topah saw two armies of armed men, Deku on one side and Hylian on the other, facing off in the middle of a small clearing in the thick forest.

The leader of the small, Hylian army wore a metal shirt like Topah had never seen before. So this was what Mido called armor. A single, curved sheet of metal that fit over his torso, a metal skirt that parted ways in the middle over metal pants that protected everything in between, a frightening long sword that was bigger than Topah had ever seen, and a round, wooden circlet that sat on top of his curly, graying hair altogether made the Hylian noble look liked he was the actual ruler of the forest. If his regal appearance was not powerful enough, then his even better armored guards with helmets that shielded the face riding on horseback surely unnerved all the Deku soldiers at least the slightest. The Hylian Duke only needed a dozen of his riders to accompany him, for each weapon they wielded in their massive arsenal looked like they were worth twenty of the Dekus’ spears. And if they didn’t have enough armor for themselves, they had armor for their horses. All the shiny steel glimmering from just twelve men and their horses made the tiny Deku bow and miniature arrows look useless.

“ Duke Faron of House Springbock! ” The regent Lord Deboka-Kara greeted the Hylian leader with even more caution and humility than he did the Blin leader. Wearing his fanciest leaf petal dress, he did not have any protection underneath his primary strategy of diplomacy. Topah had a bad feeling that if things went sour, not a single Deku guard in the regent lord’s army could save the incompetent ruler from death. “ It is my greatest and humblest pleasure to receive you on a fine day! ”

From behind Duke Faron on horseback, an elderly Deku woman, evidenced by the wilt of her magenta petals on her hair, climbed onto the Duke’s shoulder and translated the message. He spit on the ground in response, “I was expecting abled bodied men to pick my fields for the upcoming harvest. Why am I looking at a bunch of ragged Links stuffed inside a cage like animals?”

The messenger translated the message to the regent, “ My liege was expecting full grown men to reap the fields for harvest, not children .”

Lord Deboka-Kara laughed off the Duke’s displeasure, “ Lord Springbock if only you knew what capabilities these children have! ” This was Topah's first time witnessing and recognizing insincerity, for the regent had not once spoken a positive word about the Kokiri, refused to call them by name even. “ These children never age at all! In fact, they stay forever young and able bodied, making them the perfect gift to pass down your next in line! ”

When the translator finished whispering into his ear, he laughed out, “Ha! How do you think enslaving children will make me look in light of the law?”

“ My liege is concerned with the negative impacts of his reputation. ”

The regent maintained his cheeky expression, “ I apologize, I was under the presumption that the Duke of Faron was interested in able bodies to harvest the fields for this autumn and many more to come .”

Duke Faron let out a long hum to consider the proposal, “How many did you bring?”

Lord Deboka-Kara bowed in response, “ One hundred and eighty four in total of very capable slaves. I give you my word as a Deku! ”

“Hmph,” responded the Duke, “your word is as cheap as a merchant’s tongue, but so be it. How much for the whole lot?”

“ Fifty for each one. ”

“You expect me to believe that each one of these children is worth one mercenary’s yearly wage? I won’t pay a green rupee more than thirty.”

“ Forty five, then .”

“Thirty five.”

“ Forty .”

“Forty.” Duke Faron rubbed his chin to mull over the price and then whispered to his translator. “Seven thousand for all of them.”

“ Seven thousand, ” the big number, too high for Topah to even imagine, made the regent salivate. “ Yes, yes! Now, did you bring the down payment? ”

When the Duke received the question, he answered with a nod to one of his fully armored guards, who then whistled sharply out to someone hiding within the trees behind the leader. After some rustling, a rider wearing slightly less metal than the rest steered a horse carrying a cart twice the width of the horse full of shiny jewels. Topah had seen these semi-opaque stones being passed around as if they were bargaining tools, but he could not understand what they were being traded for, or why. However, he had never seen so many of those shiny gems together in one place. That was seven however-many rupees in that cart?

“Five thousand down payment as we promised,” reassured Duke Faron.

The regent hopped giddily and sang like a child, as if he too had never seen so many jewels in one place before either. As the rider dismounted and disconnected the horse from the cart full of jewels, the Lizalfos slaves pulled the cage of children to the Hylian lord, who then ordered his men to connect one horse to each of their cages. As his soldiers drove the carts with their horses, he remarked, “You won’t be serving at Castle Springbock, but you will make good slaves for my other estates.”

Topah suddenly felt a hand grab his own, and when looked to see who it was, the Protector had leaned in and whispered, “No matter what, we’re not separating.”

Chapter Text

At first, all Miro Miro could feel was a claustrophobic anxiety closing in all around her. Whenever she tumbled, she thought the leather interior was shrinking. Even worse than being closed in a pouch was sharing the space with all sorts of objects, like bottles of fluid, small scrolls of paper, and a ring of keys, jingling around with every step. In addition to avoiding injury, she also had a body that was giving off a pink light that could reveal her presence at any time.

When she finally found the inside of a rolled up tube of paper, Miro Miro pushed against the bottom of the interior to drive her hiding spot underneath all the other small contents sharing the space. Only when she felt herself pushing against the flimsy material of the barrier did she feel safe enough to consider the predicament she had put herself in. Every bump from the metal keys or the bottle reminded her that she had put her fate in the hands of a complete stranger, one who seemed to care more about keeping the peace and less about justice.

What in the world was she thinking when she flew into Sir Mawar’s pouch? At the time she believed that it was the safest thing to do, but when she had not even the faintest idea on what to do next, she realized how short sighted that plan was. The clapping of horse hooves and the chatter of people outside her own shaky environment meant that Sir Mawar was walking outside, and also that she could slip out of the pouch anytime she wanted. But then she hesitated each time she even fluttered her wings and then felt fear course through her as she thought about being alone in the city.

Before long, Miro Miro no longer heard horse hooves, and the chatter of people turned into echoed conversations inside an interior space, and her window of opportunity to escape her death trap closed ever further. Soon, she was beginning to debate against herself whether the opportunity to escape even existed or not, unaware that the longer she debated, the smaller that hypothetical window became.

When the man slowed to a stop, Miro Miro felt more alarm than relief when everything stopped moving. Suddenly, a hand unbuckled the pouch and then reached inside. The wrinkly fingers blindly searched around before they found the metal ring and pulled the set of keys out of the pouch. Once he unlocked the bolt, stepped through the door, and then locked the door behind him, Miro Miro knew that her window of opportunity had closed forever.

All Miro Miro could do at this point was stay hidden and pray to Father once more. It was all she did while Sir Mawar went about his business, until he entered a room filled with the coos of pigeons. “Greetings,” Sir Mawar finally broke the silence, “Any news from beyond?”

A young boy with a country accent, similar to the way Rowark spoke, “Yes sire. Here are the latest letters.”

“Thankee for your hard work.” Sir Mawar placed each letter in his pouch one by one, pausing a few minutes between every time he put his rolled up messages into his pouch.

Sir Mawar walked around some more, and after an uncountable amount of time and an immeasurable amount of distance, a man’s thick city accent interrupted the silence Miro Miro had wished for, “Here’re your reports, sire.”

This time, Miro Miro heard nothing but the transfer of papers to Sir Mawar. He walked off without conveying a single gesture of gratitude and did not say anything to anybody until he finally met the person he was scheduled to meet, “Your highness!”

Sir Mawar sped up his pace to catch up to an elderly woman, or Miro Miro assumed from the voice commanding him, “What news?” Miro Miro instantly recognized the familiar tone, but she could not identify without certainty exactly whose. The only female Hylians that Miro Miro have had the chance to know were Rowark’s sister and… the Queen.

“Sir Rhychester and eighteen of Mister Praetenmore’s men were killed.” Sir Mawar reported remorselessly, “Their bodies have been cleaned up before the news could spread.”

“Did you catch him, though?” The woman coldly skipped straight to the point of the matter, unsettling the innocent fairy, How could she not care about all those lives lost? The more Miro Miro pondered on the familiarity of the voice, the more certain she was the voice matched the Queen’s. Nevertheless, surely the ruler over the great kingdom of Hyrule could not be so arbitrary that the capture of someone took priority over the death of a score of men?

“Nay, your highness.” She could be any highness , reasoned Miro Miro. “I’ve already pulled all available veterans to catch him. I can pull reserves from the steward’s corps if need be.”

“No, our men are spread thinly as they are, and this affair must be handled discreetly. You are ordered to snatch any Link off the streets, any one that fits the description in the bounty, and then hang him in front of the Zawks.”

“Yes my Queen.” Though it was beyond any sliver of a doubt now, for only a Queen had the power to execute an innocent boy, there truly should have been no surprise by this point. A cruel and dangerous world existed underneath the Queen’s rule, and she was responsible for all of it; it was the only rationale that could guide Miro Miro safely through her turbulent shock.

“But do continue your pursuit,” said the evil Queen. Of Link ? Miro Miro wanted to ask the Queen herself, She wants to capture THE Link?

“For what possible catastrophe would we need continued use of stretched manpower to hunt down a single, harmless Link?”

“We shall not discuss this matter further here,” the woman urgently dismissed the question. They walked in tandem, sending echoes of their footsteps down the hallway. Whenever they passed anyone, Miro Miro could hear the whispers of the castle’s servants repeatedly, “Your Grace.” And the Queen continued the discussion without so much as acknowledging them, “Do tell me about where our manpower is stretched, though.”

“Let me see here,” Sir Mawar quickly shuffled through some papers, “We have about two thousand watchmen in the castle barracks, one thousand and five hundred guarding the eastern cliff, five hundred total garrisoned in ten different sectors, one thousand strong manning the walls, two hundred in the Gerudo Pass, six hundred stationed in the foothills, though their reinforcements shall swell their numbers back to one hundred hopefully before next season, five hundred at Mount Hylia, two hundred in the Hebra Fort, five hundred spread over four strongholds in Eldin, thirteen hundred garrisoned in the Akkalian citadel-”

“That number is much too absurd for a demesne so peaceful. Transfer three hundred men from the citadel to the Eldin forts, three hundred to the wetlands fort, and an additional two hundred to Lake Hylia, and order the garrison to double their patrols.”

“Your wise decision will provide the people with a sense of security and boost the morale of the men in that stronghold. That would put our forts in the Dragon Roost, Biggoron, North, and South Highland mountains at two hundred men each, the number in the wetlands will increase from six hundred to nine hundred, and the Hylian bridge will swell from two hundred to four hundred. The last fort I have yet to mention is the Gerudo Canyon, which has five hundred occupants. The rest are on sortie, and we have about two hundred in the construction corps and another six hundred in the stewards corps should we need to pull any for reserves.”

It was hard to fathom that the Queen had all those places under her control. What felt like mythical regions far beyond where anybody had explored turned out to be within the borders of the Hylian kingdom. The two walked into a large space where their words carried far into the distance. “Excellent.” Tell the construction corps to begin building a new blacksmith in the barracks. I want this one to be thrice as large as the current one, and I want all blacksmiths, along with one hundred of the strongest, currently in the stewards corps to separate from their host to become a new corps. From henceforth, they shall be called the blacksmith corps, and they will take all orders directly from the head quartermaster. How many pages will be coming of age next season?”

“Hmm… About seventy one boys will turn thirteen before autumn’s first chill arrives, your highness, assuming that all on campaign return in one piece.”

“Transfer all of their duties to the blacksmith corps in preparation for the Zawks’ arrival.”

“Are you sure you do not wish to add any new reserves to the steward’s corps? Or the construction corps?”

“Do not question me openly,” the warning of the Queen echoed throughout the room and sent a chill through Sir Mawar’s body that somehow Miro Miro could feel. “The new blacksmith corps will become a new source of reserves.”

Once they crossed the threshold into a narrower hallspace, Sir Mawar pursued his inquiry, “And how are you so certain the Zawks will pledge their allegiance to you?”

“There are many things in this realm of which I am ignorant, but of these truths I am certain. The Zawks do not know who the culprit is, and a public hanging will quench their vengeance.”

“Most insightful. Our quartermasters will be glad to have greater control over their unfulfilled repairs.”

“Ha! With the Zawks leading the new blacksmith corps and serving our army directly, I mean to upgrade our entire forces! Spare no expense with the construction of the new smith. I want guildsmen hired for this job as well.”

“Very well, your highness.” Before the Queen got a chance to ask any more questions, a handmaiden interrupted them to ask the Queen about her meal. The woman then ordered the food as well as a flask of wine to be delivered to her private bed chambers.

“What is the latest treasury report?” asked the Queen once she was sure they were alone again.

Sir Mawar flipped through the next set of papers, “The treasury can expect a grand total of seven million rupees collected from-”

“I don’t care about how much money we are making,” said the Queen curtly, “tell me how much I can expect by the season’s end.”

“My apologies, your highness.” Sir Mawar hesitantly paused before delivering the bad news, “Though our expenses once again exceed our tax revenue, a few royals bonds could easily give you the funds necessary to begin construction on the new smith.”

The Queen growled, “ How many bonds exactly?”

Another pause, “Only two.” His answer echoed into a stairwell and spread throughout the tall chamber as the two walked up the steps.

“Sell one bond to Houses Tabantha, June, Springbock, Bosphoramus, and Zarbosa, and transfer every single rupee directly to the construction corps.”

“Very well, your highness.”

“What is the treasury’s debt total?”

“With the five new bonds added, it will not push our debt past four million rupees. But because interest is accruing, we may hit the four million milestone sometime next year if our deficit is not addressed.”

“That is a discussion reserved for the steward for a different time.” The Queen waited until no echoes from footsteps climbing the stairs could be heard anymore before continuing her discussion, “What about our parliament numbers? Do we have enough in the House of Lords to outnumber the Zellinks?”

“I’m afraid not, my queen. Ingo, Viskard, and Quella stay loyal to Lord Nohansen, enough to hold a stalemate for every vote. While Springbock, June, and Tabantha are loyal to you, Lord Pillumon continues to vote as randomly as the outcome of a dice roll.”

“He cannot be helped. When I speak to the Chancellor tomorrow, we shall discuss potential marriages to strengthen the alliances of our supporters.” Miro Miro spent a long time wrapping her head around a new concept. Back home, she only knew of marriages for love; why would anybody marry for an alliance (also a strange concept to her)?

“Have you considered adding House Bosphoramus to the House of Lords?” suggested the old man.

“Ambitious, but,” Queen quickly dismissed, “such a lofty proposal will never pass through parliament.”

“If we were to arrange a marriage between House Bosphoramus to House Viskard and then perhaps petition the Zellinks for support, this proposal just might have a chance.”

“And how will that be beneficial when House Bosphoramus becomes the deciding vote against me?”

“Perhaps a betrothal between the nine year old son of Mister Bosphoramus and Lord Springbock’s young niece, Floria, could solidify their loyalty to our cause.”

“Hmm, I shall bring your proposal to Lord Springbock. How fare the Tories in the House of Commons?”

“A solid half of the House still openly declare themselves Royalists, but there is a concerning number rallying around Praetenmore. However, with his forge out of commission, his debt may soon shake his house.”

“Worrying nevertheless. How about our trade losses?”

“Merchants have claimed over six thousand rupees in total goods lost this over the past eight days, making this tendo the worst one we have ever recorded so far.”

“Damn!” cursed the Queen, “May the reinforcements to the wetlands calm the bickering of the Deku.”

“I have no doubt they will, but our forces are stretched thin as they are.”

“Unfortunately. What loyal bannermen can we raise to improve the security of trade?”

“The Storiksons are the first I can ask, since they own the masons that import their stone directly from the Nohansens and the Zoras. They have yet to send any of their houseguard to help protect the trade they dearly depend on. House Mistaclop, Bosphoramus, Wettinbire, and Barinine are dependent on the materials that come from the Viskards and the Junes, but their willingness to donate men to our mutual cause is questionable at best. Maybe Kakariko may heed our pleas for men now that a carpenter and a masonry guild have moved there.”

“Send someone from the chancellor’s office to Kakariko immediately. But don’t ask them for men. This time, command them.”

“Right away, your highness.” 

The next few moments were filled with nothing but footsteps, which gave Miro Miro a chance to wrap her head around all these new terms. She knew what trade and a house were, but she had no idea what a treasury, fund, guild, bond, or debt was, or what trade and house meant in this context.

Many footsteps were walked in silence before Miro Miro heard the sound of a heavy door opening and closing behind them. “Leave us,” the man left his instructions to two other men judging by the number of footsteps leaving the room.

“Does your desire to track down this Link have anything to do with the oracle?”

“First,” the Queen spoke with anticipation on her lips, “did you confirm the mark?”

There was a hesitation, “Yes. His hand was bandaged just like the day before. I thought his hand had gotten injured during the fight against Kinja, but when I saw his hand again today, I could tell his bandages had not changed from the night before. And he did it to hide the golden triangle underneath.”

“You saw it!” the Queen’s voice jumped with excitement, at least to the extent that her stone cold personality allowed, “with your own eyes?”

“Yes, your highness. With my own eyes,” confessed Sir Mawar. “It’s true. The prophecy.”

“Is he truly?” asked the Queen.

“I,” Sir Mawar sighed hesitantly, “still have some doubts. But I cannot deny that… he has the mark of the Goddesses.”

Miro Miro gasped out loud. Could Rowark truly be the new chosen Hero? Was her guess right all along?

“And the Link? You had your suspicions about his mark. Is he the child of malice ?” Those three words resonated for some reason inside Miro Miro, chilling her down to her center.

“I’ve known the boy for two years now, and he has always had the same bandage around his left hand every time I saw him, but his hand never glowed, not like the squire’s did.”

“Regardless, if he is no more than a Link, find him and hang him.”

“Without a trial?” protested Sir Mawar.

“If the prophecy is true, we cannot take any chances. Moreover, if he truly is just a Link and not some Hyborn’s son, then his life is of no significance.” 

“We don’t know if he truly is the child of malice; afterall, I was never able to confirm the mark on his hand. But if the tavern whispers are true, then the child of malice could very well be Lord Nohansen’s bastard son instead.”  Miro Miro suddenly remembered the mark on Link’s hand! Was Topah’s fate truly cursed with evil?

“Hmm, why are you quick to defend his worthless life?”

“He has proven useful in many of our plots to secure support for the upcoming vote. He did, afterall, cripple Lord Praetenmore’s main source of income without a single rupee from the crown. He could continue to aid us in our efforts for diplomatic control.”

“Even if he could be the downfall of our very kingdom?”

“Once again, there is no solid evidence that this Link in the bounty is indeed the very child of malice in the prophecy.”

The Queen spoke with conflict, “If the Forester boy I knighted yesterday morning is new beholder of the Triforce of Courage, and the rumors about the Princess of Red Lions are true…”

“... That would make the Link the beholder of the Triforce of Power. But only if the rumors of the Princess are true,” corrected Sir Mawar. “However, given that fate seems to place the squire at the center of every single major incident in the past three days, just because we are shown the signs does not mean we are interpreting them correctly.”

The Queen pressed, “How so?”

"Well, I believe the squire had the help of another. But even then,” he released a skeptical breath, “I have a hard time believing that two people could have bested eighteen men and a tournament champion at once.”

“Was the Hero not capable of doing so, a century ago?”

“Those were just stories, your highness. If you had told me a score of Mister Praetenmore’s men had been slaughtered by Sir Rhychester, I might have believed you. But eighteen men, plus Sir Rhychester himself, by a watchman and a child? That still sounds preposterous to me!”

“And what is your alternative theory?”

The old man went silent. “There is none.”

“Then, would you count this instance in favor of the Sage’s prophecy?”

“And what, beyond their impeccable luck, are their other qualities that tie them to the Sheikah’s words? If they can be trusted even.”

“I know you doubt the words of the Sage, but the signs have never been clearer. She has predicted all of this over sixty years ago, even before the Civil War.”

“The Sage,” the old man hesitated for a heartbeat to search for the right words to speak, “also does not hold the key to resolving each contemporary crisis in the realm. What could one knight possibly do against the Moblin Horde? Or the Confederacy? Or even the Zellinks for Farore’s sake?”

“The Legend of Zelda was not just about the trials of the Hero of Time. It was also about the unity that the Hero inspired across all the peoples of Hyrule. King after king had attempted to unite Hyrule under one House coat-of-arms, and the irony of it all was that it had never been accomplished until a bannerless boy in a green forest tunic led all of Hyrule’s people against the banner of Ganondorf the King of Thieves.”

“But if that were true… then the rumors about the Princess… and the Bastard Prince…“

The long silence following that conclusion was filled with dread. “The veracity of the rumors is not a pleasant thought. Be that as it may, I think we must begin preparing for the worst and assume some truth in the rumors.”

“Denying her mark may serve us no good anymore,” he grew concerned very quickly, “but confirming she is indeed Hylia reincarnate will certainly unite the majority of the Hyborns behind the Zellinks, which means she may one day personally lead their forces against you, my Queen!”

“Hmph,” the Queen shrugged off his concern easily, “that scenario seems inevitable. We still have our trick hidden down below. Very well, don’t hang the Link if you think he can still prove useful, but do make sure he ends up in our custody. You are not to use any of my forces, however.”

“A wise decision, your grace,” Sir Mawar bowed, “I shall increase his bounty and organize a hunting party.”

“Tell me of progress in our plots.”

“No word yet from Dogmar or Charsel yet. They are due to report back tomorrow night, however,” Sir Mawar dug into his back pouch and grasped two of the rolled up tubes of papers, “We’ve received word from the Waslan guild that they have accepted our payment. They are ready to commence rescue of Mister Remingford’s daughter. I also have heard back from the Skulltula brothers. They are ready for the safe retrieval of Mister Walloby’s son.”

“Which son of Mister Walloby are we talking about?”

“Ralfon, the second heir to the Walloby title.”

“Ah, yes. When can we expect him in our care?”

“The next time he visits the same brothel.”

“Well done,” the Queen sighed, “but will we have enough leverage against the Nohansens before the first vote begins?”

“Most likely not. But should Princess Nohansen become the next heir, we can take advantage of her isolation from her family.”

“Has the condition of our current heir improved?”

“She…” Sir Mawar searched for the right words before releasing a saddened sigh, “she drew her last breath only half an hour ago.”

The Queen took an equally deep breath and then released with nothing to say. After all the political jargon used back and forth, she sounded like she desperately wanted an end to the day, “Poor girl. Has her family been notified yet?”

“No, your highness.”

“Good. Keep it that way until tomorrow’s first light. Let us deal with the theatrics on the morrow,” she said heartlessly.

“Then, I believe that concludes all our affairs for the day.”

“One more thing. Aside from rumors what else do we know about Princess Nohansen?”

“Next to nothing, yet,” Sir Mawar said disappointingly. “Planting a bug inside Castle Nohansen has proven fruitless until recently. The Duke of Eldin pays special attention to the loyalty of his courtiers, and moreover, the servants say the Princess spends most of her time in the castle dungeon, where no one but those handpicked by Lord Nohansen himself are allowed inside.”

“Then I suppose we will learn nothing more until Lord Nohansen introduces her as a candidate.”

“However,” Sir Mawar reached back into his pouch for one of the tubes of paper. His fingers grasped multiple at once, and when he pulled the paper out the bag, the little fairy flew out the opening, into the great open of a large room. Miro Miro panicked as soon as she realized she was vulnerable, so she darted for the shadow behind Sir Mawar’s chair. There she would wait until both had left the room. “Lord Nohansen is hosting a banquet to celebrate the twentieth birthday of his daughter, so this will be the first time our informant will get a chance to see her… and prove the rumors once and for all.”

“Now, that concludes our affairs,” the Queen drew a deep breath and exhaled in relief. “Thank the Goddesses. I thought the day would never end.”

“Every day must come to an end,” said Sir Mawar as he rose from his seat. Miro Miro was shaking in fear that he would walk around the chair and see her, but his footsteps carried him away from her and toward the Queen.

“The days are ending later as I grow old.”

“Aye, and it may not get any better with the upcoming vote. Rest well tonight, for you may not get another chance.” After the brief silence, Miro Miro heard the sound of lips meeting together. Are they? “Your grace?”

“I’m no longer your queen tonight.”

“Of course, Zelda.”

Miro Miro heard the unbuckling of a belt and then felt the pouch fall to the ground. Though she was scared to leave from her hiding spot, she began to hear sounds of kissing and suckling, and the poor fairy fought hard to reject the images her imagination was piecing together. If they were to be occupied with bump-bump, then she would focus on escaping the room. Putting her faith in Father to guide her safely, she darted across the open space toward the only open window in the room.

When she reached the great outdoors, she found herself overlooking the kingdom capital, nothing more than many speckles of night torches from her vantage all the way up at the top of the castle.

Chapter Text

Five hundred candles were used in total to light the whole ballroom. The Princess preferred the room to be a little darker, and she would frequently and politely ask her servants to only light four candles on the main chandelier when she ate her supper. However today, her brother had just returned from his latest war campaign. It was a cause for celebration…

For everybody except her. Father doted on his illegitimate son so much that he decided to celebrate his son’s return in tandem with his daughter’s last day here, which was also her milestone twentieth birthday, at Death Mountain Castle. This was the largest banquet Zelda had ever seen celebrated at Castle Red Lion, yet it wasn’t even wholly devoted to her; she had never seen so many unfamiliar faces wandering about, and their judgemental stares crawled over her body like a swarm of bugs. Many of these lords and ladies, supposedly from the capital city, were huddling around her brother and listening to his made up war stories. With the way Father had set up the ball and the way his son was hogging all the attention, she regretted letting her brother share the event with her. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to hurt something, or someone.

Hmph! she calmed herself in the midst of the crowd of barons, baronesses, priests, knights, and all their families residing in the Death Mountain range, known on the map as the Duchy of Eldin. The more she thought about her brother, the angrier she got; the more she had to restrain herself from acting out, the angrier she got subsequently.

And when the Princess got angry, she possessed a craving for violence that desperately needed satisfaction. To control her craving, she brooded in the corner of the marble banquet hall. 

But nooo. She just had to promise her father. He had to essentially bribe her to behave tonight, but the reward at the end of the night would be well worth the restraint, or so he said. Even if she was not allowed to hurt any one of the landed nobility serving under father right now, she could still make quietly fun of the way they looked. There were several faces that she recognized from attending the Nohansen’s yearly banquets. One in particular, a sheriff from a nearby village, had a silly satin hat that drooped over the side of his head like a giant booger on a cold and rainy day.

She snickered aloud to her own immature joke as she walked over to the food display. As she walked by a group of lords and ladies listening intently to one of Father’s own high ranking knights recant tales of fighting the mighty Goron tribes with great elaboration and great exaggeration, the Princess looked around the room with a chin tilted upward. Positioned squarely in the middle of the banquet hall, the tables held foods that came from some of the best… ugh, are those fried lamb stuffed eggs again? When will that fat, lazy, good for nothing chef learn that I hate lamb! The princess growled in disgust as she looked at the typical same old fried ground goat meat with melted cheese, butter toasted bread, various fruits from all over the realm, lamb charcuterie... Din, all this food just looks plain awful. I bet the food at Hyrule Castle is so much better.

Her eyes wandered up and down the tables and found nothing particularly appetizing. “Hmph,” she thought out loud by accident.

“Oh look at Princess ‘I’m too good for this food’!” the derisive voice drew her heated attention to her bastard brother, the only person in the castle arrogant enough to insult the Princess to her face. His crown, sitting squarely on his frighteningly bony face, did little to convey that he was heir to the Duchy of Eldin and Castle Nohansen, mostly because the crown was never worn during any part of his otherwise daily life. His fancy green doublet had black stripes that outlined the hems of the clothing, down to his sword belt. The part of him that was the commander of the Duke of Red Lion’s armed forces was the part he liked flaunting. The sword worn on his hip looked too big and too unwieldy for his thin frame, especially in a setting such as this. Who was Link going to fight at this banquet? Boys are stupid . Good thing the deities who created Hyrule were women, otherwise man made land, man made laws, and man made life would plunge Hyrule into eternal chaos.

“Prince Link.” The name that spilled from her mouth caused her brother to frown, which then delighted the princess. She was the only one in the room, save her father, who had the audacity to call her brother by his title, a name he despised so much that he responded with...

“Piss off,” Link returned his attention to the food display, “I was under the impression from father that you were going to be civil.”

“I am quite civil,” responded the Princess sarcastically, “Afterall, what is so uncivil about addressing you by your full title? You know Father’s going to make a speech at this ball, and he’s going to address you as Prince…” she waited for his face to scrunch even further before she stabbed the finishing line into his pride, “Link.”

Her bastard brother scoffed, “You’re better suited for the job of court jester than princess.”

“Ha! Says the ex -Commander of Red Lions who can’t even beat a girl in a swordfight.”

“You’d be just as mortal as the rest of us without that witch hovering by your side,” Prince Link fired back aggressively.

“Impa’s not here,” the Princess pounded her chest with a monstrous thud to dare her brother into doing something stupid, “Draw your sword and prove my mortality right here. I don’t need to carry a sword around me to beat you anytime I want.” The Princess knew Prince Link never backed down from a challenge, and her lips crept upwards with anticipation when her brother’s bone like fingers hovered over his oversized hilt. So accustomed to her brother’s volatile nature was she that she was visibly taken aback when Link took a deep breath instead and relaxed his hand. “What are you waiting for?” she egged him, who once again tightened his grip his hilt and began breathing heavily.

Despite the combined chatter from the scores of guests, the space between the Princess and her brother was dead quiet. “No,” he finally resigned with dignity, “Father told me I will be ruling everyone standing in this room someday. If I am to rule, then I must behave like a noble is what he told me.”

Her brother was trying really hard maintain stoicism, but his face frowned even further at each of his sister’s sneers, “Looks like you finally learned better than to get your rear thrashed in public.”

“Watch your back!” he launched back with full restraint, “I’ll pick the battle, and you will lose. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hah!” the Princess threw back at his threat. His words were as empty as each of her previous victories over her brother two years her elder. Prince Link had tried almost every trick in the book to gain the better of her: surprise ambushes, overwhelming numbers, even catching her unarmed. But no matter how unaware or outnumbered she was, the end result was always the same: the prince would flee in defeat.

The Princess picked up a piece of cheese, a handful of berries, and a piece of grilled cucco on a spit before hiding in the crowd of Hyborns. She had a much better time quietly making fun of everyone in the room. There was Sir Xanek and his bald patch the size of a fist. And there was her uncle’s steward, a man so enlarged by his ravenous appetite that his gait resembled a waddling duck. The wretched brown haired twins spawned from one of her father’s cousins were drooling over all the women’s chests at the ripe age of seven. Nothing but horrible rumors about the boys, especially of their gluttonous, envious, and lustful nature, ever left their home barony. Good thing their barony was far enough away that she was afforded the privilege of seeing them only once a season. Still, four times a year was still too much, and today did not fall on the Autumn Day celebration unfortunately. Once her eyes locked on with theirs, the princess subtly slipped through a crowd to avoid being mentally placed in their undressing room.

“There you are!” came the high pitched squeal the Princess dreaded hearing. A woman still in her late teenage years waved to the princess, “Come join us, Princess, we’re over here!”

Curly blonde hair stretching down to her lower back and a tall composure distinguished Princess Stelli from the rest of the Hyborns’ daughters. The two princesses grew up together and had a long, complicated relationship symbolized perfect by their parents’ complex politics. A light green dress embroidered with differently colored rupee stones along the gilded hems flaunted Stelli’s family wealth ostentatiously. Even if the two princess’ personalities were nothing alike, their family fortune would always serve as the common ground for their friendship.

However, the girls surrounding Stelli looked at the Princess as if she didn’t belong. If only she were allowed to beat the group of dumb blondes down to a bloody pulp, then she could show them who belonged where. But Father said she could not, so there was no sense in being weird at that point. She walked over to the clique like a sociable person did and prepared to make her exit as soon as she made her polite and pleasant entrance, “Hello, I can’t stay for long, I have to be with my father until wine hour is over.”

“But Princess!” protested Princess Stelli, “we only see you once a year!”

"Hmph! I like limiting the occasions I have to see Princess Nohansen to a miserable once a year,” added Princess Nostalia, the blonde, eagle-eyed witch spawn of Count Tabantha the Ancient.

“Away with ye,” the shortest one, also objectively the homeliest of the lot, “we’ve never been offended by the Black Sheathe’s absence anyway.” The way Princess Crystal’s toad jowls moved certainly infuriated the Princess, but nothing spiked her heart as fiercely as the nickname spread by the villainous commoners given to her barren womb. Then the other princesses around her uttered an “oooh”, as if the Duchess of Eldin herself had insulted a mere peasant, even though Princess Crystal’s father was naught more than a knight serving as one of Father’s bodyguards.

But while the Princess would loved to have crushed Princess Toadface’s skull in, she also understood the consequences that would have for Father. “My princesses,” the Princess politely curtsied and took her leave as quickly as she could.

At least there was one person in this room that she could stand to be around. Her father. The tall man was hard to miss in the crowd. The great red surcoat, which fit snuggly even without any armor over his doublet, his thick white beard, and his gold crown towered above all in the ballroom. As the princess got closer, she could begin to recognize the councilmen conversing with her father. A chancellor, a steward, and a bishop distinguished themselves through their choice of fashion: two red sashes over the cerulean overcoat, the sky blue doublet, and the red garbs and ceremonial crown, respectively. The dwarf sized bishop was the one who recognized her.

“Ah! Princess Nohansen, we were just talking about you!” said the youthful man with a polite, honest tone of voice.

She suddenly felt a blush run up her face when all four turned to look at her. It was her father’s deep, calming voice that put her at ease, “How very appropriate that you join us for this conversation!” His arm extended forth and invited the Princess for a fatherly embrace.

"Why is that?” she sheepishly asked him while feeling his comforting warmth.

The steward, adjusting his thick glasses, answered her, “Your father was just saying that once you became Queen of Hyrule, he would appoint us to your personal council.” The Princess did her best to contain the displeasure on her face at the sound of that.

The four of them stared at her, waiting for a response. It was the nudge from her father that prompted her to deliver the line just she had rehearsed with him and Impa, “Oh, um, Viscount Mako, your legendary insight into the study of currency will serve me well in the coming years.”

The old man perked up at the compliment, “Why, thank you Princess Nohansen!”

Her father grinned at the perfect delivery, sending a wave of relief and approval through her body, “That’s my girl. Anything else to say?”

The princess took a heartbeat to recall the line from memory, “Mister Senza, your expertise with Other cultures will show us how to conquer lands far beyond our own.”

The thick, black beard on the the mountain man’s chiseled chin nodded to convey his gratitude.

“And,” the princess continued, “the wise counsel from Brother Niko will ground my morality with the Goddesses.” The priest bowed in gratitude, though the princess did not know if he knew that she had rehearsed this line hundreds of times during the prior tendo.

“Thank you,” Lord Nohansen approvingly patted her on the back gently. “There will be more to your council. I will introduce them to you later.”

Suddenly the soft ring of a triangle ringing in the banquet space quieted the room. It was the signal for the feast to begin. Everyone slowly shuffled from the wine room, which was actually a small extension to the much larger dinner hall.

The tables ran parallel along the walls in two layers, except at the end that led to the kitchen. Those who sat in the outer layer were the direct relatives of the Duke of Red Lions and any landed friends of the family. Those who sat in the inner layer were employed by those who sat in outer layer. Finally, there were rows of tables in the center for select knights, handmaidens, courtiers, and extended family members the Princess forgot even existed.

The Princess sat to the right of the fourteen year old girl betrothed to Father, Princess Nammio Ingo, the petite, quiet daughter of Lord Ingo. It was a betrothal meant to “solidify alliances”, or so her father said. There was no way the Princess, six years older than Princess Ingo, would ever address her as “stepmother”. The very word crossing through her thoughts invited nausea.

Even more insulting was the fact that Father arranged to seat himself next to his son and his… thing, and not his own beloved daughter. Father had learned the hard lesson when his children were only toddlers that seating the Princess next to Prince Link at any feast always created catastrophes worthy of declaring war over, hence why they had to sit on opposite sides of Father and his betrothed whore.

Princess Frogface took her place inside the innermost caste of tables, next to her mother and father who had an ugly jowl that was clearly passed down to his daughter. Princess Stelli joined her family, the rulers of Kensrook Barony from all the way north, and sat next to her older brother, Prince Crowdley, the famously handsome hero at the age of nineteen. Genuine songs and stories of his battles up were sung of the young prince, unlike Prince Link who simply paid any so called poet to string together words to sustain his buoyant narcissism.

Sitting next to the Princess was her Uncle Drake and all his ugly progeny of the Nohansen family. Her Father’s younger brother had a thin, brown beard and round tummy, but he looked more sickly and more portly than his stronger, healthier elder brother. Still, he had a useful aptitude for counting rupees and found honor as the Red Lion’s steward. Sitting at the corner of the outer table was the family of the youngest of the Nohansens. The rugged mountain lord, Uncle Dorith, was the only other person in the banquet room comparable in stature to Father, and the only position in Father’s counsel that suited such a barbaric, hairy man was war marshal. Alongside his dainty wife were his six sons, each looking like they were well disciplined in the ways of war and poised to take their father’s place at any given notice.

Despite all the fancy decor, bountiful food, the soft music, and happy gaieties, the Princess managed to keep a sour pout during the entire feast. Even without making eye contact with the chefs, she could feel their trembling underneath their silly white hats and aprons. Before the pathetic carving chefs could ask which part of the roasted beast she would like, the Princess ordered them impatiently, “The whole damn arm!”

Her answer drew an irate look from Father. “Temperance, Zelda,” his soothing voice also meant his words were indisputable, but it did not stop her from folding her arms and rolling her eyes visibly.

She responded with a pout on her face, “The meatier half of the arm!”

She just needed to get through this stupid evening without making a scene. Eat her food politely. Chew with her mouth closed. Drink only enough wine to appear copacetic. Extinguish any words attempting anything resembling conversation. And listen to her father.

After countless jesters and troubadours tried to woo and impress a frighteningly stoic princess, Father stood up slowly and raised his glass. A quiet breeze of hushes quieted the room into the silence the Princess so desired many hours ago.

With a deep, regal voice, the Duke of Red Lions began his prepared speech, “Ladies and Lords. I extend my warmest gratitude to you all for journeying many leagues to celebrate with us tonight. So many honorable and friendly faces grace our presence today. Truly, the honor is not mine, but yours, my loyal subjects and allies. Without your unending support, realizing the Goddesses’ dream of taking power back from the tyranny of the Crown would have been a fool’s dream. The many blessings of the Goddesses alone cannot win the support and loyalty of our people. That, was won by your wise leadership.”

A soft round of applause floated amongst the crowd. “As I grow older, I learn that family gatherings where I am joined by my two children are becoming less common. It brings me boundless joy to have both at my side once more. As parents who fight for our children’s future, I would like to remind generations young and old, that our family is defined by something beyond bloodlines. Family is also the very people you put your life on the line for. My lords and ladies, across the far reaching stretches of the Eldin Duchy, and to our allies in the Zellink Alliance, I do declare this: I fight for your children like I fight for my children, for you are all family to me. It is your children who inspire me to fight for our people. It is mine, chosen by the Goddesses, who will lead us to victory.

“I present to you, the new Chosen Hero of our era, the Champion of Courage, Prince Link Nohansen!” Her brother stood up proudly and ungloved his left, displaying his black triangle to the audience. They gaped in awe and gave him a standing ovation. And all he had to do was be born with that stupid triangle on his hand. He deserved none of the respect or attention he was receiving. He was but a mere bastard whose mother was still serving as a maid in the castle.

Unlike her brother’s mark, which looked like someone had just inked a triangle onto the back of his hand, the insignia on the back of hers glowed with a soft golden light as if connected to the Triforce itself. Her mark was the definitive proof that her father’s cause was righteous, for no other house was blessed with both the chosen hero and the Goddess Hylia reincarnate.

The Nohansens. The Triforce on her hand and her brother’s hand became the rallying call for the lords of the realm, proving to be a powerful and symbolic bargaining chip during negotiations. To drive the point even further that Father’s cause was backed by the Goddesses, he had even named his silly little boy’s club after his own children. Little did the most powerful Hyborns of Hyrule know that the most influential alliance in all the realm was named after a sick obsession of their leader’s own children. With their support, and with the mark on her hand, she was going to be the future ruler of Hyrule. This much Father had promised her. And Father never broke his promises.

However, Father made no mention of her, her birthday, or her mark, and as he continued spouting the fake stories about his son, Princess Zelda clenched her fists in fury so tightly that Princess Nammio next to her was beginning to take notice of a strange heat emanating from underneath the table.

Chapter Text

The infirmary he was taken to, not the one in the castle barracks he was accustomed, had an environment as foreign as it was luxurious. Odd enough as it was when a different set of soldiers, the penal squires of Valor island as evidenced by the dark green surcoat over their white robes and their shaved heads, received Rowark from the city watch. These four, all shaved bald to symbolize their past crime, put Rowark onto a stretcher and carried him toward Valor Island until they reached the northern base of Castle City’s unusual rock formation.

As they travelled up the lift, Rowark reflected on the stories he had heard about the island, and even then, he could not fathom its grandeur up close. Supposedly, when the Gorons carved into the plateau to lay the grounds for a new settlement next to the castle, they stumbled upon one stubborn piece of rock that refused to budge. Even all the explosives in the Goron arsenal could barely chip off more than a few pebbles, so they dug around the thin outcrop, leaving a thin outcrop jutting out into the open sky. The first Queen then ordered a stone wall to be built around plateau and sand to be poured to fill in the space and reinforce natural structure. Once the massive monument was finished, the Queen declared it a royal landmark.

It was her successor, Queen Zelda June II, that built a stronghold on top of the island, and then her successor’s successor, the current Queen Zelda IV of House Ingo, that remodeled the stronghold into an academy for knights, just before she had passed the law granting all royal sergeants full status as knights of the realm. The metallic red color of the fortress, from the base of the walls to the grand, multi-tiered fortifications on top, came from the abundant yet sturdy ironstone. Flags flying both the royal crest, bird shaped head in the center with wings sprouting from both sides and a triforce centered in between, and the knight’s crest, also bird shaped, but with crescent moons for a head and talons.

Skyloft . Despite the towering presence of Valor Island, he had never seen the top before, only heard about it. His eyes widened as the stretcher carried him inside the grand stronghold, whose beautiful and spacious interior resembled nothing like its plain, single color exterior. But his wonderment soon turned to worry as he began to think about his companion Miro Miro. He thought about his last words to her and their argument, and as the four penal squires unloaded him onto an infirmary bed, there was no pain in his cuts, only the sting of regret.

Even as Rowark received a dose of red medicine and recovered in the well lit infirmary, his mind ignored the fine white drapes and white robed nurses tending him and instead could not stop worrying about his friend. Where was she? Was she okay? So engrossed was he at answering his nonstop questions with nonsensical answers that he failed to pay any attention to his surroundings.

“Oy, oy kiddo!” the gruff voice of his old commander snapped Rowark out of his thoughts. Rowark looked up to suddenly see a familiar black beard over a scarred, tanned face, but Sir Camelon was the last person he wanted to see.

Deep, disappointment was the only emotion that could be expressed through Rowark’s mouth. He would almost rather worry about Miro Miro than talk to his old watch commander, “Hi.”

“Hey there kid,” the graying knight grabbed a stool and sat down, deforming the shape with the weight of his built body in addition to his steel armor and blue cape on top.

“I’m a Sir,” Rowark corrected.

“HA!” Sir Camelon slapped his metal lap, “You’re a squire kid, not a knight yet! Being knighted by the Queen means she’s giving you go ahead to start training to be one. It’s Skyloft that turns you into a knight, and it’s leading men in battle and gaining their trust that earns you the right to be called a Sir.”

Rowark could say nothing, yet. But even if Sir Camelon had indeed done all those things, Rowark was far from giving him any bit of respect, “Why are you here?” The chiseled man’s haughty attitude turned Rowark’s stomach worse than a food bug did.

Sir Camelon sheepishly put his gauntlet on his oily hair, “Maybe I started on the wrong foot. I came to apologize, to beg forgiveness.”

Stunned by the response, the boy had no idea how answer his request. He thought about every single laugh, born from Sir Camelon’s every jest, from every man in their company. He thought about never being called Queer as a page, but once he graduated as a full fledged soldier into Sir Camelon’s command, all that changed. He thought about the nickname Sir Camelon gave him, Queerdo, and every single man who called him that as a result. For four years until his company was transferred to Sir Berlon’s sortie, Rowark had to endure this, and now, now that Rowark had been promoted to knighthood, Sir Camelon wanted forgiveness?

“I-I don’t understand,” was all Rowark could muster.

“Er,” Sir Camelon looked embarrassed, something Rowark had never seen in his entire life. He supposed it was a sign the veteran commander was trying his hardest to do something he was not good at doing, “sorry, I’m not very good at conveying this-”

Rowark raised his hand to politely cut him off, “I, I get it, I get what you’re trying to say. You’re apologizing after four years of tormenting me. After four years of calling me Queer,” his voice unintentionally intensified, “four years of enduring you and the rest of your worshippers calling me a Queerdo, four years of emptying your chamberpot and scrubbing latrines five times over…” When he heard his echo, Rowark paused to slow his aggressive breathing, “What I don’t understand is, why? Why now?”

Sir Camelon looked him in the eye without shame, “You’re right. They worshipped me. I did it so they would worship me, pick on a common enemy, and fight together in unity! I’ve been leading this watch company for years like this even before you were even pissing green! But you know what I also learned from my experience leading men?”

Rowark beheld death behind the glare in his eyes in response to his former commander’s question.

Commander Camelon leaned in to deliver his answer quietly, “That person at the bottom of the pecking order gets a choice. He can either wallow in misery, take insults everyday, and continue doing the dirty work no one wants to do. Normally these guys try to find others to take their place in the hierarchy, and they neither rise in rank nor above themselves.” He sharply pointed at Rowark, “Or that person takes to heart the extra time spent in the armory and the stables, and hardens his heart against the cruelest of names because you’re gonna find out soon enough, once you have men’s lives under your care, that the cruelest names to hear come from the loved ones of those men you’ve lost.” He took a deep breath to shift the tone of his conclusion, “Why now? Now that you will be a knight that’ll be fighting side-by-side with me, I need to be able to trust you. I have no doubt Skyloft’ll make you as capable as any, but all that training ain’t gonna erase bad blood between you and me. So, I wanna settle this here and now.”

So far, everything Sir Camelon made sense. “All right,” Rowark conceded, “But first, I need to tell you something, and I can’t let any of the nurses hear,” Rowark beckoned Camelon to lean in closer, and when he did, Rowark waited for the perfect moment, which was once the hairy black sideburns were turned fully toward him.

And then Rowark unleashed a punch, one that he promised for his comrades who had defended him repeatedly from their watch commander’s abuse, straight into the man’s face and connected perfectly with the cheekbone. The veteran knight commander stood and beheld the expression of an offended executioner.

But he suddenly burst out into loud laughter, “HAhaha! Good one! I’ll let you get away with that one cuz you still hit like a girl! But don’t worry, Skyloft is going to grind you down to bone powder harder than I’ve ever done to you before, and then you’ll think twice about pulling a childish move like that again.” As he turned to leave, he patted Rowark on the leg, “I look forward to serving side-by-side with ya.”

Sir Camelon’s last words was a truth that hit Rowark back in the face equally as hard. Difficult as it was for Rowark to fathom fighting next to Sir Camelon, he would no longer be serving under him at the very least. Nonetheless, the soreness on his knuckles after punching his tormentor felt satisfying. He laid there until the sun was soon approaching the western cliff, when he received another visitor.

Her visit was also surprisingly coincidental, since he had already planned on seeing her. She waltzed in wearing her velvet doublet with tall poise fitting for a capitan of her experience. The great Sir Berlon, a great giantess who led Rowark’s last sortie, was capable of cutting two heads off at once with her bastard sword, as told by many in her company. She was as frightening as she was giant, but the moment she met eyes with him, she exposed her crooked teeth to express her great relief that Rowark was still alive and breathing.

“Thank the Goddesses!” she knelt over and embraced him as happily as his sister did when Rowark first turned up, “I regretted my decision to pull you from your company the instant I received news that you were lost to us. I should have never put you in the scout’s company!”

Rowark responded, “It’s quite okay! I am well, am I not?”

“Quite well,” Sir Berlon wiped her eye, “But even though I had heard you were alive, the great weight upon my soul would not be lifted until I saw you in person. Even now, I regret transferring you to the scouts.”

“Who knows,” Rowark shrugged off her heavy words, “if you had not, I may never have gotten knighted!”

“Ha ha!” her habitually loud laugh turned her guilty tears into happy ones. “That’s also why I came here. I was first surprised to find out that you had survived, then I found out you were recovering in Skyloft’s infirmary!” the capitan laughed off a tear, “Let me extend you my warmest congratulations!”

“Thank you very much!” responded Rowark warmly and genuinely. “That means very much coming from you.” After Sir Camelon had destroyed most of Rowark’s respect for army authority, Sir Berlon had restored all of it when she took him under her wing.

“I knew you were better suited to lead from the first day I inspected your company, though I compared you against most of your boys who couldn’t organize their equipment or handle a horse worth a dung. And after hearing what those boys were saying to you, I also thought I was doing you a favor by separating you from them and my husband’s terrible drunken foolishness.”

Embarrassed, Rowark put his hand behind his head, “That you most certainly did.”

“Tch,” the capitan turned her head away in disappointment, “tell that to the missing in action report I filed for you.”

“As I said before, I’m here, so let’s put that all behind us.”

She returned his boyish grin with one of her own and offered her hand, “So, if you are done resting up here, I can take you on a grand tour of Skyloft.”

Which Rowark clasped to help him up off the soft bed, “Yes! I’m ready. I didn’t know that’s what you also came here to do.”

“I was asked by headmaster of Skyloft, Sir Pieliz, to show you around since I had a day off, otherwise I’d be at the tavern wasting away, which I shall do anyway once we are finished.” The capitan led Rowark out the infirmary into an immense room with stairs criss crossing all over, leading up to a library or diving further into the fort. The walls on the interior were  “The infirmary is set up in south wing will do well to remember that. Here we are in the main foyer, which connects to the dormitories, mess hall, and library. That hallway will lead you to the other half of the stronghold where the academy is. Those stairs up will take you to the observatory, and those stairs down will take to the armory.” The woman’s long arms stretched toward door leading outside. “Just outside is the front court where you will meet for the initiation ceremony at seventh hour of the day tomorrow,” she glared at him, “Sir Pieliz, Sir Mawar, and I will all be there, so don’t miss it!”

He gulped nervously to digest the gravity of her demand. “Yes Sir!” he saluted her as if he were a mere grunt in her sortie once again.

“At ease, soldier,” she grinned when she was confident Rowark got the message. “Let me show you the mess hall.” She opened one of two reinforced doors and walked through into a hallway adjacent to the dormitory, where Rowark followed her into a hallspace as large as the foyer without the great height.

Between him and the stone counters on the opposite side were limestone benches with all sorts of folklore sculpted underneath and granite table tops lined from one end of the mess hall to the other. Behind the counters were busy penal squires bringing food, from green salads to from a ordinary door in the back, presumably the kitchen. Separate counters divided the types of sustenance, with one containing greens and fruits, another with three meat carvers roasting three different cut of meat. “Here is where you will eat your meals. However, you are free to have a penal squire bring your meal to your quarters. Are you hungry?”

Rowark examined the painful void inside his stomach, “Kind of, I haven’t eaten much all day.”

Sir Berlon responded to his modest description of his hunger with a forceful slap on the back, “Perfect! I’m starving! Let us grab some food, and then tell me all about how you came to survive your first mission!”

The brass chafers filled Rowark’s nose with the sweet aroma of roasted root vegetables, pumpkin soup, and melted cheese, while the butchers on the other side of the mess hall were preparing juicy cuts of duck, cucco, and goat. Do they truly serve meat here everyday? Having three choices of meat per day felt like a luxury compared to enjoying the delicacy of cucco twice a tendo.

After stacking his plate with a little bit of every single food item that was offered, Rowark recanted the horrors he faced, humbly at first, but as Sir Berlon ate every word of his story as voraciously as she ate her supper, he began to tell his story with pride to a commander laughing out compliments in return. Until then, Rowark had felt like his accomplishment of survival in the Lost Woods was all attributed to luck, but his former sortie leader regarded all of his humble details as if they were the most daring feats of valor. “The greatest victory in battle,” she explained as they cleaned up after themselves, “is survival. Next, let’s check the armory.”

With full bellies to keep their mood up, They exited the room to the reinforced door on the other side of the foyer. This entrance led to a tunnel that sank into the ground beneath, where another door awaited them at the bottom of a short stairwell. Behind that door was a room separated into two by a row of thick metal bars. Behind the bars were racks full a wide variety of weapons, from all kinds of axes to all kinds of swords to all kinds of polearms.The only gaps through the barrier were a metal door and a single opening, where an old, bald knight stood in service to those before him. “Here, you will check out equipment from Skyloft’s own arsenal of weaponry. Let me introduce you to Sir Lockett Butcher, one of our great quartermasters. Locket, this here’s a new squire, Rowark Forester. He’s here to put his name on the armory’s registry.”

“A pleasure,” Sir Lockett extended his hand through the window, which Rowark gripped for a quick shake. The quartermaster then opened a drawer beneath his desk and withdrew a form of paper, placing it on the wooden counter next to ink and quill. “Print your name here and the date you were knighted by Her Majesty here.”

Rowark looked at the piece of paper before him and found the blank spaces asking for his name and the date of the day before yesterday, along with many other details such as his height, weight, and measurements around his body, “Are you sure I don’t need to fill out the rest of this information?”

Sir Lockett was satisfied with simply the name Rowark Forester and the date 64th of Summer, 100 , “I’ll find the rest of your information from your military records, and we will take your measurements on a later day to be determined.”

“My measurements? What for?”

“We need to tailor a gambeson to fit your body as well as find out which set of plates will fit your suit of mail,” Sir Lockett took the form and set it on top of a neat stack of papers and then opened another drawer.

“W-wait, my very own, suit of mail?” Rowark was too busy wrapping his head around what he would look like fully armed as a knight to pay attention to Sir Nathe placing a circular locket with a long chain attached onto the counter.

“Each knight gets one,” answered Sir Berlon as she retrieved the locket and presented it to him, “but more importantly, one pocket clock.” With a click, she opened the cover and revealed a miniature clock inside. “This will be very important, for your schedule starting tomorrow morning will be most rigid.”

Rowark held the bronze disc in his hands and instantly looked at the time. Just like the clock in the barracks commons, it had two hands to tell the hour and the minute, but somehow its mechanisms were reduced to fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. Twenty zero seven hours .

“Let me take you upstairs. Here we have the observatory as well as the library. All sorts of books written by many of Hyrule’s greatest warriors and strategists. Many great minds from the castle’s magic academy come to this library to check out books on potion making and history. The stairs leading up from the library lead to the temple shrine for worship and prayer.” Rowark took special note of the last item, for he needed make a trip there and pray before he went to bed. It had felt like forever since the last time he did. “Lastly, let me take you to your new room.”

“M-my, very own?” Since his childhood days sharing the wooden floor with his brothers to his soldier days bunking with three others, Rowark had never once slept by himself. He was both excited at the idea of retreating into solitude at his own discretion, instead of volunteering with strangers to attain peace, yet terrified simultaneously of the very idea of solitude and hearing nothing but the thoughts of his past.

The burly woman frowned and nodded, “‘Tis a bit small, but that’s because you are newer, so you get the most recently constructed rooms, which were smaller by design to accommodate the record number of promotions as of late. But don’t worry, as the older knights die out or retire, the older, larger rooms become vacant for the next person by seniority to take. Of course, you always have the choice to defer the opportunity.” But her words were lost on Rowark, who was in the midst of gaping in disbelief at his new, personal bedchamber.

Comparatively, it was about the size of his old room underneath the castle, but he no longer had to share it three other fellows. The commodious bedchamber, furnished with a small bed, a wire mannequin to hang his armor, a desk and a chair, and a wall mount for a torch, felt like the largest room he had ever walked through, and that included the castle’s throne room. Only one slit through the wall permitted natural light into the space, and when Rowark peeked through, the view revealed the eastern wing of Skyloft and her many towers jutting into the blue sky. “I don’t mind deferring forever!”

“Ha! We’ll see if that attitude changes after you’ve had a few years of leading soldiers under your belt! Once you command the respect of your men, you’ll be wanting a bedchamber deserving of your respect. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Um, Sir, permission to ask a question?”

“Granted.”

“What do I wear for tomorrow morning?”

“Good question because I almost forgot. Report to the quartermaster before the ceremony to receive your new uniform.”

He thanked her, and she bid him a good night before parting. A beige nightgown was neatly folded on his pillow. Removing his army issue clothing like shedding his past as a humble soldier and slipping on his new knight wear like donning a new title, he took the deepest breath of free, fresh air he could. This was his life.

To complete his day, all Rowark needed was prayer. Without it, he would fall asleep with an uneasy mind. As he walked up the bright marble steps covered in blue carpet leading to the library, he wondered about Miro Miro’s fate. He had to endure the guilt for arguing with her when that was last chance he might have ever spoken to her. Perhaps he would pray for her and try to find her tomorrow.

Rowark only glanced leftward to see if anyone was there to stop him from entering the shrine. Only an elder librarian dressed in his white, academic robe sat behind the reception desk of the otherwise vacant twenty four hour library. Empty tables organized in rows sprawled across the wide room, while the opposite end of the room contained shelves upon shelves filled with Hyrule’s compended knowledge. Since the librarian paid him no mind, Rowark continued up the next flight of stairs.

Entering an open space that made him feel as small as a mouse, he humbly walked before the great statue of Hylia exhibiting front and center before him. Along both sides, niches carved into the walls of the shrine displayed various shrines in worship of past Princess Zeldas, the Goddess Hylia’s many reincarnations. Separating the stone representation of Hylia from the laity was a gilded fence stretching across the room and a dais. Rowark stepped up to the altar in front of the dais and pressed both knees onto the pillow on the ground.

Just as he clasped his hands and began to speak to Hylia…

Chapter Text

Princess Zelda excused herself from the merriment and noise to use the castle latrine. As soon as she left the banquet space and entered the heightened hallway, she turned right, away from the nearest outhouse. With her heels on, a loud click erupted from every step of the foot and resonated throughout the empty space. Once she removed them from her feet, the soundscape sounded dramatically different.

There were no servants. No courtiers. No knights. Only silence and the occasional flicker of the torches bothered her. Her destination laid on the opposite side of the Castle Red Lion, so she picked up her pace as she hurried across empty tunnels and hallways. The route she took through the kitchen, servant’s quarters, and the armory was a bit of a detour, but the Princess knew that no castle guards were posted along this path. Enduring the coldness of the smooth stone underneath her feet was worth the drawback in favor of quietness.

She had known about this route since the beginning of her twenty years of growing up in the castle, and she kept it a secret from her father. Through forgotten stairwells and rooms, a nice aspect of living in a large castle was its many different routes one could possibly take to reach any one given destination. Once she entered the main foyer, she had to remember that there were two guards posted at the door and two on the passway above. All it took was patiently waiting for the two at the door to look away for one split heartbeat and slipping down the stairs quietly. The two guards on the passway were too busy chatting about gladiator fights to notice anything going on in front of them, so sneaking past them into the hallway leading to the dungeons was easy.

Luckily, that was the most difficult part of sneaking by undetected. Instead of going straight to the door leading to the dungeons, which was locked and guarded by two heavy armored sentries, the Princess entered a door on the opposite end of the hallway, which led to the castle warehouse. If there was one thing the Nohansen brothers shared in common, it was their love of flaunting their wealth. As wide and as cluttered as the storage space was, the last part of her trip was tucked away in the corner underneath a crate, though navigating through the boxes and barrels of materials proved to be a bit more of a maze this time. Once she reached the corner, she saw the heavy barrel tucked away in amongst a stack of crates. The barrel’s only contents were sand filled to the brim.

If anyone wanted to see Impa Dragmire in her quarters using the back entrance, this was the test. Princess gripped the top rim of the barrel by the metal head loop with a single hand and then took a deep breath. All at once, the grip on the barrel’s head tightened and the muscles of her arm, shoulder, and back and slid the heavy barrel a few palms away, revealing the circular trap door underneath. Zelda had come a long way to finally being able to achieve this feat. Not even Impa could do what she had just done.

The trapdoor led to a ladder down to a dark tunnel with two torches quietly beckoning the visitor who had just moved a heavy barrel full of sand. Just up ahead was the backdoor to Impa’s quarters. She knocked forcefully on the thick, ash door, for that was the only way to make an audible introduction. Without opening the metal slide to check who it was, Impa began unlocking the door.

The inside of the cozy room felt warm, not from the candles and the summer heat, but from the love of the person who resided in the room. Tapestries draped all along the tall walls to give the room a Gerudo feeling, and to compliment the artwork was a collection of some of the most beautiful Gerudo polearms, glaives, scimitars, and bows. Despite her foreign taste, her foreign looks, and her foreign accent, the kinship between the Princess and her teacher was anything but.

“Mother,” said the Princess as she tenderly embraced the only person in all of Hyrule she could trust, who knew Zelda even better than Father or her stupid brother did because she had molded Zelda into the woman she was today.

Impas’s face crept into the familiar, motherly smile as she wrapped her arms around the Princess in return, “What are you doing here? You should get back to the dinner.”

Zelda made a disgusting face and shared her feelings, “I hate everyone there!” She angrily broke away from the embrace and sat down on Impa’s made bed, “Everyone there is so, so… so so stupid! And everyone hates me!”

“That is not true, okay?” her Gerudo teacher sat down next to the Princess and wrapped her arm around her, “Your father, he loves you so very much. And the other princesses of the realm look up to you greatly! They all want to be strong like you.”

“None of those witches care about all that!” she scowled, emotions welling inside her chest. Her breathing picked up. “They judge me and whisper that cursed name behind my back! And if that wasn’t bad enough, they smear their sons and daughters in my face. And yet, nobody in the realm knows about my abilities…”

Impa, sensing the increased rate of respiration, rubbed her hand up and down her shoulder to remind the Princess that there was no need to get angry, “You will show your true powers to the whole realm of Hyrule tonight! You will be the envy of everyone, man and woman alike!”

As if she wasn’t already the most important person in Hyrule already. It was said that when her mark was first discovered, Father forced all the lords and ladies in the duchy to bow before Princess Zelda in fealty. However, was Father powerful enough to make the rest of the lords and ladies of all Hyrule bow before Zelda? “I don’t feel that way. And nothing is certain yet.”

The skepticism tickled Impa, “Your father thinks otherwise.” Of course Father thought so.

The Princess scoffed, “I don’t care what my Father thinks anymore!” Suddenly, she remembered why she needed to come here: to unburden her mind. “First, he has made no mention of my birthday! Second, he’s letting my bastard brother parade around MY banquet like he owns the castle! And even though it’s my birthday, I don’t know half the people there-”

A raised finger from Impa silenced the compliant Princess. “Hold that thought,” interrupted her mother. Zelda, surprised her mother would and could stop her emotional rant so abruptly like that, had a suspicion of what Impa was going to do as soon as her mother stood up. The huge woman walked over by the door and picked up a pair of padded, leather gloves hanging on the wall, then she threw the pair onto Zelda’s lap, “Come, it looks like you need to work off your anger.”

The Princess grinned. Mother knew best. Impa opened the front door, located just on the inside of the dungeon’s entrance, into the dark tunnels where she led the Princess to the training rooms.

Once the unoccupied room was lit up, the Princess immediately began to put on her gloves. Two brown leather punching gloves, with enough wear and tear that she could see the stuffed cloth poking out from the holes and a string to strap around the wrist, once belonged to her teacher. She took a deep breath to intake that sentiment. On one end of the room was a rectangular ring marked by four, waist height posts and a long rope connecting the posts. Impa stepped into the ring with two padded training mitts, gloves that had a flat surface for the palm and provided a target for the puncher, and began to lightly bounce on the tip of her feet.

The Princess began to do the same with her bare feet. Though uncouth at a formal setting, Zelda refused to wear a dress that reached further below her ankles solely so that she could fight comfortably at any moment’s notice. Even Impa had suggested enforcing dressing standards for the Princess alone to a very agreeable Father. The Duke of Red Lions may have had his very own candidate for the heir to the throne, but he had every intention of sending the Queen forth into battle to conquer, a break from tradition.

That was why he chose Impa, a master of Gerudo war, to mentor his daughter in the ways of combat. “JAB!” she screamed as she lifted her left hand.

“HYAA!” Zelda responded with an extension of her left arm, her closed fist reaching forth and then corkscrewing into the padded mitt. The impact of leather against leather made a slapping noise that rang inside the room, even though she hardly used any strength. She took a deep breath and searched for tension in her body. A warrior can only fight at her pinnacle when she stays relaxed . 

“Cross!” This time, Zelda’s right hand extended across her body and delivered a long but deadly strike into Impa’s mitt. She then ducked underneath the incoming left hand from the side and reset herself. “Again!” Impa held out her right hand again, but this time at an angle. There was no thought needed. This attack had been drilled into her head since their first lesson together.

Years upon years of training in hand to hand combat guided the right hand into a slightly curved punch, optimized to connect the feet, hips, torso, and shoulder to the driving force behind the fist. And just as she connected with the pad, she twisted her fist and pulled back. Using the rotational force of the withdrawal of her hand, she fired her other hand into the vertically held pad.

Impa no longer needed to yell the combinations. The positioning and angling of the mitts gave Zelda all the clues for which strike to throw. The Princess doubled down on a jab before throwing an uppercut into the mitt, which caught her upward punch perfectly with an echoing slap.

“Excellent work!” Impa hop stepped around the Princess, who dutifully stalked her teacher. “Now tell me Zelda, what is ailing you?”

“Father is!” she threw a jab followed by a quick cross, “He is celebrating!” she slipped past a right hand and ducked underneath the left before countering with an uppercut and then a left hook of her own, “LINK’S!” The sound of his name summoned a contemptuous anger from hidden depths of her soul into her body punch, then an uppercut with the same hand, then a killing blow to finish the combo, shrieking upon exertion, “Homecoming!” Zelda knew better than to stay in place after finishing a combo, so she pivoted backwards off her front foot while keeping her left hand extended to redirect an incoming Impa safely out of the way. That single, sneaky hand had caught the Princess one hundred times too many for her to fall for the same trick again.

As the Princess reset her stance, Impa use this chance to respond, “It is unfortunate that this dinner is not how you wanted to celebrate your twentieth birthday,” before queuing another combination of punches for the Princess to execute, “But, you must also understand, your father is happy your brother is safe at home. His heart is restless everytime he sends your brother on campaign.”

“HA!” exerted the Princess as she threw a power punch into the pad, “Why is my father worried?” she fired two quick straight punches, “My bastard brother sits in a cozy tent!” threw another combination of punches, “drinks wine!” ducked underneath the two hooked punches, “and fathers bastards of his own!” then launched an uppercut into the mitt, “and then is too busy!” Impa’s right mitt shot forth, but Zelda’s trained instincts guided her beautiful face off of the mitt’s path in time and then pulled her face back when the second mitt shot forth, “ordering other men to die for him!” before delivering her final kill shot, “to acknowledge his own children!”

Impa caught the curved punch and immediately released a counter hook to the left side of Zelda’s face, “Don’t be angry at your brother’s behavior. You are not responsible for how he acts, no?”

Zelda ducked underneath the punch and repeated the curved kill shot into the mitt, “But Father!” then she fired the uppercut, “Treats Link!” then finished with a flurry of eight punches into the mitts, “Better than he treats me!”

Zelda’s anger formed a glowing, red energy around her right fist momentarily prior to impact upon leather. All the stuffing inside could not absorb the entirety of the punch’s force, sending Impa back a few steps. It was at that moment that she realized that she had gotten carried away. Gasping in response, “Mother, I’m sorry…” her heavy breaths of rage quieted immediately.

A chuckle escaped from Impa’s mouth, “Do not worry, I am unharmed.” Of course, Zelda’s teacher, the former master of arms of the Gerudo Fortress, was unharmed, but the mitt had suffered a giant tear down the center. “But you have learned your lesson this time, yes?”

Zelda closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath, “Temperance.” She hated it when Father said it because he simply stole the saying from Mother’s lessons. But when Mother uttered the word, temperance , all of Zelda’s training, lessons, and lectures under her strenuous tutelage were condensed into a mantra that fueled the fundamentals of her unmatched fighting prowess. The voice of her mother eased Zelda’s heavy breathing, restraining against her lung’s hungry cries for air.

She lifted her eyes and met Impa’s, and they shared a nod. With broken mitt in hand, they went back at it. This time, there was no talking, only a continuous, uninterrupted stream of rapid, successive punches flowing in all different directions. Temperance , she branded her mind with her mantra as the fatigue began to build. And after about another five minutes of straights, hooks, and uppercuts into the mitts, Impa signaled for the final kill shot with her left mitt held outward vertically, to which the Princess responded with an unwind from her twisted hip, followed by her her chest and shoulder. All her curved punch had to do was guide the natural power from her body mechanics into Impa’s mitt.

The subsequent, slap of the mitt and Zelda’s last exertion quickly filled the room and left echoes before the stony walls killed the noise altogether. Impa and Zelda both looked at the mitt and spotted the slight rip, looked back at each other, and then shared a loving laughter only recognizable to a mother and daughter.

The Princess threaded her arm around her Gerudo Mother’s elbow as they walked back through the dimly lit tunnels of the dungeon. For the first time this evening, Zelda put a smile on her face. No matter what political drama occurred in the world above them at that very moment, nothing could break the bond that formed between a mother, whose one simple wish in Hyrule was for her daughter to be as strong as mother, and her daughter, whose one true wish in Hyrule was to be as strong as her mother.

But the night was still young, and the Princess knew it too. As thoughts of returning to her brother’s homecoming began to poison her happy calm, a frown began to seep into her grin, which her mother detected swiftly, “My child, don’t be upset.”

“I have every reason to be upset!” moaned the Princess. “I’ve been stuck inside Castle Nohansen for twenty years, never once stepping foot outside the county, for this one day. Father has kept me locked away from the seeing eyes of the nobility so he could unveil my mark on this day. Only to have that stupid bastard parading around my party like a fool!”

“Your Father loves both you and Link.” Zelda huffed and pouted. “He is celebrating his son’s homecoming in a way that Link would like. But, he has also prepared a separate occasion for you, just as he promised.”

“With the way the dinner is going, I’d say you’re full of dung,” said Zelda without thinking.

Impa stopped Zelda instantly and raised a finger, “Is that any way to talk to your mother? You are twenty years old now, which means you are an adult now! You must grow past your hatred for your brother! He is your family!” Damn … the only other person who could put Zelda in her place was the ruler of Eldin.

The Princess frowned, “I'm sorry, Mother…” embracing the regret for her outburst.

But her mother hugged her with forgiveness. Moments like these reminded Zelda how foolish and how weak she still was, but that was why Mother was there to guide her. “Tonight, after the banquet, your father has prepared someone, special , for you.”

“Hmph,” Zelda scoffed, “Father said I could pick one of his knights, after I finish delivering my speech.”

“And someone new…”

Zelda’s head perked up like a puppy, “Is it a new warrior?”

Impa tried her best to avoid her student’s prying eyes, but the Princess pressed on. Finally, Impa’s succulent smile could no longer keep the juicy secret from her, “Said to be the very best in the Confederation.”

“Tell me more!” Zelda salivated at the chance to dominate another champion, especially one she had never encountered previously, “Where is he from?"

This time, Impa looked determined to say no more, “If I told you any more, that would ruin the surprise!” The excitement behind her blue eyes grew so much that it spilled into a chuckle, and then a full blown laugh at the excitement. A new fighter to play with? Suddenly, she could not stop beaming. “Now take that beautiful smile of yours back to dinner!”

“Yes, mother!”

Chapter Text

Rowark took a deep breath and was ready to say something when suddenly…

“My champion …”

…

His mind was not speaking to him with a woman’s voice, was it? Rowark’s anxious heart jolted him. He looked around to see if anyone was hiding somewhere in the darkness. He hoped Skyloft’s chapel did not also come with a ghost.

“Rise…”

The voice did not seem to come from his head, but somehow it came from within the shrine, echoing from somewhere above. “Where are you?” he said as he stood up and continuously swiveled his head, searching through the darkness. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

A soft light sparked in the middle of the room, illuminating the chapel brightly, before growing in size and finally taking a Hylian form. Long hairs of blue tinted light flowed down its back, a pair of breasts formed over the torso, and hips began fill in its feminine body. Though specific features were difficult to distinguish, he couldn’t help but imagine a beautiful face hiding behind the intense light.

“This is the most I can do, for I was sworn by my sisters to never hold a physical form upon the land which we created -” though her lips did not move, her otherworldly voice sounded motherly, yet disappointed.

“Land you created, what do you mean? Who are you?” Rowark tried fish an answer before she continued.

But she went on uninterrupted, “ ... many thousands of years ago. Before the world had taken any form, my sisters and I collaboratively brought life and civilization to this land.”

“Thousands of years ago? You’re not an ancient spirit or something, are you?” The last thing he needed was a spirit to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I am the Goddess of Wisdom, Nayru, she who granted the gift of free will to the people. ” At the sound of the name, Rowark fell to his knee in shock. He did not know what kind of holy magic was occurring at the moment, but there was no point in taking the chance that she WASN’T a Goddess. Was this the answer to all his prayers? “ Rise, my champion. ”

My champion!? His newfound title immediately spread shock through his body, “I don’t understand. I-I’m a sinner. I’m no champion.”

Nayru cocked her head sideways, “ Decreed by whom? ”

Rowark was dumbfounded. Was it not her Golden Laws that decreed that being Queer was sinful? “Well,” he answered with great fear in his chest, unsure if challenging the words of the very Goddess of Wisdom herself would lead to his undoing, “the Temple that worships in your name decreed that my wants and desires are sinful.”

“Do you worship a Temple? Or do you worship the Goddesses? ” the rhetorical question still did not put Rowark at ease. “The Temple of Hylia is made of mortal men and women,” responded Nayru, “and over the years, they have crafted many laws and sins in my name to suit their mortal purposes.”

Truth be told, there was only one thing Rowark ever wanted to ask the Goddess Wisdom since he confessed to being Queer, so he swallowed loudly to gather the courage needed, “S-so, is being Queer, a sin?”

“An attraction to men is an attraction to men. Whatever conclusion makes that concept queer or sinful comes from the opinions of mortals, just as whatever deems the deed of charity as righteous or sinful comes from the opinions of mortals as well.”

Rowark was relieved, and yet dissatisfied. He did not know how to respond to her own blasphemy. If righteousness was not derived from the Golden Laws, then what was? “But, then how do you know what is right and wrong?”

“Nothing is innately right or wrong. These two categories are only simplified judgements for every possible action so that mortals may better rationalize and conceptualize the consequences of their decisions.”

It still didn’t make sense to Rowark, though, “Then, how does one determine morality? If not you?”

“If I struck you down at this moment, ” Rowark’s body hairs froze, “would I suffer the consequences of your death? ”

Before a Goddess, he knew his life was insignificant, and so too were all mortals placed on their earth. “No,” answered Rowark unsurely.

“Then who am I to judge your death to be just or unjust? If your so called ‘Golden Laws’ preach defending every life and yet justify the deaths of others, can the ‘Golden Laws’ be considered just? Even if it came from the word of a Goddess? ”

Rowark had to ponder upon her questions a bit before he could conclude with one final answer, “No?”

“Precisely. Morality is not derived from the authority of power, but rather through the consensus of those affected by the decision.” She paused and then spoke disappointingly, “That was a lesson too complex for the first mortals to grasp. A primitive sense of awareness only brought about a primitive rationalization of free will. It was only natural when I first bestowed the gift of awareness upon the many peoples of Hyrule.”

Rowark blinked hard just to accept everything he was hearing, “But, my Goddess, how are we to know how to act and behave justly?”

“How did three omnipotent Goddesses come to act and behave justly? Believe me when I say that it used to take many millennia for us to even agree on one thing. My sisters and I knew the great difficulties of cooperating with each others’ great pride and power, but we ended up learning something out of it, so we decided to leave guidelines, hard lessons we had learned from our many eras of conflicts, so that mortals could continue to learn and explore morality on their own. To make sure that the most capable individual of out all the beings could translate and interpret our guidelines, we placed our monument on the highest peak of the mountain before I left the land for good with my sisters.”

“The Golden Laws?” he clarified.

“The very ones. ”

“Then, the bit about honoring the bond between a man and a woman?”

She flared into an angry red, “ That part was mistranslated.”

The Goddess may have been angered, but Rowark’s heart was suddenly lifted like a feather against a soft breeze, “What was it before?”

The Goddess went back to her light bluish hue, “ Honor the love between all. No one person can define what love is, so it is a mortal’s responsibility to respect another’s definition. But, how was I to know that the mortal who found the monument would translate the message as it is now.”

“Did you ever anticipate Hylians turning evil?” Rowark half-joked.

“It was always my most optimistic assumption that mortals could live peaceably with the knowledge and awareness that their existence upon this land would be short and temporary. However, leave the land for not even one full year, and the mortal who discovered our guidelines had already found unlimited clever methods to twist our words into his language for committing harm against others. These silly mortals kill, they enslave, and worse…

“They rape…” her energy suddenly turned blood red as she seethed, and for a heartbeat, Rowark was afraid for his life. “Then at the end of the day, they return to their families to justify all their sins in our names. It was their turn towards selfish indulgence Having witnessed our failure, we forsook any further interference in the land we created. However, our deity daughter, Hylia, chose to put her faith in the righteousness of the innocent, so she remained behind and reincarnated as a mortal with my blessing to watch over the realm and protect Farore’s creations, enforce my guidelines, and preserve Din’s earth. But alas, we returned to a distressed world in which Hylian kind had perverted all three.”

The Goddess spoke with a difficult style of prose, but in Rowark’s opinion, it was much easier to interpret her philosophy than it was to listen to Sir Mawar explain politics and lying. Rowark suddenly realized when he compared the sound of her voice to the one he heard ten years ago that she could have been the one who told him to confess in the beginning. “So,” he had to be sure though, “were you the one who spoke to me in my head ten years ago?”

Nayru quickly returned to her light blue color, “ Yes, that was I. ”

A tear fell from his eye. His savior. The very one who answered his prayers. “Why?” Rowark would never forget the sound of her voice during his most trying time. “Why did you want me to confess to being a sinner?”

“I desired a true confession to the self of your own nature. Knowing thyself is the beginning of all wisdom…  Or so I’ve heard through the cosmos. ”

Rowark looked down as contemplated what she had just said, “I have never liked admitting to myself that I was… me. Growing up, I was taught to grow up to be like Father, like a Forester. So, I always felt that I wasn’t enough.”

"Nobody with free will wants to confront the fundamental fact that they are different from everybody else. While your peers hid amongst each others’ company to avoid alienation, you were thrust into alienation from the beginning. I chose you ten years ago because you had suffered through a traumatic moment that forced you to reconcile with the nature of your true self as an entity separate from the land you live on and the people you live with. As a result of that very experience, you began to question the nature of the order by which you have learned to live.”

Tears burst from Rowark’s eyes as he contemplated asking her the next most important question. “Why now?” he angrily sniffed. If he were truly the Goddess of Wisdom’s chosen champion, “Why reveal yourself to me now?”

“There is an evil agent born from malice and hatred lurking about Hyrule attempting to break the seal that keeps Ganondorf from returning to this realm. I cannot stay in this land, let alone inhabit a physical form, for very long, so I used this most opportune time to tell you. ”

“So, if I am your champion, does that make me the chosen hero?”

“No. The hero was reincarnated a few years prior to your birth,” that sounded relieving, but then the Goddess turned bright red, “but he committed an evil so great that we Goddesses needed to intervene and choose new champions.”

“If I am not your hero, then why did you pick me? Didn’t Hylia’s reincarnation always possess the Triforce of Wisdom?”

“Hylia’s current incarnation had an upbringing that has directed her away from the path of wisdom and also brought the current predicament to the kingdom. I chose you because you understand yourself better than anyone else who does, and because fate has set you onto a path of considerable influence.”

“So what do you ask of me, as your champion?” Rowark kneeled before his Goddess.

“Rowark Forester, as the Champion of Wisdom, you must find and destroy the evil agent and unite the people of Hyrule under your leadership. Your Goddess commands you.”

Rowark bowed his head, “Your champion obeys.” After all those years of keeping faith with the Goddesses, despite his Queer nature going against the Temple’s laws, Rowark’s faith had finally been rewarded. His path was righteous. The very Goddess of Wisdom herself spoke to him and said so. He was supposed to feel ecstatic for accepting the great honor, and yet, anxiety was spreading throughout his body instead.

Nayru cocked her head sideways, “You are unsure.”

He was as afraid of lifting his head as he was failing his Goddess, “I… I cannot disobey my Goddess, b-but what if your champion isn’t strong enough to fulfill his mission? What if… he cannot overcome the hatred dwelling inside men’s hearts?”

“Just as the many Heroes of ages past had assistance along the way, so too will you. From now on, you will be given access to the special abilities inherited through the direct descendants of our daughter Hylia.”

The good news renewed his sense of hope, “Wait, what kinds of abilities?”

“That is for you to discover and make your own, not for me to say. ”

Great , thought Rowark. With only unproven powers and a mountain range of trials before him, he was once again beginning to doubt his prospects. “Who will aid me on your divine mission?” he asked, hoping she could shed her light on good news once again.

The sound of footsteps whipped Rowark’s head around. A lantern light was approaching from the entrance. As soon as an old scribe wearing a light gray robe poked his head around the corner, Rowark looked back and saw no light. The Goddess had vanished before Rowark could get his answer or begin asking the other myriad of questions swarming in his head.

“Were you speaking to someone just now?” asked the scribe.

“Oh, um,” Rowark took one last good glance at the lifeless statue towering before him, “just talking to the Goddesses.”

The old man nodded, “Carry on.” Rowark nodded back. What in the world was going on?

He retired back to his room and climbed into his bed while trying to piece together both Nayru’s words and his sanity. He wasn’t sure if he was able to fall asleep inside his cozy new room. But when he awoke to the sound of tolling bells from the castle, his heart froze when he received the message of the mournful ringing: someone important in the castle just passed away.

Chapter Text

Clack ! Clack ! Clack ! The click of her heels stepping on the marble echoed busily within the hallways and informally announced her return. Soon, Zelda could hear the sound of hurried soldiers and their noisy armor rattling back to answer the calls of her heels. They anxiously accompanied the Princess as she approached them, who looked like scared dogs who had just gotten a beating from their master. “Princess! This way!” Without changing her pace she marched onward past the guards and right into the banquet hall.

Her entrance drew the eyes of everyone who had attended the dinner. There were her uncles’ families, their personal courtiers, stylists, bodyguards, every important person in Hyrule save the Queen herself, and whose stare was worst of all, even worse than the twins from Din’s Hearth, was her bastard, half-brother’s eyes accompanied with his smug smile. A rush of confused emotions ran through her mind vivaciously. Was she angry? Or was she nervous to suddenly have a lot of attention on her?

Zelda hated attention even more than she hated her brother. Without the attention, she was free to act and hate on people as she pleased. With the attention, she was bound to only certain actions, ones that always conflicted with her turmoiled emotions. But this many eyes on her? At once? She was almost starting to feel sick...

“Where on Hyrule were you?” Suddenly, Father’s voice snapped Zelda out of her stage fright. Without waiting for his daughter to even answer, he threw his arms around her.

Excuses flew through her head as she scrambled to answer Father’s question, “I went to pass water,” she had to lie on the spot to explain her dirty feet, “and then I went outside to the chapel, to see Mother. I didn’t know if I was going to get another chance today, on my birthday.”

Her father sighed with forgiveness and extended his hands onto her shoulders, “Listen, I know you are more than capable of handling yourself, but even my heart is lifted when my daughter goes missing. Come. It is time for your speech. I have prepared a special celebration for you, just as I promised, afterwards.”

“Oh, Father!” the Princess threw her arms around her father, “You didn’t forget!”

“Of course I did not forget!” retorted her Father, surprised she even asked, “Tonight, you are going to demonstrate to the Lords and Ladies what the new heir to the Throne of Hyrule can do.”

The Princess suddenly beamed with brightness, “You don't mean it…” Impa’s training was conducted within the secrecy of the dungeon below for many reasons, but the most obvious reason being that a woman’s place was in a household in the eyes of everybody in the three duchies. But Impa had illuminated for Zelda another path for a woman, and the Princess had ever since been infatuated by Impa’s stories of her warrior people.

“Yes, Zelda, this is my gift to you for your birthday…” Zelda’s eyes brimmed with so much excitement that her eyes began to water. She truly had been waiting her whole life for this. Hours upon days upon tendos upon seasons were spent preparing for a showcase for her talents. “Put on a good show.”

“Ladies and Lords, Hyrule has been weakened. Not by our doing, heavens no. We have always stayed true to the path of the Goddesses. But our own Throne has put our realm through dangerous times through repeating failed policies and through weak administration. Hyrule’s enemies push in toward the capitol city daily, but our Queen is too cowardly to send her forces to defend the people. She has made it abundantly clear where she stands in relation to the Others, conspiring with our neighbors to install criminals within our own lands! Ha! The divine has made it abundantly clear the Tories chose wrong the Queen and the wrong heir!” the King of Red Lions made a thumbs down to punch his point across and to draw jeers and boos. “Now is the time for a stronger, newer heir to succeed the Queen, one who can lead our armies to crush the barbarians that lay north, east, south, and west, once and for all. The Nohansen’s candidate for the heir will not only possess the wisdom of Nayru, but also the power of Din and the courage of Farore as well!”

The Princess looked in awe at the way her father could command the crowd. She had seen the way his hands and his gestures could sway their opinions at countless dinners before. But no matter whether the occasion lay in the foresty castles of Faron, the open plains of Lanayru, or even within the Red Lions’ walls, his fingers extended, clenched, waved, and conducted his audience like his own personal instrument, and it never got old. “Not only is she the light of my life, she is the future to the Nohansen dynasty, and the beginning of a new Golden era! With strong leadership finally at the throne.”

All eyes were drawn to the Princess. The sudden weight of every eye piercing her face startled her. All her preparation had fled before her uncontrollable nerves. She quickly glanced to her father, who was mouthing the words, “My Ladies and Lords,” she stopped to gulp, “I-I…” and then paused to take another deep breath. Okay, you got this , “I, Princess Zelda Viskard Nohansen, fifth of her name, daughter of the Duke of Red Lions, Beholder of the Triforce of Wisdom, reincarnation of Hylia, righteous heiress to Hyrule, have been tasked by the Goddesses to lead our righteous cause to the Throne, where Hylians can restore Hyrule back to its former glory from whence the first Queen ruled.”

Though her nerves were forcing copious fluids through her system, she nevertheless recited the opening line of her speech without flaws. She was afraid all those hours spent practicing diligently for the past fortnight was all for naught, that her reward would be washed away by her ineptitude in front of a crowd. But she somehow found her secret talent for public speaking within the Nohansen side of her family mid-delivery. How did she know? Her beginning line drew the crowd into an uproarious cheer. Perhaps it was the words themselves, but mid-delivery, she could feel the confidence bubbling like she knew the crowd’s reaction once the last word was delivered with force like one of Impa’s kill shots.

Zelda cleared her throat and read the crowd, awaiting for their applause to soften, awaiting the perfect moment to pick up her speech like awaiting her opponent to leave an opening, “Ever since the days after the rule of Queen Zelda the First, our royal government has grown weaker, refusing to aid our people from the threats all around. Everyday, our allies in Faron face the onslaught of the expanding Moblins, while the Zolas threaten the peaceful Lords of Lanayru, and the Confederation continues to attack our own hard fought lands. And what does our Queen do? She invites the blood suckers, the marauders, and the thieves right into our own homes!”

She drew boos just as she wanted. As she spoke each word, she was beginning to understand why Father organized the words where they were. During rehearsal, the words sounded like nothing more than syllables with filling in silence one after another. As the Princess gauged the reactions of the crowd, she was able to the roles each word played. Now that the enemy had been established, it was time to establish who was going to save the good people of Hyrule.

Ungloving her right hand and revealing her triangular mark left by the goddesses, the Princess proudly and boldly declared her divine mission to the audience, “I will personally eradicate the Confederation. I will crush the wicked Blins of the forest, the Zolas of the swamp,” she felt her heart spike and almost choked out the next line, “and drive out the Gerudo who dwell within the realm. In the name of all that is blessed, I, Princess Zelda, shall ride forth with the royal army and lead the Goddesses’ chosen people to dawn a new age!” Lords and ladies began applauding before Zelda had even punched her final line…

“In name of Hylia’s chosen people, I shall create a new Hyrule for Hylians!”

Her words resonated within the hearts of her audience. Though Father had prepared the speech for her tendos in advance, the Princess had gift wrapped each word and delivered them straight to each Hyborn’s ears. The crowd fell to the ground in silence and bowed before her feet. For the first time, Princess Zelda witnessed how much power she possessed in her right hand.

Father beckoned his loyal subjects to rise. With a pat on her back, he leaned in and whispered a compliment, “Nice delivery. We’ll work on it later, but I'm proud of you.” Then he stood up and began his part.

“Many of you have asked me why you do not see much of my daughter, and that is because I have been preparing the Princess for her role as Queen. Tonight, I would like to display to you what she has worked so hard for.”

The twenty year old Princess smiled like a child. Ever since she first began her tutelage under Impa seven years ago, Father only allowed her to be public during family events several times a year. Otherwise, her everyday life was practically kept in the dark.

“Please make space for the center of the room.” As the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces spread towards the walls, Father guided them to the room’s perimeter, leaving his daughter at the center of the empty circle. “Now, my love, choose any one of our house knights to challenge you in combat.” He motioned for ten of his knights, armed fully with shiny yet skinny, well formed plates and a fearsome halberd long enough to kill a man from three meters away, to kneel in a line before the Princess. They had foolishly volunteered for this thinking this would be a farce, but they had no idea Father had fully permitted the Princess to kill any one that she chose.

Murmurs erupted in response to Father’s reasonable request. “Madness!” cried some, but they simply had no idea what they were in for. This was Father’s great birthday gift to her; this was he meant by showcasing her abilities. As aloof as Father was from ruling his duchy, he knew deep down what his daughter wanted.

The Princess looked amongst her suitable challengers, then recognized the double chin of Princess Frogface’s father hanging underneath his visor. His specific suit of armor was tailored specially by Father’s many expert metalsmiths to fit his rather pudgy figure. Zelda extended her long pointing finger straight at Princess Crystal’s father, “You. I challenge you to combat.”

The knight removed his helmet and revealed the great mustache that connected to the side of his curly brown hair. “I, Sir Dornlon of House Jereme, sworn protector of Duke Nohansen, accept your challenge, Princess Zelda,” he said with dramatic flair, unaware that those were going to be some of his last words. He handed his helmet to his fellow knight beside him and then handed his halberd to the knight on his other side. Without any intention to harm the Princess, he drew his sword and waved it for show.

Princess Zelda closed her eyes and recalled her mother’s single word of power with her mother’s voice, Temperance . Instantly, the muscles in her body instantly released all tension and relaxed as if she were as if she were laying awake. Shaking out the last bit of tension in her neck, she took a deep breath to control her racing her heart and opened her eyes to focus on her enemy. Thoughts raced through her head, such as the estimation of Sir Dornlon’s longsword, the placement of his clumsy footwork, and his carefree, stupid happy-go-lucky smile, while she simultaneously focused on her own heart rate and footwork, for fighting surely was different, though not more difficult, on heels.

These thoughts were the reason why when Sir Dornlon took his first swing at Princess Zelda, she did not budge one bit because she already knew by the time he took his last step before playfully swung the sword at her, the tip of the sword would never reach her upright torso. Even so, the steel did indeed come close to nicking her beautiful skin, drawing gasps from the crowd except Father.

Sir Dornlon pretended to cut the air around the Princess two more times, and then looked at her confused, “Will my princess not move?”

“Will my good knight not strike me?”

“I, I-” he turned to Father for approval and received a firm nod, “On my honor, as a knight, I cannot harm a lady, especially of my liege’s kin.”

“Would that honor mean anything to you if I told you this was your execution,” Father suddenly said furiously enough for everyone to feel the wrath underneath each word, “after betraying the secrets of my family to the pretender on the throne?”

“No!” pleaded Sir Dornlon, “I would never!”

“As say the other nine. It matters not what each of you say anymore. You are to be the example set to remind my court as well as my closest allies standing here in this room, what happens when one betrays not only my trust, but that of the Goddesses as well.”

“Please!” the knight begged on his knees with both hands clasped, “I have loyally served House Nohansen, as have my forefathers for many generations! Please your grace! I beg mercy!”

Father looked at the pathetic man cry before him without the slightest bit of sympathy, “I gave you mercy.” Sir Dornlon picked up his head. “You are given a chance to be legally pardoned, but only if you can manage to cut my daughter even once. Consider this your trial.”

Protests erupted, but none dare speak a word of their thoughts directly to their ruler. Suddenly, Uncle Dorith barreled through the crowd with the help of his great figure and placed his great, hairy hand on Father’s shoulder, “All right, that’s enough of this silliness. There’s no place for a lady in our armies, so what’re ya trying to prove with this?”

Father grinned and gently removed his brother’s hand, “Have faith, little brother. I know exactly what I am doing.” He then nodded to his daughter, who returned the nod, “Commence the trial.”

With snot and tears flowing down his face, Sir Dornlon turned to the Princess, “Please. I beg mercy. I have done no wrong to your family.” His begging was met with only silence except for the sobbing from his family.

“Pick up your sword!” commanded the Princess, “I have waited twenty years of my life for this moment! You will try to cut me down!” As her nerves began to rise again, she unleashed a war cry to expel her blood rush, “AYEEESH!” Silencing the room, she could focus on relaxing better, “Think of this as a way for you to end your legacy as a warrior with a fight.”

Even then, that did not help Sir Dornlon’s trembling. “Okay,” he breathed his last few breaths into his sword, “Goddesses guide my weapon!” He let out a pathetic wail as he charged at the Princess with his sword drawn high.

“Tch,” scoffed the Princess as he drew close for his first serious attack containing the threat of death. Even then, she foresaw the precise moment that the incoming, vertical tip of the sword would cut into her left collar should she choose to stay still, so all she had to do was time the pivot off her front foot and backstep effortlessly out of the way.

This put Sir Dornlon in an awkward position within Zelda’s striking distance. Therefore, it was an absolutely terrible move for the fat knight to attempt another swing at Zelda’s belly, for as his sword hand committed to his intended swinging arc, the faster Princess simply reached out and grabbed Dornlon’s right wrist with her left…

Before delivering a thorough straight, rear fist right into Sir Dornlon’s metal breastplate, sending the poor, heavyweight man soaring into the air and sliding across the marble floors into the group of Father’s guards. “Guh!” when he recovered enough to sit up, everybody gasped and saw the massive dent in the knight’s thick, solid steel breastplate.

“Are you sure you don’t want your Halberd and your helmet?” The Princess teased with her light feet, “I’m not done playing with you yet.” Sir Dornlon followed her good advice and retrieved both from his comrades; however, after putting his helmet on and gripping his long polearm firmly, he was left gasping for every breath.

As he approached, Zelda sensed his intention to stab and twirled out of the way, and when she saw he was going to follow up his whiff with more stabs, she continued dancing out of the way using her well trained footwork to fundamentally form the basis of her maneuvers. Sir Dornlon then attempted a long horizontal swing by twirling the weapon around in one great circular arc, which was easily avoided with a jump backward.

Anticipating the halberd’s axe head coming from above over Sir Dornlon’s head, Zelda contemplated her options. She could step even further back or pivot to the side to avoid the powerful swing. Instead, she took one step inward as soon as the knight swung downward with every intention of plunging the axe’s blade into Zelda’s head. Lifting her left hand, the Princess caught hold of the incoming halberd’s wooden shaft.

Even with only one hand on the shaft, Zelda could overpower Sir Dornlon’s masculine strength in his two hands. With one swift swing of her right hand, she drove the bottom of her fist through the sturdy, ash shaft and severed the axe head completely from the rest of the body. With a nasty, evil smile painted across her face, she flipped the halberd’s head into the air and caught it by flat side of the blade before offering the broken wooden side to the knight to continue fighting.

The knight tearfully and reluctantly grabbed the wooden axe and readied himself one more time. Zelda raised her fist to begin her offensive, but the command of Father exploded throughout the room, “Enough!” Both the Princess and opponent turned towards Duke Eldin in disbelief, “I have changed my mind. You are pardoned.” The Princess scowled and threw the broken weapon against the floor; meanwhile, Father’s audience applauded softly.

“Your mercy,” Sir Dornlon dropped his broken halberd and bowed before the Duke, “is graciously received, your grace!” He touched forehead against the floor as he groveled, “If I have offended my liege in any way, I will mend my ways immediately!”

“Hmph, Sir Merrylan, escort Sir Dornlon beneath the castle and see to it that he mends his ways without a pinky.” Though Sir Dornlon was quiet as Father’s head of the personal guard dragged the man out of the banquet hall, he was more than willing to his pinky for his life, and the crowd applauded the show of mercy. “Tonight is not a night when a Hylian should die. To see what my daughter will do to our enemies,” the King made his way toward the dungeon as well, “Follow me.” Just as he passed by the Princess, he placed his hand on Zelda’s shoulder, “Take the back route. Go get prepared with your mother. I’ll meet you at the arena.”

Zelda nodded and made her way opposite the way Father was going.

Chapter Text

The first thing Rowark’s racing heart wanted him to do when he heard the solemn toll of bells in the early morning was check his newly issued pocket clock, 0600 hours. Once he realized he still had an hour left, his blood rush melted into relief. He had plenty of time to freshen up and make his way to the armory. When he reached the armory doorway, he checked his clock again, 0635 hours.

Instead of an elder Sir Lockett serving as quartermaster this morning, a younger fellow with a full beard and long chestnut hair wearing the red capitan uniform was taking inventory behind the bars. “G’morning!” greeted Rowark.

“Marnin’,” his soothing deep voice combined with his chiseled cheekbones instantly melted Rowark’s heart. His tall posture and broad chest inspired an awe inspiring respect that  “How can I help you today?”

Just keep speaking, and never stop , Rowark wanted to say; instead, he said, “I need a new doublet for the ceremony.”

“Ah! I was expecting you” when the quartermaster lifted his head and locked his sky blue eyes onto Rowark’s, a pinch of bliss and excitement raced through his chest. The sight of a rugged yet amicable knight was the perfect way to start his day. “Rowark, right?”

“That’s correct!”

“Wonderful. Now, how tall would you say you are?”

“About two yards and three palms tall.” Rowark sheepishly yet slightly overexaggerated his height to the complete stranger.

“Hmm. You should fit into our standard issue size well.” He walked into the back and disappeared into a room tucked away in the corner, returning with two folded up pieces fabric, one dark green and the other dark yellow, and a pair of boots. “Try these out. If they fit, they’re yours to check out. I’ll go ahead and register your name to this set. If any one doesn’t fit, come back, and we can exchange one that does.”

“Thanks!” Rowark wanted to stay and talk more with the capitan, but he remembered to check his pocket watch instead. 0645 hours. He hurried back to his room with his new uniform. He threw off his clothes and slipped on his knight’s doublet first, an ocean blue vest made of fine velvet with poofy white sleeves woven with wool. Next he tried on his golden breeches. Pulling them up for his thin legs, he fastened his tight pants before slipping his feet into the brown boots that hugged his upper calf. The shoe size was a bit small, but not unbearable, or so Rowark thought until he began to walk in them.

0652 hours . There was no time to exchange boots to relieve his discomfort. Rowark ran as fast as he could to the foyer and bolted for the main entrance. The oak door proved thicker and heavier than he anticipated as he yanked back on the door, only to budge the door enough for him to slide through the gap.

Outside, the sun had just breached the eastern horizon and was beginning to drive the evening’s chill away from the city. The western courtyard was not as big as he had thought, though supposedly, the north eastern courtyard was thrice as large, and the red ramparts cast its long shadow onto the royal bridge between Skyloft’s western gate and the castle, where he Rowark walked across the pavement to Skyloft’s gate, forgetting that there were people there waiting for him, and immediately felt embarrassed when he felt everyone’s eyes lock onto him. He put his head down immediately to avoid the attention, checking his pocket clock just to pretend he did not notice them. 0655 hours.

A podium and platform were positioned just within Skyloft’s gate, where ten knights, six upper echelons and four ceremonial sentinels, were waiting for Skyloft’s clock to strike at seven. The only person who wore a doublet like his stood in the middle of the pavement leading to the great castle bridge. Moving to the squire with his nose pointed to the ground, he figured standing next to the other similarly dressed person was the best way to avoid attention, but even that did not work.

“Hi! What’s your name?” The gleeful young voice picked Rowark’s head right up, ending up awkwardly face to face with a teenage girl with flowy hair as sunny as her greeting. Her green velvet doublet fit loosely over her thin body. The skin on her beautiful face was too flawless for her to be a soldier, or a commoner for that matter.

Her proximity startled him so much at first he almost forgot his name as he took a step away bashfully, “Oh, um… Rowark. Forkes, no, um, Forester.” He had never felt more foolish as the newly appointed champion of wisdom. “Uh, what’s yours?”

She giggled as she extended her hand for a handshake, “I’m Kitsis Quella. Nice to meet you!”

“Oh! You are of high nobility!” remarked Rowark as he pulled her hand to his lips, unsure if that was how he should proceed. Many soldiers of high noble backgrounds that served under the Queen made sure that the peasants serving alongside them would identify them their full names and house. House Quella was no exception.

Kitsis pulled her hand away immediately, “Not like that. Fourth daughter of a cousin thrice removed from the main branch. Someone once told me that my father had at least a hundred men ahead of him in the line of succession. Anyways, the head of my branch wanted to marry me off, but I wanted to fight in the army instead, and since House Quella doesn’t allow women to serve in their ranks, I joined Her Majesty’s forces just to spite my father when he told me I had no other choice.” Wow. Rowark could not believe how easy it was for her to share her story with him. She just… blurted it out in one sentence. “So none of the shmancy mannerisms of nobility when you’re around me, okay?” Rowark nodded. “What’s your story?”

Trial. Queer. These were the only two words his mind could conjure. “Um…” he came up with about fake names for his family members and listing the names of villages that lay just outside Castle Springbock, but the longer it took for him to decide on details, he realized he was looking more and more awkward trying to come up with a story, “i-it’s not interesting…”

“Not interesting?” asked Kitsis with her eyebrow raised. “You’re telling me a soldier bearing the surname of a peasant who got knighted before reaching adulthood is not interesting?”

Rowark wanted to say no more, but leaving her question unanswered could leave her suspicious about his past. Before he could say anything, the hourly strike of the chapel bells saved him. Once the clock reached seven hundred hours, the capitan with gray hair covering his face rose from his seat.

Judging by the signs of aging and the many colorful layers and pieces decorating his uniform, the headmaster adjusted his wide brimmed hat and slowly made his way to the podium. Squinted eyes made it hard to make direct eye contact with the old man, and his voice carried softly across the morning wind.

“New squires of Her Majesty, the Queen Zelda Ingo, I officially welcome you to Skyloft. You have been hand picked by the Queen herself for demonstrating your valor in battle and your commitment to duty. Now it is my duty as headmaster to train you to lead your brothers and sisters as commanders, just as your commanders have once led you. For generations, the knight commanders who distribute Her Majesty’s orders have formed the backbone of the army, and now, that responsibility falls upon your shoulders.”

“As a soldier, only your obedience was demanded of you. From today onward, all your strength, wits, and valor will be demanded of you. However, great responsibilities are not without its rewards. As you already know, you now own your very own bedchamber with its very own address, which means you are property owners. In addition, you will receive a daily wage of two rupees per day,” that was an absurd amount of money to Rowark. He was so used to the blue rupee at the tendo’s end that he assumed that was going to be his wage as a knight, “which will immediately increase to five rupees per day upon graduation.” His jaw dropped. THAT was an absurd amount.

“Also bestowed before the start of academy will be one set of mail and plates and one gambeson from the armory. Skyloft’s first class will not begin until the first tendo of winter, so during this period of break, you will be assigned to squire for a veteran knight. You will steward for them, clean after them, but most importantly, learn from them. So without further ado, I would like to announce the knights who will be your liege from now until the start of Skyloft.

“Sir Kitsis Quella. You will be squiring for Sir Berlon Bosphoramus. Come up here to receive your sword and shield from your liege commander.” The young woman hopped onto the podium like a little child, her long, bright, and golden hair reflecting brilliantly against the morning sun, and stood before her new master, while envy flowed through Rowark’s veins. He would have killed to squire for his former commander.

“Sir Rowark Forester. You will be squiring for Sir Mawar.” Ice replaced his envy. Rowark’s heart almost stopped. “Come up here to receive your sword and shield from your liege commander.”

Rowark didn’t want to. Since his visit from the Goddess of Wisdom last night, which he was still unsure whether it happened or not, he had begun to feel like his life was bouncing between unseen forces like a used tool. Taking a step towards that podium meant surrendering his fate to an ambiguously moral man. This was what he wanted. Sir Mawar had must have arranged this with nothing more than the stroke of a quill.

With a heavy sigh, he finally walked toward the podium. Entering from the side, he stepped onto the platform but avoided Sir Mawar’s smug glance for as long as he could until he was staring straight down into the judge’s black boots and the bottom of his blue cape. When he lifted his eyes, the sight he beheld almost made him forget about the man standing directly in front of him.

Six palms from top to bottom and about five from left to right, the kite shaped shield was the ultimate symbol of the Hylian knight’s might. Two digits of silver covered the edge of the shield, while the rest of the interior space was blue. Lastly, the red mark of the royal crest under the yellow triforce symbolized the true owner of the shield. Wherever each knight carried his shield, he became a symbol for the extension of the Queen’s will. Underneath was a short sword with a silver hilt, leather grip, and a dark brown scabbard. This was the ceremonial sword given to every knight in Her Majesty’s army. It was a few palms shorter than the longsword favored by most men-at-arms, but it was meant to compliment the shield lying on top.

Rowark did not lift his eyes past the shield and sword as he received them into his arms. He refused to look Sir Mawar in the eye, to acknowledge his victory. He was not looking forward to following him whatsoever. “Come,” said the veteran knight suddenly. When he picked up his head, Sir Mawar was on his way off the podium back to the pavement where Sir Berlon and Kitsis were awaiting him. Symbolically following Sir Mawar, Rowark hurried to the front of the dais, where he stood face to face with his new supervisor just as Kitsis did to hers.

“Kneel,” said the headmaster. Kitsis did as was told without hesitation, and Rowark followed her example after a hefty groan and great hesitation. “Wear your shield.” Rowark fitted his left arm through the leather straps and grabbed the metal bar at the end. “Draw your sword.” He did so with his right hand and then pointed the blade sideways. This ceremonious pose that Rowark held was the traditional way a lord swore fealty to both his liege and the Queen.

“Now solemnly swear this oath of service before the Goddesses. I, state your name…”

“I, Rowark Forester… ” he recited after the headmaster, “swear this oath before the Goddesses, my liege, and my kingdom. Through my service and my learning, I will defend Hyrule’s lands with leadership. My obedience to my master will be my guide. My perseverance through the darkness shall be my shield. My daring to go above and beyond shall be my sword. My master shall guide my service. My faith shall direct my conduct. My Queen shall protect my authority. From now until I draw last breath, I act in the name of Queen Zelda and Hyrule. May the Golden Goddesses observe my homage to Her and rule over me with power, wisdom, and courage.”

“You may put away your sword.” Rowark stood up but kept his eyes directed at the headmaster. “The ceremony has come to a close. Before you are dismissed, make sure to find time to schedule a meeting with the armory for tailoring. Stay ever vigilant in these dark times, for as you may have heard the news: the princess has passed away to the next life.” There was a brief silence that followed the shocking revelation, but though it felt long, the headmaster continued after the brief moment, “Your assistance in the coming election will be most critical. Go with courage.”

On cue, all knights placed their right first over their heart and canted in unity, “As the Hero did.”

Rowark sighed and humbly accepted his fate.

“Not what you expected?” asked Sir Mawar.

“At first, I thought you were here just to witness the ceremony, or congratulate me. But after everything I’ve seen in the past two days,” he exhaled feeling like a fool, “I really should not have been surprised to discover why you were really here.”

“Hmph. You’re learning.”

Rowark hung his head, “Clearly I have a lot more to learn. I suppose that’s why you chose me.”

“Teaching you the ways of politics was the primary reason for this relationship.”

“And to watch over me.”

“Obviously.”

“Any more reasons?” Sir Mawar silently smirked in response. Only time would answer that. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

Rowark thought it odd that Sir Mawar was officially called by that full name. “You don’t have a surname. Did you grow up without a-?”

“Yes,” answered Sir Mawar, “left at the doorstep of an orphanage, and raised by rats and thieves.” Just like that, Rowark’s opinion of his new master flipped into deep respect and understanding. His humble background perfectly explained why he was comfortable resorting to bounty hunters and others who operated beyond the law to achieve his goals. But that still left this particular question unanswered, was he doing this for the good of the realm? There was no way for Rowark to find out other than to study under Sir Mawar. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Rowark supposed. “Any more questions, or may I begin?”

“No more questions,” Rowark bowed. “My apologies, sire.”

“Under my tutelage, you need never to apologize for asking anything.” The old man stroked his silver beard as he turned his face castle-ward, “We begin tomorrow promptly at 0600 hours. I expect you to be fully dressed and ready in my study before the castle bells ring in the sixth hour.”

“Yes, sire.”

“And one more thing. When you get the first chance, I want you to begin researching the history of House Nohansen. They will be at the center of this upcoming election.”

Rowark shuddered at the thought of delving into politics. “Yes, sire.”

“You are dismissed for the day."

When he started walking back toward Skyloft, Kitsis caught up to him. “I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, you wanna grab some with me?”

What Rowark really wanted to do was to visit the chapel again and see if Nayru would speak to him once again. There were just too many questions still chiseling away his mind for him to ignore. He thought about the task bestowed upon him by Sir Mawar and the immense hours necessary to prepare for the upcoming election. He pondered briefly on Nayru’s words about acquiring aid for his holy yet impossible mission, and then his stomach rumbled loudly, “Sure, I’m famished.”

Excited by his acceptance of her invitation, she hopped and skipped with joy, “All right, you’re going to tell me all about yourself!”

Rowark grinned, “Only if I get to ask questions about you.”

“Deal!” she ran ahead and grabbed Rowark by the wrist. “Come on!”

Chapter Text

Wake up. At first, Link could not discern if the voice was coming from a dream or from Shoe. Someone’s coming your way!

Link jolted awake in a small alleyway, a hidden pit right next to the city walls where few walked. He had spent most of the past couple of hours looking for a place on the south side to hole in and rest. It had certainly been a long day, and he needed the rest. 

Where? If someone was walking in his direction with intent, they were looking for him. He looked around to see who it was, and when he did not detect any movement, he listened for footsteps. None.

So by the time the teenage boy approached him from behind, Link genuinely had no awareness of his presence. Whoever this Link was, he was seasoned and good, “That was some real good work you did back there!”

Link drew a knife as he turned around and pointed it straight at a face that made his own skin crawl, “Who are you?”

Unafraid, the teenager raised his hands, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m a Link, just like you!”

Link peered behind the older boy’s messy frock of hair to see if anyone was behind him. He could have been anywhere between thirteen to fifteen, but his squinty eyes and stretched grin made it hard to tell exactly.

“Nope! Just me!” The stranger’s smile was so strong Link could not tell if he was forcing it or genuinely like that, making it nearly impossible to read anything beyond his facade. With no hints of fear at the sight of a knife, Link could at least guess he had joined many gangs to survive the city.

And? Link asked his companions.

“He’s right. There’s no one.” This Link was walking a fine line between bold and foolish.

Link could not help his suspicion, “What do you want?”

“Well, I sought after you after I watched you take out all those bannermen!” Not a hint of concern in the stranger’s voice. Whoever he was, he came here with a purpose.

“You don’t know what you saw,” Link deflected. “And even if it were so, why would you want to talk to me?”

The stranger leaned in unbothered by the blade, “Every Link in the block saw that. I’m sure you’ve lived in the bowels long enough to know that nothing escapes a Link’s eyes and ears.” Link glowered at his sound reasoning. He had always expected a reputation to follow him, which was why he picked up and moved so much.

“And if you did what I think I saw, I might be able to offer you a good opportunity for your capabilities.”

Link spent a quiet minute to consider the invitation. Normally, he worked alone. However, he could sense, since the announcement of the heir’s death, there would certainly be as much turmoil as there would be opportunities. There were also many risks that Link was not willing to take. “Not interested.”

“Why’s ‘at?” the stranger pressed cautiously. “You’re clearly good at what you do, why not do it comfortably?”

“No need,” Link easily rejected. Dirty riches always complicated his life, “I can get by.”

“You can do better than get by,” the stranger extended his hand above Link’s blade as if going for a handshake.

Link remained unmoved, “You’re not exactly sitting in riches either.”

“At least I get three meals and a safe place to sleep.”

Consistent food and shelter was a convincing argument. Bad food was preferable to no food, and a leaky roof was preferable to no roof. Still, Link wanted to know more about what these “opportunities” were before committing to anything.

Covered in drab tatters and wearing a worn pair of sandals, the stranger certainly did not come from any wealthy kind of organization, and any organization had opportunities for a Link who had just killed almost a score of armed men was likely criminal in nature. Though the jobs were likely no different from what he did before, Link had never entertained the idea of joining a gang before.

And if this was indeed a gang, then that opened a whole new world of questions. Link had no idea how big or small this outfit was, nor who their allies and enemies were. The stranger wore nothing that could give away his affiliation.

“You not only get a place to sleep,” added the stranger, “you also get people to watch your back while you sleep!”

“And people who stab you in the back while you sleep,” Link countered, still aiming the knife forward. “You still haven’t answered my first question.”

“What’s ‘at?”

“Who are you?” Link took a step forward until the tip was a mere fingertip away from the stranger’s chest.

Retracting his extended hand and respecting Link’s space, “I already told you,” he attempted to diffuse the tension without concern at all. “I’m a Link like you, but if you wanted a name, everyone calls me Hrolf.”

“And who does ‘Hrolf’ represent?”

Hrolf shrugged, “An underground, social gathering of sorts.”

“A gang.” So that’s what this was about, recruitment.

“Yes, a gang, if you want to be so blunt about it.”

“I don’t work any other way.”

“All right, that's fair. It’s a good quality.

“What gang?”

“One of many.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.” Link threatened, “Do you know what I do to make a living?”

“Maybe. If you are the bounty hunter that I am thinking of, then I would say I’ve heard people call you Scar . And if you are who I think you are,” the Link delivered the next sentence with utmost honesty, “then I can humbly confess that I could never best you in single combat, especially not after witnessing that.”

“Hmph,” Link put away the knife in his trousers. “I don’t have a reputation like that.” At least he hoped he didn’t. He took many steps to prevent a reputation, such as moving to new districts for work twice a season and wearing a mask whenever he was on the job.

“Oh my, if you did not before then you will very soon. I can tell you’re a person who’s been running from his reputation for a long time. You know how to pick a good vantage point, and I bet you picked this specific corner just to keep an eye on anyone coming through the alley.” Clearly Link didn’t think an intruder would crawl through the abandoned building quietly just to surprise him.

“People don’t like Links like me. It’s safer to avoid them.”

“Sure, but people uphill don’t like Links in general. Here in the wall, no one’ll care who you even are.” Hrolf was certainly correct in that regard. Links roamed the public streets more frequently than they did further uphill, and there were virtually none north of the Great Curtain. “A person with your reputation could go far in my group.”

“I don’t care for high positions in a gang. That’s how you get killed.” Comfort was not worth the price of being a target. If there weren’t people underneath conspiring to ascend the underground hierarchy, then there were goons like Link sent by the Crown to kill you.

“Ah, forgive me. Let me put this more simply then, in a way I’m certain you can appreciate.” Link took an interest in the stranger’s mocking tone, “The heir to the throne just passed, and there will be a power struggle. That’s indisputable. There will be a lot of fighting on the streets. That also is indisputable. The question is, do you want to have people by your side when the fighting inevitably comes?”

“Okay, say the Zellinks come my way. Who would have my back?”

“Only what will soon be the largest network of underground resources being established all over,” the way Hrolf gestured seemed to encompass the entire city.

“And what can this network grant me that I can’t find on my own?”

“Protection.”

Link shook his head, “Pass.”

“Three meals a day.”

“Pass.”

“The antidote to marking smoke.”

Link narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” a cheeky grin slowly stretched across Hrolf’s face. “You were a notorious boogeyman to the biggest gang lords in the city, and you’re now on the run from the law and hiding out here, so call it an educated guess.”

This would be a lucky but dangerous shortcut. He could find work temporarily, but that would not last him more than a year before his hosts would start asking questions. Since there was no way for him to find legitimate work, he would have to resort to illegal work anyway. Hrolf’s sharp wit and unnerving smile had won the day.

“All right then,” Link capitulated, “who do I talk to, then?”

Hrolf turned around, “Follow me…” and marched down the alley back the way Link used to get there.

“Link, are you serious?”

Yeah, I am, Link thought back to his new companions.

Hrolf strolled onto the main street hugging the city wall toward the main gate, and after about three blocks of walking, he abruptly entered a tavern, The Wet Alley. Its seafaring themed decoration on the exterior looked innocent considering it was a spot that authorities knew harbored the famous Zorka gang.

“Link! We can’t help you if you go in!” Shoe warned just before Link crossed the threshold.

Unfortunately, Link did not have much time to reconsider, Yeah, that’s fine. Just keep an eye on my stuff.

The spacious inside held an eclectic collection of patrons, with an obviously Zora majority. Friendly chatter filled the warm atmosphere, save the madman drinking at the bar and raving about a giant flying fish. Hrolf waltzed up to the gigantic guard obstructing the entry to the door past the bar and whispered something in Zora, “The water is not wet.”

The armed Zora grunted with a nod, “Everything else gets wet.”

Hrolf gestured at Link, “He’s with me.” With another nod, the guard stepped aside and allowed the boys to continue past.

Once through the door, they entered a dark corridor leading downstairs into a busy tunnel system, with footpads and couriers criss-crossing along underground roads. When the blue cloaks clamped down on the streets a few years back, this must have been where the criminals must have hidden. How long must it have taken them to carve out a tunnel wide enough to fit four people running side by side? It must have been a matter of years.

The answer to that question became even more elusive the long the two boys traversed through the winding tunnels. By the time Link had sworn they had been walking for an hour, he genuinely felt lost. He must have seen hundreds of footpads pass by him, which gave weight to what Hrolf had claimed about the largest network being built. After walking an hour, Link felt like he could have been anywhere in the city. Such an expansive system would allow anyone to be able to hit a house in the wealthier districts and be back by dinner.

Link figured they were close when Hrolf began making more and more turns into shorter and tighter corridors, and when they finally entered a basement of another establishment, Link immediately recognized the two and a half yard tall Zora wearing leather equipment. “Ozili!” the aquatic man greeted Link with the Zora word for Scar. “It is good to see you again!”

Link cleared his throat to summon his best Zora, “Master Makka, it’s good to see you too.”

Master Makka’s massive, clammy hand clasped Link’s smaller hand, summoning a respect for maybe the only person Link considered worthy. “Please, ask for anything. Zervao! Prepare today’s stew and a hot bath for Scar!”

“Actually…” Link knew he would have to be known as something other than Link at some point if he were to live among them, and he did not want to be known as Scar anymore. He wanted a new start that was blessed by the memory of his old friend.

“... Call me Topah.”

Chapter Text

The Princess emerged from Impa’s bedroom after donning her battle dress: a suit of armor covering her chest, shoulders, and shins made of the finest Red Lion steel, and a dress underneath made of a fancy blend of red fabric with a split skirt. Though mother and daughter walked through the underground tunnel to the arena entrance in silence, Zelda’s mind was far from silent. Summoning every lesson learned from her training beginning from basic mechanics to systems and strategies for every possible scenario, the Princess threw combinations of punches into the air all the way until they reached the enormous entrance.

“All of our training,” reminded Mother, “all of our lessons will be shown to Hyrule for the first time. Do not withhold anything.”

Zelda took a deep breath and absorbed Impa’s message, “Yes mother.”

“Control the distance.” Zelda nodded.

“Establish his timing.” Zelda nodded.

“Direct his position.” Zelda nodded.

“And lastly, what is our mantra?”

The Princess uttered the spell, “Temperance,” engaging an automatic loosening of her body. She released any tension stubbornly clinging to her muscles until all she could feel were her bones and her pounding heart.

Then, Mother placed both her hands on Zelda’s cheeks and began squeezing, “Do you feel it?”

Zelda closed her eyes and focused on a small heat growing from her mark, “Yes.”

“His power.” Then the warm energy surged up her arm and spread into the rest of her body down to her bones.

“Yes,” she felt an unstoppable fire building within her. It was a power that Father assumed was the blessing of the Goddess Nayru. But both Impa and the Princess knew, and maybe even Father, she derived her capabilities from someone else.

With a deep breath, Impa touched her forehead against Zelda’s, “Then guide his power to victory! Become the Princess of Power!”

The Princess returned her Mother’s look with the fierce will to win before marching up the stairs.

As she climbed the dark steps, so too did her heart as she anticipated the many eyes that were going to be drawn to her. Though she had regularly fought inside this very arena, the Princess had never done so in front of a crowd, let alone a crowd of major figureheads in the Eldin Duchy and the kingdom.

Once she stepped into the giant, cavernous arena, she could not have felt smaller. The large crowd of nobility about to witness her debut as Princess Commander Zelda Viskard Nohansen made the basement arena feel as grandiose as the stakes riding on this fight. Though remained calm and still, she was trembling internally as she stood at the center of a wooden platform.

“My Lords and Ladies,” Father started his speech with the familiar dramatic bravado, “for years, our people, Hylia’s chosen people, have struggled to take back the lands inhabited by the savage Confederacy. For years, weak leadership has stifled our superior forces from retaking Hyrule’s rightful lands.”

A loud click started the platform’s descent into the fighting pit below.

“But no longer. Today, I demonstrate to you, the new future of Hyrule’s leadership.”

Though Uncle Drake was wise not to express his worry too loudly, the Princess could still overhear him, “Is it wise to put your only viable candidate for the throne in serious danger?”

“Relax,” Father brushed his brother’s concern away and placed a solid hand on her uncle’s shoulder, “I would not arrange this spectacle if I could not personally guarantee total victory.”

“Be that as it may,” replied Uncle Dorith with equal unease, “whom will she be fighting?”

Father let the sound of the rising portcullis answer his brother’s question. Once the gate was raised the whole way, the ground began to shake periodically, as if something massive was approaching from the darkness. The cheers turned into silence. Though the audience was safe from the carnage below, that did not mean they still did not feel the fear coming.

Then from the shadows emerged a mountainous foot, followed by a body with the muscle mass of three grown Gorons, and lastly followed by a head that extended the Goron’s height past two yards tall easily. With white tattoos covering his body from neck to ankle, the mighty Goron stood proudly and spat on the ground.

“My Lords and Ladies, I present our challenger,” Father extended his hand to dramatically introduce Zelda’s opponent, “hailing from the village of Gokoharra, their fiercest warrior! Tundakem!”

The cheers turned into gasps from their lord’s proclamation. “Are you mad, brother!?” yelled Uncle Dorith over the chaos, “I lost ten men just trying to drag him into the pits! I cannot sit idly while you throw our only chance at the throne down ther-!”

Father returned his marshall’s response with a silencing glare. The physically bigger man froze in submission to his elder brother’s age and rank and reluctantly watched the fight about to take place.

Father ignored his marshall completely, “Tundakem of Clan Gokoharra, I hereby grant you the following trial. Should you best my one and only daughter in single combat, I grant you the freedom to return to your home.”

Gasps erupted at once. From their point of view, it did indeed just look like a petite woman was facing a monster almost twice her height and thrice her girth, but these poor fools had absolutely no idea what they were in for.

The Goron spit on the ground, “HA! After crushing the skulls o’ ye puny soldiers, ya ask me to fight one o’ ye girls? Do ya mean to insult me?” Zelda could feel his arrogance seething through his teeth. “Mah fists have crushed ye armor like butter! I’ve ground ye people down ‘til they became seasoning for my soup! If ya really think y’are truly tough, ya better come down here and face me, man-to-man, leader-to-leader! But ye Hylian ways were meant for cowards, for ya’d rather hide behind your stones and instead send ye weakest to fight! Ya and ye people have…”

All while Tundakem was focused on insulting Father and the Hylian people, the Princess was focused on the details of her opponent’s physical traits and concocting strategies to use. Like most Gorons she had fought previously in this arena, he had a longer reach than she did, so she had to take advantage of his pride to get close. Though she wanted to assume she was faster than him, all it took for him to beat her was one, well-timed punch she did not see coming, so caution was key until she determined his rhythm.

“… weapons mean nothing to me and ma warriors! Ye blades cannae scratch us, ye spears and arrows are useless against us, and ye horses cower before the heat of Death Mountain! Ye people have no place here on our sacred lands! Go back to the sweet green pastures from whence you came, where you send your little girls to do men’s work!”

“HEY!” interrupted Zelda. “You going to yammer all day, or are you going to fight me?”

“Quiet girl, this is a matter between men!” the Goron warrior spat on the ground. “This don’t concern ya.”

“As Castle Nohansen’s champion, I believe it does concern me.”

“Haaah!” unleashed the mighty warrior, “I killed at least twenty while they tried to lock me up here! Ya really think ya have a chance?”

A grin crept onto Zelda’s face, “My Father doesn’t do anything unless he can guarantee victory. So you tell me.”

“Haha that’s more like it!” Tundakem laughed heartily, “Well then, little girlie, the offer of freedom stands as it is. Nothing personal.”

The ground rumbled as he closed the distance with an aggressive rush. If this is all he has to offer, this’ll be over in a minute . Her eyes focused on the Goron’s power right hand. She readied herself into the traditional Gerudo stance, hips angled, both hands up, and simply waited for him to wind up for his first punch as Gorons usually did.

However, Tundakem suddenly planted his right foot in front before winding up his left hand, catching Zelda off guard for a split heartbeat, giving her virtually no backup plan in case her opponent’s power hand was his left instead.

She immediately stepped backward to evade the punch, a bad maneuver that briefly left her vulnerable; however, she quickly restored balance onto the tips of her feet and hopped out of the way of Tundakem’s follow up hook to the body, an effective combination that Impa had also taught Zelda. Had the Princess attempted to stand her ground and block his left, he most certainly would have driven his right hand into her left rib cage. Hmph, no wonder he’s supposedly better than the rest. The audience watched with tense silence.

Now that she knew that his left hand was his preferred power hand, she could begin studying his unorthodox stance. With every punch Tundakem threw at her, her eyes picked up more significant tells of her opponent’s intention to strike. Of course, with a tell as obvious as a windup, Princess Zelda not only had enough time to defend, she had enough time to run options through her head. Bobbing and weaving past each life-threatening attack, she could slip in and out of his range at her will.

Exhaustion began to plague Tundakem’s attacks. “If you’re,” he threw an uppercut, then a hooked punch at her chin, and whiffed on both, “gonna fight me,” he tried again with a left hook right hook combination which was too easy to duck underneath, “like a man,” he even tried a overhand left, a backwards thrown fist, and a second power punch to no avail, “you should,” no matter what punch he threw at her, “take a punch,” his hands would hit nothing but air, “like a man!” As her comfort slipping in and out of her opponent’s reach increased, so too did the cheers from the audience.

Zelda waited for Tundakem to throw another power punch, and when he did, she planted her feet into the ground, held the side of her head whilst tucking her elbow, and twisted her torso inward towards the punch before absorbing the entirety of the force from the Goron’s mighty fist into her arm.

The thunder-like impact felt like a horse crashing into Zelda and aroused horrified shrills from the audience. But once the resounding clap of rocky knuckles against flesh was over, Zelda’s feet slid only a few feet backward but her blocking form did not budge one bit.

“Like this?” she taunted, before turning her hips and returning a fierce counter up into the Goron’s chin.

The impact of hard, stone skin felt like cheese against her hardened knuckles. Her uppercut launched Tundakem into the air, who landed with a painful scowl on his face.

With his pride wounded, Tundakem began to fight more desperately, heavily grunting with each punch, so the Princess decided to pour salt in his wound. When Tundakem threw a long left, Zelda ducked under and threw her right to his exposed gut; when he threw a lead right hook, Zelda bobbed underneath and responded with a sharp right hand into his face; when he threw another rear straight, Zelda slipped the fist and countered with her own power shot.

The more Zelda evaded and countered, the more frustrated her opponent became; the more frustrated he became, the more predictable he became; the more predictable he became, the easier it was for her to evade and counter. and the raucous jeers from the crowd served as a catalyst for the Goron warrior’s cyclical path to defeat.

When Tundakem finally realized that his opponent was punishing him every time he threw a sluggish attack, he began to initiate defense in fear of getting hit, giving Zelda permission to apply pressure. Having pinpointed the timing of his punch down to the hair’s sliver of a single heartbeat, she was in no danger anymore, so she began throwing calculated combinations to guide his defenses, and therefore his openings.

She jabbed with her lead hand repeatedly so that Tundakem was forced to cover up the front of his face and, what she was intending, his eyesight.

As soon as he thought he was safe, the Princess roared, “Raah!” unleashing a monstrous right hand that devastated the side of his body.

Upon impact, several pieces fell off his flesh, leaving an inward dent, causing him to keel over in pain. He dropped both elbows to protect his body from any further painful blows, which certainly protected him against Zelda’s left body punch, but left his head wide open for the Princess to finish her combination with a hooked rear hand into Tundakem’s cheek.

Her opponent’s defense had so many openings that Zelda eventually stopped creating opportunities for critical hits and instead just threw her hands at whatever openings her opponent was giving her. Whenever he covered the front of his face, he left the side of his head open; whenever he defended his side of his face, his chin was open; whenever he tried to cover up his whole face, his body was wide open.

Of course, she eyed Tundakem’s exposed legs from the beginning, preparing for a final attack that would end the fight. Thus far, Zelda had kept her opponent’s defenses focused on his head and body.

So when the Princess stepped to the side and lifted her right leg in preparation, Tundakem had no idea she was going to hit low until her crushing kick destroyed his leg and forced him to take a knee. And without giving him a chance to get back up to his feet, Zelda decided to add flair for the audience by spinning around, lifting her foot high, and planting her heel squarely on the Goron’s face.

The fiercest applause erupted from the knights as they watched their princess single handedly knock out a Goron warrior admittedly larger than any one than she had ever faced. “I’m not done yet!”

“Princess! Temperance! That’s enough for tonight!” Lord Nohansen tried to calm his daughter…

…to no avail. “You!” Zelda pointed to one of the dungeon guards, “Bring me four more!”

The audience, now composed only of men who had stayed to watch the carnage, hailed their champion, “Four More! Four More! Four More!”

Uncle Dorith laughed over the bloodthirsty crowd, “Nay! Brother, she’s getting warmed up! Look at the men, they’re having a spot o’ fun watchin’ some good ol’ vengeance for our fallen.”

The Princess looked back at Father for his approval, who returned her bloodlust with a nod. The noise within the arena rose to deafening levels when their liege lord let the fights continue.

And so as a consequence, four additional Goron prisoners, all shorter than Tundakem but equally as fearsome, or weak in Zelda’s eyes, stepped into the ring. Immediately, they tended to their injured brother, helping him back up to his feet.

Only when Tundakem stood limply did Zelda truly get a chance to see the damage she had done to him. Divots were dug all over his body, expanding and contracting violently with his rapid, shallow breaths. The leg kick she had delivered to his left thigh had bent his left leg inward. His cheeks and eyes were misshapen, and his jaw hung loosely as his gut coughed out his molten innards, something the Princess got used to seeing by this point.

Tundakem wiped his mouth and pushed through all the damage. “I’m all right, Goro,” he rallied to his feet, “Now let’s kill that she-demon!”

“I’m with ya!” The Gorons put their fists together, a symbol of their choice between mutual cooperation or mutual destruction. “For the Mountains!”

One Goron was enough to test her strength. Five Gorons at once would suffice to test her speed.

The one who threw the first punch needed to be taken out as quickly as possible. Zelda waited for the first one to attack, and then threw her own cross as she slipped past the incoming punch. As soon as she connected with the face, she had no time to follow up that attack; instead, she disengaged and backed away from the other three flanking her.

As they maneuvered to gain superior positioning against their one opponent, the Princess interrupted their tactic by feinting a jab at the one running around her right, catching him by surprise and causing him to keep his guard high, and following that up with a fatal right kick into the side of his gut, dropping the poor fellow onto the floor clutching his belly.

Because she had caught the other flanking Gorons off guard, it had taken them a heartbeat to respond to their fallen brother, giving Zelda plenty of time to turn around and begin circling around the Goron to her left.

Frozen in place, they lined up perfectly for Zelda to close in on her opponent in front and focus only on the one, while his brother had to move around to be useful.

She launched her rear hand into two blocking arms and then twisted her loaded hips to unleash Ganondorf’s power into the side of the belly. As he folded his elbow down to protect his body, Zelda then followed up with a crushing uppercut to the chin, and finished by unleashing all her might into the face, knocking him into the floor.

That left one prisoner standing and Tundakem, who was using the time bought by the other prisoners to recover. The Princess initiated with a hook to the side of the prisoner’s head to coerce her opponent to open his defense to the front of his face. Suckered into the trap, the Goron dropped to the ground like a rag doll.

The first opponent that attacked and fell was just getting up after Zelda had beaten the others, but it was to no avail as Zelda pounced on him like a cat on a mouse. The other four tried as best as they could to fight on their feet for as long as they could, but they each ended up becoming naught more than living punching bags. The Princess brutally beat each prisoner’s face until it was unrecognizable.

When Zelda was finished beating all five, only Tundakem was left alive.

The humbled warrior had fallen to his knees while his exhausted lungs heaved to supply his exhausted flesh. “End it and make it fast,” he asked of her, in a manner meant for a warrior to another.

Zelda spat on his face, “No. You live to fight another day.” Then she lifted her foot to gently push the Goron to the ground.

Surrounded by five Goron bodies, the Princess turned to her audience and lifted her arms to confirm her victory. Every lord, knight, and servant watching the fight beamed with pride for their champion.

Showered by their praise, she felt as if she was in the right place at the right time. This was the greatest gift Father had given her: learning that she was born to lead. As her champion’s platform slowly lifted her out of the pit, she could hear the remarks coming from her Father’s men, “Could you imagine her leading us against the Morons instead of her idiot brother?” “No one’ll resist us anymore!” “I still can’t believe we are blessed with the Triforce of Wisdom!” Even Uncle Dorith was having a good time celebrating with his men.

The Princess raised her fist into the air, “For the Zellink Alliance!”

“All hail the Princess!” the crowd organically and called back out to her.

While the Princess walked by her father, she noticed a great grin across his lips. Father was absolutely delighted. Where Prince Link had failed to conquer the Death Mountain range in the name of the Nohansens, Princess Zelda was going to make history and seat a Nohansen on the throne for the first time.

Hungrily, she barreled towards her prize for the night: Prince Crowdley, the Hylian beauty who led daring rescues of knights deep within enemy territory. His wide, baby eyes locked onto hers, and suddenly the Princess knew that the man no longer cared about his arranged wife. Tonight, he was hers.

She pulled his hand from the crowd and led him down the long, dark tunnel back to the castle surface, but not before stopping him in the middle while they were alone to plant a long and powerful kiss against his wide lips just to make sure he knew where they were going.

Chapter Text

The old scribe chuckled at Miro Miro’s attempt to wrap her head around the Hylian government’s complex hierarchy, “Oho! That’s an excellent way to put it!” His hairless head and saggy wrinkles reflected not only his many trials through his life, but also his greatest sins.

When she asked him why he chose to live out the rest of his days as a penal squire for the past twenty two years, he unleashed a dark, personal tale that haunted her down to her core. Afterall, Miro Miro merely discovered this old man sitting in a hidden desk in the castle library, copying written books onto empty pages in another.

Never in Miro Miro’s entire existence did she ever think she would befriend a thief, a murderer, or a rapist, nor someone who was once all three. Had Brother Tivom not been so forthcoming about himself, she would have never guessed he had committed such horrible acts in the past. But something about his sincerity in letting his service to the Goddesses become the greatest meaning he had found in his life, gave Miro Miro cause to trust the convicted criminal. Spending the last tendo beside a kindhearted monk really helped the vast castle feel like a cozy home.

“But, why make a House of Lords for eight people and a separate House of Commons for, uh, how many people did you say lived there?”

“A total of four hundred and thirty five,” Brother Tivom summoned matter-of-factly from the depths of his vast knowledge of Hyrule’s government and history. His time spent transferring old records to new books had turned him into the best exposure into the inner workings of Hyrule Castle politics.

“But to answer why that is so, I would have to begin a long and sad tale that started a little over fifty years ago, shortly after I was born,” there was nothing nice about the way he delivered his caution.

He turned toward his personal bookshelf and reached for a musty book firmly placed in the middle. “I must confess, the details of the war become foggier as I age. But I know the causes and outcomes as well as any.”

“A war?” asked Miro Miro, not liking where this tale was headed, nor the dark, spooky corner of the library that made their conversation feel even more grisly.

“Indeed,” he lamented, “one which claimed the lives of over a hundred thousand young men, and hundreds of thousands more innocent people.”

Sadness surged through her body. Such an incomprehensible amount of death could only warrant one question, “... Why?”

The old man opened the aging tome and flipped through a few pages, kicking up a cloud of dust with each turn until he landed on a picture of two men swinging swords at each other in front of a woman who was presumably the Queen, “The war erupted over a argument in parliament, in which the Lord of Red Lions accused the Queen’s father, the Lord of Farore, of installing a corrupt court loyal to his House.”

“So…” interrupted Miro Miro, who needed a minute to parse the information, “so people fought, and killed each other because of… an argument?”

The long look he gave her as he gathered his thoughts almost scared Miro Miro, “Long story short, yes.”

Miro Miro could not decide whether to feel anger over the obstinate pettiness of the Hylians, or sadness over the way they happily accepted fighting to the death over something so seemingly trivial.

“Aye,” Brother Tivom flipped the page, revealing the Queen lifting a sword against six other lords, including the Nohansen lord, “the verbal disagreement turned into a deadly duel between the two lords, and Lord Nohansen struck Lord Sprinbock dead in front of his own daughter. In her rage, the Queen charged Lord Nohansen for murder and treason, but his allies came to his defense, and they declared open war against the throne.”

Because Miro Miro could not fathom defying the Great Deku Tree, she had difficulty imagining a ruler’s subjects declaring war against her.

“Of course,” he added, “The duel was nothing more than a spark that lit the tinders of war, one that orphaned me as a child. The reasons for why thousands of men took up arms against the Queen are quite complex, and would take quite some time to explain every detail in full context.”

There was a long silence as Miro Miro tried to imagine a fight to the death that inspired whole peoples to kill one another. To the hidden villagers of the Kokiri Forest, war was but a horror story meant to scare the children to sleep. But out here, this was a horrid reality that had very unfathomable consequences. Meanwhile, the scribe flipped the empty page and readied his pen by dabbling the tip of the Rok’s feather into the vial of thick ink.

There were so many questions to ask that Miro Miro finally had to ask, “So, what happened?”

“Oho…” Brother Tivom chuckled amusingly, “Are you sure you are ready to handle more of our history?”

“Well, I enjoy listening to you talk, and the way you explain the history makes it easier to understand.”

Brother Tivom laughed heartily, “Excellent! I was hoping it was not boring, or too tragic for you.”

“Well, some of the details still give me shivers,” she replied, “and I’m still having difficulty picturing a hundred thousand people killed.”

“At least,” he corrected, “a hundred hundred thousand.”

“Right. At least a hundred thousand killed. All that death just makes me wonder, what could have possibly encouraged people to hate and kill each other so passionately?”

Brother Tivom put away his pen and flipped many pages closer to the beginning, expelling clouds of dust into the air, where the ink was beginning to fade, but the words were still legible and the pictures illustrative. She saw a map of the kingdom with eight other castles placed in various parts outside of the city.

“Sixty eight years ago,” he began, “the first eight families settled the realm outside the castle city. A ninth family had attempted to settle the Eldin mountains, but their entire settlement mysteriously disappeared without a trace.”

Brother Tivom pointed at an area northeast of the Nohansen settlement. Miro Miro tried her best to imagine a sane Hylian who would want to live near the violently active Death Mountain, but then again, she had never even seen a house made out of stone with her own eyes until now.

“After cultivating the land and attracting migrants over several years, the eight great Houses grew considerably in size and power.”

“What do you mean?” Did they really make castles as mighty as the one she was inside?

“They had fully developed trades and guilds, good farms on fertile land, and the power to summon people to fight for them. In unison, they could summon more forces than the Queen could from her own city!”

“Okay, but why are these families given so much power?”

“The heads of these houses can trace their lineage back to the first incarnation of the Goddess Hylia, which gives them a divine right to rule, and many people are willing to follow that,” it was hard to tell from the response whether Tivom truly believed that or not. Miro Miro supposed there was no arguing against the Golden Goddesses, but something about this “right to rule” did not feel quite right to her.

Turning the page, Brother Tivom illustrated the various routes that stretched between the cities, “After a few years, each of the great Houses controlled all the natural resources in the kingdom, and the craftsmen in the city became dependent on the great Houses for cheap materials.”

Brother Tivom pointed to the north side of the map representing the Death Mountain range and the Tabantha Mountain range to its west, “The lords of Eldin mined metals, minerals, and stone…”

Then his finger circled around the Great Field at the center of the map, “The lords of Lanayru controlled the Kingdom’s ranches and all trade outside the realm…”

Finally, he pointed to the south around the Lost Woods, “And the lords of Faron harvested lumber and spices.”

Then came the explanation of the armed people, “The more the families produced, the more money they had to hire people to fight for them and guard their caravans.”

“And that… turned into war?”

“Not yet.” Before Brother Tivom turned the page, he pointed out the settlement just south of the capitol, the one labeled Ingo , “House of Ingo, here, produced most of the kingdom’s dairy, and they amassed a fortune by holding the only land in the kingdom capable of sustaining large herds of cattle. But when a plague swept through their lands…”

The next page showed people panicking at their sickly-looking cattle. Those who were not occupied with the health of the dairy were dragging bags of jewels to trade for what little milk and meat they could. “The supply of dairy squeezed the price of milk throughout the land, which of course raised the price of all goods that depended on the milk, which then raised the price of everything else.”

The next page showed the Queen handing bags of rupees to an angry crowd of lords and peasants.

“The Queen’s first response to the rising prices was to provide relief to the people who could no longer afford to live within the city they worked. But to pay for the relief…” Brother Tivom flipped back to the previous page with the trade routes.

“The Queen, whose counsel consisted of men handpicked by her father Lord Springbock, set collection posts along these routes to tax the merchants, who passed the costs eventually onto the other great Houses.” His finger made a wide arc that covered most of the routes between the six houses in the north, but it noticeably fell short of Castle Ingo’s and Castle Springbock’s location in the south.

“Except for these routes here.” His finger followed along the roads connecting Castle Springbock straight to Castle Ingo and then to Hyrule Castle.

“House Springbock and House Ingo had conspired to trade deeply discounted goods while the rest of the kingdom suffered under the Throne’s taxes. And they were able to leverage their low prices for the loyalty of the artisans and the lower nobility.”

The pieces were beginning to align with each other in Miro Miro’s mind. It seemed like they were fighting over power, “And that … led to war?”

The monk humbly sighed, “The worst civil war thus far recorded.”

For a long minute, Miro Miro reluctantly tried to comprehend everything. Over a hundred thousand young lives were lost to this war. Were boys, once as innocent as any other Kokiri child, transformed into killers because someone did not have enough rupees?

“That’s so,” she shook angrily mid-air, “I don’t even know how to describe all this! The more I try to make sense of it, the more tragic the story becomes!”

“The story makes more sense when you understand that these men were just as flawed as their predecessors were.” Miro Miro shuttered at the thought of men in power with the criminality of the past of Brother Tivom, who looked upward in anticipation of redemption from the Goddesses, “Just as I am flawed, still to this day.”

She supposed only a man who had once committed heinous deeds was suited to scrutinize the violent history of Hyrule, “So, how did it end?”

Brother Tivom quickly flipped through the middle of the book, containing colorful illustrations of battles and illustrious men in armor, dressed as though proud to commit heinous acts, “The allied armies of the great houses had besieged the city, but a desperate siege and a heroic defense by Her Majesty’s bravest soldiers and knights forced the allied armies to a stalemate. If you ever want to hear the story of Sir Wallav’s duel against Lord Dusharle Nohansen, the pivotal pinnacle of the war, it is also a fascinating story to tell.”

Miro Miro felt averse to the romanticizing of killing, “Maybe some other time.”

“Very well. After that battle, both sides were low on soldiers and supplies, and without any feasible way to end the conflict one way or another, the surviving lords of the alliance approached the Queen to sign a white peace. The resulting treaty signed between Queen Zelda the Second and the leaders of the eight great houses created the government currently ruling over Hyrule now.”

The ending seemed anticlimactic, but Miro Miro supposed that there was no happy ending to this story. The shortsightedness of Hyliankind, which justified such horrific acts of murder by the thousands, created the current mode of governance, and there seemed to be nothing more than that. “It took good Hylians killing good Hylians to finally create a system everyone was content with, I say optimistically.”

Miro Miro was still trying to visualize the thousands of lives ending. How could neighbors hold such insane animosity for one another that they were willing to kill people by the thousands ? First, she learned from Rowark that people were killed for heresy, whatever that meant. Then, she learned from Link that people were killed because of money, which, to her, was practically unheard of until her arrival to the city. Then, she learned that people were killed because of their twisted perspectives on honor, or duty, or even the Goddesses. All for what?

“So, how does it all work?” Miro Miro had to know if all that death was worth it, hoping the answer was not as stupid as the story was.

“It works exactly how I described it to you earlier. There are now two houses of Parliament, the House of Lords, and the House of Commons. The House of Lords consists of the leaders of the eight great houses, and the House of Commons consists of the leaders of every family that owns land within the city proper. Now, in order for laws to pass Parliament, they must be approved by both houses.”

So that’s why there are eight votes in the House of Lords and four hundred and some in the House of Commons , thought Miro Miro as the pieces of the puzzle began to click, and that’s why there are all these different powers to keep the Queen in check.

Sad as the tale of war was, it was all starting to make some sense to her. There were still many more questions about each of the individual pieces, but she was delighted to finally possess a fundamental understanding of Hylian governance.

However, it still did not explain why so many people still killed each other.

“The other major agreement was how inheritance was to be handled,” Brother Tivom continued. “Prior to the war, the heir to the throne was first selected by the Queen, and then confirmed by Parliament. Now, each House from the House of Lords presents one of their unwed daughters for the House of Commons to choose one out of a possible eight candidates.”

It sounded like such a slight difference in change, but for some reason, Brother Tivom’s answer sounded unconvincing.

“How do you feel about it?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly for an awkward heartbeat and sighed, “It is no secret that the system is crumbling once more.”

His answer shocked her to the core. Were all those deaths truly in vain? “How?”

“Half of the great lords of Hyrule have formed a coalition together, calling themselves the Zellink Alliance, banding together to oppose the Queen’s hard iron will.”

“But she’s the leader of all Hyrule! How could they even oppose her?”

“When the first queen organized the government after Ganon’s downfall, she did not want to concentrate absolute power into the Crown’s hands alone as Ganondorf had done. So she separated law making from law enforcement, and just because she was blessed by the virtues of Nayru, that did not mean that the next heir would be, so she created a Parliament that could represent the will of the subjects, who could then hold power over the Queen.”

So far, all of that made sense for a fair government. It was only fair that the subjects had a voice in governance.

“However, Queen Zelda never imagined her descendants would fracture into conflicting parties, first between the Nohansens and the Springbocks, and again between the Zellink Alliance and the Throne,” Brother Tivom sighed again with sour disappointment. “With the coalition owning half the votes in government, they won’t pass anything the Queen introduces, and the Queen won’t sign into law anything that the House of Lords passes.”

“Why?” None of this made sense to poor Miro Miro. She thought the Hylian administration, responsible for ruling over thousands of people, would have been far more sensical than the simple governance in the Kokiri Forest.

“They have starkly differing agendas. The Zellink Alliance desires the Queen to use royal resources and soldiers to drive the Goron, the Gerudo, the Zola, and the Deku from their homelands, while the Queen wishes to use those resources and men to assist the refugees that are fleeing the fighting.”

“I mean, why fight, though? Why not help the people who are running from the fighting?”

“If I said, you should already know the answer by now, would that be enough to satisfy your question?” Even though Brother Tivom answered with a cryptic question, the answer was only too obvious.

Power.

She was beginning to suspect that it was the root of all evil. Ganondorf the Evil King was rooted in power and sought after it, and now the lords of Hyrule desired the exact same thing.

Still, one question pestered her mind, “May I ask you something personal?”

Brother Tivom politely nodded.

“Did,” Miro Miro hesitated just as she thought about how kind the scribe had treated her since he had met her, “did you ever hurt anyone for money?” Those words sounded like pure blasphemy coming out of her mouth. How dare she accuse her dear friend of a heinous crime for a petty reason!

“Is a Deku made of wood?” he answered with a light hearted chuckle.

Miro Miro felt that the inappropriate joke was cruel to those he had victimized, but even someone as pure as Rowark had taken a life before. Not because you wanted to , Link’s voice whispered in her head, chilling her soul. She never knew that the innocent boy was capable of justifying murder.

“I’ve unfortunately fought over bets, slayed over debts, and stolen from friends, just as countless others have, and here is where all that hath landed me. However, Nayru’s justice has shown me that what is popular is not always right, and what is right is not always popular,” Brother Tivom spoke profoundly.

“Whoa…” Miro Miro had to let that sink in, for her love for the Great Deku Tree grew tenfold.

Surrounded by hostile creatures who feasted upon each other daily, Father chose to create a safe haven from the threats of the outside world. Not once did he ever cave into the ferocious violence that ravaged around him, and instead, he faithfully carried out the responsibility received from the Farore, to honor all life.

Truly, Father was the only one in all of Hyrule who could work miracles.  

Hurried footsteps echoed through the cavernous library as several penal squires dashed past Brother Tivom’s desk with urgency. This was the only time Miro Miro had ever seen anyone in the castle library move faster than a snail, and it was the most activity she had ever seen take place there. “Whoa there, brother, what’s the rush?” asked Tivom to a passing younger penal squire.

“The first candidate of the election just arrived at the gate!” he responded hurriedly before taking off after the other shaved, penal squires.

“Huh, well then,” Brother Tivom turned to Miro Miro, “Shall we see what the excitement is all about?”