Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Zelda or any other creative properties that Nintendo would contest are theirs. That which they wouldn't, I claim as my own for whatever good it will do me.

Creative Disclaimer: This story is post Twilight Princess and should be entirely canon. There are some minor changes to mechanics regarding the setting, including perhaps an alternative interpretation. The only thing of relevance for now is the world is larger than it would have seemed in-game. Specifically, it would take something like a week on horseback to travel between Ordon and Hyrule Castle. In this larger universe, there are many settlements and townships that were not featured in the game. Don't worry, though, as these new locations will not surpass in importance or relevance those given to us by Nintendo. Also, Castle Town is much larger, containing a much more vibrant and diverse set of urban circumstances. It is also referred to instead as Hyrule City.

Though the creation of new characters is virtually inevitable in order to create a plot, I endeavor to maintain a story centralized around the character's created by Nintendo. I hope that in doing this I may contribute to those who look for Zelda fanfiction that develops the characters that they are already familiar with and have come to enjoy.

Also, though there is violence which I reserve the right to describe as graphically as I please, as well as allusions to adult themes, the story moves at a relatively slow pace in regards to such "exciting" literary elements. Considering the seemingly arbitrary rating system, I rate this T for now. If there is a reason it should not be, please let me know.

Lastly, this is my first fanfiction and I do invite commentary and criticism. Enjoy.

Chapter 1

"Twenty rupees" the Ordonian merchant demanded. He stood beneath the shade of the tarp that covered his vending stand. Though operating out of the market in Hyrule City selling various produce from Ordon, he retained his Ordonian dress. His easygoing rural demeanor, however, had since been replaced by the blunt and dissatisfied antagonism of the inhabitants of the city where he now lived.

"Twenty rupees? For a measly bottle of seedspit?" Link asked, not just a little outraged. It was an exorbitant price for pumpkinwine (or seedspit as it was sometimes crudely called in Ordon), a drink that Link could find for next to nothing back home. "Fifteen then, for a countryman?" Link put on a sort of smile, attempting to appeal to sentiments of kith.

"Countryman? I haven't been home in over five years, but I still can't recall us Ordonians having ears so pointed." Link's face visibly grimaced as remembered his Hylian ethnicity set him apart from those back home. Worse yet, Link's attire (white trousers, a green tunic and a brown leather mantle with a hood attached residing over his shoulders) was little different from the average Hylian denizen of the city, though perhaps more ragged and unattended. "Listen boy, the land has not been gracious this year and there ain't much squash they can afford not to eat. It's only a red rupee, I'm sure you can put forth."

"Yeah, I can put forth old man," Link scowled as he flung a tiny red and angled jewel, no more the length between two knuckles on a finger, toward the merchant. He grabbed the clay bottle by its long neck and began walking away. Uncorking it and drinking deeply of the thick, orange brew, he recalled bitterly the day's misfortune.

Spending too much time at the brothel the night before and waking up two hours after dawn, he was not spared dismissal this morning from his job moving crates of shipments from who-knows-where up and down seemingly growing flights of stairs. He then spent the rest of the day embracing a bottle of cheap brandywine and, once the bottle ran dry at the setting of the sun and his stomach became noticeably less agreeable, he decided to look for something more substantive and with less of a bite. He was no longer in a condition to fight his liquor and, thus, his choice of the turbid and somewhat sweet pumpkinwine.

Link's exercise in the pathetic was not the result of any importance he placed on this job in particular, but that it was a job. Ever since he moved to Hyrule City over a year ago to work for the Princess' underground conclave of spies and lackeys, his income from plundering dungeons and temples had become severely less impressive than it had been when he first set off adventuring. Back then, Link lived with minimal luxuries while, at the same time, found hordes of treasure on a regular basis. Upon entry to urban society where his employ by the crown (though she had yet to be crowned) had become more and more rare, Link realized just how costly it is to live comfortably with a normal profession.

It wasn't that Link was any less valuable to Hyrule, but simply that there were fewer missions that required his talents. Peace had become a relative constant in the Kingdom thanks to Link's handiwork with the Twilight debacle, after all. Link thought back again to those times. He grunted, a bit of orange viscosity dripping down from one side of his mouth.

He did not want to remember those times. Those thoughts always carried him to the same torturous moment. He would take his mind elsewhere, instead. Hardened by more resolve than had gripped him the whole day, he straightened his posture as best he could and attempted to walk directly. His feet occasionally failing him in his attempts at dignity, they carried him nonetheless down the alleys of the west side of the city, towards areas known for darker forms of commerce.

Link turned into an almost unnoticeable inlet between buildings, sliding against the wall for support until he reached an unmarked door. But he knew where he was and he could hear the sounds emanating from within. Not the joyous laughter he found at taverns, but a simple and lingering music and an occasional faint shuffling of feet. He knocked on the door.

"Where are you?" the voice of an old woman, now familiar to Link, asked from behind the door.

"I am grounded in penumbra," Link replied, pleased he could still conjure such a big word.

"And where do you go?" the voice continued.

"I go…" Link stumbled for a moment. His mind raced, trying to figure out the rest of the code. "to the groundless garden in the sun!" Link smiled foolishly as he recalled it at last.

The door opened, the powerful smell of incense and opium surrounding him, and the old woman, a veil over her head, invited him inside. "Then go, young man, towards the light and be freed."

-

Link lounged on the right-handed couch of a small triclinium in the corner of a basement den. His right arm hung limb, its hand weakly clutching a long, ornately carved bronze pipe with a tiny bowl at the end, smoldering. His eyes stared at nothing and they had not moved in some time. His dreaming had taken him far away to adventures that he approached half as memory and half as fantasy. His speed was swift upon Epona and his foes fell readily and without effort, as if in a dance. There was no clashing, no discordance, but only a continual sweeping through place and time, smooth, safe and comforting.

There was a startle. Link's eyes focused as much as they could, the images in his mind blowing away as so much smoke in the wind. In their place was the form a serving girl with deep red hair. On her left arm she carried a plate with cups and a bottle of peculiarly green liquid that seemed to glow in his eyes.

In moments, he realized she had awoken him with a question. A faint voice, as if somehow muffled, she asked, "an elixir?" She smiled at him, offering the contents of the bottle. Link could not muster himself to respond, but she seemed to understand, maintaining her smile. He then saw some surprise on her face as she looked upon the triclinium table.

There lay the overturned clay bottle of pumpkinwine that Link had unknowingly knocked over throughout the course of his enhanced reveries. From the lips of the bottle had come forth a greater quantity of orange liquid than Link had remembered leaving in there, its coloration now far more vivid than he could have ever imagined, seemingly effulgent in the illumination of the candles sparsely distributed in the corner of the den. Now, there lay a great puddle of this fascinating material on the table. The woman hurried to clean it, placing the plate down and pulling out a rag. On her knees, she bent over the table and began to soak it up, her hair falling around her face.

Link looked into the contrast between the red of her hair and the bright orange of the pumpkinwine. Yet, as he stared, the contrast faded and the border became less fixed. The color of her hair began to change. It grew lighter, to match the orange; deeper, to match the fullness; and it grew candescent, inescapable in his sight.

The image before him, bright and powerful, frightened his heart, though his mind remained slow to the reckoning. There she was, the bend of her body exposing her curves through her dress and the repetitive motion of her cleaning brought her back and forth over the table and caused her hips to sway in circles. And there was her hair, so orange as if aflame. He was immensely attracted to this sight and yet, he was terrified.

His mind finally caught up and it whispered to him, "Midna."

-

Link stumbled hurriedly through the alleyways, much the same way he had attempted to quickly leave the den: his mind resolved but his body unready for such alacrity. She found him out, even through the cover of the somnolent smoke clouds he erected around himself to keep her away. He could ignore his suffering even through the admonishments of his peers and acquaintances, but her memory was relentless. He could not ignore her summons, compelling him to her regal court of regret.

He envisioned it with great detail. In the dark and distorted hall of her throne room, she sat and looked through him. She would always be a figure in his mind, tormenting him with her presence and she, forever, would never look upon him. Her life would continue, full of the glory of her rank and shining majestically in her perpetual twilight while he would remain adumbrated by his melancholy in the world day.

He raced through the streets as best he could, running not from any tangible form, but in the hopes that perhaps his flight might bring him solace from her persistent visage imprinted in his mind's eye.

But the goddesses did not pity him. He came to a wide avenue and seeing the light of daybreak creeping steadily towards him on the ground, he looked up into the rising sun. A bright orange it appeared to him. The very crown of the Twilight Princess herself.

"Why do you torture me so! To show yourself without cease and yet to never return to me!" Link cried at the birthing star, gathering attention from those few citizens who had already begun their work. His unusual eloquence did not reassure any of them of his sanity, but they did not bother themselves when he turned and ran into the safety of a shadowed street, tripping upon himself in his haste, tumbling violently down a set of stairs, left unconscious on a pile of rubbish.