"I'm worried about you, Link. Please." Ilia stared at him intently. "Please just talk to me. I want to help."

He didn't meet her eyes, just sat there, staring at his hands, which were clasped, shaking, in his lap. Though he was undoubtedly aware of her presence, he refused to acknowledge her. His shoulders were hunched; he stared dully downward, his nostrils flaring with each labored breath.

After a long, pregnant silence, Ilia pursed her lips and finally exhaled. "Okay. I get it. Not today." And not yesterday or tomorrow or ever. Though she was once his closest companion, there now existed an irreparable rift between them. She had to accept that if she was ever going to move on.

"I'm going now, Link," she said, and he didn't so much as grunt in acknowledgement. He blinked and looked away, anywhere but at her. Without attempting to hide the hurt in her sigh, Ilia picked up a few dirty scraps of fabric from the floor on her way to the door and placed them on the table. She did note, however, the fur and dried blood that covered them.

He'd been hunting again, she gathered. He refused these days to make much of an appearance, even in the village. On the days a villager didn't deliver vegetables or bread to his door, he foraged for his own meals. She worried for him out there alone, in this state, and with Bokoblins so plentiful in the forest this time of year.

She risked one final glance over her shoulder at him, and was immediately concerned by what she saw. He was all at once limp and then tense in his chair, straining forward as if listening to something Ilia couldn't detect. His eyes darted around him, and his breathing grew fast and tremulous.

Ilia took a step back. "Oh, no." When Link had one of his "episodes," as Uli called them, he was volatile and unpredictable. Rusl thought he was reliving his memories from the secret war he'd seemed to have fought under Princess Zelda's direction; they knew very little about what had happened to him after he'd saved the children in Kakariko, but from what they'd managed to glean, it hadn't been pleasant for him. He'd left a ruddy and hopeful youth, filled with life and potential, but had returned languid, restless, and dark. He bore countless scars, suffered constant nightmares, and was often found wandering without purpose at odd hours. And, worst of all, he often slipped into horrible flashbacks, forgetting he was safe in his home, with no monsters to hurt him anymore.

It was at times like these that Ilia truly feared him.

She half thought to stay with him, but he kept his sword on him at all times, and in this state he would not recognize her as a friend. She turned immediately and opened the door.

"Mn-"

Link attempted to stand and only collapsed to his hands and knees. His arms shook, and his already quick breathing became heavy, like he'd just run a long way and couldn't catch his breath, and there was pain in his voice. Ilia stepped out the door and closed it carefully behind her before clambering down the ladder and hurrying in the direction of the village. Perhaps Rusl, or Uli, or someone, would be able to help.

Before she made it very far, there came from the treehouse the most heart-stoppingly horrifying scream, raw and hurting and desperate and so afraid and maybe almost angry. She turned and stared, frozen in her steps.

"Link," Ilia breathed, before turning on her heel and running.

She burst into the village to find the townspeople coming out of their houses, staring with varying levels of concern and confusion in the direction she'd just come. Colin came running from the ranch, one hand on the hilt of his sword, thinking danger, monsters, but Ilia shook her head and pointed down the path.

"It's Link," she said, "and he's having one of his episodes."

Colin's eyes widened, and Ilia could see her own hurt reflected there. It pained Colin to think of his former hero reduced to such a state. "Again?" he whispered. His fingers released his sword and he seemed almost like a child again, lost.

A sudden clamor arose from the distant clearing: glass breaking, a terrible thudding, and then-

Another scream tore through the air, even more horrible than the first, this time savage and broken and pained and it suddenly cut off and Ilia's heart half stopped right then and there and she dropped to her knees, hands flying up to her mouth of their own accord, and they were shaking, and she was afraid, she was so afraid.

Uli, who had been sitting on her porch with her daughter, was now on her feet, her crocheting abandoned. "Get your father," she murmured at once, and the girl bounded up the stairs and into the family's house, calling for Rusl. The swordsman came out at once and headed immediately toward the ruckus. "Colin, come with me," he called as he passed, hurrying fast, eyes forward, never looking away from that tunnel to the clearing in the woods where Link was.

Colin's face hardened to seriousness. "Right," he said, scurrying after Rusl, his hand again on his sword.

Ilia didn't know why, but she watched them go and she couldn't move to follow them, her legs were too weak and they would not obey her. Uli approached and placed a hand on her shoulder, but Ilia scarcely felt it. The next thing she knew, Colin was screaming, sobbing, and Rusl was shouting for help, someone, anyone, and she forced herself to stand, she was on her feet and running, Uli at her heels, and they were both stumbling in their haste and from the horrible dread that ate at their stomachs. And suddenly there was broken glass everywhere and Link was covered in blood and writhing on the grass, crying, crying, crying, and his sword was planted right through his stomach and there were other wounds staining crimson his hands and his face and his heart, oh, his heart, where he hadn't been able to keep the pain from overflowing.

And Ilia collapsed, choking, hands again at her mouth and her cheeks and her face was wet and she couldn't breathe because how could she have been so stupid? She was his best friend but she was jealous somehow that he wasn't the same old Link she'd always known, because that war had changed him so and maybe his heart wasn't hers anymore, so she'd been cold and distant and she'd left him alone and she hadn't tried hard enough to get him to talk, and maybe he could have told her what was happening, maybe she could have helped him get the pain out some other way, maybe, maybe if she had done something, maybe, if she, if she had just done something, tried harder, then maybe, maybe he wouldn't be lying here on the grass with cold steel biting through his gut, and blood, blood everywhere oh gods, oh gods he was dying wasn't he oh gods he was dead he was so still oh gods he was dead Link was dead-

And Ilia crumbled into herself and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and the world spun around her, cold and so far away, people moving like blurry strangers in between her tears, and maybe Uli was beside her, crying too, and Colin was dry heaving into the grass, his hands red-black from Link's blood, and Rusl was bent over the body, silent tears streaming down his cheeks and silent words streaming from his lips as he held the boy he'd loved as a son, who had become a man when he wasn't looking, who had been chewed up and spat out by war and crippled by suffering and inexplicable pain to the point that he couldn't stand it anymore and he had to take it away somehow, some way, any way he could and there was his sword, his sword. Right there.

"We could have helped you," Ilia heard Rusl say faintly, the words escaping broken from his lips. "Why didn't you say something?" Rusl clasped Link's head in his hands and his shoulders shook. "Damn it, why didn't you say something?"

Ilia bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, but it was nothing compared to the sight before her. She was trembling all over and so was Colin, his eyes glossed over with disbelief, his fingers digging up handfuls of grass and dirt, and Uli half crawled over to her small son to cradle him, her face wet from rivulets that dripped from her eyes and nose. And Talo was there now, too, motionless with shock, his fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms, shaking, shaking like everyone else; and Beth, Beth was sobbing quietly into her hands, her feet bare and vulnerable and pale, her whole self somehow drained of color; and Malo, too, even Malo was there, and he had dropped his indifference to frown at the ground, muttering, "No. This isn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen."

A sound rasped in Ilia's throat, and maybe it was a laugh, bitter and angry, because little genuis Malo was right, after all, he had always been right, little genius Malo.

No. This isn't right.

She laughed until she sobbed until she was laughing again and she wasn't sure why, but wasn't it funny, wasn't it all so funny.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

That day Ilia's whole world shattered around her like glass, like a mirror, and she could see herself shattered along with it in the little glittering pieces that lay all around her.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Ilia laughed, the sound harsh in her throat.

Wasn't it just so funny.

And then she screamed, high and wild and broken, and she didn't stop for a very long time.

.

.

.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

A/N: It has always been my headcanon that enduring the horrors of war had already taken a toll on Link; losing Midna was the straw the broke the camel's back. From then on, he was never the same, and Ilia noticed. Just not soon enough.

I noticed a lack of fanfiction expanding on my headcanon, so I decided to provide some. It was a spur of the moment piece, and I'm admittedly out of practice, especially in writing from Ilia's point of view (I'm not her biggest fan; in fact, in one playthrough I skipped returning her memory altogether). At any rate, I hope this will suffice.

Cordially,

godtierGrammarian [formerly Theophilus VII]