Aside
In fairytales, after the evil is slain and the fair maiden rescued, the story always ends with those six simple but intriguing words : '...and they lived happily ever after.' And that's it, end of story, go to sleep now.
But the idea of a 'happily ever after' is ludicrous. We all know that life is full of ups and downs and that if life is only 'ups' then it's not really up at all, is it? The bad things in life are what make the good things just that. You can only know joy if you have known sadness.
So the notion is ridiculous. But if these fictional heroes don't have a 'happily ever after', then what do they have? With hardship comes change ; to survive, one must adapt. Legendary heroes must face much adversity, so it is only logical to surmise that they must change most of all. So, when they inevitably come home to the friends and family they surely left behind, what happens? They are no longer who they used to be, not the person who set out week or months or years before – they are invariably changed, for good or for ill, and their loved ones must adjust. But if a hero is so irreparably altered, so fundamentally different to what they once knew... What then?
It was a little over a month before the young hero returned to his home village of Ordon, this time supposedly for good. He'd been back several times over the past few weeks, of course, but never stopping and only passing through. He'd escorted the children home and various other unrelated errands before disappearing off into the world again to do whatever it was he did. When questioned, he would only say that he didn't like leaving loose ends or that the Queen had asked him to, and never mentioned the actual tasks. Whether it was because he didn't want to speak of them or because he was on some sort of a secret mission was up in the air, but nobody dared ask.
So when the ex-goatherd finally came back, no questions were asked, even though every villager's head burned with them. They let him keep his adventures to himself, all hoping that he would willingly recount his journey, but he never did. Speculation was rife and Link's silence only helped it grow. Wild rumours about colossal monsters and hideous beasts spread through the small town like the plague and it was a miracle that their subject heard not a whisper of it.
But he could guess. All those months spent travelling the infinitely dangerous roads of Hyrule had left him shrewd and paranoid, necessary traits for one such as he. He learned to expect threats at every turn and to suspect every shadow of harbouring some vicious beast lusting after blood. He slept briefly and lightly – the slightest hint of approaching footsteps would have him fully awake and brandishing his sword. It was a technique he'd endeavoured to learn after a close call one night early on in the journey when he'd almost been skewered by one of the bokoblins that roamed Hyrule Field.
So Link knew that there was gossip about him despite having never heard a scrap of evidence. He could tell by the looks on peoples' faces what sort of rumour had been doing the rounds as of late – sometimes they would stare at him with awe as he passed and other times they seemed fearful.
All he wanted was to go back to the life he'd had before, to live and laugh as if those awful months he would rather forget had never happened. He'd even locked away in his basement all the things he'd gained on his travels, not wanting the hard-won items to bring those unpleasant memories to the forefront of his conscious. But it hadn't been the same since he'd returned. Even those closest to him, like Rusl and Colin and Ilia, had started treating him differently, their actions becoming more...formal, more distant. Not unfriendly, but they reacted to him like they would a little-known acquaintance. Ilia had stopped stealing Epona away to the spring, Colin stopped asking him to go fishing and Rusl stopped taking him hunting. The ex-goatherd watched his loved ones slowly float away, distancing themselves from him, or rather, from what he had become. He found himself sidelined and left out and whatever he did to try and bridge the gap between him and his friends only pushed them further away. They seemed to think him so far above them in every way that refused to let him do anything where he might come off as unseemly.
Ever so slowly, Link found himself preferring to remain in the silence of his treehouse on the edge of the village than walking around it and socialising. Often he would ride Epona through the forest just so he could forget all his problems for a little while and just enjoy the wind whipping past his face and the gentle thuds of his steed's hooves upon the leaf litter.
Eventually, there came the day of the Harvest Festival, an annual event celebrated by farmers all across Hyrule. There would be feasting and dancing and music and alcohol and was therefore one of the most popular occasions of the year, especially among the younger generations.
Usually, it would be a night of revelry and simple joie de vivre among all of the inhabitants of the village, whatever the age or general personality. Link would dance with Ilia and sometimes with Beth if she asked, got drunk and typically ended up passed out next to Epona since he couldn't make it up the ladder. The last one had been called off since the children were gone and no-one really had the heart to have any sort of fun while monsters roamed the land and evil lurked around every corner.
This year, though, rather than partying, the Hero Chosen By The Gods, who wished every minute of every day that they had not, stayed on the outskirts of town. He didn't dare intrude upon the celebration, feeling that his presence would only make the villagers uncomfortable. Instead, he sat himself rather precariously halfway up the tall tree behind Hanch's house to watch the festivities pan out, his expression undeniably melancholy. It almost seemed as though he would burst into tears at any second, but he never would. Tears would not win him battles or save innocent people from evil.
Link stayed perched in the tree like some overgrown bird until nightfall, just observing the happy faces below and battling with the urge to join them. No, said that little self-deprecating but nonetheless realistic voice that sounded suspiciously like Midna. You can't go to them. You're a stranger to them now, they don't know you anymore, o legendary hero in the Queen's graces. Join them and your heart will break.
Night fell as it was wont to do, and the desolate young man reached a decision and shimmied down the great tree, then slipped unnoticed through the jubilant town to his house. Once inside, he took a deep breath and climbed wearily down the ladder into the dark basement. There, he lit a lamp and packed up all the items he'd obtained over the last few months, a few precious trinkets and a small supply of food and shoved it all in his predecessor's apparently bottomless bag, which had been incredibly useful. To his back, he strapped the sword Rusl had given him to take to the Castle so long ago and the rather battered shield he'd bought in Kakariko. That done, Link exited the house and saddled up Epona.
He didn't belong here, in Ordon. It wasn't home anymore. He couldn't be happy here, he saw that now. With one last longing look at the passage leading to the village, he stuck one foot in the stirrup and deftly swung the other leg over Epona's back with practiced ease. He let out a sigh that was answered by a sympathetic snort from his loyal steed, gently touched her sides with his heels, and horse and rider were gone, their silhouettes fading into the darkness like poes at dawn.
Not ten minutes after the reluctant but relieving departure of the hero, though neither party would ever know it, a tentative feminine voice called out from the direction of the village. "Link?" Footsteps could be heard then, pattering down the short well-worn path, light and perhaps slightly off-balance. "Link?" came the voice again once its owner had successfully negotiated the soft turns of the stone corridor.
Ilia (for it was indeed she) cautiously made her way over to the ladder, but stopped halfway when she realised that Epona was absent from the grassy alcove she liked to sleep in at night. And if Epona was gone...then that meant Link was too. Suddenly alarmed, Ilia discarded her former trepidation and scrambled up the ladder.
She'd known that he had been troubled by something since he'd gotten back – she could see it in his face, despite his attempts to hide his disquiet – but even beforehand, she and the rest of the villagers had unanimously decided to give the poor young man some space after all that he'd been through. They would give him a few weeks to get back on his feet and reconcile himself with normal life.
The sentiment had only been reinforced when he returned for good – they'd expected the amiable, somewhat naïve goatherd that had left Ordon to rescue the village children from monsters not more than a year ago, the one who always had a cheerful grin plastered on his face and nearly cried when a goat had to be slaughtered for the village to survive. Instead, they'd gotten a distant young man with the eyes and scars of a soldier three times his age, some foreign warrior with sharp eyes and sharper weapons who hadn't so much as smiled once during the weeks he'd stayed in Ordon.
This wasn't the Link they knew and loved. This was a broken man.
Everyone desperately wanted to know what had happened to him to make him what he was now – he jumped at shadows now, slept little and was always in motion, where before it was quite the opposite – so they hypothesised and speculated. Some spoke of demonic creatures from the depths of the Dark Realm, others told tales of horrific beasts borne of black magic and hate. Whether any of it was true, only one man could say, and he seemed to have sworn himself to silence.
So Ilia (temporarily) stopped leading Epona away to the Spring while Link was asleep or otherwise occupied, surmising that the sudden absence of his one and only companion on that mysterious journey of his might panic him. Colin ceased asking him to go fishing, mostly because he was too shy to approach this strange, new, but still quite familiar, Link. Rusl refrained from taking the ex-goatherd out on hunting trips, set in the belief that the young man had had enough of killing to last a lifetime. The elder swordsman might not have known exactly what the hero had been doing all those long months, but he could guess at its bloodiness.
But then Link started staying home more often, disappearing occasionally into the forest atop his flaxen chestnut mare and rarely setting foot inside the village proper. Those closest to him began worrying at this point, but still held onto the hope that he'd come round by the Harvest Festival, the most waited-for event of the whole year.
Apparently, they shouldn't have held so much stock in the power of a simple late summer party.
Sometimes rejection can be a two-way street.
Disclaimer: Not mine. End of.
A/N: This just sort of...appeared in my head overnight and I wrote it in two consecutive days, a personal best! Don't expect any more fics until at least mid-July, though - my exams are the 28th and 29th June and...various other stressful things you probably don't want to hear about.
If you have a question about any part of this, feel free to ask - just know that I can't reply to anonymous reviews and that your question might already have been answered over on my blogspot where I post the things I'd like to put in my A/Ns but would make the notes longer than the story: idoloni . blogspot . fr
Thank you for reading and until next time,
Idoloni