Sunrises bring with them the promise of a fresh day, a clean slate, and a new beginning. They make us think that, perhaps, today will be different. Perhaps our big break will come now, we say, even though it has never come to us before. Sunrises bring hope of a better, brighter future. In that way, our birth is much like a sunrise, as are the births of others. But what of sunsets? Sunsets represent a closing, an end. Looking back at our day we realize it was just the same as any other day, nothing was improved; it quite likely got worse. In the sunset of our lives, we look back at what we did, whose lives we touched, and what it all meant. We wonder if the world was improved by our existence. We wonder if there is any purpose for our lives left; we search for it. Sometimes, though, it is our purpose that finds us.
Eleven Years after the Catastrophes of the Three Races
Valley of Jordone at the border of the Haunted Wasteland
The silhouette of a lone soldier, kneeling at the top of a hill in front of the fading sun, could be seen for a great distance, but his actions had nothing to do with what other people watching might think of him and all to do with himself. The battle of armies was long over but his personal struggle was just beginning. Ignoring the dark and desolate landscape surrounding him, he tried with all of his remaining might to repent of his numerous sins. His helmet lay beside him and he rested his uncovered head against the hilt of the sword embedded in the ground. The action reopened a wound and blood from the gash in his forehead ran down his face, dripping onto the ground, but he appeared to take no notice. He grasped at meaning for what had taken place, but such a thing felt unattainable. He could no more put the events of the day into perspective than he could reach up and take all the stars in the sky in the palm of his hand. He implored the goddesses to give understanding and meaning to all of these events that he had witnessed and participated in, but as of yet his wishes hadn't been granted. His eyes were closed to the sights, but the smells and sounds invaded his thoughts and distracted him. They were knives pushing into his brain, torturing his sanity. His bodily wounds had been minor and many of the enemy had fallen by his hand, but every blow he struck against them was a wound against his own spirit. He looked up and wiped the blood off of his face with his hand. He stared at his palm and what covered it stared back at him. Dried blood was all over it, the blood of his victims, but he'd added his own, fresh and wet. What good would washing them do? What good could anything do now? Some moisture began to gather at the corner of his eye, and ran down his face alongside of the blood, washing nothing off, eventually running off his face and soaking into the ground next to its dark red brother. He told himself that it was just irritation from sand in his eye, but he couldn't quite make himself believe his own lie.
The retreating sunlight cast long shadows from every object in the field, warping their shapes almost unrecognizably. Torn banners flittered in the wind and the sounds of nature remained quiet except for the caw of scavenging birds awaiting the meals that were promised them. Some of the less patient ones had already begun their feast. Screams and groans could still be heard coming from the valley but as time went on, their pitiful sounds were violently cut short one at a time. A few soldiers walking around the field with daggers relieved them of their pain… and the contents of pockets. The area smelled of Death and the land wore the mark of War, a stain that the soldier knew would not wear away for some time. Blood ruined fields and crops for generations when enough of it was spilled over one ground. He'd done his part in it as well. Looking around, he wondered how much work, sweat, and tears it would take to make this land fertile again. The farmers here hadn't been part of the conflict but they'd been victims caught in the middle all the same. The truth was, those people probably didn't care who claimed the territory so long as they could continue to live and provide for their families. Most of them hadn't even gotten that.
He tried to blame the Gerudo for the deaths of those civilians. They never should have engaged the Hyrulian military in this place, but they had anyway. There were many other places the battle could have occurred that wouldn't have caused so many unnecessary casualties but instead the army had been ambushed in this little valley. He despised killing women, but he hadn't had any choice. Goddesses, their faces were right there looking at him. What choice had he had? He was just a soldier following orders and they had been trying to take his life, after all. But the looks in their eyes when he'd killed them… it was more than he could bear. It was – A hand took a hold of his shoulder and interrupted his thoughts.
"What's troubling you, footman?" he heard a voice say, "Don't you feel satisfied knowing you've just defended your homeland?"
The soldier looked up and saw the face of one of another soldier staring back at him, dirty and stained as all others were but with a light that seemed to shine from it, an aura exuding confidence. The man smiled, but the expression seemed to lack happiness in some way. The soldier noticed the rank of the other man and, giving him a salute, quickly addressed him as such.
"Captain. Sir, nothing's troubling me. It's just that…" he paused.
"It's just that what, footman?"
"Sir, this didn't feel like protecting Hyrule. This felt like an execution, sir."
"How so?"
"Sir, we outnumbered them nearly ten to one today. Our equipment, tactics, and position were all vastly superior. We've already occupied most of their desert bases and pushed them away from the settlers. They don't have anywhere else to retreat to. They're no threat any more, sir."
"Oh? And what would you call a band of five hundred cavalry, all armed to teeth and able to cover thirty miles in a single day?" the man countered. "Don't get me wrong, attacking us wasn't a good idea and it wasn't a battle they could win but they deserved everything they got. The Gerudo are thieves and murderers; it's all they know how to do. They steal and destroy because they aren't a race civilized enough to support themselves. Hopefully, what's left of them will change their ways but until then we have to protect Hyrule and its citizens. A Gerudo would kill any Hyrulian without a second thought and you have to be prepared to do the same in return."
The captain stopped speaking for a moment and sighed deeply as he looked off into the mountains, as if staring through them at something miles away.
"Just last week they looted the Pico Ranch, stole all of its cattle and horses, and set fire to the place. All seventeen people on that ranch died because they couldn't defend themselves from this 'non-existent threat' of yours," he said as his fist clenched tensely and an expression of anger came over his face, turning it into a mask of fury. "What do you think would have happened to the other farming communities if we hadn't come out here? They wouldn't have had a chance, that's what." The captain gained control of himself and seemed to get his emotions back under control before he went on. "Of course, as bad and dangerous as the Gerudo are, you can be glad that their male leader is late coming this generation or we'd be in some real trouble. Ha, we might very well be the ones lying in this valley, instead of the other way around."
"But haven't we stolen their land and given them no other choice?" the soldier asked hurriedly, "Haven't we backed them into a corner and-"
"That's enough of that, footman," the captain warned, reminding the soldier of his rank. "Whatever problems you're having with the morality of this, don't. We saved the lives on innocents today, even if we couldn't save all of them. You did your part and did it well, and for that I commend you. That's all you need to concern yourself with."
"Yes, sir. But they… they were just women," the soldier said, his throat choking up, "They'd never done harm to me or anyone I know. But I killed them, just because I was ordered to. I can see their faces in front of me, watch their eyes as they die, sir."
"They weren't just women, footman," the captain said, "They were warriors. Saying anything any different is a disservice not only to them, but to you as well. They were trained to kill for all of their lives, probably more thoroughly than you. The fact that you survived at all is quite an accomplishment and don't you dare think differently. Tell me, how many battles have you been a part of, footman?"
"This is my first, sir."
"I thought as much. You're first kills as well, I take it?"
"More or less," he replied quietly.
The captain laughed.
"There's no 'more or less' about it. You obviously hadn't, and no shame in saying so. I'm not going to lie to you. You killed women today and that's going to stick with you. You're probably going to have to live with that fact for the rest of your life. You're a killer now. There's no joy to be had in it, no pride in the act of killing itself, but you should be proud of the fact that you did what was asked of you. You did your duty. If you'd ever done battle with a man or beast trying to kill you before today, you'd know that there's no difference between them and the Gerudo when they have the same goal: to get you first. But you wouldn't know that, would you? You seem pretty young. How old are you, footman?"
"Nineteen, sir."
"As you may have noticed, I'm still pretty young myself," he said pointing at his smooth, slightly scarred face and smiling, "Only two years older than you, in fact. However, counting today I've been a part of seventeen military engagements, minor skirmishes notwithstanding. This isn't to brag, you understand, I only want to let you see that I know something of what I'm telling you about. By the fifteenth of those, I was noticed by some pretty important folks and I've been good enough and lucky enough to find myself serving in the King's personal bodyguard ever since. That is to say I was serving in the King's personal bodyguard. You see, at this very moment, King Hyrule is down in his tent lying on what will probably be his deathbed. Do you know why?" the captain asked the soldier but as he expected, received no answer. "Then I'll tell you. He took an arrow in the chest to save the life of one of his bodyguards. You can be sure that he would have done the same for any other man in this army if he had the chance. That's how far he's willing to go and how much love he has in him. King Hyrule came out into this valley so that our army could take the arrow of the Gerudo bandits for his people. He came out here to protect the lives of the citizens he loves like his own children and he isn't afraid to put his own life on the line for it. That's all I really need to know.
"He won't make any man risk life and limb for any cause he isn't willing to do the same for, and he'll do whatever is necessary for the safety and well-being of his people. I would follow that man into the abyss if he asked me to and, if it were possible, I would trade my life to save his right now without a second thought. At this moment I think every man in this army wishes he could have been there and gotten in the way of that arrow before it hit our king. I know I do. When he officially dies, if he hasn't already, his bodyguard will be disbanded. I no longer have a job in this army, if I'm still in this army at all. But things could be far worse. Even with a punctured lung, the last thing he said before he passed out was that his bodyguards were not to follow him." The captain saw that the statement wasn't fully understood by the footman. "By law, when the king dies in battle we're all supposed to be executed, to die with the man we swore a blood oath to protect. But instead he wished for us to live, and live well. That's how much love he has for us. Many of us are contemplating following him to the other side anyway. That's how much love we have for him. His Sheikah will cut open his own stomach the second the King passes on, as is his duty, but I'm sure he'd do it willingly regardless. I may not have that kind of commitment in me, but I should be a dead man for my failure, instead I'm just kind of lost… But none of that really matters.
"What you're doing is right, even if you have doubts of your own," the captain stated with all of the conviction a man might have in him about any subject, " What you're doing is right and you have to know that. You're not from the West, so you can't really understand what it's like to live in fear of these people for all of your life. I can't either. But I took an oath that said I'd follow the orders I was given and do whatever was in my power to protect this land, every bit of it, as did you. You and I can't always see the big picture, only a little piece. I trust that those men who can see further than me would not lead us in to battle and risk their own lives on a lie. I trust men who tread where I tread and risk what I risk. You can too."
The soldier just nodded his head but said nothing. The captain waited a moment then began to leave but the soldier stopped him.
"Sir? With all of this now over, can you tell me how I go back to living my life? Can you tell me how things go back to the way they were?"
"They won't, because nothing ever does. But you won't have to worry about that for some time. We're far from over with this campaign and I suggest you get to sleep. We break camp at dawn."
Thirty-One Years Later
Lymal Valley of the Southeast
"Son of a bitch."
As the cock crowed outside, Link awoke from his slumber, cursing the new day's arrival. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, yawning. He wasn't angry to be awake or to see the sun, but the first thing that came to his mind was all of the things he'd put off yesterday that he'd have to get done before the sun went down today. Life on a farm was always full of things to do and there never seemed to be enough time in the day to do them all. At one time he'd welcomed the bright orb and its warmth, now the streaks of light on the horizon promised nothing but hard labor. For people living most other lifestyles, they'd probably never understand that concept. As he smoothed down his thinning blonde hair, he glanced over at Malon, still sleeping soundly beside him, and was careful not to wake her as he slid out of bed. She'd wake up on her own soon enough in plenty of time to make breakfast once he got back from the day's first set of chores. Still, after thirty years of marriage he'd learned that those five minutes between when he got up and when she was ready to get up made all the difference how the rest of the day would go. She had him quite trained by now and he didn't even try to deny it to himself anymore.
He picked his mud-stained, threadbare overalls up off the floor and stepped into them. Long ago, he'd traded in the short tunics of the forest for more practical, durable farm wear. He wondered what had ever happened to all of those tunics. Had he traded them for something useful such as a cart wheel or shovel or had he simply thrown them away? Maybe Malon would remember once she woke up. Ah well, he had more important things to give his attention to. Gently, he sat on the edge of the bed and put on his boots. Milking the cow wasn't that difficult, but it started off a day that was cumulative in its stress. When he'd been younger it hadn't seemed like such a chore, but now even the most meager effort could fill his body with fatigue by the end of the day. It didn't stop him from doing it, of course. For a while, he'd been able to send his sons, and for a very short time his daughters, out to do the milking but now that responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders once again. Whether all the help had gotten him lazy or whether it was all just the result of seeing fifty-two summers come and go, he didn't know. He was still reasonably fit and lean but it was always easier to use someone else's muscles. His three sons had left his home for good a few years ago, and his eldest daughter Sharon was hardly ever with her parents anymore. She'd been apprenticing almost three years and was quite adept by now. She was only a year or two away from becoming a doctor in her own right, but her services did keep her away from the farm for weeks at a time. She hadn't gotten married yet, something Link worried would never happen if it didn't soon. A woman's beauty and charm could only capture a man for so long before she had to use wealth to lure him in. He smiled at his good fortune. Malon had had both when they'd gotten married. Oh, he knew he loved her now, but from time to time, he wondered if he'd actually loved her then. Anyway, there was no way Sharon could be sent to get the milk when she wasn't even in the valley. As for Lauron, his youngest, almost getting her head kicked off by the cow on one occasion had made her totally opposed to the idea. She readily gathered the eggs from the henhouse each morning, something Link despised doing. He'd never really been on good terms with chickens when he was younger, and hadn't ever grown out of it. So for him, getting the eggs was good enough especially considering all of the other work Lauron did in and out of the house.
He stepped through the house softly, avoiding the boards he knew would creak at the slightest pressure. He really needed to fix those, but the roof still had top priority… if he could get any time to get to either one of them, that was. Whenever it rained next, he was sure that the house would be flooded considering the state of disrepair the roof was in. Of course, that didn't seem to be too much of a problem these days. He went over to his daughter's room and whistled sharply, rising her from her slumber.
"Come on girl, you plan on sleeping all day?"
She groaned and rolled over, wrapping herself in her sheets even more tightly, but he knew she'd get on up in a few moments without any other pestering. She was dependable despite all appearances to the contrary. As he turned and headed toward the door outside, he grabbed his hat off the rack nearby and put it on. It wasn't the ridiculous, long, green thing he had worn years ago, but a practical, broad straw hat that helped keep the sun out of his eyes. He frowned. What was the name of that type of headwear called? Yet another mystery of his youth. At least he wasn't wearing earrings anymore. Picking up bucket next to the door, he headed toward the stable, whistling a familiar tune softly that always seemed to make the cow give more milk, though by now he assumed it was just his imagination. Outside, he looked upon the farm, or at least what was left of it, and immediately stopped whistling. The sight was far from impressive.
Over twenty-five years ago, they had sold the Lon Lon Ranch to the Kingdom of Hyrule for a fraction of what it was worth, a mere 5,000 rupees. Malon had cried for days after losing her late father's property but Link had known that it was best to accept the paltry money and just move on. They'd been lucky. Other ranches hadn't even been offered money at all. But the kingdom had needed the land for an advanced fortress, what with the huge metropolis that was growing around Hyrule Castle. The Lon Lon Ranch had been the best strategic location for a base because of its geographic position and close proximity to the city. While he wasn't in the army anymore, it was still his duty to serve the king. The move had been tough on them, especially with two young boys and a herd of horses to relocate but after they had found some good land, starting over had been just a matter of willpower. The valley of the Southeast had been fertile when they'd found it, and relatively unsettled. It had received a good amount of rainfall and had had great underground aquifers that could provide irrigation in times of need. Then, it had been a paradise far away from attention and thoughts of the throne of Hyrule, and even now it received little consideration from the government. The food the farm grew still supported them but over the last ten years, the land in his valley had been caught in a drought and many of the crops had been failing. His paradise had been discovered by many more people - who coincidently all needed water as well - and the aquifers could barely give his family water to survive, much less irrigate the crops. Link had been forced to sell most of the horses in order to keep what little he had until now there were only two of them left, both descendants of Epona. Link's horse, Alosa, was starting to show signs of his age, but Malon's (now Lauron's) horse, Vera, was the spitting image of her great-grandmother. Epona had been a good horse. Losing her had been hard, yes, but not the hardest. He'd lost a lot of things over the years but he sons were still the hardest to get over.
As he walked into the stable and pulled up a stool next to the cow, his mind called up the memories and images of his sons, Pytor, Jasha, and Arkander, eldest to youngest, respectively. They'd been alike in many ways and yet so very different at the same time. Pytor, the dependable, responsible son. Never shirking his chores and always making sure Jasha and Arkander were doing theirs. Jasha, the womanizing, lazy son. If he wasn't chasing the skirts of town girls, he was hiding in the barn, trying to catch up on some sleep. Without Pytor to keep Jasha in line, Link knew he'd probably never had gotten any work out of that one. And of course Arkander. Well, as long as he wasn't terrorizing his sisters or mother to get his laughs, he was a hard worker. They were all hard workers and even better sons. After Pytor and Jasha had set off and begun working Old Man O'Hare in the next valley, Arkander had helped to shoulder their share of the work to the point Link hardly had to take on any more of his own. He'd grown into a fine young man. They'd all grown into fine men, better than any father could hope for. Then five years ago, they'd gone away to join the Northern Liberation Army after the kingdome had annexed Mr. Hangan's property to make room for a military barracks. Later that year, Pytor and Jasha had come back home, changed men.
He sits at his table drinking some of the liquor he's been saving for a special occasion, though apparently not caring to pace himself. It is several hours from daylight and he has been up all night talking, yelling, drinking. He had expected his sons' return to be joyous but thus far it has been nothing but strife. He is forty-seven.
"Damn it, Father! Do you have any idea the things we've seen? Do you have any idea what your 'blessed kingdom' is out there doing right now?" Jasha says, eyes full of fiery indignation as he sits at the other side of the table across from his father.
"Every civilization must do certain things to keep its strength. That's harsh but it's a reality, one I know all too well," Link replies calmly, "It's necessary for the betterment of all."
"Somehow I doubt the butchering pregnant women and feeble old men is necessary."
"And you saw this with your own eyes?" Link questions.
"No but-"
"Then don't be spreading those ridiculous, overblown stories. News travels fast, but certainly not accurate. Things happen in war and people like you who don't understand that fact pass on rumors filled with embellishment after embellishment."
"I walked into a village that had been razed to the ground a few days earlier," Jasha says, looking somewhere far away. "Everyone was dead. A girl I had been with only the night before was lying on the street with her guts spilled out onto the ground when I found her. They'd hung the infants from a tree in the center square. They'd-"
"And you know that the Hyrulians were behind this? You know there's plenty of roving bands out there like your liberation army capable of doing that."
"Gah! You're fucking impossible!" Jasha exclaims, as he stands up from his chair, frustrated.
"Don't you dare talk to me that way," Link warns, reminding his sons of their place. "You may have grown up, but you're still not too big or too old for one more ass whuppin' under my roof, you understand?"
"Pfft, please," says Jasha as he gestures for his father to try it.
Pytor, who has for some time been silent, comes between them with more composure than both and looks his father in the eyes.
"Father, Jasha speaks the truth, even if you don't want to believe it. But even if this wasn't enough, there have been other things. Many other things. We would not have time to tell you about them all week, much less tonight. But listen to me now. I know you were close to the Gorons once. They say that before their former leader was assassinated, he made you his brother, back in the days of your youth. The Hyrulians have a stranglehold on their food supply and now the Gorons are little better than slaves. If they aren't mining, they're working as pack animals under clubs and chains. No people should have to live like that, but they have no other choice. I've seen how much blood a Goron body has in it. When they last tried to reclaim their freedom, the dry riverbeds ran full once again.
"Listen," he goes on, "I know that you've been loyal to Hyrule for most of your life and maybe in the past this loyalty was deserved but they have people out there committing countless crimes right now from top to bottom. It's not just the military, it's the tax collectors, and the merchants, and even the crown."
Bringing his fist down on the table forcefully, Link stands up.
"I swore my life to that crown when you were two weren't even a tingle in my ball sack. I won't break my word over hearsay, and I won't break it for a nation doing what it has to to put down rebellions. The king does what he must to preserve peace and prosperity and if you stand against him, you're not my sons anymore. I won't have traitors under my roof. You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand."
"Father you've been drinking-" Pytor pleads with an expression distress on his face.
"No, Pytor, he's not drunk. He knows exactly what he's saying," Jasha snarls, "And you know what, Daddy dearest? Fuck off, because I don't even give a shit anymore."
Jasha storms out, slamming the door behind him, and Pytor stays for a moment. He says something about wishing things could have been different but that it is time to take action. He tells his father that he is willing to fight for what he believes in and will be lieutenant soon, if things keep going the way they are. He tells his father that he hopes things will be different between them when this is all over. He tells his father he loves him. As he leaves, Link grabs another bottle and drinks until he passes out.
It isn't until he wakes up in the morning that he realizes that Arkander is gone as well.
"Dammed bunch of fools…" he muttered.
The cow turned its head back toward him, disapprovingly.
"What? Just because they're my sons it means I can't speak the truth?"
The cow mooed in disagreement but once again looked straight ahead. Stupid beast.
He hadn't heard word from or about any of them specifically since then, but he knew they were dead without any doubt in his mind. In the winter of that year, the whole of the Northern Liberation Army had clashed with the Hyrulian military in the middle of the Evermore Forest, a small, harsh tract of land between the desert cliffs of the West and the Great Northern Mountains. The NLA had been attempting to circle behind the capital and attack Hyrule castle itself but luckily the Hyrulian army had intercepted them before they could reach their destination. Losses on both sides had been heavy, but the Hyrulian army was made up of professional, disciplined soldiers, something the rebels had clearly, and dearly, lacked. Out of the estimated three thousand rebel forces involved, the Northern Liberation Army had lost almost twenty-five hundred in the battle itself. Link prayed his sons had died fighting, or at the very least fallen on their own swords before the battle ended. Such a fate would have been mercy compared to that of those who had not. The Hyrulian army had rounded up those who had survived, and Excruciated them all as punishment, a sentence historically given only to murderers and traitors. A direct assault on the king and his family could very well be considered a most despicable act of defection, Link admitted, but it seemed excessive to treat an army of men as if they were treacherous members of the royal court. To give out Excruciations arbitrarily would make it lose all its meaning and become cruelty for the sake of cruelty. Unfortunately, under Hyrule's most recent king, the number of traitors considered worthy of Excruciation had risen dramatically.
Excruciation could be carried out anywhere, but it was traditionally done in the forests so the trunks of the great trees could be utilized, rather than erecting freestanding structures. The criminal was usually marched or beaten into submission until he couldn't struggle any longer, then nailed through the sockets of both shoulders into the trunk of the tree. Suffocation was usually the cause of death if animals didn't get there first, though due to the famine of that winter, such an occurrence was rare. Yet another aspect of the sadism of Excruciation was that the criminal could move his arms slightly, perhaps enabling him to swat at insects or attempt to fend off other animals, but doing so would cause an even worse pain and damage to his shoulders. The criminal's instincts told him to defend himself, but doing so would only prolong and increase the suffering.
In the case of the more vicious or repugnant of murderers and traitors, the criminal was given a footrest, which would prolong the torture for possibly days depending on the health of the criminal at the time. Measures beyond that were usually reserved only to the most despicable of murderers or one who had betrayed the Kingdom in the vilest of ways and before the modern era only a handful had been given this sentence, such was the punishment regarded. However, following the Battle of Evermore the regular soldiers had been lined up and sentenced according to nothing but chance. Five out of every ten men had been Excruciated in the traditional way. Four out of every ten had been given footrests for their Excruciations, while the remaining tenth of them had been disemboweled. Their intestines had been pulled out through the slits in their bellies until the bowels reached the ground. Reportedly, the wolves that had come had pulled at the entrails and organs that spilled out of the rebels' torsos and gnawed at their feet and legs for hours before the criminals had finally succumb to their wounds. The screams of all of these men's spirits were said to echo on cold winter nights, even now. But the officers' fate had been worse yet. They had been Excruciated some twenty feet above the ground, given footrests, and had their intestines carefully wound out until they also reached the forest floor. The larger animals hadn't been able to reach anything but the entrails, but the crows and insects had been more than able.
He prayed to the three goddesses his sons had fallen in battle. He prayed that harder than anything else in the world.
He soon finished milking and went to take care of his other responsibilities before breakfast. Lauron came by him once, yawning, but in a disposition much better than that of her father. His thoughts remained dark and troubled until Malon called them in for their meal. His wife wasn't pretty anymore; her hair was more gray than red, and her figure had swelled past that of her younger self. No, she couldn't win any beauty contests these days, but a truly beautiful woman wasn't measured solely on appearance and Link supposed she still possessed that most important beauty of the soul. She also possessed a voice that could be heard for miles if she wanted, and commanded the authority of a general giving orders to his soldiers. Both father and daughter quickly washed up and sat down at the table while Malon dished out the eggs, milk, bread, and butter. Apparently they were out of bacon. He'd have to go to the butcher and purchase some, if he could scrounge up the rupees.
They sat down and Link blessed the food with a short prayer to Hyrule, the Goddesses, and the land. He finished, and it was quiet after that but for the sounds of silverware and slurping. A few minutes later Lauron broke the silence as she began to speak.
"So do you like my bracelet, Daddy?"
He looked up and gave a weak smile. It was gold, with four markings designating it as that of Goronian design, and very beautiful, though it was rather plain by some standards.
"Don't you mean my bracelet?" he said ornerily, "After all it took quite an adventure to get that and it was given to me by someone very important."
"Yeah but then you gave it to me with no adventure at all, so it's mine," she replied, equally ornery, "Besides, even if it can't make its wearer stronger anymore, it still looks better on me than it would on you."
"Which isn't a tough thing-" he began before getting cut off.
"So I guess you believe your father's old stories, do you?" Malon interrupted, softly. Link looked up, arching a suspicious eyebrow. Malon had never believed him and disapproved of it when he told his stories to the children but she'd never said anything to them before.
"Well," Lauron began diplomatically, "I believe some of them, but some of them are just too much me. But I also believe there's some Daddy hasn't told me yet."
He laughed, cutting out any further comment his daughter might have and any other response his wife might make to it.
"Ha ha, well, you know how I get sometimes. I catch a fish that's four pounds and by the time the story gets to any of you it's forty. You can take whatever you hear from me with a grain of salt and you always have, as it should it be."
He finished eating what was on his plate and wiped his mouth. Malon got up, got his plate, and he kissed her on the cheek before grabbing his hat off the rack and heading outside to work in the field. He still had a full day ahead of him, after all.
Later that DayWorking in his field, Link brushed the sweat off his brow and peered up at the hot sun overhead. Already past noon. Damn it. He wasn't even half as done as he thought he'd be by this time. He was plowing some of the dry, dusty earth even though there was no moisture to be found below the surface. Futile. It was all futile unless some rain came but what else could he do but plant the seeds and hope for the best? Oh, he longed for the days when he had command over time and weather, when magic was his to fling about haphazardly. Those had been the best days of his life…
He heard laughter and turned to see his daughter skipping toward him bringing a small glass of water with her and a piece of sweet cake. He gave a quick jerk on the harness he was wearing and Alosa obeyed immediately, stopping. As Lauron reached him, he saw her had a grin on her face that spread from one ear to the other and she seemed to be the very embodiment of joy. He smiled, her happiness rubbing off on him somehow and reminding him that the best days of his life didn't have to lie behind him. She was fifteen and had some of the fairer features her mother had had at that age, the resemblance was clearly there, but she took after her father far more, in look as well as attitude. Her hair was also the same light blond as his, something he was quite appreciative after four consecutive children with red. Having his genes get overridden by his wife so many times was insulting but finally he'd won out, and in a big way. Lauron was athletic and active, as at home in the field and forest as the valley. On the few occasions he'd taken her hunting, she'd also proven herself quite a shot with the bow. On her horse she was as natural, if not more, than he'd ever been. But the one undeniable trait he had given her was his stubbornness. She wouldn't be pushed into anything, even if it was what she really wanted. Why, if she'd had a sword and shield she would have been a carbon copy of her father, probably out in search of adventure tramping all over the kingdom, too. Of course, when he had been young, the kingdom had been a much safer place. Goblins and walking skeletons made for clearly defined enemies, of which the same could no longer be said.
"How's your sowin' goin' out here, Pops?" she asked, cheerily.
"Oh, it's goin'," he said as he took a drink. "Though I hope your mother's getting along with her sewin' a might better than I'm getting along with mine. We'll probably be needing an extra set of clothes. This winter's supposed to get pretty cold, even in the south, so the astrologers say."
"Daddy, you know you don't believe in that stuff and Mom sure as hell doesn't."
"Heck, sweetie, say heck."
"But Daddy, you say 'hell' all the time."
"Yeah I do, but never around your mother," he answered between gulps.
"Well Mom's not around right now."
"No, she's not, but you're gonna' slip and say it around your mother one day and then blame it on me," he took a bite of his cake, "and then I'll be sleeping out in the stable for goddesses know how long. She may be a rancher's daughter but I'll be damned – durned - if she doesn't have the manners of a lady in the royal court."
His glass was empty and crumbs covered the rest of his plate as he chewed the last of the cake.
"You done with that glass and plate, yet, Daddy?"
He looked down.
"Nah, I figure to keep it here with me the rest of the day for decoration," he replied sarcastically. She grabbed them both from him and stuck out her tongue. He stuck out his tongue back her, full of half chewed food and she giggled as she ran back toward the house. Silly girl. One day she wouldn't be a silly girl anymore or a girl at all and then that serious woman would leave the home and her and Malon would be all alone… But that as he behavior today proved, that was still many years away yet.
He put the harness back on and flicked the leather harness, starting the horse again. Almost as soon as he started going back to work, he saw some dust being kicked up further down the main road. Who could that be, he wondered. A minute later, he saw a two-horse carriage that was rather low scale, but still a class above what people in the valley were accustomed to. It stopped at the edge of his property and a young woman stepped out and grabbed a satchel off the top before walking toward the house. Link thought he recognized who it was but he couldn't be sure. He continued plowing for a moment before he heard his wife yell at him to come in. Dropping his harness, he sighed and started making his way to the house. He was only half way there before he recognized who the mysterious visitor was and he broke into a sprint. The young woman saw him and began running toward him as well. Just before they reached each other, she launched herself into the air and he caught her and spun her around twice before collapsing in mock exhaustion.
"By the goddesses, girl, what have those patients been feeding you for payment?" he asked, "Lead?"
"It's good to see you too, Daddy," Sharon said dryly as she got off him. He got up as well, dusting himself off. "Or maybe you're just not compensating for your own weight, old man," she said jiggling his gut, albeit a small one, playfully.
"Ah!" he exclaimed clutching at his heart, as if pulling out a poisonous arrow, "My daughter goes away for a months at a time and this is how she comes to treat me? Is this what those healers are teaching you while you're away from us?"
"Both of you stop that and come inside," Malon ordered sternly from the house.
"Honey, I've got work to do," Link pleaded to her. Malon looked out at the barren field and put her hands on her hips.
"Link, you can play around in the dirt any time but Sharon is only home once a year."
"It's not really that long, Mom," Lauron muttered, standing next to Malon.
"Well it feels like it," Malon said firmly, ending all discussion. "And you're both coming in," she said to Link and Sharon using the same tone. He looked back over his shoulder at the field. She was right. It wasn't going to do any good and he did want to see Sharon before she left again. He started heading in. Sharon put her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. He could always do it tomorrow anyway.