It had been an eternity, and nothing had changed.

Link could barely fathom what kept him going, what coerced him to awaken each day. There was no glory in his destiny; he could see that now. Nothing he had accomplished was worth his nightmares, dreams where blood flowed through his fingers like water. What, he often wondered, kept him alive?

Perhaps it was the woman who walked at his side each day and slept at his side each night. She kept up with him no matter what pace he set without a word of complaint and did not flinch at the death that seemed to follow in his wake. Once, long ago, he admired her for her tireless, indomitable spirit, but now it seemed only a dark reminder of his own mortality. She had become an angel's torch, a symbol to light the way for the worthy. Ever he worried that her brilliance was not meant for him.

He had slipped into an engagement with Zelda as easily as a fish unhooked and set to water. At first it might have been for love, but now it had become what almost all marriages in Hyrule were: a contract. She had become what kept him going, and he had become what kept her safe from the darkness all around him. Strange, then, that as he lay beside her at night, stroking her hair with dirty, calloused fingers, he should wonder more and more incessantly how to protect her from the growing darkness inside him. It was only a matter of time before this delicate angel was forever tainted.

He worried. Endlessly, obsessively. Each day was another worry added to the pile. Forefront was the calm, disturbing knowledge that he was marrying without love, when his thoughts strayed so very often to someone unattainable. He did not love Zelda, perhaps could not, when it seemed as though she was the epitome of dignity and he himself was but a soiled, bloodstained child. She had never killed anything. She fought with him, yet he had never once seen her kill. It was not that she was incapable of doing so, he was sure; simply that she did not want to and could afford not to. And he, who killed almost daily, whose hands were stained by the blood of dozens—hundreds?—of sentient, feeling creatures… What could he possibly offer her?

It seemed as though he had no choice. His quest was almost at an end and with it any hope for salvation. He had done what he must; he had awakened the Six Sages, conquered the six Temples. There was but one obstacle left, and only hours left before he would begin.

He had slept badly the night before and had been up long before sunrise. As he moved aside the blankets which he shared with his fiancée, there was barely enough light to see. This did not disturb him. They had made camp in Hyrule Field somewhere near Lon Lon Ranch. They could easily have taken shelter there and Zelda had offered no reasons why they did not. Link did not much care. As one who had grown up in a tree house with no doors or closed windows, he fully appreciated the sounds of nature. By the time it occurred to him to ask if his fiancée felt the same way, he would be unable to do so.

Link sauntered to one of the low walls that littered the field. He had never divined either the material used or the purpose for which it had been meant. He sat down on it and looked out over the field. The field was not beautiful; it was an almost sterile grassland sporting nothing but weeds and the occasional tree. Even so, it had its own hard charm. If nothing else, he had never killed here.

There was no comfort in his assessment of the landscape. Gannondorf's castle, his final trial and ordeal, dominated the panorama. Was that an aura of evil, a palatable evidence of the Thief King's cruelty and malevolence, or was that just fog? Whatever the true answer, it was not a consoling thought.

Time dragged. Minutes stretched to hours and hours days, but Link did not mourn this. Let this single moment be suspended in time, for all he cared; anything to stall from the terrible crucible ahead. He could not bear the thought of satisfying his destiny, not when he was so fascinated by the man kismet meant him to kill.

He felt no love for the Great King; he was not so foolish as that. His emotions were, very simply, fascination and jealousy. Here walks a man who is adored by a race of women, who seems to bend even the goddess' wills to his choosing; a man well-nigh untouchable, who does anything he wants without needing to think of the consequences. King Gannondorf was not tortured by conscience or blinded by fate. He was the sinfully arrogant, exultant trickster god. Moreover, his would-be assassin was a lowly serf, the forgotten slave of divine will who longs only for even a taste of the eternal blitheness enjoyed by his target. It was not anger or hatred Link felt for him, however warranted. He could no longer fathom despising Gannondorf.

Birds' songs cut through the still air, celebrating the rising sun, yet another source of jealousy. These birds did not hurt inside. Their needs were simple, easily attainable. What would Link not have done to take away the pain and let such stark guilelessness wash through him?

Nothing in his life was that easy. Each night, as he fought to let sleep overtake him, his mind turned over the endless possibilities. Regardless of what actually happened, his life was ended; whether he defeated the Thief King or was killed by him, or whether he fled from his destiny like a coward, there was nothing left for him. His purpose would be complete. He was but a slave to his destiny, chattel to an unfeeling god who left him no provisions for any future.

"My love?"

Link did not start, although he sorely wanted to do so. He had hoped his beloved would not wake anytime soon.

He turned to look at her. Zelda's hair was tousled, her eyes still half-closed, and there was a pink stripe on her face from where she had slept with her head nestled on her forearm. Link could not help but smile at her eternal loveliness. There was no true happiness in his smile, and she must have seen that. He had little doubt that she at least was aware of his deep, black depression. She let a small melancholic smile come over her lips as she asked, "Will you come back to bed?"

He did, if only for her sake. He settled down behind her, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and nuzzling his chin into her silky hair. She slept in only a slip which fell beautifully along her body, accenting her curves.

She was quiet for a long time, leading Link to think that she had fallen back asleep. In a way it was a relief, although his arm was falling asleep from her weight. He had turned his head to watch then sun rise over the mountains when she asked softly, "You don't want to do this, do you?"

Lying to her would have been too much for him to bear. "No."

"Why?"

How could he even begin an answer? The task of putting such a concept into words felt as massive as containing the ocean into a handful of syllables. Besides, what could he say to her? He dared not let on his fear of the futures nor his obsession with a killer and not for all the world would he risk hurting her with it.

"I'm just…" His voice broke. For the first time in years, he felt tears well up beneath his eyes. Here was one more source of frustration: his damnable tears. What did they show but his own weakness? "I don't know. I guess I'm scared. Or something."

"I trust you," Zelda said gently. "You have defended me all these years. I watched you in awe, you know, my love. I have no doubt in your abilities."

If only it were that simple, he mused. It was easy enough to believe in his skills; that was very bottom on his list of priorities. Why he worried was the unquenchable fear that though his prowess was indeed great, the Thief King's might be greater. He had never tested himself against anyone of Gannondorf's skill, and the rumors of Gannondorf's mettle did nothing to ease his terror.

"Come," Zelda said. She got up and went over to where Link had laid their packs against a tree. "Today will be a long day. We should get started quickly."

Then it begins, Link thought. As he watched his beloved dress, it occurred to him that he did not know if he wished more dearly for success or defeat.