So, when are you guys gonna start writing fics for this game? I'll be in waiting for you all so take your time.
For now, here's this.
Forge
Link was never allowed to wield swords.
Why would he? He was just a blacksmith apprentice. He rarely got the chance to hold them unless they were for delivery.
He was still too young - and maybe too lazy - to make a sword on his own, so he settled for observing from afar, memorizing the smallest of details on the blades the Blacksmith made.
The nobles - if they ever chose to have a blade that is - preferred thin, glamorously-decorated ones that were far too expensive to fight with. Soiling them with battles was out of question; they were only there to show status.
The royal guards' swords were broad and looked threatening; a means of warning to the visitors of the Castle not to start something they'd regret, but what most didn't know was that their swords weren't that sharp - they were in fact too dull and heavy to stop an outbreak.
The army, however, was a different case; their swords were sharp and light, ready to cut their way through their enemies effortlessly, edges designed to simply kill.
The knights' combined the best of everything; intimidating yet pleasing to look at and utterly efficient in the heat of the battle. They were rarely made, for knights worthy of such blades were few.
He couldn't wait for the day he'd make one himself, a fine blade any knight would be proud to own.
A day he'd wield one without anyone protesting about it.
It was a small wish, a secret that he didn't let anyone know about. In the quiet corners of his small house, he practiced his skills, testing how he fared against the guards and soldiers of Hyrule. He didn't sneak off with the swords the Blacksmith made for customers, of course; he'd never allow himself to do that. He took the failed models, the ones his Master told him to get rid of. Even if they tended to break after a short while, it was enough for a daily practice.
He thought that this how it was going to be: dreaming to be a blacksmith by day and practicing with failed sword models by night. A simple life and small achievements.
He never - not in his wildest dreams and scariest nightmares - expected to be tasked with saving his world and an alternate one. He never imagined that he would wield a legendary blade, one that wasn't made by human hands, one that continued to make him stare at it in utter awe every time he unsheathed it.
He never thought that being a hero would come to him so naturally.
He wondered over and over again, turning that fact left and right in his mind until he figured a reason for it.
Maybe, like the Master Sword, his spirit was forged to do it.
End.