red. red everywhere. it is sticky, and awful, and smells awful. like chum. his face is sticky. he's crying. his fingers are slippery with blood. he is holding something too large to be practically held. it feels wrong. he shouldn't be holding... the prince. oh god. there's blood everywhere. he isn't moving. he isn't moving. the blood is pooling. it's drying a crusty brown. he has to move. he has to. those amber eyes stare up at him and see nothing. he reaches down and closes them, leaving smears of half-congealed blood in his wake. his tears run down onto the prince, cleaning tracks in the blood on both of their faces. it's over. he's cold, so cold. the prince is heavy. link heaves him onto his shoulders and runs. he doesn't stop until he sees shelter. there are more enemies here. he slams to a halt, turning around to run the other way. nothing feels real. his world tilts. there are more behind him. he is surrounded. they're closing in
link wakes up sweating. his clothes stick where they're touching his skin. he feels sick, but manages not to throw up immediately. instead, he does it in the nearby bushes. striking camp takes all of five minutes, and he's gliding off. the wind is cool against his skin and fresh-smelling. it's almost enough to wash away the sick feeling of dread that the vision had left him with. the moon is out. it's a beautiful night.
the sun is overhead by the time he sets down. he has arrived at zora's domain. the sunlight glints magnificently off the great many pillars and fountains of the palace-like structure. link is absolutely exhausted. he lands at the gates. his legs and arms shake. he smiles tiredly up at the guards and they let him in, exchanging worried looks—both because what the heck could have made the legendary hero drop everything and come here with no warning, what's going on, and also because he looks like he's literally been hang-gliding for 12 hours straight. what the heck, kid!
where's the prince. where is he. link marches straight for the throne room. that's the first place to look, probably! the king is there. just chillin. where is sidon. where is he. link signs. the king's like 'oh. he just went to the reservoir for a stroll. (or some shit)'. ok thanks.
link's off again. his hang-gliding muscles are spent but he manages to dash all the way there in about eight minutes. the prince is there. he's there. he's alive. "link! what a pleasure to see you! how have you—" he looks link up and down. "what happened?"
link collapses.
he can't breathe. he coughs, and hot blood spills from his lips. that's too much blood. that's not healthy. 'link!' is that the prince. 'link, oh my god! it's going to be all right, just look at me!' is that him? 'come on, please look at me! link!' link searches around hazily. he sees some red. is that the prince, or is it his own... oh, it's getting dark. 'link!' well, no matter. 'link! link, please!' he's so tired. his eyes slip closed... 'stay with me! link, please, look at me, link! link!'
link wakes up screaming. "link!" it's the prince. it's really him. he's helping link up. "are you okay?"
he's ok. well, spent like a rupee, but ok. he apologizes profusely for the trouble. he was just checking on something.
"well, would you like to join me? you seem in need of a break." sidon beckons. the water is cool but not cold, and it feels heavenly to just float around. it calms link's frayed nerves. it also is calming to have the prince right there, where link can hear him splashing about. link can just lift his head to see him there, safe. safe. it's safe. he's safe. they're safe.
for now.
...
link stays a week before departing for more adventures. this time, he brings a friend along.
the nightmares do not return.