AAAAAHHHHH
I'm sorry for sinni n g

He cannot express how he feels – in words, in facial gestures, in the way he battles his enemies. Although the entire army and the kingdom had been affected deeply, it was Volga who suffered the worst. He could no longer scan the barracks waiting for eager open arms to rush at him, blue eyes soft with love. He could no longer spar with him for so long that their muscles screeched for rest, could no longer tend to each other's battle wounds, chastising one another for pushing themselves too far. He could no longer press butterfly kisses into blond hair or against high cheekbones, and worst of all, he could no longer awaken to such a brilliant, glowing face beside his every morning.
Whatever Link had fought against had brought him to his demise. From what Volga knew, it had been the very first time he had lost to anything in a battle – except the very rare times the dragon knight had bested him to his own game – and it was Volga who had found him. He had found Link a bloody mess in the grass, barely alive and breathing through tears and pain.
Volga's first instinct was to scream as loud as he could, to knock boulders from Death Mountain, to cause ripples in Lake Hylia.
Why had it been him to find his best friend, the one person who completed him, fighting for consciousness in a froth of tears and blood?
At first, the dragon denied that it was Link; it was just someone who bore a striking resemblance to him, and coincidentally had the same outfit as him. But as the evidence mounted as he neared, he couldn't deny the fear and heartbreak, already aching deep in his chest.
Every time his eyes closed, he saw that bloodied, painful smile as the hero reached to stroke Volga's face. Every time, he saw the love in Link's eyes – and couldn't take his own from the spilling red of his midsection, dark and maliciously dripping to taunt the dragon.
He could no longer put Link on his shoulders for being too short to see anything, or keep him warm whenever it got cold in the night. No longer would mashed potatoes be flicked at Volga's head, Link bursting into laughter if he hit the target because he would get away with it, or the dragon knight reaching around Link, sticking his entire huge hand into the bowl of cookie dough, and getting swatted in the face with the spoon. He would always get reprimanded for it, looking like an annoyed kitten when Volga waved his cookie dough filled fist in his face because Link couldn't eat it, but Volga so totally could.
Every day that passes, Volga wonders why he let the blond go out by himself.
If the dragon had been there with him, would he be beside Link, who would be happily chattering about nothing and playing with a gauntleted hand?
Or would they both be dead?

When he had finally discovered the boy, it was clear whatever he had fought had been gone for some time. Nobody except Link knew what it was, and now they knew what they were facing.

Hyrule's best soldier had fallen to it. They had no hope.

The soldiers usually walk fast by Volga, but seeing him at their usual spot, head buried in massive hands and shoulders shaking, they practically run past him. Zelda had done her best to talk with him once, but when her words met with silence, she had given up and walked away. To Volga, there was no way to explain what he felt. Impa hadn't been killed, so at least the princess had somebody close to her to speak to, to hug whenever she desperately needed it.
As he sits there, memories and words burning deep in his lungs and heart, he is not aware of the time passing so quickly. He can no longer hear the avian orchestra, the soft chatter of the soldiers nearby. His ears are ringing, his head is pounding, and it constricts his ribcage to stifle his sobs. But that pain is nothing to him, nothing to compare to what he felt.
Nobody would ever understand it.
As Volga finally raises his head – green eyes glossy with tears, back and neck cracking in unison – he looks to the sky. He focuses on the candy clouds to even his breathing. The dragon sits there for several minutes, sure he's looking like a fool, but the clouds do naught, and he eventually rises to go. His original plan was to finally eat dinner with the rest of the army, instead of requesting it to his and Li—his quarters, but when he saw they had served mashed potatoes, silence filled the dining hall. The soldiers and trainees fell silent, eyes boring into the table, and Volga's eyes burned and announced himself excused with the slam of a door.
He couldn't bear to look at Link's eternally empty seat.
The dragon knight is glad to be surrounded by his familiar belongings again, in the privacy of his quarters. It still smelled like all the things the blond had used whenever he bathed – he remembers the massive fit Link had thrown when he discovered Zelda hoarded all the soaps and shampoos that smelled good, and he wanted in – and the dragon has to sit at the edge of his bed before his knees buckle. He feels the tears begin to rise again, but he's so exhausted from them all. None of them can bring Link back, but it's all he can bring his aching body to do. Volga's breaths are ragged, but he does not sob.
Not yet.
His hand instinctively reaches out to smooth a wrinkle of out his blankets. It's become a habit long embedded into him, and it soothes his soul – but not by much, especially as he feels Link's phantom weight laying on what had been his side of the bed.
God. It's too much.
He wants Link back so much. It's torture to smell him and to imagine feeling his weight, but to never get to hold him again.
That was the last thing Volga had done to him: he'd kissed Link, and just held him until no more life lived within those pretty blue eyes. He saw those eyes in his sleep, blinking at him and telling him it was just a bad dream and he would wake up.
How the dragon wished it so.
Volga stands so fast his vision almost blacks, but in a few strides he's at the window. In his reflection, he sees how blank his eyes had become; underneath them are dark shadows that have never taken home before. His expression is pale and blank, but he instead focuses on the sunset, golden and crimson as the sun begins to sink away.

In his reflection, it's almost a dream, but he sees Link's beautiful face, leaning against him and holding onto his arm.

The dragon knight's heart leaps, and upon instinct, he looks down where the blond had been against him two weeks prior. They had always stood here, to look at the lightning splitting the sky, the rising sun, the stars-

-Volga pulls the curtains shut. With the only light of his life stolen from him, no longer would Volga have to worry about dancing with death. If it came, he would accept it.