Blood of the Sacred

The Hero without Hope

The water lapped- gently, sweetly as if there were nothing softer than that first skim of wet upon the waiting shore.

It was a lovers caress: timid and tender, exploring even as it remembered, lingering for long moments where it touched.

Nestled in her bosom of the sky, the moon watched like a patient mother. Her rays fell sparsely, somehow playfully kissing the layers of the lake she observed.

In the gentle breath of the wind, you could feel her blessing. She was content, replete, and the trees that shivered under the brush of the wind seemed to sing.

Hyrule was a child, tucked tenderly into the arms of mother nature to rest; and in that slumber, peaceful and complete.

The sun would bring with it the complications of life. But here, in this silence, in the cooing caress of the night, there was nothing but calm.

He sat the flagon of ale beside him on the ground, watching from where he sat on the patch of grass along the shore, the wind ripple across the calm water.

He'd known peace in these last years and a nearly lazy contentment that sometimes gave him pause.

The triforce was safely stowed in her tower, guarded not only by the best Hyrule had to offer, but by his own waiting blade.

His gaze turned to the blade in question. It wasn't the Master Sword; in some ways, it was more .

It had followed him from youth, on his sojourn from child to man. It had resolutely fought side by side with him like a comrade. Where his friends had fallen, the sword remained, a constant steadfast ally.

The blade was dull now from years of use. The edge remained razor sharp, though the hilt and the steel had lost it's luster. It was a simple sword made of thrice folded metal and a crudely fashioned silver hilt.

It hadn't defeated Ganon or driven back the hordes of evil but it had lain in his palm and defended many. And when the Master Sword had returned to its dwelling in the temple; this sword had remained, a staunch and sturdy protector as dependable as the man who wielded it.

His name was Link and he was the champion of Hyrule. The predestined hero of the ages. The boy who'd become a man and filled the shoes of legend.

He'd taken up sword and mantle more than once to shelter those he'd never met. He'd delved into darkness, seen the demise of friend and foe alike, danced with the devil and survived to tell of it. He was a hero.

And where it should have brought pride, should have brought complicity, should have brought happiness, when the spoils of war were counted and the victories tallied; it brought only loneliness.

So he sat, on the shores of Lake Hylia, on the eve of the wedding of Princess Zelda, and he knew a sadness as wide and as persisting as the water itself.

He'd always known of course, that Zelda would marry.

To rule, to become queen, she had to have a King beside her.

And as much as he was a champion; as much as he was a hero...he would never be a Prince. Whatever else was true? A Princess must always marry a Prince.

Over the years, he'd reconciled himself to be nothing more then a figure head for the happiness of others. He'd smiled, shaken hands, accepted tokens of gratitude from those around him and forced himself to swallow the seeds of regret that tried to rear their ugly heads.

Some would say he should have no complaint with life.

He was healthy, he was a hero, he was revered and respected the world over. What else could he possibly want?

He slid his finger down along the blade of his sword and the blood that welled on the white of his skin was as red as any other in the moonlight.

Because at the end of the day, he was a man. As mortal as any that walked the earth.

And what he wanted, sometimes what he needed, was love.

It wasn't as though women hadn't looked. And it wasn't even as if women hadn't offered.

He'd known moments of temptation. He'd looked into eyes that cried out for affection and wanted, desperately, to reciprocate. But something had always lingered there, in the back of his mind like a plague.

Even his closest friend, Marin, the girl who'd once given a skinny boy a chance, looked at him as if the sun rose and set behind his eyes.

And she was beautiful. Simple, loving, real. She'd offered him everything. And he knew, he'd always known, that he should at her and feel something more than this brotherly love.

If he'd been able to feel it, he'd have married her, bred children from her, and raised a family. It was his right after all. To live life as any man deserved.

But he'd never looked at woman and felt it, deep down inside his gut. He'd never felt it. That fire that licked and burned and obliterated.

He'd never felt it for anyone the way he felt it for Zelda.

There'd never been a time she'd looked through him. The Princess raised and reared to stare down her nose at commoners. From that moment he'd scaled the walls of the castle and found her with that ocarina, she'd never seen him as anything but her equal.

But in the same vein, she'd never looked at him with anything other than the same emotion he saw in his own eyes when they looked at Marin.

She didn't really see him. None of them did.

If she'd seen him, really seen him as more than the hero, as more than a friend...would she be there, inside her castle, awaiting her marriage to another man?

More than once, he'd almost gotten up the resolve to tell her about his feelings.

He'd struggled with the idea of simply blurting out the truth of it when she least expected it. Perhaps during their morning ride together.

But, each morning, he got up, got dressed, and shared his morning ride with the woman he loved without uttering a single word about it.

Link shifted, wiping his bloody finger on the green wool of his tunic.

You could seldom catch him in different colors. Deep down inside he was still Kokiri. And no amount of disillusion could change his love of nature.

Tomorrow, for Zelda's wedding, he'd wear black.

It wasn't attributed to his grief over losing her. It was out of respect.

He'd agreed to stand as one of her personal guard during the ceremony.

He'd wear the helmet, the armor, the cape and hope it hid his agony inside its coffin like steel.

He rose, crossing the grass away from the lake to wear Epona stood.

He never tethered her. There was no need. She was the Link to his Zelda, she'd have followed him anywhere.

He ran his hand over the smooth brown velvet of her nose. Epona whinnied softly, as if sensing his sadness.

"Come on girl, let's get back to the castle. We're wasting moonlight." With a catch of her mane, he easily mounted her back in a smooth, fluid motion.

Epona pranced, as if she were happy to have his comforting weight atop her again.

He gripped her bridle, clicking his tongue to turn her away from the view of the lake and the moon that floated gently in the sky above.

The ride across the flowing green grass was lethargic. He was in no hurry to return to the towering goliath of the castle.

As soon as he stepped foot inside those stone walls, misery would suffocate him as surely as the stone itself. At least here, in the open , he had a chance of temporary release.

He wondered, as the rhythmic pulse of Epona's hooves striking earth filled his ears, if Zelda would laugh knowing he'd never known the touch of a woman.

Would she give him that eloquent lift of her eyebrow that signaled doubt? Or would she laugh and gently poke her elbow into his ribs in disbelief?

Maybe she'd find it pathetic. The idea of pining so desperately for someone for so long that you forgot to find a woman to make love to. Hell, it seemed likely.

He thought it was pathetic. Why wouldn't she?

The castle rose, big and beautiful, lit now with the beauty of magic light. Torches were seldom used as all it took was the flick of the fingers of the castle magicians to bring fire to the darkened sky.

When presented the option, Link still used a torch. It was adequate and though he might be a hero, he'd never been a magician.

Epona's hooves pounded over the lowered draw bridge as they rode across and under the sweeping arch into the castle grounds.

As he dismounted and led her to the stables to be watered and rubbed down, he wondered where Zelda was inside this stone coffin, and exactly what she was thinking.

He found her, in her flowing white robe, kneeling at the altar in the Temple of Time.

Link paused in surprise as he entered. He'd come himself to pray for patience, for understanding and strength.

To see her there, kneeling so resolutely before the Master Sword, her hands clasped piously before her, her face tilted down over them, hidden by the hood of her cloak, his heart stopped.

Link stood, as if frozen to the spot watching her. He knew he should leave, give her peace. But he remained, watching as tiny wet tears dripped from the end of her nose to splash on the altar.

She was crying. Praying and crying.

His heart broke into a thousand pieces. Taking his resolve in his hands, he took a step forward and as he did, the hilt of his sword clinked against his belt buckle, alerting her to the presence of someone else.

As if she'd been caught in a nefarious position, Zelda sprang up, swiping madly at her face to clear away the tracks of her tears.

She spun, the white of her cloak spinning out around her like a silken tornado. And before Link had taken another step, she had a hand on the hilt of the dagger at her waist, preparing to draw down on him.

Zelda's mind froze as did her hand upon the dagger. As did the man approaching.

Of all the people she'd expected, Link had been the last. She'd been informed of his departure from the castle. She'd known he'd ridden away as if the hounds of hell were tracking him.

And she'd come here to pray for the strength to walk down the aisle on the morrow and forget him.

If he had even an inkling of her true feelings, he would have left Hyrule long before.

And she'd have suffered in silence for all eternity, loving him only deep inside her heart, if it kept him close. The idea of revealing herself and watching him ride away tore her apart more than loving in secret ever could.

She'd known, she'd always known, that she couldn't have him. From the time she'd been so little, standing in the courtyard watching a skinny little boy come toward her, she'd known she couldn't have him.

All the rules of the monarchy aside, she'd known. If she'd thought, for even a moment, that he'd wanted her...she might have abdicated the throne. She might have done that for Link.

But the years had passed, and their friendship had become nothing more, and she'd assumed the responsibility of her crown. Of her country.

And as he father lay even now, teetering between life and death, she knew his dying wish was to see her wed...to see her rule as she was meant to.

And though they were no more than five feet apart, she'd never felt farther away from the man before her.

Zelda attempted to gather herself, taking a deep breath to clear her voice. "I...I didn't hear you come in."

Link shifted, eyes fastened to her face. "I was coming to pray...I didn't mean to disturb you."

Zelda shook her head, coming forward a few steps. "No. I was finished. I was just...preparing myself for the morrow."

He kept his face blank, pleasant. Though part of him wanted to rage and gnash his teeth. "Nervous?"

She lifted her face from the floor, showing him eyes still wet with tears. But she smiled and he never saw it reach those eyes.

"A little." A lot. Too much. "Prince Alastor will make a good king."

And he would. He was one of fifteen princes that had come from all over to try for her hand. He'd won the tournament thrown in her honor. He'd wooed her father with his knowledge and his chivalry. He was the perfect choice for a king.

And when she looked at him, at his handsome face, at his shock of white blonde hair and his green eyes, she felt nothing.

He'd stolen a kiss once, in the arbor behind the courtyard after their engagement feast. He'd taken Zelda into his arms and kissed her.

It should have been romantic. It should have been sweet. But it had left her aching.

Because inside the banquet hall, laughing with the guards, lounging by the fire, Link had been waiting. And she'd have given almost anything to have shared a kiss with him.

If only one. If only one to remember.

Shaking her head, she took another step forward and than another. There was no point dwelling on it. What was done was done. Tomorrow she'd be queen. Tomorrow she'd begin forgetting that wild blonde hair, those enigmatic blue eyes, and that arrogant line of nose and jaw. She'd forget the way his earrings winked in the sunlight, the way his muscles gleamed beneath his tunic after training.

She'd forget that day she'd come upon him by accident down by the lake.

He could have bathed in the castle. He was entitled to it. But until that day, she'd never known that he hadn't.

She'd stolen away for the afternoon, pilfering some cheese and wine from the kitchen as she set off on her own adventure. She'd escaped her lessons to do it.

The school mistress, Daneleigh had given her hell when she'd returned but she'd done it anyway.

And as she'd ridden her mount beyond the gates of Lake Hylia, she'd been proud of her audacity.

She'd expected to find herself some quiet on the peaceful shores.

What she found was Link, emerging from the calm waters as naked as the day he was born.

He was older than her. Even now, she wondered what his age was. She knew he'd have laughed at her enraptured expression.

And though she'd been nineteen, and considered herself worldly, she'd stood beside her mount in awe.

His skin lacked the greenish tint of the Kokiri. She knew he considered himself one of them, as he'd grown up in their folds. But he was Hylian. And it was there, in the pale spill of his skin, in the point of his ears, bared beneath the slicked back wetness of his hair. It was there in the line of his jaw, in the slant of his eyes, in the proud, straight backed carriage.

And she'd never begun to guess what he'd hidden under the safety of his tunics.

His body was lithe, graceful like a cat. Muscle lay in the strong line of his arms, in the washboard beauty of his stomach and the steel of his pectorals. He was slim hipped, long legged and graced with thighs heavy with muscle.

His was a warrior's body, beautiful and virile and strong.

And if she'd stared, just a little too long, and just a little too red in the face, at the root of his manhood...well at least he'd never know it.

Even now, looking at him standing there, she remembered that day.

He'd never seen her. As she watched him emerge like an Adonis from that water. The sun had gilded his hair, turned the white of his skin nearly translucent. He'd been beautiful. The taut lines of skin over muscle.

And she'd watched him as he moved, watched his backside as he bent to dress.

Without his hat, his hair seemed longer, trailing wet and dark down his back. The water had turned the soft blonde brown and when he turned and she stared at his profile, it gave the illusion of short hair.

Zelda shook herself, emerging from the murky waters of remembrance.

She'd reached him and started to move past him.

She didn't expect him to grip her arms and push her out and away from him. The move had the hood falling from the tumble of her platinum blonde hair.

Her eyes flew wide, staring into his face. "Link?"

Link's fingers kneaded into her arms. He was holding her captive but it was gently. She could have escaped. If she'd wanted to.

"Is everything alright, Link?"

He didn't know. He wanted to say no. No it wasn't. He wanted to tell her not to marry that other man. The one Link had seen more than once sneaking off into the stables with Zelda's ladies in waiting. He wanted to say he wasn't good enough, wouldn't ever be good enough for her.

And her eyes were watching him with such unabashed curiosity.

Link released her arms and Zelda frowned. "What is it, Link? What's wrong?"

He shook his head, staring not at her, but at the Master Sword imbedded and waiting in the altar before them.

"Nothing. It's nothing. Go on."

Zelda stayed still for a moment, staring at him. He thought she might not go. But instead she began again to step past him.

Her shoulder brushed his and later Link wouldn't remember why he did it. Even at the moment, he didn't know why.

He simply turned as she brushed and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I just can't."

"Can't what?" She was turning even as he was, to face him.

But he was done talking. His hands lifted, caught her face and drew her up even as he leaned down.

It wasn't a long way down. Zelda had the height of the Hylian royal blood. It put her at less than four inches shorter than him.

He didn't just kiss her, he poured himself into her.

Before she could do more than gasp, he'd fused their mouths together.

It wasn't just a first kiss between them. It was his first kiss all together. And instead of being afraid he was going to embarrass himself, he simply absorbed the sensation and went with instinct born of years of procreation.

He didn't just kiss her, no. He made love to her mouth.

His lips milked, stealing even as they gave. And had she argued, had she resisted, she would have been over ruled by the need that sparked and shot through each of them like a stroke of lightening.

Her arms came up, sliding over his shoulders to grip into dark green cloth. One slid around the base of his neck and fisted into the spill of soft dark blonde hair there.

When the kiss broke, finally, his arms were rapped around her and she was lifted off the floor against the front of his body.

From inches away, mouths swollen, eyes dilated, they stared at each other.

Zelda was the first to draw away.

Link let her go although it killed something in him to do it. Because even from inches away, he'd seen the regret in her eyes.

Tomorrow she'd marry another man. And for a single shining moment, he'd seen the truth in her. She didn't want Prince Alastor...she wanted him. She wanted Link.

And they were both too late to do anything about it.

But he'd always regret, forever, if he didn't take that chance.

As she stumbled away from him, one hand pressed over her mouth, he lifted a hand of his own out to her in pleading.

"Don't marry him."

"Link..."

"Zelda, listen to me," His voice was nearly desperate as he came toward her and Zelda backed away in response. "Just listen...go to your father, beg him to understand. He respects me, he trusts me, surely..."

But she was shaking her head, pulling the hood over her hair again. "I can't...you know I can't. I have to make this marriage, Link. For my kingdom. For my people." And when she spoke again, it was in that voice he knew was pure steel. "I have no choice. I have to make this marriage."

The grief tried to choke him, tried to take the pain that had festered for nary a lifetime and eat him alive. Had he never known, never looked at her and known the love he felt was returned...he might have gone on pretending. Might have. But to have it so carefully, so completely denied when he'd just begun to believe...

He extended his hand, palm up.

Zelda looked at it and knew what it was. An offering. A plea.

But if she touched it, if she took that hand, she might sacrifice everything to hold it forever. She shook her head, backed up, shook her head again. She couldn't. Couldn't. COULD NOT.

"I'm sorry, Link. I'm sorry." And the cloak she wore fairly choked the life from her as she ran, out of the temple, hearing the doors slam so irrevocably closed behind her as she fled.

And somewhere in the distance, evil laughed in triumphant of love denied.