Well, this is a surprise! My first posted fanfic in a while, and so, I decided to go with a new Legend of Zelda fic. I kinda had the idea from Twilight Princess of Link being a farmhand, but I assure you, this story will not be like the game. How, you may ask? Well, you'll just have to see. However, I will give you a hint; I wanted to try a cross-over idea like I had last year; this time, with a fresh start, and a focus on Link.
I don't own any of the characters used in this story, apart from Coril, and others that I will point out at a later time.
"Toss that bale over here!" Coril's voice shouted to Link from over the stack of squared off hay. Link merely huffed in reply, his bare arms tensing as he lifted the large stack of hay, tied off neatly and compressed to save space. Heaving the cube up on top of the others, Coril's head peeked up from above the pile, his brown eyes staring down on his fellow farmhand.
"Link! You're slower then usual today!" he shouted, shaking his head of short brown hair. Coril had the sort of face and hair that would have been very easy to mock, being that, though the young man was only in his early twenties, it was beginning to thin, and his face was constantly furrowed. "You need to pick it up, or we won't meet quarter today!" Coril was obsessed with meeting a certain amount of work each day, and the idea in itself was ridiculous to Link. But what did he know? He was just a 19-year-old kid who lived on his own on the outskirts of the large Lon Lon Ranch.
"I'm sorry, Master Coril!" Link called back up. He didn't need to call Coril that, but Coril's father, Ingo, insisted, saying that a lowly farmhand like Link needed to know his place in the world. Link didn't care one way of the other; he was grateful enough to have a roof over his head, whether it was the small shack he lived in or not. The Lon Lon Ranch was one of the most famed ranches in Hyrule, its dairy products being the foremost portion of its popularity, and the good breeding of its horses being second, only to the horses of the King himself.
"I suppose I'm just tiring out! I have been stacking and tying these bales all day...I'm getting a bit sore." Link wiped the sweat from his forehead, shielding his bright, blue eyes from the sun for a moment before returning to his work. His blonde hair, which when cleaned, was a pretty, soft color, now looked matted, and dirty from sweat. Link never really got the opportunity to bath much. Master Ingo allowed him to once a week, saying that a lowly worker as himself didn't deserve to have water wasted on bathing, when he would only get dirty and smelly the next day anyway. Link didn't mind this either, simply shrugging it off and saying that he was fortunate it rained a good deal in the area; collecting rainwater was easier then trying to gather as much as he could from the well before Ingo chased him off anyway.
"Well, my father didn't give you a room, and food for you to get tired! He gave you a good living so you would do your tasks like the work horse you are!" Coril snapped, his ruddy face becoming even more furrowed. "Now, get back to work, you filthy dreck, and don't take that tone with me again, or I'll see to it that you are stripped of your dinner tomorrow!" Coril, now satisfied with his taunting and tongue lashings, promptly laid back down on the top of the stack, and went to sleep; leaving Link alone with his thoughts and the young man's snoring.
Link never begrudged his master, nor his master's son; he owed them the living he had, despite how horrid it may have seemed. He was content, and that was good enough for him. Wiping his forehead with the hem of his tattered and dirt-stained linen shirt (though it was actually several holes cut out of an old linen sack, one for the neck, which was too big, and two for the sleeves, which were also too big), he continued on, tying yet another bale. His mind wander as his fingers did, over the golden hay, and he thought about the upcoming event.
The Harvest Festival was soon to come, and it was the one time out of the year he was permitted an extra bath for the week, and this one actually allowing for soap as well. The King of Hyrule would come, along with the other farmers and villagers from the surrounding area, and a great deal of tents would be set up in the south field. They would be a place for vendors to come and sell their wares, before the feast that evening. It would be made by the hands from the different ranches and farms, and Link found that work enjoyable, liking the kitchen work over toiling away in the dirt of the fields; it seemed to actually get somewhere, and have results he could see. After everyone had eaten their fill, they would then move to the field once more for a huge bonfire, to symbolize the removal of the of the new year, time turning into the chafe of the field, and to celebrate the new year that would be coming. However, Link's mind was not on the bonfire, nor the meal, nor even the idea of a real bath and being treated civilly for one day of the year; his mind was on someone else.
That someone, was Princess Zelda. He would watch, every year, for a chance o see her, her pale face, beautiful, sapphire eyes, and pretty, golden hair, looking out with a gentle smile into the crowds of her subjects. He would look at her, simply sigh, wishing above anything to have her simply see him and recognize him as Link, the grubby farm boy. Even that title would be enough if she knew it and remembered it. Of course, to draw close would be suicidal in itself, for the princess was always flanked by her two loyal bodyguards, Sir Auron, and Sir Sheik. No one would dare try to approach her without the most precise word from Zelda, for both the men were accomplished swordsmen, and could, if the rumors were true, slice a man in half before he even realized what had happened.
Oh, how he longed to simply get close enough for their eyes to meet, that was all. Just a chance to wave to her, and see if she would wave back. It was a petty dream, but when you were the lowest of the low when it came to being a farm hand, you took what dreams you could, and never shot for more then that. It simply seemed indecent otherwise.
Putting aside his thoughts, he finished tying off the last bale, before stacking it neatly beside the rest, and called up to Coril.
"Master Coril, sir!" he called hoarsely, worried if the young man would even hear him in his sleep. "I finished the bales! I'm going to go back to my room now!" Coril merely smacked his lips in his sleep before turning over and began snoring anew, this time louder, and rougher. Link took that as an okay, and darted away, not wanting to be there when the inevitable, Coril falling off the hay and landing with a hard thud on the ground, occurred. His bare feet carried him through the field, his eyes taking snippets of glances off the ground before him to ensure he didn't step on any nettles, and soon, brought him to the edge of his little area of the ranch.
His home was small, a one-room building, about the size of three small stalls in the barn, and was able to fit only a bed and a trunk for storing the three shirts he owned, and the two pairs of old pants. He had no shoes, no gloves, not hat, not even a cloak for when he worked out in the rain. Just the things in that trunk. The only thing he owned, and even then in secret, was a sword and shield. Both he polished religiously, keeping them shiny and almost new. One of his shirts held the honor of cleaning his treasures, but once again, it was alright; it was well worth being ale to have something that was entirely his own. The house itself was surrounded by two pine trees, one split down the middle from a lightning bolt that had struck probably ages ago, and the other one so stripped of needles, Link couldn't help but feel sorry and embarrassed for it.
Opening the door, Link was greeted by the smell of dirt and perspiration, the usual scents of one who worked too hard for a meager living, and never got a moment's peace to himself, except when everyone was asleep. Plodding wearily into the room, he sat down on his bed, the old springs squeaking in protest, as if crying out for Link to simply throw them out and end their suffering. Of course, he would have, but having no pay, and not daring to ask for a new mattress, Link could not comply. Pulling off his shirt and tossing it idly into the trunk, Link lay back on the thread-bare pillow, an arm resting on his forehead, and he cast a tired, yet satisfied glance out the cracked window pane. The ginger sun could be seen setting outside, its brilliant rays of orange spilling and mingling with the violets and deep lavenders of the approaching night. The farmhand, despite how much work he put into a day, felt pleased with himself. He liked doing so much work, and enjoyed the feeling of completion when a task was done. It was all he really had to live for, and so, he made the most of it. Drawing his thin sheet over himself, he turned on his side, away from the light, and closed his eyes, deciding to turn in early for the day. The harvest festival was only a week away, and tomorrow would begin the first day of preparations. Wood needed to be chopped, food brought in, the cows milked, the horses groomed for showing and selling, spices from the woods needed to be collected, and so many more things.
Too many things to think of before sleep.
Allowing himself to sink into his dreams, he sighed happily. Despite the wretchedness of his life and the pathetic hovel he now lay in, Link was truly content with everything he had, and he whispered a silent prayer to the Three Goddesses, before drifting off to sleep.