Zelda was coughing again. She felt weak and exhausted, and had for a week or so. There was no concern at first, because something had been going around anyway, but when it hadn't cleared up after a few days, her father had the royal doctor summoned. Zelda hid herself away in her rooms as much as possible, shuttering the windows and curled up under the bed sheets. Her coughs grew steadily harsher by the day, and at the end of the sixth night she noticed her kerchief was smattered with blood.

She would sit up in her bed, the sheets and her neck soaked with sweat. Again, Zelda coughed, this time for a prolonged period, her back aching and her throat scrubbed raw. Talking had become a chore for her, so instead she would write scribbled messages on scrolls of paper, or one of her handmaidens would speak for her. But most of the time, she slept.

Her father grew concerned after too long of this. The doctor came in and took her pulse with feathery thin fingers, pressing them to her wrist. He looked in her eyes and ears, tapped the bottoms of her feet, and finally applied leeches to her arms and feet to suck out the evil humor.

It didn't work.

Instead, she got worse, sleeping nearly all day, her breath in shallow gasps. The king struggled to eat, his worry consuming him. As he sat, torn with worry, one of his advisors approached him, clearing his throat.

"My Lord? About the young princess…"

The king stared wearily at him, bags under his eyes. The fidgety advisor clasped his hands together, huddled under his heavily-embroidered robes. He was a weak and sniveling man, and incredibly timid.

"I… have heard of her condition. I might know of a way to cure her."

The king grew very still, and he narrowed his eyes slowly. "If this is a joke, you will pray you were never separated from your mother's womb," he warned in a low, growling tone.

The advisor shook his head rapidly. "No, my lord, I am most earnest." The king waved his hand, granting permission for the advisor to speak on.

"I know of a… of a plant, grown deep in the desert, that might cure her. It's a small bush, with massive white flowers and tiny green leaves. You collect j… just the leaves, and steep them like a tea, and have her drink it. It will help her within a week."

The king stood up from his throne and stepped up to the advisor. "Are you quite serious about this?"

"Yes, lord."

"If I find that this is an error, and my daughter does not recover, it will be your head."

Again, the advisor nodded. The king sat back down, exhaustion and worry making him weak. "Tell me how to get this plant."

Link lifted his head when he heard the clopping of horse hooves, peeking his head above the corn stalks that reached his chin. He could see two knights on horseback, with banners bearing the king's insignia flapping in their breeze. He could see Kortos, the old man that owned the farm and fields, approaching the knights and waving one arm. Link remained poised where he was, slowly letting go of his earth tiller and letting his sore back straighten.

One knight handed Kortos a scroll tied with ribbon. He fingered the edge, and Link shook his head. Surely the knights knew that they couldn't read? The other knight turned his head and spied Link, and Link tensed where he was, staring back in defiance. The knight pointed at Link, then to the ground before his horse. Link flexed his fingers and walked forward, aware that he was dusty and dirty, that there was manure on his boots and chaff in his hair. Kortos handed the scroll back to one of the knights, and he nodded imperceptibly before opening the scroll and reciting.

"The king has issued an invitation to the adventurous men of Hyrule, to compete in a triathalon of strength, speed, and wit. The champion of the competition shall receive a position in the court and special recognition for his efforts." The knight rolled up the scroll again and handed it to Kortos, who fixed Link with a steely-eyed gaze.

Link cleared his throat and tried to look calm. He wanted to go. More than anything, he wanted to get away from the farm and explore the castle grounds, the market, just once. He was always itching for a new place to be, and this seemed an excellent opportunity.

"The triathalon begins in one week. I recommend getting to the castle as early as possible, to find somewhere to stay in town. The competition will extend over one w-"

"He's not going," Kortos snapped suddenly. "We're very busy with the end-of-summer harvest, as you can see, and we need all the help we can get."

Link felt a bite of irritation. Kortos was not the kindest of employers; he worked him unfairly, and when Link was finally given leave at sundown for rest and eating, he was so sore and sunburnt that he could hardly think. His skin had turned a deep gold, and his hair was bleached by the sun. But he kept his silence, despite the rebellion that stirred in him.

The knights did not linger; they left almost immediately after Kortos' outburst with barely a nod in Link's direction. Link himself went back to the fields, picking up his tools once more. But when Kortos shouted, "you'll be working extra to make up for that lost time dawdling!" the seed of rebellion began to grow.