1. Protector
The sun blazed in the sky, shining down on the narrow ravine of sandstone below. Animalistic grunts of exertion and pain echoed between the walls, along with the sounds of metal clashing on metal and bombs exploding on the ground.
Link panted heavily, sweat dampening the neck and underarms of his tunic. He grit his teeth, broadsword gripped in one hand, wooden boko shield in the other. Plagues upon the day bokoblins learned how to make bomb arrows, he thought angrily, diving out of the way as yet another projectile soared towards him; the ground vibrated beneath his feet as it exploded. Link whipped his bow from his back and nocked an arrow in a swift, fluid motion, aimed briefly, and fired at the bokoblin archer perched atop a small lookout tower nearby. As it uttered its death wails he bent to retrieve his blade and turned to face the moblins converging on him, armed with heavy clubs and swords of their own.
Before they had the chance to surround him, he whirled and dashed away, towards the now-empty lookout tower. Sheathing his blade he propelled himself up the ladder and once again pulled out his bow, firing an arrow into the brow of the nearest moblin and sending it reeling backwards, howling in agony. But its comrade hurled a stone into the air; it struck Link's stomach and he doubled over with a grunt of pain, the breath knocked from his lungs.
Gritting his teeth he forced himself to straighten, holding his shield defensively in front of him. The hot sun burned down on him; a bead of perspiration trickled between his shoulder blades as he deflected another rock thrown at him. Shouting a fierce warcry, he jumped down from the lookout and buried his sword in the closest moblin's chest, swiftly ending its life and rolling away as it crumpled in death. Three more remained.
A massive club swung down towards him; he raised his shield to defend himself and the guard shattered. Pain erupted in his left arm and he gasped in agony, black spots dancing across his vision as he fought the instinct to fall to his knees and hug the splintered limb to his chest. Features twisting in a grimace of pain he staggered, eyeing the moblin that had struck him and struggling to maintain his grip on his broadsword. Fire lanced through his broken arm all the way up to his shoulder; the limb hung uselessly at his side, grotesquely misshapen. The moblins converged. They know I'm weaker now. I can't win this one—better to run, to live and fight another day.
But the moblins had different ideas.
One of them lunged with its blade; Link deflected the blow and plunged his blade hilt-deep into the monster's gut and it groaned, crumpling to the ravine floor as Link whirled to face the remaining two moblins. His breath caught in his throat as a particularly fierce wave of pain jittered up his arm and his vision wavered as the next monsters each attacked at once. The first he dodged, escaping only with a shallow gash on his shoulder; the second he parried, letting loose with a flurry of attacks that forced the moblin to drop its club, allowing Link the opening he needed to impale its heart.
He heard the whoosh of a blade behind him and ducked in time to keep his head from being forcibly removed; then he spun around and blocked the moblin's next blow. This one was stronger than the others; its skin was a splotchy brown and white, whereas the others had been blue. This was the one he had shot in the forehead; even then it seemed barely deterred. With a gravelly roar it attacked again, fervently swinging its gleaming blade while keeping its shield tucked protectively close to its torso. Link backed towards the lookout before realizing that he would never be able to climb the ladder with his arm in its current state. What to do… what to do…
The moblin stabbed at him; Link dove to the side and rolled to his feet, his vision wavering as shards of agony encircled his mangled arm. With a grunt of pain he gripped his sword defensively, parrying a violent onslaught of furious attacks, fighting to keep his grip on the hilt of his weapon. At last the moblin broke through his defenses; its blade slashed his side and he gasped as a new fire erupted there, hot blood spewing forth. He staggered; the moblin drew back slightly, growling in anticipation. Link used the creature's brief hesitation to jump up and swing his blade with all the remaining strength in his good arm, lopping off the moblin's head.
A relieved sigh sounded from behind him. Breathing heavily, blood streaming from numerous lacerations, he turned to face the woman hiding behind a boulder several paces away. Tears of gratitude shone in her eyes as she stepped out of the shadows and clasped her hands together. "You saved my life," she sobbed, managing a few wobbly steps before sinking to her knees. "I—I'm so sorry!"
Link gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault," he murmured. "The Calamity affects us all."
She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes, and hurried away from the scene of the battle, down the ravine towards the stable around the corner.
Link headed in the opposite direction, adrenaline fading from his limbs as pain set in and blood flowed freely from his wounds. He preferred solitude.
The first time he had arrived at a stable after reawakening without his memories several months ago, he had been wounded from an encounter with several monsters that hadn't ended so well for him. The stable folk had tried to keep him in bed until they were absolutely certain he had healed, and although they had been thoroughly knowledgeable on how to care for horses, they knew a good deal less about treating Hylians. No; he would rather nurse his wounds in private.
His horse, Mist, stood obediently beside the ravine wall, grazing on several stalks of dry grass with Link's satchel of food and waterskins tied to her back, forming a makeshift saddle. The horse looked up as he approached, whickering nervously as she caught the scent of blood.
"Sorry," Link muttered, digging around for an apple and holding it out to her by way of apology. Then he set about tending his wounds, pouring water on the gash in his side before wrapping it in a strip of cloth torn from his cloak. He did the same for the wound on his shoulder; he couldn't quite wrap a bandage around it so he wadded up the cloth and shoved it under his shirt—form-fitting as it was, it would keep enough pressure on the injury to keep it from bleeding.
Then with a heavy sigh he examined his arm. It had swollen; the sleeve of his tunic was uncomfortably tight around it, and the slightest movement caused sharp pain to twinge through him. Can't do much for that out here… I'll have to wait until I get back to a village. He wrapped it in a sling, his vision wavering and low, involuntary grumbles of pain escaping his throat.
At last, with a deep sigh, he drank deeply from his waterskin and devoured several of the mushrooms he had collected before leaning against the side of the ravine and closing his eyes, falling swiftly asleep.
Khana peered over the edge of the cliff, glaring down at the sleeping hero below. Now's your chance, she thought. Kill him before he wakes up. He's wounded—this is your best chance!
But as she looked at him, curled up in pain even in unconsciousness… as she remembered how he had so willingly thrown himself into battle to save the life of another, even when it could have caused his own death… she had never seen such selflessness before, nor had she thought it possible.
"Hylians are a selfish lot, consumed by their lust for wealth and prosperity," Master Khoga had explained when she was a child of four. "Their self-proclaimed 'hero' is the worst of them all—he goes about seeking glory and riches, to name the least of his faults."
But the young man lying on the ravine floor had not been selfish—not as far as she could tell.
Khana closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to sort through the difference between what her mind and eyes were telling her. Master Khoga's word is law and truth, she insisted stubbornly to herself. I'll kill that whelp… when the opportunity arises. Of course he would defend a Hylian. They're his people, after all. I'll wait until the time is right… until he can look into my eyes and see his death at the hands of the Yiga Clan.
Link awakened with a grimace of pain; his shattered arm continued to ache and throb, and his gashed side burned. It's infected, he realized with a groan, prodding it gently. I've got to find someone who can help.
Not the stable folk, that was certain. They would fuss and talk and keep him bedridden until a traveller with medical skills happened upon them. Not likely; he doubted that very many people would voluntarily go so far south, to face blazing heat and monsters and even a hulking hinox, for Din's sake. And anyway it wasn't as if he had weeks at his leisure to recuperate—the Divine Beasts were loose, and Calamity Ganon could strike at any time. Zora's Domain was in danger of being flooded.
Link nodded decisively. I can't spare the time. I'll just keep going, and hope that I recover on my own. I'll have to buy alcohol somewhere to clean my wounds, but that shouldn't be too difficult…
With a groan he heaved himself onto Mist's back and urged her onwards, westward through the ravine. It would be another hot day; the sun hadn't fully risen and yet he could already feel its heat.
But he slowed to a stop moments later when the sound of weeping reached his long ears. Concern warmed his heart and he dismounted stiffly, Mist following him to the shade of a craggy overhang where a Gerudo woman sobbed into her hands.
"Hey," Link called out softly. "Anything I can do?"
She looked at him with eyes red from tears. "I—I don't think so," she sniffled, looking him up and down. "H-how old are you?"
It was an odd question, but she was clearly distraught and thus not in her right mind. Link scratched his head. "Funnily enough, I can't… remember." He offered a sheepish smile. "But I think I'm about sixteen or seventeen…"
Her face fell. "Then… you're not him."
"Who?"
She burst into tears again. "M-my true l-love!" she wept, putting her head down. "I'm almost a decade older—it wouldn't…"
Link sat down beside her, wincing a little at the pain predominant in his body, and gently placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"Well… men aren't allowed in Gerudo City—it's against tradition." A wistful smile emerged onto her face. "But I've always dreamed of setting out in search of my own true love. It's always frightened me before, but I finally mustered up the courage to leave." The tears returned in full. "It was an awful idea! Everyone was right—no man would value my skills; all I can do is sew and sew and sew—and I'm so afraid! There are too many monsters—lizalfos and keese and chuchu and Din knows what else—I don't think I can handle it!"
Link stiffened. The words had struck a familiar chord within him, and in his mind he heard himself uttering the same phrase in a squeaky youthful voice before a tall man in armor with dark golden hair. "I don't think I can handle this!"
The tall man had placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder. "Neither did any of the heroes of old, Link. Yet they did so anyway, because they knew it was the right thing to do."
Link inhaled deeply, returning to the present. The Gerudo was still weeping beside him, unsure and afraid. Just as he had been as a child. He cleared his throat. "It's an admirable goal you have," he assured her. "And… when you succeed, your family will thank you for generations to come. You say that you don't think you can handle the world outside of Gerudo City… so did all those who came before you, seeking the same thing. But they continued anyway, for they knew it was the right thing to do."
He felt uncomfortable speaking so much, but when peace and gratitude settled upon the Gerudo's features, he knew he'd done the right thing. "Thank you," she smiled, wiping her tears away. "I… what is your name?"
"Link," he answered with a dip of his head.
"I'm Rhondson," she returned, getting to her feet. "I'll never forget you, Link."
He smiled sadly. And I won't forget you… I hope. "Good luck in your travels. Don't give up on the world just yet; you've barely scratched the surface."
He got to his feet with a low grumble of pain that he tried hard to suppress, but Rhondson noticed; she reached out and gripped his free arm, her teary eyes wide with concern. "If you continue west, you'll come across the Kara Kara Bazaar. There's an inn there… someone will be able to treat your wounds."
Link nodded his thanks and Rhondson jogged away, heading east through the ravine. Link returned to Mist and rode steadily in the direction the Gerudo had indicated, fighting to sit straight despite the burn in his side and shoulder and the growing ache throbbing in his shield arm. He would ride past the stable without stopping, continuing east towards Gerudo City.
Khana's eyes narrowed in deep contemplation. So he was kind to the Gerudo as well as his own people. But Master Khoga said… he said that the Hero was the worst of the Hylians—who rejected the Sheikah tribe and blamed them for Calamity Ganon's return! His kind are cruel, and… and selfish, and bloodthirsty and racist…
But this young man, scarcely younger than she, had seemed tender, compassionate, and kind, slow to draw his sword.
Khana shook her head vehemently. No. Master Khoga was always right. Of the races of Hyrule, Gerudo were quite similar to Hylians in appearance. That must be it. As soon as he comes across anyone else, I'll see his true colors.
She could have killed him then. It would be a simple task to jump from her ledge, use dark Sheikah magic to freeze time, and fire two arrows into the back of his neck before he even knew what had happened. But she could not bring herself to do so—not yet. Not until the inklings of doubt in her mind were quashed and her faith in Master Khoga restored.