Quote in summary by Dan McCarthy

"It was neither deja vu, presque vu, nor jamais vu.
It was possible that there were other vus of which he had never heard
and that one of these other vus would explain succinctly the baffling phenomenon of which he had been both a witness and a part;
it was even possible that none of what he thought had taken place, really had taken place,
that he was dealing with an aberration of memory rather than of perception,
that he never really had thought he had seen what he now thought he once did think he had seen,
that his impression now that he once had thought so was merely the illusion of an illusion.."

- Douglas Adams

Pensive.

No..

Not really.

Shy? Reclusive?

No. Not at all.

Afraid?

Maybe.

At a loss for words?

Yes.. yes that was it.

'The fair-haired knight cast his glance downward, yet again at a loss for words. Yet every moment it was the same - solemn, face relaxed - thoughts somewhere, anywhere, but the present.'

The Sheikah placed the feathered quill against his cowl. He leaned ever so against a table at the far egde of the room, alone and with food untouched. He watched another, red eyes only flickering up in an instance or so, ink to paper scribbling, just pausing to observe.

'What does he think about, I wonder, the fair-haired knight seated beside the Queen Zelda. Is it of her?' he thought to himself.

Sheik glanced briefly.

Possibly.

Roguish and chiseled, with an air of intrigue no woman could refuse. Not even her.

His eyes retreated again to the parchment, filling out a story of the evening's events. All that mattered is that he document them, romanticize them a bit, and hand it to the queen once the night was through. It did not matter if what was wrote was true or false, not really. All that mattered is that it sounded nice.

And he made it so.

The second parchment he kept for secrets, the one about things only for himself. Unfortunately that one contained the most words, and he thought to himself how long he'd spend tonight, making up for what he'd not accounted for.

The Queen Zelda, and her dress looked nice and the food was good..

Yes, he'd say those things. She liked those things.

But what he wouldn't say, was that for him to keep. That he'd watch the fair-haired knight and wonder - why, why are you so out of place? And even though Sheik could solve many a problem with logic or force, whichever one was needed, he certainly couldn't decipher the puzzle of this young man. It enticed him, this creature dripping of secrecy and allure. As he watched intently, he wondered..

who are you?

And he subconsciously wished to be let into his life.

He noticed the man from across the room, red eyes watching intently but ever so briefly. Frequently. The feather atop the writing utensil grazed across lips, pursed. It trailed sometimes across the users cheek, near the neck. And then the eyes would flicker up again, and the two would meet, only for an instant. A soft bat of lashes closing, and the eyes would disengage again. Link thought to ignore it entirely, but even when he rested his head against his palm and focused his attention to the Queen, he could feel the fire from across the room. It made him slightly warm and he felt as though he were perspiring. The words directed at him, near him, were heard, but not understood - absorption of their meaning lost due to the anxiousness of being watched and he wondered..

Why? Why must you watch me?

And then again, the pen to the paper, scribbling.. and he wondered..

What do you write, man of the shadows, and are you writing of me?

The Hylian, thick in his best armor, relaxed to the table and peered ever so, no more worried of his onlooker noticing his gaze. He tilted his head, blue eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in its ever consistent subtle frown. His handsome brows furrowed slightly, and he stayed this way, for he had the courage but lacked the subtlety to look away.

The Queen Zelda laughed beside him, as elegant as a bird chirping at daybreak, at the discussion that ensued from others at the table, but if one could detach from the present - a focus so strong that all else around could be blurred from existence, that is what Link did, and it was something that he had been doing, for as long as he could remember.

"Link if you could live anywhere but the past, I would think you may enjoy what lies before you more", the Queen had said lightly. She looked at him as she received no immediate response, and touched his golden hair, fingers sweeping gently as though petting a docile kitten. "Link, if you could live anywhere, where would it be?"

And the fair-haired knight had thought deeply about this, and the memories foreign to him rushed forth, and all he could do was shut his eyes, for the sting beneath them warned. And finally he turned to her and bringing hand to her cheek he whispered, "I would live here, my Queen."

That was enough for her, or so she had thought, and she smiled. "Share your thoughts with me, so that I can be a part of your life." She spoke this to him and her irises quivered, and if she could have entered his mind, she would have.

And so she went to Sheik later that night, steadfast and loyal was he, and told him to write. "I know no one more observant than you, my Sheikah friend. Write of my life - write of what you see, what you feel. I long to catalogue my days as Queen and I wish for you to do it." But what ulterior motive the Queen had, Sheik hadn't a clue. So he wrote and wrote but kept what Zelda wanted most, for himself.

When the story of that night's events had arrived into Zelda's lap, she read it hungrily, eyes sweeping over every word, every letter. Yet at its end she sighed and let the parchment fall to her dress, and the Sheikah worried he had done something wrong. Yet he hadn't, not as far as he knew, but he did fail at what he didn't know, and the Queen yearned desperately for more about her fair-haired knight and less about her pretty dress.

So she slept that night in the dark, atop her blankets still in formal attire, and let the brisk air waft in through the ornate window beside her bed. Her eyes closed but she thought, thought..

And the Sheikah had lounged lazily in his large chair and he thought, thought until sleep took him,

And the Hylian named Link sat on the edge of his bed thinking, thinking, until sleep took him, too.

He had been brought to her, shackled at the wrists - a young boy barely to his teenage years, and he bowed to her. They were similar in age, but this boy possessed a raw strength the princess (at that time) could only imagine to have. Their eyes met, red onto blue, and she wanted to keep him, for in those reddened gems she saw something - something like connecting dots to and fro what lay before this life and the next. A silent conversation was relayed in that moment, and it had said,

'we meet again'.

Saving this young Sheikah boy was a motivation she felt deep within her heart.

They grew together and he protected her, and she learned from him; becoming both a girl of the light and a figment of the dark, and they shared things together - stories of fiction and fantasy interwoven into tales of questionable fact and make-believe. They spoke of a hero, the both of them, falling to sleep whispering anecdotes of a man who had perished to save them.

They fell in love with this idea. A princess wanting to be rescued and a warrior who had lost his way before it had started.. both reaching out for an explanation of why either felt the way they did; the emptiness that had manifested inside their being, and for him without explanation.

The Sheikah boy was beautiful and quick, growing agile, taller, and wiser with each day. The princess wished to be him so that she could live out her fantasies, and the Sheikah wished to be her, so he could be with his hero from the tales she told. Yet as the story-induced memories unfolded themselves in the darkness of the room they had shared, the Sheikah had took hold of his chest and cried out a terrible sound -

and his heart had begun to beat wildly, straining.

And that was it. He dreamt of more battles, his body yearned for it, yet his heart had failed him.

"There is a piece missing.." he had cried.

"A broken heart?" she had foolishly declared, more right than wrong and certainly more truth than she had intended to let on.

A plague of not just emotional distress, but one which had manifested into the strongest sadness he had ever known. It was with him when he was born and it was with him now - useless, he felt, for when would his time come? The time his elders had promised him. And here he was, watching over the Queen, when something else beckoned him - the call of his ancestors, the call of the fields, the call of the goddesses. The call of something else, just there, beyond the wall of forgetfulness.

The princess did not mind his sudden change of demeanor however, for he had shown her countless times his worth, but he died a bit inside - a shell of a pre-destined warrior now with the interior of a broken man - a princess' mere fantasy had held more weight than she could ever have known.

The morning sun was lightly blanketed in a cloudy haze, and the men below on the land began preparations for a routine scouting mission across the fields of Hyrule. Armor was fastened across chests and helms placed atop their heads, and Link walked quietly past,

"Sir!" they had said in salute, and the Hylian only nodded in response, his acknowledgment as profound as any word would have been. And in only his undergarb, leggings, and mail, he sat on a large rock just outside the armory, and let what sun there was shine upon his tannish skin. It felt warm, and it was nice; its rays sprinkling heat across his cheeks and forehead. It reminded him of that one time at Lake Hylia, on a small island in the middle of it all, when arrows of fire had been bestowed to him, and their warmth was the most radiant of all. Yet he knew not of where that memory came from and why it seemed to be his, and he shook his head to relieve himself of it before that figure.. that figure who pervaded these thoughts came into his head as well.

He wondered if he'd gone slightly mad, one hit to the skull too many, yet at times he also relished in these fantasies (that's what he calls them) when reality proved too distasteful to bear. There were many nights he lay letting these fantasies enter his thoughts, and he'd entertain them, one hand twirling the laces on his undershirt and the other, somewhere drifting off the side of his bed. There were dragon beasts and shining stones, tiny children who could not grow, a mythical sword and a man.. a man who would speak only in riddles before disappearing into nothingness. These were not all, and as hard as he tried to prevent these little stories from invading his brain, he decided he could not, and when the Queen Zelda arrived beside him he felt both foolish and brave for what he was going to ask of her.

"My Queen," and he bowed and let her speak thenceforth, and she told of him today's plans and that her bird had told her the coast was clear.

"Just another day," she had said before smoothing her dress and looking to him, a light smile grazing her lips.

"As you say," he had replied and gestured for her to sit beside him as he sat again himself. He brushed off any dirt with his leather-gloved hand, and patted gently to the stone, smiling in his own way, even if he was not.

They spoke casually at first and she leaned into his every word, and he could not help to notice her beauty. Pale blonde hair cascading down over her shoulders, ears as fine and long as any Hylian could wish, and eyes of crystalline water blue. He admired her, cared for her, and as he gazed she felt tiny ripples rush through her chest, and she looked away for fear of a scarlet blush she could feel creeping up her neck and upwards still.

"Zelda, if I may," he began, eyes trailing - he feared his voice would waver. "I have a request, a foolish one, but I ask that you hear me out, and if it is indeed foolish you may say so at once."

She turned to him, the silk of her dress sliding against the roughness of the rock, and she said, "Of course, ask what you will."

And he told her, told her of the dreams he had been experiencing, and how they were too utterly strange and fascinating to be just fabrications from nothingness. She listened to him speak with widened eyes, tried very hard to appear lost beyond comprehension. He finished with a simple request, eyes genuine and kind.

"I would very much like to write this all down," he started, "but I am not good at all at writing my thoughts to paper."

She nodded, not sure what to say.

"I have noticed your scribe.. I have seen him in the corners at gatherings writing and I have seen him by your side as well. Tell me, can he listen to me as I speak these tales, and could he put them down with ink? I know this sounds like idiocy and that may be true, but I must alleviate the going's on in my head, and I wonder if this is the only way to do it." Link looked as if he wanted to take all he said back, so in a sheepish way he smiled a half-smile, and the Queen could not say no if she had wanted to.

"What troubles you is not for me to judge, my Link. If it would please you I can ask the Sheikah, and you may see that your thoughts be written, and in a grand way I would suppose, for Sheik has a wondrous way of writing and can make even the blandest of tales read like epic prose." She spoke this aloud and true, however inside she worried about her friend, her knight, and had the strangest inclination that introducing the two might not be the wisest of ideas.

Yet later that day she called upon her guardian, and he waited patiently outside her bedchambers until she opened the door to allow him in. His long legs strode inside the interior, footsteps unheard on the polished stone. He shut the door behind him softly and she gestured him further inside, until they stood before a large window, the Queen gazing out its sculpted glass.

The Sheikah waited quietly until she spoke, and she did so, not turning toward him.

"I have asked you here as a personal request, and yet this request is not entirely for me." Finally she glanced to him, a slight smirk present on her delicate features.

"Anything you wish," Sheik stated calmly and he bowed slightly before returning to meet her face.

"I have an acquaintance - a knight of mine, that is need of one of your services. He is quiet and kind and the most honorable of all I know, yet he is troubled by things, things I believe he wishes to exacerbate."

Sheik put his hands behind his back and stood tall, yet inside a growing anxiety pooled near his heart and he feared, he feared..

"Sheik," she began, putting both her hands to his shoulders lightly, "I have asked you to document my life as Queen, but now I ask you to listen to my knight and document his as well. I know you are in true a warrior who longs to return to the fight, but for now would you do this for me, for a friend whom I desperately want to help?"

"What is his name?" Sheik asked.

"It is Link," she said and he heard no more, as the fair-haired knight came rushing into his thoughts, and he has a name, he thought, he has a name.

And later that night in a small hallway in the castle, one which leads this way and that, a knight and a Sheikah brushed past each other in its narrow space. Nothing was said, nor was it needed, as both men recognized the other from the night before. Scents of fresh grass and leather mixed with incense and honey and in this short moment, one lingering moment, things would never be the same. There was no "I am sorry" or "excuse me's" from either even though their shoulders grazed and their hands slightly touched. It was mere accident, or was it, as both retreated to their chambers a bit more flustered than usual.