Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own Legend of Zelda.

Da Capo al Fine

He was the sole violinist in the school orchestra.

That was the basic composition of his identity. Too shy to be popular, he faded almost flawlessly into the background. He was generally casually well-liked and respected, but there was simply nothing special about him, unless you count an inexplicably athletic build (he played no school sports) or a strange fondness for the color green. The school swallowed him noiselessly, the smiles he received were characterized by mild interest and benevolence, and he'd never once heard his name called out as he walked down the hall, the greeting echoing between the walls and leaving their invisible mark.

But the moment his fingers brushed the strings and the sleek, polished wood, all that changed. In a blink, his eyes became a startling, mesmerizing aqua-crystal blue, smoldering with some hidden flame. Head tilted at just the right angle, he caressed the violin in a gesture that could only be described as affectionate. Flawlessly, effortlessly, his fingers danced across the instrument's neck, his other hand guiding the bow with a sure confidence that allowed no room for mistakes.

The melody that he pulled into existence was soaked with emotions, drenched with passion, with every bit of the conviction his stance demonstrated. Violin in hand, he became the master storyteller. With every verse, every phrase, every staccato, every vibrato, waves of bittersweet beauty, of nostalgia, of thrill, of bliss, poured out, pulled in, swayed, gave form, faded and gathered.

It was as impossible to resist his music as it was to resist falling asleep after seventy-two hours awake. Not a member of the orchestra, no matter how lax they may have been about being there, was exempt from the cliché of being inspired. They played that much better when he led, attended that much more when he stood up for a solo.

He was the music teacher's pride, though the old man had little to do with his skills. He had been born with a talent that he was fortunate enough to love, sharpened by hours of persistent practice and a soul that never grew tired. He played for no-one but for everyone, for everyone but only for himself. And that was his success. That was why his music made the feet want to dance or the tears want to spill, because the heart that could hear knew the song was being played for only one.

His violin made the birds hush and the waves dance, made time itself bend forward and back to listen, and as long as the last notes from his strings lingered, hovering in the air, he was invincible.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, listen up." Royal Millennia High School's famed band director stood tall in front of his top students, arms well braced on top of his podium, face and voice gravely serious. At fifty-three, he was a nine-time recipient of the National Music Educator award, and for him years ago music had ceased to be a game. This was the man who had single-handedly seized the reigns to the famed high school's music program, yanked it around, and brought the band to the very top. Hearing his words, the senior members of the Tri Garter band resisted the urge to sigh, having heard the exact same speech the year before, while the younger members stared at their teacher in surprise, ears perked at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"This, as many of you know, is my twenty-sixth year at this school. And likewise it will be my twenty-sixth year leading this school's finest musical talents into the Provincial competition. In two and a half decades, the Tri Garter band has only lost the title of First in Province once. Every year, we placed first in nearly every category. And I expect no different from this year." The tall men sent his hard, passionate gaze into every student's eyes.

"None of you have an excuse to fail. You were hand picked into this band for a reason. You've already proven the beginnings of talent with the win at Districts. You have had the best musical education any high school could offer. I want every one of you in individual contests to bring back the gold. And in the final competition, I want this band to sound like I've never heard it before. I want you to surprise yourselves. I want the twenty-fifth gold trophy in that case" he pointed to the wooden display case mounted to the left wall, "by the time the weekend is over."

Pausing for a moment to let that sink in, he eyed the group that held his next chance at victory in their grasps. "And every single one of you is aware what comes after Provincials. We go for the Nationals. Tri Garter has been honored as first in Nation for twenty years. It will not end now." The intensity of the last sentence made a few girls jump slightly, and the blazing fire in his eyes sent the younger student half-cowering in their chairs. By now, most were avoiding eye contact at all costs. But in a sweep around the room, he found Zelda Harkinian. At eighteen, the girl had been first chair violin in the school's top band since freshman year – the youngest to have ever held that position. Now a three-year veteran of the Nationals, she was the only member of the band who could lift her head steadily and meet his gaze. As if to say, who are you kidding? I won't lose.

He smiled, tight-lipped, fierce, determined. And for a brief moment, he could've sworn she mirrored his smile back.

At the sound of her name, Zelda paused to let her best friend of many years catch up, patient as the other girl fought her way past immediately-post-school traffic. Malon Rancher skidded to a stop next to her, panting slightly and brushing her red hair out of her eyes. "Thank goodness. I thought I was going to have to walk home."

Zelda laughed. "That that's all I'm good for now?" she asked, mock indignation lacing her voice. "Rides home?"

Knowing her too well to feel hurt, Malon grinned and played along. "Certainly. Why else would one make friends with the great princess of Hyrule?"

"Har har," said princess drawled, shaking her head at the shorter girl. "Alright, come on, Impa won't wait all day." Side by side, they wrestled their way through the wave of students towards the front door. A few called out "see ya" and "bye" as they walked by, and both returned the favors cheerfully. It was one nice thing about such an exclusive private school – people who were less easily intimidated by the daughter of the nation's highest ruler. Here, she was surrounded by the children of the most important families in Hyrule, and at least those that hadn't been spoiled to the point of no return were able to treat her as a regular human being.

Malon was an odd exception. The only daughter of a farmer, she could only attended the school for two reasons: an academic scholarship, and Zelda's friendship. While she and her father were by no means poor, they were also certainly not wealthy enough to be able to afford Royal Millennia without aid.

Now the redheaded girl was chatting about their last class. "…I mean, I really don't want to know what would happen if we lose. Did you see his eyes? I though they would burn a hole through my skull! "

"Relax, Malon. We're not going to lose. We're better than we were last year."

"Obviously you have no worries. He's not going to blame you for a loss. And you basically have First National Violin sealed up in a neat little bag."

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Why? Zel, you've been first since you were a freshman! And the only reason it hasn't been longer is that middle schools aren't allowed to compete with high schools. Otherwise, you'd have run the previous years clean out as well."

The blonde girl waved her hand modestly, but made no effort to deny the claim. It was probably true, if only because she'd been taking violin lessons since practically before she could walk. "But anyway, I know who's going to be First National Flute this year!" she teased, tugging at Malon's flute case swinging from her grasp. "I'll cheer very loudly as they announce your name."

"Don't you dare. As if my father isn't embarrassing enough, with his party poppers and confetti."

Zelda laughed at the image, pushing open the front door of the school and leading the way to where her personal attendant Impa was waiting with their ride home.

"Are you sure it goes that way?" Nervous fingers tugged at the knot near his throat that secured the forest-green tie. "It feels a bit tight."

Almost at once, a hand slapped his fingers away in irritation. "It's fine. It's a tie, it's supposed to feel snug."

"Does 'snug' translate to 'choking the life out of you'?" the boy with the wild, blonde-highlighted hair growled out sarcastically, struggling to loosen the makeshift noose. His companion let out a soft snarl, smacking his hands away once more. "Stop messing with it!"

Giving the tie up as a lost cause, the boy sighed and flopped backwards onto the ragged bed. His friend leaned over to squint at the alarm clock ticking away on his bedside table. Quarter till eight. "You ought to leave now to get there by nine. You know how traffic gets."

The response was a soft, simple, "Yeah."

"Anju made breakfast for you. It's in the bag. She says she's sorry she couldn't come to watch."

And again, "Yeah."

"I'm sorry too, you know. If I even had a prayer of skipping work without getting fired, I would take the chance and come. Screw my boss."

"Yeah."

A small pause as the slightly taller man studied the teenager sprawled over the worn-out covers with an expression bordering on parental concern.

"You're going to be fine." Softly, quietly, seriously, he reached over to place his hand on the boy's shoulder, feeling the tense muscles coiled underneath his fingers.

"Yeah."

"Link."

The teen looked over at the sudden urgency in his friend's voice.

"Link, you're going to be fine."

The blue-eyed boy blinked, then shook his head slightly before smiling. "I know. I know it, Kafei. Thanks."

The violet-haired young man nodded slowly, struggling to replace the worry in his eyes with encouragement. Giving a crooked grin, he tugged on the boy's arm. "Now get up. If you're only on time once in your life, today would be the day to do it."

Link chuckled, and Kafei, with the advantage of experience at dealing with the reticent teen, could practically hear the nervousness that must've been releasing butterflies in his stomach. Link's eyes were guarded to seal up any outward signs of apprehension, narrowed slightly in an expression of defiance. Kafei knew the look. The harder Link was pressed, the harder he pushed back. The man had never met anyone with a bigger grudge against giving up.

They descended the apartment stairs in silence and parted ways just outside the door. Stopping abruptly a few yards down the sidewalk, Kafei spun around and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Hey, Link!

"Knock'em dead."

Taking her bow, Zelda caught her teacher's violently proud gaze from across the room and fought the urge not to smirk in self-satisfaction. Getting any form of compliment from Mr. Ramsey was a bit like getting Santa to curse; nearly impossible, and oddly satisfying. From the way the adjudicator was nodding to herself, she knew she'd beat her last year's performance. Flawlessly played, whereas last time she'd accidentally hit a slight flat while running an arpeggio. Her audience was still applauding as she straightened up and made her way back to her seat. From where she sat in the second row, Malon gave her a double thumbs up.

As she arranged her pure white dress around her, settling back into her spot, the person next to Malon leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially into her ear. "Did it again, Zel. Wasn't even nice enough to throw these poor bastards a bone." He gestured to her fellow competitors with a jerk of his head.

"Be quiet, Sheik," she whispered back just as softly, a polite smile plastered firmly on her face. "It's a competition."

The blonde Sheikah snorted derisively. "Not much of one."

Thankfully, the adjudicator chose that moment to clear her throat, put aside her now-completed comment sheet for Zelda, and pull the next person's information forward. From behind her, Zelda heard Malon mutter, "Man, I feel bad for anyone who has to go after you," and resisted the urge to turn around a glare. Though she must agree Malon had a point. Usually, they would put the best players last, if only to provide the newcomers with a bit of encouragement. This next person – the last on the program – must have registered late.

"Link Forester?"

Hearing the name, someone sitting at the very back of the room stood up. Shuffling of clothes and chairs sounded as everyone turned around to see who had the misfortune of playing right after the three-time National champion.

Zelda's eyebrows shot up at the sight of the teenager walking up to the front. He was a new face around here, and definitely did not belong to the same neighborhood as her, if his weathered old sports jacket and faded trousers were any indication. Wild, dark blonde hair fluttered and danced around his eyes, and it seemed as though the boy had been aiming for a 'civilly unkept' style. Secretly, Zelda thought that she hadn't seen such a handsome young man in a long time, her eyes lingering briefly on firm biceps, an athletic build, and chiseled, angled features that were somehow softened by the carefree bangs. She heard Malon sigh appreciatively under her breath, and knew that her friend was also noting the fact that he had to be right around their age. Under his arm, he held a well-loved violin that looked as worn as his clothing.

Taking his place at the front of the room, the boy called Link looked expectantly at the adjudicator, who was eying his ragged clothes and earrings with a sense of distaste.

"Before we begin, Mr. Forester, I have a few routine questions for you. Your answers will in no way affect how your performance is scored." Her tone suggested that she didn't have very high hopes for his playing. For his part, Link kept his face impassive, simply nodding to show he'd heard her.

"How long have you been playing the violin?"

He cocked his head slightly. "Playing seriously…I guess about a year."

That startled no small number of people in the room. Most practiced years to get here, and this boy had played only for one? Sensing something wrong, Zelda looked once again at her program. Link Forester…12th grade…Ordonna High School…Ordon District. Well, that explained some things. Ordon had once been considered a province, but a sparse number of years ago had been deemed too small and thus attached to the larger Eldin Province. It was by far the poorest region of Hyrule and the slum of Eldin. Upper Eldin was home to aristocrats seeking privacy from the hustle of Castletown, and the decision to incorporate Ordon District had been very unpopular there.

And of course, Ordon hadn't exactly been known for musical or academic prowess. Last year, their sole Provincial representative had been almost laughed out of the clarinet competitions. The year before, their first year attending Provincials, the girl in the French horn competition had come in dead last. Winning the Ordon Districts competition wasn't exactly something to brag about.

The adjudicator seemed torn between spite and pity. "Alright. Do you own your own violin for practice?"

"No. I borrow one from school."

"And have you in any way tempered with your instrument?"

"No." Zelda noted absentmindedly that he had a very nice voice, a smooth, light tenor.

"Very well. What pieces will you be playing for us today?"

"Rinku Kokiri's 'Song of Time' and a piece I wrote myself called 'Twilight.'"

Zelda knew Kokiri very well, he was one of Hyrule's most renowned songwriters of all time. But playing a self-composition…it was allowed, but very gutsy. Highly not recommended because usually, the most talented young compositors could not measure up to an old classic.

"I'm ready when you are."

Link Forester nodded, and put his instrument to his shoulder. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the boy fingered the strings and settled his chin into place.

Where is his music?

And then, with the music stand empty, he lifted his bow, closed his eyes, and began to play.

Zelda had played Song of Time two years before, and had been fairly certain she knew everything there was to know about the piece. But as the first, haunting notes floated forth from between the taut strings, she felt her heart jump, and a ghostly voice whispered into her ear, You didn't know a thing.

His body swayed as he guided the bow and teased the strings with his fingers to bring out the melody. An aching sense of nostalgia overwhelmed her, and completely involuntarily tears sprang into her eyes. She almost cried right there without knowing why and with more emotion than she'd felt in a long time. Just as gracefully she was lifted up with the music, suddenly bold and courageous, fighting, desperate. With a gust of wind she was flung forward, meeting a sense of awe, inspiration, strength. Then there was a pull back, a drop, a whisper in the wind, a landing, bittersweet joy, and knowledge. Something was complete.

The last fading note left a tangible silence. Link Forester opened his eyes, and found the room in half-shed tears, every single person struggling amongst emotions that were not theirs. The most innocent of childish joy, the pain of a lost childhood, the rush of thrill in battle, the despair of a loss, the triumph of a win, the burden of understanding. The things that were the Song of Time.

The adjudicator looked at him with incomprehension written all over her face, as if she no longer knew how to proceed. He looked back calmly, expectantly, serenely.

"That – that was…" the woman trailed off hesitantly, looking down at her blank comment sheet that she had completely forgotten to fill out during the performance. She picked up her pen with a trembling hand, before setting it back down and shakily continuing with, "Well…your next piece, please?"

Link nodded, shifted the instrument on his shoulder a bit, gazing at the strings with a strange kind of intensity. All at once, his eyes took on a wild sort of glint, like the steel of a sword that flashed as the sun glance off its edge.

The bow was brought up sharply, but the first note was slow; long, deep and ominous.

The brilliance of it was that within the foreboding notes, there was an underlining of the sweetest of beauty.

Twilight was an epic war story, filled with clashes of swords, fighting of nature, betrayal, promises, comrades, and love. It danced on the border between rational man and ferocious beast. There was the thrill of being thrust into an unknown world, the bitter pain of battle, the affection and growing trust between partners who fought side by side…

The room broke slowly, uncertainly into thunderous applause as the boy bowed, and with a rush, Zelda knew she had just lost her first Provincial championship.

She wanted to talk to Link Forester, but he had somehow slipped out unnoticed pass the stunned crowd leaving through the door. And anyway, Mr. Ramsey had come up alongside and steered her to the back of the room, tight-lipped and radiating a white-hot fury.

"Don't worry," he told her once they were out of public earshot (Malon and Sheik waited patiently for her just outside the door). "We won't let them give the title to that boy. There's got to be some sort of loophole we can find. You will take home the championship again."

"Why?" she found herself asking, despising her teacher's confidence in her support of his underhanded plans. "He obviously deserves to win."

The man looked as though he'd just been struck. "Have you lost your mind? Him? A boy who's played only one year, who chose an over-used piece and used one of his own compositions? A street rat from Ordon? How can we let him win over you? It's not just a matter of pride and justice. Think of the politics behind it. Imagine what the reaction will be if Ordon beat Upper Eldin. It's unspeakable."

Zelda refused to back down. "It just happened," she said firmly. "And music isn't about politics. No amount of money will change the fact that he played better than I did. A room full of people saw it. You can't cover him up forever."

Mr. Ramsey stared at the young woman as though seeing her for the first time. He started to say something, decided against it, and instead took two steps backwards, away from her, as though she were something he'd just discovered was ugly. "I won't settle for it," he snarled at her. "You will take that title. Ordon will not win Provincials, now or ever. And you'd be surprised just how political music gets." With that, he spun around and marched off, seething.

After taking a moment to compose herself – her insides were boiling in anger at the injustice of the conceited man – she went to meet her friends.

"What did he want?" Malon demanded the moment she stepped through the door. Sheik rolled his eyes at her and spared Zelda the effort of answering. "Idiot. Obviously he wanted to talk about how to sabotage Forester."

"Sabotage?" Malon repeated, wide-eyed, looking between her two friends. "But he was - !" she stopped herself abruptly, glancing nervously at Zelda. The blonde shook her head with a smile. "It's alright, Malon. I don't mind losing to him, not when he's obviously so much better."

Sheik chuckled, ruffling her hair out of its previously pristine state. "That's my girl. It's going to cause an uproar, though. Everyone in Upper Eldin is going to be absolutely livid."

Zelda cocked her head, a look of thoughtful contemplation crossing her face. At length, she said, "maybe that won't be so bad. Maybe it's time the ship capsized and we all start learning how to swim with the rest of the world."

"When do you get the results?" Kafei asked as he passed Link the plate of mashed potatoes over the small dinner table. The teen took it with a nod of thanks, heaped a couple spoonfuls onto his plate as he answered. "Don't know. A week, I think."

"I'm so proud of you," Anju said, positively beaming at him. "I can just imagine the looks those yuppies must have given you when they heard you play. Bet it knocked all the spare change from their pockets."

Kafei laughed, having forgotten he was in the middle of chewing, and promptly started choking. His wife reached over with a roll of her eyes and gave him three firm hard-than-they-have-to-be thumps on the back. Red-faced and sputtering, he glared at her while trying to get his breath back under control, weakly flailing a fist in her direction.

Link chuckled at their antics. For all that they were his legal guardians, they were only eight years older than he, and routinely acted half their age around each other.

A voice behind him made him jump slightly, not having heard nor felt someone enter the apartment. "Uh, what are you two doing?"

"Sheik!" Kafei yelped while Anju looked startled at the teenager who had materialized out of nowhere. "How'd you get in here?"

"The door, of course," the Sheikah answered matter-of-factly.

"Wasn't it locked?"

"Yes." His expression suggested he didn't see the reason behind Kafei's incredulous tone.

"Then how'd you get in?" the older man yelled, to which Sheik calmly replied, "It was locked. Was. Not anymore."

Kafei looked for a moment like he was about to explode, then his rational side kicked in and he decided against it, seeing as how the boy would definitely not be fazed and it would therefore be effort wasted. Sinking into his chair, he picked up his fork and resumed eating, determinedly ignoring the teen who had broken in to his apartment and was now blatantly trespassing.

Sheik walked over to Link and shoved his friend over to the edge of his chair. "Share," he told the glaring boy before plopping himself down onto the newly cleared space. His face lit up at seeing Link's plate. "Oh man. Anju makes the best gravy." And without further ado, he picked up Link's abandoned fork and started shoving mashed potatoes drenched in gravy into his mouth.

Link smacked the guy on the back of his head (Sheik grunted) and stood up to get himself another fork.

"Is freeloading the only reason you came over?" Anju asked in amusement as the teen bit into a mouthful of chicken. Link returned, sat down on his half of the chair, and resumed eating his interrupted dinner before all of it could be stolen by his hungry companion.

Sheik held up a finger in a signal for patience and swallowed before answering. "Aw, Anju, am I really that type of guy? Wanted to congratulate my best friend on his splendid and inspiring performance today was all. And it really was amazing, man," he added, slinging his free arm over Link's shoulders. "Those frillies never knew what hit them."

"And free dinner was just a happy coincidence?" Kafei drawled dryly.

"Well, if fate determined that I walk in during the middle of such a wholesome meal, I won't complain," Sheik grinned cheekily and earned himself a roll thrown at his face.

It wasn't until after dinner, when Link had started on the dishes (he insisted that it was only fair, since Kafei and Anju cooked) and the other three were watching the news from the little13-inch TV in the living room that Sheik brought up a much more serious topic.

"I thought I should tell you," he began quietly, glancing towards the kitchen – Link should be out of earshot, but sometimes his friend surprised him – "a lot of very rich and influential people aren't happy about what happened today."

"I didn't expect them to be," Kafei answered, watching the anchorman introduce a segment about the rising cost of living. "Of course they're not happy at being shown up by a boy from Ordon. There should be some pretty pissed off aristocrats sitting around in down-stuffed leather sofas right now, raging about how some street kid managed to beat the Princess of Hyrule. I'm going to want some pictures of their faces when they present Link with the medal at the award ceremony." Anju smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Sheik's crimson-shaded eyes had turned hard. "You don't understand. It's not just that they're not happy, it's that they have the power to do something about it."

"What can they do?"

"They can prevent him from ever getting the award he deserves. They can say he came in last. They can DQ him. If they want it enough, they may even be able to pull off making it look as if he never competed at all. I was walking past the door when they were having a meeting right after the competitions." His voice had filled with disgust. "They were talking about starting a rumor that he hid a recording inside his violin and faked his way through it."

Anju's eyes were huge as she sat up slowly, her body rigid. "That's absurd," she whispered, trembling with fury. "They can't do that. People saw him play. They know how good he is! There were people who knew music – how can he possible fake anything well enough to fool them?" She sought out her husband's hand, held it tightly for support. Kafei's face was suddenly solemn and tired, making him look much older than his twenty-five years.

Sheik shrugged, resting his head on the soft, worn, faded fabric of the couch. "Who's to say they can't buy off everyone in that room?"

"But you saw it. You can tell them –"

The teen laughed, a hollow sound, devoid of mirth. "I'm from Kakariko – barely a step above Ordon. On top of that, I'm a Sheikah. Who's going to believe a kid like me?" There was a smoldering bitterness in his tone. "Who's going to take my word above anyone's?" What he left unsaid, what he implied, all of them knew. A Sheikah's words were worth very little, and had been so even before the Border Wars erupted nearly two decades ago. If Sheik were to say anything in front of Hyrule's oldest nobilities – he would be laughed straight out of the room.

They were silent for a few moments, the television droning steadily on in the background, blending with the muffled sound of running water and clinking dishes floating in from the kitchen.

"Is there no one else?" Anju asked at length, wearily and hopelessly, tears glistening in her soft violet eyes. She was idealistic, something that all her years living in the lower class did not manage to beat out of her. Kafei reached over to draw her close, burying his hand and face into her hair in an attempt to both give and draw comfort.

"There is still the princess."

Anju's surprise was visibly obvious. "The princess? Would she, of all people, stand up for him?"

"She is a good person, fair and just, not as bad as you think," Sheik answered with a small smile. "She told me that she thought he deserved to win, and had no desire to take the championship away from him. Besides, both first and second get to move on to Nationals. She said it would be a delight to compete against him again."

"Which won't happen if those damn frillies have their say," Kafei muttered.

"Don't let Link find out," Anju said suddenly, casting a nervous glance over to the door connecting the room to the kitchen. "I don't want him to hear until he has to. It took so much to get him to go in the first place – if he realizes that they might keep even this from him – I don't know. How much can one boy take?" She sighed, running a hand absentmindedly through her husband's hair.

Sheik nodded his understanding and agreement. This time last year, Link barely had the will to stand. He had been born with a mountain of courage and strength, much more than his fair share, but he was still only a boy – only seventeen, not quite yet a man, with a child's vulnerability and a veteran's scars of experience. Sheik clenched his fist so hard he almost drew blood. Would they take this away from him too, when they've already taken practically everything else he had?

"Whatever can be done, I will do it," he promised the couple. "Even if it means single-handedly taking on the entire Council in court, I swear that if I have to, I will. They won't hurt him again. I won't let them."

"And if there's anything we can do," Anju said quietly, with a steely strength in her voice that matched his, "tell us."

The television continued on its monologue, detachedly, carelessly.

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