For some reason, my first chapter isn't showing up at all. I'm hoping that posting this here second chapter will fix the problem.

It's almost twice as long as the first one, w00t. More action, more angst, and the beginnings of romance. Enjoy!

Hamlet drew his blade and circled his opponent. The royal sword of the Danes had been at his side ever since he landed in the middle of Hyrule Field four days ago, and he found it a wonderful sparring weapon in his daily sword-fighting training.

His opponent, the surprisingly deadly Zelda, carried a blade of a sort he had never seen before. It had the odd collection of three triangles that seemed to adorn everything in this peculiar country, and the blade itself was notched on both sides right above the hilt. He raised the wire-cage visor that hid his face and asked, "What kind of a sword is that? It's not the one you usually use."

"It's a replica of the Master Sword, the sword in the Temple of Time, which the hero Link wielded before he was killed." She hefted it. "It has sentimental value for me because of him."

Hamlet leapt in, thrust his jewel-encrusted but still entirely functional blade at her armor. She deftly parried it, and counterattacked. He blocked with the grooved flat of his blade, flung her sword back, and leapt away again.

"If it's not too touchy of a subject to ask, were you and he…close?"

Zelda lifted her own facemask. "We were, although we only met a couple of times. He was a sweet kid, and a hell of a swordfighter. I sent him out to open the Door of Time, and he…" She sighed. "Yes, I've told you this story before."

With barely a pause after she said this, she snapped her visor back down and leapt at her erstwhile rival. She was too fast for him, and her ornamental sword prodded his armor right above the heart.

"O, I am slain!" He fell to the ground in a mockery of death. He thought that he was fairly convincing—after all, he had died before—but the ex-princess simply laughed and pulled him to his feet. Her eyes sparkled with some of the first true happiness he had seen out of her. "Looks like I win," she said, and winked.

Her laugh, rare as it was, was contagious; he found that he couldn't help himself. They chuckled together for a short while, and then picked up the gear that they had left in the abandoned courtyard and walked in pleasant silence back to the tunnel that led to the rebel base. The bubbling of the river that framed the small area of the field faded away as they descended into the roughly hewn stone.

The tunnel was dark and musty. It had been made back in the times of the First Kingdom of Hyrule, according to Zelda. It had gained quite a few branches in the past seven years as it became a rebel haven. Of course, it lost branches as soon as Ganon's forces found them, but the many friendly Gorons who were still left helped keep the secret network functional.

They reached the main headquarters below the ruins of Hyrule Town in practically no time. Hamlet knew his way around the sparsely decorated and dimly lit barracks now, and he headed towards the mess hall, following the helpful signs in a completely incomprehensible language.

The mess hall relied heavily on magic to produce the food, as Hyrule had pretty much always done. The kingdom had never had vast expanses of farmland, instead trusting in the providence of the goddesses' magic for sustenance. A heavily modified version of this ancient system was used here to grow dense food crops without sunlight, and most of the livestock farmers were sympathetic to the cause. Because it wasn't too strictly rationed, and because the cooks drew from Hyrule's ancient culinary traditions, the food was hearty, if not particularly refined. If anything, it was a break from the rich and extravagant fare that he had eaten all of his life.

The hall itself looked more like a tavern than anything else. The wall was ringed with torches shining their guttering light on a disarray of wooden tables and chairs. Rebels sat, ate, and talked, but the atmosphere was much less raucous than the average tavern—thanks to the hall's wise decision not to serve alcohol. Although Hamlet had wished for a good stiff brandy many times in his short time here, he was glad that some of the ruffians that made up the rebellion had no easy access to liquor.

He pulled out a chair at an empty table and sat. He was here more to rest his legs than anything; although he was hungry, he had no desire to go stand in line to get his food, preferring to wait for a time when few people chose to eat. In a few seconds Zelda came in behind him and sat beside him. "That was a good round today," she said.

Hamlet looked away, distracted by the thoughts that flitted through her head whenever the beautiful rebel leader was near him. "Mm. I suppose so."

Zelda started to say something, then stopped. When she finally did speak, her voice held a note of tender concern. "Is something wrong?"

"The attack is so soon. It's worrying me," he half-lied. The truth was that he was more worried by matters of his own heart than going out and fighting. Fighting was easy. Dealing with his heart forgetting his beloved Ophelia so quickly for this other, much different woman…that—that was difficult.

He didn't know if Zelda picked up on his true motivations or not, but she played along anyway. "It'll be fine. We have escape routes if things go wrong. I'm determined not to make this a suicide attack." The sincerity in her voice caused him to look at her again and get lost in her eyes. She looked back at him with the same interest, her eyes gently piercing into his mind, until the moment was broken by a klaxon sounding in the complex.

Zelda popped out of her seat, grabbed the startled prince's hand, and dragged him out of the room along with a tide of other fighters. Hamlet could hear cries of "They found the tunnel! They found the tunnel!" in the background as his mind tried to process all of what was going on. The klaxon got louder as Zelda silently manhandled him through the crowd to the main control room, or the "bridge" as she called it.

Hamlet could hear heavy metal doors clanging shut all around him. The nerve center was now isolated from the rest of the complex. Rebel soldiers all around the perimeter of the circular room had their ears to hearing-tubes connecting to all parts of the resistance base. They sometimes lifted their heads to shout strange things like "Bogeys on tube 23!" Then some people in the middle of the room would put dots on a large map on a table.

It was all fairly incomprehensible to Hamlet. The last time Denmark had been in a war, he was a little boy and his father did not let him watch the generals planning their great battles. He had no doubt that Fortinbras, a man who actually reminded him much of himself, had already taken over his beloved homeland. For some reason, though, he found himself caring less than he should about the land he came from and wanting more and more to stay here. He knew that it was because of the woman who was still absent-mindedly clutching his wrist, but he knew that if SHE asked why he preferred to stay, he would need to come up with a batter answer.

She had taken instant command of the room the moment she walked in, and smoothly shouted orders to all corners. She was one of a rare breed of people who could sound very genial even when barking out commands, and because of this, her orders were followed without question.

Now that the instant adrenaline rush had left him, the emotions that he had been grappling with before came back in full force. The fact that Zelda still clutched his hand without realizing it didn't help matters, either. He looked at her, resplendent in her leather armor, and sighed.

She finished ordering people around, and looked at him quizzically. "Are you okay? Did I hurt your arm dragging you around?" She let go of him.

"No, no, I'm fine, it's just…" He sighed again and looked away. "It's nothing."

She stared at him. "You couldn't be much more obvious if you tried, Hamlet. But it's okay. We'll talk about this once the crisis is over, so for the meantime try not to get emotional." She turned away from him and went back to commanding.

Hamlet's head spun. Why did everyone always know what he was angsting about? Even back home he was barely able to plot under Claudius' and Polonius' noses. And now this intriguing and lovely woman was being cold to him simply because he let his feelings get the better of him.

He sat down on the floor and began muttering to himself "Why does this always happen to me? First, my father's killed by his own brother, then I die, and now the second woman I've ever loved is on to me. Why, God, why, why, why?"

"Hey!"

Hamlet looked up, eyes already welling up with tears, and saw Zelda standing there looking uncannily serene. "Do you need help?" she asked. "Why are you talking to yourself?"

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stood up, embarrassed that he had let his still-adolescent emotions get the better of his common sense. "Nothing," he said unconvincingly. "I'm just homesick, I guess."

She arched one eyebrow. "I told you not to get all emotional, and now look at you." She grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, steadying his heart immensely. "I need you to do something for me, Hamlet."

"Yes?" His embarrassment was beginning to show in his cheeks now especially now that she was touching him, and he needed an excuse to quit staring at her.

She pointed to a specific spot on the map, marked with a small red dot and two unfamiliar symbols that he assumed were numerals. "I need your swordfighting skills. You're the best swordsman we have here"—(besides you, he thought)—"and this task requires a deft blade. Ganon has set a Stalfos here… it's a sort of skeletal minion of his, but they're painfully good at sparring. If you can hit it in the torso enough times, it's toast."

He nodded, willing every fiber in his body to complete what was laid before him and impress her. "As you command." He drew his sword. He knew where that red dot was—it was the decoy tunnel, an obvious opening to fool Ganon into ignoring the main assault tunnel. Zelda had shown it to him before. So with blade in hand he turned around and took a step towards the door.

He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Zelda turned him around and looked at him with concern. "There's no need to be so formal and dramatic. We've known each other for long enough that we can speak as friends." She drew him into a loose embrace, one that was completely platonic but still set his hormones coursing. "Take care of yourself."

He wasn't sure if it was his heart or his body, but that small contact with the woman he so admired set a new course for him and cleared all doubt from his troubled mind. He smiled at her, then turned and walked out the heavy iron door.

He wound his way through the narrow stone corridors, vigilant for any sign of threat. He was surely adept at sparring with another human being, but he had no idea how he would fare against supernatural beasts like he saw in his first dreary hour here…

He shook the thought from his mind as he neared the location of the red dot. It was straight down the corridor from where he was, but his range of vision in the smoke and the dim torchlight was not sufficient to get any more than a glimpse of his foe. Still, the confidence that the princess had given him did not flag a bit, and he charged at the beast.

It was bigger than he thought, at least two men tall and nearly as wide. It obviously wasn't a human skeleton; it looked more like the bones of one of the beasts from the legendary tales he read in university in Wittenberg. Whatever it was, its bones seemed to be held together through sheer force of will, and the armor it wore clanked against them with every movement. Its glittering scimitar looked like it wasn't quite real; more ethereal than material.

It had its back turned, giving the prince one good stab at it before he had to REALLY start fighting. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it was slow to turn around, and he took his time setting himself up for another strike.

Then the Stalfos arced its sword through the air. Hamlet had just barely enough time to duck out of the way before it impacted the ground with a resounding clang. Hamlet realized in dread that the sword had actually embedded itself in the stone. If it had hit him, he would have died instantly.

Fortunately, the thing was so disoriented from its strike that Hamlet felt secure in taking a huge risk. He darted around the thing's left side (because it held its blade in its right) to its back, and jumped up on top of it. It tried to shake him off, but he held firm to a couple of its ribs. They were cold to the touch, and rough. Twisting at them seemed to make the Stalfos mad.

Inside its ribcage there was a dark sphere of energy. He couldn't quite look at it—it shone like the sun in its own dark way. Hamlet stuck his foot through a gap in the ribs, lined it up with the magical core, and gave one hard kick.

He fell immediately as the destroyed titan collapsed. He twisted his leg as he hit the ground amidst the bones, and he was probably covered in bruises. At least I'm on top of the pile, and not buried under it, he thought.

Hamlet got up unsteadily, favoring his damaged leg, and reached for one of the longer bones in the pile to use as a crutch. As soon as his fingers touched it, it turned to ash, as did the rest of the pile, leaving only a fine white powder on the ground where he had slain the skeleton.

He sat down on the floor and felt his leg to make sure nothing was broken. He had only broken a leg once, at Wittenberg riding a horse, and he had had to set it himself. Fortunately, this time the damage was a sprain at the very worst, and while it would be painful to walk on, he could still limp back.

Back to Zelda. The words echoed in his mind as if it were an empty cavern. After breaking down in front of her for no reason, letting his emotions completely get the better of him, he wasn't sure if he could face her again, or if she could still respect him. Then again, he had taken down the creature, but…

He was jolted out of his musings by a voice coming from a few feet above his head, yet sounding like it came from a very long way away. "Hamlet? Are you okay?" It was Zelda's voice. The prince remembered her mentioning something about listening tubes. Apparently, he thought, they go both ways.

He called back. "I'm fine, mostly. I destroyed it, anyway." He got up, braving the pain in his leg, and began to hobble back to the central room.

He didn't get very far before he heard people coming from up ahead of him. Hamlet drew his sword, just in case, but then he saw Zelda, with practically the entire resistance movement at her heels. They were coming to congratulate him, at exactly the time that he just needed to sit and think. He watched them approach, lamenting his own indecision, and decided that he would try to take more action in the future.

His resolve, regrettably, melted away when Zelda hugged him again, a little less chastely than before. "Thank you so much. I'm glad you came here."

"I'm glad I came here too," he muttered distractedly. He would have chosen that time to talk to her, but the other people milling around made that a bit difficult. He grabbed her arm and started pushing his way through the sudden mob. Hamlet realized suddenly that they were a "repair" crew, one sent to seal off this tunnel before Ganon poured more troops down it.

Zelda didn't protest at being dragged around. To Hamlet, it looked as if she had lost the fiery intensity that she had as a commander, and was now lost and alone again. Her eyes still sparkled, but they looked around intently, as if she were afraid of enemies from all corners. Her blonde hair, put up elegantly even in this dirty and militaristic situation, was starting to fall down around her face.

There was not far to go, even crippled as he was. His private room was actually very close to this hall, and Zelda seemed to know where they were headed. In fact, as his leg began to scream with pain, she helped him hobble along. He closed the door and the pair sat down on the bed.

Hamlet tried to speak, but the words would not come, less because he was afraid to speak and more because he wasn't sure how he should say it. After a few stumbled attempts to bare his heart, Zelda stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," she said. "I know how you feel."

He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "You're a psychic now?"

She chuckled lightly at the joke. "No, but I do understand YOU. And I understand that we can't do anything until the raid."

Hamlet, working on instinct, played dumb. "What do you mean, do anything?"

Shaking her head, she moved her hand from his shoulder to his knee. "I think you know what I'm talking about. Now, you need to rest up. The attack on Ganon's castle is in two days." She winked at him as she left. "See you then."

Hamlet is the angstiest character in English literature, I'm serious. Will Zelda be able to striaghten him out? Only time will tell!

Thanks for continuing to read my exceedingly strange story! Review if you want to.