Author's Notes: WHAT a chapter this turned out to be! I had NO IDEA what I was writing when I went into this, but it just sort of evolved the longer I typed, and the more I realized I knew where I was going. I separated the chapter into two parts, and as such, it ended up considerably longer than my previous chapters—almost three to four pages longer, to be exact. The first half ties up the events of Chapter 2, while the second half pushes us towards what I consider the "core" of the story. I realize I've been somewhat "tangent-oriented" throughout the fic, though I promise, everything comes into play at some point or another.

Keep in mind, this story focuses not only on a rising conflict/danger within Hyrule itself, but the deepening/varying relationships between Zelda, Link, the Boniface, etc. I may be mentioning this a bit late, but The Fires of Compromise is somewhat a "day in the life of" coupled with an adventure story suited to the Zelda universe. Characterization is EXTREMELY important in my writing, and as such, I tend to focus on character thought and interaction more than I would other aspects of the story. But not to worry—I try to keep a fair balance, despite.

And as a side note, you will NEVER hear me describe Link as "muscular" and/or "tanned." I DESPISE both, as they are overused and seemingly idiotic, considering Link roams Hyrule fully clothed from head to foot at ALL times. [/end rant]

I'd also like to give my sincerest gratitude to all reviewers, who've left nothing but constructive and encouraging comments since the story's birth. I appreciate the continual feedback and support, and will work hard to ensure The Fires of Compromise lives up to viewer expectation. Many thanks!

Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda © Shigeru Miyamoto and Nintendo.

The Fires of Compromise
Chapter 3: Wagon Parts
By Boggy

The tavern, whose kitchen was of considerable size, paled in comparison to that of the castle's, whose cupboards alone were beyond anything Link deemed reasonably measurable. Cups of the purest glass, plates of the finest silver, wood carved from the rarest oak—each a finery proportionate to that of the palace's most prestigious guest.

It was laughable, really, that such extremes were taken to accommodate to the "needs" of one such King Harkinian and Princess Zelda of Hyrule. It was almost as if royalty needed audacity and superfluousness to maintain the illusion of importance.

Indeed, it was not a life for the faint of heart.

But for simpleton Link, a quiet drink and good company were enough. With the linens washed and the baskets away, he relaxed, amazed but unperturbed by the busyness of the servants.

They were efficient and quick. No doubt the workers cooked and cleaned hours upon end to serve the overwhelming masses of the palace. It seemed their energy knew no limits, running to and fro, carrying pots, chopping vegetables, and washing tables. There were piles upon piles of dishes, not a bare countertop in sight. They had no stools or chairs. Link had plopped himself on a barrel, his legs hanging several inches off the ground. He sipped at a glass of Lon Lon Milk, savoring its rich taste.

All of Hyrule's milk was produced and delivered by Lon Lon Ranch. Talon delivered a weekly shipment to the palace, though milk wasn't popular amongst royals, Zelda included. She preferred fine wines—red or white or rosé, sparkling or vintage. In fact, wine was one of few things Link knew her to generally enjoy. Zelda's life was mostly formality and poise, but she seemed genuinely content partaking of good foods and good drinks.

He wasn't much for wine himself. Zelda had offered bottles of the palace's private wines, from grapes grown in the palace's private vineyard. But he'd always refused, labeling wine as a "morally corrupt" substance. She'd laughed at his disgust, saying "We're not drunkards in a pub, Link." It upset him at her ridicule of the bar, and she'd ushered the wine away, stricken with guilt. "Don't pay me any mind, Link," she'd pleaded. "Forgive my shortcomings, and be happy."

Link was happy, and he'd waved her worries away with a smile. The tavern was what it was; there was no disguising its lewd behaviors and immoral clientele. Still, it was kind of the Boniface to take him in, and while not the most "respectable" profession, he'd found satisfaction in working for pay.

He swallowed the last of his milk, setting the glass at the edge of the barrel. Like clockwork, a nameless servant collected the cup, stopping only to marvel at Link's eyes and ears.

"What a pretty child," she cooed. "And such a fair complexion!"

Living under the canopies of the Kokiri Forest had left Link susceptible to the sun. His tunic and leggings had kept him protected, though he'd never liked camping in open ground. Now, in his adolescence, he'd outgrown his Kokirin robes, outfitting himself in brown leathered pants and matching shirt. Without the Kokirin garb, he felt more "at home" with the Hylians. Which was important, considering he was one.

"Well," the woman continued her doting, "would you like some cheese or cookies? Perhaps another glass of milk?"

Link politely declined, offering instead a hand with the in-house chores. She shook her head and laughed, petting his ears as she left.

With the servants piddling away, Link turned his attention to the woman worker, whose immaculate hands folded napkins in preparation for the evening dinner. She had stopped, twice, to straighten his shirt, brushing an imaginary dust mite before smoothing the creases in his sleeve.

"You're surprisingly well-kempt for a boy."

Link inwardly smiled.

With the last of the napkins in place, she straightened Link's shirt for a third and final time. "You're scheduled for an audience with the Princess. She's asked that I escort you to the courtyard."


With the kisses and pinches of the kitchen, Link followed the woman servant back through the castle corridors, amazed still by the ease with which he navigated the palace. Men and women, none of whom Link recognized, traveled with similar ease—like a tourist attraction for nobles!

It was no wonder, really, why Zelda was so easily kidnapped.

As they neared the Inner Court, Link was struck with the realization—or perhaps, horror—that he'd yet to visit the Central Tower, as instructed. He ran his fingers along the antiquated key, its metal tapping lightly against his chest as his feet kept pace with the woman servant's strides. In his hurriedness to the kitchen, Link had neglected to complete his duties, an oversight which reflected poorly on his performance. He prided himself in both accuracy and efficiency, especially in matters pertaining to the Royal Family.

"Servants work with speed and diligence…," as he recalled, "…and without question or hesitation." Those were her exact words.

Would she be upset?

Amidst his worries, they arrived—far sooner than Link would have liked—at the courtyard. He was asked to wait at the entrance, while the woman servant continued on to inform Zelda of their arrival. Watching their exchange was nerve-racking. The woman would speak, Zelda would nod...

What could she be saying?

Upon her return, the woman knelt, bracing her hands against his arms and scanning his form with—was it pride? He caught something in her eye, a brief fascination, a distracted sadness, something she'd hidden away till now. He was overcome with an emptiness he could neither name nor place, only sympathize with in an effort to pinpoint an emotion so often manifested in his nightmares and dreams.

She smiled, erasing the mystery of her eyes, straightening his shirt once more before kissing his cheek.

"The Princess will see you now." She paused, sensing a break in her voice. "Practice your folding for when it is we meet again. I will expect improvement."

And without another word, she stood and left.

Link approached the Princess, an uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. The setting sun caught the colors of her silk dress, her hands still and her eyes steady. He blinked, torn between his unexplainable sorrow for the woman, and his insuppressible appetence for the Princess.

He stood quietly, perplexed by the stoicism in her face.

"She is barren."

Link flinched.

Zelda's emotions were unknown, her voice calm, her countenance forthright. She seemed neither moved nor bothered by the curtness of her words, which Link found simultaneously cold and powerful.

Should he express his condolences, or remain silent?

He chose silence.

Zelda noted his reaction before continuing. "The palace is innocuous, no? Hundreds of people, countless activities, and yet, as lifeless as the frozen sea."

She stepped forward, and with the slightest flick, retrieved the bronzed key at his chest. The chain, however, she tucked beneath his shirt, patting it lightly to accentuate its ownership.

"I was a bit concerned sending you alone, but as always, you managed." She smiled, her head high. "Though I'm sure my handmaiden was of considerable help."

Link lowered his gaze, ashamed of accepting praise for a job half-finished. He opened his mouth to explain, but his apologies were cut short.

"I changed my mind."

Link lifted his head.

"It was an ambitious plan—ill-conceived and poorly executed." She turned, her profile facing the wall. "It isn't the first time I've allowed my aggression to take control of my better judgment…" There was a long pause. "…And I promised never to make that mistake twice."

Guilt oozed from Zelda's every pore. Hyrule had been set right again, thanks to the combined efforts of Link and the Seven Sages, but Zelda would never wholly forgive herself. Hers was the very hand that spinned the wheel, setting into motion what would eventually lead to the near destruction of Hyrule under Ganon's tyrannical rule. He had gathered the Spiritual Stones, true enough, but Link was nothing more than a servant at her command. Without her guiding light, Link was powerless to act. Yet, without Link's aid, Zelda could have never freed the Sages and banished Ganon to the Sacred Realm. Wisdom was her trump card, and she'd played a poor hand.

And she died every day because of it.

He reached out to touch her arm, his conscience screaming with the urge to console. But the Princess turned, sharply, her back facing the wall once more, and her eyes stern with pained composure.

"A queen has no weaknesses, Link. Nor does her king."

He pondered her words for but a moment, before withdrawing his hand and kneeling low. She stepped forward, in turn, her waistline brushing the edges of his hair, her fingers grazing the sides of his face.

"It's best you return to town before nightfall. My handmaiden will see fit to inform me of today's findings."

Link straightened, posturing himself to mimic Zelda's formality. He faced her, his mind struggling with what was right, what was proper, what was mad, and whether there was any real difference between the three. He wondered if men had thought of her, looked at her, dreamt of her as he had, or if the power of the Triforce weren't somehow manipulating his senses into a realm of impossible possibles only the Devil himself rejoiced. And if the Devil rejoiced, what of his own conscience?

He stole one last glance before bowing low—his gaze trailing the hem of her dress—and making the return trip to Hyrule Market.

Shivering, she watched him leave, struck by a sudden chill. Night was upon her, and she hoped, for what little it was worth, Link's return to Market was a wary one. The town was relatively safe, the occasional riffraff notwithstanding, and Link was more than capable of protecting himself. Even still, she worried, having never fully shaken her memories of the future, and the caution that came with its immortality. Nor could she shake the prophetic brisk tingling her spine, warning her of an impending, inevitable misfortune she'd neither knowledge nor understanding of.

But this was hardly the time for timidity; there was work to be done.

The woman servant reappeared, just as Link's image was lost to the distance. She stood before Zelda, her eyes low to emphasize respect.

The Princess folded her arms, inquisitively. "Well?"

"He was… hesitant at first, but with assistance, his confidence grew. The palace intimidates him—its size, its structure, its movements," she warned. "He found his way well enough, but the palace is more than crimson doors and winding halls. He will not adapt overnight."

Zelda nodded. "As I expected. And the workers?"

"He is well-received by our staff," she beamed. "He is… identifiable, someone the workers can relate to."

"An important consideration, indeed."

"A characteristic on which his exceptionalism is based," the woman added.

Zelda ruffled her dress, thoughtfully.

"Shall I make the necessary arrangements, then?"

The Princess shook her head. "No. We will wait. As it stands, we've more pressing matters to attend to."


"What did I tell ya'?"

"Hey! HEY! Leave the tip and shut your lip, will ya'?"

"I TOLD you that guy was no good, didn't I? DIDN'T I?"

"Ah, here it comes…"

"I TOLD you he was gonna' run outta' here the SECOND he got a better opportunity. And whadya know? …No, wait! Wait! Do YOU see him hangin' around anywhere? Huh? HUH?"

"Go home, Clarice. You're drunk."

"Look at ya'! Yer draggin' children off the streets!"

"Nobody's draggin' nothin' from nowhere! He's a hired employee, paid more than what he's worth!"

"You keep treatin' yer help that way, and you won't have nothin' left!"

Clarice, a regular, was drunk as usual.

Link watched as she and the Boniface exchanged scowls, arguing over a hired hand who'd quit prior to the evening shift. He'd been offered a job at one of the developing businesses nearby, a pottery shop just outside the castle gates. Link had never known the man intimately. But no man was foolish enough to reject better pay, friendlier working conditions, and reasonable hours, a concept which had cost the Boniface his second bartender in the past three months.

With a skeleton crew, Link was thrown into the forefront of the evening rush, pouring drinks and waiting tables, despite Clarice's robust objections. Nevertheless, the Boniface was desperate, and it wasn't often soldiers "dropped in" for a drink.

The tavern was rough at night, the grittier crowd pouring in by the dozens for booze, women, booze, and a "night out with the guys." They were a "colorful" bunch, especially the women. He'd noticed the wayward eyes of more than a few ladies that night, trailing his form as he moved across the bar. It was unnerving, and he only hoped they'd turn their attention elsewhere.

"Don't tell me how to manage my employees!" The Boniface was louder now. "A woman's got no head for business!"

"You ass!" she squawked. "Who does the books 'round here, huh? HUH? Who oversees inventory at the end of the month, huh? HUH?" Clarice took another swig. "And to think—I do all that for free."

Link mentally sighed, all too accustomed to Clarice's tirades. Most of her "fits" were directed at the Boniface, though she did love him. Not that the Boniface was a walk in the park. If Link had to live with him on a daily basis, he'd throw temper-tantrums too.

As the arguing pursued, Link felt the leer of an attractive woman, a strange perfume emanating from the adjoining table. She sat, legs crossed, her voice dripping with sensualism and the connotations of something carnal.

"Colorful atmosphere, hmm? "

Link "mmhmmed" in response, nodding slightly as he collected her empty drink.

Unfazed and annoyingly persistent, the woman continued. "You're… out of place, you know. With you here, I might as well live at the Royal Palace."

Link turned, for the first time that night, his brow thoughtful and attentive.

She stared in return, and as she smiled, he noticed the silken fabric of her clothes, the suggestiveness of its placement, and though it breathed of the same openness as Zelda's dress, he felt, for an instant, overtly offended.

"Is something wrong?" she smirked.

Before Link could answer, a drink flew across the bar. Bits of glass scattered along the floor, the Boniface masking his face with a serving tray. Clarice was on the opposing end, her face flushed with intoxication and her eyes filled with fire.

Whatever he'd said or done, it was obviously the wrong thing.

"Any half-wit can OPEN a bar! People'll drink booze if it pours out a Goron's ass!" she screamed. "The point is KEEPIN' it open!"

"Clarice!" The Boniface peered out from behind his "shield," his fingers trembling with uncertainty. "Go to my room and lie down! You're drunk!"

Clarice seemed to cease her ranting, as though struck with a sudden revelation. But within seconds, she grabbed a nearby drink, hurling the glass across the bar.

"I see how it is! I get it!" She snatched her satchel, flinging it wildly over customers' heads. "Give her a drink and she'll sleep with you anywhere!"

"Clarice!"

But she was gone, the silence emphasized by the swish of swinging doors.

The Boniface stood, tray in hand and his eyes wide. In all her fits, in every wild rampage, she had never left the bar. She'd thrown drinks, swore, even slugged a customer. But she'd never up and walked out.

The pub was at a loss. They eyed the entrance with the hopes her lithe form were burst through and embrace the Boniface with forgiveness. If they could only catch a glimpse of her blonde hair peeking in through the storefront windows—surely she would return.

But there was no such Clarice, and the Boniface shivered, hard, torn between swallowing his pride, and chasing Clarice into the night.

He chose the next best thing.

"LINK!"

Link jumped, his tray tilting forward from the shock. He steadied himself, annoyed by the smirks of the attractive woman, and grateful he'd leveled the tray without flopping cold liquor onto the floor.

Clarice had made enough messes for one night.

"LINK! GET OVER HERE!"

Link sighed, dreading the Boniface's wrath, but pleased just the same to escape the woman, whose eyes followed his form from across the bar. He approached the Boniface, nervous, but attentive.

"Link…"

The Boniface paused, noting the curious stares of his customers. A few of the tables had doubled up, inching their chairs towards the front of the bar. He narrowed his eyes at the unwanted attention, nudging Link towards the door, his voice low.

"Eh…" He stuttered, running a hand through his bangs. "Ya' know, the tavern gets pretty crazy at night…."

Link nodded.

"Yer just a kid, ya' know, so I can't leave ya' alone to watch the place. Wouldn't be right, ya' know?"

Link nodded, again.

"But I… Eh… Can't have that half-minded woman roamin' the streets scarin' people…"

Link mentally sighed.

"So I, er, want ya' to bring her back… Bring her back to the pub, ya' know? Uh…" He paused a moment, unsure of himself. "…Make sure she's alright."

A few snickers surfaced, the air thick with muffled commentary and wayward giggles. The Boniface sneered, shooting dirty looks across the room. The gossiping continued, though Link, valuing his job, remained silent, the Boniface slinging swears all the way back to the bar. He glanced behind him, towards Link, motioning wildly with his hands.

"Link!" the Boniface screamed. "Get goin', will ya!"


And so, Link retired to Market, roaming the streets by torch. He sighed at the refreshing breath of the evening breeze, reveling in the crisp colors of the night. The stars were visible, despite the luminance of the city's lights. His ears twitched at the noises of the pub, its rowdiness the only signs of life in the otherwise silent city. How he wished, in that moment, he were sitting amongst the plains of Hyrule Field, Epona at his side, and the soothing sounds of a crackling fire fading into the void of violent, forgotten mystery.

He stole one moment, glancing towards the palace, wondering if Zelda had retired for the night. The gates leading to the service road were marked with guards, their forms stiff and unresponsive against the wilds of the twilight hour. He imagined their eyes, heavy and half-closed, hidden beneath the veil of their helms, oblivious to the whispers lurking from within the Temple of Time.

But Link pushed his musings aside, reminding himself of the task at hand. He rounded the nearest corner, in hopes of locating the elusive Clarice. It didn't take long; Link could hear her sobs a block away. Before long he spotted her, huddled against a stacking crate near the Bazaar. He approached, softly, the torch light forming an ethereal glow in the darkness of the alleyway.

She sniffled, hard, aware but unalarmed of Link's presence. He bent down, leveling his gaze with her own. She glanced at him in return, her face stricken with tears and her eyes glorified by the flickering flames.

"It… It isn't the bar, ya' know?" She sniffled, pulling her legs close. "It's just, men have ambitions. And ambitious men come in pieces, because they invest themselves—like a wagon disassembled for parts."

There was silence between them, a brisk wind rushing past, ruffling the edges of his hair. He held out a hand, imploring the woman with his eyes to follow him back to the tavern—to safety, to warmth, to reassurance. She considered the offer, but snorted instead, running a hand against the nape of her neck.

"Stupid ass," she fumed. "Figures he'd send the servin' boy out to fetch me."

Though visibly annoyed, Clarice was secretly relieved, and eventually—after a bit of prodding on Link's part—took his hand, allowing him to pull her into the safety of the open streets. She smiled, her tall form towering over Link's, her walk wobbly from the effects of the alcohol.

"Yer pretty cute, ya' know?" She steadied herself against his arm. "I see why the Boniface likes you."

Link said nothing, wondering what it was the Boniface would say in the seclusion of his quarters—his deepest, most private thoughts, and Clarice his only confidant. Clarice, he deduced, knew more of the Boniface's dreams, hopes, and fears than anyone, and most likely, more than anyone ever would. He imagined it brought the Boniface a strange sense of relief, despite the arguing, the misunderstandings, and the cruel words.

And it was in that moment Link was struck with an almost ironic realization:

Men would always have weaknesses, so long as women roamed the earth.

But before Link could bask in his realization, Clarice tugged at his shirt, pointing in the direction of the bar.

"Link! What's goin' on? What's all the commotion?"

Link turned his attention to the pub, a murderous glow emanating from across the way. People he recognized as customers were filing into the streets, an unfamiliar roar brewing against the sky.

"Ah…" Clarice's voice caught in her throat, her hands tightening.

Link stared, dumbstruck, his arm growing numb under the force of Clarice's grip.

They both knew.

The tavern had caught fire.