Judgment Days Chapter 4: four, a legend of zelda fanfic

Judgment Days

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable of Shigeru Miyamoto or the Legend of Zelda series unless I have been suffering from identity issues these past seventeen years of my life and really am Shiggy. But, I'm not.

Warnings: Language, violence, disturbing images

Pairings: Link x Sheik

Author's Notes: Wow! A lot of really encouraging reviews! Thank you everyone for taking the time to comment on the story! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

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Chapter Four:

our own world

The hearty, rich laughter resounded loudly throughout the humming village, the ground shivering beneath the onslaught of heavy, pounding feet as partners waltzed carelessly. Paper lanterns hung from the roofs of the houses and shops, resembling bright, glowing fairies in the dark, cloudless night, brilliantly illuminating the joyful, ecstatic scene. Children shrieked in exhilaration, weaseling their way through the thick, cramped crowds and running unchallenged throughout the village. Energetic music rang out from a hastily thrown together orchestra of drum-playing Gorons, harp-plucking Zora, and pipe-whistling Hylians, thrumming in the air of Kakariko like a lit fuse.

Caked in dried, peeling mud and fresh, earthy dirt, Link could only stare in dumbstruck horror atop the exhausted, sweaty Epona. At a loss for words, he just continued to gape, his stomach bubbling with anxiety at the sight of so many people, a hysterical sense of claustrophobia rising within him. There was a desperate, terrible need in him to escape, to lick his wounds, to try and bury the memories of the past three days in the darkest, deepest pit in his mind, but now… Shaking, Link realized he wouldn't have the chance to mentally compose himself before having to face others. Leaning backwards, he tugged sharply on Epona's mane, silently urging her to turn around, to take him far, far away from this place. Unfortunately, the weary horse was only thinking about resting, and gingerly began to stride forward, much to her rider's dismay.

"I don't think I can do this right now," Link admitted weakly to no one, shoulders hunched defensively. "I really, really don't."

As they approached the outskirts of the village, Link spotted a young Zora standing off from the crowds and, recognizing perhaps his only chance to glean some information, he swiftly guided Epona over, his hand grasping the pommel of the saddle as if he were considering vaulting off. "What's going on?" he asked quietly, his winter blue eyes wide as he slowly dismounted. "What's this celebration for?"

Her dark, black eyes swept quickly over his features before she did a double take, fully turning around to face him. "Ah, you're the one they call Link, aren't you?" Her voice was melodious and smooth, gliding over him with an almost careless, dispassionate air, and Link suffered from a moment of déjà vu, recalling the first time he had met Princess Ruto. "Well, it would seem strange that you of all people aren't familiar with the occasion," she continued without waiting for an answer, tossing her head superciliously. Link, however, wasn't going to be so easily goaded, and remained expectantly silent. Glancing at him, the Zora sighed histrionically and leaned up against the gates. "Why, it's your namesake's birthday, of course."

Namesake? His eyebrows knitting together in confusion, Link stared at the Zora uncomprehendingly before, with a pang of wrenching guilt, he remembered. "Prince Link!" he murmured to himself, cringing; he'd forgotten his godson's birthday!

"Yes," she drawled, looking bored with the whole business. "The little Goron boy." Her expression changed, and now her eyes were sharp with a keen, probing interest that raised Link's hackles. "Is there any particular reason, Sir Hero, why you're covered head-to-toe in filth?"

"Thank you for your time," Link said flatly, lips tight. Stiffly, he moved past her, ignoring the suspicious curiosity that was painted on her delicate, pretty features. In the corner of his mind, he vaguely reasoned that she was from the Domain — no Zora from Lake Hylia was that jaded. Leading Epona further into Kakariko, he wondered if the girl had just recently completed her coming of age ritual with Lord Jabu-Jabu; it would certainly explain her childish, ignorant self-importance.

Music washed over him, wave after wave, and brightly twisting colors popped in and out of sight as heavy skirts whirled around lithe, quickly moving legs. It was almost physically painful to watch. Bright, radiant smiles, cheery, light laughter, teasing women and ardent men. They were happy. All of them.

The mud plastered along the right side of his face had hardened to the point where his skin stung, and he moved slowly, rigidly, head bowed and eyes trained on the ground. A few Gorons and villagers valiantly attempted to slow him up, to flag him down and properly greet him, but Link managed to disappear before they could reach him, Epona obediently trotting alongside him. Finally, he managed to escape the flocks of people, sliding the stable doors shut behind him. Epona eagerly entered her stall without his guidance, shaking herself out and waiting impatiently. Whispering a few thankful words to her, he tossed her feed into her stall and fondly stroked her thick, muscled neck before leaving, hoping to return to Impa's house and sleep off the next week.

"Would you care to dance?" He hadn't even taken five steps beyond the stable. Feeling like he was going to be sick, Link turned, regarding the young Hylian girl peering up at him from behind bushy, brown bangs, her hands nervously twisting behind her back. When their eyes met, she smiled tentatively, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She didn't even seem to notice his disgusting state, or the mud that swathed every inch of his visible skin. Noticing the look on his face, her eyes, a hazel color, widened and she leaned forward, sensing his rejection. "Please, Mr. Link," she pleaded in a honey-coated voice, a voice he didn't think suited a girl barely fifteen.

"…But, I…"

"Just one? I promise that I won't step on your feet. I'm quite a good dancer." It wasn't his feet he was worried about.

"Miss, I'll just get you dirty, and — "

"Oh! I don't mind! Come on!" The thing was, he minded, but he allowed her to take his hand, which was too big for hers to clasp properly, so she settled for tugging on his fingers instead. Just as they were entering the throng, a strange, familiar feeling burned into his back, and, instincts kicking in, he flew around wildly, dragging the poor girl with him. Eyes wide and panicked, he scanned the rooftops, his neck prickling warningly. He saw no one.

"Uh…um, what's wrong?" she asked him in concern and confusion, flinching a bit as his hand tightened around hers.

"Someone…someone was watching — " He abruptly broke off, glancing down and seeing how white her face was. Horrified, he released her and she sighed in relief, massaging the abused appendage while staring at the ground, her lip trembling. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean…I…"

"I'm fine," she lied, smiling weakly at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Really, I'm fine." She reached out to him with her other hand, hopeful, but he stumbled backward, shaking his head violently.

"No, no. This is a mistake. I-I need to go, to get out of here — "

"B-But, we've only just started!" she protested, and now she was crying, and Link realized that he was the reason behind her tears. "Oh, please? All I've ever wanted…I just…please? I was l-looking for you earlier, b-but, I couldn't…and now…"

It was surreal. Here he was, standing in a circle with no end and no beginning, a circle with bright skirts and laughter in voices, and he was in the middle, stuck, trying to find a place to join in, to find his place. These people lived in their own world, a world he was bereft of, had no place in because he carried too much over from the war, too many memories, too many scars, too much grief, too much rage. He'd been struggling to forget, to wipe the slate clean, but Ganondorf had been the focal point of his life for far too long, and old habits, as they say, die hard. Yet, all around him, happiness blossomed. Why couldn't he be part of it? Why was he so dissatisfied with how everything had turned out? There was something lacking, something that was so close, and he knew he was overlooking it…what was it?

He glanced down at the girl, and he suddenly knew. Her eyes were speaking to him, even as her mouth betrayed her into silence, and he read there a foreign emotion that was swallowing her, consuming her. She loved him. It was there, right on her sleeve, and it was an honest, hero-worshipping love that she probably didn't understand, and neither did he. But he could almost hear what Sheik would have said — "Why does anyone love, Link? It's not something you can conquer, but be conquered by." And maybe he would have been right, because Link loved the mother he didn't remember and didn't know why. Link didn't understand, didn't know, love, but he did understand, knew, that that was what was missing.

That's how these people had done it. It's how they had forgotten.

"What am I doing here?" he wondered, his voice faint, and the girl started, having been in the middle of begging him to continue dancing with her. "I'm not part of this world, of these people. Why…what am I doing here?"

"I-I'm sorry?"

"I need to leave, I need to go. It's not here…"

"What? What are you talking about, Mr. Link? Are you okay?"

"I need to get out. Somewhere far away, somewhere where I — "

" — But I don't understand! What are you talking about? Please, tell me!"

"Excuse me," a smooth, soft voice cut in sharply. "If you would permit me, I would like to steal your partner for a dance." A hand on his elbow, and he was being pulled backwards, away from the shocked, gaping girl and further into the bustling crowd, where he was jostled and bumped into repeatedly. Escorting him was none other than the Queen herself, dressed simply in a white frock and gray leggings, her usual circlet holding her hair back absent. Together, they walked hurriedly through the masses, Zelda politely excusing them and patiently going around passionately dancing couples, and before long, they had made it to the other side. Her hand dropping to his, she guided him over to the gates, where he had spoken to the young Zora girl, and faced him by the single, naked tree.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, her sapphire eyes dark with an anger he wasn't familiar with. "Goddesses Link! Three days! You've been missing for three whole days! And, and — and you're covered in mud! Allow me to rephrase my question. What have you been doing?"

There were deep, purple circles under Zelda's bloodshot eyes, and Link had never felt so selfish in his life. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make you worry, Zelda." He swayed precariously, drained and dizzy, and her hand shot out, steadying him, her anger softening into concern.

Quietly, Zelda studied him, frowning slightly. "I know," she replied, reaching up and unconsciously brushing the bangs from his face with motherly affection. Rolling back on her heels, she crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. "I know. Just, please, tell me next time you decide to leave, okay? I understand that…that you have an itch to wander, to travel, and that's fine. But, please, don't leave without telling anyone again. I worry about you, Link. I truly do." They stood silently together on the outer edge of Kakariko, of the joy and merriness taking place a few yards away. Link wanted to explain himself, wanted to deny the insinuation that he was bored here, but couldn't without thinking about the past three days.

…And really? It was time to let go.

"That was Sheik then, wasn't it?" asked Link suddenly, reaching back to absently rub his neck, remembering the smoldering glare he'd felt earlier. "I thought I had felt someone watching me."

Zelda nodded. "Yes, that was Sheik. He spotted you first, and informed me of your return."

"Seeing how you were obviously disinclined to do so yourself," added Sheik vehemently, and both Link and Zelda jumped in alarm, whirling around simultaneously. Link's hand even made it halfway up his shoulder before he remembered the Master Sword was no longer a comforting presence on his back. The Sheikah stalked over to them, and the Hero could feel the fury pullulating from the smaller man. "What were you thinking? Did you ever stop to even consider what we might have thought had happened?"

Anger directed at him from Zelda was one thing. Anger directed at him from Sheik just pissed him off. There was a voice trying to claw its way up his throat, desperate to spit out a few well-chosen words that'd hit well below the belt, that'd keep Sheik up at night, that Link knew were Sheik's weaknesses, because the man deserved it, and who the hell did he think he was, yelling at Link like a child? To use the word "we"? Since when did Sheik count for one of them?

"Sheik," Zelda began tightly, lips tight. "Not now."

Link wondered if this was going to turn into the fight they'd had not even an hour after Ganondorf had been slain. To be honest, the thought excited him.

"Zelda! Link! Sheik!" boomed out the loud, warm voice of Darunia as he and his son strode over proudly, grinning widely at the three of them. He turned to Link, beaming. "Good to see you, Brother! You have not visited our mountain recently!"

"Darunia," Zelda curtly greeted him, inclining her head. "Prince Link."

"Good evening, Chief Darunia," coldly replied Sheik, his fury making his words icy, and Link was surprised to hear his emotions so ill-concealed, especially in the face of the Goron leader.

"Hey, Darunia," finally responded Link, weakly offering them a halfhearted grin that faded rather too quickly to be believed. Sheik, who happened to be standing between Link and Zelda, seemed to grown even more incensed that Link had spoken. "Happy birthday, Prince," he congratulated amiably, smiling at Goron Link. His godson brightly returned the smile and waved a chubby, large hand before hiding in his father's shadow.

Undeterred by the lack of warm greeting, Darunia inhaled sharply and stretched out his arms wide. "Beautiful night, isn't it?! The music is amazing, the dancing terrific! What a wonderful party!" Laughing, he put his fists on his hips and seemed to pick up on the tense, edgy mood. "What's wrong with you three? Not enjoying yourselves? Why — Link? What happened to you? You look like you got into a fight with a thousand King Dodongos!" At this, Link's face crumpled, a pained look flashing in his eyes. Behind him, Zelda gestured for Darunia to drop the subject, but the Goron, sensing the disquiet he had created, tried to rectify the situation by making a light joke of it. "Er, perhaps not Dodongos. No, Brother," he laughed, though it sounded strained even to his son. "You…you look like you were…ah…er, grave digging! Ha, yes, grave digging! Visited the Kakariko graveyard, huh?" His tone was teasing, playful, but in seconds, Link's face had turned a sickly grayish-white, and his pupils had contracted into tiny, black slits.

"Yeah," he choked out, shaking. "G-G-Grave digging."

Sheik's eyes widened imperceptibly, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline, and Zelda paled immensely, her hands rising up to her mouth in dawning horror. Both realized exactly what Link had been doing for the past three days.

"I…I have to go," Link muttered, and then he was shoving through all of them, his stomach churning. Darunia called after him, confused and apologetic, and Sheik desperately shouted his name, fearful and distressed, but Link ran, ran all the way back to his house, bowling over would-be partners and some innocently dancing couples in his blinded haste.

Dashing up the stone steps, he lunged for the door and slammed it shut behind him, allowing the cool air inside the house to roll over him before he slid to the floor limply, cradling his head in his dirty, filthy hands and shuddering. He covered his ears, trying to silence the music and happiness outside, but it just floated right through, mocking him.

He would never be part of that world.

Day one. The morning light was achingly heavy, peering over the hills and into the village, enough to tempt the early risers back to bed, but Link had been awake for hours, and the tendrils of sleep did not touch him. An obsession had pulled and tugged at him, haunting his every thought, whispering delicious lies in his head. Paranoid by nature, he had known he wouldn't rest until he saw with his own two eyes, and repeating this mantra mentally, he had slipped out of bed and begun to dress. On the opposite side of the room, Zelda had remained peacefully asleep, her breathing deep and slow, and draped stiffly in the windowsill by her bed, Sheik had dozed off, his head rolled to the side, caught in a precious moment of vulnerability. After Link had silently shut the door to Impa's house behind him, he leaned up against the rough, weatherworn wood and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imprint the image of the two, tranquil and unguarded, in his memories.

And he had wondered, as he set out with the dawn's light, what he looked like while asleep.

It was still early morning when he and Epona had arrived at Lon Lon Ranch, and Link had almost given into his cowardice right there, prepared to leave, to escape with his sanity, his half-hearted happiness, still intact. But the bare, slender trees nearby had moaned with pain, reminding him that a shadow still lurked over this ranch, a shadow of unfinished business, and he had passed through the black gates.

Epona had reared wildly, nostrils flaring and ears pinned, throwing him off unceremoniously before edgily backing away, pawing the ground and refusing to go forward any further. Rubbing his head, Link had left her by the entrance, wondering if the horse had more common sense than he.

It had been eerily silent. The wind had rippled through the area, playing with loose shutters so that they loudly flapped back and forth, slapping against the house and windows. Riding the strong breeze, crows and Keese had circled the skies, their wings glistening black and vivid against the deep blue. Heady and thick, the scent of old, cooled blood hung in the air, accompanied by the smell of rot and decaying flesh. Link had found himself desperate to join Epona more and more by the minute.

Nailed to the side of the barn, the bodies had been limp and lifeless, broken marionettes with the strings still attached. Written in blood beneath their shoeless feet were the words, "Long Live the King" and Link had found, curiously enough, that meeting the empty, bloody eye sockets of the three was much easier than rereading the message. To the far left, Ingo's body had hung naked and nearly unrecognizable, so beaten and ravaged by the crows was it, but this was no surprise — Ingo had entered a contract with Ganondorf and had failed the false king. There would have been no mercy for him. Link couldn't even imagine what Ganondorf's minions had done to the poor man before they had slit his throat. Next to Ingo, Talon suspended, probably the least damaged of the three. He had been gutted, a quick, simple cleave of some sort of rugged hatchet, and then strung up to bleed to death. His mouth was opened, as if to warn Link off, and when the Hero had made the mistake of moving closer, he had realized that the man's jaws had been hacked apart by the hungry birds, so that only a bloody mass of tissue remained in the gaping orifice.

Link found he was too much a coward to look at Malon, and had immediately set out to carefully extricate the three, doing his damnedest to not further damage the bodies. It took all day to free the corpses and then carry them into the house, carrying on for so long due to the cursed weakness of his churning stomach. Their flesh was hard and slimy against his skin, and he'd dropped them more than once in his growing nausea. That night, he had fetched water from a stream near the ranch and, sitting down on his haunches, spent the next five hours mechanically scrubbing the blood off the walls of the barn, his eyes remote and inward. Even when the sun began to crest, the faint stain of the words had lingered, a warning to all.

Day two. Exhausted, Link had stripped the other two bodies and cleaned all three of them, swallowing past the lump in his throat at the whip marks on Ingo's back and then violently throwing up upon discovering the discolored bruises and dried blood between Malon's legs. Too drained for rage, he had settled for fleeing to their rooms upstairs and throwing himself on the closet bed, still not succumbing to tears, but trying to forget that Sheik had been there, been there when all of this had happened, had eventually been the one to kill not only Malon, but Ingo as well. Words screamed through his mind, incoherent and chaotic, words that sounded like why didn't you do anything?! Why did you allow this to happen? You stupid, dumb fuck. God, why did I trust you?!

By the afternoon, after a fitful, unsatisfying steal of sleep, Link had continued preparing the bodies to the best of his inexperienced abilities. Fresh clothes found from bureaus, a roll of bandages in the bathroom cabinet, jewelry stashed under floorboards and perhaps the only to escape the pillage of Sheik's raid party. He even brushed Malon's hair, taking time to comb out all the knots and clumps of dried blood. When he was finished, the three lay in the strewn hay, appearing to be only sleeping beneath the white blindfolds he'd fashioned for them, their wounds and slit throats hidden behind the wrappings and folds of clothes. In a peculiar, calm state of mind, he had lain with them, curled up by Malon's side, and slept.

And that night, when he woke, he had started to dig.

Remains of slaughtered horses littered the field, arrows and knives sticking out of the fly-infested carcasses, a graveyard like Kakariko's. Wearing a stripped piece of cloth around the lower portion of his face, Link had attempted to ignore the smells and the bitter taste of death on his tongue, focusing on burrowing deeper and deeper into the ground.

He hadn't been able to find a shovel.

Day Three. Three body-size graves had been dug out by afternoon, and Link had had to lean up against the fence, too weary to support his own wobbly weight. Colors spun and he saw triples of everything, yet he still managed to make it back to the house, where he solemnly began to half-carry, half-drag, the body of Talon. The process continued until all three corpses lay peacefully in their dirt tombs, hands folded over their stomachs and their clothes smoothed over neatly. Before he could yield to his grief, Link buried them, his heart growing heavier and heavier with every handful of dirt he threw.

It was beautiful out, and sweat had rolled from Link's skin as he sat listlessly by Malon's grave, his chest rising and falling with frenetic speed as he began to hyperventilate. There was something too final about this, he had realized, and, crying out hoarsely, he'd thrown himself onto all fours and frantically dug up the dirt to his friend's grave. Overcome with a morbid horror, he freed her from her prison and pulled her to the surface, cradling her to him and rocking back and forth, sobbing out his heartache. She'd only been a simple, country girl, singing with her lovely voice and smiling her brilliant, radiant smile. Every time he'd visited, Malon had managed to erase the terror and dreadfulness of what he'd seen or done, guiding him back to the path of reason with her understanding eyes. When he had been covered in gore, struggling for his life against ruthless, nightmarish creatures, he had remembered her beautiful face, her pealing laughter, and thought of a life he wouldn't mind sharing with her. He had imagined her, dressed in her mother's wedding gown, holding his hands in hers and promising to hold him through sickness and health. He had imagined a future, happy and peaceful, at her side, working hard on the farm together, good, earnest work and not mindless slaughter, and had thought that nothing could have been more wonderful.

Dusk rolled around, and Link had gently replaced her in her grave, brushing away his tears from her face, and, trembling harshly, had buried her once more. It was time, he knew, to let go and move on.

He'd tripped and stumbled all the way to the entrance of the ranch, covered in mud and dirt, and remembered he hadn't eaten anything for the past three days. Epona had restlessly greeted him, nosing his shoulder apologetically, and it had taken Link four tries to mount, his muscles shaking and giving out beneath him. Disoriented but somehow feeling content, fulfilled, he had allowed Epona to slowly begin the journey back to Kakariko.

Back home.

"Oh, he's…ugh, much heavier…than he looks," she panted quietly, cursing.

"Actually, he's lost weight since I've last seen him." Sheik's breath, hot and quick, ghosted across Link's ear and cheek, and goosebumps followed in its wake.

His body left like lead, heavy and useless, and his limbs ached in protest as he struggled to move his fingers and toes, only to find his nerves irresponsive. Still caught in the world between sleep and clarity, his senses were dulled and misleading — he was positive he was in Impa's house, but it took him some time figuring out what was going on. His arms were slung across Zelda and Sheik's shoulders and theirs were curled protectively around his back, holding him up. Both were breathless, and Link dimly realized they were trying to carry him up the stairs, if the accompanying thump, thump, thump, was any indication. Valiantly, he fought the dark tunnel of sleep, knowing he should be helping them, but as the moments ticked by, he grew sleepy and groggy, losing track of time and space as he dozed in the cradle of their arms.

Voices drifted in and out of his awareness, but this time he was lying on his back in bed, a thick quilt drawn up over him. He felt vaguely empty and drained, as if he'd bleed all of his pent up emotions back at the ranch, and a warm, fluttery feeling spread through his body when he remembered he'd finished what he should have done months ago. He'd finally visited Lon Lon Ranch. He'd buried the bodies, and, he'd mourned.

"He looks terrible," Zelda was saying, her voice rough with sorrow. "I can't believe just how…how stupid and thickheaded he can be sometimes. I mean…well, do you…do you really think he…?"

"Yes," Sheik responded darkly, his tone tight. "I believe so. You were witness to the expression on his face at Darunia's poor selection of words. I wasn't certain if he was either going to collapse or be sick." The Sheikah sounded angry, but Link could hear the telltale nuance of self-loathing and misery in his soft tenor.

"This isn't your fault, Sheik," Zelda snapped, distressed and annoyed, apparently picking up on the same wavelengths Link could feel, inches from his body. "Don't fall back into yourself again, damnit. I need you here with me. I need you to help me help him."

"He did say that, didn't he?" Sheik mused quietly, and Link felt a hand touch his brow, the fingers resting there. "He told me two weeks ago, when you were ill, that you needed me. That…that he needed me."

"He speaks the truth."

"…I'm beginning to understand that."

Silence washed over Link, and his eyebrows twitched under Sheik's fingers, a light sigh escaping him as he tried to move away. The Sheikah relented, his hand instead dropping to Link's arm, where his long, slender fingers gently rolled down the inside to his wrist and then, finally, his fingers. "All of his nails are torn off," he murmured. "…He dug out the graves with his own two hands."

Zelda cried out, the noise muffled by her hands cupping her face, and Link could hear her dry sobs by the bed. This upset him, but that same content feeling was running through his body, and he couldn't wake enough to comfort her.

"Why?" she demanded hoarsely. "Why all alone?! H-He could have brought someone! I would have gone with him! Or-Or, equipment! I would have given him everything he needed! He…why would he…?"

"I don't know," Sheik admitted, tracing patterns on Link's palm soothingly. "I honestly don't know why he did it alone, or why he did it now of all times. But…I feel — I feel as though there are…were… aspects to his relationship with…with that girl that we weren't aware of."

I was going to marry her after the war, Link agreed, smiling slightly in his state of semi-consciousness. I still have the rings.

"I'm going to request Darunia and some of the villagers accompany me to the ranch," suddenly decided Zelda. "I…I need to see…what exactly he managed to do in so short time."

"Yes," concurred Sheik quietly, and Link's hand jerked in reflex as the man pressed down on a pressure point unconsciously. The fingers stilled, paused over Link's skin in surprise, before they continued, brushing his skin in a comforting motion. "But ride quickly, Zelda. Midnight swiftly approaches."

"You aren't coming?"

Breath on Link's face, and the soft, muted noise of knees on the floor by the bed. "No. I think I'll remain here. The idiot may be exhausted now but, when he wakes, I'm worried about what he might do. He wasn't…he didn't seem to be in a clear state of mind outside." Link resented that, but couldn't voice his complaints.

"Sheik," Zelda began, hesitant, but her voice curious, thoughtful. "What…what exactly is Link to you?" The question was gentle, completely innocent, but still Sheik's hands jerked away tensely from Link's, almost guiltily, and cool, discomforting air swept in around Link's skin.

"Perhaps one of my first friends," the Sheikah responded carefully, avoiding any more detail. "I just hope…I…I hope he can one day forgive me and return the sentiments."

When Zelda left, Sheik took Link's hand again, the fingers curling around his own, and as the Hero fell into the abyss of sleep, he thought tiredly, I do.

Link wasn't alone. It wasn't just him. Zelda and Sheik, he later realized while sitting on the lip of the well in Kakariko, were also never to be a part of that greater happiness that the villagers had found and clung so desperately to. The three of them were broken pieces of something whole, never to be melded back on or invited back in, outcasts of society that couldn't fit in now, and wouldn't ever again. Link understood that the villagers would eventually move on, grow weary of Link's paranoia, of Zelda's skittishness, of Sheik's menace, because they couldn't comprehend such extremes anymore. Because there was no reason for them.

Soon, they would be the only ones left. The only ones who remembered and still shuddered at night, still slept with their backs to the wall and their hands in easy reach of a weapon. They were shattered in mind and spirit. Link leaned back on his hands, feeling the cold stones beneath them, and wondered how they managed to make it this far. The villagers had their love, their innocence, their futures to hold onto, but what did Link have? What did Zelda and Sheik hold onto?

Blinking, Link glanced up just as the two subjects of his thoughts slowly approached, wary, and he frowned, tilting his head to the side and scrutinizing them like a child. They were evidently worried about his physical, and probably mental, health. He'd awoken only a few hours ago and washed before silently leaving the house, leaving them to nervously pace in his absence. Now, equipped with new knowledge, he studied them. Zelda was a frail, pale shell, a reflection of Hyrule's current state, but her eyes were dark with a fire, a fire that would never be put out. She would guide her people to redemption, to salvation. Sheik was a damaged, ticking bomb, a toy that had been exploited and abused under too many hands, too many wills, but he walked in silence, a silence so strong, so absolving, that one just knew that the Sheikah would never be played with again.

And there. There. Link's eyes widened as he finally understood. He knew, knew exactly what the three of them held onto, clung to, to survive in a world that was changing and healing without them.

Because he had just, in vague, unconscious thought, wondered what he would have done if either Zelda or Sheik hadn't made it out of the war alive.

It was so simple, so easy.

The villagers could live in their world of happiness, of bliss, and of virtuousness, they could cling to their need to love each other and overcome everything that had happened, might happen, will happen. But Link, Zelda, and Sheik? They had their own world, a world that was dark and bitter, violent and treacherous, and just as real, just as corporal, as the villager's, and they would walk it together.

"Good morning," Zelda murmured softly, her hair a hazy, honey-blonde in the dawn's light. "How do you feel?" Sheik stood wordless in her shadow, his red, bleeding eyes tentatively settling on Link's face, only to widen in surprise at the easy grin on the Hero's face.

"Our own world, huh?" Link said aloud, and both of his friends stared, not comprehending and — had he honestly just referred to Sheik as a friend? His grin broadened, and he laughed cheerfully at the worried looks they exchanged. They didn't understand now, but Link knew they would one day. Malon was gone, and he would never forget her, never try to replace her, but here, here were two people who could help him get past his scars, past her murder, past everything. "Yeah… Yeah, I like the sound of that." And he dusted his hands off and left the well, joining them.

A/N: What a morbid chapter. Hard to write too, because I don't like describing Malon as dead. Oh, on that note, I would like to state right now, despite what you read in the chappy and what Link thinks, Malon was not, in any way, shape or form, raped. Almost, but not quite. Unfortunately, that story's for another time, another day. Anyway, please, please, please, review, because it was the reviews I got last time that inspired me into kick-starting this chapter and finally writing it. Thank you for reading, and I promise that the next chapter is much, much more light-hearted.