Thank you all for reading thus far, for the reviews, the favorites and the follows! I trust this new chapter will alleviate your suspense!

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild belongs to Nintendo.

When Vrena moved her hand her shawl also dropped away, setting free a tiny being that flew up toward the ceiling. This small creature was a fairy, surrounded with a softly glowing sphere of light and wings that sparkled with hues of pink and green. In the center of the glow, the diminutive, feminine form was attired in silk like wisps of sunset clouds, dew-like pearls and tiny, perfect leaves. As the Sheikah cook cast her eyes upward, the fairy herself was looking around for someone who needed her power. She saw the bleeding hand of a man who held another man in an unyielding grip but she looked beyond that, for she had already sensed a greater wound. Then she saw the boy.

With perspiration clinging to her hairline, the healer leaned over her dying patient, giving him her own breaths in an attempt to keep him from slipping away completely. "Come on… Breathe…!" she begged between gasps.

The fairy alighted on Link with all the grace of a seed puff on the surface of water and shook her wings over him. She whispered a few words in a tongue known only to fairies and began to extend her tiny hands. Resia took a step back as she watched; as a healer, she knew of the power of fairies but had never witnessed it with her own eyes. She was still breathing hard as she pushed back a few errant strands of hair.

The guards had both the chancellor and his henchman under control, binding their hands tightly and shoving them to the floor in submission. The brute was a bit cut up and Duvile sported some fine bruises around the neck and along his jawline, and both would certainly live until they were tried.

"Take them away!" the king ordered, just the slightest bit short on breath. He let his sword fall back into its scabbard with a little click.

The guards hustled the two men from the room, Duvile with screams and curses on his lips. Only then did the others have the chance to notice what else was happening. Rankin's heart nearly stopped as he saw his son and though he started forward, Resia stopped him with an emphatic, firm shake of the head. They all stared at the wondrous sight as silence prevailed in the room, save for the infinitesimal sound like the chattering of leaves.

The fairy held her hands out and up until they were a little higher than her head. The glow surrounding her intensified until it encompassed Link like a silken, shimmering cocoon and slowly she made his inert form rise from where he lay. When there were several hand breadths of air between him and the bed, she lowered her hands and flew around him in tight circles, paying close attention to the wound through his side. The blankets had fallen from him and all those present glimpsed the new breaths which swelled in and out of his chest. Then the fairy was finished and the glow faded; she lowered him gently back to the bed.

"That is all I can do," she whispered, and tiredly flitted out the window to return to the mistress who had sent her.

Rankin was at his son's side in an instant, not caring in the least that he was getting the sheets bloody from his injured hand. He scrunched his face into a stern expression to hide the great relief which surged through him as though a wave lifted him to the surface. He touched Link's hair and chin, and watched his chest rise and fall as though he needed the reassurance that his son still lived.

As Resia bent to check his wounds, the boy's eyelids fluttered and slowly lifted to reveal the blue eyes that Rankin had feared would never look at him again. His throat was so tight that he suddenly found himself without words. He clutched at his son's hand with his good one and even clasped over it with his cut palm. Link turned his head as he glanced at his surroundings, and then focused on Rankin.

"Father…?" he murmured.

But Rankin could not yet trust himself to speak. He only nodded his head slightly as he blinked rapidly to keep his eyes clear. He strove to keep his face averted from everyone else save his son.

"…Where am I?" a disoriented Link asked, casting his eyes about again and making a movement like he wanted to rise. His words were slurred, a result of his swollen lip.

"You're safe," the healer told him, and he could hear the glad truth in her tone. "But you have to stay right where you are and rest. You must not undo the work of that little fairy."

King Rhoam took that moment to approach the bed and enter the boy's line of vision. "You are a courageous lad, Link. I am in your debt." A bit of a smile half hid itself beneath his gray beard. "I've no doubt your father is very proud of you."

Link could only stare back, utterly perplexed and with his mouth slightly open. Then he looked at his father again and his heart did a queer little flip when he glimpsed the emotion swimming in Rankin's eyes.

Vrena was still in the same spot by the window, as if she didn't dare move. The captain had summoned a couple more of his men and they stood on either side of her to take her away as well. She did not move her eyes from the bed, though she could see little else than a bit of tawny hair on the pillow. Quave made a motion to the guards, but she lifted her voice at last.

"Please," she pleaded, her eyes seeking out the king. "Please, Your Majesty… May I just see him?" She gestured toward the bed. "I will not try to escape. I only want to see that he is all right."

King Rhoam faced her, all traces of the smile fading from his expression. He regarded her for a moment. "You may."

The guards were right behind her as she hastened to the bedside and dropped to her knees. The tears which had been shining at the corners of her eyes ran down her cheeks as she reached over and took the hand not held by the boy's father.

"Link…oh, Link! You are…a brave boy to do all you've done…for me. I am not worthy…" she wept, but there was no denying the relief in her eyes.

Alarm crept into the boy's eyes as he tried to reach out for her. "Are you all right, Miss Vrena? They're not going to hang you, are they? They can't…!"

His father held him back from making any further exertion as concern crinkled his brows. "Link…"

However, King Rhoam, having watched the exchange between the former cook and the boy, spoke. "She will not hang, lad. You have my promise that justice will truly be done this time. I am quite convinced your friend had nothing to do with my minister's death."

Looking at the king, Link ceased his weakened struggles against the hands that kept him down. He glanced over at Vrena and let his breath escape him all at once. Then Resia brought a vial of lavender liquid to his lips and bade him drink, and it tasted like bitter mushrooms. He wanted to say something else but couldn't remember what it was, for sleepiness suddenly overtook him like a ravenous canine.

"Father…" he mumbled, his eyes already closed.

"He will be right all now?" Rankin asked the healer, tripping over his words. His voice was quiet with concern as he still clutched at his boy's hand with a grip that not even death could loosen.

"Yes," replied she. "The fairy brought him back to life and mended the worst of the injury, but he still has much healing to do. There is no cause for worry, sir. He has proven thus far to be a resilient boy."

Impa placed a hand on the end of the bed and spoke to her clanswoman. "That brings me to my question. We seldom see fairies in our world and they do not easily associate with people. There is no doubt you brought her just time, but how was it that you knew to bring her?"

Vrena placed a hand to her cheek and smoothed away some of the tears, trying to make herself less of a sorry sight. "…I had to find someone wise who could help me to figure out what to do. I went to Melisé."

At that name, the light of recognition came to the faces of the king and Impa. They knew well the name of the wise old woman who had prophesied the return of Calamity Ganon.

"When at last I found her, she did not tell me what I wanted to know. Instead, she took me to the Great Fairy, and they urged me to hurry back here. They told me I was needed here, but I did not understand. The Great Fairy sent the little one with me."

"It is well you did," the king said, "For you have saved his life and he in turn has saved you from the scaffold."

She looked down at the boy, placing both hands over her mouth as her emotions threatened to spill over again. She nodded, as if to acknowledge the fact that she was immeasurably in debt to young Link.

King Rhoam's eyes settled on the former cook, his expression becoming more regally stern. "You understand that we will have to hold you until we can clear up this whole business, do you not?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied in a whisper, lowering her head.

Turning to Quave, the king said, "I want you to find better accommodations for her, Captain. She is a prisoner in name only." Facing the woman again, he added, "I will see that this matter is settled quickly and then I would be most pleased to have you resume your duties in the kitchen once more. I must say, the meals of late have been abysmal."

She let out a sound which was half-sob, half-laugh. "It w-will be my pleasure, Sire."

Impa quit the room with the guards and Vrena. Captain Quave left as well and the king also made to depart, but turned back to the other father, who remained at his son's side. Rankin was submitting his injured hand to the healer's care and tried to be still as she washed and then stitched the gash across his palm.

"Sir Rankin."

"Yes, Sire?" the knight replied, lifting his head. He started to rise, but Resia pulled him down and the king held out his hand, giving him leave to remain as he was.

"The woman seemed very fond of your son, but she is not his mother?"

"No… Sire, my wife died…eight months ago…in childbirth."

A second of silence filled the air between the two fathers, each in a vastly different position but both with something that was a sort of bond between them. King Rhoam's eyes softened at the corners, but did not focus on anything. "And all you have left is your son…" he murmured. "It is a feeling I know well."

"He formed an attachment to the Sheikah woman for want of a mother, I think. His mother was a wonderful cook as well, only equal to her skill as a horsewoman. She taught him what she knew…" He trailed off, knowing his words were beginning to wander as much as his mind and his gaze had drifted back to his son.

The king left the room quietly and went to the one person who was so much in his thoughts, especially after seeing how nearly Rankin had lost his child. King Rhoam went straight to his daughter's room.

Link developed a slight fever and was restless the remainder of the day, his snatches of sleep fitful and laced with images of the dark caverns and of Chancellor Duvile's horrible smile. Under Resia's care, however, he improved by nightfall and could take some nourishment. He wanted to sit up but the healer was concerned that he might put too much stress on his wounds.

Rankin remained in the infirmary most of the day as well, but he said very little to his son. Link could not decipher the look in his father's eyes and wondered fretfully if he was still angry. Resia had just given the boy a potion to make him sleep for the night and Link's blearing vision shifted downward to his father's bandaged right hand.

"Father, what…happened?" he mumbled, gesturing with his own hand that hardly seemed to obey him.

"It is nothing, son. Go to sleep."

Link closed his eyes, a welcome relief.

Even when he succumbed to that deep and encompassing slumber, his forehead was still puckered between the eyebrows and his lips pulled into an uncertain frown. He slept all that night marked with few dreams but with the uneasy sense that something was wrong. When he awoke the next morning, he was still plagued by that feeling and when he looked around he saw with a saddened expression that Rankin was not there.

As he was not allowed to get up, or even to attempt it, he lay in the bed, propped up on pillows, fretting and working himself into a state of misery beyond the ache of pain he still felt. His father stopped by once in the afternoon, but as Link had fallen asleep he would not have known except that Resia told him. The boy found a history book of Hyrule sitting on the table by his bed and he picked it up, not connecting its presence with his father's visit. Normally he would have lost himself in those pages, imagining himself to be one of the brave knights from the past, but his side ached and he did not allow himself to enjoy the stories. He felt abandoned again, for he'd set eyes on no one save the healer the whole day.

"Hello there."

Link jerked his head up, seeing Impa approaching him just as Resia left with his supper dishes. He brightened a bit as the young Sheikah woman neared the bed.

"Is it too late for a visitor?" she asked.

He shook his head and then glumly looked down at the history book near his hand. He'd been so bored that he was contemplating picking it up again but he really didn't have his heart in that thought.

"What's this?" she demanded, her tone beginning playfully but turning serious. "What is the matter, Link? Are you in pain?"

Again he shook his head. The healer had throughout the day asked him that similar question and he was not able to keep anything from her. She had bidden him drink an elixir at those times and he was feeling a wee mite woozy from them, in addition to his worried state of mind. For the moment he was glad that he was not trying to get up.

Impa seated herself at the side of the bed and made him lift his head so she could look into his eyes. "Something is bothering you; it is as obvious as the sky is blue, dear boy." She perched herself on the side of the bed. "Tell me."

He gulped, wishing he didn't feel so uselessly silly. It wasn't as if he didn't trust Impa. Somehow, he knew she was the kind of person who would keep a secret, or a friendship or a loyalty till the day she died, and he was also quite sure the king trusted her in like manner. He wanted to tell her, but he felt so pathetic that he hesitated.

"I…I…" he stammered, using one hand to twist the bedclothes. "I think my father is still angry at me."

"What makes you think that?" She lowered her hand and examined his palms.

"He…barely looks at me and only talks to me when he has to."

"Does he usually say much?"

"No-o, I guess not." In fact, Link remembered how his mother had remarked what a quiet man she had married, even though he was more open with her than anyone else. Though the boy always knew when his father was angry, he always had difficulty in discerning Rankin's other emotions, especially after the death of his mother.

"You are quite a lot like your father, you know. Have you said anything to him?"

"Not today. He hasn't been here." He lowered his eyes to his lap and used his fingers to knead at the blanket which covered him.

"Then the next time you see your father, say something to him, no matter how hard it is to find the words. Maybe he is just at a loss as you are, hmm?"

Link's lips moved sideways and his eyebrows crinkled. He stopped clutching at the blanket and continued to stare at his lap as if concentrating on a complex problem.

Impa folded her own hands and kept her keen gaze fixed upon him. Deciding to try a new tactic, she said, "Do you know how your father injured his hand?"

The boy indicated a "no" with a shake of his tawny head.

"He was protecting you from the blade of that traitor."

Snapping up his head, Link stared at her, his blue eyes wide as ponds and his mouth hanging open. "H-he did?"

Impa nodded. She had her doubts that the man would ever broach the subject on his own and thus she continued. "Link, your father interceded for you this whole time. Many times he besought the king to give you another chance, to lessen your punishment. He wanted to go out himself and kill the man who hurt you. And he was so afraid for your life that he asked the king another favor."

His mind was churning. "What?"

"See for yourself."

She gestured behind her, toward the entrance to the infirmary. Link strained to see around her and when she rose from her seat beside him, he beheld his best friend. The young Zora princess stood in the doorway, her hands folded delicately at chest level and her golden eyes lighting up like twin suns as soon as she saw him.

"Link!" she said, her soft voice barely carrying to him.

She rushed toward him, her feet making floppy, slightly wet sounds on the floor. Upon reaching him she tenderly took both his hands and held them so tightly in her moist grip.

"Oh, Link…" she whispered as she eyed his face, taking in every cut and abrasion, every greenish bruise. "When the messenger came to the domain, I was so worried about you…"

Every time he'd gotten himself hurt, ever since that day he fell into Zora's River, struck his head and nearly drowned, she'd always been there to heal him. She invariably shed a few tears when she saw the injury, however small, and Link would always put on a brave face and tell her the same thing.

"Please don't cry, Mipha," he pleaded. "I'm all right."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down at his hands and feeling all the little marks left from the splinters.

Then, with the light of her power forming beneath her palms, she healed him completely. The time it took her was longer than it had ever been; that and the lengthy journey caused her to be near exhausted by the time she was finished. The two Zora guards who had accompanied her then swept her away to rest somewhere. She gave her friend a sweet smile before she left the room.

Link looked first at his hands, which no longer held any trace of the splinters, and then peered down at his side and saw nothing more than a small scar. Resia looked him over thoroughly, pronounced him quite well again, and gave him permission to get out of bed.

"That young Zora princess is a wondrous healer…" she murmured as she went about putting away her varied potions and elixirs.

Link threw his legs off the bed, letting his bare feet touch the floor. He pulled his undershirt and then the tunic which Resia provided him over his head; so delighted was he at being up and well again that he almost felt dizzy. There were no shoes nearby for him to wear, but he didn't really care for he liked the solid feel of the floor beneath his feet. He took a couple of steps toward the door, but then stopped, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Turning to Impa, who was still a few paces away, he questioned, "Is it all right…if I go?"

"You are free to leave, Link," she told him.

He let out his breath all at once and his face relaxed into something that was not quite a smile. Then he darted from the infirmary door and through the dim corridors and candlelit hallways in search of one person. He passed a couple of guards, who gave him a brief look that made Link wonder if he'd grown a second nose. He did not know that they were two of the men who had helped haul him up the shaft and that their looks were more flabbergasted surprise than anything else.

The dark passageways made him shiver and he was reminded of that horrible time in the underground excavations with Duvile and his henchman. He stopped and almost turned back, so much was he disturbed by his remembered terror, but before he could do anything, he saw someone approaching him. Without thinking and without the definite knowledge that the man was in prison, he cringed and shrank back against the wall, fearing it was the chancellor.

"Who is there?" a voice challenged.

"Name yourself or meet my blade!"

Hardly seeing anything through eyes clouded with fear, Link heard the sound of a sword ringing out of its sheath. In a split second of clarity he knew he recognized the first voice that had spoken and he fell to his knees. The wavering torchlight, held in the hand of one of the guards, came nearer quickly until it captured the boy in its yellowy glow.

"You may put away your sword," the king bade the man at his side. Looking upon Link, he said, "It is good to see that you are well, lad."

"Th-thank you," he stammered, not quite daring to turn his glance upwards. He was uncertain if there was any displeasure in the king's tone.

"You may stand, Link," King Rhoam told him. "Where are you headed?"

The boy obeyed immediately. "I'm looking for my father, Your Majesty."

A hint of some feeling flashed ever so briefly through the king's green eyes; the corners of his mouth moved but the torchlight simply was not enough to tell for sure. "Then hurry on, lad. Do not linger here."

With another expression of his thanks, Link bowed again and scurried away. The king's words in his mind were enough to keep him from wandering to the darker memories, and after some searching he finally located his father. Rankin was in the large, bare courtyard reserved for royal guards' training, where he had just finished instructing the last assortment of men for the day. His head was tilted up to the sky, where the first couple of stars were beginning to wink merrily. As if sensing someone's approach, he lowered his gaze and turned quickly.

"Son," he said. His eyes, though they seemed stern, took in every detail of the boy's face, attire and extremities, noticing the lack of even the slightest wound.

"Can I train with you?"

As a response, Rankin threw a practice weapon in his son's direction, which Link caught without a fumble. They began to circle each other and trade blows, unaware that they were observed by two pairs of eyes from separate vantage points in the castle. It was obvious to the watchers that this was something to which the father and his boy were well accustomed, even from that very first movement. The match which followed could not be considered as simple sparring, as Rankin did not go easy on his boy and he did not seem at a disadvantage by having to use his other hand. At the end they both separated, their breaths coming in spurts and gasps.

"You have missed several days of training, son," Rankin said, setting his weapon aside. "You will have to work hard to make up for that."

Link followed his father's action in putting his weapon away. His heart was still racing and his breath coming like harsh gusts of wind as he replied, "Yes sir."

It would have been easy to turn himself from his father's words, to think that he did not care, but as he felt the familiar anger threatening to burble up in his chest Link paused. He remembered Impa's earlier words to him. He also remembered his mother saying what kind of a man her husband was, that he spoke little and kept his emotions buried deeper than the roots of a great tree. The only time the boy had seen his father cry was after she died, and at that moment Link was supposed to have been in bed.

His hands resting on the rack of weapons, Link took a deep, shaky breath. "Father?"

Rankin turned only his head. "Yes, son?"

He wanted to thank his father for again instructing him in the art of the blade, yet he felt there was something more important to say. "…I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" he asked tiredly, a bit of an edge coming through on the last word.

"For the trouble I caused you…and everyone," Link muttered, his eyes on his tightened fists.

"You needn't apologize, son," Rankin said and there almost seemed to be anger in his tone.

Link was surprised by the sudden nearness and the touch of his father's hand on his shoulder. The boy raised his head and met his gaze.

"You could have told the king of your reason for silence sooner, but you have nothing to be ashamed about. I should be the one to apologize to you, for not believing in you. I… I am proud of you, son."

Link's lips trembled and his eyes filled with unspoken emotion as he stared back at his father. He knew how much Rankin distained even remotely public physical displays of affection, but like his deceased mother often had, he decided to break through that barrier. He threw his arms about his father's waist and squeezed, not caring how uncomfortable the armor that met him was. After a moment Rankin patted his shoulder hesitantly, awkwardly and then Link let go.

"The hour grows late. You'd better get some rest, son," Rankin said, a certain thickness to his voice.

"Yes, Father," the boy replied, and he could not keep his lips from curving up at the corners.

He turned and took a few steps away, his thoughts as high as the clouds. His mother must have been in those clouds as well because he suddenly remembered something else he wanted to say. Facing his father again, he bit at the bottom of his lip. Rankin looked at him and waited, one of his hands resting at his belt.

"Father, um… Could we…talk about Mother sometime? I just…I miss her so much."

Rankin jerked as if he'd been struck a particularly low blow. His mouth moved, but no sound came therefrom and he swallowed several times, no longer able to look at his boy. Absently he twisted at the hilt of his sword.

"We'll…" he swallowed visibly again. "…We'll see, son. Now go to bed."

Link didn't dare delay any further. As he scampered from the courtyard, his heart beat an erratic rhythm in his chest and his hands trembled. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep for all the nervous excitement pent up inside him, but the day had taken its toll and his consciousness soon floated to the land of dreams. He dreamed of his mother and father and a small child he could not identify; when he awoke he did not remember any of it.

Bright and early the next morning, a guard came to Link with a summons from the king. The boy swallowed what felt like his tongue and followed the guard, though this time he was not pushed or dragged along. They ended up in a large room, high up in the castle, ornately decorated and filled with all manner of people. The boy could see rather little because of all the people, but the king, seated upon his throne and elevated by a few steps, was quite obviously visible to everyone. Link would have liked nothing better than to turn and flee.

King Rhoam lifted his eyes and saw him. "Come forward, boy," he commanded, raising his voice authoritatively and beckoning with one thick hand.

This Link did, walking through an opening created for him by the people who moved aside. With every eye upon him, he felt smaller than a beetle and just as important. As he approached, however, he was able to see more of the people in the room. By the king's side was the princess in a pale blue dress. As Link's eyes went briefly to her, he had a vision of the girl in a white robe with her hair forming a golden halo around her. She had bent over him as he lay in bitterly cold agony and said something to him. He could remember little else from that time, but that she had come to rescue him before death's grim fingers could claim him.

Also present in the room were all manner of officials and nobles and aides. Two secretaries were ready with quills poised to continue detailing the proceedings. A couple dozen men of the royal guard were positioned at all entry points and along the walls. Impa stood just behind and to the side of both the king and princess, and Captain Quave was stationed stolidly on the other side of the throne.

Then, as someone else caught his attention, Link all but jumped backward, treading on something which was probably someone's toes, his stomach doing mad flip flops. Separated slightly from the clusters of nobles and standing before the king there was Vrena on one side and Duvile on the other. The chancellor was shackled and flanked by two of the largest guards in the ranks, while Vrena was on her own.

Link's urge to bolt was stronger than ever, and he tried to keep as far away from Duvile as possible as he came to a stop between the prisoners. Facing the king, he dropped into the proper respectful gesture and tried not to tremble or to look at the chancellor.

"Rise, Link," King Rhoam bade him, "And tell us why you came to be down in the excavation caverns."

The boy gulped several times and shook even more as he tried to summon the words he needed to obey the king. Then he felt a hand alight on his shoulder and craned his neck up and back, with some relief filling his heart, to see his father. Rankin didn't nod or say anything, but only looked at his boy, his features seemingly unchanged from the night before.

Then Link turned his gaze back to the king and began to stammer a brief explanation of what had happened to him. Beads of sweat made icicles down the length of his back and his knees would not cease their trembling. Having to tell of his ordeal was too much like reliving it over again, but his one consolation was the hand that never left his shoulder, giving him a warmth that he had not had in the dark and terror of that night.

Duvile was nearly eggplant-colored again, and several times he attempted to interrupt Link's testimony with a protestation or curse. The two guards silenced him when the need arose, however. The king and everyone else were primarily focused on the boy and the words he spoke. When Link had finished, the king asked him a few questions pertaining to his reasons for protecting Vrena, the punishments he underwent as a result of his conviction, and ultimately, the fact that he was aware he had almost died. Link answered simply, still feeling like falling through a crack in the floor.

King Rhoam turned to the chancellor. "Now, Duvile, what can you say in your defense? Can you deny his words?"

"He's lying! He's nothing but a filthy brat!" Duvile raged. "I did nothing, Your Majesty, so please, set me free!"

A dangerous green fire smoldered in the king's eyes. "The evidence of your guilt is here for all to see. You will have to show me evidence, my former chancellor. Either that or provide a witness who can bear you out."

"My man will tell you! He is—"

"A scoundrel you picked up on your last excursion to the far islands, one who should take more care with his arrows," the king declared, his voice reverberating through a room quiet enough to have been stilled by a great storm.

He gestured firmly to the page boy who held the evidence. The two arrows, one broken and bloodied, one intact with all its distinct colors of fletching, were pointing at Duvile as if indicative of his guilt.

"No, Chancellor. This time it is you must give evidence. Is there anyone who will witness for you?"

Though King Rhoam seemed to be referring to the body of people present, he kept his gaze fixed solely on the traitorous chancellor. Duvile ground his teeth and cursed again, but neither he nor anyone else spoke. Meanwhile, Link tried again to edge away from the man he feared but was stayed by his father's firm hand.

"Then I have no reason to prolong judgement," continued the king. "After hearing the accounts of this Sheikah woman and of this boy, and in light of facts which others have brought to me, I declare you guilty of treason and the death of Minister Uron. Your title and fortunes are forfeit to the crown. I will later pronounce a sentence of death on you, and may the goddess have mercy on your soul." He paused for a second to take a quick breath. "Take the prisoner away."

Duvile, who had seemed to deflate with each new word from the king's lips, suddenly strained against his captors with the strength and ferocity of a rabid dog. A collective gasp went through the crowd and everyone backed away. Both Impa and Captain Quave jumped forward, ready to protect both their sovereign and princess if the need arose. Strangely enough, Link no longer felt like cowering, but instead had a desire not easily quelled to march over to the traitorous chancellor and give him the strongest blow he could.

The room was tense for only the space of three quick heartbeats, and then the two large guards had Duvile under control. Dragging him from the room as he screamed and cursed out some names, they returned him unceremoniously to the dank prison cell whence they'd brought him. The captain followed as well, as he was going to make quite sure there would not be another escapee.

Murmuring voices drifted through the thick air of the room, only to be silenced when the king spoke again. Fixing his eyes on the silver-haired cook, he beckoned, "Come to me, Vrena of the Sheikah."

She mounted the steps and dropped to her knees before him, her head bowed.

He held out his hand toward her, his eyes serious. "You have my apology that you were forced to into this trial, but you are now free to go. My hope is that you will once again delight us with your culinary delicacies."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Oh, thank you!" she breathed. Curtsying, she retreated down the steps again, her head still bowed to keep her emotions to herself.

Then King Rhoam settled his eyes on the boy. "Come here, Link, son of Rankin."

Link stared at the steps leading to the throne as if they were an insurmountable peak. His father loosed his hold on his shoulder and gave him a minute nudge and Link stumbled forward, again feeling that every eye was upon him. The carpeted steps swallowed every sound his feet made as he climbed them and went before the king in much the same manner as Vrena had. To his utter amazement, the king rose from the throne and leaned over the boy, placing a hand on his left shoulder in a warm and almost fatherly way.

"I am indebted to you, Link, for your persistence in protecting your friend. Because of you we have found the true traitor in our midst. I have no doubt a brave lad such as yourself, skilled with a blade as you are, could well become a knight before you are fifteen."

King Rhoam compelled the boy to rise and with a hand on each shoulder, turned him around to face the assembled crowd. "Let everyone know that Link, son of Rankin, has pleased me greatly by his deeds," declared the king, gazing out to his subjects.

A noise like the thunder of ocean waves and like the wind swelled up in the room and Link realized that everyone was clapping…for him. He alternatively went pale and then as red as a radish and could not look up from the floor. He couldn't even look at his father; if he had he would have seen a ghost of a smile and eyes which exuded a great pride. Rankin applauded heartily with the rest, without the slightest thought of his injured hand.

Then the king returned to his throne and Link was alone at the very peak of the steps, feeling nervous enough to topple down them at any moment. The applause faded away, having lasted an eternal minute, and Link turned back to the king. He bowed twice, awkwardly, once to King Rhoam and once to Princess Zelda. He caught her eye for a moment, causing his heart to skip as she stared at him with a somber expression he couldn't decipher.

Link returned to his father and then the king declared the proceedings at an end. As the boy and his father made their exit he saw his best friend, who had not been there when he'd entered. With a sweet little smile, Mipha joined them, following them to the yard and watching all the time that Link and his father trained together. Only when their exertions were complete did Rankin allow his son to go off with his friend. The two children went somewhere quiet near the water and Mipha asked him what he'd been doing since he'd moved away. She managed to get him to tell her most of it, but she did not press when he did not want to talk about the worst parts of it. They spent the rest of the day together and it was the best Link had had in months.

Link would learn a little bit later that as a result of the chancellor's arrest, King Rhoam also found other men of his court who had been in league with Duvile. They were all severely punished, as they were all in effect working against the king's efforts to combat the prophesied calamity. The guilty nobles were, in fact, the owners of the names that Duvile had shrieked as the guards were dragging him away, and his curses was one of the clues which had helped the king, and Impa, to find them. Though Link listened to all that information, he had a little difficulty in processing it quickly.

"But never mind that," King Rhoam said, turning fully to the boy. "The reason I called you was to ask you what you most desire. I will grant it to you, with the understanding that it be within mortal means."

Link's eyes lit up. Just that morning he'd said farewell to Mipha; she had cried softly and to appease her he had rashly promised that he would come back to Lanayru. It was his dearest wish, next to seeing his mother again, the latter of which was obviously something he could not ask. Sweet Mipha had told him he shouldn't try to make the river bend against its will. She quoted a saying her people had long held, something about the water's surface reflecting growth. He didn't want to look, however, only wanted the old comfort of his life back.

He looked up at the king and opened his mouth, the words ready to jump from his tongue, but he did not utter them. Pressing his lips together again and biting at them, he glanced at his father. He was aware of how bitterly unhappy Rankin had been between his wife's death and their move to central Hyrule. Somehow, the boy knew that going back to the familiar places, filled with memories of the dearly departed lady, would be even harder on his father than it would be for him.

"You know what you need to do, Link," his mother's memory whispered in his ear.

Link turned his gaze back the king and, before he could think twice about it or try to persuade himself away, he blurted out, "I…I only want my father to have a good position. Your Majesty."

"That is what you want, lad?" questioned King Rhoam, his eyebrows reaching toward his crown.

The boy nodded, clenching his hands at his sides and stabbing the floor with his eyes. He half wished he hadn't said it, but there was no way to take the words back.

The king looked first at Link, then to his father and back at the boy. "Very well," he said. "Then you will be pleased to know I have made your father my Knight Commander." He eyed Rankin. "You are in charge of all training. The two of you will travel between garrisons and see that the proper disciplines are being observed and to see that all new trainees are given prompt lessons. Also, I will require you to gather escorts to and from our four main excavation sites."

The excitement of such a change had yet to impress itself upon Link, but his father immediately grasped what it meant, for he had always grown antsy when his duties kept him months at the moor garrison. His eyes flashed and he placed a hand which he tried to keep steady on his son's head.

"Our thanks, Your Majesty," Rankin said simply, all other words failing him.

"That's not all." A smile tickled at King Rhoam's mouth as if he were in possession of a great joke. "I have decided to bestow upon you some of the land which my former chancellor forfeited by his crimes."

The boy could only stare and even his father was reduced to open-mouthed amazement.

The king chuckled shortly. "That surprises you, doesn't it? It consists mostly of farmland and the tenants have been there for years. They know how to keep up the land. I'm sure you'll find some time to stop there during your travels."

"Sire, this…is simply too generous…" Rankin tried to protest.

"It is nothing when compared to the great service your son has done for me and our country. The tenants will welcome a new master, for Duvile was never a fair one. You may hold it for your son for now, but when he comes of age it will automatically fall to him. I have already drawn up the papers for the transferal." His eyes twinkled as he looked at the boy. "The land is yours."

Rankin recovered enough to nudge the back of his son's shoulder, prompting Link to step forward and say, "Thank—thank you, Your Majesty."

"You're headed on a new adventure, aren't you, lad?" King Rhoam said, more declaration than question. His smile was gone and his eyes seemed sadly pensive. He looked out at the sunset for a moment before turning and catching the boy's eye again. "Grow in your courage, test your strength, experience the lessons the world has to offer, and come back when you're ready to become a knight."

"Yes," said Link and he meant it. He would become a knight and he would make his father proud.

All that is left is the Epilogue. See you soon for that!

12-27-2017 ~ Published