5 Years Later

Morning did not come gradually here.

Here, the sun catapulted above the horizon, unfurling its rays over jagged mountains that tore the fabric of the sky. The mist in the crags dissipated, leaving behind a sheen of condensation that made the slate in the cliff-sides shine like mirrors. Everything was more intense; the sunshine was hotter and the shadows deeper, the slopes steeper, the rivers more rapid, the sky bluer.

And it wasn't just these mountains. It was every mountain and every valley, every lake and every field, every forest, every tree, every branch, every leaf. Every aspect of life was more heated when you lived on the edge, and the stakes were always higher.

The morning light washed over the mountaintops, saturating the crevices below. A hawk swooped out of the quickly-shrinking shadows and soared through the sky, spotted feathers bearing stark contrast to the electric-blue sky. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, it rode a current of air, stoic and motionless but for the slight trembling of each feather…

And then it emitted an awful, soul-crushing shriek as an arrow pierced its heart and it shot like a bullet to the ground.

A young man had been hiding in the undergrowth when it happened. Now, he emerged soundlessly, the worn leather of his boots muffling his footsteps against the rocks. He let his bow sling across his back, where his long, white-blond hair had been tied in a loose ribbon. When he saw that there was no more need for silence, and that his prey had indeed fallen dead at the edge of the rocky bluff, he let out a long breath and relaxed his posture a bit. He advanced upon the fallen bird rather quickly after that, and in one swift motion, scooped it into a sack. Then he swung the bag onto his back and returned to the tree-line from which he'd come. Behind him, there was no evidence that the hawk had fallen at all…

Consider the following question: if a hawk falls in the forest, but there is nobody there to hear it, does it make a sound? And what if it only appears that there is nobody there to hear it?


Some time later, the man stepped into a clearing in the forest. There had been a fire in the pit the night before, but it since had smoldered out. Now only ashes remained, fluttering about beneath blackened wood.

The man brushed off the slab of stone he'd used to cook the night before and repositioned it over the pit once he'd replaced the wood. Then, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being watched (which he was), he snapped his fingers and whispered an incantation. Seconds later, a modest fire sprang to life, red flames licking the stone balancing up above.

There. Phase one of breakfast was complete. He allowed himself one brief smile of congratulations, and then moved onto the next thing, retrieving that morning's catch from his satchel and preparing it to be cooked.

It was then that a lump of blankets shifted from across the clearing. There was a yawn, and a tall, lanky man with a spread of stubble that did nothing to hide his freckles said, "Ah... g'morning, Link." A lazy grin. "Happy birthday."

The young man at the fire glanced up, his feline blue eyes scrutinizing his friend. "Thanks, Manny. It is my birthday. I thought you'd forgotten."

"Why's that?"

"Because you slept in!" Link answered, slinging the now-empty satchel at his friend, who gave a shout and rolled over to dodge the attack.

"Well, damn! I'm sorry! You didn't tell me we'd be getting up at Din's first light of day! Besides, a little 'thank you' wouldn't hurt!"

Link raised an eyebrow. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome," Manny replied smugly, but Link was still baffled.

"For...?"

"Your birthday gift! Although I'll admit, your attitude is giving me second thoughts."

Link snorted. "Fine then," he deadpanned. "I never asked for a gift in the first place."

"Anyway, here it is, since you just won't stop begging," Manny interjected, and reached into his own bag to retrieve the "gift." Link doubted it could be anything spectacular; he would've noticed if Manny'd had something bulky in his bag these past few days, which meant it had to be something small. He didn't even have time to consider what trifle Manny had managed to conceal from him before it was flung at his face.

"Here! Don't say I never did anything nice."

The gift had landed in Link's lap without so much as a sound. Lifting it up, he was skeptical.

"A hair ribbon?"

That was what it looked like, anyway. It was a long, thin ribbon the same shade of forest-green as Link's tunic. There were several insignias stitched crudely into its surface.

Hand-made...

"Not quite," Manny answered, the mock-spite gone from his tone. "It's a bandana, or a headband. Whatever you want to call it. You wear it across your forehead, and tie it in the back, so that long hair you refuse to cut won't get in your eyes anymore."

"And the insignias..."

He ran his finger over each of them. The royal family's crest was stitched ever so faintly to the left of the center, and just to the right was Nohansen's laurel. A space several inches wide separated the two. Even now, Link felt a familiar pang at the thought of Zelda and Nohansen, both gone from his life in one night alone.

"Zelda's represented on the left. Nohansen's on the right. Two noble houses that meant a lot to you- and you meant a lot to them."

"What about the blank spot?"

"For you," Manny answered quickly, almost embarrassedly. "Your house. When they knight you someday, they'll give you a sigil of your own. And you can sew it right there in the middle."

Link surprised himself by blinking back tears. "Manny... thank you." He secured the headband around his forehead, tying it in the back and letting the loose fabric fall with his hair. Something about it felt right. "How do I look?"

"Like a nineteen-year-old man that's letting our breakfast burn. Some ex-kitchen boy you are."

"Damn!" Link cursed. Manny hadn't lied- in the time he'd been distracted, the hawk had been burnt to a crisp. "Now what?!"

"I don't get why you tamper with these magic spells," Manny complained, dressing as he spoke. "Fire spells are hard to cast, the sketchy man two towns back told us that himself when he taught you the incantation. If you don't cast 'em just right, they'll burn your house down."

"If only we had a house to burn down," Link cut in, staring at their ruined breakfast glumly. He knew that magic freaked Manny out. He'd assured him time and time again that he was only going so far as to use the household spells the Mage two towns back had taught him in exchange for a few rupees, but Manny found even the most innocent of charms suspicious all the same.

"You like eggs, right?" Manny was saying now. "I suppose we're gonna have to raid a cucco coop. Again."

"And get pecked to death like last time?" Link scoffed. "Please. I'm still recovering."

"Your scratches went away after a few weeks!" Manny insisted.

"Physical wounds heal," Link explained matter-of-factly. "Emotional wounds live on."

"Fine, then. Maybe we can look for another witch in the woods? One who'll brew us up a nice potion in her cauldron- a couple mushrooms, stir in some funky leaves and a spoonful of chu jelly-"

"And then try to throw us in her cauldron as well? Like last time?!"

"Such a stick in the mud," Manny sighed, rolling up his blankets now and hoisting them onto his back. Link was beginning to pack up in a similar fashion.

"I prefer 'voice of reason,'" Link snapped, but the compromise was lost on his friend, who was unrolling a massive map on a long, flat slab of stone. Their conversation seeped away into silence, and Link peered over Manny's shoulder at the beautiful work of cartography.

For a second, he was lost in the detailed outlines of mountains and valleys, of rivers and lakes and rolling plains. The map was Manny's pride and joy, a work of artistic and navigational genius that the two young men had been creating for years now. They had spent five years exploring and surviving, running from camp to camp, town to town, weaving in and out of settlements but never staying in any one place for too long.

The names of the places they'd been littered the map in Manny's elegant handwriting. Trilby Highlands. Windfall Manor. Mount Crenel. Castor Wilds. And then, farther west, the places they'd gone once they left Hyrule- The Wanderer's Woods. Fairy's Cove. The Biting Desert. The Sky-Scratchers.

The Sky-Scratchers- that was where they were now. They'd spent a matter of months exploring these jagged peaks, hunting for their meals and spending each night as close to the stars as they could possibly get on Earth. Even after five years, adventuring hadn't lost its novelty for Link. How could he miss the boiling heat of the kitchen, or the bitterly cold nights spent in a castle basement, when he now had the entire world at his disposal?

Those who named these mountains called them Sky-Scratchers because they admired them for reaching so high and pushing the limits of what anybody thought possible, he'd realized when they first were ascending towards the knife-sharp peaks. Why should they think of me any differently?

"So… where to?" Manny asked.

"Great question. Maybe we should-" Link's head perked up. "Did you hear that?"

Something was rustling behind the treeline, and the snapping of a twig rebounded off of the trees. A low rumbling started then, and a sort of grunting noise.

Link was on his feet immediately, taking a few cautious steps back, nocking an arrow and raising it towards the rumbling. He squinted his eyes, muscles tensing; after a moment, he could feel Manny's back pressing against his, two small knives hissing as they were pulled from their sheathes. It was a position they'd assumed a hundred times, accompanied by a fight-or-flight instinct that was as easy as breathing. Adrenaline tingled in Link's veins, and he zoned in on the spot in the undergrowth where the rumbling had only gotten louder, a kind of muffled thunder that seeped up from the earth straight into Link's blood and rushed behind his ears. His grip tightened, knuckles whitening- a figure burst from the forest- he drew-

"DON'T SHOOT!"

Manny's form froze against Link, and both young men stilled, though neither lowered their weapon. A stout man in a worn hat had stepped into view; behind him, a tired old mule dragged a dilapidated cart overloaded with floppy, wide-eyed fish, their scales glistening silver in the sun. Their smell, Link realized, was putrid, and yet…

"You're a fisherman?"

"Heading into town- please, I beg of you, don't rob me! I've hardly got a rupee left to my name!"

Link could hear Manny putting away his weapon; reluctantly, he did the same. This man is no threat, he realized, and yet he always was on edge these days in one way or another.

Manny stepped forward. "Don't worry-we're not common thieves, though sometimes I wish I were; I reckon we'd be better off."

"Manny," Link scolded, and his friend smirked.

Even the traveling man had cracked something of a smile. "I am quite relieved. You never can be too certain of anything these days."

"You said you're traveling into town?" Manny cut in.

"My home is there; I traverse the path to the river and back thrice a week, and bring my catch with me."

"Where?" Manny asked, returning to his map, which still was sprawled on the ground where he'd left it. "We haven't got any towns marked nearby."

"Outset Village. Aptly named, too; it's at the summit of this very mountain."

"And it doesn't fall off?" Manny quipped, penciling the village onto the map as he spoke.

"Better to be set up away from the turmoil of the earth than embroiled in the middle of it," the man reckoned, and Link's grip on his bow tightened once more. The man's eyes widened. "Mercy- why such sudden unease?"

"You're very well-spoken," Link observed, his arrow tingling between his fingers. "Are you truly just a fisherman?"

"Nothing more or less! I do not tell lies; you will simply have to trust me."

The tension didn't disappear from Link's muscles. This man is not telling the whole truth. "So be it." He lowered his weapon once more.

"Suppose we go into town with you," Manny offered. "We haven't got any money, but if we help you with your delivery, are you willing to throw a couple of fish our way? We're starving."

Link glared. Why would Manny admit to starvation? he wondered. He could be taken advantage of for setting himself up like that.

"I welcome the help," the stocky man admitted, resting a hand gently on the mule. "If we leave now, we can be to the summit by afternoon."

"No time to waste, then!" Manny exclaimed, bundling the last of his belongings together and slinging them over his back. "Come on, let's go, up and at 'em, Outset Village awaits!"

Link drew close to Manny's side as he packed.

"You should be more careful, Manny. We don't know that we can trust this man."

"Stick in the mud," Manny recited.

"Voice of reason," Link reminded him, though he could not deny that his stomach growled as they took the first few steps towards the tree-line, the hatted man hiking at their heels. The old mule gave a snort and pressed forward, the cart shuddering and squealing as the wheels turned on their axles.

Behind them, the last of the crimson flames burned in the pit, lighting the way for those that followed.


They came upon the peak around high noon, when the sun was white-hot and shining from its zenith. Link's tunic was already soaked from sweat, and he was thankful to his new headband for keeping the perspiration from dripping into his eyes and sticking his hair to his face.

The town was perched upon a series of jagged terraces and set away from the rest of the mountain by a fissure that dropped into something of an abyss. A questionable rope bridge was the only entrance into town, where a simple wooden gate gave way to a sloping cluster of cobblestones and cottages. It was quaint, if a little on the ramshackle side, though Link could care less.

Finally, he thought, and drank in the sight of civilization for the first time in weeks.

"Halt, thief!" somebody cried, and Link glanced up just in time to catch sight of a twiggy man making a break for it across the bridge. Barreling behind him were two leather-clad soldiers, one of whom caught him halfway across the bridge and trapped him in his grasp; the thief slipped free like an eel, and brought his captor timbering down. The rickety bridge shook with the impact, and Link, having one foot on the bridge already, felt his stomach shake with nerves.

"STOP HIM!" the fallen soldier howled, and gave an outcry as his comrade tripped over him in clumsy pursuit.

Link's reflexes were quick, and he jumped in the way of the bridge right as the thief was about to pass. The thief, caught by surprise, attempted to dodge, but Link was too strong, and caught the running man around the shoulders. His grip tightened, muscles straining as the burglar attempted still to escape. When a long moment of struggling had passed and he still had gotten nowhere, the thief stilled, and twisted around to look Link in the eye.

"You're lucky that long hair of yours covers your ears, boy," he breathed darkly, each work reeking of ale. Link noticed suddenly the pointed ears of the thief, and the rounded ears of the soldiers moving towards them, and his eyes widened with realization which the thief confirmed. "They don't take kindly to Hyrulians here…"

The soldiers had caught up, and they ripped the thief from Link's arms without even a word of thanks.

"We'll take it from here," one of the guards snapped, and pinned the thief to the ground. "Search him!"

Link withdrew from the turmoil the first chance he got and found Manny, who had fallen to the sidelines of the chaos.

"Come on, and keep a low profile," Link whispered as they started to cross the bridge. They were a few paces behind the fisherman, who was leading the reluctant donkey across the shaky platform.

"Why?"

"That man said outsiders aren't welcome here. And by outsiders, I mean Hyrulians."

Manny reached up and felt his own ears instinctively, tenderly. Then, wordlessly, he brushed his shaggy hair over their tips so that they were well-concealed.

"Why do you suppose?" he finally asked, his voice still barely above a whisper.

"Can't say," Link answered honestly, "and I'd rather not have to find out."

The bridge now behind them, the small company passed finally into the center of town. Here, life moved full-throttle. Little stalls were set up all across the square, one selling ripe vegetables, another boasting raw meat, both of them stinking in the hot sun. A third stall sold various commodities- lanterns and silverware, hats of various shapes and sizes, an assortment of oddly-patterned flutes; an eclectic assortment, to say the least. A group of women stood gossiping at the well in the center of town, and others shouted to each other from open windows as they hung out the laundry to dry. A group of men were hard at work putting a new roof on a nearby house, shirtless and dark of skin from days at work in the hot sun.

"FISH HERE!" their guide into town began shouting. "COME GET FISH, FRESH CATCH OF THE DAY! TWO GOLD COINS APIECE!" The fisherman turned to Link and Manny, and as he spoke, he filled two large sacks with several pounds of fish each. "Could each of you make a delivery? You," he said to Link, "bring these to the village elder- his name is Orca, and he lives at the height of the village, on the highest part of the peak. Fair warning: he's slightly senile. And you," he said, turning to Manny. "This sack is for the prisoners."

"What?!" Manny retaliated. "Oh, sure, Link gets the village elder, and I get a bunch of criminals!"

"Well, just one criminal, really, and he'll bring it to the rest; his name's Tingle."

"Tingle? And how am I supposed to find him?"

"Take my word for it, lad," the fisherman said, dumping the entire sack into Manny's waiting arms. "Tingle will find you."

And the two young men were sent their separate ways.


Link found the village elder's hut exactly where the fisherman had indicated he would, and it was with some reluctance that he even dared to enter. A series of muffled bangs sounded from inside, and Link's hand hovered over the door for a moment; would they even hear him knocking with all that rumpus going on inside?

...Right, then. Another moment of deliberation passed, heralded by a series of further bangs, and then, figuring he might as well, he turned the door handle and stepped inside.

He nearly suffocated.

The heat in here was unforgivable, the air so humid, so heavy and utterly, unbelievably boiling that he nearly collapsed where he stood. The room was vast, circular, and windowless, torches lining the walls and keeping the room dim. A single ray of light pierced the center of the roof through a small hole, shining like a spotlight on the floor down below, where Link was finally able to identify the source of the banging. Excitement jolted his body.

A sparring ring!

"Hyah!" a fighter cried. He had to be in his early thirties (Nohansen would have been his age, Link realized with a stab of pain), and sported long white-blond hair that fanned about his clean-shaven face as he spun. As a fighter, his opponent- a thin-shouldered, bearded young man who was absolutely dripping with sweat- had no chance. The blond man was tall and lithe, sharp-featured and steely of gaze, and was seemingly unaffected by the sauna-like atmosphere of the room. Noiselessly this time, he lunged- was it a lunge? It seemed more like a dance- towards his opponent and knocked the blade clean from his hand. With a shout, the bearded man fell to his knees, and the blond man's blade rested at his throat. Its edges glimmered in the beam of sunlight, and both sparrers cast long shadows across the floor.

"I forfeit…" the losing man panted from his knees. He bowed over, palms against the floor, arms shaking like the pudding desserts that Link had once prepared for the royal family.

A slow clap echoed from above the sparring ring, and Link glanced up to a high platform, set back into the shadows, where the oldest man he'd ever seen was applauding the triumphant swordsman with bony brown hands. A long white beard draped down past his sandaled feet, similarly brown, similarly bony, and his eyes sank far back into his face. Old, old.

Is there anything that eyes like that haven't seen?

"Well done, Swiftblade," the old man croaked. "There are few who have ever bested you, and none who can do it now."

Swiftblade sank into a low bow. "Thank you, Master Orca."

It was only then that the old man noticed Link's presence.

"Greetings, boy. What is it you bring?"

"What?" Link mumbled, having lost himself for a moment. "...Oh! Fish, Master Orca. Your delivery of fish, from the town fisherman." He stepped up to the platform, his nerves building up under the weight of the old man's eyes. He could feel the heat of Swiftblade's gaze on him as well, cutting sharply into his back like a razor.

"You may leave it there; my apprentice will take care of it. Mesa," he directed, and the bearded man scrambled to the elder's feet, relieving Link of the sack of fish and dragging it away to another room. "Payment for your services," the elder went on, tossing a small coin-purse. Link bowed and made to leave; he was nearly to the door, when...

"Wait!" Swiftblade called out. Link paused. "Is that a sword I see upon your back?"

The weight of the sword Nohansen had once crafted for Link felt suddenly very heavy against his shoulders, and he imagined that the pommel, shining in the ray of sunlight, must have caught Swiftblade's eye when he'd had his back to him.

"Yes," Link said after a minute, a certain eagerness stirring up within him. The apprehension that came from being in the presence of master swordsmen for the first time in years was almost overwhelming. "Why?"

Swiftblade drew his sword from where it rested at his hip. He brandished it as if it were weightless. "Put everything aside; face me."

Link didn't need to be told twice. His face lit up, and he dropped the bulk of his belongings by the door. Any other delivery can wait. He drew his blade and entered into the ring, relishing again in the perfect balance of the sword in his hand. I've missed this feeling, he thought as Swiftblade faced him. They held their swords out, waiting…

"I always like a good sparring match," the elder said happily. "Now… fight!"

The words seemed barely to have escaped Orca's mouth before Swiftblade was sailing through the air, and it took everything in Link's power to deflect the oncoming blow. A split-second later, Link's opponent was coming from behind, and he delivered a blow to Link's back with the bottom of his boot. He fell with little grace, the air rushing out of his lungs, and it took every ounce of strength to roll onto his block and stop the hissing blade of his opponent with his own. His entire body ached with the force that it took to throw Swiftblade back, and even then, it took the experienced sparrer mere seconds to regain his balance. He danced forth again, delivering blow after blow, Link struggling- but still managing- to deflect.

I can't win a sparring match with pure defense, Link thought irritably, but what else can I do? I haven't got enough time to strike, only enough to dodge-

-wait-

-to dodge…

He backed away to the edge of the ring, and this time, when Swiftblade attempted to strike, Link rolled out of the way with hardly a second to spare; he evidently had not expected this move on Link's part. Dodging he might be used to, but Link had rolled around his opponent- a trick that Nohansen had taught him- and caught Swiftblade around the waist with an arm. He raised his blade just as Swiftblade twisted and raised his own; then they were caught like that, each with a blade to the other's throat and nowhere to move.

"We would both be dead," Swiftblade concluded, and held his sword in place for a little longer. Link did not falter either, only considered the truth of Swiftblade's words. And then the older man smiled, and Link knew that it was safe to pull away. He sheathed his sword, his opponent did the same, and from the platform above, Orca applauded.

"Why, Swiftblade… it appears you have met your match after all," the old man observed. He seemed stunned, as did Swiftblade.

"None have come close to besting me since I was young," the apprentice explained, the disbelief clear on his face. "You are good. How old are you?"

"Nineteen," Link replied, remembering that it was his birthday.An apt gift, this match.

"Only? You seem older; it must be your discipline. Who was your teacher?"

Do I tell him? Link wondered, not wanting to bring up Hyrule if he did not have to. He could not see Swiftblade's ears beneath the sheet of pale hair; there was no telling whether this man considered Hyrule an enemy.

"A knight," Link finally admitted, figuring that was enough detail. The other's eyes widened.

"You were a squire?"

"Not exactly," Link explained, squirming suddenly. He had been too immersed in the duel to feel discomfort, but now the heat was getting to him, and these repeated questions were only increasing his sense of dread at being met with some hostility. "I'm sorry- I've appreciated this, but I really have to go."

"Wait- young swordsman- what is your name?"

But he didn't answer- he was already out the door.


The fisherman hosted them back for supper at his hut that night, a vat of fishy stew bubbling over the firepit in the center of the cozy room. He made light conversation as he stirred, moving his hand ever so gently so that their meal would not froth over the side of the pot. The sight of the old man at work procured images of the castle cook in Link's mind, and he wondered, as he often did, what life would be like today if he'd stayed behind.

Most likely the same as it always was, he knew, thinking of poor Niko, who probably would never be any more than a kitchen worker for all the days of his life. Or Salvatore, who had likely come to that realization long ago-no wonder he'd been so miserable.

"...and my daughter, she works at one of the stalls in town, selling a merchant's wares for poor salary. She deserves better."

"You have a daughter?" Manny asked, perking up.

"A beautiful one, just your age."

"...Go on," Manny suggested, and Link elbowed him irritably. Manny and his stupid obsession with girls…

"What keeps her tonight, I couldn't say. She usually is here for supper; she is a good, girl, well-behaved and-"

The door flew open. "FATHER! FATHER! You MUST come outside! The bards are passing through town, they're playing in the square, the whole town is festive, it's just delightful- oh- company?" the newcomer realized, coming to a sudden halt. She was a slim girl of about twenty, dressed in a simple shift of burgundy roughspun. Sandy hair fell like a curtain down her back, and her pretty eyes, silver in color, caught Link somewhat by surprise; she looked almost familiar…

"My dear," the fisherman said with a smile, "I was just telling these two young men about you! They are from out of town, and aided me greatly with today's delivery; I have invited them to dine with us out of gratitude."

Dinner seemed the last thing on the girl's mind.

"Oh, even better!" she exclaimed suddenly, expression lighting up like the sun. She lunged forward, grabbing Link's and Manny's hands and yanking them out of their chairs, hauling them towards the door. They burst into the town, and true enough, the sun was setting over the beginnings of a festive scene; musicians played, townspeople danced, and those who did not dance clapped along. There were lanterns strung from house to house that Link had not noticed earlier, and his heart swelled for a minute; it all felt so snug, so warm, and he remembered all of a sudden the earliest days of his childhood…

"Come, darling," his mother had urged, twirling to the tune of the fiddles and pulling her husband onto the dance floor. He twirled her in the air, and she seemed light as a feather in his grasp. Then they both extended their hands to their son, who stood still as stone with shock on his face, not knowing how to respond…

Link hadn't thought about his mother or father in a long time. He'd loved them both dearly when he was younger, but they'd sent him away when their town's harvest failed because they feared he'd starve if he stayed.

Go to Hyrule Town with Uncle, they'd urged him. You'll be better-off there.

And so he'd ridden away on the back of a covered wagon, not yet seven years old, screaming and sobbing for his parents as they turned into no more than dots on the horizon. He'd had dreams of becoming a hunter like his father, and had worked since he was a toddler at mastering a bow, but those dreams melted suddenly away when his uncle found work in the castle; he as a groundskeeper, Link as a kitchen boy.

But Link's uncle had passed away, too, when a bad allergic reaction to some exotic plant had closed up his throat. Then Link had been all alone, with nobody to turn to, the looming shadow of stove smoke always hanging over him, the cook's relentless commands ringing in his ears even then. The world had become a dark place, for a time.

Then, by some miracle, a visiting lordling (no more than seven) came down to the kitchens one day to sneak some dessert. The cook caught him with one hand in the pudding, and that was the end of that; the lordling's father was called down, a scolding ensued, and the boy was dragged away. Link had seen it all happen from his spot in the corner polishing silverware, and noticed that the boy had left a picture book behind. Link claimed it when the others' backs were turned; later that night, in privacy, he flipped through the pages, eyes lighting up at the exquisite gilded manuscripts, illustrations of dragons and knights in shining armor seeming to leap from the page. The stories, told entirely in pictures, claimed his heart; greedily, he devoured more of them, and a bit of his sorrow washed away with every page…

Then, another miracle:

"...found him on the streets," a guard was saying, gripping a little eight-year-old street rat by the collar. The boy wore a sour expression, sort of like a troublemaking schoolboy met with a cross instructor, and he was covered in grime from head to toe. Even his hair was matted against his forehead with dirt. To say he wore rags was generous; scraps of foul-smelling fabric hung loosely about his shoulders, and surely did nothing to protect him against the elements.

"Wash him," the cook instructed to a nearby maid, "and give him an apron. We'll work him and feed him; it's better than he could ask for on the streets of Hyrule Town."

"I don't want to!" the ragged boy cried in aggravation. "You can't make me!"

The cook kneeled down in front of him. Link, eavesdropping from around the corner, peered in more closely. Cook didn't usually show any signs of tenderness, but here he was, eye-level with a street rat, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder…

"It's all going to be okay," the cook promised, though the boy still seemed unconvinced…

...Later, his curiosity peaked, Link glanced into the washroom. The new boy sat in the puny wooden bathtub by himself, and Link noticed (with a bit of a shock) that the boy's ribs protruded gruesomely from his torso, and his joints were bulbous and sharp. He was more of a skeleton than a boy, and Link realized that the boy's now-exposed skin was covered in freckles…

The boy glanced up suddenly. "What are you looking at?!" he snapped darkly. Link nearly wet his pants; he hadn't been expecting the boy to notice him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'll just go." He started pacing away.

"No... wait," the boy's voice sounded behind him. Link stopped short, and then turned. When he returned to the doorway, he saw that the boy was staring at him again, but this time his gaze was earnest, humble, hopeful. "What's your name?" the boy asked. He almost seemed nervous.

"Link. You?"

The boy smiled, the freckles on his face spreading apart. "My name's Manny," he said…

…"Come and dance! Dance with me!"

The music was getting louder, the dancing faster, and the town became a whirlwind of colors and celebration as the girl pulled Link towards the center of the square. He didn't know where Manny had disappeared to-perhaps he had found some other pretty girl-but now this blond fisherman's daughter with the sharp gray eyes was pulling Link by the hands and urging him to spin her like his father had spun his mother once.

The memory burned like a fire in his mind, and now he said the same words that he'd said to his parents that night of the country festival.

"I don't know how."

"And I shall not take 'no' for an answer!" She broke out into laughter. "Well, don't look at me like you don't remember… kitchen boy!"

And then it all came rushing back- a crowded ballroom-a young lady in a ruffled pink dress-Nohansen's voice, creeping as it always did in the back of his mind.

"The knightly thing would have been to dance with her."

"Lady Mila!" Link shouted suddenly, and his face went beet red. Time seemed to slow down around him, and he stilled, dropping to a bow instinctively. "My Lady, I apologize-I did not recognize you."

The fisherman, he realized suddenly. That... was Lord Windfall?!

"And why would you?" Mila returned easily. "I'm ragged, now, and poorer than you ever were. Yet I recognized you; a girl never forgets the face of a knight, not even a knight-in-training…"

"What happened?" Link asked. He knew it was rude, yet he couldn't stop himself. "Last time we met, you were so rich, and dressed so finely, and…"

"And what? A little snob?" she joked. The festivities continued around them, yet now she, too, had stilled, and looked him straight in the eye. "Well, I suppose that is what happens to nobility when their kingdom falls to ruins. You flee your homeland and make do somewhere else, somewhere where enemies of the crown aren't bound to find you..."

Link's heart nearly stopped. "What?" he choked. "What do you mean? What about the royal family?"

And now she appeared to be the one who was surprised, and her mouth formed a little 'o'.

"Do you mean to tell me… you don't know?" she said, a shakiness to her voice. Link could feel the hair on the back of his neck sticking up, and an eeriness came over him like a sudden chill.

"...Pardon?"

"Link, how long have you been away from Hyrule? The royal family doesn't exist anymore. It ended the same night that the tyrants killed Sir Nohansen. King Gustaf, Minister Potho, Princess Zelda… you really haven't heard?"

"Haven't heard what-?" Link started, and then stopped himself.

He didn't need to wait for the answer.

He already knew.


Massive thank you for 50+ faves and and 75+ follows! Your continued support means so much to me. Knowing that you enjoy my writing is a wonderful reason to make it a priority, for real, so I hope I can continue to deliver something that will be meaningful to you wonderful people. :)

So, as you can see, a bit of a time skip has occurred here! Link is no longer the little boy we all know and love. What could lie in store for this green-clad, strapping young rover? Heroism, perhaps? Hmm…

-CTj