Author's Note: This chapter is not for the squeamish. I am not sure what constitutes a T or an M rating for violence, but I will say it gets rather rough in the middle. Consider yourselves collectively warned.

A combination of inspiration, neglect of responsibilities, and intense dedication allowed me to complete this chapter very quickly. I had planned on Chapter 7 being the last substantial update for a while. Chapter 8 is now the last substantial update. This is because I am busy preparing for my LSAT begin the application process for law school. LSAT prep is the primary culprit for no real updates during October. I will probably have time for more substantial updates around Christmas, but I am also preparing my thesis and its defense. It will be quite busy, but that has not stopped me before. I guess the short of all this is to encourage everyone not to get their hopes up. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy Chapter 8, and I hope between it and the prologue you can see the overall trajectory that I want to take this story.

His Fist

Chapter VIII

Autumn

Seven Years Ago

Link's consciousness began coalescing back into form as his spotted purple vision was replaced with passable clarity. As he attempted to recall why he was asleep, dull pain flooded over him from the top of his scalp down to the base of his neck. He shuddered briefly before shirking the pain off and rousing himself from his hammock. He did not quite remembered how he got here….

His mind slowly fed him fleeting images of precariously positioned legs bolting down a splintery guard rail. Afterward, Link's memory faded to blackness with a sudden ringing crash. Poor guy, he thought before vaguely recalling that the "guy" was him. Ouch. His recollection tentatively restored, he willed uncooperative muscles from the comfort of the hammock to stand.

Hearing multiple voices rebound down the earthen corridor leading to his hammock, Link sleepily ambled on wobbly legs into the open main room of the mayoral residence. Probing the ripened knot on his forehead with dirt encrusted fingernails, he found Bo, Ilia, and two apparent guests who he could not recall. Well, one guest he could not recall. The girl graced by the pale blue dress seemed to spark some level of vague recollection in Link's cobwebbed memory, but it ultimately came to no conclusion.

Gathering around the kitchen enclosed in a corner of the room, the quartet seemed to notice Link's arrival and silenced themselves. What seemed to be a relaxed atmosphere suddenly turned unnaturally tense as all four craned their heads toward the recently roused Link. He hated when people did that. Granted, he would admit on a candid day that he sometimes pulled stunts stupid enough to warrant awkward stares. However, that did not mean he had to like it.

Eyes darting around the room, Link decided to be smooth and polished. "Um. . . hi."

Like a charm, Bo chuckled and shifted his weight against the rough wood of the kitchen cabinets. "Sleep well, sweetheart?"

Annoyed as laughter seemed to escape the three girls, Link searched for a way to maintain some of his manly pre-adult dignity. "Yeah, that head injury tucked me in nice and tight." Satisfied that they seemed more amused with him that at him, Link allowed his wobbly posture to relax somewhat. Unfortunately, this nearly caused his still precarious footing to collapse completely. While the girl in the blue dress seemed to make a motion toward him, she abruptly halted as Link regained his footing, sending fresh waves of laughter throughout the room.

The young girl in the pink dress with the red curly hair sat up from the table near the kitchen and began making her way over to the still disoriented Hylian. Smiling graciously with perhaps more mirth than Link was comfortable with, she regarded him. "I am Lady Medli of the House of Rito." She curtsied and averted her eyes downward in a melodramatic signal of respect. Rising, her smile widened. "And you must be Link; we've all heard so much about you."

As Link's cheeks caught fire, he returned Medli's expression with a sickly mechanical smile of his own. Averting his eyes to Bo who seemed to be taking perverse amusement in all of this, he flashed the old man with an expression that tried to courteously warn him of his impending demise. Bo snorted in mirth. Returning his sight to Medli, he gave perhaps the worst mockery of a salute in history as he attempted to steal his gaze away from her. However, his peripheral vision caught Medli's knowing smile as she returned to the table.

He looked at the girl in the blue dress who seemed to find profound comfort standing in the shadowy corner of the room. Link thought that she did a great job of pretending to look relaxed, but the display looked so over-the-top that it actually had the opposite of its intended effect. It did not take brilliant deduction to realize that she was shy. Link flashed her a warm grin . . . well, as genuine a grin as his embarrassment allowed. She sent a faint smile back his way before averting her eyes downward.

Link made a quick glance down the hallway to the front windows to get a semblance for the passage of time since he met with his "accident". Seeing the sun hover teasingly over the canopied horizon, Link guessed offhand that no more than a few hours had passed. Good; still time for food.

Mischievousness played over Bo's expression as he seemed to wink collectively at the three girls. "All right, clear yer plates. Dinner's over. Time for bed." Link's stomach growled ferociously in protest as his common sense was reduced to predatory instincts. His mouth gaped to make an indignant howl until Bo unveiled a cooling wooden plate of fish, diced apples, and very seedy barley. Not Link's favorite meal to be sure, but the threat of starvation made anything seem appetizing. Considering that this display might have been a wretched plot hatched by Bo to get him to appreciate his cooking, Link concluded that Bo was either evil or a masterful manipulator. Finally, he came to the conclusion that both were correct.

The impromptu family busied themselves at the counter, piling their plates with layers of food. Glancing at Bo, he realized that some plates had more layers than others. He also took note that both Medli and the girl in the blue dress took no interest in fish, and instead stacked theirs with small amounts of apple and barely.

Link realized that the small table situated near the kitchen was not going to be sufficient for all five of them. Inspiration hit Link as he stalked over to Bo's writing desk near his small book case on the other side of the room. With matchless poise, in one swift movement his arm wiped the aged books, valuable documents, and neatly placed odds and ends off the desk and onto the adjacent floor. Revenge! Link thought as he submitted an earnest expression to match the intensity of the frown tugging at Bo's lips. Link turned, but was unaware of Bo's muffled chortle. Link awkwardly joined the two tables together as the quintet sat down to eat.

Two other chairs were salvaged from whatever was deemed useable. Medli sat in Bo's rather expansive desk chair, seemingly swallowing her figure as she sat picking at her food. The girl in the blue dress sat on a small bench as she seemed to rapidly inhale her food in an almost mechanical fashion. Link wondered if she could even taste her food. Thinking about the coarse and seedy barley he wondered if she would even want to. Link glanced at Ilia who seemed to be happily chomping down hers. He speculated that she was relieved that her gender was now the majority in the household. Link mentally groaned.

Everyone seemed quite fixated on their respective meals, and Link could not decide if that was merely a convenient diversion from the awkwardness of the situation, or if everyone collectively found their food that interesting. Taking a bite of dry, bristly bread, he decided that the latter was certainly not the case. Bo had instructed both Link and Ilia to be the very definition of courteous—well, as courteous as Link's very limited experience allowed him to be. Then again, nobody seemed particularly sociable this evening.

Medli mulled over a bite of apple as she fixed curious eyes on Bo. Spotting her mouth with a napkin—really a rag—and placing it in her lap, she straightened and prepared to speak in her somberly decisive way. "I am curious, Major Bo, if you are acquainted with Sir Zanji. Do you know him?" There was a slight twitch as the cadence of Bo's crunching jaw seemed to slow just noticeably and not out of thrilled surprise either. Link's attention heightened both at the mention of an apparent knight and Bo's unnatural discomfort.

The only knights he was aware of were the Imperial Dark Knights, the elite black-armored warriors whose legendary exploits filled the fantasies of many an impressionable child. Either through a gradual mispronunciation or to perhaps disentangle the ration ominous impression of "Dark Knight," the term Darknut had become increasingly popular. The only other possibility was that this knight was a knight of the old kingdom, but everybody knew they had all been wiped out somehow. Boring history and politics aside, Link knew that Medli had somehow mistaken Bo for somebody else. Bo's company consisted of farmers and goat herders, not mysterious warriors or royalty.

Which is exactly why Link nearly leapt in surprise as Bo muttered, "Yeah, we're ole' friends," quietly with an unexpressed warning. Whatever effect it was intended to have on Medli, it certainly did not perturb Link.

Medli nodded slowly. "He stated that you were one of his attendants."

Bo snorted, but without his usual mirth. Somehow the sight rather discomforted Link. "I'm sure he did."

The brittleness of Bo's sarcasm seemed to create a gap of silence that engulfed the awkwardly joined dinner tables. Link saw the girl in the blue dress stir just noticeably as she turned toward Link, only halfway meeting his gaze. "Link, thank you for giving up your room."

The table banged loudly. For a moment Link was not sure if he had pounded on the table with a heavy hand, or if his jaw had unhinged and plummeted down on the table in surprise. The shock could not dissuade his scientific inquiry. "Huh?"

The anonymous girl's expression became clouded with either confusion or anxiety, and Link was really not sure which. Ilia's head shot up as if noticing the conversation for the first time. "Oh yeah! I told her that you wanted to give her your room an' that you'd let her use your hammock an' all your stuff an' that she could stay for as long as she liked." Bo seemed to be coughing fiercely in a rhythm that—coincidentally of course—matched that of a rumbling laugh.

Link made a tight smile that teetered on the edge of a grimace. "Did I? I still must be foggy from the bumped head. Tell me, where did I 'volunteer' to sleep?"

Not missing a beat, Ilia began again sweetly. "Oh, near the front door of course! Isn't that right, Dad?"

Bo seemed to really be hacking on the other side of the table. "That's right, darlin'."

Ilia continued again. "So, Medli gets my room, the two of us get your room…." Ilia gestured toward the girl in the blue dress. Great, Link thought, go to sleep for a few hours and they're already plotting. Ilia's high-pitched earnestness interrupted Link's cynical thinking. "Dad gets his room, and you sleep near the front door."

Link nodded as his eyes widened in incredulity. "I see. And when did I say this?"

Ilia looked confused for a moment, but only for the barest moment. "Oh, you didn't say anything. Dad said you and he talked about it and that it was your idea, right Dad?"

That cough was really not sounding like a cough now. "That's—ahem— right, darlin'."

Link saw understanding flood over the blue-clad girl's features as her lips quavered into a smile. He returned as much of a smile as he could until he turned back toward Ilia while making a point of eyeing Bo. "Well gee, I guess I must be a really nice guy."

Bo interjected a bit too quickly. "Oh, you are. The best. Which is why I know you won't mind doin' the dishes." He slid the smooth wooden plate over to Link, the smell of Hylian loach still haunting the dish. Bo gestured to the small wash tub awaiting attention in the kitchen. Gesturing for the others to follow his example, Bo reclined in his chair looking very satisfied with himself. Link resolved that Bo would somehow pay for this, though the how of that particular equation escaped him as the wooden plates began piling up in front of him. Medli stacked her plate in confused reluctance. The girl in blue seemed to flash Link an apologetic look as she topped the pile with her plate. As dinner naturally dismissed and the makeshift family members went their separate ways, Link decided to begin his prison sentence.

By the time Link won his freedom, he believed that he would be sick if he ever had to smell lye soap again. Stacking the dishes on the kitchen counter he found to his dismay that everybody was preparing to retire for the night. As he discovered and apprehended a tattered quilt under Bo's bed, he realized that he could not simply accept this . . . shame in passing. He realized that mute acceptance was not an option; he had to act. With blanket in arm he walked toward the front door. Bo seemed to magically appear behind him.

"Settlin' in fer the night?" Bo asked a tone that combined amusement with a challenge.

"Actually, I was thinking that sleeping outside sounds pretty good." Walking up to Bo's side, Medli's eyes seemed to swell.

"But what about Wolfos or the other vicious creatures that come out at night." Medli's concern seemed genuine enough for someone he had known for all of two hours.

Bo shrugged off her concern with an absent wave of his hand. "Aww . . . He'll be all right. 'Sides, I figure Link's got plenty enough wolf in him anyway. They don't eat their own." Link tried to keep his annoyance hidden, though he realized he probably failed. He was particularly annoyed at the ease with which Bo called his bluff. Bluff . . . Frustrated, Link realized that he was not bluffing. He never bluffed. Inhaling deeply and puffing out his chest far more melodramatically than he realized, he turned the door knobs and strode out of the house into the night.

Laying across grassy hilltop in front of the house, Link almost regretted his obstinacy as sticky dew began to seep through the warmth and comfort of the quilt. Almost. Then he reclined his head back as he beheld the night sky and all regret seemed to vanish. Looking up at the innumerable faint points of light that haloed an immensely bright full moon, he allowed himself to relax as he began piecing them together. Truthfully, he really should not find it so spectacular. His affinity for star-gazing had roughly coincided with his first word and first steps, and he could not help but wonder if the return of that affinity had anything to know with the hard lump at the top of his head. Resuming his gaze skyward as he lay comfortably on his back, he quickly dismissed those wonderings. Link did not know where exactly the Sacred Realm was. Some said it was somewhere deep in the sky, and others said that it was on another plane of existence entirely. Still though, if the Sacred Realm was at any particular place, it would be hard-pressed to find a better realm than alongside the stars.

Link began mentally tracing some of the familiar clusters of stars into constellations he had grown familiar with through years of drilled practice. Cross-shaped Goddess of Power Din swept a fiery swath across the northern sky, her arms shining with the same starlit fire that forged the world itself. From his recollection, Din was a favorite of sailors, not only for her power supposedly protecting ships from mishaps, but also because the brightest star on her right arm, Magius, was nearly continuously fixed northward. Link had rather crudely used it before whenever he would sneak out of the house at night and ramble around in the dark forests for the sake of it. Like tonight, he thought. Magius was the brightest star in the sky, and Link recalled that some long-dead group of thinkers or priests thought that Magius was the focal point of creation. Some said that Magius was a reminder that though the worldly realm would be changing until the end of time, the power of the Goddesses was a constant.

The Goddess of Wisdom Naryu lay affixed in the eastern sky, her confusing maze of celestial patterns seemingly swooping down onto the world itself, with a single shimmering arm reaching down to convert chaos into order. According to the legends, it was in such a way that Naryu gave her laws to all beings that would hear and honor them. As the sun would rise in the eastern sky and gradually outshine Naryu's constellation, it was said that Naryu willed the light of reason and creation to guide all things made by the Goddesses in their stead.

Farore, the Goddess of Courage, beckoned the setting sun in the western sky. Farore's star cluster twinkled faintly with obscurity. It was a sign that as the creator of all life, everything begins small. Even stars. However, as the sun would inevitably settle beneath the horizon, it would finally expose the brightest star of Farore: Illuminus, the gigantic western star of hope. A sign that even when the light of order and reason fails, there is always hope in life.

However, Link did not need metaphor to be entranced by the infinite beauty of the heavens. He found that simply by looking.

So he looked.

Tracing yet another stick-figured star group, he became reacquainted with Randor the ancient adventurer. After his ship was blown off course by an evil spirit who evoked the power of Farore's Wind, he spent ten years fighting his way back home. In the course he became a great hero and one of the most famous knights of Hyrule. Knight….

Link's mind absently anchored back to the awkward dinnertime conversation concerning this "Sangee" character. Link had to give Bo credit; the man knew he could not keep a secret very well. Instead of attempting to make a very obvious lie, he would usually just avoid or warn somebody off a subject of particular sensitivity. The best example was this whole game of Bo being Link's "uncle." Link had a gut feeling that Bo was nothing close to his uncle. In his childhood, whenever the young Hylian had pressed him on the matter, he was either warned off or artlessly deflected. Therefore, it became a sort of game that the two agreed to play by silent consent. Truthfully whenever Link glanced at the bare peak of Bo's scalp or his growing midsection he was somewhat relieved at their lack of relation. Bo was great in his own way, and had many enviable traits, but Link could not think of any enviable physical traits.

Wishing his mind off the subject, Link recalled Bo's abrupt change of subject and how he almost snared at Medli's insistence on diving into the subject. Bo was fairly easy to read, but as his unexpected anger that night last summer demonstrated, there were some things that Link just did not understand about the man. Whatever this whole sneaky business with "Sangee" was about, Link promised himself he would find out; if nothing else for the sake of revenge. Satisfied, Link cushioned his sore head with two bare arms as he once again committed his gaze toward the heavens.

Sheik knew the Princess could be loquacious when she wanted to be. Though Sheik would never admit it, she could be downright bothersome when the appropriate subject became lodged in that stubborn mind of hers. Still, for the sake of their friendship Sheik tolerated this vice. Sheik also reasoned that the Princess's gabbing was the worst extreme of the vice, and if the worst extreme was tolerable then there was nothing to worry about.

That is until Sheik met Ilia. In the space of about an hour Sheik had learned much from her new teacher, such as the true definition of a "one-way" conversation. The Sheikah were generally a fairly laconic bunch speaking only when necessary, their body language and actions more than compensating for their muteness. The concept of a "one-way" conversation seemed so abstract to Sheik's imagination as to be an absurd creation of an overactive imagination. Ilia had turned the abstract into fact.

The amazing feature was that Ilia truly was not offended that Sheik did not reply back. Ilia had gone on longer than Sheik could remember about their village, her family, her life, her interests, and generally anything that provided fuel for that tireless flapping jaw of hers. Sheik was not truly exasperated; just overwhelmed. Lying in Link's hammock as Ilia nestled into a cot nearby Ilia seemed to be discussing her favorite books perhaps? At least that is what Sheik speculated as she went about interpreting Ilia's speech in the same manner she translated ancient Hylian, Goron, or Zora. However, Ilia humiliated all three arcane languages with her completely alien pattern of speech. Therefore the only thing Sheik could do as she sat up facing Ilia was to smile politely and dumbly nod. It was a devastatingly effective combination.

As Ilia continued with what was effectively a conversation with herself, Sheik stirred uncomfortably in the hammock as her mind flocked back to Link's amusing yet genuine frustration at having his room swindled. She was quite sure that out of association he would now hate her for her role in accidental piracy.

As Ilia began to run out of breath, Sheik was surprised that the thought upset her. Finally her vocal stamina seemed to sputter out as her verbal rampage ended in breathlessness.

Sheik knew that this was her opportunity to quickly disengage from this relentless foe and retreat into the protection of sleep. Unfortunately for Sheik, her mouth interceded before her mind could. Perhaps Ilia was rubbing off on her. "Your brother now hates me, doesn't he?"

Ilia looked genuinely confused, which satisfied Sheik in an odd kind of way. "My brother . . . you mean Link?"

Sheik nodded quietly as Ilia made a high pitched giggle. "Oh, he's not my brother! He's uh . . . well . . . he's just Link."

Sheik nodded her head again. "Ah, I see." That was a lie, of course. That was actually about the vaguest statement she had heard in her life. But she felt she was already being too inquisitive as it was, and the thought that it could lead to gossip rather annoyed her. Ilia, however, did not seem to detect Sheik's tone of finality.

"I don't think he hates you though. He's just . . . ya know . . . a boy."

"Oh." Again Sheik had no idea what "just being a boy" meant. While she was flattered that her sex was clearly the basis of some perceived camaraderie, she had no valid intelligence on what the essential qualities of being a boy or girl were. She thought she should be grateful though, Ilia was after all trying to make her feel better. "Thanks for answering a silly question."

Ilia beamed. "No problem!" Not missing a beat, Ilia decided to go for the kill and begin yet another besieging conversation. "Oh I know! Tomorrow, I'll show you around town, introduce you to all everybody, show you all the animals . . . it'll be great!"

Actually Sheik thought the idea of her flaunted around town was possibly the worst idea she had ever heard. While Impa certainly did not mean for her to be cloistered during the "vacation," she also would probably object to having her name and physical appearance shoved into faces of Ordon's collective populace. Even so, despite all her pragmatism and reason, Sheik really could not bring herself to undermine Ilia's earnest friendliness.

She flashed an amused smile. "I'd like that." Hopefully she would be able to deftly steer Ilia away from formal introductions to people. Well . . . if she got a word in edgewise. Sheik sighed and all but buried her face in her hands.

She was doomed.

Sighing and letting her weight sink into the bottom of the hammock, Sheik resolved her way to sleep her way through Ilia's interminable soliloquy.

The young woman stood in front of the towering panel mirror that revealed her entire form. To say that her dress was ornate would require a redefinition of the term. It was the essence of opulence. Her silken white dress elegantly clasped by a violet bodice was gingerly embroidered by organic golden shoulder plates. A circlet of gold crowned a head of sun-baked hair. Her regal features could have been chiseled from the whitest marble, which belied how easily they succumbed to laughter and joy; which is what they would do tonight. Standing in front of the mirror regarding her reflection, she brushed unbound locks of hair with elegant precision as a smile slowly blossomed across her visage. The Queen of Hyrule was not a vain woman, nor did she concern herself overmuch with the burden of maintaining her physical appearance.

Except tonight. He was coming home! After waiting, fearing, hoping, and praying he was coming home. And that's all that mattered in her now happy universe.

She continued to brush her hair, her large bedroom in the castle illuminated by the dozens of candle flames that seemed to dance for her. Uncharacteristically, she began humming; humming that tune that had been sung to her since infancythe song that he always played for her.

The humming echoed within the cavernous dome of the bedroom in Hyrule Castle, providing a multi-part harmony that filled the room with life. Her ebullience almost seemed to warm the cold and unyielding castle room itself as she nostalgically laughed at the conclusion of one round of the melody.

She sat down at the pearl-colored writing desk in the corner of the bedroom and began pondering her speech as she continued humming. Her regal duty required her to say something along the lines of "The people of the Kingdom of Hyrule are eternally in your debt for your selfless sacrifice; for your courage; for your valor; but most of all, for your devotion." She suspected that her royal duty might force her to say something like that to him, which faintly amused her. She seriously wondered whether her dignity would keep her from squeezing the life out of him.

That could be a problem.

Laughing to herself, she continued her tune as she attempted to bat away paperwork with several poorly placed signatures and stamps. This is probably why she did not hear the slow approach of careful footsteps.

Had she but once glanced out of her prison of euphoria, she might have spotted him. She might have seen the figure in a form-fitting black suit and mask. She might have seen him reach for two slender objects along his belt. She might have seen telling twin glint of knives' blades shimmering into the night. She might have seen one blade enter the wooden backing of the chair and the other knife wrap around and enter in from her chest. But she did not.

Within an instant the Queen of Hyrule found herself stabbed from the front and from behind, the knives pinning her to her chair. The black-clad figure kicked the chair onto its back, driving the knife at the back deeper into her chest and forcing it out the other side of her body as both she and the chair slammed into the floor. She knew she was dying. And she regretted nothing.

As the blood began to rise from her throat into her mouth, she tried to call out but a sick gargling noise silenced any last words she wanted to make. She would drown first in her own blood rather than having an organ simply shutting down. She would drown on the very substance that made her royal. But she was not so poetically inclined, nor did she care about making a last minute analysis of her life to derive some selfish notion of significance. All she cared about was to warn him of danger; to tell him to be brave; to tell him she would always love him. But only faint gargling came along with small trickles of blood from the corner of her mouthher only regret.

She heard a faint pounding at the door. "Your Majesty? Are you well?" The gruff, martial voice waited for a few moments before asking again. "Your Majesty? Your Majesty!?" The tone of his voice changed from faint concern to mortal dread. He bellowed, "Get help! The Queen is in danger!" As the corners of her vision darkened, she heard the dull clanging of plate armor as feet pattered closer and closer to her bedroom door. She heard a crash as the Royal Guard rammed down the doors and strode in. The half dozen or so guards she could make out collectively gasped as they abruptly halted in the middle of the room.

Finally, another voice bellowed. A voice that did not ask; it did not compromise; it commanded. It rippled with power; an echo of the authority that forged the universe itself. The voice usually silkennow harriedand it sounded from the depths of time and space itself.

A voice that had one master….

It proceeded to pronounce its will.

"Don't just stand there! Get help! You men, the assassin must have escaped out of the window. Pursue him! You, alert the Royal Surgeon and the Household Mage. Inform them that the Queen has been woundedmortally I fear. And you, send a message to all gate houses and patrols around the castleno one shall either enter or exit without my express orders. Move before it's too late!"

The guards fled the Queen's peripheral vision and with a sigh the voice ended the façade. "I am quite sorry it had to come to this, Your Majesty. Rest assured, your death will not be in vain." The voice's smooth silk wavered slightly. "I wish there was another way, truly. I never wished for your death. In other circumstances perhaps we could have been friends." Had the Queen been able, she would have spat the blood and bile congealing in her throat at him. But she could only cough and spit up more blood. The voice came into view and knelt close at her bleeding side.

"You were never my enemy. Please, be of good cheer. I will ensure that this mindless cycle ends permanently, and then you can finally be free of this eternal curse. Don't worry, I will take care of everything." The Queen tried to summon all of her magic and all of her knowledge for a strike against her killer. If she could kill him too….

But the voice seemed to know her mind, and he deftly shielded himself with powers the likes of which she had never seen.

Hopeless.

The voice seemed amused by her determination before dismissing it as he imposed his will upon her. Dark mana flooded into her being. "Now…. Good night, Your Majestyand good morning Hyrule." As his life-suffocating power filtered in, she knew there were only seconds left. As the life drained out of her, she felt the very balance of the world begin to shift and go awry. Nothing would ever be the same.

Despairing, a lone ray of light shone. She remembered they still lived, and as long as they lived there was still hope. As the final remnants of life fled her body, she had faith in that.

Sheik bolted upright, instinctively clutching her front and back and checking for entry wounds. The alarm in her pulse subsiding, she forced herself to breath normally as a cold sweat gathered on her brow. Glancing down at Ilia's shadowy contours, she was relieved as she merely stirred before rolling over and resuming sleep. Whew. There would be nothing as awkward as explaining to the young girl why her combat reflexes reacted to a dream. A dream….

Sheik normally did not dream. Sleeping at odd intervals throughout the day and night, she merely assumed that she did not sleep long enough to have these dream experiences that people sometimes talk about. But this….

It was not a fleeting image of random nonsense. Sheik's flawless memory retained every detail. The sights, sounds, the dialogue; she saw everything that the Queen saw and as she rubbed her chest and back she recalled that she felt everything that the Queen felt. The memory did not exactly encourage her to go back to sleep. She figured she had quite enough anyway. As she stealthily sat up, she pondered whether this was merely how she dreamt when she incurred too much sleep. Considering that was possibly correct, she resolved to go outside and hopefully bring her mind to bear on something else; like potential escape routes if the manor came under attack.

Given that her Sheikah-based training would make escaping the house laughably easy, Sheik possibly underestimated the skillfully placed defensive arrangements around the manor as her right foot crashed into a clumsily stacked pile of books. As they fell and crashed more audibly than they should, she cringed and prayed that the Goddesses would make at least one thing go right tonight. Tiptoeing down the small hallway and into the kitchen area, Sheik craned her head to the left toward the source of the animal roar…and sighed in relief as she spotted Bo with his chest gently rising and falling with deafening snores. Sheik bypassed him, and made her way toward the front door.

Carefully stepping toward the front door, she realized that she was nearly free. And then, putting slightly too much weight on her right foot, the board she was standing on sang with a squealing creak. That was it. She knew that sound had to be heard by even the most oblivious ears. She waited for the inevitable scolding that would come when Bo, Ilia, and the Princess discovered she had left her bed. But that did not come. Then, she realized that the drone of Bo's snoring had consumed all other sound. Relaxing and berating herself for not noticing earlier, Sheik very casually turned the door knobs and stepped out into the humid night air.

Inhaling deeply, it amazed Sheik that even though she was far south, the night could still be warm in the middle of autumn. It was enjoyable, honestly. The caverns underneath the Harkinian manor were not exactly conducive to warmth. Even though the warmth was a trivial luxury, Sheik could not deny that she took some pleasure in it.

Stepping down the stairs of the manor house, she instantly spied that same ruffled ball of blond-hair, cotton, and delusion that she had wrenched out from under an avalanche of houseware. His chest was rising and falling at long intervals indicating he was deep within his sleep cycle now. It was going to be comparatively easy to simply bypass him and—

"Do they call this morning where you come from?" For the first time in years, Sheik was genuinely physically startled as Link's voice rang out into the night without the slightest indication of sleepy fatigue. She nearly yelped as she willed strained nerves to calm themselves.

"No . . ." Sheik breathily managed.

"Ok then. So do you normally walk around in the middle of the night?" Sheik knew that Link was a little more than sarcastic, but if that was the point of the question he was certainly concealing it well. She decided to answer honestly.

"Well, sometimes." Sheik realized that she was doing a superb job of elaborating. She also had the feeling that Link would dismiss her as being weird or stupid. Normally she would consider that an advantage, but seeing as how they'd be stuck here for a while she did not want to overdo that.

Surprising her, Link smiled. "Me too." Sheik considered breaking this new-found bond of commonality by curtly informing him that his reasons for childishly gallivanting around in the middle of the night and her reasons could not be more different. However, the last thing she needed was another problem here.

She eyed this avatar of mischief as he held her gaze. He had to be what? No more than a year younger than her certainly. And yet this boy—this child—was talking to an adult his own age about sneaking off in the middle of the night.

And yet, Sheik was here all the same.

She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry about the whole room situation. It wasn't my call." Even in the pitch-black of night, Sheik could make out his features contorting in confusion.

"Huh. . .? Oh! Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? Then why are you out here?" She had had to sleep outside before on many missions, and she failed to see what was so romantic or mystical about it.

"Oh, that." Link paused for minute, looking introspective for a moment as if musing on how best to explain a complicated topic to a child. The thought annoyed Sheik. "It's just a game Bo and I play. If I did everything he said I'd be in trouble. I might have to end up actually doing chores." He shuddered melodramatically, and Sheik lifted a hand to her lips to conceal a growing smile.

"So, it's Bo?" Sheik gently queried.

Link smiled slightly. "Don't you wanna ask something else?"

The question threw Sheik off guard. "I'm sorry. . . I don't understand."

He laughed lightly. "I've been asked 'where are your real parents?' before you know. I can take it. Don't worry, I won't run off crying."

Sheik smiled and was impressed that the child had made such a casual observation so quickly. "Well, I guess I won't disappoint. Where are your real parents?"

Link flashed a melancholic smile. "I dunno. If I knew do you think I'd be here?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I don't know. Would you?"

He seemed to stare off into the distance. "I don't know," he said softly, almost to himself. Then, turning to Sheik muttered, "It depends on who'd give the most chores."

Sheik smirked and it carefully concealed a revelation. So there was somebody down there beneath the childish pranks and mischievousness. It somehow relieved her, but it also made her wonder why she even bothered to care. "And if neither gave chores?"

Link seemed to mull on that. Eventually he gave her an indignant look. "Hey, that's not fair. I don't even know your name…."

Sheik was so unfamiliar with social cues that she almost did not pick up the almost explicit invitation. "Oh! It's uh . . . Sheik."

Link scratched his head. "Sheik…" he repeated. "That sounds familiar."

Sheik did not even bother suppressing a chortle. "It should. We were introduced right before you passed out." She thought that Link's cheeks might burn their way thought the dark of night.

"Oh. Well, sorry about that."

"No worries. Besides, it's not like I had to pull my own head out of all that stuff."

"You . . . had to pull me out?"

Sheik shrugged. "Yes, I did."

Link's cheeks were melting. "Bo's never gonna let me outlive that."

Suspicion crept into Sheik. "That you knocked yourself out or that you were saved by a girl?"

"Neither. He'll never let me outlive that I was saved by a houseguest . . . thanks by the way for that."

It was Sheik's turn to blush. "You're welcome." She stepped out further from the manor and looked up at the sky. She made a small gasp as she beheld the gorgeous full moon that shone in its silvery dominion over the night sky.

Sure, Sheik had seen the moon of course. She'd seen a full moon too. But it had always been her enemy, its light constantly threatening to reveal her existence and compromise her more nocturnal missions. She never allowed herself the luxury to address it as anything more than a problem. "It's…it's beautiful." Oh great Sheik, that was perfect! You sound like a dumb farm girl. The frustration was redoubled as she recalled that she was supposed to impersonate a dumb farm girl, or at least something close. Link, unfortunately, had heard her.

"What is?"

"Huh?" Sheik tried denying she had said anything.

"What's beautiful?" Curses of the Goddesses!

"Well . . . the moon."

"The moon?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," Link mused, as if considering it for the first time. "Nah, I don't like the moon."

Sheik repeated the scene over in her head to make sure she heard him correctly. He doesn't . . . like . . . the moon? Sheik wondered. She decided to repeat it aloud. "You don't like the moon?"

"Nope."

Sheik stared at him, slightly flabbergasted. "Well . . . why?"

"I dunno." Link shrugged honestly. "Just don't trust it."

Doesn't . . . trust . . . the moon…. She wondered if Link was typical of most boys, or if he was a breed unto his own. Link interrupted her thoughts.

"Do you know any constellations?"

"No." She was well-acquainted with the stars themselves, their seasonal distributions and movements, and their general color and appearance. With that kind of memory, Sheik had never needed to group them together. It was too . . . confusing.

"Would you like me to show you some?" Truthfully Sheik knew that she needed to get back to bed before she was missed. However, it might prove useful to know a bit about them. Also, there really was not any sense not to be polite and obliging. Sheik retrospectively would find it absurd that she had to find that many justifications to simply be with somebody who treated her as a real person. It also helped that he did not ask any dress questions. Resigning more to her heart than head, she moved up beside Link and warily plopped herself down beside him on the grass.

Link rolled up the thing-quilt he was sitting on and slid it over to her. As much as she could pretend not to appreciate or notice the gesture, it felt different and more than a little awkward to be treated like this. Usually the Princess received the bulk of such attention. If Link was offended at the "shunning" of his quilt, he was hiding it quite well. Pointing up at the night sky, Link began his lesson.

After several hours, Sheik was impressed. The term "lesson" and "teach" evoked memories of dull rote lectures from the Harkinian manor's small retinue of scholars. Sheik had developed great tolerance for such methods, but she would be lying if she were to claim that she was fond of them. Link probably had less than a fraction of their knowledge, but what he did know he knew by heart. One story flawlessly melted into another as he pointed out each star cluster, each with a far-fetched story more amusing than the last. Sheik was almost . . . happy.

". . . and that is the dragon Valoo." Link pointed out the general shape of the southern constellation with his index finger. "You see that small cluster of stars behind the tail?"

Sheik nodded.

"That's his celestial flatulence."

The earnestness on Sheik's face collapsed into amused skepticism. "It is not!"

"Yeah, it is, I mean what else could it be!? Besides, in the legends his lower half was stuck in a volcano anyway. That's bound to build it up!"

"You've probably been making all this up from the start," Sheik said teasingly. The action surprised her. She never teased.

"No I haven't! Fine! I'll make it up to you. I'll teach you how to fish tomorrow, how about that?"

"Link, you have to be awake to fish."

Link batted his hand. "Details, details. Just let me worry about that."

Sheik smirked. "You won't worry at all."

"All right, fine. Then assuming we get sleep, will you?"

Sheik could find excuses and object all she wanted to. Truth be told, she would by lying if she said she did not want to go. "Sure. If you're awake. Which means I also need to be awake. Which means I am going back to bed." Realistically she did not need sleep, but the thought brought back memories of her dream which clouded her otherwise cheerful disposition.

Unfortunately for her, Link detected the slight furrowing of her brows as her smile morphed into a brooding frown. "Hey, Sheik…. You ok?" He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder.

She stood up and dodged the friendly gesture. "Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered, suddenly short on patience. "Listen, Link. . . I'll. . . I'll see you tomorrow." Sheik mentally berated herself, first for getting upset because of a dream, and secondly for being rude. After all he was just trying to be nice, and that alone deserved something. However, Link just smiled and nodded.

"All right. I guess I'll see you and the princess tomorrow."

Sheik's eyes seemed to double in volume. Her cover had been blown before—but by spymasters and armies. . . not adolescent boys. Her whispery growl seemed to take Link aback. "What. . . did. . . you. . . say?"

Link blinked at her with innocent curiosity as his memory probably trying to postulate what mortal sin he had committed to so enrage the young girl. "I said I'll see you and the princess tomorrow."

"And why do you call her 'Princess?'" Sheik asked, her edge diminished but still sharp.

Link's confusion increased significantly. "Well, because you and I guess everybody else seem to be waiting on her hand and foot. Like she's royalty or something. I dunno." He shrugged, which was his way of subtly asking 'What in Din's name is wrong with you.' Cursing herself for not maintaining her composure, Sheik conceded that he asked a valid question. Seeing his confusion and wariness, she concluded that either Link was simply incredibly lucky or had a Goddess-given obscene ability to make incredibly accurate deductions without knowing what was correct. Either way, neither case was exactly a punishable offense. So Sheik merely reacted the way she wanted to.

"Yeah, I guess we do treat her like royalty, don't we?" She laughed softly, and became slightly perturbed when she realized that she was being completely candid. "It's just that we've never really left home before so we're really not sure how you're supposed to act in places like Ordon. You sort of feel imprisoned." Sheik berated her for the unnecessary existential complaint. "Sorry. I know that sounds silly and hard to comprehend."

Measurably, Link looked out over the far expanse of Hyrule gleamed by faint moonlight. "Not really."

As Link gazed out over the treetops to the world beyond, the door was open for Sheik to ask dozens of more questions and to spend hours more in conversation. But she realized that no matter what kind of a vacation she was on, it was still a mission. And she was getting distracted. "It's getting late, and you wanted to take me fishing tomorrow. I am guessing that fishing is somewhat more effective when you're awake."

Link nodded. "Most of the time."

Sheik smirked. "Well, good night, Link, and thanks…" she paused because she really did not know what she was thanking him for. "Thanks for showing me Valoo's celestial, uh, odor."

He smiled and shrugged as he began to lie back down on the grass. "Education is my passion."

Sheik grinned and turned the door knob. She looked back once more. "Good night, Link."

"Good night, Sheik."

As Sheik walked down the hallway and crawled back into the hammock, Bo, still snoring in bed, batted open a lazy eye. Trying hard not to laugh, he grinned broadly as he ended his eavesdropping.

Author's Note: So I suppose Link, Sheik, and the Princess, are not exactly normal teenagers. Some of their dialogue seems pretty mature or out of character for normal thirteen to fourteen year olds. Part of this is because I have a rule that is paramount in my life and in my writing. It's the only credo I am dogmatic about: I. Do. Not. Do. Angst. If I do, I try to minimize it and make it realistic. Some people are dealt a bad hand in life. I simply think that what makes people heroic is when they resolve to grow past it. So, if you are expecting a story where the main adolescent characters are experiencing tidal waves of existential angst for chapter after chapter, this isn't it. It's too unrealistic. Most people don't have time for that kind of self-analysis. They're part of a bigger world.