XXI.

The desert skies were grey that morning.

At dawn, the path from the Arbiter's Grounds to the main gate at the south end of the fortress was lined either side with Gerudo, a silent crowd assembled for a most unlikely parade. They were there to see with their own eyes the prisoners who, against all odds, had been granted not only permission to leave, but had been furnished with supplies for the journey home. From under the threshold stepped Requiem, his lithe body garbed in brown and red: tunic, trousers, boots, belt, gauntlets, a mail shirt and a scratchy cotton cape, which he wore like a scarf around his throat and shoulders. His ruby red eyes were squinted to slits, even in the dim light. He seemed disoriented by the wideness of the world before him, the freshness of the air. Outside of a dank cell, his hair was the white of new-fallen snow.

Loam appeared at his side. He also was dressed for the road, and looked tall and solid, like a ranger of wild places — a rogue, a sage, a pirate. But where Requiem's eyes were serious and alert, Loam's were possessed of no light at all. He gazed into the middle distance, and seemed altogether absent from the occasion. They stood at the head of the stair, their backs to the black mouth of their prison, looking down over the great mass of scowls before them.

'They don't look best pleased,' observed Requiem.

Loam shrugged a shoulder. 'They'll live,' he muttered. 'Come on.'

Together they descended to the level of the host, a pair of pale faces in a sea of golden brown. It was true, thought Loam, as he stared into one glaring aspect after the next — the Gerudo were almost apoplectic with rage to witness such a spectacle as two prisoners literally walking out the front door. The thought ought to have cheered him, but he found he didn't care a great deal either way. If someone were to break from the crowd and come at him with a dagger, he might not even have raised a hand to defend himself.

He and Requiem passed under a stone awning to the fortress compound. Here they were spat at, foamy gobs of it splatting against the sand a few inches from their boots. A voice murmured something in the tribe's own tongue; another yelled a curse in perfectly intelligible Hylian. Loam no longer looked at their faces, instead fixing his dull eyes on the furthermost point of the path before them. In his periphery, however, he could hardly help but notice that several of the gathered were nursing infants in their arms: small, soft things with strawberry blonde wisps of hair, wrapped up in swaddling cloths. Despite his vague bearing, he was taken still by how strange a thing it was to see killers and brigands play the part of mothers to small children.

And not just any children — Requiem's daughters.

Lips parting slightly with the realisation, he glanced furtively at his friend from the corner of his eye. For his part, the Sheikah was stoic — he, too, kept his focus on their destination, though the set of his jaw, perhaps, was a little harder than usual. Loam wondered if this was the first time he had ever seen them, the products of all those nightly excursions from his cell. What could it possibly have felt like?

Merassa was among the mothers. She regarded Loam with a look of blackest loathing.

At the gate, a wide and sandy lot opened up before the mouth of a channel which passed through a natural rock wall to the desert waste beyond. A delegation of Gerudo was waiting for them there. Loam spotted his old adversary, Noom, standing head and shoulders above the rest. Her teeth were bared, and he saw her fingers waggling by her sides, as though she desperately wished to have them wrapped around his throat. Others in attendance were older, and some were even elderly: stooped, wizened things with heavy faces and milky eyes that grew narrower with every step Loam took toward them. At twenty paces, the crowd shifted, and there stood Fierra, looking very like the cat who had caught the canary.

The last time Loam had seen her face, it was glistening with sweat and grinned wickedly at him from behind loose strands of her hair, her red mouth gasping in ecstasy. In the days since, she had recovered her sense of decorum, but the smile remained, as wide as a smile can get without revealing any teeth. Hers was a perfectly satisfied expression, almost jubilant, as though she could not be happier for him in utter defiance of her subjects' feelings on the matter. Loam returned her gaze with no expression of his own, so removed now from her charms as to almost see right through her.

'Here they are!' she declared, raising her hands in welcome. 'Looking even more strapping now than when we first received them. Gaze upon these faces while you still can, girls. It is not every day a man departs our midst in one piece. To farewell two with our thanks and best wishes is frankly without precedent!'

Her companions did not share her enthusiasm.

'Where's Zelda?' said Loam, by way of greeting.

Fierra looked coy. 'Good morning to you, too, sunshine,' she smirked. 'It would appear there's no pleasing anyone today.'

All the same, she stepped aside and gestured to the passage in the rock. From out of the shadows stepped another old crone, bony and pinched and vaguely familiar to him from some other lifetime. Beside her stood the Princess Zelda, who blinked in the grey light of day, her sapphire eyes glassy and disoriented. Loam saw himself in them, saw the absence of vitality, the weariness with living. Her short hair was shaggy, like a farm boy's, and both the natural fullness and fairness of her face had vanished. A shiny, pale pink scar marked her right cheek from just beside her ear to the line of her jaw. She wore a coarse cloak the colour of earth over a threadbare white shift.

'Reunited at last,' said Fierra, taking the girl under her arm. 'Little princess, it grieves me to say that this gentleman has — ah! — negotiated your departure from our midst. You will be returned now to your former prison, behind high castle walls in the land of the fat and simple. There you will be sentenced to an eternity of needlework and masquerade balls, a dreary and passive half-life from which there can be no escape. My one hope is that you may find it in your heart to forgive him.'

Zelda seemed not to hear her at first. She tottered where she stood, as though unused to being upright. Then she looked into Loam's face, and her own began to crumple.

'Loam?'

'I'm here, Princess,' he said softly. 'It's me.'

'Can't cry,' she said in little more than a whimper. 'Not s'posed to. The warden brings the stick when I cry…'

She made to turn away from him, but Loam doubled forward without thinking, gathering her into an embrace that lifted her from the ground. She stiffened for a moment, as though tensing for retribution. Only when he whispered into her ear did the floodgates open. She hugged him tightly around his neck, and drenched his shoulder with her tears.

'Yes,' said Fierra, with a slight roll of her eyes. 'I know it's hard.'

Loam turned to appraise his captor, even stonier now that their bargain was complete. 'We'll be going now,' he said.

'But of course. Your mounts are just ahead, shod and watered and ready to bear you home. Treat them with kindness, and tread carefully: the desert has begun to crawl again with all manner of nasties since the Prince packed up his toys and went home.'

He nodded. 'I'll be needing my sword, then.'

She grinned wider still, this time baring her white, straight teeth. 'That old thing? Oh, I think not. No, I'm afraid I've grown rather attached to it in the months since you used it to make scrap metal of the Iron Knuckle. It's an heirloom, isn't it? Your sword? Really, it would be unsporting of you not to give it up as recompense for the damage it wrought to ours. Is that not so?'

He furrowed his brows together and opened his mouth to disagree, loudly, but stopped before he started. It was true, the sword was an heirloom — it had been forged by Colin's own father, and had supposedly won a great many victories throughout the Twilight War — but the trembling girl in his arms was the only prize he valued, and to argue the point would only prolong their stay in the place where they had lost so much. Fierra raised her eyebrows, ready to receive his protests. Instead, he simply scowled.

'Whatever,' he grunted.

She bowed her eyes, and the matter was settled. 'It has been,' she said simply, 'an education.'

Then the crowd shuffled to either side, and the way forward was open to them. Requiem drew level to Loam, and the two agreed to leave with neither a word to each other nor their host. They stepped into the passage and started to walk, Zelda's sniffles echoing under the high ceiling.

'Send the Prince my regards!' Fierra called after them.

In another life, Loam might have borne the insult with terrible humour. He might have felt a hot spike of indignation, or the quickened heartbeat that accompanied a challenge. He might also have remembered to glory in his freedom, to marvel in disbelief at all he had accomplished, all he was leaving behind. But Loam did not feel any these things. Even with the Princess in his arms, even with the knowledge of the odds he had faced to secure her salvation, he felt neither gratitude nor relief, nor the giddy sense that he was about to get everything he had ever wanted out of his adventure from the beginning.

'How are you feeling?' asked Requiem in the silence of the cavern.

'Fine,' said Loam, stroking Zelda's hair. 'I feel absolutely fine.'

He paused, before adding a correction.

'I feel nothing at all.'

They crossed the desert on horseback, bearing due east over rolling dunes. Their mounts were obedient, but temperamental; a pair of light brown mares with black muzzles and straw-coloured manes. Zelda sat between Loam's knees, resting her head against his chest. They had hardly cleared the wooden barricades that choked the outskirts of the Gerudo encampment when she'd fallen fast asleep.

'Do you know the way back?' asked Requiem.

'We'll figure it out,' said Loam. 'I came here on foot from the great lake somewhere off in that direction. But it's a steep climb. I'm told the army took another road, a little ways north of the drop. If we want to hold onto these horses, that's the only way to go.'

The other nodded. They steered their way around rock gullies and escarpments, their sights set on the eastern sky, where the clouds thinned and shafts of morning sun began to stream through, patterning the land with vivid gold blotches. Occasionally, Loam saw the sands shift and hump like a blanket, and tensed his knuckles against the reins in readiness. But whatever was under there burrowed away, and was never seen.

By mid-morning, they had reached the mighty precipice that overlooked Lake Hylia. Requiem stifled a gasp, which he released in a long, shuddering sigh. He dismounted, and took a couple of faltering steps before dropping to one knee. Loam watched him with tired eyes, then turned his gaze to the water below, framed on all sides by the green of new life. Above the cascade that Loam recognised as the Zora River's estuary, he examined the Great Bridge of Hylia. He was aware that it joined Faron Province to the centre-west of Hyrule Field, and seemed to suggest that the road they must take was elevated, passing through the rocky country somewhere to his distant left.

'Not even in my dreams,' said Requiem in a constricted voice. He rose unsteadily to his feet, and turned to look up at Loam. 'It's too beautiful for words.'

'I know,' said Loam. 'Take a good look. This is your home now.'

They followed the perimeter to where the sand became bare rock, and sure enough a wide path was there to welcome them.

For a day and a night they journeyed, the rock gradually giving way to earth, and the earth to vegetation. On the morning of the second day, the grass sparkled with dew. A bent old cherry tree had begun to bud, and sparrows chatted contentedly in its branches. Loam examined the green and white of the blossoms-to-be, and guessed the day to be somewhere in the first week of spring. He shook his head. That meant he had spent an entire winter in captivity. The world had slumbered in his absence, and was waking just in time to greet him once more.

'Hold up a sec,' he said, tugging at the reins.

They stopped partway along a ravine, where Loam left Zelda in the saddle. He made to climb up to a vantage point, but struggled to gain purchase on the slippery rock, and was just about to turn back in defeat when a rush of cool air unsettled his cloak. Requiem leapt over his head, and clambered effortlessly from one handhold to the next, arriving at the top in no time at all. Poised like a frog, he peered down at Loam and made him a small, modest smile.

'What am I looking for?' he called.

Loam smiled also, a tentative thing, the muscles in his face unused to the action. 'A castle,' he replied. 'Really big one. Just — the first castle you see.'

Requiem considered a moment, his face aglow in the early light. 'I can just see the tops of towers poking out of the mist,' he explained. 'Maybe half-a-day's ride? It looks as though the land opens up to a grassy field before long.'

'That's great,' said Loam. 'Let's do it.'

They carried on. The Princess did not say much as they travelled, and Loam had no desire to ask her about her experience as a hostage. Someone would eventually get the whole truth from her, but that someone would never be him. She looked at the world around her with her big, intelligent eyes, and seemed to process it with an understanding that was not altogether her own. Loam guessed at the extent to which the Gerudo had attempted to brainwash her, and what this would mean going for her future.

'We're almost there, Princess,' he murmured. She clung to his arm by way of reply.

When the sun was at its highest point, the topography of the land levelled off and became smooth and even. They had arrived in the low country of the Lanayru province, where Loam had first emerged with the Resistance by his side, dashing off on a rescue mission that would so quickly turn to ruin. Castle Town was ahead of them, the great blue spires of the Princess' own home towering above all, its banners flapping in the wind.

'We've been spotted,' said Requiem.

'How do you mean?'

The Sheikah gestured with a nod. 'There are watchmen patrolling the wall there. I caught the glint of a spyglass before they disappeared.'

Loam thought better than to marvel at his friend's supernatural eyesight. They were still a mile-and-a-half away. Without hurry, they cantered on toward their destination, but it wasn't long before the western gate burst open, and a company of riders came thundering across the drawbridge. Even from a distance of three hundred yards, Loam could see the billowing crimson cloak in the lead, and slowed to a halt in preparation.

'Look, Princess,' he smiled sadly. 'Your brother is coming.'

Zelda sat up straighter and saw what Loam saw. At once, a sob tore through her, and she squirmed in the saddle. Loam made a placating sound and dismounted around her, lifting her off the horse and setting her down on the ground. She took off at a stumbling run immediately. Red jerked at the reins, causing his white stallion to rear up on its hind legs in protest, and without grace or care he tumbled from the saddle and sprinted to meet her. The moment they collided he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around her and clutching her head to his shoulder. The riders caught him up and formed a semicircle a small distance away. Though they rejoiced over the scene, only Loam and Requiem could see the Prince's face, twisted into a rictus of agony. His mouth opened wide, and a great wail pierced the air, a scream of sorrow and relief that became another, and another, and another after that, punctuated by quivering gasps. For the first time, Loam felt something hard and dead begin to crumble within him, and he leaned against his horse to steady himself.

Whisper was among the Prince's coterie. She looked upon the royal siblings with an expression of naked disbelief, a wide-eyed, tight-lipped stare. As if seeking an answer, she looked first to Loam, then to Requiem, whereupon her mouth fell open. The latter returned her gaze with interest, looking puzzled at first, then intrigued. Loam took all of this in, but only distantly. He was far away, and felt years older than he was, felt tired all the way down to what was left of his soul. When at last the Prince was able to open his streaming eyes, he looked straight into Loam's and made him a tremulous smile.

'Thank you,' was all he could say. 'Thank you.'

The next two days passed by in a blur of ceremony and raised voices. Red decorated Loam with every title and honour he could think of — Peer of the Realm, Royal Defender, First Knight of the Order of the Square Table — all of which came with their own medals and dress and ornamental sceptres, and all of which occasioned a feast of some kind. Castle Town was overtaken by a state of continuous celebration, the square and surrounding roads crowded with revellers, toasting the return of the princess and dancing into the early hours. The members of the Resistance were given pride of place at every banqueting table, and were outfitted in finery beyond their wildest imaginations. Loam smiled to see Cojiro fussing over the rather ungainly codpiece he'd been given to wear, and Grist looking uncomfortable in a huge purple doublet that still could not contain his bulk. Lady Rahala wore an elegant lilac gown with ethereal elements and smiled at Loam constantly, as though needing to reassure herself that he really had returned. They all deferred to him with joy and awe, their hero and friend, and surrounded him with affection at every opportunity. Even Maggie had to brush a tear from her eye, though she passed it off as an allergic reaction to the many stuffed-shirt aristocrats she was forced to rub shoulders with.

'Another!' bellowed Grist over the clamour. He held a flagon the size of a small cask over his head, the whiskers around his lips dripping white foam, while a gaggle of ladies gossiped and exclaimed behind their hand fans.

The castle courtyard was radiant under the clear night sky, illumined by a bonfire and by paper lanterns crisscrossed above the party-goers. A raised stage had been assembled around the fountain sculpture of the goddesses, upon which musicians piped and strummed and kept a merry tempo for the hundreds below who waltzed and jigged and twirled about, breathless with laughter and constantly cheering. Tables groaned beneath the weight of platter after platter of the finest food, barrels of the choicest wine. Around the hedgerows and out of the shadows, actual fairies flitted up and down, their clear insectile wings barely visible over the luminescent white-pink glow that was their bodies. Colour and flavour and music ran together like a fairground hallucination, enough that Loam had to fight to extricate himself from the crowd and disappear to where it was cool and dark — the privet maze.

After barely a dozen left turns, the sound of the festivities seemed farther away than he would have guessed. The evergreens were thick and tightly cropped, and in their midst he took long breaths, letting the fresh air fill his nostrils, pure and cold and priceless to him now. When he was sure he would not be found, he came to rest on a stone bench, hunching over with his elbows on his knees and trying to think of anything but the recent past.

'I've never cared for parties, either,' said a clipped woman's voice from overhead.

Loam's head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat. It was Whisper, lying flat on her stomach without leaving so much as a depression in the greenery, her womanly form ink black in the distant firelight. He relaxed.

'Just needed some space,' he explained with a weary half-smile.

Whisper inclined her head. 'I imagine so.'

Her silhouette seemed to melt into the leaves, only to reappear as flesh-and-blood at just arm's length from him. She was not wearing her face mask, and it struck Loam how perfectly beautiful she was, however cold or inscrutable. Her red eyes glittered in the darkness, reminding him of a small cell in a deep and evil place, and he looked away.

'I overheard you earlier,' she admitted, 'when you were describing your ordeal.'

Loam gave a humourless chuckle. 'Oh? Was this the first time, or one of the five hundred other times since?'

'In the throne room,' she replied seriously. 'With the queen and —' (here her eyes flashed) '—and the prince. You talked at length about the trials. But I suspected even then that you had withheld an important detail...perhaps the most important. Am I correct to think so?'

He did not look her in the eye. The set of his chin became harder, and he fought to keep the bitterness from his voice for a long while before he dared to speak.

'Did Requiem tell you?'

'No,' she said. 'But he told me what happened to him, and I see in your eyes what I see in his. You've both been taken from — and what you've lost, there is no getting back.'

'Well,' said Loam without expression. 'That's thieves for you.'

Whisper sat on the bench beside him. 'Have you given thought to what she meant to achieve by it?' she asked. Her tone was mostly unreadable, but softer than it had been.

'No, I haven't,' said Loam. He put his face in his hands and rubbed circles around his eyes. 'I don't want to think about it, I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to know. I don't care. I did what I had to do to get us out of there, OK? Nothing more, nothing less. And maybe you think it's important, and maybe Requiem does as well, but if you could both do me a favour and never bring it up in my presence, or anyone's, ever, I'd be really grateful.'

'Loam?' came Cojiro's voice from somewhere in the maze. 'I say, Loam! Are you in here, dear boy? Only the Goron emissary's just arrived, and he's simply champing at the bit to meet the hero of the hour...'

The pair of them turned their heads. Whisper stood to her feet.

'I was wrong about you,' she said unexpectedly. The words seemed forced from her mouth.

He stared at her in mild surprise. 'In what way?'

The Sheikah took three backward steps into shadow, vanishing completely, but for her eyes.

'In every way.'

No sooner had she gone than Cojiro appeared around the bend, looking startled and delighted all at once. 'There you are, you slippery fellow!' he laughed. 'What on earth are you doing tucked away in a dark cranny with no-one to gush over you?'

The older man practically danced Loam's way, bandy-legged in his ill-fitting breeches. Loam forced a smile.

'Hi, Cojiro. Having fun?'

'Am I what! Who knew the Queen herself could cut a rug like that, eh?' He plopped down beside Loam, throwing an arm over his shoulders. 'But what's a party without its guest of honour, I ask you! How about it, chum? Shall we up and away?'

'In a little while, maybe,' said Loam. He turned his face to the stars. 'It's just...nice here, away from all the fuss, I suppose. I'm not quite ready to get back into it. Is that all right?'

Cojiro's broad grin faded, replaced by a look of understanding. He nodded.

'Of course,' he said quietly, and likewise looked up at the glimmering multitude, the canvas of beauty high above them. 'You know, now that you mention it, I actually rather sympathise. A little pomp and circumstance goes a long way. And it is a beautiful night, after all.'

Loam closed his eyes. 'It really is.'

On the morning of the third day, when the music had stopped and the crowds had returned to their homes to take rest, Loam was left on his own with Red. They walked, side-by-side, through the quiet corridors of the castle's east wing, the grand windows streaming sunlight onto furniture which, until Loam's return, had been covered in black shrouds. The kingdom had spent the entire winter mourning the loss of the princess, and it showed in Red's face.

'It was pain beyond endurance,' he reflected.

Loam examined him in the bright light, and believed it. He looked drawn, gaunt, his blue eyes set deep in the centre of grey circles. It was obvious he had lost a considerable amount of weight in the time they had spent apart. Whatever Loam had suffered in the bowels of the Arbiter's Grounds, he at least possessed knowledge of Zelda's fate, and could even influence it, albeit at the cost of great hardship. Red had had nothing — only guilt and despair and the absence of anything like closure, tormenting him night and day. Loam clasped his shoulder reassuringly.

'It's over now,' he said.

Red patted his hand and tried to smile. 'It is,' he agreed. 'But nothing's the same, is it? Nothing will ever be the same.'

He approached one of the windows, and looked out over the courtyard. Loam joined him, following his gaze to the apple tree on the far side of a privet maze, where two dark figures stood, deep in conversation. It was Requiem, standing opposite Whisper, though there wasn't much of a gap between them. Loam was struck by how alike they really were — not just in the eyes, but in the oddly feline grace of their bodies. He wondered what the last couple of days had been like for his fellow prisoner and friend.

'They are very close already,' Red observed. 'Obviously, she has told him what he is, and what that means going forward. It's only a matter of time before they set off together for the desert again, to search beyond our borders for his family, if they yet live.' He regarded Loam with tired eyes. 'You were right to bring him here. Fate may even have willed it. My father would have given anything to see the Sheikah restored, and now, thanks to you, they will be.'

Loam nodded, but looked upon Red with sadness in his eyes all the same.

'Red,' he said in an undertone. 'I'm sorry.'

The prince looked at him sharply. 'For what? For those two? But you mustn't be! Whisper and I, we're…well, we're nothing more than ruler and subject now, I can say that with complete confidence. When she was returned to me, I was too distraught to have her punished for insubordination. I simply ceased to speak to her, and went mad with grief on my own.' He shook his head, as if trying to shoo away a fly. 'It was a mistake, what I started with her. Nothing more than the reckless actions of a little boy. No, my friend, this is the best possible outcome for everyone — for her and for me and for this kingdom. I mean this.'

He looked out the window a second time, and though his voice was firm he looked somehow even more frail than before.

'I mean this,' he repeated to himself. 'My one regret is that we should part on such terms, where once we were the closest of friends. What happened to Zelda was not her fault, but she will always believe it so.'

After a moment, he faced Loam fully and grasped his hand. 'Well, then, hero! What's next? Can I persuade you remain with us a little longer?'

Loam tried to smile, but could barely look his friend in the eye. 'Red, I — I can't. I have to get back to my family. What must they be thinking, all these months later?'

The other winced. 'Ah,' he said. 'Yes. About that. Loam, there…there isn't an easy way to say this, so I'll just come right out with it. When you did not reappear, we feared the worst. I wanted to put it off, but my counsellors were firm: your people had to be told where you had gone, and why you would not be coming back.'

As Red was speaking, he seemed to retreat to someplace far away, his words echoing strangely, as though from the bottom of a well. Loam's knees became weak.

'So, they…they think I'm dead? That's what they believe?'

'Yes,' said Red, his eyes downturned. 'A courier came on the heels of the men I sent to rid the Ordon Province of its monstrous host, bearing a letter for your mayor signed by my own hand. That was nine weeks ago.' He attempted a bracing smile. 'What a shock they're in for, eh?'

Loam felt ill. He gripped the window sill and took a succession of deep breaths, imagining as he did the faces of everyone he loved there, inconsolable with grief at a funeral with no body to bury.

'It's all right,' said Red, steadying him. 'You're all right.'

'I have to go,' said Loam at length. 'I…I have to go.'

'Yes,' said the prince. 'Yes, of course you do. Come.'