Before you go on to read this chapter, I think I need to clarify some things about the timeline for those who don't know about it. After Ocarina of Time, the games split into three timelines:

1) Adult Timeline: Ganondorf is defeated, Link is sent back into the past, and Hyrule prospers. Until Ganondorf breaks his seal and comes out and everything floods and there's nothing happy about that (except for Wind Waker YUS).

2) Child Timeline: Ganondorf is defeated, and Link is sent back into the past. But this timeline begins with his childhood, in which he and Zelda never let Ganondorf get the Triforce. So essentially, in this timeline, all of the events after Link meets Zelda never happen, because they stop Ganondorf before he gets cray Triforce power. This is the timeline to which Majora's Mask is a direct sequel.

3) Ganondorf defeats Link and everyone is sad.

Twilight Princess falls into the Child Timeline. So what this means is that the Hero's Shade is actually the spirit of a Link who never fights Ganondorf.

This chapter is based on this canon, so I just wanted to let you guys know and clarify.

Okay, you can read now.

xoxo

Chapter Twenty-Five: Dancing in a Storm

Tara was on top of the world. She tried to find some sort of analogy for this feeling, some sort of comparison...but there simply wasn't one. This was unlike anything she had ever experienced and unlike anything she would ever experience again, she knew. For at that moment, she was dancing in the plaza of a Hyrule Castle Town two hundred years before her time, watching the blue sky and in the arms of someone who made her feel warm. That was the best—the only—way to describe how she felt around Tempest. He made her feel warm.

Laughing and smiling and dancing (though she was a terrible dancer and she knew it), she thought back to when she had first laid eyes on him. She recalled the blood draining from her face, her mind losing its ability to think coherent thoughts, the terrible images and memories flashing behind her eyes. She recalled thinking to herself that she was going to hate him. She was going to hate him more than anything for what he had done to her sister...

But here she was, unable to hold herself back even from holding his hand.

She had expected him to be a demon when she had seen his shadowy face, his green eyes, his hair like fire. She had expected him to make her blood boil, make it easy for her to hate him. And yet she couldn't do it. Something, like fire to moths, was drawing her closer. A magnet, if she were thinking scientifically. Something so oppositely charged, something she should have been repelled from, something so different, drawing her inevitably toward it. Ever since he had first grabbed her hand and pressed his lips against it, she had felt something dramatic. Something she couldn't define. His touch, it seemed, had sparked a fire deep within her, so fierce she couldn't ignore it. And it wasn't like Tara to give in—in fact, she was trying as hard as she possibly could to keep herself away. Remind herself of the things he had done, the things he had taken from her. He wasn't human, she told herself. He wasn't even a monster. He was simply...Tempest.

It wasn't his fault, though, was it? she thought to herself.

It wasn't his fault what happened to Nia.

It wasn't anybody's fault. It wasn't.

There was a war raging inside of her as she danced with him, unable to stop herself. Unable to keep herself from gripping his hands as tightly as possible.

"This is fun," he said to her as they twirled. "Like flying."

"And how do you know what flying feels like?" she said with a smile.

Tempest thought for a moment, the corners of his mouth turning downward with the effort. He looked up at the sky, as if for divine inspiration, before finally looking back down at her and shrugging without a word. When Tara looked at him for long enough, it was like he ceased to exist. Like he was just an image standing before her, capable of being blown away by the faintest breeze. Like a mirage. Then, her hands moving of their own accord, she reached up and grazed his cheek with the tips of her fingers. He was so warm. Not hot like fire, but warm, like the remaining ashes of a fire. They stopped moving, there in the center of the plaza—Tara unaware of herself, and Tempest watching her with the softest smile she had ever seen.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Just making sure you're actually here, actually here in front of me."

"Where else would I be?"

Tara opened her mouth to tell him that he might be in her dreams—in Link's dreams—in Nia's dreams.

"Not here," she ultimately said.

His smile grew wider, wider, wider, until it transformed into that beautiful, innocent laugh that she couldn't bring herself to believe was actually his. But something had changed in him since they'd first met. He was no longer like the child. In fact, she hadn't seen the childlike side of him for hours. He suddenly was too real, too young, too dangerously dark. It seemed like, for the first time, he was human. Acted human. Spoke like a human. It frightened her more and more, but at the same time, made her entire being soar with a strange sensation.

Tara began to lower her hand. But then, like a reflex, Tempest's own hand shot up and pressed her fingers against his cheek once more. And she could have sworn she saw a flash of fear in his eyes.

"No, don't move it," he whispered. "It feels nice."

She didn't know what to feel or how to deal with it. So she just stood and held her palm against his cheek as he asked her to. At that moment, she wanted more than anything to just have a smoke. She cursed herself for having left her bag in the present, for there was nothing more frustrating than not being able to have a good smoke when she desperately needed one.

"You don't want to dance anymore?" she asked.

"I just want to look at you for a little bit," he replied.

The answer caught her so off-guard that she couldn't even respond. She couldn't understand his infatuation with her. Why, ever since he had first laid eyes on her, he had been looking at her in such an enamored way. Why he said nice things to her, why he kissed her hand when she was frightened, why he brushed her hair more smoothly than anyone ever had before.

It had been so long since Tara truly felt as if someone cared about her like that.

Maybe that's why I'm having such a hard time with it.

"Why?" she asked.

Then he looked as if she had caught him off-guard, as well. He looked up at the sky in thought, was silent for what seemed like an eternity. And then, finally, he smiled and gazed back at her.

"I'm not sure," he said. "Looking at you makes me feel something inside my chest. It's a nice feeling. Warm."

"What do you usually feel in there?"

"Nothing."

He took her hand and moved it from his cheek to his chest, and pressed it there. Tara closed her eyes and felt for his heartbeat...

And heard nothing.

"See?" he whispered. "Nothing."

"Can I ask you something, Tempest?"

He nodded. Tara opened her mouth, tasting the bitterness of the words that had been sitting on her lips ever since she saw him.

"Did you feel anything when you went into my sister's dreams?"

Tempest did that same movement of looking up to the sky, and gripped her hand more tightly. Then he spoke.

"I felt heavy. I felt...sad."

"What about Link's dreams?"

"Scared."

"You felt scared? Why?"

"Because he felt scared."

"Does that mean you felt sad because Nia felt sad?"

Tempest closed his eyes and slowly, the blood dripping silently and lightly from the countless scratches on his hands, brought her hand to his lips. The touch was like a shock that ran mercilessly through her body, almost made her stumble backward.

"Yes."

Then, without another word, he placed his other hand on her waist and began to dance again, perfectly in time with the beat of the music. Tara, holding back her tears and overly aware of her heartbeat, let him lead her through the motions. All the while wondering how she could stand the sight of him—how she could bear the thought of him—how she could want to be so close to him—how she could want to feel his touch—all at the same time.

With Link's pace relative to the young boy's, he had to walk significantly more slowly to stay a reasonable distance behind. He didn't want the boy turning around and seeing him, for that could not end well. So Link kept his distance. The boy walked with an energetic spring in his step, a combination of raw youth and apparent excitement. Watching him, bouncing and jogging and whistling a little tune, made Link smile. He looked so innocent. And when he turned his face, that contagious smile was still on his mouth, still making the environment around him brighter. Link couldn't look at him and see a budding hero, and he definitely couldn't look at him and see his own ancestor. The tall, looming, armored shade that had taught him the skills he had used to survive. He could only look at him and see a young boy basking in the sun and enjoying his life.

Link followed the boy (who he assumed was his namesake, also named Link), down a path leading away from the town and toward the castle, into a large field. Surrounding the dirt path was grass, and on Link's right, a high dirt wall. He continued following, but stayed close to the wall, in case he had to hide. As they turned the corner, though, Link saw a stone gate. And standing there with spears, staring out into oblivion, were four guards. As Link stopped in his tracks, he noticed that the boy did not do the same. He kept running. Link opened his mouth to scream, tell him to stop...

But instead, he watched as the guards saw the boy, blew their whistles, grabbed him by his little slender arms as he kicked and struggled. Then, with smug expressions, the guards threw him to the ground.

"Stay out, kid!" they cried.

And then they were back at their posts. Link stayed pressed against the wall, watching the scene unfurl from behind the corner. The boy, his lips puckered in frustration, stood up and began dusting off his bright green tunic. He turned to look over his shoulder at the guards, and then he looked down at his fidgety fingers.

"Now what?" he sighed. "I have to get into the castle somehow."

The boy put his hands on his hips and began looking around, obviously aware at this point that he would not be getting through the easy way. Suddenly, his gaze moved toward the very wall against which Link was standing, and he was only able to hide himself in the nick of time. And when he heard soft, excited footsteps, Link ran back the way he came. While he made himself unnoticeable—something at which he had become rather adept during his travels—the boy made his way toward the wall and stared at it wordlessly for a few moments.

Like a monkey, the boy began climbing. He grabbed at the rocks, created temporary footholds, clambered up, up, up. Link's smile grew wider as the boy climbed higher until, finally, he emerged at the top. While the young boy crept along, Link climbed up the wall as well—admittedly more gracefully. He was up much more quickly, and found himself in a large field of grass. The boy was sneaking forward, now graceful with his avoidance of the guards. So, still amused and intrigued and charmed by this boy, Link just kept following.

Followed him around the guards, into the courtyard of the castle. Through the labyrinth of its gardens, the unwatchful eyes of its guards, toward a destination that Link could only imagine. At times, Link was jealous of the boy's small stature. He had a much easier time of hiding than Link did. In fact, a few guards caught a glimpse of Link, and he was forced to knock them unconscious before they could reveal him. It was unpleasant, he had to admit. But at the same time, it was amazing to feel the rush of adrenaline that had been missing in his life since defeating Ganondorf and the Source. And the entire time, the boy was silent, stealthy, small.

Link hated to even think of it, for it made him anxious, but the boy reminded him of himself. He recalled the times when he was small, running through Ordon Village, causing mischief. They could have been the same. And, in fact, they practically were.

Finally, Link followed the boy through a large, shadowy archway into an unguarded alcove. But as the boy ran in, panting and energetic, Link stayed behind in the shadows to watch unseen. When he looked at the courtyard, expanding outside the window the castle's throne room, he felt that he had been there before. Flowers of all colors bloomed, beautiful light stretched out from the stained glass windows, everything was bright. And there, by the window, was a little girl. She was wearing a pink dress and a bonnet on her head, and was standing on her tiptoes to see through the window. Seeing her there made Link catch his breath and hold it. Hold it for what seemed like forever.

Without hesitation, the boy ran toward her. He was nearly tripping on his own feet, his arms flailing in the way that only a little boy's could. The boy ran up to where the girl was standing and, while he caught his breath, opened his mouth.

"Princess Zelda!"

Link pressed his back against the wall and leaned his head against it, feeling suddenly dizzy and nauseated. He tried to grasp for something to steady himself, but there was nothing there. So he stood there shaking, trying to keep his posture. He knew now that his suspicions were true. He knew that the boy was the Hero of Time, and that this girl was a young ancestor of Zelda. His Zelda.

"You..." the girl said with a smile. "I know you. I've seen you in my dreams. So you must be the one. But...how did you get past the guards?"

"That was easy, Princess. A piece of cake!" the boy said.

Princess Zelda laughed, and the sound was like poison in Link's ears. Too familiar. Too haunting.

"I'm sorry, I never properly introduced myself. I am Zelda, Princess of Hyrule. And you?"

"Link. Link is my name."

As the boy finally said that name out loud, Link slid to the ground and grasped his head in his hands once more.

Time...is head-splitting.

"Link. That sounds familiar somehow," the girl replied. "Can I tell you a secret, Link?"

"Yes."

"Look through that window there. Do you see that man?"

"Mhmm."

"His name is Ganondorf. He hails from a desert far to the west."

Link began shaking his head, trying to get the names and the images out. It was becoming too overwhelming—much more overwhelming than he expected. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it. But when he tried to move, to leave, he found himself frozen in place.

"I see evil in his eyes," she continued.

"Me, too."

"Really? I...I see dark clouds in my dreams. And I think they symbolize him. But my father, he won't listen to me."

"I believe you, Princess."

"R-really? You do?"

"Of course."

"That's...thank you, Link. Does that mean you'll help me?"

"It sure does."

When Link tuned back into the conversation, he noticed something strange in the boy's voice. He sounded scared. Terrified, actually. As if this was something he had all seen before, like a nightmare that was coming into reality. And Link could relate to that feeling all too well.

Suddenly, two strong, sturdy hands grabbed his arms and lifted him up to his feet. His eyes shot open and he was face to face with a woman whose hair was white and whose eyes were the brightest red he had ever seen. She had odd, traditional makeup on her face with patterns that he had never seen. Her bones were big, her grip was so tight it made him clench his teeth in pain, but somehow, her eyes were soft.

"You need to leave," she whispered. Her voice was gruff and dramatic, like a voice one would imagine in a leader. "You need to leave right now."

Link could not say a word. He could only stand, looking into her eyes, but watching the world spin while she tightened her grip on his bruising arms.

"Can you hear me, boy? Go! Now! Before they see you!"

She let go of him and began pushing him away from the courtyard, back into the castle gardens. Link resisted, mostly out of pure confusion.

"W-wait, who are you?" he asked.

"That doesn't matter. What matters, child, is that you are here when you shouldn't be. Go, and don't turn back. Just run."

"Do you know who I am? H-how?" he stuttered.

With one last push, she sent him stumbling from the stone path into the garden. She looked at him silently for a few moments, put her hands on her hips and shook her head slightly.

"I look into your eyes, child, and I know who you are," she said. Her words frightened him more than anything he had seen or heard. "Now go."

Just as he was turning to obey this mysterious, white-haired woman, the world began to shake. Just like it had the first time. He fell to his knees from the shaking, and as his palms pressed against the green earth, the chasm opened once more. With a scream just as loud, just as chilling as the last, he fell through the abyss, through the labyrinth of time, back to the present.

Although he was having trouble distinguishing past, present, and future in his mind. At that point, for him, it didn't matter which was which.