Chapter Thirty-Five: When the Voice Disappears

As the sun began to set, Zelda's exhaustion grew. She wasn't entirely sure if it was mental or physical exhaustion, but she knew that they would need to set up camp soon. Looking over at Link, she saw his shoulders slouched and the grip on his reins loosen, and she knew that he was tired. They were both spent—neither one had truly anticipated the energy that this journey would take.

"Maybe we should stop now," she offered. Link raised his head, as if he had been sleeping.

"Yeah."

He pulled back on the reins and dismounted, and Zelda was amazed. Coming to the same decision was such a rarity between the two of hem, and his recent complacency with her presence was still shocking. Something had changed in him. More and more cracks were appearing in his shell; she could tell by the way he looked at her, by the way he spoke to her, by the way he stopped avoiding her eyes. Something had cracked, and it left her more at ease. Perhaps she was making progress, and perhaps soon, she would begin to understand everything. The voice in her head kept telling her that Link was vital somehow. He played an important role in all of this. And he certainly had begun to play an important role in her life.

Falling in love with him, she thought. Should I be afraid of that?

They set up the tent together and watched darkness fall above them. It was a beautiful kind of darkness, she decided, the kind that left one at peace. She knew she should have been afraid or worried or anxious, but she only felt at ease. Once they entered the tent, she was finally able to discard the cloak and breathe normally. Out of the corner of eye, she saw Link watching her. His gaze made her feel warm.

"Link?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to read tonight?"

She sat down beside him and put her bag, the one that had been on Flare's saddle, in her lap. Link stared at the ground for a couple of moments before finally nodding and running his fingers through the tangled knots in his hair.

"Yes. I do."

"I brought a book with me," Zelda continued. When she took it out of the bag, a wave of pride and passion rushed over her, and her fingers tightened around its edges. "It's the book of the Hero of Time."

Link narrowed his eyes and glared at it in a way that made the princess feel uncomfortable. If he were to keep looking at it like that, she was afraid that it might actually burst into flames.

"Is something the matter?"

Link paused and took a deep breath.

"No. Can we start?"

"Of course."

Zelda opened up to the first chapter, about the young boy without a fairy, and she and Link began to read it together.

She was amazed by his improvement. Only a couple of months ago, Hylian had consisted of scribbles and strange patterns to him, and now he was able to read it. Though he was slow and had limited writing capabilities, what mattered was his improvement.

"You'll be writing your own letters in no time," she told him.

He smiled and looked right into her eyes when he did, which took Zelda by surprise. She couldn't recall seeing an expression like that one on his face before, an expression of gratitude and hope. The sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss him came over her before she could comprehend what was happening, and she had to turn away to keep from doing it.

Is that really what falling in love feels like? Wanting to kiss somebody so badly it actually hurts?

They were able to finish the first chapter before Link fell asleep. He had curled up right beside her, his body rising and falling with the rhythms of his soft breaths. She looked at his face, finally released from its usual tension, and was reminded of a child. A small, innocent child who had wonderful dreams and slept beautifully. So very beautifully.

"I want to discover who you are," she whispered.

Zelda stroked his cheek with the tips of her fingers, desperate to feel the texture of his skin. But when she touched him, what she felt was ice cold. It was almost painful against her fingers. But as she continued stroking, letting her fingers trace patterns, his skin became warm. Very, very warm. A burst of steaming pain rushed into her, and she drew her hand back as if from a fire.

The Triforce was shimmering on her hand again. Except this time, only one part of it was shining. The lower left triangle, and it had a tint of blue. But something else distracted her at that moment—there was another Triforce, and it was shimmering on Link's left hand.

No, no, it can't be, she gawked. It just can't be.

Zelda began urgently rummaging through her bag, searching for that one item. That one item that could be the last piece of the puzzle, the parts of her dream that she simply could not comprehend.

"Ah!"

She pulled out the picture of the boy, the one from the abandoned house. His face, smiling so brightly and looking exactly like Link's, still sent shivers down her spine. Then, putting the picture beside her, she began flipping eagerly through the pages of the Hero of Time's book.

There should be a picture in the back, she mused, of the Hero of Twilight. A portrait.

She turned to that page, where there was a picture of the Hero of Twilight. He was dressed in his tunic and bore a proud smile, holding in front of him the legendary Master Sword. With shaky hands, Zelda brought the picture of the boy up beside the picture of the hero.

Their faces were identical.

"This is him," she gasped. She ran her fingers along the small picture of the boy. "This is the Hero of Twilight before he awakened."

She looked at Link again, who was still fast asleep.

"And they look exactly alike."

Zelda stared at his hand and saw the Triforce beginning to fade. Link mumbled something in his sleep, and then turned his back to her.

"I understand everything now."

She looked at her own hand, and tears filled her eyes.

"Link isn't just named after the hero. He is the hero."

Yes, said the voice in her head. And you're not just named after me. You are me.

Link opened his eyes, stretched, and felt a horrible pain in his left hand. Everything was fuzzy and the rest of his body felt perfectly at ease, even rested. But his left hand seemed as if it were filled with thorns, long and sharp and searing thorns, that stabbed straight through his palm. He gritted his teeth and gripped it tightly, biting his lip to keep from screaming. After a few moments of him laying on the ground, writhing and gripping his left hand, the pain faded away, leaving him breathless and the world spinning above him. Then, as he slowly sat up and put his head in his hands, he saw the princess. She sat in the entrance of the tent, hugging her legs to her chest, staring out at the sunrise.

"Good morning," she said.

Zelda turned to look at him, and at that moment, Link couldn't breathe. Her sparkling blue eyes, the golden curtain of hair, the way the rising sun painted so many colors on her face. He simply couldn't breathe.

"Hey."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. Surprisingly enough, I did."

"That's good." Zelda smiled and let out a yawn, and it was only then that Link realized how large the bags under her eyes were.

"Did...did you stay up?"

She nodded and leaned her cheek against her knees.

"I figured it would be dangerous if we both slept."

Link rubbed his eyes and felt like punching himself in the face.

"Princess, you could have woken me up," he said. Zelda closed her eyes and smiled, as if he had said something terribly funny.

"I really wish you would stop calling me 'Princess.' It sounds so formal, don't you think?"

There was another yawn, and in a few moments Zelda was asleep. Link finally let out the breath he had been holding.

I suppose we're not going anywhere anytime soon.

He had wanted to leave at dawn in the hopes of reaching Goron City before nightfall, but as he watched Zelda sleeping in that seated position, he stopped worrying. The book from last night sat beside him, wide open, and a soft smile played on his lips when he saw it.

The boy without a fairy who lived in the forest.

Link grabbed the book, almost worried that his hand would begin to sear again, and put it into his lap. But it wasn't open to the chapter they had been reading; it was open to a portrait that Link had seen before, a portrait of the Hero of Twilight. Rusl had always made sure that Link knew the man behind the name.

"You weren't named Link for nothing,"he would always say. "You were named after a hero."

"It's just a name," Link would retort. Rusl would throw his head back in that familiar roaring laughter and slap Link's back.

"You'll understand eventually. Everything is a part of fate."

As Link relived those memories, a small photograph fell from the pages of the book. Gingerly, he picked it up, already knowing in the back of his mind what it was. It was one of the photographs from the abandoned house back at camp.

Why is this here? Did Zelda take it?

Link hated seeing those photographs; it gave him a horrible feeling in his stomach. So without even hesitating, he closed the book and pushed it away like a bug. Then he watched the princess sleep, practiced saying her name, and worried that his hand was going to begin burning again until she woke up.

He never noticed his similarity to the face of the hero in the book.

"I'm sorry. I held us up."

"No, it's fine. You needed the rest."

"That's true."

By midday, they were back on the horses and on the road to Death Mountain. The words sitting on the edge of Zelda's tongue were heavy—she wanted so badly to tell him everything. To just sit him down, look him in the eyes, and say, "I understand now. You're the hero." But another problem had arisen from her newfound ability to understand her dream: what was the darkness? Why was the reincarnation of the hero appearing now, of all times? For what did Hyrule need him; for what did Hyrule need her? With every hero and every princess came a darkness, an evil that threatened the threads of civilization and peace. It was there with the Hero of Time, and there with the Hero of Twilight. Zelda couldn't bring herself to believe that the Rebels were the reason the goddesses had once again called upon the hero. It just didn't seem logical.

But then...what is it?

The voice in her head didn't answer. It had stopped appearing after Zelda's discovery last night. It had simply faded because it had fulfilled its purpose and was no longer needed. That was how Zelda understood it, and she accepted it. But each time she looked at Link, each time she found the courage to truly look at him, her heart came near to bursting. He was right there, riding beside her, a mere hair's breadth away. He was the hero she had been praying for (but also hadn't been praying for).

But there was more to it. And she had come to accept that, as well. She had come to accept that she was now personally invested—her heart was a part of this journey now. The stories Nana had told her about the Hero of Twilight had always intrigued her, but at that moment, she found herself wondering if maybe Princess Zelda of the Twilight had fallen in love with the hero, as well. And the Princess Zelda before her. Maybe they had. But Zelda knew that in the future, when her descendants told stories about her, it would always be a part of the story.

And Princess Zelda fell in love with the Hero.

"We're going to have to set up camp again tonight." His voice sliced through her trance. "It'll be dangerous to keep moving. If we stop at dusk and move again at dawn, we'll be at Death Mountain by noon tomorrow."

"Okay."

Zelda smiled at him shakily. She hadn't lost her ability to conceal her emotions—that was a trait that was almost ingrained her soul. But she had lost her ability to keep her emotions out of her brain. They had already begun to invade and intervene. Nothing was objective, nothing was logical anymore when Link's name was involved.

She knew that she was in love with him at that point.

Just as they had the night before, they set up camp at nightfall on the side of the road, went inside the tent, and began to read.

Damita saw the distant, glowing lights of Death Mountain and took a deep breath. She was almost there, and she continuously prayed to the goddesses that she wouldn't run into Link. Especially alone, without Nabooru there to calm her down, everything would just fall apart. So she wouldn't let herself stop. She just continued walking, no matter how loud her legs cried out for rest or how heavy her breathing became, she kept going. The Gorons were a fairly hospitable people; they would let her rest when she arrived. She didn't need to stop—she couldn't afford to stop. She had to keep going.

The war inside of herself was getting worse. One part of her screamed and raised its weapons, urging Nabooru to capture Link and take him to the Rebel camp where he would be executed and finally taken out of her life. And the other part curled up on the ground and cried, wanting him to escape such a fate and somehow fall right back into her arms. She tried to ignore the conflict, tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but it was harder than she imagined.

The Gorons, the Gorons, the Gorons...she kept repeating.

But her real goals were less clear with every step she took.