I know. It's been far too long. My excuses are in the author's notes at the end of the chapter. Please enjoy this overdue addition to COTS.

Inspired by Ocarina of Time.


Chapter Forty-Eight: Undertow


Link paid nearly no attention at all to his journey from Kakariko to the inner side of Cragshead Mountain, too angry and heartsick to see straight. It was lucky Deste was both intelligent and obedient, as well as happy to be on the move again, as a naughtier horse wouldn't have travelled half the distance the gelding had, with such a distracted and inattentive rider.

The liar's tunic Kattala had made was very comfortable when it was golden, cool enough in the late spring sun, but warm enough to let Link ignore the cold breeze off the mountain.

Why had she disappeared? Why hadn't she let him say goodbye? Was it not important to her? Kattala had said he was the only friend she'd ever had…

Maybe, maybe she didn't know how friendship worked. Yes, that could be it.

No. He wasn't going to make excuses for it. It was too cruel. He was too angry to feel any sort of sympathy.

Rather than ford the Zora River right off, Link elected to cross it farther upstream, where he could reach the Lost Woods without heading into territory where the revolution was going on. It got rainier the further he ventured south, which was completely expected, since he was entering Rainfall Province.

As one went south, as well as closer to the interior of Hyrule, the Curled Backbones lost their height, and the few mountains with snowcaps this late in the season were hazy and distant behind closer peaks and ranges. The Eastern End of the Backbones was more volcanically active than the Western End, and the bedrock of the region was a strange mix of basalt, shading down towards limestone the farther one followed the Zora River upstream.

The weather was dreadful. The nights were still and misty, the mornings sunny and breezy. But not long after eight in the morning, clouds rolled in, and rain fell steadily and sluggishly until the sun went down at eight.

At last Link reached Riverside, a shady town aptly named for its location right on the shore of the fast-running Zora River. The houses were roofed in tin – thatch would only molder here, and slate was a precious commodity not found in this land of limestone. Nightfall was already upon them, dark and moist. Across the wide river, the lights of the great city Hangonver lay wreathed in evening fog, perched atop a promontory overlooking the river. Smaller huts spilled down the outcropping's slopes, many built on piers and docks stretching out into the river itself. Riverside's own huts reached out to those of the city's across the river, and they too squatted on wooden piers in the cold, rich waters of the mountain's runoff.

There were no walls protecting Riverside. As Link walked through the grotty, muddy streets, he could hear fishermen calling across the water as they brought in the evening's catch. It took some searching along winding alleys, but he eventually found the tavern he'd been recommended.

One Illik Haskar, a ruddy-faced low merchant, had gladly let Link follow his cart all the way from Miska, south to Harpettua, a full week's journey, in exchange for nothing more than good conversation and music the whole trip long. Illik had a generous cousin who worked in the Scaly Scallywag, and might be inclined to give Link a discount. Supplies he had, and money aplenty. But nevertheless, he felt the necessity to pinch his rupees. Who knew how long he still had to go? He could do it, without a doubt. But it was probably best to be prudent, as Farore had said.

The Scaly Scallywag was a wooden dump on the river's bank, not quite on the docktown, but close. The tavern's sign had been repainted recently – the painted Zora-man was painted in bright colors, the caudal fin curled flippantly, the fish-man pulling a face, his hands gesturing rudely.

Link entered the tavern and pushed through the nightly crowd to find the tavern master. A room was arranged, and then the youth sat down to enjoy a dinner consisting of chicken rice stew, a hard roll, and stewed greens.

Markus Haskar was his cousin in redheaded duplicate, and just as good natured. It was early in the evening, and so Link passed the night riddling with grown fishermen until the tavernmaster deemed it late enough and chivvied Link upstairs to his room. It was small, only a bed, a nightstand, and a chair under a small window that overlooked the tin roof of the building next door, and faced in the direction of the docks. The moist night breeze was ripe with the smell of wet wood, river mud, pitch, and rotting fish.

Link sighed deeply, and prepared himself for bed.


The night was strangely cold for near-summer, wind whipping gracelessly across heavily-forested Imally's only plain – the Crowfield. Whispy stripes of feathery cloud flew across the sky, egg-shaped Seles blinking in and out of sight, Luna hidden in the dark part of its phase.

The two miles between the Northern and Southern war camps seemed like an inky sea of shadow and tall grass rippling in the dark. Each individual campfire seemed to float like a little boat on an uneasy current, smoke stripped away before it could spread its comforting scent of fire and warm food.

Keen squatted close to one of the many campfires, so close he could feel the night pressed cold against his back. He took a long swig of water from his canteen.

"Mind if I have some of that? I've left mine in the tent." Muiren said, and Keen handed the tin flask to his second-in-command.

"Do you think I'm hard-hearted, Wald?" The captain asked, almost rhetorically.

Muiren frowned.

"What? What's brought this on?"

"One of those mages. Up on the ridge. He was a young lad, only fourteen, thirteen. I killed him without thinking about it. But," And here his brow furrowed as he remembered, "As he died, he asked for his father. Just a kid, and I didn't see it until he was cold. Dark was always the one to feel things, of the two of us. He felt things very deeply. I was the one to take action, to plan ahead. There was a balance there. But now, when I fight, I don't see their faces. Their humanity. Maybe I never did. Now, all I see when I look at a rebel is the sword through Dark's chest. And the way he crumpled on the ground. All I see is those men, my captors, and what they did to me. Theirs faces as they did it. They watched me as they beat me, as they cut my arms and then mopped away the blood so they could cut again, as they branded me, as if I was something repulsive yet infinitely fascinating. Like a glittering beetle or a particularly impressive locust. And now I wonder, if I could even stomach this at all, all of this war, blood and sweat, shit and filth, if my kin had ever had a care at all about me."

"You never send letters to the leyline stations." Muiren said, remembering what he'd seen of his captain when the opportunity to send something in the post arose.

"They wouldn't read them. They'd burn them in the hearth without wondering what was in them. To my family, I'm just an obligation and a burden. An unwanted mouth to feed. My mothers wouldn't care I've made captain, or what the South's calling me? The Wolf of the North. And his pack of nine. Suppose you'd be my beta." There was a companionable silence as Wald sat down next to his captain.

"What do you see ahead, after the war ends? Captain."

"I haven't thought that far." Keen admitted. "Either I die, or they win, and I'm sent somewhere else, or we win, and we stay here to maintain the King's authority."

"You're not as impervious to my luck as you might think, Captain. I like the sound of 'war hero'. Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe we'll win, and the King will lower the taxes on the South, give them a little more freedom."

Keen raised a single querying brow.

"Listen to yourself. Do you actually believe that?"

Wald smirked, and ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair.

"Course not. King's not that forgiving. He'll want to crush the dissent. And we're probably going to die. Maybe even tomorrow."

"That's the Walden Muiren I know. Pessimistic to the bone." Keen sighed.

Wald grinned lopsidedly in response.

"Right. Still, it wouldn't be too bad to live, however unlikely. I'd like a smart girl with a bit of fire in her. Blonde and curvy is a preference. Good with her letters, and earthy."

"That's more realistic than half the men in the troop." Keen commented, then scowled when Wald stared. "What? I have ears, however short." He said defensively.

"Realistic? I don't know about that. What kind of girl would you like for yourself?"

"What, you think I'm interested in girls? What kind of Patcheem boy would I be if I liked women?"

"For the Triad's sake, I know you're not entirely an invert, Captain. People are morons. It's quadrupartner polygamy, in Patcheem. We have enough generals and officers from there that at least soldiers should know that."

"That's why most soldiers are privates, not lieutenants, Wald. Or aren't you forgetting yourself, hm?" Keen lifted up a leg from where he'd sprawled before the fire, and prodded Wald's foot with his own.

"Right, right. Anyway, that's not the point. I want to know now. What kind of girl would the famous Captain Ferrick Keen, be interested in?"

"That's Wolf of the North to you, scallywag."

"Yes, yes, of course, Captain Wolf. The girl you'd like."

"The girl that I'm never going to meet because I'll die tomorrow."

"And don't you sound pleased with it. Get on with it. You're not admirable enough to make me wait much longer."

"Fine." Keen stopping smiling and stared into the fire, the gold around his pupils especially stark in the light. "I suppose I'd like a clever girl, one I could have long talks with and not feel superior. With a heart enough for the world, and small enough to pick up and carry her like it's nothing. She'd have to be willing to travel, always busy, always industrious. And a smile like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Of course, she'd have to like me too, and I'm sure that would be the problem in the end." His mouth quirked into a bitter smirk, and in that moment, he looked very tired for a young man. Truthfully, he looked closer to twenty-three than his actual seventeen years of life.

"I think," Wald said quietly, "That being a war hero will be more appealing than a pretty face and pretty words, Captain."

"So you say. For all that I'm good at it - the soldiering - I wish there wasn't a need for it. I'm so tired of all this hate, and death. I'm tired of the blood, and the orphans that are broken and left behind. I'm tired of the greed. The refugees and their grey faces, the gutted cities and their burnt bricks. The animals war turns us all into, whether we fight with teeth bared, or flee in terror instead. I'm sick of the injustice, the way people have no loyalty to those who watch over them as soon as they think they've been slighted. All they think about is themselves, these tiny little people who can't see beyond their own noses."

"Captain…"

"And the Goddesses! They're no better. We're just staggering around in the dark, with no light to guide us. They're only voices in the dark. We still won't see the truth."

"That's blasphemy, Keen. They'll strike you down." Wald said in warning.

"Let them!" Ferrick Keen said in defiance, "Just let them try. They haven't succeeded yet, and I'll not succumb to their ploys. No. I'll fight this war. I'll do my sworn duty till it's done. But I tell you now, if I live, I will walk Vanity until I find the ones who really made the world, and see the truth of this forsaken world with my own eyes."

"You've gone mad." Wald said, shocked. "Absolutely gone. I was worried this would happen-"

Keen grinned crookedly, and for once, he did not chuckle to himself like he so often did.

"Mad? Sometimes, Wald, I'm the only thing in this world that's sane."


The squeaky screel of rivergulls woke Link up, followed by the smell of baking oatcakes and the sharp scent of slightly off-fish and strangely, the scent of vinegar. He rolled over, trying to earn a little more sleep in the early dawn hours, but it was fruitless. Sighing gustily, he crawled out of his (admittedly lumpy) bed. There was a ewer full of river water, and a smaller one of well water. Link washed with the river water, a ragged wash cloth, and a small bowl of soft soap, then washed his face and cleaned his teeth with the purer, cleaner well water.

He put on an off-white long-sleeved shirt, some brown trousers, and buttoned his liar's tunic up halfway to his throat, and then pulled on stockings and his boots. A white and grey knit hat completed the act of dressing. Link gathered up his belongings into his hold-all pack, and headed down narrow, rickety, squeaking stairs to the main room of the tavern.

He enjoyed the oatcakes served for breakfast, which were fried in butter on a griddle. Dried fruit was served on the side, as was some kind of small fish that had been picked in vinegar and was so sour it made Link's tongue curl in surprise. The Zora man who was sitting next to Link at one of the many tables laughed heartily when Link made a face and hurriedly downed half a glass of juice to wash away the taste.

"There, there!" The Zora, who had introduced himself as Peg Tooth, slapped Link's back enthusiastically as the boy gagged down the rest of the fish on his plate. "You must be an Outsider to Rainfall Province. Wingfish is never cooked around these parts. Ruins the fish, you see." Peg was an itinerant fisherman, apparently from upstream Rainfall Province. It seemed the locals of the province navigated by the location of the river as their foremost landmark.

Link, ever friendly, eventually got Peg to speak of his people, after much pleading and earnest queries.

According to what he was able to find in the Hyrule Castle library, Zora were usually rather taciturn in the presence of landwalkers, as they called the non-aquatic races of Hyrule, which was somewhat hypocritical, since spending about an hour out of water transformed their finned tails into workable, if clumsy legs. The Zora people had shunned landwalkers until thirty years ago, when their king and the Hylian King Rolens had signed a cooperation treaty, agreeing to be allies, and promoting a bargain where Zora assistance of drowning Hylians would be rewarded with salt – a vital part of Zora diet, that was most easily produced on land by cultivating the salt wrack plant.

When he mentioned some of this, Peg merely shook his head, finally warming to his topic.

"Only the Exiles agreed to the treaty. There are three kingdoms of the Zora. The Exiles, who don't live in the Sourcewater. The Conch, who attack outsiders who sully their territory by trespassing. And the Pearl, who live in the great Fountain Glacier Lake, across the Geyserland, who have not been heard from for a century at least. Y'see, boy, the three kingdoms each worship a different being. We Exiles, being enlightened, worship Nayru, who taught that better living can be had in the downstream of Zora River, and in Lake Hylia. There is fish aplenty, and river kelp and lake weed enough to feed the entire people. But the Conch and Pearl, being two peoples without the sacred knowledge of the Blue Lady, refuse to leave the shelter of the Sourcewater, which provides the River with all of its water. The Conch, the most ignorant, worship the great shark Jarzun. They offer the creature living sacrifices to satisfy him, so he will drive their enemies away. The Pearl, on the other hand, dwell so far upstream there is little to eat in those cold waters. Everything they do is measured. Well, at least we think they do. It's been a long time. They believe in the old ways – the following of the One Water."

"The One Water?" Link queried, and Peg Tooth stopped there, looking away shiftily with shiny black eyes.

"I've said too much already. It is not for landwalkers to know." He returned to his pickled fish and stewed kelp (which was the standard diet for Zora, apparently) and would say no more. After a long moment, Link shrugged and finished the last bits of his dried pear and raisins. Soon Peg Tooth had to return to his fishing job, and informed Link that it was much easier to reach Ukah (the town closest to where Link was to enter the Lost Woods) by boat, than by riding upstream and crossing Conch territory. It was neither safe nor fast, as rain fell so heavily close to the Sourcewater that the soil was muddy and marshy all year round.

Link followed his new friend's advice, and bartered his way onto a large rowboat that had enough room for Deste. With a generous amount of money, and the offer of music to pace the rowers, the crew accepted him on, and the River Lion was soon gliding away from the pier, oars knifing into the water, prow pointing upstream.


The nights in the Crowfield were cold, unusually cold, especially since it was still late summer. Hours to dawn, Keen roused his troop from sleep – they were now referring to themselves as his pack, which was typical of them, really. They were ready. There was a gleam in their eyes that had not been there before, a straightness to their spines, a more confident carriage in the way they walked and held their heads high. All this had changed since he had first taken command of them, though it seemed the true crucible had been those thirty days when they had decided to rescue him, against proper protocol.

They had rice gruel and jerky for breakfast, washing it down with water warmed over the campfires, as it had been icy cold in the barrels. The grass was pale with frost, the soldiers' breath fogging in the brisk air.

Within an hour, the whole camp was alive and busy preparing for the day's battle.

Noise across the Crowfield brought the sounds of metal, shouts, and the tramp of boots on earth and flattened grass.

Before long, it was time. The newly altered pikes were passed out to the foot soldiers, and Keen and Lord Karlen exchanged nods as they got their men into position. General Terence bellowed out the order to proceed. Horns blew, and the Royal Army charged towards the South encampment.

The haze of battle swept over Keen as the two armies collided mid-field, and soon it was nothing more than breath and heartbeat in his ears, the sounds of steel upon steel, the shouts of enemy and ally alike strangely muted. Blood thawed the frosty ground, slicked and spread by boots and fallen bodies.

Keen couldn't count the number of bodies that fell to his blade, sweat in his face. Every blow he took might have hit true, or glanced off his shirt of mail. He couldn't tell whose blood was upon him, all he could do was strike, defend, strike again, cut down a man and step over the fallen.

All around, the cannons were firing now, from both sides, thunderous and shaking the earth under foot. Spells were flung, and Keen fought furiously to make his way to the closest spell caster. The Falcon's Sixteenth, knowing now how to see through illusions, followed his lead.

But the rebel army had learned from Ballyn Fields. The mages no longer stood together, making them a much smaller target than before. And the Royal Army was severely outnumbered.

After miraculously avoiding a serious head blow, Keen took a hard blow to the side of his torso and staggered sideways– the chainmail stopped the blow, but he knew at least two of his ribs were cracked. Eller, coming out of nowhere, decapitated the offending rebel with his pike, the neck spurting blood before the body fell over, twitching. Keen regained his footing, and fought on.

Blood. The stink of sweat and death filled the nostrils of every soldier panting for breath. Behind the lines of men, a Southern cannon aimed true and took out a larger Northern one. Soil and dust kicked up by feet and explosions clung to sweaty, bloody men.

By the time the sun hung directly over head, only five hundred Northern soldiers were still alive on the Crowfield. There had been four thousand at dawn. Despite losing thousands of men, the Southern Liberation Front was still six thousand strong.

This battle had been won for the South, and the crows the Crowfield had been named after feasted on the flesh of the dead.


The current of the Zora River got stronger the farther upstream one got. When Link wasn't providing music for the rowers to stroke to, he was put to use offering drinks of water to the sweating Hylian men. That night they anchored at Opala, and slept in the sheltered belly of the boat, listening to the rain gently but relentlessly pattering down on the deck above.

The men who did not fall asleep right away spoke softly to each other over their comrades exhausted snores. That night Link learned that most of the Zora Exiles worked as fishermen for the port cities on the river, or as kelp or river weed famers. There was a flourishing community living in Lake Hylia, but most Exiled Zora preferred to live in the river.

It took three days to reach Berage, which was rather far upstream, and on the inner side of the River. Link bid the rowers farewell, ignoring their warnings that he was headed directly into Conch territory, and with Deste, disappeared into the mist of the Sourcewater.


As the sun grew low in the sky, trumpets sounded from the north. The remnants of the Royal Army drew away from the Liberation Front, who chased them back until the yellow flag of surrender was raised by a man on a white horse from the Royal Army's side. The man was followed closely by a group of nine men, all wearing grey-blue over their shirts of mail.

There was some confusion on the part of the Liberation Front – many wanted to continue fighting, others knew they had won, and began to cheer and celebrate. At the command of General Havarell of Heartsrest, the Southern fighters surrounded the surrendering party and guided them to the General's tent.

With them came a Gerudo woman in bonds. The knight who had flown the yellow flag carried her easily into the tent and set her at the feet of General Haverell. He was followed by a coarse-faced man with dark hair.

"We heard you captured our Wolf of the North." He said, eying the General with stark eyes. "Thought I'd bring someone of equal value in exchange."

General Haverell scowled.

"That is indeed the Lady General Aru Redeye, and she is of great worth."

"Yes. She orchestrated the siege and sacking of Briarsedge. She turned Crimen to the South's side. Amongst other things." The dark haired man said idly. Rillek Valmur, who was guarding the General's tent along with his ridge-cat Mura, wondered how the man could speak so lightly of an enemy.

"So we have the Wolf of the North. Tell me, what is his name? None of us know such a vital thing of the North's greatest warrior."

"The man you have is Walden Muiren. But I tell you now, I am Captain Keen."

"And he is the so-called Wolf." The knight said, hands on the shoulders of the Lady General.

General Haverell rubbed a tired hand over his mouth.

"I see."

"We've come to deliver the surrender of our side." Keen said, "You've won the battle. The generals won't admit it. But it's true nonetheless."

"Why bother?"

"I'd like there to be no more casualties on the Crowfield."

"What makes you think I'll just let five hundred enemies go to fight another day? Every soldier counts."

Keen tilted his head, gaze sharp.

"Because you will." He said simply, as if he could read the General's nature with those eyes of his. The General took in a deep breath.

"Very well, then. Ridgemaster Valmur!" He said, and Rillek poked his head into the tent.

"Sir?"

"Fetch the captive we had thought was the Wolf."

Rillek saluted him and obeyed. The Wolf's second-in-command was exchanged for Lady General Redeye, and the Northerners prepared to leave.

"Wait." General Havarell said as they moved to go. "When one surrenders, reparations are made, and the defeated side surrenders a gift to acknowledge their defeat."

"I am not authorized to handle such resources, let alone surrender them." The Wolf said quietly. "In fact, I am not even authorized to represent the North, let alone offer terms of surrender. The lives of thirty-five hundred Northern soldiers will have to be enough for you." With that, Keen turned his back on the General, and his men left.


Keen could feel the eyes of the rebels on his back all the way across the Crowfield. He hoped they wouldn't shoot him while his back was turned. Lord Karlen rode beside him, staring at the gore around them.

"Did you see the way she fought?" Karlen said softly, his horse's hooves squelching in bloody mud.

"The Lady General?" Keen replied, breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell of offal.

"The way her eyes burned, how her blades flashed." The knight's voice was awestruck, wiping the blood dripping from the laceration across his cheek that the Lady General had carved herself. "Her eyes were like that of the Queen Ganhala. So fierce."

"You are aware she is the enemy, do you not?" Keen said with some irony. Karlen harrumphed.

"Yes. I am merely saying she is… unique. There cannot be a woman like her in all of Hyrule."

"And for that, I am grateful." Keen replied. They marched on, back to the tattered war camp of the North.

Keen was aware, that already in the Southern camps, word was spreading, of how the Wolf of the North had briefly been captured – a blonde man by the name of Muiren. Later word would refute that – that it was, in fact, a darker man by another name. But as there had been rumors to that nature before, most thought that the refutation was merely contrariness on the speaker's part.


Despite crossing the Zora River, there were many fledgling rivers that fed it, and the Sourcewater went on for leagues before stopping at the mountains and, further south, draining much of the Lost Woods. Here, the volcanic rock gave way to limestone, the local topography filled with caves and sinkholes.

Away from the river itself, in the Sourcewater it rained constantly, feeding the ravenous drain of the Zora River and thus watering the entire country.

Link and Deste had, thus far, managed to avoid the Conch Zora, by avoiding the deeper streams and rivers in the drainage basin. He supplemented the time-sealed meals in his pack with crayfish and trout from the streams, as well as watercress and local berries. Purple tubers were in season here as well, and Link dug them up and roasted them after identifying the plants by their distinct yellow flowers. The water was cold and fresh, if containing a rather sharp mineral taste.

He was following a ridge of rock along a valley when he heard something odd.

Drums. But not hide drums like he was used to hearing. No, these were clearly entirely wooden ones.

Against his own better thinking, he followed the sounds, stepping carefully. Closer, he could hear harsh Zora voices chanting, the drums beating a hard counterpoint.

May the flesh of the pure revive you, the voices cried, May Jarzun rise again, to tear at the flesh of those who would stand against us! May the blood of the unbelievers revive your thirst for sinner's flesh, and bring us victory once more! Glory, glory to the Great Jarzun!

Link peered into the clearing that had been made at the lip of a deep cenote. Glow stones lit the clearing, revealing a stained altar of stone, dry Zora standing tall and chanting, and the massive outline of a shark-like creature dwelling in the water-filled sinkhole.

A cheer went up as a screaming Zora-girl was bundled up to the altar, shrieking for a rescuer. But as Link waited for a response, sheltered from Conch eyes by thick brush, no one moved to help her. The rope-bound girl, who could only be about eight or nine judging by her size, was laid on the altar. A stone knife was revealed, and as the Zora began to bless it, Link notched an arrow to his bow.

He whistled a quick melody to enspell it, and fired. The Zora with the knife was struck in the chest by the released arrow, and then burst into flames as the spell was activated. Link fired off a volley of several more fiery arrows, before dashing into the chaos he had caused, sword drawn.

A Zora man with a staff tried to strike him, but the Hylian boy was faster on land, and easily danced away from the whirling staff. He darted forward, and lopped an arm off at the elbow. Another tried to engage him, but his steel sword was sharp, and his shorter reach was something he was used to. Breathing hard, Link made his way to the altar at the edge of the cenote, scooped the girl-child who was to be the sacrifice up and over his shoulder, and dashed for the high rocky ground from whence he had come.

The Conch warriors followed at a slower pace, their shrill voices promising retribution. Link sheathed his sword and ran, breath coming easily once he hit his stride. The Zora girl seemed to know she was better off with this boy than on the altar, and wrapped an arm and a leg around him to better anchor herself.

The drums, left behind the two fleeing, started up again. Fierce. And urgent.

The hunt was on.


1. My excuses - I transferred to a new school, and summer school happened. A solid 'A' in Social Psychology FTW. I had a very painful breakup with my boyfriend. Also, a six-day visit to Wiscosin to visit my family most locations of which are 12-15 hours away from Cleveland. Captain America came out and blew my brains out with its splendor. And did I mention writer's block?

Chapter 49 was a doozie - 8,000+ words. Yeah.


As ever, reviews are wonderful. I take opinions into account in regards to editing. Since I plan to publish this (all names changed as well as obvious details), you are all, in a way, my betas and test-group. So don't be afraid to sock it to me.