Chapter 18
Beauty in self-destruction
Ethereal mist swamped the tall eucalyptus trees surrounding Link, the menthol odor clogged his lungs and he waded through mud, searching for elusive fairies in the undergrowth. If he recalled correctly, fairies stayed in springs.
At least the ones in Hyrule did.
Lost in the tangle of shadows and tree trunks, he sought light from above and sunk, knee deep, in muddy water collecting around a giant cater forming at the base of a boulder. Placing a ring of wet bombs around the rock, he waited for them to detonate and a cacophony of bomb blasts startled all the monsters and wildlife living in the forest. Chunks of stone hit Link on his head and rolled to a stop at his mud caked boot. A geyser gushed out of the stoppered hole, rinsing some of the dirt clinging to his pants. Curiously, the hole persisted, gurgling and bubbling.
Wading to the center, Link dropped through the tunnel; he floated to the floor of a grotto slathered in pink and his eye twitched when it settled on the quicksilver form of a gigantic fairy.
Oh yeah, he forgot the fairy won't fit into his bottle.
Grabbing the comforting hilt of his sword, he studied the great fairy, wondering which part of its body he should chop off and blend. The legs are too big, and it had four hands. Head?
While he calculated, the fairy thrust a big wallet in his hands and the pouch reminded him briefly of Tetra. Crazy woman. The fairy indicated the springs beneath her feet and Link's features slackened; he meekly sheathed his sword, muttered gratitude to the four armed monstrosity and whipped his bottle out. The fairies, silver winged, white clothed creatures fluttering aimlessly above a pool of water; swirled around him, their angelic chatter filling his head. At once, Link's nose stopped running, the awful hammering in his head receded and energy flooded his numb limbs.
Swiping the bottle, he collected a fairy and brought the ampule closer to his face. The miniscule creature sported a headful of golden, coiffed curls and a cherubic face. A sad smile tinted its pink lips and before guilt forced him to release the fairy; he jammed the bottle in his pocket and whooshed out of the spring.
Clouds blanketed the stars. Back inside his home, Link gently squeezed his grandma's bony hand and uncorked the bottle. The fairy orbited around Grandma, shriveled and died. Link scrubbed the silver stain off the carpet and as he turned to throw the ash, a pair of thin arms encircled his waist.
"Link my boy?" a fragile voice enquired and he turned, blinking when Grandma planted a kiss on his cheek. "It is you!" She stroked his face and whispered, a solitary tear pooling at the edge of her wrinkled eye and coursing down her cheek. "Let me see, oh you have lost so much weight." Grandma voiced and enveloped him in a hug.
Link let go of the dust pan and brush and slowly, very slowly, melted into her embrace. He inhaled deeply. His grandmother smelled of pressed flowers and the aroma of comforting soup. Clutching her tunic, he squeezed harder, sniffing in an effort to stop the involuntary waterfall of tears cascading down his face. It did not stop. Tear after tear sailed down his cheeks, dampening his tunic and Grandma's chest.
"Now, now, everything is alright, good, let it out, it's okay to cry," she soothed and stroked his salt streaked hair, a core of steel bracing her against Link's weight. He sobbed openly and held on tighter, feeling Grandma's bony frame collapse under his vise grip, despite this, Link did not want to let go...
If he let go...
Determined sages, robes of light. A blue, blue sky. Blue like Father's eyes. He stopped hiccupping and stared into Grandma's pitch irises.
Oh.
Reality punched the breath out of him.
He was an orphan, a privileged orphan. No one bothered to tell him what happened to his parents. At the age of ten, he received a gold medal for his father who heroically died in service.
Roughly three months later, he held his mother's death certificate in cut laced hands.
Grandma's eyes shone with the same depth of emotion as Aryll's. Letting go of her, he grabbed a napkin off the table and wiped his nose and eyes and she touched her warm little fingers against his cheek. "I'm home." He sniffed and managed a watery smile. Grandma hugged him again and he wound his arms around her neck and rested his head against her shoulder. "I've been to Dragon Roost and Forest Haven," he softly reported, "and I almost lost a leg." Suddenly, the situations inside the caves and forests seemed rather hilarious. "And I have a magical talking boat." Grandma nodded at the statement and patted his head, smiling. "No really," Link insisted, "He's called the King of Red Lions..." Daphnes, his mind corrected. "And he talks, I'll introduce him to you some time." Detaching from her tiny frame, he sank into a chair, cheek propped in a fist. "I'm sorry for not bringing Aryll." Link bit his lips, wondering if he should confide in her. "There were some...complications," he weakly stated.
Bustling in the kitchen, Grandma lit the hearth and tangerine glows chased the shadows and cold away. "The important thing is that you are safe my child." She smiled and the smell of meat broth and vegetables permeated the kitchen, fogging the windows. "Ever since you left, I...I did not know what to do." Grandma confessed and wrung her hands, crumpling her apron. "Sue-belle looked after me, gods bless her, and I was so distraught when you did not send letters or visit."
Link coughed and guilt flushed his cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "busy trying to figure things out." Grandma laughed.
Outside, the curtains glowed amber and orange against an ebony night. The house at the hilltop chugged aromatic stream through its chimney and soft laughter gusted from beneath closed doors.
The clock struck midnight, candles burned low and Link unbuckled his tunic belt where it strained against his overfed belly. Grandmother puttered about, rinsing his bowl and talking softly, both to herself and to him. Laying his head on folded arms, he followed her progress, noting each and every delicate movement. She often wiped her hands on an apron and candle light settled in the creases lining her cheeks. Dirty grey hair, shining silver, piled high atop her head and he wanted to stick a hairpin in the rounded bun. She turned and motioned to the bedrooms connected by a short corridor.
"Time to sleep dear, its way past your bedtime." Link choked; there were nights where he slept an hour right before dawn. Nonetheless, he complied and wobbled after Grandmother, felling lazy, overfed.
And young.
Smoothing rumpled sheets over a thick mattress, he clambered the wooden ladder to the top bunk bed and watched Grandma making herself comfortable opposite him in a single, wide bed. Salty breezes wafted from the windows and he sat, mind whirling and an oil lamp burning above his head.
Unknown to him, Grandma regarded the child curiously, instead of having a vacant expression on his face, Link brooded, eyebrows drawn. She suspected his changed in behavior was tied to Aryll's disappearance however, her grandchild's demeanor felt off. Old. Wringing her hands nervously, she observed the boy stare blankly at the opposite wall, pitch irises guarded. Guarded against what? Things too terrible to recount? Letting out a heavy exhale, she beckoned Link to join her and he regarded her suspiciously.
"Come sleep with me my boy." She patted the seashell printed sheets swamping her bed. Instead of leaping off the top bunk and crash landing, he stayed there, blinking owlishly. "Is there something wrong? I know you are twelve," Grandma teased, "but to me you will always be a child." His mouth parted and twitched irises suddenly thunderous. Jaw tight, Link reluctantly climbed down but instead of snuggling in her lap, he sat on Aryll's bed and smoothed the covers.
Not out of affection, Grandmother noted, but out of the need to keeps his hands and attention occupied.
"I'm tired..." he said after a long, awkward pause. "I want to sleep." He swept his fringe out of his eyes and yawned and Grandma noted healing scars pressed on his fingers.
She smiled cordially. "Tell me your favorite story," she urged and the boy shot her an empty glance. "The one with the mermaid and the fisherman?" Grandma prompted and pointed a bony finger to a small bookshelf against the pastel walls. A battered, blue book leaned against a snow globe. "You lulled Aryll to sleep with stories of giant krakens and pirates, of caves of gold and princess and fishermen." Again, Link stared vacuously at the bookshelf; the intensity of his gaze could set paper on fire. "Is there something wrong?"
"You are well aware of what is wrong." Link clenched his hands, short from snapping and bolting out of the comfortable house. "I don't think I need to clarify that I'm not your grandson," he rapped sharply, "I may fool others, but you are his closest living relative...some people cannot be deceived."
The boy waited for the old woman to break down sobbing for the return of her grandson however, she simply gazed at him and smiled, radiating warmth from the wrinkles defining her cheekbones.
"My name is Link," he admitted, "and I'm way older than twelve. Nineteen to be exact." Link grabbed the handcrafted doll lying on Aryll's pillow and absentmindedly played with it. "I'm not from this world...Most probably, your grandson and I changed places and he is in a situation I wouldn't want to wish on anyone." He thought of the nefarious Twilli demon and her manipulative shenanigans.
What was her name again?
Grandma rose from the bed, hobbled and eased her delicate frame next to him; she smoothed his fringe into a respectable puff of hair. "I wonder, is your hair the color of sand?" she asked and Link nodded, eyes wide in surprise. "You have blue eyes?" Another nod. "Hmm...You wear funny clothes?"
"Excuse me?"
The elder chuckled. "Link often told me that he saw a different man when he looked in the mirror. Sometimes I would find him glued to the full body looking glass over there," she drew his attention to a long mirror facing the wall, "and other times, he'd refuse to touch the silver ware. Aryll and I never took any note, but perhaps...You are the person he sees in the mirror?" Thoughts buzzing, the boy impatiently eyed the door with barely restrained curiosity. Grandma's face fell, after nearly six months at sea, she finally glimpses a hair of her precious grandson and he is itching to blaze off without as much as a stay over. "My boy," she called as he hastily tucked his feet into boots, "won't you at least stay the night? I understand what you have to do is important..." she trailed off, unable to convey her feelings.
How could she explain to the stranger that Link and Aryll were more important than the air she breathed? How does one convey such love without appearing like a clingy old woman?
"...No, I should not keep you here," she dabbed furiously at her eyes, angry at the tears. "You have a lot of work to do and I musn't delay you. Just wait for a moment, I will pack soup and bread for you, you have lost weight." Babbling, she started towards the darkened corridor. Link's hand shot out, clamping on a fist full of her orange dress.
"I'm staying," he hastily reassured. "Grandma, I'll stay for a few days." He smiled and let go. "I know I'm not a replacement for your grandson and nor do I aim to be but..."
Grandmother hugged him tightly, pressing wrinkled lips on the top of his head. "Don't be silly dear," she chided and held his head close to her chest. "You are dear to me. In this world, I'm your family."
Sleep only arrived an hour before dawn. Lying on Aryll's bed, with the doll's button eyes keeping a watch on him, Link observed the rise and fall of his chest. Grandmother's soft snores echoed in the house and the noise kept him awake. The world blurred at the edges and he sank into unconsciousness, dreading a nightmare or worse, a night terror. Explaining why he woke up with a fork sticking out of his palm will take a lot of work.
But as he waited for the inevitable, shapeless horror to confront him, he turned and watched Grandma sleeping blissfully. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Link quietly climbed down, dragging a handmade quilt with him.
He stood at the edge of the double bed, wrestling with his emotions. He was an adult for Hylia's sake!
Shrugging, he lifted the edge of the comforter and slid inside, careful not to disturb his grandmother. And as he settled, a grin crept across his face when Grandma pulled him closer. He snuggled, grateful for the warmth.
Grateful for a family.
The King of Red Lions twisted as the thud of boots hit the deck. "Are you..." he began, unable to believe his painted eyes.
"Please be quiet," Link snarled and scrubbed his eyes on a lace handkerchief, he paused in his silent crying and held the square of cloth up. "Grandma's," he clarified and waved it in the air. Standing safely on the pier and far from ocean spray, the Outset Island residents waved to him and shouted encouragements. Fiddling with sail, he angled it to catch magically changed currents and beamed at them with polite cheerfulness.
For the past week, Link soaked in the sun, changing his pathologically pale pallor into a light bronze. He dragged Grandma out of the kitchen and her knitting every morning and walked with her on the beach. When Orca, his swords teacher, barked at him to attend lessons, Link did so with great enthusiasm. The old man, silver white hair hanging in lanky strands around his majestic, triangular beard, praised him warmly and Link grinned, bowing his thanks while the man regarded him curiously.
The boat pulled from the shore and the island receded, becoming one with the horizon. Keeping his eyes on the form of his hunched grandmother, Link waved till his arms ached and he plopped at the base of the mast, satisfied. "I didn't dream last night..." he confided and the figure head nodded. "Do you think the nightmares will eventually stop?" He did not wait for a reply and scrabbled to the chest bearing his sea charts, stabbing his finger on the Triangle Islands. "We will start with the Southern Triangle first, then sail to the east and finally to the north." Link studied the map some more, squinting at the obscure names scrawled underneath the other landmasses.
Tottering to his feet, he grabbed a swab and cleaned the deck. Pelted with rain and exposed to the elements, the King of Red Lions presented a withered sight. Kneeling on all fours, Link dipped the rag and cleaned, wiping salt and tossing small crabs from the cracks in the planks.
Two days later, they arrived on the southern Triangle Island. Grabbing the oar, Link circled it, unimpressed by the diminutive disc of land bearing a tall statue. He hopped out of the boat and landed on the pier less island, his body half swallowed by untamed vegetation. The statue, cracked sandstone, stood on an elevated platform and he reached it after rubbing his fingers raw on rock faces. Dusting his new tights, he examined the statue critically. A cut in his leg throbbed and he spared a moment cursing those blasted seahats roaming the waters. Still, Link's lips eased into a smile, they provided excellent target and sword practice.
Sniffing disdainfully at the neglected statue, he reached into his bag for Nayru's pearl. Clusters of white jasmine poked in the tangle of grass and he stood on his tiptoes, respectfully placing the pearl in the idol's waiting hands.
Stepping back, he waited for a dramatic event to occur and dissatisfied, slunk back to the boat. According to the books, the statues were supposed to glow and diffuse a magical beam to each other.
Magic, Link snorted and caught himself when the slim WindWaker winked from his tin cup. The King of Red Lions lurched into the water, already skimming across the waves as a favorable wind, propelled it. Holding the ivory baton, the boy put it inside his sack, resolving to grudgingly accept its use.
Another two days of nonstop sailing lead him to east Triangle Island. Like before, Link jogged to the statue, leaving torn petals in his wake, and lowered Farore's pearl into cupped, static hands. The stone idol fared no better than its sister counterpart and once again, Link sighed.
Did he do something wrong?
He wondered and scratched his chin; the texts did not mention any particular order into placing the pearls. Supposedly, when all three statues held the pearls, their latent magic will unearth the Tower of Gods from the deep.
If such a superstructure existed, why did not anyone find out about it? Its existence has been written in the history and more surprisingly, the tourist brochures. Scratching his head absentmindedly, Link returned to the boat and prepared for the final, two day journey to the Northern Triangle Island.
Goddesses forbid nothing happens when the final pearl is in place. If so, he'll go after Ganondorf, Triforce or not.
Waking up when the sun's salmon pink rays slanted through the porthole and fell on his eyes, Link rolled out of bed and paused when the roar of wind and water did not reach his ears. Frowning, he combed his hair and walked on deck to find the King of Red Lions chatting with a Fishmen.
The creature's colorful, flat face turned towards the human and it exclaimed, "Hoy there, fry!" Link smiled in response and disappeared into the deckhouse when the fish called, "Get your moldy sea charts out kid and let me tell you about the Tower of Gods and this final island, Boaty here has been nagging about it to my aide and they fetched me all the way from near the Forsaken Fortress." The scaled creature and boat shared another round of conversation. "I'll tell you some unofficial secrets..." The Fishmen waited for Link to reappear, "hey small fry, what's taking so long, putting on your diaper?"
Inside the deckhouse, Link froze when the Fishmen's jibes reached his ears. Diaper? Diaper? Jet eyes pulled to a dusty harpoon standing upright in a corner slung with unused fishnets and other nautical equipment. Lips pressed into a thin, displeased line, he wiped the harpoon clean, a thrill running through his body when his fingers caressed the silver spearhead's jutting barb. Hefting the slim rod, he walked out, climbed on the boat's rails and the King of Red Lions paled when dying sunlight winked on the harpoon.
Grinning diabolically, Link the plunged weapon inside the water and the blade missed the Fishmen by mere inches.
"What the hell fry?!" the fish exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. "Are you crazy? I don't taste good!" The creature spluttered and splashed in the waves.
Link reeled the harpoon and aimed again, a vindictive gleam in his eyes.
The King of Red Lions, desperately trying to control the laughter bubbling on his lips, rotated to watch the two of them heckle back and forth. Another whoosh and plunge and Link's disappointed Tsk, told him the child failed to impale the Fishmen. "Put the harpoon away boy," the boat said with a smile while the fish glared. "We need expert cartographers, open your map, they will sketch the location of the Tower of Gods."
Reluctantly, Link retracted the gleaming spear and rested the tip off the edge, water droplets plopped in the ocean. Eyeing the grinning human warily, the Fishmen jumped on deck, an ink brush in its mouth. Squatting in the narrow space, it surveyed the map unhappily and inked the supposed position of the Tower.
"Listen up fry, The Tower of Gods is situated underwater," the fish informed and Link rolled his eyes. Tell me something I don't know. Sharing a glance with the King of Red Lions, the creature continued, "It is situated smack dab in the middle of the ocean and apart from being a dungeon to test the Triforce bearer of Courage, it also..." here it hesitated, glimmering fish eyes cast on the map. "It is a portal to the continent sunk in the sea." Pausing in his examination of the harpoon, Link looked at the fish and then his boat. "Yes, there is an entire continent lying at the bottom of the Great Sea and as for its significance," the fish jerked a grey fin backwards, "Boaty will tell you. I'm off." Imparting one final glower at the wicked harpoon, it flew overboard and into the sea.
Only a telltale ripple indicated the Fishman's presence.
Lingering for a second longer, the boat sailed, its prow creating a dark shadow over the sea's waves. Back to the mast, Link polished off a cold supper and read, turning pages feverishly. A continent at the bottom of the sea? Why didn't Daphnes tell him? And of what significance is the Tower of Gods? History books spoke of the ivory tower's significance, once a hero completed its trials; they are required to ring the giant bell set into its pinnacle. A gong of victory. Architecture texts boasted of its structure, of the energy lines running on its surface. According to the author, the material used to construct the tower is found nowhere across the Great Sea. Growing frustrated, Link held his lantern closer to the brown folios, and narrowed his eyes in the dark. A speckled band of stars emerged across the sky and he thrust another book closer to his face. The pages smelt of peppermint oil and he sneezed, careful not to get any icky fluids on the tome. Here he discovered that the Tower indeed connected to a continent, sunk and forgotten at the bottom of the ocean.
Working out the stiffness in his neck, Link grabbed his telescope, viewing the inky black of the sea through a circlet of glass. No threats coursed alongside him and he missed the telltale, metallic horn curves of rogue warships terrorizing the seas. In the distance, a watchtower's fires burned and he lowered the spyglass. Resuming his information hunt, he pressed his nose closer to the book and read.
The forgotten continent is said to be preserved in time. His breath quickened and he read faster, eyes zeroing on specific keywords. Despite rigorous research and several expeditions in the deep sea, academics have yet to spot this elusive landmass and understand its significance. The legend books state this continent as the birthplace of the Hero of Time.
"Hyrule?" Link whispered disbelievingly. Sensing his distress, the King of the Red Lions slowed and cocked his head backwards. "The continent under the sea...Is it Hyrule?"
Refusing to reply, the watercraft simply shrugged. "You will find out all in good time, but right now, I believe you have a pearl to deliver."
The Tower of Gods rose fully at the dawn. Bathed by the majestic glows of first light, its white stone body creating an empyreal outline against the ocean. Standing in the boat and bobbing with the waves, Link quietly marveled at the eye blinding tower. Water ran down its sides, its arches and rained back into the sea, creating a ripple of blue and white. Heart drumming frantically, he towed the boat inside, reverently drawing his fingers across the still wet surface and feeling lightheaded from lack of sleep and the breathtaking scene he currently witnessed.
At long last, the tumbling stopped.
Limbs quivering, he sailed inside the tower, where the seas stretched. Grooved columns, bases inlaid with gold and in perfect condition, rose alongside, guiding him to the interior. Unconsciously holding his breath, Link craned his neck, absorbing each and every detail and imprinting it to his mind. In the center, a gold leaved idol gushed water from its open mouth and peeling away from it, Link paddled to a platform bearing a bronze door with a landing pad. Bumping the boat to a gentle stop, the hero rested, his breath echoing in the cavernous room. He rubbed his neck irritably and stretched and the King of Red Lions shot him an inquiring look.
"My neck feels really stiff," Link replied and glanced at the still surface of the sea. "It feels bruised and broken." He frowned. "I don't recall ever injuring my...neck." The mirror-esque shine of the waters reflected arched domes and he tossed a discarded seashell from the deck.
His reflection broke into clashing ripples and reformed.
A pair of icy-blue eyes stared back at him.
XXXXX
Cutting teeth. Licking knives
The imp warped to the human and pressed her palm against his face.
No.
No...no.
Heat rapidly drained from his cheek, teardrops of blood met his lips.
Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she whistled. If the bird did not appear now, she will have Ooccoo stew for dinner.
Ivory bloomed in the murky room. The Darknut halted its march. Ooccoo took one look at Link and warped them out of the dungeon.
The body tumbled on wet grass and a light drizzle diffused mist in the sacred grove. Staring at the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, the Twilli plotted, she did not sink into the whirlpool rooting in her stomach and rising to engulf her chest. Swallowing rapidly, she tore open a portal and thought.
Rusl.
Pain wracked the Uli's abdomen and she laid a hand across it, smiling despite the aches. The baby must be healthy. Weak sunlight poured through the window and she sewed the rips and tears in her husband's clothes. Wood ash, mingled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, permeated the living room and she hummed contentedly, resting on a goat skin couch. A thud outside her door prompted her to pause in her sewing and she rose to her feet, groaning slightly. With one hand resting on the doorknob, Uli recalled her husband's cautions:
Monsters prowled the land and they sought harm to everyone.
Slender fingers slipped off the bronze knob and she worried her lower lip. The thud outside her house sounded distinctly like a body meeting earth and she heard plenty of those when Colin and Talo played. Pushing the door open, he gasped in horror when the blood streaked face of Link stared at her with closed eyes. Gasping, she ran to the front porch, knelt over his body and touched him.
Growing cold...
The villagers milled in the center, near the pumpkin patch and the tiny figures of Mayor Bo and Jaggle appraised the vegetables and land. Knees trembling, Uli pulled herself across the stretch of grass bordering the front of her home and moved to the stream. Hopefully, someone will see her and come to investigate. Sure enough, Bo's beady eyes screwed in on the heavily pregnant figure and he frowned.
"Uli's not supposed be walking like that," he remarked to Jaggle who paused in his pumpkin stroking to look. "Something's wrong, let me go check." Grabbing a grazing horse, he vaulted on the protesting animal and cantered along the stream. By the time he reached Uli, she panted, her cheeks flushed and fine hair plastered to the back of her neck.
The woman grabbed the reins, fighting pain and gasped, "Link…is lying unconscious in front of my house." Mayor Bo frowned. What? "He is on the ground. In front of my house. With a broken neck," she breathed and clutched the reigns tighter, what was with men and freezing up during crucial times? "Broken neck, Mayor Bo!" The woman snapped. "The lad is going to die if he is not taken to the clinic quickly."
Tears sprung to her eyes and mechanically, Bo galloped away from her and towards the house. Sure enough, Link lay there, in a puddle of his congealed blood. Gawking at the scene for another second, Bo pressed his lips to a thin line and slid off the horse, picking up the boy's inert body, he barged into Rusl's cozy living room and laid Link across the couch. Uli waddled in, clutching the hem of her dress in pink fingers.
"A doctor," she rasped and sank beside the unconscious youth. "We need a doctor. Someone has to inform Rusl."
Bo paced the living room, the draught from outside chilled the warm environment. "Yes, but how did he end up in front of your porch?" the man asked. "I mean, Rusl told me the lad must be at the Sacred Grove which is miles from here so-"
"Could you do something productive?" Uli whispered, a cutting edge in her voice as Hanch arrived at the door with a doctor. The occupants inside the room stared at each other, at Hanch and ushered the medical man in. "We can ask difficult questions later, just save him!" she addressed the men and they hurriedly sprang into action.
Jaggle and Bo retreated to the other side of the sofa, peering at Link from the safety of the backrest. Kneeling on the carpet, the doctor laid his bag on the polished wooden floor and slapped on a pair of gloves, while he gingerly probed the deep cut slashing the side of Link's neck, Uli, nauseous, slowly paced the living room, swallowing rapidly and holding her abdomen. Near the couch, the doctor wiped the blood crusting Link's face with a strong smelling disinfectant, tilted the male's head ever so slightly and shone a torch. Hanch recoiled at the glint of bone.
"Will he be alright?" Uli, now at the door, impatiently peered outside, waiting for Rusl to arrive. The doctor failed to reply and the villagers stared at him anxiously.
Wiping his foggy glasses the medic swapped his bloodied gloves for a new pair. The smell of rubber and eucalyptus hung oppressively in the house. Angling the torch, he wondered how a country bumpkin wounded himself like this. He appeared to be hit by a sword with a flat, heavy tip; judging by the lacerations and the shattered bone. Extracting a wicked pair of surgical forceps from his leather bag, he asked for a tray and received a ceramic plate in return. Biting down a complaint, he extracted a piece of bone and laid the slimy, pink shard on the plate. Someone behind him retched. A man. Holding his hand steady, the doctor ignored the new commotion whirling through the door and the rising tide of voices. Concentration was gold, if he let himself get distracted, the cracked splinters of bone might lodge in muscles, paving the way for unnecessary infections. A long shard of thin bone joined the first and the whiff of boot polish hit the doctor's nose.
The new man, his hair the color of ripe hay, knelt next to the doctor, his square jaw trembling. "You son?" the surgeon asked and received a languid shake of his head. "Does this boy have parents?" None of the villagers replied and after an overbearing pause, the woman replied in a negative, sweat shining on her face. Teasing a square piece of bone from the cut, the doctor's eye twitched when the flat edge cut into the skin, a brief struggle later, the wound freshly bled, and the bone landed with a soft clatter on the plate. Laying his forceps, the doctor faced the men. "I'm afraid his atlas bone is shattered," he explained to blank faces.
"Meaning?" The man with blonde hair prompted, sharing an uneasy glance with the rest.
Angling Link's head back to a comfortable position, the medic clarified, "It means his head supporting bone is shattered. The lad needs to be transferred to a hospital, his wound is serious." Turning, the doctor eased a flexible brace around Link's neck. "I'm afraid this boy needs complete bed rest, he will not be able to move his head for at least two wee-"
Link shot upright on the couch, a hand pressed against the brace.
"..." At a loss for words, the doctor stared at his patient, wide eyes magnified by his spectacles. "He…should be unconscious, the blow to his neck affected his spine and paralysis is a factor..." he broke off when Link moved his arms and legs. The adolescent scrabbled with the brace, tore it off and threw the bloodied foam on the carpet, he looked around, eyes glazed.
"Rusl?" he whispered, uncomprehending. "What...happened to me?" Swinging his legs to the ground, he attempted to stand and Bo threaded his meaty arms under Link's armpits. "Mayor?" Breathing heavily, Link motioned to the door. "I need some rest," he touched the wound on his neck and goggled at fingers stained crimson by blood. "How did this happen?" the adolescent questioned, tone laced in disgust. "This is a joke, I need to get home..." he stumbled towards the door and Rusl caught him, ushering him back to the couch. "No, I want to go home...oh yes, a potion," he pointed to his sack, at the foot of the goatskin couch, "give me one, it will take the pain away."
The potion numbed the ache to the point where Link's neck weighed like stone. Allowing the doctor to clean and dress the wound, he barged out the door after waving apologetically to the villagers. Absentmindedly following the stream, he noticed the lack of children and dragged his feet towards the northern edge of Ordona village. Familiar grass tickled his boots and he stood in front of his house, perplexed.
Squatting in the shade of a tree, Link stared at his palms and at the cloudless sky; he toyed listlessly with Epona's flute and blinked when his shadow elongated and a little monster appeared. A saffron eye appraised him critically. Worriedly? And his fingers clasped the hilt of the sword.
In one fluid motion, the blade tip caressed the hollow of Midna's throat and she rolled her eyes expressively and held her arms up, a mocking smile curled on her lips. "Demon," Link hissed. "We meet again, what do you want and why are you hiding in my shadow?"
The smile on Midna's face drooped and evaporated all together.
"Just so you know," she examined her nails disinterestedly, "Princess Zelda is gone, she gave up her life to save mine," Midna related and the blade tip at her neck twitched. Link's ragged exhales brushed across her face. "If you don't believe little old me, take a stroll through Castle Town and weep at the state of Hyrule Castle." The sword dropped on the grassy floor. "Well, all things considered, I think we are doing a rather good job." The imp cackled but did not approach the human, his eyes glinted ominously and he sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. "We saved the Zora, rescued a corrupt Goron patriarch, retrieved a shard from the broken Mirror of Twilight, killed my fiancé..." Midna rattled callously and Link placed the Master Sword back in its hilt.
Incensed by her chatter, he growled and massaged his head. Princess Zelda...gone? She exchanged her life for this accursed imp?
The Mirror of Twilight, Link pondered and rose to his feet, resolve granting him strength. Painstakingly, he climbed the ladder leading to his front door, fingers digging in the wood. Ducking through, he paused inside the living room. Dust swirled in the golden rays of sunshine slanting through the circular windows. Striding across the threadbare carpet, he stopped at the kitchen, eyes falling on the cast iron pot hanging in the heath. Briefly glancing at the plates and glasses neatly piled on thick wooden shelves, he eased his way back to the living room, brushing his hands across the slab of oak serving as a table. Thick tomes, recently disturbed, crammed the shelves lining the lounge and wondering if everyone in Ordona knew of his role as the Triforce Bearer of Courage, he ascended to his bedroom. The beanpole ladder creaked under his weight and the walled platform, holding his bed and study table, resonated with a foreign cadence. Shuffling to his table, he rifled through the objects strewn across the surface. Pens, diagrams, notes in his neat handwriting detailing the locations of Mirror of Twilight. Snatching the pamphlet, he read the locations and his eyes snapped upwards.
Someone scribbled on the pictographs hanging above his desk. Lifting one of the gold gilded frames, Link scrutinized a curly, pen moustache on his upper lip. Wearily, he put the frame on the desk and shook his head. The pictograph of him with the falcon is one of his favorite ones...
Pictograph...
The adolescent laughed. Not pictograph, painting.
"Imp," he called and waited for the demon to detach from his shadow. "I need to confirm something," he tapped the sheet of paper. "The Mirror is broken?" Midna nodded, keeping a respectful distance between them. "And you and this child are going around retrieving it?" Another nod of agreement. "So I can assume Snowpeak produced results," he spoke to himself, noting a check next to the province's name, "and now I have to go to the Temple of Time." Link inhaled sharply, ever since he could remember, he had a burning desire to explore the Temple of Time. The ruins of the ancient Hyrule Castle where the Hero of Time embarked on his quest to vanquish Ganondorf. Rocking on the soles of his boots, Link imagined walking down the same corridors, stepping on the same stones as him. "How did I get this wound?" he questioned and gestured to the injury.
Regarding him silently, Midna pulled out of her thoughts and answered, "You got clobbered by a Darknut."
"A what?" the male exclaimed, revulsion creeping in a self-assured gaze. "A monster did this to me? Pathetic." He rummaged in a creaking chest and removed potions, a length of gauze and a tin of ointment; placing these on the table, he hunted for a sack and lopped the lot in the woven interior. Climbing down, he retraced his path back to the kitchen and filled the bag with non-perishables, a cheese wheel and loaves of bread.
While he clattered in the kitchen, Midna silently followed. Despite the shock of being suddenly transported back home, Link wasted no time in integrating.
Five minutes later, he tightened his belt and boots, secured his sword and shield and marched out the door, cap streaming in a breeze. A shrill whistle produced Epona and here; the unflappable man threaded his fingers into the horse's caramel mane and buried his face in her coat. Routinely, he adjusted the saddle and murmured words of comfort.
Observing him with a sinking heart, Midna resolutely tried to push a grinning man-child out of her mind. She produced a bottle of milk from hyperspace and remembered how Link refused it, citing it was three days old. The Link in front of her loaded his sack of supplies on Epona's back, vaulted into the saddle with grace born from years of practice and squeezed her flank, directing her to the path leading to the sacred grove. Still clutching the bottle of milk, the Twilli dove into his shadow, mere seconds before the horse broke into a sprint, reassured of the rider on her back.
Familiar scents and the crunching of dead leaves did nothing to calm the turbulence in his chest. Stopping at the ruins of Sacred Groove, Link lightly smacked Epona's flank and sent her bolting back home with a carrot wedged between yellow teeth. The early morning mist thinned into a veil of gossamer but the rotting undertones of fungus and leaves, tickled his nose. Sneezing, he stalked to the entrance of the Temple of Time and without breaking stride, phased through the intricately carved doors.
"Can you direct me to the Darknut?" he asked his shadow and the imp bled into view, color leaching in her two toned skin. "Your name, I don't think we ever properly introduced ourselves to each other. Although, I suppose you know more about me than I care to admit." Eyes like chips of glacier ice, Link studied Midna. Losing interest in her, he shifted his scrutiny to the Temple vestibule and his eyes widened, lip curling into a half smile. Lowering himself in front of the nearest column, he ran his hands over the marble and breathed, overwhelmed by its splendor. "It's a shame..." he mumbled, "that such a beautiful and significant palace like this is allowed to fall in ruin." He stared at Midna waiting for an answer to his earlier questions.
"I am Midna, the Twilight Princess," she greeted with a mock bow and Link grinned like she confirmed his suspicions. Mirroring his wolfish grin, Midna continued, "I'm also a close confidant of Zelda's and I sought refuge with her after my advisor betrayed me." Halting from his column mooning, Link focused on Midna with laser like intensity. "From the books lining your shelves back home," the imp bobbed in the air, "I believe you are aware of Twilight Realm, and how Ganondorf was exiled in there." Link nodded, eyes hardening at the Gerudo's name. "Well, he went ahead and incited the shadow invasion. The child and I pushed the curtain of Twilight back but with the Mirror's shattering, I cannot return and see what has become of Twilight...though I don't suppose it's anything pleasant."
Midna shrugged, tailing after Link who stopped at the entrance of a tightly shut double door. He stared at the empty pedestal, lacking a statue, and whipped around to the open doors, his head rotated slightly more to the left and he petrified, hand jerking to his sword.
Intrigued as to what scared the normally unfazed adolescent, Midna looked back and smirked when she spotted Ooccoo.
The bird flapped closer, and Link jumped back, leveling his sword with the bird's tiny button nose. "Really now," the creature admonished, "I saved your life, you can stop pretending to be terrified of me." Ooccoo clucked his tongue, "I can warp you back to the Darknut..." the rice white bird broke off when the human's gaze bored into its soul. The wound must have made him irritable, Ooccoo sagely concluded.
"It speaks," Link croaked and relaxed at the mention of the Darknut. "I need to get to the Darknut." He glanced at his palms, brow furrowing at the stitches on his right palm. "There is a statue there I need to bring here," he pointed to the empty spot, "only then will I be able to access the most intimate parts of the Castle." He wondered if he might find relics belonging to the Hero of Time. Perhaps a statue he could snap a pictograph of? Taming wayward thoughts, he politely requested Ooccoo to transport him to the Midboss.
Standing in the mouth of a dusky chamber, Link unsheathed his sword and twirled it experimentally. The sword moved as an extension of his arm and he practiced his sets. Blade winking in the grey, time preserved light swamping the temple; he lunged, sliced, parried and pumped blood back to stiffened muscles. Satisfaction blooming as sweat patches on his tunic, he grinned, face degrees brighter than the morning. He stalked fearlessly into the dim room and Midna involuntarily warned him to be careful, stiffening when Link examined her.
The adolescent snorted contemptuously and when darkness enveloped his form, she floated to the floor and crossed tiny arms over her chest. "It's better this way," she chided herself. "This hero knows what he is doing."
But she missed the other child's carefree smiles and shenanigans. She craved to know what he thought. One Link was an open book, surprise in the arches of his eyebrows, sadness in the pout of his lips. Anger blazing in sharp irises. The other Link closed himself like a clam. Eyes guarded and mouth lifted into a mocking smile each time she warned him of dangers.
As she stewed in her thoughts, footsteps echoed from the darkened room. Shooting to the air and heart thumping in her chest, Midna scowled. Barely a minute passed since Link entered, did his wound flare up?
Emerging with a stone staff clutched between his fingers, the hero stepped into view and Midna pulled short.
Blood streaked his face and a droplet clung to his bottom lip. She did not see any lacerations on his skin...
Link turned to her, eyes shining and Midna's stomach twisted into an unpleasant knots.
Monster. Her mind echoed.
A/N: It was a nice change to write Link spending time with the Grandma-of-everyone's-dreams. Those parts were my favorite. Although, I'll admit that writing him as axe-crazy is strangely liberating. Feeling mad? Make up an axe-crazy character of your own and daydream how it feels to crush your enemies!
And remember to leave the crushing part to the daydreams.
Please read and review, constructive criticism is highly appreciated. Hopefully the readers are enjoying the story.
Also, I'm sorry for the delay, something came up.
