Chapter 37: The Storm Breaks
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The morning of the new year dawned cold and gray. The clouds from the previous day had not gone away; if anything they looked more threatening than before, dark, hanging low to the ground.
Castle Town was frozen solid. Frost curled around the glass panes in the windows and spattered iron lampposts and wagon wheels and decorated the surface of the manacles clamped around Link's wrists, although because of the heat of his body, the small feathery ice crystals were beginning to melt.
I've never really understood what cold was before this, he reflected, shivering. Riding through the Tabantha region beneath icy rain didn't come close to walking shirtless through the streets of Castle Town on this frigid morning. His hands were turning pink, along with the rest of his body; his nose and ears prickled uncomfortably, beginning to grow numb.
He hadn't recognized the two soldiers that fetched him from the prison earlier in the morning; they wore light steel armor emblazoned with the Hylian crest, marking them as simple knights without rank. They hadn't said a word to him, instead barging into his cell and pinning him down while they freed him of his Champion's tunic and undershirt and locked heavy iron manacles around his wrists.
The cold, or the writhing dread in his gut, or a combination of both, was making him feel nauseous. Almost worse were the stares he received as the soldiers marched him down the streets. Zelda had told him that the King sent out messengers bearing news of his punishment, and judging by the crowds filling the streets, it was clear how the people had responded, jumping at the chance to witness his punishment firsthand, and be the ones to spread gossip when they returned home.
Many of the people studying him looked confused. Pita was one of them, her motherly face filled with worry. Farglus of Tabantha Village was another, standing with his wife and son - who, to Link's surprise, was dressed in the unmarked tabard of a squire - gazing on with sadness and pity. So too did the Sheikah scholars regard him, interspersed throughout the gathering. He caught Purah's eye as she stood beside Robbie, and she offered what must have been an attempt at an encouraging smile, but ended up looking more like a grimace. It was disturbing to see her in such low spirits; Link felt himself wither inside.
The majority of the crowd glared at him with open hostility and disappointment. He tried not to let it sting - they never did believe in me - but guilt burned in his gut anyway.
I wasn't good enough for any of them. I've let them all down.
He licked his dry lips nervously, sliding his booted feet forward over the cobblestones. As the guards escorted him closer to the central square, the gathering thickened, people huddling close together for warmth as they muttered and murmured and sent dirty looks his way.
He spotted the four Champions by the fountain and felt his cheeks burn with shame and self-consciousness. Revali looked at him with a haughty scowl, an I-told-you-so look in his eyes, while Mipha gazed morosely at the cobblestones beneath her webbed feet, wrapped in a thick blanket to stave off the cold. Her father, the mighty King Dorephan, stood not far behind his daughter, glaring daggers. Link remembered, with a wince, that he had rejected Mipha the last time they met.
Urbosa wasn't looking at him either; she seemed uncharacteristically downcast, with even a hint of guilt in her vibrant eyes. She had always looked regal, and the colorfully-dyed fur robes she had adorned did nothing to detract from her presence, and yet she still seemed diminished somehow.
Daruk looked upset as well, his brows creased in a heavy frown above eyes darkened with sorrow. He, and the Goron warriors he had travelled with, wore nothing but their usual loincloths and baldrics; they looked almost comically out of place among the furs and cloaks and scarves surrounding them.
As Link passed, the crowds that had lined the streets merged forward as one, following him and his escorts around to the northern rim of the fountain for the beating. Their mutters had died away after he passed by, and the silence that fell over them then was almost as numbing as the weather; it was unnatural for such a large gathering to remain so quiet.
Link saw Zelda first, standing with her father at the end of the bridge leading over the Hyrule Castle Moat. Even from a distance, he could tell that she had been crying - her cheeks were splotched with red, and her eyes were the deeper shade of emerald only brought about by tears - and a pang of guilt shot through his stomach. The court bard Filo was there as well, glaring at Link with blatant distaste that nearly matched the fury burning in the King's eyes. The General and several other leaders stood with them, looking on without emotion.
His eyes landed on the Captain next, who was studying him coldly with disappointed acceptance, and quickly he averted his gaze to the tall pole that had been driven into the ground at his side. Link shuddered, his heart pounding faster, and as he neared, Janin stroked the whip in his hands - long and sleek, ending in several long knotted strands. Link gulped, nausea curdling his innards. Goddesses, preserve me!
The two soldiers brought him closer to the post and hooked his manacles around a loop near the top, forcing his arms above his head. Link's heart fluttered madly, a hummingbird frantically seeking escape.
The King stepped forward, his gaze cold. "People of Hyrule," he boomed, his voice carrying across the square. "It is to my great regret that we gather today for this purpose. However… I cannot in good conscience let this man go unpunished.
"Sir Link of Thyphlo has violated my trust, and the trust of my advisors and his commanders. He disobeyed his orders, broke his oaths, and uttered borderline treasonous sentiments. To discourage such behavior in the future I declare now his sentence.
"Sir Link, you shall on this the first day of the new year receive seventy strokes of the lash in punishment for your actions, to be dealt by your commanding officer, Captain Cassius Janin of the Royal Guard. You shall be returned to your quarters until the following morning; then you will report to the Sanctum, and are to attempt to best Captain Janin in a duel which will be open to the public. Should you succeed, I will consent to allow you to continue as my daughter's personal guard, as your victory would truly mean that your skills outweigh your misbehavior. Should you fail, I will exile you to the Tabantha Tundra, and if there is any doubt in my mind that you might refuse to come to the aid of this kingdom should Calamity Ganon return, I will place a guard upon you."
Link's shaking breath fogged in the icy afternoon air. His cheeks burned with shame while the rest of his body tingled with goosebumps and trembled lightly from the cold. Rhoam gave a slight nod to the Captain standing behind him; he tensed, his hands curling into fists in anticipation -
There was a dreadful snap, and he sucked in a sharp breath, stunned by the strident sound of the whip striking his skin. At first he didn't feel the pain; there was only shock at the sound.
Then the stinging set in, radiating from the area that had initially been struck, burning and tingling across the skin. He bit back a grimace, clenching his teeth tightly together.
The whip cracked over his shoulders again. This time the stinging was immediate and somehow much worse; he shut his eyes tightly, fingernails digging into his palms. He sucked in a deep breath in through his nose, attempting to steady himself, and then a third terrible snap shattered the air and he couldn't help but flinch violently, his back smarting angrily.
He made it to the tenth lash before he couldn't hold back a groan at the pain. The whip had broken skin that time; he was sure of it - something that felt like blood was dripping, hot, down his goosepimpled spine. Janin leaned in close before the next round of beatings, his voice as frigid as the wintry air around him. "You cry out again and I'll make it that much worse for you. Show me I didn't fail - give me hope."
A wave of despair crashed over Link's soul and he bit his teeth tighter together, trying to force away tears. Impossible!
Ten down. Sixty to go. He felt absolutely sick -
Crack!
His body spasmed but he managed to keep quiet. Oh, Din - it did break the skin! The whip had crossed over the line it had torn in his flesh; having the open wound beaten like that was -
Crack!
- absolutely agonizing. His clenched hands shook, needles stabbing into his flesh, from being pinned above his head for however long it had been since this nightmare began.
With the whip's next stroke he bit clean through a sliver of skin on the inside of his lip and tasted blood, shuddering from the pain. The aching, pulsing fires on his back were burning hotter with each passing second; he wondered vaguely if his skin was steaming.
He couldn't keep back a pained groan when the whip snapped down again, and over the roaring of blood in his ears he heard Janin sigh almost regretfully. His muscles tensed, remembering the Captain's warning; the whip cracked viciously behind him and he shouted through gritted teeth, feeling as if his back had been split open right down to the bone.
"I warned you, runt."
His heart ached and a tear burned down his icy cheek as the next lash fell and he arched his back against the fiery, stinging ripples radiating over his skin. The Captain had never before resorted to using the derogatory nickname given to him by the other knights. Never.
Hot blood oozed down his back and shoulders from the few shallow lines cut into his skin, burning his winter-chilled skin. Janin brutally snapped the whip over him again and again with staggering force; each fresh explosion of pain pushed him closer and closer to a dark void - a yawning pit without thought, without sense, with nothing but pain. His vision wavered, whether from tears or from fading consciousness he could not tell, with each stroke. No longer, it seemed, did the whip fall lightly enough to leave only stinging red welts behind; instead it felt as if each new lash tore furrows in his skin.
He lost count of how many blows he had endured. His back was on fire, hurting worse than anything else he could remember, a trembling plane of raw agony. Sweat dampened his skin despite the dropping temperatures, despite the scattered little snowflakes beginning to tumble down from the dark heavens. With each lash his breaths became more and more ragged; the whip chiselled away, bit by bit, his strength and resolve, shredding his focus until it was all he could do just to stay standing.
His knees wobbled and nearly buckled with each lash. His chest heaved as he panted heavily, and his entire body spasmed as each blow fell. The snow falling from the skies thickened, pinpricks of icy cold that scalded him when they landed on his sweat-drenched chest and face and his mutilated back. At long last Central Hyrule was blessed with its first winter storm, but at the worst possible time; the flaming agony of his back and the needles of cold stabbing ever deeper into his body with each passing second trapped him in a terrible vise of torment.
The whip struck him again and again, with barely any time for him to recuperate in between. The pain had reached what felt like the apex of what he could bear. No longer did it feel like any of the skin on his back was untouched, so with each blow the whip snapped across several other welts and fresh cuts, searing them as if with embers, and he couldn't muster the energy to hold silent anymore. He shouted, groaned, whimpered, grunted, as each stinging blow landed on his trembling body.
Time dragged onwards. Or perhaps it had frozen like the rest of the world. Link's strength quickly ebbed until he was too weak even to cry out in pain. His body jerked forward involuntarily; his breath caught and his head lolled limply on his shoulders. Darkness stretched across his vision as his consciousness faded.
But the strident snap of the whip and the fresh stream of white-hot agony cracking out over his shoulders brought him back, again and again and again. And again and again and again, during the brief break between blows, he lost himself to black nothingness. The biting cold and searing pain, too much to comprehend, choked steadily away at his consciousness until there was nothing left, and not even the stinging, snapping whip could bring him back.
There was nothing… nothing but throbbing pain and soulless cold and the frantic beating of his heart.
\-==/\==-/
His will held until nearly half of the punishment had been dealt. Then his silence was finally broken by his pained gasps and choked cries. The cold had turned his skin an unhealthy pale color with a bluish tint, although his nose, ears, and fingertips were dramatically red. Zelda held a constant prayer in her heart, pleading at least for the sunlight to break through the clouds, for the snow lightly falling over the square to cease, but instead the clouds seemed only to thicken, and the snow fell harder and faster, gathering in piles at her feet and between the stones paving the ground.
In the beginning she had flinched with each crack of the whip; then as Link's cries rang in her ears she fought a losing battle against the tears prickling in her eyes.
When he fell silent, her heart seized in her chest and she clutched at it in horror. He was so pale, practically colorless, his features strained and yet somehow lifeless. If not for the heaving of his chest she would have feared he was dead. Goddesses, please, give him strength! He is your champion - do not abandon him now! Please!
Now as the count reached sixty his knees buckled and he went entirely limp, his face slack and unresponsive as he hung from his wrists. Two soldiers hurried forwards and her heart leapt with hope - he won't have to do the rest! - that was quickly dashed when they merely held him upright, taking the pressure from his shoulders before they could be dislocated by his weight.
Captain Janin continued as if nothing had happened, beating Link's unconscious body with only a little less force than before. Zelda's hands curled into fists and her eyes welled with tears as she turned to her father in desperation. The dour, stern expression on his face silenced her protests before she could give voice to them, and she looked back towards the whipping post in time to see Janin deliver the final blow.
Utter silence fell. No one moved, no one breathed, except for Janin as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
Rhoam inhaled deeply, bringing his hands together. "Let it be known that the punishment has been delivered and borne," he called out, dismissing the crowds with a nod; Zelda was grimly, distantly satisfied to hear a slight quaver in his voice.
After a brief pause, as a low murmur of hushed conversation rippled across the gathering, the people began to disperse, one by one. Many of the hateful glares Zelda had noticed in the beginning were now replaced by expressions of pity or abject shock and confusion, which she supposed would help in the long run. Perhaps they'll think more kindly about him now.
But she despised the methods that had brought about their change in heart.
A third man walked up to the post, joining the two holding Link upright, and unlocked his wrists from the manacles, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. If they hadn't been holding him up, Zelda was certain he would have fallen flat on his face.
The crowd was quickly dissipating, but Zelda didn't move, and neither did the Champions, Captain Janin, the General, Filo, or her father, she noticed. They each watched solemnly as one of the soldiers patted at Link's cheeks, coaxing him to consciousness. His eyelashes fluttered weakly; Zelda caught a glimmer of purest blue. The two soldiers supporting him slung his arms over their shoulders and began slowly walking forward, towards the castle. Much to her surprise, she noticed that Link was actually walking himself, his boots sliding shakily over the cobblestones. His eyes remained mostly closed, and he did not raise his head, but he was conscious - that was something.
Maybe it's not too bad. Maybe he's alright.
She wrung her hands anxiously together as he neared, and she heard the strained, shallow breaths desperately sucked in through his slightly parted lips. His hair, damp with sweat, hung over his eyes and obscured his face from view. She felt her cheeks grow warm with a blush in a moment of distraction; it was not difficult to understand why Mipha had grown so obsessive about him. Though small, he had a magnificently well-toned body, with hard, lean muscles stretching across his -
The soldiers passed by, with Link between them, turning their backs to her. She shrieked and clapped her hands to her mouth, her pulse racing in horror and panic. Goddesses - !
His back was a complete mess. His skin was swollen and red, with raised welts dramatically discolored a pale, bruised blue. But it was impossible to tell where one welt ended and another began; much of his back was a tangled mess of dark crimson blood seeping from a scattering of haphazard criss-crossing gouges.
Her heart pounded in her ears; she felt as if her vision was tunneling, zeroing in on Link's back. She was unaware of anything but fear for him; voices called to her but they sounded distant and unintelligible, complete gibberish. It wasn't until someone took her hands from her face and she found herself face to face with Urbosa that she realized she had been crying, and that the soldiers escorting Link had already taken him beyond her line of sight.
"... strong, and young," Urbosa was saying, her gaze gentle and sympathetic and, nonetheless, glittering with unshed tears. "He'll be alright. They'll take care of him; he'll be back on his feet soon."
"Those marks," Zelda whispered shakily, staring absently at nothing in particular, her watery gaze wandering from Urbosa's concerned expression to her father striding confidently back to the castle with his guards, Captain Janin, and the General, to the Champions and Filo hovering anxiously around her. "They… he…"
"He was… brave," Revali said with an awkward cough, as if the words pained him. "That counts for something, right? Don't you think?"
"It shouldn't have happened at all…" She was shaking her head; her knees felt hollow and weak, and she worried that she might faint. "How could this… how…"
"At least we tried," Daruk sighed, running a hand through his hair and slowly shaking his head. "We did our best, Princess. Can't go beatin' ourselves up, can we? We tried our hardest to protect him."
"It's… unfortunate," Filo chimed in hesitantly, his eyes darting nervously from Zelda to the Champions around her, as if unsure if he should be speaking at all. "How… how often it seems that those whose role is to protect are then left… without protection themselves."
Zelda nodded slowly, feeling her spirits plummet ever lower - which she hadn't thought possible. She curled her arms around herself, biting away tears. He's right - there's no one to protect Link. No matter how hard I try, I… I'm just not enough. No matter how much Choice cares for him, she isn't enough, either. And he has no family, no parents to fight for him… he is alone.
"I wish it wasn't like this," she whispered. Snowflakes tumbled down from the heavens, landing on her shoulders and catching in her eyelashes; she blinked several times to get rid of them. "I wish we could have stopped it." She didn't know which 'we' she was referring to - her and Daruk, or her and Link, or her and her father - rather, her relationship with her father. If it had not gotten so out of hand, Link wouldn't have felt the need to protect me from him.
"Could I heal him?" Mipha asked anxiously, and for once her voice carried sincere concern instead of shy lust. She took a step forward away from the rest of them, studying the castle intently.
"I doubt the King would permit that," Filo protested quickly. "It would circumvent the entire purpose of such a punishment."
"But it was a punishment he didn't deserve," Zelda protested, looking over her shoulder at the court bard in shock as she hurried after Mipha. "We must try, at least."
Filo seemed to whither beneath her gaze. "V-very well, Princess."
"So where will we find him?" Daruk asked, jogging forward a few steps to catch up with her, leaving massive footprints in the snow. He shuddered, eyeing the overcast sky above with distaste. "Hopefully not somewhere cold. Maybe a room with a nice, roaring fire."
"They're taking him back to his room," Urbosa reminded him as she fell into step with Zelda. "That's what the King said. So where is that?"
"Close to my quarters," Zelda answered, frowning. "I'm not certain how close…" She turned her gaze to the castle, where snow already clung to the spires and rooftops; it was startling how quickly the storm was taking over. She brushed snowflakes off of her shoulders and shivered, resisting the urge to break into a run. If there's even the slightest chance we can take this pain away from him…
Urbosa curled a comforting arm around her shoulders as they walked, giving her a gentle squeeze, a silent promise of support. Filo stood on her other side; beneath the worry for Link squeezing her soul she couldn't help but feel a warm rush of affection for her childhood friend. After all these years, despite what jealousy he might feel for Link, despite how we've grown apart, he is willing to be there for me now, when I am hurting like this.
It was a kind, and entirely unexpected, gesture.
Upon first stepping into the stone hallways of the castle, stamping the snow from their feet before heading onwards over wood and thick carpet, the temperature seemed only slightly higher than it was outside. Only as they ventured deeper through the corridors, passing rooms and little alcoves where fires burned cheerfully upon their hearths, did their frozen noses and fingers begin to thaw in the warmer air.
Zelda rubbed her cold hands together, leading the way up through the winding halls and steep staircases towards her quarters, keeping a wary eye out for soldiers or physicians or someone who might also be heading up to Link's room. Filo's words replayed grimly in her mind and she winced. Surely Father would do something about those wounds… surely he would have them treated even if he didn't want them fully healed…
They passed a few servants bearing firewood and laundry, and several nobles dressed in fur-lined finery, who stared at them half in confusion and half in knowing skepticism. Evidently word of Link's 'scandalous' actions had gotten out. Zelda ground her teeth together, a dagger of anger piercing her soul. No doubt they've embellished that story.
As she reached the top of the circular staircase leading into the hall where her quarters resided, she spotted her father hovering near the open door of the small room directly next to hers; it had been used for storage when last she checked. Her heart leapt up into her throat and pounded violently, making it difficult to breathe, as she walked timidly closer across the thick red carpet. Even the presence of Filo and the Champions at her back did nothing to bring her courage.
King Rhoam turned at her approach, his face shifting from a saddened, weary expression to a cold, stony one. "What are you doing, Zelda?" he asked calmly, but with a hint of frustration in the dark tones of his voice.
"I… we would like to see Link, please," she gulped, fighting the urge to twist her fingers together.
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flitting somewhere over her shoulder, where Mipha stood. "Is that all?"
She knew what he meant. He had seen right through her request. "Well… we were hoping to heal his wounds."
Rhoam shook his head gravely. "Then I cannot allow you inside."
"But Father -"
"No," the King interrupted. "As long as your intent is to relieve him of his duly earned punishment, I will not allow you to see him. It is his burden to bear, and his alone, as punishment for his words and deeds."
"You can't possibly expect him to fight with his back like this!" she exclaimed, her hands curling into fists. "You must let Mipha heal him!"
"I don't expect him to fight at all, let alone win his duel with Cassius," Rhoam shot back. "In fact, if I were a wagering man, I would bet that he lasts a minute at most. Do not think for a moment that I actually want him to return as your knight." His voice deepened dangerously, and his eyes narrowed. "Considering what he's already done, I have no reason to believe he wouldn't go further. I will not risk that with you, Zelda. I had to agree to give him some sort of opportunity to regain favor, but only to appease yours and the General's arguments. You made valid points - it was the only fair decision I could make."
"Then you're… you're setting him up to lose?" she gasped, her eyes widening.
"Hey, now, that's not right!" Daruk protested. "You gotta give him an equal chance!"
"If you had children of your own -" Rhoam stopped, his brow furrowing in confusion at the Goron Champion. "If you… er… never mind. Believe it or not, Zelda, I do care what becomes of you. And it is because of this that I ask so much of you. It is because I care that I'm taking these measures to keep you safe. And you would throw it all in my face." He shook his head. "Champions, forgive me, but I must ask that you leave this area now. Zelda, you may go in, and… and say your goodbyes."
Her heart jumped. He had sounded almost mournful there at the end, as if he actually did care, as he had claimed. But her thoughts were spinning, filled with images that burned behind her eyes, threatening with more tears. The memory of Link's ravaged back… the imagined sight of him standing on shaking legs with a blade in his hand as Captain Janin bore down on him… his face twisted by a grimace of pain…
How could he do this? How could my own father treat anyone like this?
It made her sick, a feeling that worsened when she considered that her father had been required to punish actual criminals in the past; she shuddered to think what might have happened to them.
Vaguely she heard the Champions offer goodbyes and grim condolences, and Daruk and Mipha both apologized, as they joined their King in walking the opposite direction down the hallway. Urbosa's final words and gentle touch on her shoulder lingered like a ghost. "Stay strong for him, little bird…"
Summoning her courage, she marched forward and entered Link's room. It was small and modest, with very few furnishings and a bed that was little more than a cot, and yet it was plenty large enough for him, small as he was. He was sitting hunched over on the mattress, blankets pulled up to his thighs, with one of the soldiers who had escorted him holding him upright, as a woman wearing the white robes and bonnet of a physician dabbed at his back with a damp rag stained pink by his blood.
"Madame Ronelda," Zelda greeted her politely, unable to keep her voice from quavering. "Is… is he… alright?"
"Well, what do you think?" Ronelda grunted, her eyes narrowed as she dipped her cloth in a small basin resting on the ground before wringing it out and dabbing at Link's back. This time Zelda heard his breath catch in his throat; she realized that it was probably salt water in the basin.
"How long will it take him to recover?" she asked, clasping her hands tightly together. How long will he be in pain?
Ronelda shrugged. "Perhaps a couple of weeks. These aren't particularly deep, so they'll heal quickly as long as he stays healthy. The real problem is what happens under the skin." She soaked her rag once more in the salt water and moved on to his lower back. Link barely reacted this time; Zelda wondered if he was even fully conscious anymore. "I haven't had to treat these kinds of wounds often, thank the Goddesses, and none of them were critical cases, but my predecessors left records of beatings so severe that, while outwardly the victim appeared to be healing, there was organ damage on the inside. Fortunately for this idiot here, most of the blows landed on his shoulder blades; the bone will have protected him from worse damage."
Zelda nodded slowly, a weak glimmer of relief clasping her soul. It's something, at least.
After Ronelda finished washing away the blood and disinfecting the cuts in Link's back, Zelda helped her wrap his torso in soft, clean white cloth to protect them from infection. His skin was cold, almost as cold as ice, and she could feel shivers quaking through him every few moments.
Ronelda gathered up her supplies, nodding curtly at the soldier holding Link upright. "Lay him down on his side," she ordered, stretching one hand carefully out from around her armful of materials to curl her littlest finger around a ring attached to a small salt container and lift it from the table. "And grab that bowl on your way out. Dump it somewhere."
"Yes, ma'am," the soldier muttered with a dour roll of his eyes as he released Link, letting him slump listlessly over onto his side. He took a step towards the propped-open door, but paused and glanced back. "Will you be needing anything, Princess?"
Zelda gave a slight start, not expecting him to address her. "Erm… no. No, thank you."
He shrugged his shoulders, scooped up Ronelda's bowl, and marched into the hall. Ronelda herself lingered a moment longer in the doorframe, frowning thoughtfully. "I'll have a mug of tea brewed for him," she decided. "With some herbs to ease the pain a bit. He's out for now - he's exhausted. There's not a thing in the world that could wake him up, I think…" Her stony features softened, the furrow between her stern brows disappearing; for a moment, her expression was almost kind. "You stay with him and try to help him drink it when it gets up here."
Zelda nodded obediently, clasping her hands together. Ronelda turned and walked out of the room, all trace of empathy wiped from her face. "Bard! What in Hylia's name are you doing out here?"
"W-waiting for… the Princess…"
"Well, the Princess is busy at the moment, and that boy in there needs rest, so why don't you just run along?"
Zelda glanced back at the door, wincing slightly. Poor Filo. She was once again reminded of Link's tales of Mipha's antics, although of course the court bard seemed far more tame. Still, they shared the burden of unrequited love, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for them.
She looked down at Link, pressing her lips firmly together in worry. Her gaze fell on the blankets pooled around his waist; she gently pulled them up to his shoulders before hurrying to his small wardrobe and pulling down another blanket and draping it over him. Hopefully that'll warm you up some, she thought, pressing the back of her hand to his cheek, her face screwing up in a grimace at how cold it was.
"You'll be alright, won't you?" she asked him quietly, knowing he wouldn't respond. "You always get right back up when something happens, but this time you didn't. Please be alright, Link…"
