Hello! It's Monday. Monday is awful. This Monday in particular was extraordinarily awful (work, family is all fine), so unfortunately this piece came out a little more serious than I intended. Oh well.
Anyway, for Typh: Old school! Bust out your Ocarinas, kids. We're traveling back to the Ocarina of Time universe with a little scene of just how, exactly, Sheik felt while watching Link in his travels.
Order up!
Seven years. Seven years of hiding, of scavenging, of brutal, merciless training at the hands of Impa and her tribe. Seven years of pretending, of going by another name, of not even daring to think her old name after Impa had faked the death of that long-gone girl. Seven years of learning, of study, of punishing physical tasks, of agonizing waiting, of patience, of terror. Seven years of life gone that Sheik would never, ever get back. Seven years of other lives gone. Seven years of suffering. Seven years' worth of lives senselessly lost.
Amazing that those seven years— seven lifetimes, really— and all that they had entailed had (at last!) culminated in this: Watching the Hero of Time…
… go fishing.
Sheik tried not to grind her teeth as she crouched, hidden, in the leafy cover of the trees indigenous to the Lake Hylia region. They were good trees: Pale, sturdy trunks that ran straight up and down like the posts of a fence, and then blossomed into dense green foliage. It was dark within the tree cover, and Sheik would've been uncomfortable, contorted around branches as she was, but, well, she was used to it.
She'd had seven years to get used to it, after all.
Even still, that agonizing wait was nothing compared to the frustration she felt now. She wanted to hop out of the tree, march over to that sorry excuse for a hero, grab him by his pointy ears, and forcibly haul him off to the next dungeon. Didn't he know he had work to do? Didn't he know that people were suffering and dying, waiting for him to… to finish up whatever inane task it was he was doing?
Sheik couldn't help it. She dug her nails into the bark of the tree as the hero whistled, reeling in his line, and tugged an immense fish from the depths of the fishing hole. He hefted it, the muscles of his arm flexing as he considered its weight.
"Navi, what d'you reckon? Fifteen pounds?"
There was an answering twinkle from the vicinity of Link's shoulder, and he shrugged, then unhooked the fish and threw it back.
"Gotta get a big 'un," Link said to the fairy. "Guess we're trying again."
Sheik wished she had half the patience and good cheer of that clueless man. If he threw back one more fish, she was going to scream.
Rather than risk blowing her cover, she took a deep breath. Link wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He'd gotten some fool notion into his head, and he wasn't going to give up until he'd fulfilled whatever goal it was he'd set for himself. While that was ordinarily an admirable quality— Sheik did appreciate that it was that precise quality that was leading him to methodically eliminate all the corruption in Hyrule, after all— at the moment, it was infuriating.
Resigned to an afternoon of irritation, Sheik melted even further back into the shadows of her tree.
The Hero wouldn't know flirting if it pranced naked in front of him, Sheik wryly observed to herself.
She was crunching an apple, hidden in the shadow of a building. She'd used the tricks of the tribe to disguise herself in the form of a middle-aged woman, and she snickered as she watched Link bumble and fumble obliviously through yet another social interaction.
Sheik snorted as Link completely missed a young woman's cues of interest: the woman took a step towards him, leaning forward in interest, and Link began looking around to see what she'd tripped on. Sheik finished her apple, tossed the core over her shoulder into the pigpen, and turned, making her way down the alley.
She'd let Link have his dignity. After all, there was nothing important to see here.
The Hero was cold and wet and sick. Sheik ached to go to him more than she had at any other time during his journey— even when he'd been injured, she'd known he could handle himself. But this…
He was slumped against the trunk of a tree in South Hyrule Field, rain dripping down his face and trickling down the back of his neck. His clothes were sodden. She could see a flush in his cheeks, his chest rapidly rising. He likely had a fever. His horse stood nearby, worried, anxious.
Sheik didn't dare help. Already, she'd collected too much interest, revealed herself to him too many times. In this, she couldn't interfere.
… At least, not directly.
There was a ranch not very far away, one where Link had found his incredible horse. All Sheik had to do was get the horse to go running back to the ranch. The girl who lived there, Malon, was clever. She knew Epona was Link's and Link's alone. She'd know that Epona wouldn't come back unless there was a serious need. Hopefully, she would go find Link. If not…
If not, well, Sheik would just have to figure out something else.
Making sure she was outside of the line of sight of the Hero, Sheik put two fingers to her lips and quietly whistled the song she'd heard the Hero use to summon his horse. The great russet beast perked up, her ears flicking. Sheik whistled the song again, and the horse whickered, then reluctantly trotted away from her master, braving the torrential downpour. Link didn't seem to notice the great beast go.
Epona trotted over to Sheik. Sheik was glad the horse had seen her before, glad the horse knew her for a friend of Link. The beast looked at Sheik with dark, intelligent eyes, and Sheik grabbed the bridle and pulled her head down to speak into the horse's ear, imbuing her words with the faintest bit of magic— the maximum amount of power she dared use:
"Faithful horse, there is a place near here where you were once warm and safe. There are people there who love your master as you do. Run and fetch them back to him. They will be able to help him in ways that you can not."
Sheik released the horse's bridle. Epona tossed her head, whickered, and ran off, mud flinging up from underneath her hooves. Sheik melted back into the rain and waited, her worried attention shifting between the distant horizon and the form of the sick hero.
She only hoped what she'd been able to do was enough.
The land had— mostly— been freed. The evil king had retreated to his castle. The Hero was done— so very nearly done— with his work.
The battle would come tomorrow, Sheik knew. Come morning, she would reveal herself to him, unveil her truest form, and together, they would go to the palace of the evil king, tear down the walls, bind the king in chains of light, and restore the balance of the world.
Tomorrow, Sheik's long wait would end. Tomorrow, it would all be over.
Sheik was excited. Sheik was terrified.
Link had taken himself off to Kakariko Village— freed from shadows, slowly rebuilding— and had booked himself into the inn so he might get a decent night's rest. Sheik had followed, as she always did, watching from afar, as she always would. And even though she would reveal herself tomorrow, she itched to see him, to speak with him one last time before everything changed.
It was impossible, of course.
To avoid temptation, Sheik had contacted another of the tribe to watch the hero on this final night— they did that, sometimes, watched him when she couldn't, when she had to get some rest or she'd fall over dead. Then, Sheik locked herself in Impa's house, achingly familiar, achingly empty: Impa was gone, off in the realm of the sages, watching over Hyrule, waiting for her chance to strike.
Sheik knew that once this was all over, it was highly unlikely that Impa would ever be able to come back.
She made up the large futon she'd shared with Impa for so many years, and she crawled beneath the blankets that still smelled faintly of Impa, an she rested her head on Impa's pillow, and she cried and cried and cried: Cried with grief at all that had been lost, fear at what was to come, cried even with a terrified kind of hope. Tomorrow it would all end. Tomorrow it would all change.
Tomorrow, everyone— even Link, especially Link— would be free.
The idea had come upon her slowly as she watched him in his journeys. She'd realized how much he cared, how deeply. He was so vibrant, so joyous, and yet so committed. She could see the pain on his face when he learned of new losses, old losses, wounds large and small suffered at the hands of the tyrant; she knew that, if she gave him the choice, he would rebuild the world with his own two hands.
But he would save the world instead, and then he would get his reward. Freedom. Joy. All that had been taken from him would be returned. Tomorrow, at the hands of a hero (brave, kind, courageous!), her people would be freed.
At the hands of a long-dead princess, the yoke of the Hero would be removed, and only the boy— free, blissfully free, to laugh, to run, to play, to choose his future, one without pain or suffering and blood— yes, only the boy would remain. This, she could give him.
This, she would give him. It would be her gift to him: A gift of gratitude, yes, but also a gift of love.
It was a just reward, Sheik thought. And in turning back time, Sheik might— just might— be able to not only take Link back. She might be able to take everyone back. She might be able to return them to a time before suffering, a life without suffering. It was a gamble, a slim one, but one she was willing to take.
Tomorrow, her people would be free. Link would be free.
And her love would guide him home, to the life where he belonged, to a life of joy and peace.
Sheik would miss him. But she was glad— so glad— that she could do this thing for him.
As for herself? Knowing that Link was free, happy, thriving… It would be enough.
Of that, she was certain.
I know, there's not much fluff here. I'm sorry! It's hard, though. I've always seen OoT as a bit of a tragic story, TBH.
In the interest of dosing us all with so much cotton candy that our teeth rot out, next time I write, I'll go rogue (again) and write a little post-OoT happy ending, one with Link and Zelda all grown up and blissfully in wuv-wuv. It'll answer some of the questions raised by this little headcanon piece I put together, but it won't be a direct sequel, so don't get your hopes up.
I think I'm going to take tomorrow night off. Maybe not. We'll see! Either way, until next time: Stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.
