"That was interesting," Thoria said as they left the Green Study.

"Interesting?" Link stared at her. "You were lucky Zelda was in a good mood."

"Why?"

"You completely ignored the common courtesies!" Link threw his hands in the air. "I told you Thoria, you address her as 'your Highness' and speak to her like a damn princess!"

"I did my best!" Thoria snapped. "Excuse me that I've never spoken to royalty before. I was nervous."

Link muttered under his breath.

"What's wrong with you, anyway?" Thoria asked, as they made their way down another corridor. "You've been funny all day."

"Nothing," Link said. "I've just got things on my mind."

"You wanna talk about it?" Thoria asked.

Link slowed and looked at her. Thoria gazed back at him, her head tilted to the side. After a beat, he shook his head.

"No," he said. "It's fine."

They walked in silence for a minute, before Thoria spoke again.

"What should we do tomorrow? I suppose the princess wants me to do something other than reading books all day."

"I don't know," Link said, his mind elsewhere. It was getting dark outside. Not yet dark enough to light the torches on the walls, but it wouldn't be long. He surpressed a shiver. There was still time.

"I mean, I love that library, there is so much to read, but… I kinda want to do something else, y'know? Shake things up a bit." Thoria rubbed her arms. "What do you normally do when you're not guarding me?"

"Uh, I don't know. Guard the princess."

"And during your time off?" Thoria pressed.

"Time off?" Link laughed humourlessly. "What's that?"

"You know what I mean. What do you do when you're not 'on call'?"

"Train," he said absently.

"Train what?"

"Swordsmanship, archery, things like that. Sometimes show the new guards the ropes."

"That sounds fun," Thoria said. Link caught a glimpse of her smile from the corner of his eye. "Let's do that."

"Ladies don't fight," Link said, without thinking. He jerked back as a fist swung into his field of vision, Thoria appearing in front of him suddenly, a grin on her face, as she jabbed at his face again. Link sidestepped and batted her hands away, skipping to the side as she feinted a kick at his shins.

"Stop," he said, as she followed, lightly slapping at his arm. She raised an eyebrow and lowered her hands.

"Women do fight," she said. "That was just playing."

"And you barely touched me," Link said. "You have some serious learning to do if you're going to fight properly."

Thoria said nothing, but a wide grin split her face. Link found a smile creeping onto his own lips. He shook his head, chuckling.

"Alright, you got me. But not tomorrow. I won't be able to tomorrow."

"Why not?" Thoria's face fell. "I was looking forward to learning something new."

"Let's stick to the library for now," Link said. He glanced out of the passing windows again.

"Fine," Thoria huffed. "But I'm going to get bored soon. I like a little variety in my life, you know?"

"You could always visit the dungeons," Link said, drily.

"That would be interesting, I-" Thoria shot him a look. "Hell no. You're not gonna bang me up."

"I'm tempted," Link said, guessing the meaning of the strange phrase. "I might get a rest from all your questions."

Thoria blew a raspberry at him in response.

Arriving at her door, Link bade her goodnight. Thoria grinned at him and pulled a silly face as she shut the door, Link smiling good naturedly at her. His smile vanished as the door clicked, and he glanced out of the window again. He swallowed, and chewed a nail, beginning a slow walk down to his rooms. Remember to breathe, he told himself.

His pace was slow enough that Impa caught him before he reached his rooms. She stared down at him impassively, her face mostly hidden by her high collar, her short silver hair and red eyes all that was visible as she towered above him.

"It's time," she said, her voice low. Link nodded, and fell into step beside her.

The walk to the courtyard seemed to take all night. With every step, Link's heart seemed to beat a little faster, his shoulders tensing just a little more with each corner they rounded. His mouth was dry, and he ran his tongue over his lips.

Silently, he berated himself. He should not feel afraid of what was to come. He had faced innumerable foes, had taken on more impossible tasks than any man living, and had endured countless battles and wounds. He had walked into a myriad of temples and dungeons with his head held high. This would be no different. Just because he was deliberately walking into a pain that he had no means of defending himself from, he-

He faltered. Just a half-step, but Impa saw. Her fingers snatched out like a thin, white spider and grasped his bicep. Link shot her a look.

"I'm not going to run," he said, quietly. "You may release me."

Impa stared down at him for the time it took to draw two breaths. Slowly, she nodded, and relaxed her grip, though her eyes never left him. She said not a word, and Link kept his own silence as well.

After an age, they reached the courtyard. In the centre, a small wooden platform had been erected, with a tall pole in the centre. Princess Zelda stood to the side, next to a burly man in a black hood. Even King Rhoam had left his chambers, wrapped in a thick fur cloak and seated in a chair. Navi was nowhere to be seen, and Link was glad. She should not have to see this, it would pain her greatly. The courtyard was otherwise blessedly empty, no commons to be seen, but a couple of guards stood to attention nearby, and Link winced. The royals he could cope with, but to be whipped before his brothers in arms…

He took a slow breath. It was blessing enough that so few were there to see. He did not need Impa's palm at his back to walk forward and face the princess and her hooded counterpart.

"Ser Link," she addressed him. He inclined his head, holding himself stiffly in the cooling air. "You know why you are here." Her voice was clear, but her eyes were sad.

"You are charged," came King Rhoam's voice. "With direct disobedience of an order given to you by your King. You will be whipped five times singularly across the back."

Link said nothing. As the hooded man stepped onto the platform, Zelda leaned in to him.

"You can wear your tunic," she whispered. "I made sure of it. It will lessen some of the pain."

"Thank you," Link said, and pulled the tunic over his head. The tunic was ancient, and though the material seemed as good as new, he did not want to risk damaging it any more than he had to. And he deserved this for disobeying his orders. Zelda's eyes widened as he bared his torso to the summer air. He folded the tunic and mail carefully, removing his hat and placing it atop the tunic, laying the clothing carefully on the edge of the platform. He breathed.

He stepped onto the platform and approached the hooded man, who held up a short length of rope.

"I'm to tie your hands to the pole," he explained, in a voice softer and lighter than Link had expected. "In case you faint."

"I won't," Link said, "I do not need to be tied." He eyed the rope warily. Of all the things that would send the pieces of his mind scattering into animalistic terror, that would be it. He felt the icy ghost of iron clasped around his wrists, and he bared his teeth.

"Fine, no rope," the hooded man said, backing away, his eyes wide through the holes in the hood. Link forced the memory away and approached the pole, raising his arms and gripping the iron ring at the top tightly. He breathed. He adjusted his stance, placing his feet far enough apart that he wouldn't stumble. Focus.

The hooded man offered him a small chunk of wood wrapped in leather, and Link allowed him to fit it between his teeth. He could feel the eyes on him, and wondered briefly how badly he would scar. His heart was loud in his ears, and he concentrated on it, trying to drown out the whispering voices that came from below and behind. He felt his ribs expand and contract as he breathed. Faster than he would like. He had to focus. He tightened the corners of his mind and lowered himself into something other than himself. He shut out his pounding heart. He ignored his fluttering pulse. He paid no mind to the sweat that beaded his brow, that gathered between his shoulder blades.

He heard the whip thud lightly as the end uncoiled and hit the ground. There was a whisper, and a sharp crack as it was tested in the air. Focus. Breathe.

Everything seemed to look sharper in the flickering light of the braziers. The grain of the wood was smooth at first glance, but Link could count the innumerable tiny grooves and spots in the pole before him. The lines of the flagstones were almost razor sharp and the colours around him seemed to be brighter and more clearly defined, as though painted. He swore he could hear the distant sounds of laughter, faint on the air. Perhaps from a tavern.

Behind him, he could hear their breathing. Impa's was almost imperceptible, a leaf caught in a high wind. Rhoam's was laboured, the tiniest rattle audible on the exhale. Zelda's trembled. The whipper's loud. His own was silent to him. He could only feel his ribs move as-

CRACK

The first lash caught him off guard and he stumbled against the pole with a grunt, his shoulders bunching against the line of fire that licked across his back. He hissed around the bit in his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. How many whippings had he seen here in this courtyard? Eight, nine separate times? How long had the punisher waited in between each lash, to allow the body time to adjust to the pai-

CRACK

The second lash scored a line of hurt from the opposite side this time, a razor dragged through his skin, and Link snarled around the leather and wood in his mouth, eyes open and glaring at the pole in front of him. He would not fall. He would not fall. The others fell after the third, held up by the rope around their wrists. He had no rope. They had screamed. He would not scream.

He heard the next lash coming over the murmur of voices in the courtyard, a faint whistle on the air that connected with a CRACK and sent searing iron skidding along his ribs. Dimly, he heard Zelda cry out, and wondered if she felt what he was feeling. He hoped not.

The next lash seemed dull in comparison to the others, as though the whipper had had enough, and was tired, letting him off easy. The man's muted curse told him otherwise, and he braced himself for the final-

CRACK

The whip carved a deep line of agony across his back, and Link knew from the voices around him that this one was different. His head snapped back, and he groaned through the bit. The skin on his back felt loose somehow, and he lowered his head to rest on his forearms. Fresh blood spotted the wooden planks beneath him as his back stung, the light breeze driving thousands of needles into the raw, open wounds. He breathed. The voices were talking. There were too many of them. Why were there so many voices?

The hooded man approached, tucking one hand under his elbow, until he found his feet again. Gingerly, he loosened his white-knuckle grip on the iron ring, and stood unaided. He waited. He wanted them to see. Let Zelda and Rhoam see what they had done to him. Fat chance he could save Hyrule like this, if the damage was as bad as it felt. His back burned and throbbed, each pulse sending a wave of dizziness through him. Slowly, he turned and the ground lurched with his stomach him as he saw the group of noblemen and women who had gathered while his back was turned.

Each of them eyed him with thinly veiled satisfaction. Through the haze of pain, their conceited, haughty smirks were obvious as a tear through a painting. Link felt the old anger rise within him, and he had the sudden urge to fall upon them in a howling, slashing fury like the monsters he so often fought. But he didn't. Instead, he held his head high and stepped gingerly down from the platform, carefully avoiding Zelda's horror-struck eyes, her fingers pressed trembling to her mouth.

He had not fallen. He had not screamed. He had not cried like a child. He slowly, gently bent to collect his tunic, his back howling in protest, each movement pulling against the slices in his skin. He could feel cooling lines of blood running in rivulets along his spine. He did not want to know the damage.

"You'll be getting to the doctor now," the hooded man said. Wordlessly, Link nodded, and moved tentatively towards the castle. At a signal from Zelda, Impa was by his side, half a step away to catch him if he fell. Link squared his shoulders. He would not fall. He would not fall. The ground may be spinning but he would not fall. Not in front of them. Not in front of those who saw him as only a common, pauper farm boy. Not in front of those who smirked behind their hands as he passed, and sniggered as he gave an order.

Shame welled up inside him. Their assumptions had been proven tonight. He had failed in his duty to the princess. He was just a farmer playing at being a hero. They knew he was going to fail and here was their proof. He bared his teeth as his wounds throbbed again, a white-hot flash of pain. He blinked away the tears. They would not see him cry. No one would ever have that privilege. Not even Navi.

He was through the arch now, back inside the castle. What would the servants think? Did it even matter any more? The world was spinning worse than ever, and Link concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. There was a steady pattern of red droplets following him, the dots on the flagstone stuttering and stumbling as he fought to keep his balance. Spinning. Spinning. He would not fall. He would not fall. He would not-

Blackness and a rushing weightlessness came tearing to meet him in the cold stone hallway.