A/N: I plotted out this arc 2 years ago. Shut up. .

Chapter 15

Link sat inside Fauchelevant's hut, just next to the door, keeping a wary eye on anything that might be outside. He did not partake in the conversation, but he heard enough. Another Moblin attack, plagued animals thrown over the walls, and a poisoned water source. The sisters beat off the attack, then scattered to the winds as disease began to spread.

Link held his teacup tight and forced down a couple of sips. Fauchelevant claimed to have purified it enough for consumption. That he was still healthy proved something at least. Link had been counting on the sisters of the abbey. They could have made a useful force to take Death Mountain, in the end.

"Just Sister Margaretta and the kid left, besides me," Fauchelevant was saying. "Don't reckon the Ganon Band would bother with a handful of leftover stragglers. And I reckon there'll be just one before too long."

Link turned. "Margaretta and Collette?"

"Aye. Holed up in the infirmary. Kid took it bad, Margaretta stayed behind to take care of her. She's probably got it too, now."

Link set the tea down and stood up. "Well, perhaps I can do something about that, at least."

Sophia followed him out the door. "Link, there's a plague. Must you really take risks like this?"

Link shrugged. "Nayru seems to want me around, so I'm pretty sure it's fine." In some sense, it might be her fault that he was even considering visiting a plague ward in the first place. Whatever that heart-opening nonsense had been about, he did not think he would have done this when he first came to the abbey.

"Anyway, if it kills me, you're still around." He left her with Fauchelevant and walked to the infirmary.

He knocked on the door. Silence. He knocked again.

"Sister Margaretta?" he called, pushing open the door. Margaretta sat in a chair, head in her hands. She looked old. Her hair fell down in unkempt strands, and her thin arms trembled.

"Not you," she said, in barely a whisper. "Please, just go. It's over. You don't have to protect us anymore. Go away."

"It's never over, as long as people are willing to fight." Link pulled out the page Boros had given him. "I have the formula for a healing potion. Can you understand it?" He could remember most of the process they had used, but he was not so brash as to leave the concoction up to fleeting memory.

Margaretta sat up and glared at him as she took the paper. Her eyes were red and tired. A purplish-black bump raised up on her cheek. She shook her head.

"No, not Ancient Hylian."

He took the paper back. Impa, then. His new memories painted a rosier picture of the woman, but he would not be overjoyed to see her again.

"Three days," he said. "I need you to survive three more days."

"How frail do you think I am?" she barked. "Get out! I don't need to put up with you anymore."

He made his way back to the hut. Fauchelevant and Sophia waited outside but seemed to be keeping their distance. They were the smart ones, after all.

Link stopped ten paces out. "I need you to track down the others," he said to Sophia. "In three days, we start making potions. You need to have the sickest of them ready to take it. Even better if you can find a secure rally point near an untainted water source."

"I will find them," Sophia said. "But I do not know how many will still follow you after this.

Link grinned at her. "Not a problem. They'll follow you."

Link ran across the remains of Hyrule. His pack would slow him down, so he left most of it. His only supplies were his sword, a handful of empty bottles, and the recipe. He could always hunt for food, and if that failed three days of hunger wouldn't kill him.

The constant exertion wore at him. He hadn't traveled this hard even when rushing to take the Triforce. His thoughts were restrained to his ragged breath and the steady rhythm of his feet against the ground.

It's not that urgent, he told himself as he rushed through another dying forest, back to where he had first met Impa. People die all the time. But then he remembered Collette in her sickbed with her pallid face, and he couldn't make himself believe it.

The moon was full, so he kept going at a slower pace most of the night, stopping only when his head was too foggy to keep track of where he was anymore. He had maybe three hours of sleep before dawn came, and he was off again.

Soon he came upon the gnarled tree that had housed the first Triforce shard he had gotten. Impa would be close if she hadn't moved. He figured she likely hadn't. She would have expected him to want to find her again.

He retraced his steps as best he could. It seemed so long ago now, but he had wandered the area a time or two before. Some of the contours of the land were familiar, and here and there he saw a sturdy tree he had once liked to use for a rest stop. He worked his way back from vaguely-remembered landmarks, and soon found the mouth of a familiar cave.

Impa sat inside, legs crossed and sipping tea, as though the war against Ganon were irrelevant.

"You came back," she grunted. "Took you long enough. Have some tea."

He sat down across from her. "I'm not here for tea, and I've no time for chatter," he said. He pulled out the recipe and held it out to her. "I need a translation and a potion."

Impa tsked at him but took the paper anyway. "As rude as you were the last time I met you. When I saw your sword, I had hoped Boros might have taught you some manners."

"If I get this potion delivered in time, I will exchange all the pleasantries you like."

Impa folded the paper and tucked it into her sleeve. "You're focusing on the wrong problem, boy. Ganon is the true enemy, and any thought not directed toward his downfall is an extravagant waste."

Link stared at her coolly as he steeled himself for his reply. Before the Fall, Impa had always been a trusted counselor. Though there were many above her in rank, she tended to get her way, as her way was so often the best. But not today.

"You gave me the responsibility of this war against Ganon," he said. "Very well, I accept. And I will wage it in my own way. And if that does not sway you, then I call upon my authority as Prince of Hyrule. I restore your knighthood and invoke your vows. Help me, or stand aside."

Impa grunted. "I see you've remembered how to be decisive, at least. We might just win this war yet." She pulled the recipe back out and squinted at it. "And might you deign to tell me why this is so important, o prince?"

"I found an army. Maybe. They're all sick. And I don't read Ancient Hylian, so-"

"Pfah! If you'd paid attention when I tried to teach you before, you wouldn't be in this pickle. Now hush and let me think. Or better: go fetch me some—" she held the paper closer— "whithered purple wildflowers and some mushrooms. Look for the kind with black and yellow spots. We'll need a lot."

When he returned with the ingredients, Impa was just making the final strokes of her translation on the reverse side of the recipe. "I hope your army holds up," she said. "I'm getting too old for fancy quillwork."

"You can blame Boros, if it helps," Link said. He scanned through the recipe. It matched his memory closely enough. "He could have spent two minutes to write it down in proper Hylian."

"Old Boros is too scared of magic to ever do anything like that," Impa said. "Must have been desperate to even show you this. He still out sulking in the hills?"

"He died helping me escape from a Moblin stronghold."

"I see. So few of us left now." Impa sighed. "A good ending for him anyhow."

Impa did not have the laboratory set up that Boros did, but they were able to rig up enough equipment to start brewing something "close enough", or so Impa promised. Link was wary of altering the procedure too much, but Impa assured him it was sound.

"Easy enough when you understand the principles," she said. "Our little substitution won't affect the balance."

It was a lengthy process, even with Link's prior experience. Flowers had to be cut up into a fine powder. There was a good deal of boiling everything, taking care to keep the different concoctions separate, and thoroughly cleaning the kettle before different boils. And on top of that, there was still more material to gather.

Through the whole process, Impa kept asking him about Ganon. What was his plan? How would he breach Death Mountain? How many people would he take with him?

"Look, the way I see it he has a Triforce, and I'll have a Triforce," he said at last. "With that setup, I guess the other details don't matter too much."

In truth, he had no idea what he was going to do. He hadn't even scouted Death Mountain, and there could be no plan without knowing what he was up against. He was not about to admit that to Impa, however.

They finished their work the next morning. The brewing process was lengthy, but it scaled up well, and Link had enough potion for three bottles. Not as much as he would like, but enough to start.

"I'm late," Link said. He had promised a return in three days. Less than one remained. "I'll be back, once we've stabilized. I will need your counsel when the battle comes."

Impa nodded. "I will give it."

The sisters were easy to track. Or perhaps Sophia had simply gotten good at it lately. In any case, she read the trails as clear as a signpost.

Her first target was not the dispersed sisters, however. Link was right. They would need a gathering point by clean water. Purifying captured rainwater might work for Sister Margaretta and maybe one or two more, but not an entire abbey.

There were some maps of the area in the abbey library. She did not know how old they were. Perhaps some of the marked rivers would have dried up by now, but it was a place to start looking in any case.

The maps proved true, and she found a river some five miles from the abbey. She followed it upstream, looking for the best place to gather. Ideally someplace easy to give directions to, with places to hide and multiple paths out if an attack came.

She ended up finding a hilltop not too far from the river. She could see far enough to tell if any Moblins were coming, large groups at least. If a small foraging band came upon them, they could just fight them off.

Satisfied, she made her way back to the abbey, using the magical rod to leave a small scorch mark on trees at regular intervals, to mark the path for the others. Evening was coming, so she made her bed next to the abbey wall. Sleeping in her room in the deserted place would have felt too eerie.

She found the first group of sisters the next morning. They were diseased, that was clear from the smell. She hung back, watching them huddled together, shaking. There was no spirit or camaraderie in their gathering, only sorrow. If she continued, she would surely fall ill too. If not from this group, then from another.

Link had promised to return with a potion in three days. In two days, now. She didn't think this illness would kill that quickly. If it did, she would have found corpses. Could she trust Link to return on time with the cure?

Whether she could or not, there was little choice. She approached the group, and began to disseminate the plan.