Link was guided back to the line and delivered to the field surgeons and nurses who were trying to save as many of the wounded men as they could. Russel could not wait there beside him – as Captain he was needed everywhere along the line – so he hastily tied a crude bandage around the boy's neck and left. The young squire sat there for hours, listening to the groans and the screams of the injured while the final images of Tobin dying kept flashing in his mind. The nurse who finally came to treat him did not say much. "Just nicked the artery… you'll be fine." She muttered, before changing his bandage and sending him back to the line.
The rest of that day passed like a blur for him. The exhaustion from before the battle had returned with a vengeance and he could do little more than sit and stare at the ground below his feet. Sometime in the afternoon, four soldiers approached the line bearing a stretcher. Link recognized Tobin's tunic and glove on the arm dangling from its side. It seemed to bounce and wave at him as they passed by – a grim farewell from a lost friend.
Evening, October 3rd, 610 GK, The War of Imprisonment, Day 444
Soldier's Graveyard, Northeast of the Lake Gate
That evening, those soldiers who were not on guard duty briefly gathered to pay their respects and say farewell to the fallen. Nearly two dozen had been lost, including Tobin. They now lay in lidless, wooden caskets beside their open graves – giving a chance for their souls to depart and be with the Goddess. As the sun set beside the distant mountains in the west, Captain Russel raised one hand for silence and bowed his head.
"We give thanks for the honor, courage, and strength that our brothers have given." He recited, "We offer our compassion to the loved ones that remain… and we bring the Goddess our pleas, that these men may find peace and joy in her presence, from now… to the end of all time." After a brief pause, he finished, "In the name of Her Royal Highness, Zelda, Daughter of Hyrule, I commend you into the loving embrace of the Goddess Hylia. Rest now brother, for your service is ended."
Weeks before, this would have been a heartbreaking ceremony for the gathered men. The loss of dear comrades, the hopeless death that seemed to be closing in, and the desperate prayer to the Goddess to provide relief to the fallen. But these men had seen death all too often now. Few tears were shed as the bearers callously tipped the coffins – one by one – and dumped each of the bodies into their graves. Wood was precious now… and the caskets could not be spared for the men being buried.
Link watched as Tobin's casket was turned, saw the brief flash of his image as he fell, and flinched at the hard thud his body made when it hit the bottom of the grave. The grief and the shame of how he had abandoned his friend for those few minutes before he died, would haunt the boy for months to come. "If I had just relieved him… let him go back to the line… it would be me down in that hole, not him." He bitterly thought to himself as the company turned and went back to their trenches.
The days dragged by slowly. Sleep was rare and never brough genuine rejuvenation. The men stayed at the line throughout the entire autumn, winter, and the following spring without relief. In the beginning, several attempts were made to probe Ganon's line – searching for a weak spot – and then to break out and link up with the other battalions that had been trapped outside of the lake. But every attempt failed in disaster and the enemy tightened their siege.
Viscern and the other scouts would be dispatched on daring night missions to try and slip past the enemy and carry urgent messages to the Akkalans at Kakariko or the Necludans on the other side of the Dueling Peaks – but no answering messages ever returned. Many of the scouts were caught and killed, or simply disappeared and were presumed dead. Viscern always managed to get through, but had returned many times with serious injuries and foul news. They learned that the Central Garrison – North of their position – had been utterly crushed by the enemy during their first approach. Both the fortress and its inhabitants had been destroyed in a matter of hours. In October, the Southeastern Garrison – near the Necludan Pass – had run out of food and its commander asked Agahnim's general for terms. The beasts stormed the fortress and burned or consumed every man they could find.
In November, as the frosts began to blanket the grasslands each night, the moblins made one last powerful thrust southward to try and take the lake. They very nearly succeeded – overwhelming the first line and forcing the archers into melee combat, when the Marshal himself arrived. Mounted atop his great war-horse, Alastor; Knight and beast seemed to be immune to both blade and arrow. With a trumpet blast from the gates, the Lord and his guard charged out and drove directly into the enemy, hacking and slicing every moblin and creature that came near them.
Attacking, wheeling, and charging again and again, the Hylians' hearts rose, and the men actually began to cheer for their commander in the midst of the battle. He seemed to be larger than a man… greater than any knight in that conflict. Every swing of his sword landed expertly, every kick from his mount threw down its enemy, and the sky itself seemed to open and shine brightly down about him. Bloodied, and suffering terrible losses, the shadowy commander of the enemy force withdrew his assault, and returned to his long siege.
Returning to his line, the great lord removed his helmet and received the cheers and roaring praise of his men. His squire – having been stationed at the main line – managed to survive the attack and caught sight of his master as he passed. Lord and pupil briefly clasped hands and smiled at one another – grateful that each had survived. But despite his smiles, the Marshal's body was terribly sore and fatigued. It would take several days of Telma's gentle nursing before he could ride in armor again.
After that day, the frigid cold and deep snows of winter blew in from the Northwest and suffocated both armies with its deadly terror. Overnight, the temperature plummeted so low, that the water in the men's canteens and waterskins froze and nearly every man on sentry duty was scarred with frostbite. Every scrap of clothing that could be found was rushed to the line – but it wasn't enough. The shivering soldiers quickly fell into fighting and arguing over who would receive the precious blankets and cloaks.
Even Link, despite being the Lord's Squire, was jolted awake during one freezing night, by another soldier who savage tore at his cloak's fur collar. The boy struggled with all of his might, but the man was much larger than him and easily ripped it from the teen's hands and ran off into the darkness. He made to run after the thief, but quickly realized that if he left his bedroll and blanket behind… then they would be taken too. Any attempt to request his lord's help would only mark him as "favorited" and far more severe attacks would come.
The new year brought starvation. The great stores of food that the Hylians had kept in Lake Town were nearly depleted, and rations were cut so low that a week's worth of food could be held in both hands. Bread had vanished, meat was limited to those few animals that died of exposure in Lake Town, and the last of the vegetables were exhausted in January. Soldier's meals were restricted to a small portion of rice and a tiny cut of fish – taken from the lake after breaking through the ice. The civilians in town were given the same, but several were able to forage or hunt along the southern shore of the lake, though these treasures rarely made it to the Army.
On rare occasion, Princess Zelda would leave the safety of the temple and "tour the front line" - riding beside Impa and Lord Alfon. All of the soldiers within sight would rise and bow their heads as she passed, but the glorious adoration she received during the prior year had diminished. Where these men were freezing and starving to death, she was clothed in delicate furs and showed no signs of hunger or deprivation. Their bodies were covered in sores and frostbite, while she remained youthful, clean, and pure. Their loyalty remained strong however, and no complaints were voiced. But a hard stone of bitterness began to form in their hearts.
As February turned over into March, Link was sent to the blacksmith's forge to deliver a message from his captain and to return with the craftsman's response. The squire always volunteered for these small jobs – the long journey through the snow was worth a few hours beside the hot forge and maybe… just maybe… he could catch a glimpse of Malon while he was there. As he trudged down the long hill toward the lake's edge, he was surprised to see a new venture being undertaken by the townspeople: a bridge.
Several workmen had been dispatched over the frozen surface of the lake and began clearing the trees away from a narrow ravine at the far side. The logs were first used to build a shelter-house on the southern shore, before a floating log bridge was begun – traveling back toward Lake Town. The blacksmith informed Link that it had been the Marshal's idea and Her Highness had approved. The ravine was the riverbed of a seasonal stream, which flowed southward into the Great Forest of Faron. Unfortunately, this had required much of the smith's time and steel and there was little left to go to the soldiers at the front. "Don't notch your swords! Or break your armor!" he warned before the dejected squire returned to his battalion.
When the bitter winter finally broke, the punishing snows were replaced with an endless deluge of black rain. Like the tainted rains that sometimes came after an eruption at Death Mountain, the water that fell from the spring sky seemed to be mixed with some kind of soil or ash. The more foolish who had lifted their heads and opened their mouths, quickly fell ill and had to be rushed to the nurses.
The ground beneath the soldiers' feet turned first to mud, then to a swamp-like quagmire, as men and animals struggled to find the highest ground they could and seek shelter. Before long though, most of the common soldiers were left collapsing in the sickening mud from exhaustion and lack of space. They lived 'like worms' Link thought and the foul weather only magnified the despair that they all now felt – being trapped against the lake.