Legend of Zelda: Reconciliation

by Rose Zemlya

Sequel to The Legend of Zelda: The Return. Based loosely on A Link to the Past.

19. A Brief Chapter 19 and an Interlude

The Legend of Zelda: Reconciliation

Hey all;

Right, so, a thousand apologies for the something-like-six-months you've had to wait for this. I am very not happy with myself for taking this long, but there are a variety of reasons for it, ranging from a promotion at work (financially good, free-time-having bad) to off-and-on writer's block, to being completely unhappy with large portions of this chapter – but you guys have waited long enough, and I've re-written it so many times I don't think I could do it again without losing my mind. :P

Hopefully you'll forgive me for the wait! I hope it was worth it, and I'll do my utmost to prevent lags of this length in the future!

Thanks a million, guys!

Rose Zemlya

Somehow our devils are never quite what we expect when we meet them face to face.
-Nelson DeMille

Pink: it's my new obsession,
Pink: it's not even a question,
Pink on the lips of your lover,
'Cause Pink is the love you discover.

Pink it was love at first sight,
Yeah, Pink when I turn out the light,
And Pink gets me high as a kite,
And I think everything is going to be all right
No matter what we do tonight.
-"Pink," Aerosmith

Chapter 19

There's a mirror.

The image of it pierces my consciousness, demanding my attention, requiring my focus. But I'm lost. Lost in a sea of rage, never to be recovered. What do I care for mirrors?

And yet I can't seem to escape it…

There's a face in the mirror.

Who is it? I feel like I should know, but the features are so twisted … an expression of vicious intent contorts the mouth and nose. The eyes – green like poison; green like death; green like … like oxidized gold (what is it with this place and that shade of green?) – are narrowed and wild with fury and murder. It's barely sentient, this face – barely human.

I should know it. There's something about it…

It's just a face. A familiar one, I guess. In the physical sense at least – in the physical sense only: blonde hair, just a little too long everywhere, tied back under a long green hat, bangs left to get in the way of everything; long ears; skin just starting to lose a light tan; and eyes of a shape I know I've looked at before.

It's funny that I can't recognize the eyes… I always recognize people by their eyes…. But that's where it ends. That's where the familiarity stops dead. With the eyes.

And when the truth hits me, it does so with force enough to freeze over the sea of rage and turn the world brittle and cracking.

That's me.

The murderer in the mirror is me.

The monster that is at once me and at the same time not me skids to a stop and snarls it's rage. I'm in its way. I'm between it and its kill. But I can't take my eyes off the face in the mirror.

Why are my eyes like that?

Why is my face like that?

What have I done?

I can smell blood. I can … I can taste blood …

What have I done!

This isn't happening…

This can't be happening…

The monster that is and isn't me rears up, liquid rage and murderous hunger in the form of a beast, meaning to take me again, but a beast of a different nature has me now. It takes me a moment to recognize this new monster for what it is: fear.

I'm afraid like I've never been afraid in my entire life.

The monster that is and isn't me wants me again, and I'm more afraid of what I would be if it gets me than I am of anything else.

"No," I whisper, unable to tear my eyes from the contorted face in the mirror.

The beast lunges…

"NO!"

I give in to the new beast in the face of the old.

I turn myself over to its instinct.

I drown in the sea of its fear.

I flee.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An Interlude

Wandi let loose an obscene cackle as she leapt off her horse and slammed into the nearest of the Children of the Cleric. She was bored with fighting on horseback – even if it was some kind of freak horse. She wanted to sink her teeth into the fight, and the only way to do that…

She and her soon-to-be victim tumbled to the ground, Wandi, as always, on top. She reached to her boot and pulled a jagged knife free, raising it into the air as she straddled the Child and grabbed its throat with her other hand.

"Where's your God now!" She crowed exultantly, driving the knife down towards whatever might be under the shadows of its cowl. Before it reached its intended target, however, something grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her forcibly off her prone enemy. She snarled as she was ripped away, tightening her grip as she went and taking the Child's cloak with her. She only got the briefest of looks at the form under the heavy cowl as she was thrown backwards, but it was enough to cut off her laughter and make her eyes widen.

"Moblin!" She gasped. "He's a Moblin! Din's blood!"

Before she could even fully process the information, however, she was abruptly forced to revert her attention back to her current attacker. It was another Child, wicked looking blade in its hands.

Moblin blade… She realized. How didn' I see it before!

She deftly dodged the Moblin's thrust and responded by moving in close, knife slashing and flashing as viciously as ever. She felt it sink in more than once with a large measure of satisfaction.

"Not so tough when yer not walkin' 'round dressed in a freakin' can are ya!" She snarled, twisting around it and slashing at its back as it tried to slash at her again. Though she'd never admit it, even to herself, she was secretly glad they were the smaller breed of Moblins. The big ones would have been trouble…

She slammed her foot into the back of its knee and it buckled, stumbling forward, but managing to keep its balance. She spared a quick glance for what was happening with the rest of the battle.

Several other people had apparently made the same discovery that she had. The shouts of: "Moblins! They're Moblins!" was ringing all over the battlefield. Blind's men abruptly redoubled their efforts, refocusing their attacks from the Cleric's worshippers, to the Cleric's children. The worshippers, on the other hand, were not nearly so organized. Some of them joined the fray, abandoning the fight against Blind's men to join the fight against the Moblins. Some of them continued to flee as fast as they could go. Some of them continued to fight Blind's men. And some of them just stood where they were, the truth about the priesthood they'd revered sinking slowly into their brains. If they were lucky, they were ignored. If they weren't, they were cut down for being between someone and their prey. Even the Moblins were no longer focused exclusively on Blind's men. They were quickly realizing the jig was up, though judging by their relative disorganization they couldn't figure out why anymore than Wandi could.

She turned back to her foe as he finally righted himself and came after her again. She pulled a loose sword off the ground and raised it with a feral grin at the Moblin.

What the Hell is goin' on!

xxx

"Nice bunny," Hunter said as soothingly as he could manage given the circumstances. The little pink rabbit trembled back at him from the corner, eyes darting back and forth as it searched for an escape. "Good bunny. Calm bunny. No more running, K? Just … just stay right there…" He risked a slow, easy step forward, slipping out of his coat as he did so. "Good bunny. Good. Just…" he took another step forward, readying the coat, "…don't…," another step forward; the rabbit twitched convulsively and hopped uneasily further back into the corner, "move!" He lunged the last couple of feet between he and it. It gave a tiny, rabbit-y shriek (that Hunter was getting tired of hearing), and attempted to lunge past him.

Hunter swore violently and managed to alter his trajectory at the last minute, catching half of the rabbit under his coat. He scrambled forward to grab the other half of it as it scrambled frantically to get away.

"You're dead if I ever get you to turn back into Link," he told it in as pleasant and calming a voice as he could manage. "You hear me? Dead." The rabbit apparently heard him just fine, because it twisted in his grip and managed to sink its teeth into his finger. Hunter snarled an oath but tightened his grip, causing the rabbit to shriek and struggle more.

"Oh yeah," he said from between his teeth. "That tears it. You're more than dead. You're beyond dead." He shoved the struggling creature into one of the sleeves of his coat, then promptly wrapped the rest of the coat around it to keep it from getting out. He picked up the trembling, struggling, shrieking bundle and put it in his lap, then leaned wearily up against the wall. "You know how beyond dead you are? You're non-existent." He stuck his bleeding finger his mouth and glared down at the bundle. "I'm going to steal your sword and go back in time and make sure your mother kills your father like a good little Gerudo before the tragedy that is you is brought into being." The rabbit gave up its struggles and settled for shaking pathetically and silently in the confines of the coat.

"So what now?" Hunter demanded of no one in particular. "I've achieved step one. The rabbit-that-used-to-be-Link is all wrapped up in a neat little package. It only took an hour of chasing him around these tunnels that look like the Sheikah Caverns but obviously aren't. What's step two?" He considered it. "Turn him back so he can explain to me what the Hell's going on and why he's a rabbit in the first place. And where I am. And what the Hell's going on. That's step two. Well, that's not complicated at all, is it?" The rabbit squeaked pitifully. "No, I didn't think so either." Hunter responded, wishing the sarcastic exchange, even if was between himself and a rabbit, had made him feel better. But the wish was as futile as it was desperate, and he knew that.

"All right," he said after a moment of feeling as dejected as the rabbit in his coat. "Well, I'm not solving anything by sitting here not solving anything. I may as well …," he heaved a frustrated sigh, "…may as well wander aimlessly and hope I find somebody who isn't a rabbit to talk to. And who won't turn into a bloody wolfos. And maybe with a face. That would be nice." The rabbit squeaked and Hunter nodded.

"Right," he said. "Sounds good." He climbed back up to his feet, taking the bundle-o-rabbit with him, then looked around, trying to get his bearings. "Okay. Which way?" The tunnel he was in extended in three different directions, none of which looked particularly more friendly than any of the others. "If I was in the Sheikah Caverns," he murmured, "which evidently I am not, I would go left. So … let's go left." He screwed up what was left of what he was pretty sure was his quickly shrinking sanity and started down the left corridor, praying to whoever would listen that he was going the right way.

He stopped, however, part-way down the corridor, freezing mid-step and straining his ears.

Someone was coming.

The rabbit gave an uncertain squeak at the sudden lack of motion and Hunter squeezed his bundle tighter.

"Shut up," he hissed at it, pressing himself back into the shadows of the hallway. "Not a peep."

Whoever it was continued to approach, and as they got closer Hunter realized they were hurt. He or she or it was limping, and his breathing was wretchedly ragged, interspersed every now and then with a gasp or groan of pain.

When he rounded the corner, despite all the years of Sheikah training, Hunter gasped, immediately drawing the thing's attention to him. Even without the blood and the fact that it was all but doubled over, leaning on the wall for support, Hunter wasn't sure it had ever been a person. Its hands didn't taper off into fingers, but long, thin claws, a few of which appeared broken. Its skin – what was visible of it through the blood – had a greyish tint to it, and its mouth, wide-open and gasping, was filled with a row of jagged, pointed teeth.

It narrowed its eyes when it spotted Hunter, looking confused at first, and then positively furious.

"You," it hissed – with feeling. Hunter blinked in surprise.

"P-Pardon?" He said, shocked. "I don't think we've actually m—Farore!" He jumped back as the thing threw itself at him suddenly, blood-covered claws out. It's motion was slow and clumsy – he was wounded far too badly to be a threat – but Hunter was shocked by just how determined he seemed to be.

"What the Hell are you doing?" He gasped, clutching his whimpering bundle tighter and trying to figure out how to draw his sword and still maintain his grip on the rabbit-that-used-to-be-Link. "Who are you?"

"Like you don't know," the thing hissed, its voice hoarse and painful sounding. "You bastard. You led him to his death." He pushed himself off the wall with an obvious effort and turned around.

"Listen," said Hunter, frowning, "I don't know who you think I am, but you need to stop. You're – Din, look at you. You're bleeding to death where you're standing. And besides, I haven't led anyone to their death. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, right," scoffed the thing, acid in his tone, "you were going to redeem him. You liar. You rat. You traitorous, murdering, insect! He trusted you!" He threw himself at Hunter again and Hunter back peddled out of his reach. This time there was no wall to catch the stranger. He stumbled and fell to the ground with a sharp gasp of pain.

"Damn you," he coughed, trying futilely to get up. His arms couldn't hold him anymore. "Damn you and damn your blood-thirsty god. If I had the strength I'd send you to join him. I'd kill you like you killed Kilgan." His voice cracked and Hunter realized with some amount of surprise that he was crying.

"Listen," he said. He was unsure of the wisdom of talking to this crazed claw-thing which had just been trying to kill him, but the fact remained it was the only thing he'd seen since the original faceless person had died and Link had turned into a rabbit. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and desperate had never seemed a more accurate descriptor than now. "Listen," he repeated, dropping into a crouch out of reach of the thing's claws and still clutching at his once-again struggling bundle, "I'm not … I don't know who Kilgan is."

"Lies!" Snapped the strange man.

"Also," Hunter added, "I don't … I've never even heard of anyone who worships a God. I mean … deities – at least my deities – are feminine. Perhaps you heard me swearing by one of them when you came at me. Her name is Farore. There's also Nayru and Din." This appeared to confuse the man. Hunter decided to take a different tack. "I … where am I?" He asked. "Where is this? It looks like the Sheikah Caverns but none of the paths go where they should."

"Is this…is this some kind of trick?" He asked, narrowing his eyes further. "Is this some … kind of attempt to … to mock me?" Hunter gave him a desperate look, struggling to understand.

"Why would I mock you?" He demanded. "I don't even know you." The strange man closed his eyes and raised his hand to his face.

"Just … leave me," he said. "I was a fool to come back down here in the first place. I can't even kill you, I don't know how I was expecting to … to help…" Hunter wasn't entirely sure who the stranger was talking to anymore. He threw a nervous glance around the empty corridor.

"To help who? There's no one down here," he said. "Who did you want to help? Maybe … maybe I can—"

"You've done enough!" The man snarled. "It's your fault he's down here anyway! Yours and mine! I never should have asked him for help."

"Who?"

"I used to pray," the man murmured, completely oblivious to Hunter's presence all of a sudden. He was slipping into unconsciousness, Hunter could feel it. "I used to pray he'd come. Send us the Hero, I said. Send us the Hero." Hunter stiffened.

"What hero?" He asked, unconsciously clutching his bundle tighter. "The Hero of Time?"

"And then he came, finally, but not for us. And not of his own volition."

"Who came?" Hunter demanded, desperate all of a sudden. "Was it Link? Are you talking about Link? Do you know him?"

"And now I've … I've gotten him killed…him and Kilgan both…"

"For Nayru's sake," Hunter hissed. "Of all the times to go delirious." He dropped to his knees and carefully set his bundled up cloak on the ground. "I'm going to regret this," he muttered, carefully pulling at his coat, doing his best not to open up a space for the rabbit to get out again. The strange man stared up the sleeve of the coat with a confused expression on his face.

"So … blue…," he murmured.

"Dammit," Hunter hissed, finding the first pocket empty. "Please tell me he didn't take them. He left my sword. Why would he take the potions but not—ha!" He pulled a small, carefully wrapped bottle out of his coat pocket, then hastily twisted the garment tightly around the rabbit again.

"…rabbit…," Duthie murmured thickly as Hunter pulled the sleeve away from him.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hunter responded darkly. "I'm still half-convinced I'm crazy." He quickly unwrapped the tiny bottle and pulled out the cork, then frowned uncertainly at the stranger. "Don't… I'm going to give you a potion. I am doing this because I'm desperate and I think you might know Link. If you attack me again, I will draw my sword, and potion or not you're not going to be in any shape to stop me, understand?"

"…Kilgan…" moaned the strange man. Hunter sighed.

"Farore, this is the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life." He crawled forward and tipped the strange man's head back, readying the bottle to pour it down his throat.

"Here goes everything…"

xxx

"Who are you for!" Demanded the ringleader belligerently, giving him an insolent once-over.

"I don't think it matters," Brayden answered calmly and quietly, adrenaline thumping so loud in his ears he was surprised he hadn't gone deaf yet. Three times – three times – he'd been ambushed, attacked, or otherwise waylaid between the Archery Shop and Eldrick's house. He was seriously starting to get sick of it and was rapidly losing his patience. "You're planning on trying to beat the Hell out of me regardless – I would appreciate it if you would note my use of the word 'try' – so I don't think it really matters what I say at this point."

"I don't think I like your tone," the brute said quaintly. "Me and the guys here, we're just trying to do our patriotic duty—"

"You're a thug," Brayden interrupted dismissively. "You and your 'guys' have been roaming this part of town, beating the crap out of anyone and everyone who has the unfortunate luck to meet you, regardless of 'who they're for.' You're taking advantage of a bad situation and making it worse, and all to make a quick buck amidst the chaos, when the city guard's too busy trying to keep the palace from being placed under siege to deal with arrogant asses like yourself. If you're going to attempt to rob me, please just get to the point so I can get on with my night. I haven't the time to waste on you."

You, said a voice that had Bruiser's vague, disapproving tone, are trying to pick a fight.

"Hey, whatever you say, Pops."

Correction, he told it, as the ringleader took him up on his challenge and lunged at him, I have picked a fight. He waited until the last possible second, then slid slightly to the side and raised his knee, ramming it into the thug's stomach. He followed up with a sharp elbow strike to the back, and ended by placing his boot on the big guy's neck. If you could even call it a fight…

"You know," he said, perhaps putting a bit more pressure on the guy's neck than was precisely required, "I'll give you the benefit of a doubt, because I'm bundled up, and it's dark out, and you're quite obviously an idiot. But, in case you didn't notice, I'm a Sheikah." He looked up at the uncertain group of thugs who were staring in consternation at their leader. "Now, if you're all smart, you'll all listen to the curfew the guards have imposed and go home and lock your doors and quit robbing people." He pulled his foot off the thug's neck and turned his back on him. "Because when I'm done with my official Sheikah business, I'm going to come back out here, and I'm going to engage in some unofficial Sheikah business, starting with you." He didn't look back to see if they listened. They didn't get in his way again, and at the moment, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

He continued through the snowy night, keeping to the shadows for the most part – largely to avoid the armed patrols that still wandered the streets here and there (of peasants, of guards, of thugs…there were all kinds), and partly to assuage the sting of having been called 'pops' (which was something he'd always called his dad, and certainly not something he'd ever associated with himself, and besides if he was that old would he be able to do this?) – until eventually, he found himself at his destination: the House of Eldrick.

The house was as ostentatious and gratuitous as its owners. Even the gates were opulent – wrought, as they were, of something resembling gold in intricate, geometrical patterns. The path leading up to the house was long and winding, making sure anybody traversing it got a good look at what were lush gardens in the spring and summer, and a pristine field of snow in the winter, dotted here and there by carefully pruned trees – attractive, even in the nakedness of the season. The house was, naturally, expertly crafted and kept. It was large and sprawling, even by Hylian standards, with multiple wings, and verandas, all artfully arranged to keep it aesthetically pleasing. The inside, Brayden knew, was nothing short of lavish – nothing but the best and most expensive for the Eldricks: richly furnished; not an inch of wall left without something expensive hanging on it, or over it and in front of it; not a stretch of floor not covered by thick carpets, or elaborate stone mosaics, or lined with ornate suits of armour. The whole thing smacked of the typical, Hylian indulgence that more often than not kept the race – with a few, shining, obvious exceptions – soft and vulnerable.

But it would be a mistake to assume that the Eldricks were soft and vulnerable. They had certainly fallen into luxury's lap and decided they liked it there, there was no doubt about that. They enjoyed the opulence afforded by their station, and were loathe to give it up. But the Eldricks, contrary to popular belief, were more complex than that.

The luxury, the opulence, the decadence was real, but it was not all. The gates, for example: gold-plated, perhaps, but steel underneath – a little known fact. The ornate suits of armour not just for display: all fully functional, well kept, and battle ready. The paintings and murals and tapestries concealed the telltale seams of hidden compartments, passages, and a weapons cache or two. The rich furniture and general expense of your surroundings when you were in the House of Eldrick were placed, not only to please the expensive tastes of its owners, but to distract you from their ambitions, machinations, and capabilities.

The Eldricks, like their expensive gate, were plated with gold, but steel underneath.

And Brayden – dropping himself over the fence and landing deftly and silently behind the gate – wasn't sure if he was dreading that, or counting on it.

xxx

"My name is Hunter, son of Bruiser and Aeria of the Sheikah, cousin of Link, Hero of Time. Also one of his best friends, and his pseudo-political advisor. My girlfriend's name is Malon. She's currently captured by an evil wizard and imprisoned somewhere. Maybe here, I don't know."

Why aren't I dead…?

"I was captured too. Then I suddenly wasn't captured – don't ask me how, I don't know – and I was in a room that looked like the Sheikah Caverns but wasn't. And Link was fighting a thing with bat wings. Then a guy with no face said a bunch of stuff that made no sense, then Link turned into a wolfos and killed the thing with no face, and then tried to kill me – I think – and I picked up a mirror and he turned into a pink rabbit."

Why is he still talking to me? Why won't he just finish me off?

"I have spent the last few hours running around these caves, chasing my friend-who-is-now-a-rabbit. I caught him, and now I've tied him up in my coat to keep him from running away again. I don't know where I am, or how I got here. I don't know who you are, or who your brother is, but I know I didn't kill him, or arrange for his death, or have anything to do with his death, unless your brother doesn't have a face, in which case I was there, but my involvement ends at that."

"Kilgan has a face," Duthie snapped. "And if this is some sick attempt at mocking me before you kill me, I don't care. I don't care about anything you have to say."

"For the last time, I'm not going to kill you! I told you! I have no intentions of hurting you! If I did, why would I have given you that potion?" Duthie remained silent. He'd been wondering that himself. "Oh my Goddess," the boy all but snarled. "What is wrong with you!"

"Goddess?" Duthie demanded, stiffening suddenly. "You hypocrite! How dare you swear by—"

"Look," the boy interrupted wearily. "We went over this back when you were bleeding to death. I worship the three Goddesses – Nayru, Farore and Din. I've never heard of this God, nor have I ever heard of a male deity. The concept is as foreign to me as…as…well, I can't think of a suitable example since in the last three hours I've been subjected to so much that could be considered foreign I'm not entirely sure I understand the word anymore." He heaved a frustrated sigh and let his head drop back to rest against the wall. He looked so dejected and lost for a moment that Duthie almost felt bad for him.

"This doesn't make any sense," Duthie said, because it didn't. If this was a trick it was a good one. This boy looked and sounded and moved like the one who'd led Kilgan to his death – the one who Link had claimed to have once been friends with – but his display of confusion appeared genuine. If Duthie didn't know better, he'd actually believe that the kid didn't know of God, the Cleric, or Kilgan.

"Listen," Duthie said after a long moment. "Listen to me. I have been tricked, and lied to, and deceived so often and so badly since the seals first went up and I was trapped here, that I don't think I could recognize the truth anymore, if it came to me claiming the Hero of Time was a pink rabbit tied up in his coat."

"The Hero of Time is a pink rabbit tied up in my coat." Duthie pushed himself into a sitting position with an audible wince. The boy tensed, but didn't move out of the way, clutching his coat tighter and narrowing his eyes suspiciously at him.

"Let me see," Duthie said. Hunter frowned.

"Why?" He demanded.

"Look," Duthie said flatly, "of the two of us, I'm the only one who hasn't betrayed Link in the last three days, okay?"

"I haven't!"

"Then let me see him," Duthie said. "You're the one who's identity is in question right now. I know who I am, and I know I'm as close to a friend as he has here right now. Just let me see him." Hunter frowned dubiously, but turned down to his bundle and carefully pried open a hole in it big enough for the rabbit's head, but nothing else. It squeaked pathetically and trembled violently, squinting eyes too blue to be real at the sudden influx of light.

"Nayru, Farore, and Din," Duthie breathed, staring at the little pink-thing's eyes. "It is him!" Hunter frowned at him.

"Why is he a rabbit?"

"I…don't know," Duthie admitted, more confused than ever. "I haven't got the faintest clue. He told me he turns into a monster at night, but…"

"He did," Hunter said flatly. "Believe me, he did. But then I showed him this mirror and he changed into a rabbit."

"What mirror?"

"I found it on the ground," Hunter said, carefully wrapping the rabbit back up. He set it down on the ground, keeping one wary eye on Duthie, and reached down to his waist, untying the mirror he'd found from his belt and raising it to peer into it again. "It's got the Sheikan symbol on it, but I don't see anything else special about it." His reflection offered him a perplexed frown. "It's just a mirror." He held it out to Duthie. Duthie hesitated for a moment, then picked the mirror up and flipped it around to look into it.

"Farore!" He gasped, eyes going wide as saucers at whatever he saw.

"What?" Hunter demanded. "What is it?"

"It's…me!" He raised a shaky hand to his face. "It's … it's me! The old me! Before I got trapped here!" Hunter frowned and reached over, plucking the mirror from Duthie's grasp and looking into it again. Still just his usual reflection. He frowned and moved over beside Duthie, forcing his distrust aside for the moment. He held the mirror up far enough to take in both of them. He blinked in surprise.

"Holy mother of Hell!" He gasped. "That's you!"

Beside his reflection in the mirror, looking as shocked as Hunter felt, was a face that resembled nothing of the strange creature beside him. He looked like a regular Hylian; blonde hair, finely carved, if plain, features, hair carefully parted down the middle – nothing spectacular about him. His eyes weren't an eerie shade of solid red, his hands didn't end in long claws, his mouth had regular teeth, not sharp, jagged, pointed ones.

"Well…it used to be," said Duthie somewhat breathlessly. "I haven't…it's been so long…" Hunter slowly pulled the mirror away from him.

"Since what?" He asked, his voice tight. "It's been so long since what?" Duthie blinked and turned back to him, taking in his grim expression.

"Since I was trapped here, kid, like everyone else. Since the seals went up." A cold, unhappy realization settled itself into Hunter's gut and was reflected in his eyes all of a sudden as he closed them and lowered his head.

"Farore," he whispered. "Nayru and Din."

"Welcome," said Duthie, without any enthusiasm, "to the Dark World." Hunter said nothing for a long time, his head low and his eyes shut. Duthie didn't care. He, in fact, felt a sudden touch of smugness for having hurt him, however small, however insignificant. A petty revenge for a serious crime, but Duthie was seriously starting to doubt he'd ever get more.

At last, Hunter raised his head.

"So…what now?" He asked. Duthie raised a dull eyebrow at him.

"What now what?" He demanded.

"What do we do now?" Hunter pressed, frowning at him. "We're trapped in the Dark World, there's some kind of battle going on on the surface, and Link's a pink bunny. What the Hell do we do now?"

"What's this 'we'?" Duthie demanded. "The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because I think the effort might undo everything that healing potion did."

"For love of Nayru," Hunter groaned. "You're not still thinking I'm the one who—" But Duthie raised a hand to stop him.

"I'm not thinking anything," he snapped. "I know enough to know there are multiple sides to every story. I know my side. I know your side. What I don't know," he paused and pointed at the trembling bundle in Hunter's lap, "is his side. If what you say is, in fact, true, then I owe it to him not to end you right now. He tried to help me. It might not have…not have worked out, but he tried. He almost died for it. I can't…I won't forget that."

"Well that's all well and good," Hunter said softly, "but my question still stands. What do we do now? You want Link's story, we have to change Link back. How do we do it?"

"Are these rhetorical questions?" Duthie demanded irately. "How the Hell am I supposed to know?" Hunter didn't respond, but he didn't remove his gaze either, continuing to stare expectantly at him. Duthie sighed. "Farore. I don't know. I think I remember him saying something about him changing when the sun goes down. And he was perfectly normal when the sun was up, at any rate. Maybe…maybe we just need to wait 'till sun-up."

"All right," Hunter said slowly. "It's as good a plan as any. How long 'till sun-up?" When Duthie answered, his tone was dark and thick with years of experience waiting for the sun.

"Long enough, kid. Long enough."

xxx

Durnam, over the course of his life, had often wondered about Free Will versus Fate. It was a trite argument, of course: throughout history many minds, far greater than his, had turned their thoughts to the question, and they had all come to conclusions far more profound than anything he could hope to come up with. And yet, it was something that every individual had to contend with over the course of their lives. Whether you were a great philosopher, or a simple farmer, at some point you would have to wonder as to the nature of Free Will and the nature of Fate, and the relation between them and yourself.

For Durnam, it was starting to look more and more like no matter what he chose, or what he thought he chose, his destiny was out of his hands.

"What matter?" Asked the thing in the doorway; it's voice was nasal and mean. "You not like being King?" Durnam ignored it, bracing his hands on the balcony rail and letting the cold wind whip across his face. Unfortunately, not even the chill of winter could cleanse the smell of ashes out of the air, or the inevitability of his predicament from his bones.

"How did you get here?" He said finally. His voice sounded older than he remembered. "Shouldn't you be off with your kin, pounding away at the Gerudo gates?" He couldn't really fathom how the creature – or creatures as he feared the case might be – had made it to Castletown. As far as he knew, the other races were doing their utmost to keep the moblins out of the borders. "Your master's dead." It made a noise that Durnam assumed was a snorting laugh.

"Wizard not master," it said, amused. "Wizard servant, like us. Wizard servant, like you."

"No," said Durnam, narrowing his eyes at the horizon. "No. I know who your master is. I won't serve him. I'll die first."

"If that your choice," said the thing indifferently. "Maybe Shenyan want be King." Durnam scowled.

"It has nothing to do with me being King or not," he snapped. "I won't hand Hyrule over to your master. I may not be Daphnes, but I'm strong enough for that." He wished he believed it, but he didn't. He didn't believe it. The moblin didn't believe it. Even the wind sighed as though it didn't believe it. The moblin shifted its weight.

"You have offer," it said, sounding bored. "We let you be King. We keep you safe. We end war faster. Less death."

"In exchange for what?" Durnam demanded, but the moblin didn't answer, because Durnam already knew.

Somewhere in the western quarter of the city, something was burning. The wind carried the sounds of battle, and took them away again. It was quieter now, than it had been. The fighting was winding down for the night, but it was only a matter of time before it started up again. He wondered, distantly, if the curfew had really helped anything. It wasn't like he could spare the men to enforce it. Hell, half the men wouldn't listen to him, and had joined Eldrick's supporters in the street. What good was authority no one recognized?

He didn't want war. He didn't want Zelda and Daphnes to be dead – and probably Link along with them. He hadn't wanted to betray them, but what choice had he had? He didn't want to betray Zelda, but what choice had he had?

He didn't want any of what had happened, and yet he had been implicit – practically integral – in almost all of it. But what choice had there been? He'd had his family to think of, after all – though he knew that was an excuse more than anything. It was an alibi. He loved his family, make no mistake about that, but his family could have been hidden. They could have been protected in other ways. There were other options. But the sheer inevitability of Agahnim's victory had rendered those options null and void. It made good sense. Better to be on the good side of the winner, after all.

How much difference could he have made, anyway, had he defied Agahnim? Wasn't he now in a much better position to change things? To right wrongs, and fight evil, and defend the innocent, like he had once upon a time believed his nobility required of him? He was King of Hyrule! All the power in the world was at his fingertips. He could…he could give money to the poor. He could provide care and medicine to the sick! He could create jobs for people who needed them, and make sure everyone had enough to eat, and other things along those lines – couldn't he?

And yet, Castletown was boiling over with unrest. He'd lost half the city guard. He'd lost more than half the people. He'd lost control of the entire market already – that firmly belonged to the supporters of Eldrick. How was he supposed to feed people, and change things for the better, if he couldn't even stop the civil war that threatened to tear Castletown apart? He couldn't even enforce a curfew, for Nayru's sake.

And that was the crux of it right there. He'd obtained his position by consorting with a force he hadn't fully understood. And now that he was just beginning to see it for what it really was, they'd placed the ball squarely in his court.

The only power he had, was whatever power they chose to give him.

The only changes he could make, were whatever changes they allowed him to.

And if he refused, they'd just replace him, and the end results would be the same.

At last, he hung his head.

"Fine," he said quietly. "I agree." The moblin said nothing, but at last turned and left Durnam alone with nothing but his own guilt and the mournful wind to keep him company.

That was the thing about Fate, Durnam decided, pulling his coat tighter around himself. All it did was set the path before you – it left you the free will to decide whether or not to walk it. In the end, there was no one to blame but yourself, and no more crueller fate than the freedom to be responsible for every choice you make.

xxx

Hunter stared up at the rough stone ceiling above him and tried to force his mind through everything he'd been through in the hours since he'd "woken up". He was really, desperately hoping it would all make sense once the sun came up and Link changed back – assuming they were right, and he even would change back – because currently it wasn't making too much sense at all. There were too many wide open questions – gaping holes in logic and reason that defied any of the explanations provided by the information at hand. Duthie could probably answer a lot of them, but that would involve talking to Duthie, and Duthie was apparently still not fully convinced that Hunter wasn't a murderer, and on top of that was wounded and cranky and actually, mercifully, asleep at the moment.

Duthie didn't like Hunter, that much was clear, and Hunter doubted he'd even answer any questions anyway.

So instead Hunter tried and failed to answer them himself.

"This sucks," he muttered. The rabbit – which didn't appear any readier to sleep than Hunter was – squeaked its agreement. "Oh the upside," he noted, casting a glance down at the mound that concealed the creature, "if you ever do change back, I am going to get so much mileage off this whole…pink bunny thing, it's going to be fantastic." He sighed. "At least I know you got out of the Tower of Farore all right. Though…if you're here, maybe you didn't after all." That, of course, opened up a whole new line of questions about what, exactly had happened to Nabooru and Zelda and Link after Thomas had transported Hunter to Agahnim; however, before he could delve into this new black hole in his current understanding of the sequence of events, someone – who was distinctly not Duthie, and was also, distinctly very close – whispered his name.

Hunter bolted upright – causing the rabbit to give a shriek and thrash in the confines of his new and improved prison (a bag Duthie had provided for just such a purpose) – and cast a startled look around the small room. There was nothing in there that hadn't been when he'd first laid down. He narrowed his eyes and strained his ears, listening for it again, searching the shadows in the corners of the room for any hint of an interloper. There was none.

"Hunter…"

He whipped his head around to stare at the door, standing ever so slightly ajar. He had thought the first whisper was inside the room, but that one had been outside. He tensed, staring apprehensively at the door. He briefly considered waking Duthie up, but promptly decided he would just accuse Hunter of trying to pull some kind of trick and not believe him anyway. The voice grew more insistent.

"Hunter…"

He frowned and turned around, gathering up the bag/rabbit and pulling it on over his back. He loosened his sword in its sheath and crept over to the door, careful not to disturb Duthie. He placed his eye against the crack in the door and peered out into the dimly lit hallway: nothing there as far as he could see through the slim opening. He frowned and pulled back, debating the wisdom of responding to a disembodied voice calling his name given his current location and situation.

He cast a glance back over at Duthie and came to the conclusion that good ideas and bad ideas were entirely relative here. At least the voice apparently knew who he was – and besides that, was actually kind of familiar – and that, in and of itself, was cause enough to at least investigate. He pulled the door open as quietly as he could and slipped out into the hallway, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The rabbit struggled in the bag against his back, attempting to find a comfortable position, but Hunter was too busy scanning the hallway to notice.

It was empty.

He sighed and scratched his head.

"What the Hell is—"

"Hunter…"

This time, when he whirled around, there was someone there – a woman, and worse yet, a woman he recognized. He froze with his sword halfway out of its sheath and felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen in shock.

"W-what!" he managed.

She smiled at him. She smiled at him, and for a moment, despite how pale and thin she was, despite the tracks on her cheeks from dried up tears, despite the fact that he could see the door into Duthie's room right through her, she looked just like his father's painting; just like his father had described, and how he still, sometimes remembered her in his fragmented dreams. Something in his heart wrenched violently to the side. She reached for him, as though to touch him, but stopped, just before her translucent fingers brushed his cheek, and her smile turned sad.

Without realizing he was doing it, Hunter slowly slid his sword back into its sheath.

"Mum…?" His head hurt suddenly. "How…what's…," but before he could even begin to formulate a coherent sentence, the door behind her whipped open.

"Hunt—Farore!" Duthie gasped and skidded to a stop as the spectre suddenly whirled around and lifted a finger to her lips in a harsh admonition. Duthie had gone paler than usual. "What are you doing here?" He hissed at her. "Blind's up on the surface. Why aren't you off harassing him?"

"What's going on?" Hunter demanded, voice tense. Duthie frowned at him.

"It's just a ghost," he said. "She's been following Blind around for a week. She keeps coming back even after he banishes her. Don't know what could have possibly dragged her out of her rut."

"A ghost?" Hunter repeated. "That…makes sense…sort of." He realized, for a moment, that he was actually kind of disappointed, though he had no idea what he'd been hoping for. She offered him an apologetic smile, which caused Duthie to raise an eyebrow.

"Do you know her?" He asked. "They don't normally…respond so well, unless—"

"She's my mother," Hunter interrupted him. "She died when I was small." Duthie thought about it for a moment, then apparently decided he didn't care.

"What are you doing out here?" He demanded, frowning suspiciously at Hunter, and choosing to ignore the ghostly woman entirely.

"She called me."

"She what?"

"She called me," Hunter repeated, irritated now. "I heard her calling my name, so I came out to see who it was." His voice had risen, and his mother's ghost turned to him, lifting her finger to her lips again. She pointed down the hallway. Hunter frowned and looked in the direction she gestured in.

"There's something down there?"

"It's probably just the crew coming back," Duthie replied. "I don't know how long I've been out, but they're long overdue as it is." But Aeria of the Sheikah had not yet removed her eyes from her son.

"No. No there's something else," he said, then frowned. He squinted down the hallway for a moment more, then turned back to face her, but she was gone. He blinked in surprise. "Mum?"

"She disappeared," said Duthie, still frowning in the direction she had been pointing. "They do that."

"Where did she disappear to?" Hunter demanded.

"Wherever it is she was before," Duthie responded irately. "Look, ghosts aren't generally capable of independent thought. Ever since this place became the Dark World, souls that leave the world behind come here, and remain here, doing whatever it was they were doing when they died. Most of them you can't even see. Unless they were of a particularly strong will when they died, they're invisible to the naked eye, and it's really difficult to 'wake them up.'"

"That's the afterlife?" Hunter demanded, horrified. "Dying for the rest of eternity? That's what happens when we die?"

"What don't you understand about the fact that this is Hell?" Duthie responded dully. Hunter frowned unhappily at him for a moment, considering the implications of that, then turned without another word and headed down the corridor in the direction his mother's ghost had been pointing.

"Where are you going?" Duthie hissed. "I thought we were waiting for sun-up."

"That was before the ghost of my mother wanted me to head down this corridor," he snapped in a whisper. "And keep your voice down."

"Din's blood," Duthie swore under his breath. "Listen, kid, you're more of a fool than I thought if you're going to listen to the advice of a ghost. They're so caught up in their own deaths, they don't understand the way things really are, do you understand? They're not seeing reality."

"She saw me just fine," Hunter noted.

"Well," Duthie faltered. "Well, I suppose that might be enough to wake her up a bit. Family is often…but it doesn't mean she's lucid. It doesn't mean she knows what's going on. Maybe when she died there was something down this way that—," they rounded the corner, "—sweet merciful Din!" Hunter hissed in annoyance and grabbed the back of Duthie's shirt, dragging him back behind the corner before he could walk all the way around it.

"Moblins," Hunter said darkly, peering carefully around the corner's edge and narrowing his eyes. "Still think she wasn't lucid?"

"Could be coincidence," Duthie noted. "Or maybe not. I don't know. What are they doing down here?"

"Do I look like a Moblin?" Hunter demanded, then frowned. "Actually, they don't look like Moblins. They're too small…" Duthie gave him the same look he'd given him when Hunter had said he'd never heard of God. "What now!" Hunter demanded irately, keeping an eye on the little Moblins in the next room. They were hissing and whispering to each other, apparently arguing over something. A quick headcount revealed about six of them, which was more than Hunter was willing to bet he could take on his own, and Duthie was certainly in no shape for it.

"Of course they're Moblins," Duthie said flatly. "They aren't all warriors, you know."

"You're kidding me," Hunter said. "The only Moblins I've ever seen have been warriors…sort of. Brutes, at any rate."

"Whatever," Duthie said, shaking his head. "Either way we can't stay here. I don't know how they figured out how to get down here, or why, but hopefully we can lose them in the tunnels. It won't be long before they put up some detection spells, if they haven't already, so we need to—"

"Moblin mages!"

"Rare, but it happens," Duthie said. He shook his head. "Now quit gawking and let's go."

"Yes," said a harsh, guttural voice from behind them. Hunter whipped around and his eyes widened. Three of the small moblins – though they weren't all that small now that he was up close to them – had come up behind them when they weren't looking, all of them brandishing wicked looking Moblin long swords. "You go with us now."

"I'm sorry," Hunter managed, Sheikah training kicking in despite his shock at being addressed in his own language by a moblin. He quickly calculated all possible escape trajectories. "Did you just speak Hylian?" The Moblin was apparently not in the mood for a discussion of the intricacies of language.

"You go with us!" It repeated, gesturing threateningly with its weapon.

"Call them off," Duthie hissed in a frantic whisper. Hunter resisted the urge to stare incredulously at him.

"They're not mine. They don't listen to me!"

"They do! Look at their robes! They're Children of the Cleric!"

"No talk!" Snapped the moblin, scowling menacingly. Hunter kept a wary eye on it, but ignored the order.

"I told you, I'm not—"

"They don't know that," Duthie hissed back. Hunter hesitated for a moment more, but the Moblins were starting to look like they were through with asking nicely. He gave up.

It's worth a shot…

"All right fine," he snapped, hoping whoever it was that Duthie thought he was, was prone to irritation. "But the Cleric isn't going to be happy when he finds out you're wasting my time." The moblin raised a coarse eyebrow at him.

"Cleric dead," he said bluntly. "We find body. Give weapon."

"What do you mean the Cleric's dead!" Hunter demanded, resisting the urge to shoot Duthie a desperate look. He didn't know nearly enough about the situation to be bluffing like this. But Duthie's face had suddenly twisted in pain and he stumbled into the wall. Great, Hunter thought to himself. Fantastic. He's reopened something. This is perfect

"Give weapon," the moblin repeated, and Hunter was horrified to realize as he met its ugly porcine eyes that despite the broken Hylian and the fact that the thing looked, moved and acted like a skinny, crooked moblin, there was intelligence in those eyes. This thing, whatever it was, was nothing like the moblins back home.

"Look," he said, reaching slowly for the buckle of his belt to appease the impatient moblin as one of the other two moved towards Duthie, who was doubled over against the wall, "I don't…I didn't know the Cleric was dead, but that doesn't change the fact that you're wasting my—" The moblin leaned close enough that Hunter had to fight back his gag reflex.

"We know you not Cleric," he said menacingly. "Cleric dead. We know you maiden." Hunter balked with his hand at his waist.

"Now just a minute," he said, offended. "Was it entirely necessary to call me a—" But he was cut off as the moblin approaching Duthie suddenly gave an ear-splitting squeal and fell backwards, away from Duthie, several long gouges in its face. The wounds didn't look that bad, but the moblin didn't get back up again.

"Go!" Duthie shouted, leaping at the next closest moblin. Never one to waste a distraction, Hunter ripped his sword out of its sheath just in time to drag it across the hand of the moblin in front of him, as it reacted to Duthie's shout by reaching out to grab Hunter.

Why didn't it use its weapon? Hunter wondered distractedly as he slashed at the moblin again and forced it back a step. He didn't have the time to dwell on it now, though. He could hear the group of moblins around the corner pounding in their direction, alerted by the sounds of the struggle. He barely registered the new threat, however, because two slashes later (and still the moblin didn't attack him with its sword) his opponent unexpectedly pitched forward, causing Hunter to scramble out of its way. Behind it stood Duthie, panting furiously, claws covered in blood.

"Move," was all he said, turning on his heel and bolting down the corridor. Hunter wasted no time in following him.

"Your claws are poison?" Hunter demanded as they ran. Shouts sounded from behind them as the moblins realized what had happened.

"Yes," Duthie answered shortly. Hunter narrowed his eyes.

"So was that enough proof for you? Do you believe I'm not who you thought I was now?"

"…yes," Duthie said finally, grudgingly.

"Where are—"

"Kid, shut up and run."

The rabbit moaned miserably, as Hunter shut up and ran.

xxx

"Well, well!" Said Eldrick senior with all the joviality one might expect him to offer an unexpected guest at the door, as opposed to one who scaled the outside wall and broke in through a bedroom window before working his way to the war room. "Brayden of the Sheikah! What brings you to my humble home in these dark times?" Eldrick junior, still young and lacking the years of experience of his father, was having trouble covering up his surprise.

"How did you get in here!" He demanded, then abruptly quailed under a harsh look from his father.

"Dorian! Watch your tone with the Sheikah, boy." He turned smoothly back to Brayden and tipped his head. "Apologies." Brayden tipped his head to indicate no offence had been taken. Dorian appeared for a moment to be attempting to swallow his pride (and subsequently choking on it), but kept his mouth shut and added his own apologetic nod to the exchange. Brayden offered him a smile that didn't go all the way to his eyes.

"At any rate," Eldrick senior said, taking his seat at the head of the table, "why don't you have a seat, Brayden, and enlighten us as to the purpose of your visit." Brayden shook his head.

"No thank you," he said. "I won't be long." He waited until both Eldricks had taken their seats before continuing. "Forgive my lack of manners," he said, "but as I've said I'm in something of a rush, so I'm going to be blunt. The Sheikah are less than happy with the current situation in Castletown, and a heaping helping of the blame is being directed squarely your way."

"Interesting," Eldrick senior noted. "May I assume that you will not be offended if I am blunt as well?" Brayden gestured that he wouldn't be. "Then let me ask you this: have the Sheikah spontaneously abandoned their responsibilities to the Hyrule family, and their respect for Hylian law? What Durnam and his followers are doing is tantamount to treason. Without solid proof of the Queen's demise, I'm afraid none of them have any legal right to claim the throne."

"First and foremost," Brayden said with a severe frown, "you know well enough that the Sheikah's concern is Hyrule, not the Family of the same name. In addition, while we respect Hylian law, we have our own laws to follow, and in the event of an irreconcilable difference between the two, we will follow our own." He waited until Eldrick acknowledged this before continuing. "Having said that, our issue is not with your argument." He paused. "It's with your timing."

"Some things wait for no one," Dorian snapped, apparently unable to remain quiet any longer. "Were we supposed to allow those dogs to have their way until such a time as the Sheikah decided they were prepared to deal with them? You are not the only ones concerned for Hyrule." Eldrick senior shot him a warning look, then turned back to Brayden.

"Though he speaks out of turn, my son – passionate though he may be – brings up a valid point. Something had to be done. We couldn't have allowed Durnam to entrench himself on the Throne. We might never have been able to extricate him."

"You are both afflicted with tunnel vision," Brayden responded bluntly. "Hyrule extends past the Golden Palace, Eldrick, and it's people are more varied than just the Hylians. Did you consider the implications of a Civil War in Castletown on the rest of Hyrule? Do you have any idea of what's going on outside of Castletown?"

"An excellent question," Eldrick said, leaning back in his chair and looking thoughtful. "What do I know about what's happening outside of Castletown. Let's see…I know that the combined forces of Goron and Sheikah have managed to hold the mountain passes, but that the moblin army grows larger every day. I know that the Zora are fighting at Lake Hylia, though I don't know what, and I must admit I am concerned by how tightly that information is being held. I understand that the moblins are pressing in at our borders and doing their best to break the line, but that so far they have been unsuccessful, though the war is still young." Brayden waited for him to finish. When Eldrick gestured that he had, Brayden raised an eyebrow.

"And the Gerudo?" He asked. Eldrick offered him a thin smile.

"Apologies," he said. "I had understood we were discussing Hyrule." Brayden forced his mind to blank out for a split second, blocking the sudden surge of irritation and anger that inevitably resulted from that particular attitude regarding the Gerudo. This situation was complicated enough without losing his temper now – never mind that his wife was a Gerudo who had died fighting on Hyrule's side of the Great War (though admittedly not by choice), and his son was the Gerudo King who had sacrificed more than Brayden cared to think about for Hyrule, and Neesha, a Gerudo, was practically his adopted daughter (also, not by her choice).

"Let me make something painfully clear to you," he said stiffly, keeping his arms crossed over his chest to avoid using them to strangle Eldrick senior. "To both of you. Whether you like it or not, Hyrule's future is entangled with the Gerudo. They're holding the line in the desert, the same as the Sheikah and the Gorons at Death Mountain, and the Zora at Lake Hylia. They're doing their part for Hyrule, which is currently more than I can say for the two of you."

"Now just a minute—" started Eldrick senior, but Brayden cut him off, getting to his point at last.

"I don't think you understand how serious the situation is," he snapped. "Those moblins? They're first-generation. All of them." Eldrick raised an eyebrow.

"Surely you jest," he said. "I understood they had a few in their ranks commanding them, but where would you find that many Great War moblins these days?"

"Straight from the source," Brayden answered flatly. "Eldrick, Agahnim has manipulated the seals put on the Sacred Realm by the Sages. The moblins are getting out. The old ones. I'm sure I don't need to remind you just exactly how bad that is for us." Dorian raised an eyebrow and looked over at his father, but the older Eldrick had a concerned look on his face.

"And you begin to see just how ill-timed this whole stunt is," Brayden said. Eldrick was silent for a moment more, before finally shaking his head.

"Then end the civil war," he said, frowning. "Go in and oust Durnam and the others. Put them in jail, hang them, I don't care. Name yourself a regent until you can prove or disprove Zelda's death. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised the Sheikah haven't already taken action. As displeased as you are with us, you must be livid with Durnam."

"That's just it," Brayden said, leaning up against the wall and shaking his head. "We can't. We've recalled all of our agents in Castletown." Eldrick raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Impossible," he said. "I would have known."

"Why? Because of Renaud?" Brayden offered him a smirk. "He may be passive, but he's still a Sheikah. If we ask him to keep quiet, he keeps quiet." He shook his head again. "Like it or not, I'm it, Eldrick. I'm all the Sheikah can spare to deal with Castletown and its thrice damned civil war. Holding the borders requires everyone we have."

Eldrick said nothing, and he didn't react, but that, in and of itself betrayed his surprise and the slow dawning of realization as he began to see the complications he hadn't predicted. Brayden leaned forward onto the table to drive his point home.

"Do you understand now?" He asked quietly, narrowing his eyes. "You're on your own, Eldrick. We can't help you. You started this war, and now its up to you to end it." He straightened again without releasing Eldrick's gaze. "Because we can't." Eldrick shook his head slowly and at last allowed a frown to cross his face.

"We need time…to consider this," he said. "The situation is certainly more complicated than we had at first assumed, but—"

"Lord Eldrick!" Everyone in the room turned in surprise as the door burst open and Renaud rushed in. He paused for only a moment to blink at Brayden, then shook himself and turned back to his master. "There's a large group of armed men on their way to the market, sir. My source is not completely reliable, but I'm given to understand they're not yours."

"What!" Eldrick demanded, getting to his feet. "Who's sent them?"

"It appears that Durnam has, sir."

"That thrice-blinded son-of-a-bile eater!" Eldrick snarled. "He can't possibly—never mind. Renaud, how sure are you?"

"Not so sure that I didn't take a quick run out to confirm for myself. There is certainly a large patrol headed in that direction, though I have no way of confirming their motives until they demonstrate them."

"Then we'll just make sure we're ready when they do," Eldrick growled. He turned to Brayden. "Sorry to cut this short, Brayden, but I'm sure you understand." But Brayden wasn't listening. He was frowning at Renaud.

"What is it, Renaud?" He asked. "There's something else." Renaud offered him a frown.

"Well," he said, "I wasn't sure if I should say anything but…there's something odd about the patrol."

"Something odd? Like what?" Eldrick demanded.

"I don't precisely know, sir," Renaud answered. "I couldn't put my finger on it. It's just a…a feeling."

"Well, whatever it is, we'll meet it head on, won't we boy?"

"Yes sir," said Dorian eagerly.

"Come on," said Eldrick, "we'll go begin preparations. Renaud, show Brayden out safely."

"Yes sir," said Renaud, bowing – though not before Brayden caught the hint of a frown playing on his face. He waited until the Eldricks were gone.

"Need help?" He offered neutrally.

"If you wouldn't mind," Renaud said, equally neutrally.

"My assignment is the civil war," Brayden answered with a shrug. "I daresay this is a development related to that. Anything you want to tell me that you wouldn't tell them?" Renaud thought about it.

"Just be careful," he advised. "I don't know what it was about those troops, but there's something wrong here."

"I don't know where you've been, friend," Brayden answered grimly, "but lately there's nothing right."

xxx

"This shouldn't be happening," Duthie hissed under his breath as he and Hunter pressed themselves up against the wall and waited for the group of Moblins patrolling to move past. "There's no way they should be able to follow us this closely. How do they know the tunnels?"

"Well," Hunter hissed back angrily, "I hate to break it to you, but it is happening. They apparently know the tunnels just fine. And we are so, unbelievably screwed it's not even funny."

"There's got to be somewhere—"

"There isn't," Hunter snapper, glaring at him. "Every turn we've taken they've been there. Every back passage we've run down, they've followed. We can't shake them down here. We have to go up."

"And if that's their whole purpose? To shepherd us into a trap by forcing us up?"

"Then we spring their goddess-damned trap and that's the end of us," Hunter hissed, "but it's still better than sitting here and waiting for them to find us."

"Well…what about bluffing again?"

"I tried that, remember?" Hunter demanded. "Then they said a bunch of stuff that made no sense, and called me a girl. Obviously, that's not the way to go here."

"All right fine," Duthie snapped. "We go up. But I want it clear that we're screwed either way, so don't get your hopes up."

"It would take a super human effort at this point to raise my hopes above anything non-existent, so lead the way." Duthie heaved an irritated sigh and crept carefully back towards the mouth of the little nook they'd hidden themselves in. Hunter stayed where he was for a tense moment, until finally Duthie gestured that the way was clear.

"Maybe it's a spell," he muttered as they slipped out into the main corridors again and headed opposite the way the party of moblins had been going. "That must be how they're doing it. But then, why didn't they do it long ago? Why now?" He fell silent again as they crept down the corridors, moving as quickly as they dared. It seemed like the number of moblins had doubled in the last few minutes, and the last thing they needed was to accidentally stumble on a group of them, or make some kind of noise that would give them away.

"What are they after?" Hunter asked as they drew closer to where Duthie had indicated the exit was. "It can't possibly be us…"

"Well," said Duthie, "I don't know exactly. I know they were working for the Cleric, posing as his phoney priests. I suspect that the thing with bat wings you say Link killed was actually their God. Maybe they're angry it's dead. Maybe they think we did it."

"What about the faceless guy? Maybe they're looking for him." Duthie shrugged.

"People come all shapes and sizes," he said. "He could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wasn't one of Blind's, though, I can tell you that much." It hadn't seemed to Hunter like the guy had been anywhere but exactly where he'd meant to be, but he didn't see much point in arguing that with Duthie. "We need to find the others," Duthie said. "Safety in numbers, right? Assuming they're not all dead."

"What others?" Hunter demanded.

"Blind's thieves," Duthie answered, then stopped and gestured for Hunter to do the same. "The exit's just ahead," he whispered, pointing at a sudden bend in the tunnel. The grey light of pre-dawn leaked its way around the edges of the corner. "But it's probably guarded. If there's this many of them down here, and if they actually know the tunnels – and they certainly seem to – they I doubt they want whatever it is they're after getting out."

"Stay here, then," Hunter said. "I'll scout ahead and see what we're up against." Duthie frowned dubiously.

"Don't let them see you," he said. "If they call for backup…"

"Hey," Hunter said, slipping into what was left of the shadows against the wall, "I'm a Sheikah. We're bred for this type of thing." Duthie watched him until he rounded the corner and then continued to stare at the spot where he'd disappeared for a moment after that. He felt eerily alone all of a sudden. It wasn't that he liked the kid – he didn't. He never would. Even if he wasn't the guy who betrayed Kilgan, he still looked like the guy who betrayed Kilgan, and Duthie would never be able to get over that – but he'd provided enough of a distraction over the course of the long night that Duthie had been able to stave off the memory of his brother's still warm body. Now that the kid had rounded the corner and was out of sight, the weight of the memory was threatening to crush him again, and he suddenly, desperately wished that the boy would come back.

It's my fault, he thought to himself despite his best attempts not to. I'm the one who wanted to find the bloody Triforce. I'm the one who dragged him here in the first place…. He shook his head. Stupid thing was supposed to fix all of our problems…

A noise behind him caught his attention before he could sink any further into this particular line of thought – a rock falling, or something similar. He turned, almost negligently to see what had made the noise, but was jolted out of his misery when he caught the eyes of a chagrined looking moblin, heading up a small group of them that had evidently been sneaking up behind him. Duthie thought he saw a slim, translucent shape disappear behind the Moblins, but before he could consider it, the moblins got over their annoyance at being caught and started forward at a flat run. He snarled and whirled around, pounding down the hallway after Hunter.

"Hunter!" He shouted as he ran. "Hunter, run! They've found us!" An arrow zipped over his head, entirely too close for comfort. As he rounded the corner he saw a startled Hunter staring at him. "Run!" He repeated, as the moblins followed him around the corner. Hunter turned to run, but the moblins had caught up to Duthie at last. One of them caught him from behind with the tip of its sword – barely enough to draw blood, but more than enough to destroy the already wounded man's balance. He fell forward under the impact, and Hunter ground his teeth and reversed direction, drawing his sword as he went.

He threw himself at the Moblin lunging down at Duthie to finish him off and forced it to revert its attention back up to him, or be run through.

"What are you doing!" Duthie demanded, pushing himself to his hands and knees.

"What does it look like!" Hunter threw back at him, scowling at the moblin as it blocked his slashes, but didn't attack. The other two promptly ignored Duthie and moved to attempt to flank Hunter. Duthie slashed out with one hand at the legs of one, but his claws only scraped against the metal in its boots. He ground his teeth and tried to force himself to his knees as the third tried to grab Hunter from behind. The young Sheikah twisted like a cat and evaded its grip, but it took a piece of the bag on his back with it. The rabbit – true to form – gave a terrified shriek and abruptly began to struggle in what was left of the bag, throwing Hunter off balance as he attempted to jump back from the first Moblin, who was trying to grab him again. He stumbled back and tripped over Duthie who was being largely ignored by the moblins. The two of them went crashing back to the ground – Duthie giving a hollow gasp of pain as they struck the unforgiving stone floor. Hunter caught a glimpse of a pink streak tearing out from under him, and he twisted on top of Duthie – prompting another gasp – to try to grab the rabbit before it could escape, but he wasn't nearly fast enough. It was off like a shot for the exit to the tunnel, running hell-for-leather between the legs of the two moblins who had evidently been waiting outside the exit with a net – which they now thoughtfully threw over Hunter and Duthie before either of them could do anything about it. Immediately afterwards, every sword in the area was pointed at them.

"I told you it was a trap," Duthie snarled. Hunter was too busy swearing to respond. One of the moblins gave a harsh laugh and said something to its buddies in their own language.

"What now?" Hunter asked under his breath as the moblins began to discuss something – presumably what to do with their new prisoners.

"We lay down and die," Duthie responded hoarsely. "If you want to try to escape, kid, you're on your own. I've reopened just about everything I think. I'm bleeding to death all over you. I'll be lucky to be able to stand, let alone get out of this net." Hunter opened his mouth to respond, but for once found himself out of ideas. He fell silent as the Moblins continued to deliberate between themselves. Every now and then, one of them would gesture in Hunter's direction. "You know," Duthie said after a moment, "I'm starting to think it's you they're after." Hunter suddenly felt bone-tired.

"Yeah," he said wearily. "Me too. Maybe you're not the only one who thinks I'm someone I'm not."

The Moblins argued for a few more minutes, but at last appeared to come to some kind of conclusion. One of them put away its sword and turned to the two prisoners.

"We take weapons," it grunted at them. "You run, you fight, you die." Hunter tensed and scowled – his sword was a family heirloom, and had been given to him by his father. He was not about to just give it up to a moblin – but a painful grunt from Duthie brought him back around to the current situation. Whatever fight he put up, Duthie would pay for it. He was sure of that much, given the moblins' reluctance to harm him, and he was pretty sure that his father would value someone else's safety over that of a sword, no matter how important.

Some heirlooms weren't material, and Hunter knew which ones really mattered.

He gingerly climbed off of Duthie as the moblin pulled back the net, then got to his feet and unbuckled his sword belt. He held it out to the moblin with more than a little reluctance, and then proceeded to divest himself of his multitude of hidden knives. The moblin discarded each weapon as he handed it over almost negligently on the floor.

"Turn," it barked. Hunter's scowl darkened, but he did as he was told. "Hands." He placed his hands behind his back and a moment later the moblin was binding them tight enough to make Hunter wince.

That's going to leave a mark, he thought bitterly.

"Move," the moblin snapped. Hunter blinked.

"What?" He said. "What about—" The moblin cut him off by shoving him towards the cave's exit. Hunter cast a desperate glance back at Duthie, but he had his eyes closed and appeared more concerned with keeping pressure on his chest – which was once again soaked through with blood – than with whatever the moblins were doing with Hunter. The moblin shoved him forward again.

"Move," it repeated. "Friend be dead soon enough. Not you worry."

"Farore," Hunter hissed, but did as he was told. The moblins lead him out of the subterranean caverns and he squinted as he stumbled out of the mouth of the cave and into the red dawn. He cast a less-than-hopeful look around, hoping to see a glimpse of green clothes and blue eyes, but so far as he could see there wasn't any.

Even if he did turn back, Hunter thought to himself listlessly, at the speed that rabbit moves he's probably long gone from here. He frowned ruefully. "Din, what I wouldn't give for the Master Sword right now," he muttered under his breath.

"Well you can't have it," said a familiar voice from the left. "But I've got a few deku nuts you can have." Hunter – who had gotten into and out of more than enough scrapes with the wayward Hero of Time to know the routine – allowed his spirits to lift, his mouth to twist into a grin, and his eyes to shut as tightly as he could manage. Not more than an instant later he heard the definitive crackling of several deku nuts going off at once, and even with his eyes shut the sudden shift in light levels was painful. The moblins all cried out with ear-splitting squeals and the one immediately behind him stumbled away.

"Overkill much?" He asked as he felt someone grab his hands behind his back and slide a knife between them, slicing easily through his bonds. "You usually use one."

"Are you Blind?" Link demanded.

"No, I shut my eyes, like I always do," Hunter answered.

"That's not what I meant, but it'll have to do," Link replied, shoving a Gerudo scimitar into Hunter's hands just as one of the nearest moblins – dirty tears weaving tracks down their crooked faces as they strained to make their eyes work again – dove towards the sound of their voices. Link shoved Hunter to the side and drew the Master Sword as he went. It was on fire before it was even out of the sheath, and the moblin snarled when the weapon met his own. Link wasted no time in spinning around to counter the blow, and the half-blinded moblin couldn't do anything to stop him. His blade cut through the un-armoured moblin easily and it fell to the side with a cut-off cry. Hunter took the scimitar and immediately lunged at the next closest Moblin, giving it no quarter despite its disadvantage. It felt vaguely unfair, even if it was a Moblin, but Link didn't seem willing to afford them any quarter, and they had certainly given Hunter no reason to seriously consider doing so.

By the time the last Moblin had finally regained an acceptable use of his sight, it was too late. The Master Sword cut through it as easily as it had the previous Moblins, and it fell to the ground and didn't move again. Link stood panting over its fallen form for a minute, some kind of internal struggle written on his face. Hunter held his breath, something in Link's expression reminding him of the giant wolfos that Link had turned into. At last, however, Link wiped absently at the moblin blood on his face, and seemed to regain control of himself. He looked up at Hunter and frowned.

"What happened?" He asked. "What happened to the Sentinel?" Hunter frowned.

"Sentinel?" He asked, then blinked in surprise. "You mean like a makani?" This seemed to take Link aback a bit, and he stared at Hunter for a moment.

"Who…who's the Sage of Shadow?" He demanded suddenly. Hunter frowned at him.

"What the Hell kind of question is that?" He demanded.

"Just answer it."

"Impa," Hunter responded. "Everybody knows that." Link squinted at him, studying his face. "Look," Hunter said, "you're kind of creeping me out, and as much as I would like to know what's disconnected in your brain, an apparent mutual friend of ours is back there bleeding to death and I really think we should—"

"What friend?" Link asked, surprised.

"Uh…Duthie? He said he knew—"

"What!" Link gasped. "Duthie's alive!"

"Um…yes? He seems to think I've killed his brother and I'd really like you to clarify for him that I didn't." Link frowned.

"Is this…is this some kind of trick?" He asked finally. Hunter, thoroughly perplexed by this point, and unbelievably irritated at Link's odd behaviour, frowned darkly at him.

"What trick!" He demanded. "Why would I trick you?" But Link was shaking his head.

"You are…but you can't be…"

"Look," Hunter said, doing his best to keep his tone even, "obviously, there are large parts of what's happened missing for all of us. Let's just…let's just go get Duthie, and I'll feed him one of my last potions, and maybe we can sort this out, but we need to go now because he's really badly hurt, and there's no telling how long before the Moblins find him again, all right?" Link shifted his weight.

"All right," he said finally. "But you go first, and if Duthie's not in there, and this is a trick, you aren't going to live to regret it."

"Whatever," Hunter said after a stunned pause. He turned around and started jogging back to the cave entrance. Link's face lost a bit of colour when he spotted the unmoving figure on the ground just inside.

"Oh my Goddess," he breathed. "Duthie! He is alive!" They scrambled back over to the unconscious man and Hunter pulled out another potion bottle as he dropped to his knees.

"Bastard owes me two potions now," he muttered. "These things don't grow on trees. Tip his head back." Link did as instructed and Hunter poured the thick red liquid down Duthie's throat. The strange man moaned, and after a moment, his eyes fluttered open. They took in Link's face and he gasped and attempted to abruptly sit upright, but gasped in pain and clutched at his chest again.

"Duthie," Link said. "Is Kilgan—" Duthie's face twisted in a pain that had nothing to do with his chest.

"No," he said thickly. "No, we were too late for Kilgan. I was just…lucky. I guess." Link frowned and opened his mouth to say more, but Hunter interrupted him.

"We need to get out of here," he said. "There are more Moblins in the caverns."

"He's right," said Duthie, before Link could say anything. "Need to…move…"

"All right," Link said after a moment. He took one of Duthie's arms, and Hunter took the other. "Brace yourself, Duthie. This is going to hurt." As one, he and Hunter got to their feet, Duthie draped over their shoulders.

"Ow," Duthie managed.

They staggered back out of the cave, and over the bodies of the Moblins, and headed for the thick tree line in the distance.

"You have my mirror," Link noted as they dragged Duthie into the trees.

"I didn't realize it was yours, but I've got it, yeah."

"Good," Link grunted. "Because I think it's going to be our only shot at straightening this whole mess out."

"All right," said Hunter, because that made about as much sense as anything else around here seemed to. "So…are we really in the Dark World?" Link cast him a wary glance out of the corner of one blue eye.

"Yeah," he said. "We are."

"Are we—"

"Look," Link interrupted him, sounding more tired than Hunter had ever heard him sound, "no offence if you really are Hunter, but…just in case it turns out you're not, I don't want to explain anything until I'm sure. I've already explained this situation once, and I don't really feel like repeating it, only to find out you're not actually Hunter. It gets kind of…depressing." Hunter fell silent, swallowing the hundreds of questions he wanted to ask. It occurred to him that the other two probably had their own questions to ask and that whatever had taken place, likely hadn't been anything straightforward, or easily explained.

"On the upside," he noted thoughtfully after a moment, "you're not a pink rabbit anymore…"

xxx

It was possible, on most days, to forget that the Deku Tree Sprout, for all his greenness and youth, carried behind him the wisdom and power of the generations of Deku Trees before him – and a generation of trees is a long time indeed. It was possible to forget that he was perhaps the only being left in the world who remembered the forming of it, even if he had not physically been there himself. It was possible to forget that whatever state his physical form, he was as old as the world, and as wise as those years could make him.

It was possible, on most days, to forget that "Deku Tree" came before "Sprout."

Most days, perhaps, but not this one.

On this one, it seemed to Mido, that the Deku Tree Sprout was really more 'Tree' than he'd ever seen him. It wasn't that he had grown – though he was much taller than Mido now – it wasn't that he'd sprouted more leaves in the Lost Woods' eternal summer. But there was something in his eyes that Mido recognized as belonging not only to adults, but to old adults. To powerful adults. Like the Sages. Like Link, even, from time to time.

On the one hand, it reminded him of just how young he was, and how vulnerable, and how helpless in the face of the dark things happening outside the shelter of the Woods.

One the other, it reminded him of Saria, who was just as young as he, and who always seemed to know what to say and when and who never failed to believe that as small as they were, maybe the Kokiri had a place in the world like everyone else.

But the sad, heavy look in the Deku Tree Sprout's eyes wasn't the same as Saria's. It was, Mido was certain, the same look the Great Deku Tree used to get sometimes, when a conversation would unexpectedly veer off into something serious and he would grow distant and quiet and that look would steal over him. The Kokiri never interrupted when he got that look; partly out of respect, but also partly out of fear. It was, after all, an adult's look, and anytime adult problems worked their way into the Woods it was never a good thing.

But now the Deku Tree Sprout was looking at Mido, and he had that look, and they hadn't even started a conversation yet. He had been summoned, and he had gone as quickly as he could to the glade because that was just how it was done. And he had come in in a rush, but now he felt himself slowing down exponentially, suddenly afraid to reach the Deku Tree Sprout because he looked like he had something hugely important to say, and for some reason that, coupled with that look, made Mido want to cry – and everybody knew that Mido was the toughest real Kokiri around and he never cried (except that one time, after he thought Link had run away into the world because of him and gotten himself killed like the stupid idiot he was, but he had cried in his house, in private, and no one – especially Link – would ever know that, ever).

It occurred to him suddenly that his fairy guardian had momentarily abandoned him. He cast a look over his shoulder and spotted the bright spot of light in the otherwise dim starlight, fluttering back and forth in a sad pattern at the entrance to the glade. Mido's stomach twisted unpleasantly.

"Mido," the Deku Tree Sprout said gravely as Mido finally came to a stop in front of him, dread and hesitation in his face. It occurred to Mido that he'd never been addressed 'gravely' before. It also occurred to Mido that he didn't much like it.

"H-Hullo Deku Tree Sprout," Mido said nervously. "I was—you, um… you wanted to see me?"

"I did," the Sprout confirmed.

"Is it—is it about me breaking the Know-It-All Brothers' thingie? 'Cause that was totally an accident and I only lied about it because…because…" His voice died off and he promptly wished he could die with it. This wasn't about the Know-It-All Brothers' thingie, no matter how badly he wished it could be about the Know-It-All Brothers' thingie. He knew what it was about.

"It's the Moblins, isn't it?" He asked in a voice so quiet he almost didn't hear himself. The Deku Tree Sprout gave a very tree-ish nod.

"I'm afraid so," he said. "You've seen them for yourself, I assume?" Mido nodded silently. He had. He'd disobeyed the Sprout's direct order that the Kokiri should stay out of the main body of the Woods and ventured in anyway, determined to see what was so dangerous that the Deku Tree Sprout would forbid them from venturing into their usual playgrounds. He'd seen it all right. He'd seen more than he'd ever wanted to see. They were ugly and loud and they felt like something Mido had never felt before. He'd sensed it, distantly, like a whisper, sometimes – around the Sages, and around Link more strongly. Sometimes when Link drew his sword he could feel it, just barely, singing around the edges of the blade. It had something to do with being an adult, and nothing to do with being Kokiri, and Mido didn't have a word to put to the feeling. But whatever it was, the Moblins had radiated it.

"I was wondering, actually," Mido said when the Deku Tree Sprout said nothing, "why you let me do it." He forced himself to meet the young tree's old eyes. "You could have stopped me."

"I could have," the Deku Tree Sprout said softly, "but I needed you to see it."

"Why?" Mido whispered.

"Because I am about to ask of you something that I have never asked of any of my Kokiri, with the exception of Link, who is, as you know, a special case." Mido forced himself to remain silent, despite the flip-flops of fear his stomach was doing. As far as he knew, the Deku Tree had only ever asked one thing of Link, but Link wasn't a real Kokiri, even if he was an almost-real Kokiri, and Mido wasn't ever going to grow up, and he had been in the Lost Woods for as long as he could remember, and he didn't even rightly know how long that was, and he didn't even know what was outside the Woods except for what he'd seen in pictures and though he'd always kind of wanted to see those things for real, and they'd been exciting so long as they were just pictures, the thought of them now just frightened him to the point where all he wanted was to be sick and he wished he'd never gone to see those stupid Moblins in the first place.

"But I'm just a little kid," he managed, his voice trembling.

"I know, Mido," said the Sprout gently. "But sometimes little things can do big things. Sometimes they're the only ones who can."

"Did I—did I do something wrong?"

"No, Mido, of course not!" Said the Sprout. "But you are the bravest of my Kokiri. You are the one who has always done his best to protect me, and the Woods, and his brothers and sisters. You are the one who Saria relied on. You are the Knight of my Kokiri, Mido, and I would trust no other with this job." The words, although not exactly what Mido had wanted to hear, did have a bit of a calming effect. He was the bravest Kokiri – that was certainly true. He was a good protector. Even Link had said so. The Deku Tree Sprout wasn't mad at him for sneaking out to see the Moblins – it had let him do it. The Deku Tree Sprout wouldn't ask this of him if it wasn't necessary.

And, like the Deku Tree Sprout said, if he really was the only Kokiri for the job…

"What…what do you need me to do?" The Deku Tree Sprout rustled his leaves and thought for a moment.

"The world, Mido, is bigger than the Lost Woods. You know that. And sometimes, as removed as we are here, the events of the world hold grave consequences for us too. And sometimes, our friends and protectors in the world need all the help we can give." Mido blinked in surprise.

"But," he said, "what help could we possibly…"

"The Moblins you saw are a new breed," the Deku Tree Sprout explained. "Hyrule has not seen this kind before. They are smaller than the kind we are used to, and faster. They are smarter. And no few of them are capable of black magic."

"Black magic?" Mido repeated. Was that what he had been sensing around the Moblins? But no. Link didn't use Black Magic at all, but he gave off the same feeling sometimes. "What can I do against black magic?"

"Nothing by yourself," the Deku Tree Sprout answered. "But Hyrule may be able to do something. But only if they know." And at last, Mido caught on. He blinked.

"You… you want me to warn them," he said breathlessly. "You want me to take them a message?"

"I want you to extend your protection from the Woods to Hyrule, Mido," the Deku Tree Sprout answered. "If the forces of Hyrule are not warned of this new threat, there is no telling what havoc they could wreak before they were stopped. And I suspect that Hyrule is in straits far too dire to permit this new threat to exist, unknown to them.

"If I leave the woods," Mido said quietly, "I'll die, won't I? Link didn't because he's not really…well, he's not really a Kokiri. But I am."

"You are," the Deku Tree Sprout answered. "And you might. But not if you are quick. There are many Lost Doors in Hyrule, Mido. You will know them when you are near them. They feel of home. Deliver your message and return as quickly as you can through one of them. There are worse things in the world than Moblins, Mido, and I cannot protect you from them out there. Do not tarry." It occurred to Mido that the Deku Tree Sprout was speaking as though he'd already agreed to go when in fact he had not. It also occurred to Mido that it didn't matter, because he couldn't not go, even if it did mean that he would die.

He screwed up his courage and mimicked a bow he'd seen Link give once or twice to important people. It seemed like the grown-up thing to do, and for some reason, this mission felt like it required a certain amount of grown-up-ness.

The Deku Tree Sprout gave him the rest of his instructions – directions, names and descriptions of people to give the message to, and continued admonitions to hurry and be brave – and then Mido ran back to his house, for once avoiding everyone on the way. He flew into the small building and grabbed his blanket, then began to throw everything he thought he might need into it. When that was done, he got down on his knees and reached under his bed, pulling out a simple, wooden case. On the top of the box was inscribed the symbol of the Kokiri, in the shape of their sacred stone. Link had given this back to Saria, who had in turn given it to Mido. He didn't know if he was excited or terrified that he finally had a reason to use it.

He popped open the box and stared for a moment at the Kokiri's Sword and the Shield of the Kokiri. They weren't as nice as Link's new weapons, maybe, but he didn't care. He was fiercely proud of being a Kokiri and he didn't want any other weapons.

As he pulled the sword from its sheath he felt just the barest hint of that thing that he had sensed around the Moblins. It was quiet, like a sigh, and then it was gone. But Mido, for reasons unbeknownst to him, was uncannily certain that it would not be the last time he felt it, whatever it was.

"This is it," whispered his fairy companion as he slung on the shield and sword. "This is your big chance to be a Hero." He sounded like he was about to cry. Mido reached under his bed again and pulled out something that had been a birthday present from Link. A thought had just occurred to him, and though it, more than anything else, made him want to curl up and cry he wouldn't let himself. He had to be strong now. "You think maybe they'll sing songs about us or something?"

"Maybe," said Mido, being careful to pull the cork from the bottle as casually as he could manage, "but only if you write them for me."

"What? What do you—Mido!" Mido moved around with a quickness born of catching grasshoppers mid-flight only to release them to play the game again, and caught his fluttering fairy in mid-air, then promptly popped the cork into the bottle. "Mido! What are you—"

"Sorry, buddy," Mido said, feeling like crying himself. He set the bottle gently down on the table. "But you'll die too if you go with me, and then who'll remind everyone else how cool I am?"

"Mido!" His fairy gasped. "Don't do this! Let me out of here! We're partners! How am I supposed to protect you if I'm—"

"I'm the Kokiri Knight," Mido interrupted him. "I'm the one who's doing the protecting."

"Mido!"

Mido crouched down and touched his forehead to the glass bottle. "I'm sorry. Don't worry about me, I'll be all right."

"Mido! No!"

"I'll see you soon!" Mido said, getting to his feet and pulling his make-shift pack onto his back. "Miss me if I don't, K?" And he fled the room before his fairy partner could talk him out of it.

He figured he wouldn't be a very good Knight if he got other people hurt because of his mission. He was already lonely without his partner, but it wasn't like he'd never see him again, right? The Deku Tree Sprout had said that if he was quick, he'd be all right. So he'd just be quick.

He pushed himself over the bridge and through the portal and out into the harsh light of a cold winter that Mido had never seen before.

How big could the world be, anyway?