Blue banners waved high, the Royal Family's golden insignia proudly rippling through the air.
I stood still, my Master Sword blade in front of me with my palms resting on the violet pommel. I stand in a row of fellow knights of the kingdom, with us all dressed in a blue and white motif outfit, all holding out their respective swords in front of them. Our gaze lay in front of us, the mood thick and solemn as we watched the proceedings before us.
I shifted my body, trying to reposition the bandages that were wrapped much too tight around my chest, uncomfortably biting into my skin. I huffed in irritation, wanting nothing more in this moment than to take off my tunic and bandages, wishing time would be on my side.
It's been a week and a half since our encounter with the thieves in Snowpeak. Our team ended up taking some injuries, but mine were the most severe, sending me right back on my deathbed due to the poison that shot through me from the thieves arrow. I was found pale as a sheet, with a weak and failing heartbeat, incoherent and still not fully recovered from the damage the hypothermia caused.
Despite their own injuries, my companions took turns scouring the blustery, wintery climate during the coming days for the antidote, a grateful tip was given by the Yeti's who identified the poison. Ashei personally chose to retire each night in the room I remained in, deeming her own duty to tend to me while I fought off the nightmares in my head, left delirious and feverish. For five days, it was just me and her. Us against the world. Fleeting, blurry memories of Ashei stubbornly fighting through her exhaustion and her watchful eyes on me at all times is all I remember. She never left my side and ultimately was the one who administered the antidote with tender and cautious hands.
In that week, I could no longer make out friend from foe, reality from fantasy. I thrashed in my sleep and often woke Ashei up from bouts of yelling, who had to calm me down as demons and creatures swarmed around me where there were none, doing their worst to me as I lay helpless. I was switching rapidly from sweating like I was back in the Gerudp desert and then shivering as if I was still in the deadliest cold grip. On a few occasions, I hastily grabbed my sword from my bedside and attempted to stab Ashei, who in my delirium, thought was the thief leader who survived, now trying to exact revenge with my own blood. In reality, she was only attempting to place a cold piece of fabric over my forehead to ease the fever. She eventually removed my sword away from my reach after the second time, deeming me unpredictable and dangerous.
I recovered after a few days more with the antidote along with my companions and then made the trek back home, our fallen comrades' bodies in tow with us.
My eyes drifted to my left, spotting Ashei standing among the crowd, her face stoic and wiped of any emotion. Always remains to try to be the strong one, but I doubt that she is the same on the inside. I crumple internally, on the verge of wanting to reach out and comfort her, but I remained still, stuffing the rising notion down.
My gaze flickers back to front, spurred by a confident voice which demands our attention.
Zelda.
My brows furrowed as I glared at my matriarch, whose own eyes lay on Mirril's lifeless body. Thoughts of what the thieves leader said ring through my mind, causing silent anger to boil under the surface. I recognize my strong contemptment of the queen might be an unfair one, spiking a sliver of guilt in my heart, but I find that I can't help it. It felt easier to place the blame of my burning anger on the world and the Goddesses on her shoulders, the only tangible person closest to that status. She has the power to change my fate, to retire the hero role that I'm stuck in, but despite my protests, Zelda has refused to budge, spouting nonsense of "great honor" and "Chosen One". I scoff each time hearing the word "Chosen", knowing that it was never chosen by me to go down this path. I find myself wary of the Queen, especially now, with this new information. The fact that she could be hiding the Triforce of Power from me. The very thing that I'm now convinced could change my fate that she has turned a blind eye to.
Since coming out of the poison's deadly grip, I find my thoughts endlessly circling around the Triforce of Power, unable to find anything else to focus on. The option of freedom. The purposeful omission of information right under my nose. Zelda's face is now a constant reminder of what I don't know. I suddenly am under the impression that she doesn't trust me, despite me being her esteemed hero. If anything, she is the one who proved to not be trustworthy
The sudden image of wide, glossy eyes and a stretched, agape mouth flashes through my mind, causing my eyes to screw shut and my arms to suddenly tremble. I gripped tightly to the Master Swords hilt for support, my throat dry as a desert and my heart pounding in my ears, finding it hard to breathe. Since coming back home, I've also been plagued constantly by the last horrifying sight of the thief's leader's face gripped with death before I passed out. It has persisted through my delirious dreams and even now, each remembrance leaving me shaking like a leaf and out of breath, like I'm back on death's door, the phantom tendrils of the poison making my chest burn. Each time repeatedly brings me back to the blood curdling screams and dead eyes of the Gerudo King's last breath a year ago. Both instances I was barely clinging on to life, but I prevailed, at the expense of someone else's life.
The episode seemingly cleared as my trembling eased and my breathing slowed, finding a shard of guilt wiggle its way in my heart. Despite my hand being forced in that moment, I have slayed another man and I feel nothing but confusing, overwhelming guilt eating me alive, despite the heavy blow he dealt to me and my companions.
Zelda stands before the wrapped body. She mirrored the stance of her fellow knights as her thin rapier stabbed the ground before herself. Her face is poised and professional as she leads, yet there is a hint of sadness and heaviness. Her attire is not of her usual cream and violet dress, but is instead garbed in lithe, silver armor, looking like a warrior in battle who is commanding her troops. Her head is the only place free of armor, her chestnut hair flowing freely with her crown pinning it in place as a light breeze trickles through. This was a look that I've never seen our ruler in before, but I assume is one reserved for this very same occasion.
"Here may Sir Mirril Ephon rest in peace, a brave soul lost to us today…."
My attention drifted, wondering for the umpteeth time today if I already lost my chance at a change in my life.
I realize that I should be questioning the words that this strange man told me. I shouldn't be giving it this much serious thought that I am, and instead just pass the burden along to the queen to handle it, but I can't. I feel like my view of the world has tipped and I'm seeing everything in a different light now. A view that confuses me but finding clarity in now. This thief helped me, in ways I didn't understand at first. He gave me new hope. Hope that I gave up and left behind a long time ago, and a fresh, burning desire to see things through now. My dull, claustrophobic existence is given a new purpose, a goal.
Mirril's body was gently placed in the crude hole that they dug up as a furious rain started to downpour. I glanced at my surroundings, finding my old mentors' grave from back in my twilight days, my gaze softening at his battered, aged gravestone. We are in the same plot of land on the side of the castle grounds, a secluded section that is reserved for honorable knights that fell into battle, my old mentor fell into that category.
"A sword holds no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage."
I grit my teeth, my head lowering in shame as my mentor's words ring through my head. I wondered if he's watching me, embarrassed by his successor.
After a short while and another speech said, the funeral concluded, disbanding us. Mirril now laid to peaceful rest. Despite escaping the somber scene, my mood didn't lighten at all as I made my way back to my house. I felt lost in a trance, replaying everything that transpired these last couple of weeks: the increasing, suffocating feelings of being trapped in a role against my will; my two close, recent encounters with death; the loss of a comrade; my increasing feelings for Ashei; rumors of the Triforce of Power; lies; freedom; Ganondorf.
I slink into my doorway, not bothering to even undress as I make my way over to a cupboard, reaching far back and obtaining a glass bottle that was discreetly hidden behind random objects. I uncork the top, taking a long swig, the dark liquid already numbing my shot nerves.
I stumble back against a wall, sliding down. My hand resting against my hung forehead, tightly gripping a handful of my bangs. My scalp burned in pain, but I didn't care.
The thought of having to pretend to be something I'm not returning tomorrow sends my heart into an anxious flurry. My body feels wound up too tight, jumpy, ready to flee at any moment and not return back to Castle Town. The constant pressure and expectations makes my chest feel tight, and I wanted to do anything to erase it.
I am no hero.
Who am I?
I take another long drink from the bottle, the liquid burning my throat feeling good, numbing the edges of my mind. My clenched fingers released the grip of the hair I held. My hand outstretched, I repeatedly clenched and unclenched my fist, eventually turning my hand over to look at the three triangle imprint on the back of my hand.
My thoughts zeroed in on the Triforce of Power once more. My dark thoughts lightning to something closer to hopefulness.
Boundless opportunities. The ability to wish for whatever I want.
What if obtaining the Triforce of Power was the only way to allow me to live the life I wanted?
What if this was the only way I could be happy?
Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander free, feeling the soft grass beneath my skirted legs, taking pleasurable trips with Epona into the nearby Faron woods every day for burning wood, the comforting routine of waking up to the Ordon children and spending all day with them. The carefree life.
That's all I want. I don't know why that seems to be too much to ask for. Everything in my life just seems to get into the way of my one, simple goal. Not having to fight anymore, no longer suffering at the hands of an evil warlord, or anyone else who wants to kill me for the damned green tunic I wear or the title that I carry.
But what if there was a catch? What if I already missed my chance? Does Zelda already have the Triforce of Power in her possession? What then if she does?
My mood dampened at these thoughts, doubt now slithering in.
If I did get the Triforce of Power, would Ashei approve of this? The sudden, intrusive thought pierced through.
Ashei knows of my deep-seated insecurities of being labeled a hero. She knows how I don't think I am worthy of being handed such a weighty title when I didn't want it all along, deep down. If it was my own choice. I would've let the rest of Hyrule burn, as long as I could remain in my peaceful corner of the world that is Ordon. Ashei is aware I feel like a fraud, a fake, a failure.
Would she understand the lengths I would go to keep everything the way it used to be when the world just wants to keep moving forward?
Deep down, my heart believes she would understand.
But yet, despite how badly I want this… I hesitate. I'm finding my resolve wavering. I'm left confused. Now knowing that the path I would have to take to get there is connected to Ganondorf makes me double guess everything. Is it worth it?
I feel like I'm being teased. I potentially found a way to achieve what I want, but at what cost?
A sigh left my lips, feeling hopeless. I take another long swig of the strong drink, which is slowly smothering my other senses to nothing.
I rose from my position, finally deciding to remove my green tunic. The Master Sword slipped off my shoulders with the tunic, and I watched it land on the wooden floorboards with a loud clunk, indifferent about my treatment of it. I continued undressing, my actions increasing with a sudden, intense fervor, desperate to shed this detested identity, only feeling better as each piece was removed. Concluding, I stood with panted breath, the articles of clothing around me strewn about chaotically, left with just the dressing wrapped around my bare chest. I eagerly tore the bandages that clung to my skin, letting the shredded ribbons fall to the floor. I glanced down and inspected the puckered, circular scar that now claimed my skin, serving as a reminder for how weak I really am. I strode across the small room, heading for the fire pit that spanned the expanse of the right wall. I placed the half-drunk bottle down on a table as I passed by, scooping up a bundle of fresh wood in its place and tossing it into the fire pit. Taking the lone, flickering candle that serves as my only source of light, I allowed the little flame to lick the wood, sending the pit into a smoldering burst of heat.
Huddling near the growing flames, I nurse my drink once more and battle the growing conflict inside myself.
A/N: I'll be honest. I don't like the way this chapter came out, but oh well.
And to clear up any confusion, yes, Link is suffering from PTSD.
On another note, I was listening to music recently and discovered that The Dark of You by Breaking Benjamin is literally the perfect song that encapsulates this version of Link's character and the tone and theme of this story pretty well. I guess that will be its official theme song! Give it a listen!
