There was a knock at the door. Link, who had been muzzily shuffling into his kit and gear, suddenly froze with his hand clenched tightly around the betraying tinkle of his buckle. Feet shifted impatiently in the hallway; their shadows danced to and fro, and Link could hear the laboured breathing of the unknown visitor. Always sharp-of-hearing, he didn't recognize the sound, and so stayed still and silent.
The knock came a second time - harder now, as if the knocker were convinced he was here and hiding. Link briefly closed his eyes, and the rapping stopped.
Perhaps its just the maid, he thought, but he hadn't yet been bothered by housekeeping, and he'd been saying at the Sleeping Goat Inn for over a week. Sure, there were the sullen young girls always carting towels along the hall at suspicious hours, or sitting at a table among themselves in the bar below. None had raised their eyes to him, let alone their voices - this intrusion was aggressive, and he couldn't imagine the maids managing more than a timid tap-tap-tap. The innkeeper, then; a gruff, rotund fellow by the name of Garrety - the breathing would be right, but Garrety, being a simple man in complex times, was not the sort to barge into the affairs of his guests. These days there was no telling who was really what they claimed, so it was best to keep your doors and palms open, your eyes and ears shut.
It came once more, this time a panicked volley of knuckles, as if the stranger outside was suddenly under threat, seeking sanctuary. Not a Moblin Guard, then, who wouldn't bother to knock in the first place.
Seek somewhere else, thought Link, and finally the shadows disappeared. There was a thud as something fell or was dropped against the wall to the right of the door. Link counted to twenty and released the buckle. His hand would bear its sharp red mark for hours.
Rather than rush to the door, Link continued dressing. He hummed a little tune, but whether it was something from a past life or an alternate one, he didn't know. It came to him now and then, a bottled message, and though he was somewhat put-off by its origin, the song itself filled him with calm.
He turned to the simple cot that had been his bed, table and exercise bench these past few days, and appraised his array of weapons. Then he began the arduous process of stashing them - everything but his sword, which he wore proudly on his back. He had been to hell more than once for this sword, and it had cut him out each and every time.
It was not a good time to flaunt your fortune - especially not your armaments. Desperation had settled over Hyrule - the King deposed, the Princess exiled, Moblins running riot in the towns and villages. Ganondorf the False King was what the peasants called him, though always in dark corners and quiet pubs, far from the ears of his Warrior Pigs who had taken control of every settlement. The Sleeping Goat had gone through the uprising relatively unscathed - due in no small part to Garrety's diplomacy, where rupies were rupies and questions were swallowed as quickly as they came up.
With knives stowed safely in his boots, boomerang tucked under his tunic, and bombs inconspicuously stashed under feed in his sack, Link shouldered into his cloak and donned his glorious sword. Its weight reassured him - these were dark times indeed, but he had faced the dark before. Link pulled up his hood, and approached to door on feet that made no sound.
The hallway was empty. He could hear the thrum of the bar below - Pigmen slurping through troughs, belching heartily and laughing their ghastly, snorting roars; the quiet Hylians, conversing in their corners, the sound of voices a low, frightened hush; Hark, the pianoman, playing a discordant tune that put the Pigmen in good cheer. Despite his accommodating the Warrior Pigs' requests (and learning Pig folk songs with surprising ease), Hark was no push-over; he was, in fact, leader of the local resistance. Link met him on his first night in the town of Farore's Grace, when Link tumbled into the Sleeping Goat a hunted man. Hark convinced Garrety to dock Link's rent from his own pay, and hid Link away in his toolshed when the band of pursuers (a cunning group of Moblin lords, who had chased Link out of a neighbouring town with the townsfolk close on their own heels) road through. They passed word to the Captain of the local Moblin squatters to keep an eye out for him, but didn't stay to look themselves - perhaps because Link had led the townsfolk to their uprising. Moblin were brutish and ultimately stupid creatures, save those from the few purebred families - with a shaved head and a plain brown robe, Link had passed within inches of the Captain with no more than horse dung flung at his retreating back. The sword had caused some comment among the guard, but Link welcomed it - he was a model visitor, an abject support of the False King, and nothing in his behaviour gave them reason to hassle him. He'd seen citizens beheaded for the same thing in other towns, but the Moblins here were too comfortable in their victory - too drunk on local mead and power - to consider their position could be compromised. In other words, they were exactly where the resistance needed them.
Leaning against the wall was an object the size of a portrait, wrapped in clean silk and bound with twine. A note was tucked under the string. He was of half a mind to leave it - but just then he heard the sound of a pint-glass shattering, the disgruntled oinks of Pigmen, and thought he best hide out until the fracas faded. Without looking he hoisted the mysterious object, staggered a bit because of its surprising weight, and retreated back into his room. He propped it against his cot and thought of his options. Gifts were the things of an age ago. Now was the time of caution, and necessary suspicion.
The note read: For the Man with the Sword.
Before unwrapping it, Link recited a charm he'd learned from a witch in the woods. He sucked back a draught of potion that was said to protect him from unfriendly magicks. Thinking he'd tapped his resources, he took a deep breath and parted the twine with his knife. Silk whispered to the floor.
His own eyes regarded him warily.
A mirror.
Gilded at the edges of an ornate and knobby frame, big enough that it showed him fully in his hunker. It was enough to make him smile. When his reflection did nothing more than stare back at him with his own daring eyes, Link considered it safe. He'd seen a very similar mirror in the now-free neighbouring town. The more he considered it, his conclusion solidified - it must be a gift from the Mayor, whose wife was as smitten as the Mayor himself was with the young hero and his sword. Laughing, Link made a face. His reflection mocked him in return.
Suddenly, a crash sounded from outside - a cart overturning, with many angry shouts punctuating the falling glass. A booming Pig voice growled threats and a small, whimpering answer came from the victim - the fight downstairs had moved outside and gained a few participants. Without another glance at his reflection, Link stood and darted out the door, meaning to hasten to the resistance rally spot in the forest nearby.
Had he looked back, he might have seen his reflection remain; might have seen its playful smile darken, its lips pull back to reveal sharp, hungry teeth; might have watched its eyes turn pure black. He might have heard it laugh in a voice that would make spirits shiver with fright. Might have watched in horror as his doppelganger pulled a twin sword from under its cloak, and poke the wicked point against the glass. Might have seen the sword stab through.
But he did not.
Minka and Misha were lighting candles when Link gave the magic password and the dark of the forest opened, revealing the secret hideout of the resistance. He had never seen magic like this before in Hyrule - whoever it was (and he suspected the multi-talented Hark), had seemingly cut a hole in reality and filled it with a cottage. No one could get in without the password, and the only voices capable of articulating it were Hylian.
Misha smiled at him. "Hello, hero. Fare you well this evening?" His eerily similar sister snickered. They were twins, rare in a town so small. Both were blond and beautiful, slim like the fairies and just as graceful. Link tipped a wink and took off his sword, leaning it by the door.
"Well enough, fair Misha. There was an altercation at the Goat."
Minka raised her eyebrows. "Surely no one was hurt?"
"No one of consequence," said Link. He had been sneaking down the back stairs when he heard a cry of pain that could no be ignored. The Pig didn't see him coming - neither did the victim, a young boy by the name of Halton. One moment the wretched Pigman was lording over him, drooling slime on his tear-stained cheeks; the next his was flat on his massive back, a dazed expression in his dying eyes. Link didn't care what the trouble was, and held no concern against the further safety of the boy - the was war, after all, and you do what you can.
"Our other guests will be arriving soon," said Misha, offering him a drink.
"Things are in motion," said Minka, blowing out the match.
"Victory is not assured," Misha began.
"But is surely within reach," finished Minka.
Link smiled. It was like watching a fakir pull doves from his ear. "We'll win," he said confidently, and the twins were spared answer as the door opened.
Hark shook his head as he stepped inside. "Link..."
Link raised a hand. "No one saw me. There's no trouble."
Hark was taken aback. "You think a dead Pig in the alley is no trouble? His cronies were already calling for him when I left. It's only a matter of time before they find him. And when they do..." Hark dropped to his knee before Link, who shifted uncomfortably. Like all good revolutionaries, Hark was a driven man - serious and tragic and above-all careful. A random act of kindness was right in its own regard, but with the uprising in the balance, Link prepared himself for a chiding.
Hark patted his knee. "I know you mean well." His bright green eyes peered up at Link through a tumble of black hair. "But things are fragile."
Link considered arguing, saying that each life is fragile if you let it be, but then tightened his lips and nodded. Hark stood and turned to address the twins.
"It's just us tonight, I'm afraid." The resistance was small but well-supported in Farore's Grace; those that weren't direct members had offered rations and meagre weapons to the cause. In full force, it was about sixteen men and women strong - so close to the night of action, it was a little distressing to find all but four unable to come. "The Warrior Pigs set fire to Tuton's Ranch. Those not fighting the Pigs are fighting the blaze."
Hark pulled out maps - he drew familiar lines with his fingers, spouted rhetoric Link had heard a dozen times so far - but not much could be done with so many people absent. Drumming his knuckles impatiently against the table in the centre of the room, Link found his attention drifting as he became mesmerized by the candle glow.
Hark droned on, and Link grew deaf. He thought of the town he'd just left; how happy the people had been to regain their dull, rural lives. Soon enough they would be complaining about crops and property and chattel - it was never far from their minds, anyway - but a for a glorious moment the town had blazed with a passion unseen for centuries. He wondered how many of them would now remember that there were bigger concerns than the rain.
In the middle of his reverie, Link felt something warm wrap around his heart - in his ears drifted the tune out of time, that tune which popped into his head every now and then - and he smelled the precious scent of roses.
Link...
He closed his eyes. The warm candle glow seemed to chase inside him, brightening the black of his eyelids. Out of the glow he saw a face form - a face made of mist and smoke, whose features he would gladly die a thousands deaths to see in the flesh again.
"Zelda," he whispered.
The monotone drone of Hark's planned ceased. Link opened his eyes and saw the twins exchange surprised looks - Hark himself was standing with his mouth agape.
There is no time, Link. No time. The castle is stormed. Ganondorf is garrisoned in the throne room. Victory is upon us. But you are in grave danger.
"What? Zelda, how do you..."
The foundations of the cottage shook. Misha and Minka fell to the floor, clutching each other frightfully. Hark tumbled to his knees and looked around with wild eyes. Candles overturned, spilling hot wax into the cracks of the floorboards - one rolled across the floor and came to rest with its flame tickling the hem of a curtain. The drape caught quickly, and still the quake continued. Link felt the warmth leave his heart and thought only of his sword.
Something slammed against the door.
Hark and the twins cowered under the table. Hark's eyes pleaded with Link: This is your part, hero, please.
Link dashed to the front of the cottage and his sword. The fire was rapidly eating the thin fabric of the curtain; the wood around the window singed, and soon caught the plague of flame. It wouldn't be long before this whole box was burning.
As he pulled his sword from its sheath, which fell in a pool of spreading flame on the floor, the door took another blow. The hinges creaked - old wood splintered - the doorknob shoot across the room and collided harmlessly with the wall opposite.
His hands tightened on the hilt of his sword.
The quaking stopped as suddenly as it had started. Consuming flame was the only sound other than the rapid breathing of the four inside.
Then came a knock - comical, almost, as if the person outside had become suddenly cautious.
Link said, "Come in."
It took no more than a light poke to bring down the door. In the rectangle of light cast through the open doorway stood a figure. Link could make out no features and did not hope to - this man would die, and right quick for spoiling their sanctity. But he heard Misha gasp and Minka cry out - he heard Hark curse low on his breath - he hesitated, and in that moment he regarded his own twin standing on the threshold.
The figure laughed and drew its sword. Link's eyes widened and his pulse quickened. In the flickering firelight he watched his exact equal take a step forward and match his own stance precisely. Link took a step back, bumping against the edge of the table and causing another candle to upset, and the figure took and equal step forward. Its laugh whispered poison to places inside Link he didn't know he had.
Mirror, he thought. Damn.
With a cry from the bottom of his heart he rushed forward - the dark twin met his falling sword in the exact copy of his swing. For a few frightening seconds they were nose-to-nose, and he stared into its dark, pitiless eyes. It winked at him, and at the same time the two whirled away from each other, swords sparking and singing in perfect harmony.
"Run!" Link yelled to the three under the table. Hark dragged the twins out and they ran past the ready swords of the warriors without either budging. Had there been time he would have told them to go to his room in the Inn, but as soon as they had left the line of attack he was compelled forward. Each jab, each thrust, each swing of his powerful sword was met with equal resistance from his adversary. The ceiling had caught fire, and small bits of wood sprinkled down as ash overhead. Link fought on heedless. He gritted his teeth and attacked with furious, calculated blows. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and on the forehead of his foe.
Exhausted, he pulled back and watched his counterpart do the same. Smoke filled the air and made his eyes water.
"We cannot win," he spat.
The figure laughed. It bared its awful teeth in challenge.
Link wanted nothing more than to shatter that smile - to see it coming out of his own face was repulsive. He readied himself for another go; as his muscles tensed, he saw their twins bulge on his perfect villain.
But suddenly the dark twin faltered - its expression changed from smug to surprised. Before Link could strike the killing blow, fine lines of white and silver traced over its body like lightening - its eyes shut in agony as a foul, hell-born scream ripped through his body. He heard the sound of breaking glass, and found himself alone in the burning cottage.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he coughed and stumbled out the door. Charred wood broke behind him - the ceiling collapsed, and a waft of burning air chased him out. When he turned, he saw nothing but the dark and quiet forest. A doe was standing behind a tree. She flicked her ears in his direction and bolted away.
Link hastened to the Inn.
He was easily able to evade the Moblin horde, who were standing around the body of their fallen comrade in the alley. As he slipped inside he cursed himself for so wilfully killing the monster - but he saw the boy weeping at a table inside and was heartened.
The door to his room was open. Misha and Minka were sitting on his cot, arms still wrapped tightly around each other. Hark stood before the mirror, shattered glass dusting his boats and the hem of his cloak.
"Zelda," he said dreamily, looking at Link but not quite seeing him. "She told me what to do."
Link gave a curt nod and went to the twins. "Are you alright?"
They nodded, but Link suspected they were deeply shaken. He was a little shaken himself. Arms aching and back sending distress all along his spine - he never knew how strong he was. He pitied the twins. It must have been awful for them to see him fighting his reflection. Like a nightmare neither would admit to the other of having. He patted their heads.
"The war will be over soon," said Hark, in that same dreamy voice. Eyes unfocussed, he looked through Link. Link couldn't tell if he were disappointed or not.
Zelda told them to wait, and it wasn't long before white riders came streaming in the town from the north gate, bearing the proud flag of the royal family, making easy game of the Moblins gathered there for defense. Link stepped in and caught any stragglers. Even the townsfolk brought down a few themselves; the boy Halton had cunning aim with his bow. Soon the town was free, the bodies of their captors gathered in the town square and scattered with wood. The bonfire that night would smell of bacon tonight.
As the celebration began, the townsfolk cheering and boisterous, Link corner Garrety in his own bar. Everyone was in the street - the two had the place to themselves. This pleased Link much more than Garrety, who rapidly drew a rag through obviously clean glasses and averted his eyes.
"You brought me the mirror," Link said simply. He didn't know if it was true, until Garrety made a small noise in his throat like an animal trapped.
Quick as lightening, Link raised a glove and backhanded the round man across his scruffy-dog face. Garrety dropped the glass and raised his hand to his reddening cheek - Link turned and walked away without a second glance.
Weeks later, he found himself back in Hyrule Castle Town. It was amazing. Here the celebrations continued - and why not? In his journey home he had come across many freed towns to find their denizens sullen, argumentative, petty - exactly as they had been before Ganondorf and his army gave them something to care about. It was just as he feared, so it was with a glad heart that he rode through the gates of the castle fortress to find them festooned with the heads of the enemy. Streamers fell continuously from the bright blue sky; confetti filled the cracks between the cobblestones. All one had to do was sing the first line of the national hymn, and a dozen or more boisterous voices piped in accompaniment. It was a time of joy, and Link relished in what he knew was his share.
He did not expect a hero's welcome - nor did the town give him one, too busy with their own small victories in the larger battle - but the guards at the gate of the castle bowed before him, and the King's attendant kissed his hand as though he were holy.
The Great Hall was in a state of hurried repair. A hundred servants were scrubbing off blood from the walls, tearing down burned curtains, sweeping debris into orderly piles. Before him down the length of the hall sat the portly King, who beckoned him forward with a grand smile.
"Come boy! For this joy is as much yours as anyone's." Link approached and took to his knee before the King. His Majesty placed a gentle palm on Link's head, and he whispered a blessing. "Stand now," said the King. "Stand and be proud."
Link stood. "Where is the Princess Zelda, my lord?" he asked quietly.
The King laughed and gave Link a conspiratorial wink. "She is in the Tower, son." His eyes flickered to the secret staircase behind the throne. "I'm sure she'd like some company."
Link thanked the King and darted into the hidden passage way behind the Royal Family tapestry. It was dark, but his feet easily found their way up the stairs. The light from the Tower room began spilling down the winding staircase, and Link caught the smell of roses on the warm breeze.
She stood at the window, with her back to him. She did not turn. The wind blew her golden hair back from her slender neck - her delicate hands were clasped behind her, fidgeting with her rings.
"Hello Link," she said. Her voice filled him with gratitude. When she finally turned, he saw she was smiling.
"I have something for you," she said. He couldn't help himself - Link darted to her side, not knowing what to expect, only hoping. But her eyes met his only briefly, and she looked down at the windowsill. Link's gaze followed and found a gold box sitting open. Cautiously, he leaned forward to examine its contents.
He gasped and took a step back.
Zelda laughed, but it was a troubled sound. "Don't worry. We are safe. It can do no harm here."
In the box, beating furiously, was the stolen heart of the False King.