A note from the Hime no Argh herself—

Thanks again to all who read and reviewed, your feedback is very much appreciated. Crono Master, I'm afraid I don't understand your comments about my war being "generic…just battle after battle being fought." If you'll look up the definition of war in any dictionary, it will tell you, in more or less words, that a war is a series of battles fought between hostile nations. If you'll look at any war in history, that's what it is—'battle after battle being fought.' So if history and the dictionary are any judges, your comments about my war are absolutely right—and I don't see what the problem is with that. If you'd like to elaborate further on how I can make the war less "generic," that would be appreciated.

Chapter 11
Fallen

Link's long fall into the Mahala Gorge was brought to a swift end by the shock of impact with the frothing river. He plunged deep into the icy water, swallowing a lungful of it in panic as his clothes and the scimitar he still clutched in his hand dragged him down. He immediately let the scimitar go and kicked up toward the surface, fighting the harsh current as his muscles screamed in protest. At last his head broke the surface and he coughed and choked, spewing up the icy water he'd swallowed before sucking in much-needed air. He barely managed a full breath before the current of the swift Mahala River dragged him under again.

One more time, Link thought grimly and fought his way up to the surface again. A flash of scarlet and gold caught his eye and he reacted without thinking, grabbing hold of the Gerudo girl who'd fallen into the gorge with him. Unfortunately this made fighting the current doubly hard, and they were nearly both swamped before Link managed to grab hold of the rough edge of a boulder sticking out of the water.

Swiftly he checked his burden. She was unconscious, water trickling from her open mouth. Link looked at the shore, only ten yards or so away, and grimly struck out, towing the Gerudo with one arm and fighting the current with all the strength in his other arm and legs. They were swamped twice and dragged several hundred feet downstream before Link's feet at last sunk into the river's bank. Hauling his burden over a shoulder, Link crawled to shore and collapsed on blessedly dry ground.

The Gerudo didn't stir as he rose again; Link lowered her gently to the ground and checked her vitals. She wasn't breathing. Praying that he wasn't too late, Link fisted his hands just below her ribcage and pushed down with several hard, quick pumps. Water spat from the Gerudo's mouth; she turned to her side to cough and sputter as Link sat back, limp with relief.

Only then did he wonder what the hell he thought he was doing, anyway. Why had he saved this girl? She was his enemy. She had tried to kill him just minutes before. He should have left her to drown in the river—yet even as the thought crossed his mind, Link knew he couldn't have done it.

He looked the still-unconscious girl over, noting that she breathed now without difficulty, and turned his head up toward the ribbon of sky at the top of the gorge, high above. He had no way of knowing how far the swift current had carried them from the battlefield since he and the Gerudo had plunged into the water, nor any idea how he was going to get out of this gorge. He was weaponless except for a small dagger at his belt, his arm was still bleeding from the neat slice in his bicep, and his entire body felt like it had been pounded with hammers.

He also had a hank of rope and his water canteen, which was lucky. He bound the wound on his arm with strips of cloth torn from his own tunic, then went to fill his canteen with fresh water from the river. He returned to the Gerudo's side to trickle a few drops into her mouth.

The Gerudo swallowed and opened green eyes. She blinked at him in confusion, then suddenly her eyes sharpened and she cursed, bolting upright and leaping for his dagger. She had her hands around the hilt before Link grabbed her arms and flipped her onto her belly. They struggled blindly for several minutes until Link finally managed to wrench her wrists up behind her back and bind them tightly together with his rope.

He sat back, gasping for breath, as the girl struggled against her bonds, spitting curses at him. He stared at her as he breathed, taking in the livid face streaked with dirt and blood, the eyes that glittered with anger and something else—fear? She glared at him murderously, her gaze never leaving his face as he unscrewed the canteen again to take a drink of his own, wondering what to do now.

He brushed damp hair out of his eyes and inquired, "If I untie you, are you going to try to cut my throat again?"

The girl responded with a string of curses. Shrugging, Link lay back in the dirt to watch the ribbon of sky above, tuning her out as he thought about his options. He ought to just leave her here—or perhaps untie her and send her on her way, if he were feeling generous. But while he at least had the dagger, he was very much mistaken if she had even that much in terms of weapons about her. And chances were she knew this gorge much better than he did.

He sat up to look at her again. She had quieted while he thought, but she watched him still with that animal gleam in her eyes, her hands trembling slightly behind her back. Link realized abruptly what she was afraid of.

"Don't worry," he said lightly. "I'm not going to do anything. I tied you up for my protection. I don't doubt you're capable of killing me, even without your scimitars."

She continued to glare, though her trembling slowed somewhat. "Listen," Link began, then stopped. The sensible part of him told him this was a stupid idea, but since when had he ever acted sensibly?

"If you're going to say we got off on the wrong foot, spare me," the Gerudo bit before he could continue.

Link sighed. "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that we're both in kind of a predicament. We may have been enemies on that battlefield, but if we're going to survive long enough to get back to our respective peoples I think we're going to have to work together."

The Gerudo's lip curled. "I don't form alliances with Hylian trash."

"Settle for a truce, then," Link said calmly. "Unless you'd rather I left you out here like this, without any weapons."

That gave her pause. "I don't know this land at all and I'll be damned if I have any idea where we are," Link continued swiftly. "You, on the other hand, have lived in the desert all your life, and I assume you know this gorge at least somewhat. If you can guide us out of here, then I'll protect and feed us." Somehow, he thought grimly.

The Gerudo gave him a scornful look. "What could you protect, you insignificant male? Give me the dagger, and I'll guide us and get us out of here alive."

Link shook his head. "I believe I'm the only one who hasn't tried to cut anyone's throat since we fell in this gorge," he pointed out wryly. "So I think I'll hang onto the weapon for now."

"At least untie me," the girl demanded.

"Are you going to give me any more trouble?" Link asked calmly. The girl didn't reply, biting down on her lip to stifle some sort of retort, and he realized that whatever he said to reassure her, she would probably still be a little afraid of him. Well, maybe that was for the best, he thought as he reached over to tug the ropes from their knots.

The girl sat up immediately when her arms were freed, massaging her wrists. She eyed him warily as he rolled the rope up and tied it to his belt, checking that the dagger was securely in its sheath.

"I'm Link," he said when he was done.

"Good for you."

"You have a name?"

"Inra."

"Inra. That's pretty." The girl snorted, and Link smiled slightly. "How old are you, anyway? Aren't you a little young to be fighting battles?"

Inra gave him another scornful look. "I fought desert cougars when I was nine years old. And I'm seventeen."

Link's eyebrows shot up. "Tell me another. You don't look a day over twelve."

Inra sucked in an outraged breath. "I'm fourteen!"

"Ahh." Link smiled while the girl sputtered and glared at him. "That sounds about right." He stood with a groan, ignoring Inra's muttered curses. "I think we have a few hours of sunlight left. We might as well use it."

Though Inra plainly didn't trust him any farther than she could throw him, she seemed to accept their momentary truce. The afternoon hours wore on as Link and Inra wandered through the gorge, following the river north. Every step they took away from Watersedge chafed at Link's nerves; he wanted to turn and run as fast as he could back to where he and Inra had fallen for some sign of the battle's outcome, of his friends' safety.

At the same time he knew it would be no use. What was done was done; getting out of this gorge, and seeing Inra safely back to her people, was his priority now. It didn't matter that she'd been trying to kill him barely an hour before. Chivalry was very clear about such situations, and besides, he wasn't going to leave a young girl in the wilderness all alone, no matter how good a fighter she was with scimitars.

Before long the gorge was all in shadows, the light from the orange-tinted sky above fading fast. Link and Inra chose to settle for the night on the clear, dry banks of the Mahala, building a fire to ward off animals—Inra fortunately had flint, which had dried as they walked—and agreeing on a watch schedule. Link had the first shift; he settled onto a rock to wait the hours out as Inra curled up on the ground beside him, quickly falling asleep.

The moon came out, lighting the gorge with an eerie silver glow. Link watched the stars overhead, shivering slightly in the cold desert air, and wondered where his friends were now, what they were doing. Zelda was undoubtedly asleep in her bedroom in the tower of the Hylian Palace—for a moment he could see her clearly, turning restlessly as though from bad dreams, and someone seemed to be watching her—then he blinked and the image was gone.

Shaking off the unease the picture had given him—undoubtedly the product of an overworked imagination—Link wondered where Ganondorf was now, thinking a quick prayer to Farore that he'd survived the battle. That strange reverie again, and a picture in his mind—he saw Ganondorf in a white robe that whipped around his powerful frame, at the head of dozens of women—

Link glanced up and saw a dark figure by the fire. Instantly he was on his feet, the dagger unsheathed in his hand, as the figure stepped closer. The firelight revealed inhumanly beautiful features under a shadowy hood.

Link stared. "Fallen?"

She gave a barely imperceptible nod. "You must come with me," her low voice issued from beneath the hood. "We have work to do."

Link glanced down at the sleeping Gerudo at his side. "What about Inra?" he asked, gesturing to her. "I can't just leave her alone here."

Fallen cocked her head to one side as she looked at him. "Why do you care what becomes of her? She is a Gerudo. Your enemy."

"Not right now," Link said firmly.

"I see." A note of satisfaction had entered her voice, as though his answer pleased her. She raised a hand from beneath the long cloak and made a gesture in midair; Link saw nothing, but felt a sudden sense of peace, of rightness, fleeing by him like the flight of a bird. Inra rolled over with a peaceful sigh and sunk into a deeper sleep.

"She will not be harmed in your absence, nor wake until you return. Now come. Time passes quickly in this land."

Link hadn't the slightest idea what she meant, but he was not about to argue with a woman who could appear and disappear like an otherworldly spirit. With a last glance at the sleeping Inra, he got to his feet and followed Fallen as she swept away over the dusty banks of the Mahala.

He followed her for quite some time downstream, neither of them speaking. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the cold; the stars were glittering icily overhead and the moon seemed to cast its glow wherever Fallen stepped, so that a sort of silvery halo surrounded the cloaked woman.

At last he and Fallen stopped before a metal door set into the cliff face that Link was entirely certain had not been there before this night.

The door swung silently open as Fallen stepped toward it, revealing an orange glow beyond. "Come," Fallen said quietly, pausing in the threshold.

Somehow Link forced his legs to move, and followed her inside. It was a smithy, he realized suddenly, seeing the warm glow of the forge that was the place's only light. The door swung silently shut behind him as he stepped away from it.

Fallen went immediately to the forge to remove a length of cherry-red metal from the coals. Link watched dumbfounded as she carried it to the anvil and picked up a flat hammer that looked far too heavy for her to handle.

"Steel," the woman said, bringing the hammer down several times on the metal with clangs that reverberated in his very bones. "Steel mined from the sacred land, bare of all impurities, steel to last as long as the goddesses themselves." She thrust the sword back into the forge until it was heated to a fiery glow, then returned it to an anvil to strike again.

"Three times to shape the steel." Her voice, low and commanding, filled the smithy over the clanging strikes of the hammer. "A perfect sword, shaped by timeless hands, indestructible. Three times for strength and sharpness."

A low hum filled the air as the sword returned to the forge, as though it were trying to speak. Fallen let it heat, then laid it on the anvil and began to hammer once more.

"Blood to bind the sword to its wielder. Blood to bind to the immortal soul."

She thrust the sword into the forge until the metal glowed, then turned to Link with the sword in hand. For the first time he was struck by how she towered over him in the forge light, how she handled the cherry-red metal with bare hands.

"Bare your hands," she commanded, and Link could not conceive of refusing. He extended his hands, realizing only at the last second what Fallen intended to do as she raised the sword and sliced across his bare palms.

The pain was less than it should have been as blood poured from the sizzling gashes. Link felt detached from his own body, as though he watched the scene unfold from someone else's point of view. He watched numbly as Fallen took his hands—then she pressed both palms against either side of the white-hot metal.

A scream tore from his throat at the pain as the blistering sword pulled his blood from his body, even as it cauterized the flesh of his hands. Fallen kept both hands pressed firmly against the metal for minutes that felt like eternity as he struggled to break free, but the woman's strength was unfathomable. At last she let him go, and Link fell to his knees, cradling his throbbing hands, as Fallen laid the sword in the forge again. His head swam with sickness and pain, and the last thing he saw was the woman's uncompromising form silhouetted in the forge light before he slumped forward in a dead faint.

When he woke later in a cold sweat, the terrible pain in his hands reduced to a dull ache, he had no notion of how long he'd been unconscious. He looked at his hands and saw that the gashes in them were neatly cauterized, the skin around the closed, pink scars bearing no sign that they'd been pressed against a length of white-hot metal for a prolonged time. Fallen sat before the dimmed forge, polishing a gleaming, finished longsword.

She rose as Link staggered to his feet, exhausted, and held the sword out to him, handle first. "It is yours," she said calmly. "It is called the Master Sword, and it is the greatest sword this world will ever see."

Link stared at her warily, then slowly reached out a hand, half-expecting more blinding pain when he touched the handle. But the handle was cool, and as he hefted the sword's weight in his hands, he carefully ran his fingertips over the blade, noting the tempering that would help it retain its deadly sharp edge. It was the perfect weight for his strength, and fit in his hand as though it belonged there.

"Your blood is mixed with the steel," Fallen told him, handing him a scabbard that would fasten on his back. "It is bound to you forever. In all of your lives, wherever you wander, it will follow you. If you lose it, it will find you again. Whenever you have need of it, it will be by your side."

Link stared at her, overwhelmed. "Why? Why make something like this for me? I—I'm just a knight, there are dozens of warriors greater than me—"

"This has nothing to do with skill," Fallen interrupted. "It is destiny. The Master Sword is meant for you, only you. And you will need it, in this life and all those to come."

"Why?" he demanded. "What destiny? What lives to come? What are you talking about?"

"You will discover those answers on your own. Now, you must leave. I have done a great working here, and I am tired. I need to rest."

But Link suddenly had a hundred questions he wanted answered. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I am a goddess and mother of goddesses. I was here long before your Golden Goddesses created this land, and I will remain long after they have faded into oblivion."

"Why did you choose me for this destiny?" he demanded. "Why not someone else?"

"I did not choose you. Nor do I know who or what did, if anyone chose you at all. I simply knew it was you, as I knew the others."

"Others? What others?"

"You will know eventually. Now go." The door swung open behind him. A force urged him on, and he walked out into sunlight.

To be continued.