A note from the Hime no Argh herself—

So sorry for the late update! I decided to wait a week because I was having trouble getting through the next chapter, and then I went off to AnimeNext (a convention in Secaucus) and totally forgot to update first! I'm back now (check my LJ if you'd like to read about my convention adventures) and just remembered I hadn't updated yet, so here's the next chapter.

Lots of reviews for the last chapter; thanks, everyone! I'm glad everyone seemed to like my version of the Master Sword's creation.

Crimson-88 had a question: "Since Link is the only one who can use it, will it be impossible for others to use the sword, like pick it up cause it weighs a million pounds for someone other than Link?" No, it doesn't work like that. Anyone can pick it up and use it like a normal sword, but it's more than that for Link. The ritual to mix his blood with the steel created a bond between him and the sword. It'll follow him throughout all his lives (talking about reincarnation here) and will only show whatever true powers it possesses to him.

Chapter 12
Parting

"What is that?" Inra demanded, eyes wide as she gazed at the Master Sword. "Where in Din's name did you get it?"

Link gave the sword an experimental swing, wondering how much he should tell his Gerudo companion. "A lady gave it to me."

"How could a lady give you a sword when we're wandering around down here? I know you didn't have it yesterday. Why would she give you a sword in the first place?"

"I have no idea," Link confessed truthfully.

"Maybe you went sleepwalking and found it," Inra mused as Link tested the Master Sword's weight and balance. It was a longsword, with more length to it than the sword he'd lost on the battlefield, but light enough to wield with one hand. "Maybe you just dreamed the lady. It could have floated down the river from the battle at your fort."

"It could have," Link agreed absently, though he knew none of the previous night's events had been a dream. The scars on his hand proved that much.

Once Inra was finished questioning him about the sword, they headed off through the gorge again, searching for a way out. The day was cool in the gorge's shadowed depths, but Link and Inra were both weak and exhausted from the battle a day before. They hunted unsuccessfully for game, and finally stopped to cut branches from a gnarled tree grown out of the cliff face and shape them into spears. After a few frustrating hours, Inra managed to spear three fish from the river, and they roasted and ate them by a fire that evening.

Unable to get over Inra's age, Link couldn't stop himself from asking, "Weren't you scared in that battle?"

She gave him a withering look. "Were you?"

Link paused. "Definitely," he said at last. "I thought I was going to die. I thought my friends and squadmates were going to die—I don't even know what happened to any of them." He laughed shortly. "My horse is dead. That's all I know."

"I don't know about any of my sisters, either," Inra said gloomily, staring into the fire. "Maybe they're all dead."

Link wanted to reassure her, but he couldn't be certain about anything that had come from that battle. Besides, who was he to be reassuring, when the deaths of a tribe of Gerudo would bring his side one step closer to victory?

"What will you do if they are?" he asked instead.

Inra shrugged. "I suppose another tribe will take me in. I hope. Sometimes when a tribe is slaughtered there are only a few survivors, the others regard them as unlucky and treat them like outcasts."

Link stared at her, bewildered and appalled by the idea. "But that doesn't make any sense."

Inra made a face at him. "No one asked you for your opinion, Hylian."

Link didn't bother correcting her on his heritage, knowing it wouldn't make any difference to her as long as he fought for the Hylian side. He also knew better than to suggest she come north. All he could do was hope that her tribe was still alive, at last most of them.

The next day passed as the previous—he and Inra wandered through the seemingly endless gorge, fishing for their meals. Inra seemed to know where she was going now, pointing out landmarks she recognized as they walked along. At last, in mid-afternoon, Inra gave a joyful shout and pointed toward a set of steps carved of rock that twisted up the cliff face.

"I knew we were going the right way!" she said triumphantly as she scrambled up the cliff face ahead of Link. He followed with considerably less enthusiasm, noting that the steps were carved into the west side of the Mahala Gorge, leading up into Gerudo land.

The desert stretched out before them when they reached the top, gleaming with white sand. Link cast a rueful glance toward the Hylian border, just over the gorge, and wondered how far he was from the Sourrem Bridge, near the knights' encampment.

More importantly, what was he supposed to do now? He glanced at Inra, who was practically bouncing in happiness at being back on her land. He had done what he promised, hadn't he? She was in the desert now, so she would be safe.

But he couldn't be sure of that. She was too close to the border to go wandering around weaponless, when Hylian scouts might find her. He had to see her safely back to her people.

Inra glanced up at him, as though she sensed what was going through his mind. "You can go now," she told him, pointing northward. "The bridge is about ten miles, I think."

Link grimaced. I'm going to regret this, he thought ruefully as he turned resolutely from the Hylian border. "Let's get you back to your people first. You'd be crazy to risk wandering around border country alone during a war, especially without weapons."

"Look," Inra said exasperatedly, "just go! I don't trust my sisters not to kill you at first sight!"

Link shrugged. "I don't trust my people not to do the same to you."

"Are you stupid!" she yelled, clearly out of patience. "You're a Hylian! I'm a Gerudo! We're enemies! Why should you care if I get killed?"

"What about you?" he pointed out. "Why do you care if your sisters kill me?"

Inra glared at him. "You saved my life in that river," she snapped. "I haven't forgotten."

Link smiled crookedly as he turned and trudged toward the west. "If I get killed, you can blame it on my own stupidity. Let's just go, all right?"

"I think you're touched in the head," Inra growled as she ran to catch up with him. "First you save my life, then you get that sword out of nowhere, and now this…just my luck, to get stuck with an idiot like you. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He wouldn't, Link thought with wry humor as he and Inra trekked across the long desert. It was far hotter out here than in the gorge, the sun beating down mercifully until they'd both begun to sweat. They rationed the water in Link's canteen, knowing it was their only supply until they found (or were found by) the Gerudo, but it evaporated all too quickly nonetheless.

Link had a reasonable certainty that he was going to die out here. Whether by lack of water or hostile Gerudo he didn't know, but in the meantime, he was determined to do everything he could to help Inra get back to her people. At least then he could stand before the goddesses with a clean conscience.

He wondered if his fate in the battle had been reported to the north yet; perhaps they thought he was already dead. It twisted his gut to think how Zelda might receive such news, and he realized with a sudden start how much he wanted to go home and see her again. He had never allowed himself to feel homesick, but here, out in the desert with little hope of survival, all he could think of was how much he wished he could be there, at the castle in the north with his friends.

Inra, walking ahead of him, stopped abruptly, shading her eyes to look toward the horizon. Link followed her gaze to see a cloud of dust far off in the distance, like a squad of riders.

"You think it's a mirage?" Inra whispered.

Link shook his head. "They're coming this way."

He exchanged a glance with the Gerudo, then Link smiled crookedly and shrugged. There was no point in running off now when he would undoubtedly be spotted and pursued. Inra chewed her lower lip worriedly as the riders approached, thundering on the packed sands.

They surrounded them—six Gerudo warriors mounted on horseback, three with scimitars, two with bows and one who appeared to be a headsister. "Sister Inra of the Spiritwind Tribe, we are glad to find you safe," the headsister said formally before turning her hard brown eyes to Link. She gave a sharp nod, and the two archers raised their bows.

"No!" Inra jumped in front of him, arms outstretched. "Headsister Rehan of the Mahala Tribe, please, you can't kill him," she said breathlessly.

"Step out of the way, Sister Inra," the headsister said quietly.

"No! I owe this man a blood debt! He saved my life!"

The headsister hesitated, looking at Link again. "Is this true?" she demanded.

"Inra and I fell into the gorge during a fight," Link said evenly. "We were lucky enough to fall into the river."

"Link saved me from drowning," Inra explained quickly. "He escorted me out of the gorge and across the desert this far, knowing the peril to his own life. Please don't kill him."

Rehan's mount shifted beneath her, as if reflecting its mistress's uncertainty. At last the headsister gestured, and the archers lowered their bows. "Debts must be repaid," she said evenly. "Kasala."

"Sir!" a Gerudo responded sharply, saluting from the saddle.

"Take this man to our tents," Rehan ordered, gesturing toward Link. "Give him food and water and a healthy mount, and send him on his way." Her eyes met Link. "In gratitude for your clemency toward our sister, we will allow you to leave the desert unharmed. Return to your northern queen. If you come here again, we will kill you."

Link nodded. "I understand. Thank you, headsister."

The Gerudo made a dismissive noise. "Mount up behind me, Inra. We will escort you to your tribe."

Inra turned toward Link, her eyes searching his. Abruptly she scowled. "I don't like goodbyes," she informed him. "If I see you on the battlefield, your life is mine."

Link smiled. "I won't begrudge you for it. Take care, Inra."

"Hmph." The girl climbed into the saddle behind Rehan. "So long, Hylian."

The riders galloped away, with the exception of Kasala, who ordered him to mount behind her. In the Mahala Tribe's tents Link was given food by wary Gerudo and plenty of water to see him out of the desert safely. Kasala then brought the horse they had chosen for him, a pretty black mare the Gerudo called Twilight, and the tribe saw him on his way, watching him carefully until he was out of sight.

It was only after he and Twilight had crossed Sourrem Bridge that Link remembered Rehan's instructions to return to the north.

She had spoken of his northern queen.

Heart thudding in his ears, he spurred the mare faster, riding toward the Hylian Kingdom.

The funeral for Queen Leona was attended by thousands of somber Hylian subjects, from nobles to peasants, all dressed in dark colors of mourning. Zelda watched her mother's body return to the earth with a numbness that had settled over her from the moment Leona died in her bed. Even through the long illness she had never wanted to think that she might lose her mother, who was as strong as she was sensible and had always, in her own quiet way, had faith that Zelda would succeed the throne.

Her father, too, put on a stoic face for the funeral, and stood quietly by as his wife's body was lowered into the earth, but Zelda knew he must be devastated. His marriage to Leona had been quiet and content, but Zelda had no doubts about the depth of her parents' love for one another. For the first time she found herself thinking soberly that perhaps an arranged marriage was not such a terrible thing. That way, at least one's soul didn't tear in two when their spouse died.

A period of mourning in the Hylian Kingdom was announced, to last until Midsummer's Day, and from then forward Zelda began to attend meetings and councils in person as a representative of the Crown. She had offered to do so after Leona's funeral, to give her father a break from the business of kingship. General Alaster sent word of Sandpit's fall—Zelda oversaw the posting of the dead soldiers' roster—and reports of the enemy's movement in the south, which Zelda passed on to her father. After several days, however, it became clear that Harkinian had no interest in the kingdom or the war. Zelda continued to conduct affairs of state and held her tongue when she wanted to scream aloud in frustration.

"I am never marrying," she told Impa vehemently one night as the Sheikah woman combed her hair for as she prepared for bed. "I'm never falling in love, either."

Impa raised her eyebrows at her in the mirror. "Can you say that for sure? These things have a tendency to catch you off-guard, you know."

"They won't, not if I can help it," Zelda said grimly. "Not after seeing my father like this. It's as though a part of him has died. I know he loved my mother—" Her voice caught as she saw her mother's smiling face in her mind's eye, and for a moment the tears she'd held inside since Leona's death threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyes burned, and she blinked furiously to hold them back.

"They were inseparable," Impa said softly, gently stroking Zelda's hair.

The princess nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Could I do that, Impa? Could I love someone enough that I'd forget my vows to the kingdom and its people?" She shook her head. "I'm not sure I want to find out."

"I suppose I can't blame you." Impa's hand stilled against her hair momentarily. "Your Highness—I wanted to ask you about Sheik. Is he—"

She knew instinctively what Impa wanted. "He's—well, useful," she muttered. "He's a goddess-send, really. He does everything I request without asking anything in return, but—" She hesitated, wanting to say everything, wanting to tell Impa how she didn't trust him, how he terrified her as much as the thought of losing Link or Ganondorf or her father terrified her.

Impa's hand stroked her back soothingly. "Poor Zelda," she said gently, and without warning, the tears spilled over. Zelda buried her face in her hands and cried—for her mother, for her father, for the uncertainty of her friends' and subjects' and kingdom's future. Impa rubbed her back as her mother had done when she was a little girl, woken from nightmares in the dark.

At last she managed to get control of herself and straightened, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I apologize. I didn't mean to do that."

"You don't have to apologize. With your friends gone I suppose I'm the only one who you can afford to show emotion in front of." Impa finished combing her hair and placed the comb down on the dresser. "It's cold tonight. I wonder if it's warm in the desert?"

"Must be," Zelda said sleepily.

Impa prodded up the fire while Zelda changed into a nightshift, then turned to leave. She hesitated. "Your Highness…"

The princess looked at her. "What is it, Impa?"

"There's something you should know about Sheik." The woman paused again. "He's—"

A fervent knock interrupted her. Impa and Zelda blinked at one another, then the Sheikah went to open one of the chamber doors.

"Yes?"

"The princess," a man's urgent voice said from the hall. "Is she—?"

Zelda finished buttoning the collar of her nightshift and moved forward so the man could see her. It was a footman she recognized, who normally served her parents. He bowed to her shortly, face ashen.

"You must come, Your Highness." He licked his lips. "It's—"

She pushed past him to stride quickly down the hall, not pausing to hear his explanation. Impa and the footman hurried after her as she descended the long stairs in the turret, heading straight for her parents' bedroom.

A group of anxious-looking people milled around it, just as they had the night her mother died. Zelda walked unhesitatingly into the fray, shouldering rudely past palace livery to get to the chamber doors. A guard caught her arm, stopping her.

"Your Highness, you don't want to—"

"Unhand me at once," Zelda said quietly, and something in her face must have convinced him she meant it, because he let go immediately and stepped back, face pale.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, I—I never meant—"

She turned and pushed open the doors to her parents' bedroom. The crowd behind her abruptly fell silent.

King Harkinian lay still on the bed, eyes closed, an empty goblet on the nightstand beside him. His face was as pale as marble, white and still, and even in her shocked horror and disbelief, Zelda could not bring herself to regret that her parents had gone together into death.

To be continued.