The ground in front of Link drops sharply away where he stands on the plateau edge. He fiddles with the glider, contemplating a very messy end on the rock below. Rhoam used this glider, he reassures himself. How dangerous can it be? Rhoam was a spirit though, his subconscious points out. For all you know he was just flying.
He takes a running jump and flings himself over the edge, before he can talk himself out of the idea completely. There's a moment of pure terror as the ground rushes up to meet him, the thought I can't sense my bird flashing nonsensically through his mind. But then the glider snaps taut with a spine-shaking jolt and he's flying. His joyful shout as he soars above the trees is snatched away by the wind. It's bracingly cold, and his hair whips into his face. Feeling more confident, he twists experimentally and the glider turns smoothly with him. All too quickly, he touches down lightly on the dusty road. He rolls the glider back up, securing it with the leather ties and slinging the straps over his shoulders. The main road from the plateau stretches out ahead of him, just as Rhoam had said. He heads East, to Kakariko village. East, to possible answers.
Everywhere, he can see signs of the faded kingdom the King had described. Warped wooden fences meander drunkenly across the landscape, any livestock they once corralled long since gone. A broken fountain stands dry in the center of a square overgrown with weeds. Crumbling sections of stone wall around it show where buildings once stood. Every now and then something triggers a fragment of memory - marching down a road with other soldiers, soaking weary feet in a stream, sitting on a bench in a courtyard enjoying the afternoon sun. Nothing that gives him any real clues to who he is. He finds one building where rusted halberds have fused into a single mass below the rotted remains of a weapon rack; the guards here hadn't even been able to arm themselves before they were slaughtered. Blackened gouges still mar the earth outside. What did this?
As he approaches the edge of the ruined settlement, he smells smoke on the air. There's a confusion of prints in the mud, leading into the trees. They're new; something happened here recently. Cautiously, he rounds the corner, and his heart sinks at the sight of a traveler face-down in the blood soaked dirt, sword dropped from his outstretched hand and wooden shield by his side. A few crows flap heavily away, croaking their displeasure at being disturbed. The crude arrows sprouting from the man's back and the pervasive stink lingering around both suggest a bokoblin attack; the killers are likely still nearby. Link picks up the man's weapon and shield, apologizing silently for the theft, and goes to check the area.
He finds three bokos gathered around a campfire, noisily rummaging through the man's things. Two russet-furred juveniles, and a darker adult. As he watches, a fight breaks out between the youngsters over a package of jerky. Taking advantage of their distraction, he circles through the trees to come up behind the older one. Centering himself with a quick breath, he lunges out and drives the borrowed sword into the bokoblin's back. It's harder than he expected it to be. The bokoblin lets out a squeal of pain and slumps to the ground, catching the attention of the other two. Hollering with rage, they grab their clubs from the ground and rush him. He deflects the first's attack with the shield and slashes across its neck. It drops twitching to the dirt with a spray of foul black blood. The third attacks furiously, but its swings are clumsy and easily evaded. He spots an opening and thrusts the sword into its chest. It splutters and convulses for a while before its eyes roll back and its tongue lolls out. Link wrinkles his nose and uses his foot to slide the sword back out.
Rhoam wasn't lying about the military training, it seems. Clearly some things go deeper than memory. Link wipes the blade clean on the grass, grimacing a bit at the blood splatter on his shirt. He won't be able to do much about that for now. What he can do is set the traveller to rights. He doesn't have a shovel to dig a grave, but he builds a rough cairn using the rubble nearby. Once's done he beseeches Hylia to take the man under her care. He hopes that will be good enough; the words for a funeral rite refuse to be coaxed out of his memory.
A little further away Link finds the man's shabby-looking pony tethered to a tree stump. The piebald mare flicks her ear when he goes to stroke her. "Sorry girl," he murmurs soothingly. "Your owner won't be coming back for you." He plucks an apple from a nearby tree for her and gathers up the traveler's saddlebags, which still hold a few useful things like flint and tinder. He feels slightly guilty, but pragmatically, the man has no further need for them, and Link could certainly use the help. The food spilled about by the bokos he gives up as a loss. The animals will eat it.
The mare is slow and stubborn, but he alternates riding and walking and together they still make better time than he had alone. Mid-afternoon they reach the great river which feeds into lake Hylia. Another shrine sits by the bridge, but it seems all functions of the slate have been restored, since he's offered no new ones this time. He wonders whether Princess Zelda is held in a similar spell as the monks and Rhoam. Is she just a fragment of memory, held in place until he breaks the binding? Is releasing her to a merciful rest the best he can do? It's a depressing possibility to consider.
That night, huddled in a roadside lean-to some miles down the road, he dreams of a woman draped in white robes. She stands before him, facing away with one gold-wrapped arm thrust outwards. She is wreathed in light, which flares brighter, brighter, brighter, until he can't see anything else. His vision clears; now there's a woman made of blinding light; she's the same, yet somehow not. She raises her white-robed arms and enfolds him in an embrace that feels like rebirth, the glow fading until he can once again make out her familiar features, smiling fondly at him.
The morning dawns grey and wet. He'd planned to go past the tower on his way to Kakariko; what he hadn't appreciated is that it's on the opposite side of the river. Thankfully there's a usable ford, so he coaxes his mare gently out into the current. She isn't keen, needing reassurance every step of the way. He's so focused on her he doesn't spot the cresting of a fin above the water until it's too late. The lizalfos breaks the surface with an explosive leap. Link's horse shrieks and rears in alarm, dumping him into the cold rushing water.
He pushes himself back to the surface, gasping for breath as he draws his sword. His shield is still hanging from the saddle; he'll have to do without it. He scans urgently for the lizalfos, dodging as it tries to skewer him with its spear. He needs to get onto dry land, so it won't have such an advantage. Parrying and evading its jabs one-handed, he backs carefully towards the bank, feeling for solid footing as he goes. Finally he's only ankle-deep, and he settles into a ready stance for it to come at him again, clearing his mind. As it thrusts he evades and swings hard, knocking the spear out of its scaly hands and then pressing in close. It manages to catch him with razor-sharp claws. Hissing, he rams his sword up under the chin where its hide is softest. He lets it drop, kicking it into the deeper water where it's carried away by the current. Link makes his way onto the shore proper, cursing and dripping water. His doublet and undershirt are torn but the wounds don't seem that deep. His horse has thankfully remained nearby, disgruntled but unharmed. Thanking Hylia for his relative good luck, he sloshes over to retrieve her.
Climbing the tower makes the scrapes on his side sting, and when he gets to the top he sits down against a pillar to clean them with a strip from his ruined shirt and fresh water from his canteen while he waits for the guidance stone to add new map data to the slate. What a start to the day... Entirely fed up with water for now, he decides to cut North to Kakariko rather than following the river. He prods around mentally as he sways in the saddle, in the vague hope that all his memories will just come tumbling out if he comes at them from the right angle. They remain stubbornly absent. It's depressing to know so little about himself. All he knows is that he was a soldier, tasked with protecting the princess and wielding some special sword. Where did he come from? Who were his friends, his family? His hopes and dreams? He really hopes this "Impa" can help him discover more.
The sun is sinking toward the hills by the time he approaches the village. He's weary and damp, and he aches all over; he'd really underestimated how sore a full day's riding would make him after a hundred years' slumber. As he rides into the village square, he's stopped by two guards. Their initial suspicion changes swiftly to deference when they see the slate on his hip, and while one takes his horse the other ushers him up the stairs to an ornate and towering Sheikah-style dwelling. The interior is as traditional as the outside, with paper lanterns casting soft shadows across dark wooden paneling and rich embroidered fabrics. Near the far wall, an old woman dozes gently on a nest of cushions. She jolts awake as he enters, and bursts into a wide grin that makes her eyes crinkle.
"Link! You're finally awake! It has been a long time, my friend. Come, let me look at you!" she beckons. His silence clearly speaks volumes, because her smile fades. "Do you remember me?"
"I'm sorry... I don't." Link stumbles forward across the woven rush floor, blinking back tears of relief. To meet someone who knew him, a friend - it had seemed impossible, when the princess told him how much time had passed. Impa can help him remember. There's a twinge of awkwardness under the relief. She may be his friend, but she's wearing the face of a stranger.
"Ah. Purah and Robbie did suggest memory loss could be a side-effect of the shrine if left running for so long." She sighs gently, and he can tell she's disappointed. It must be just as strange for her, he reflects - to meet a stranger wearing the face of a friend. She forces a smile. "That's alright. How about you just sit down, and I'll fill you in."
It takes Impa some time to recount the events of a century prior. She covers some of the same ground as Rhoam had: their preparations, Ganon's cunning, Link's downfall and Princess Zelda's final order before her grim solo mission. But he can tell she was closer to Link the person, rather than Link the Hylian Champion, and he soaks in the hints at his personality. By the end, the warmth of the room is starting to lull him to sleep despite his desperate thirst for the knowledge and Impa's engaging storytelling.
"Dear Link, you look exhausted. Why don't you go rest up, and tomorrow we can discuss your plans from here," she smiles.
A hot bath has been drawn for him in one of the rooms upstairs. He sinks into it gratefully, letting the heat soothe his aching muscles. When he's clean and dry he slides into bed, delighted by the cool sheets and comfortable mattress. He falls almost instantly into peaceful sleep; if he's plagued by either visions or nightmares, he doesn't remember in the morning.
By the time Link finally stirs, someone has taken away his tattered clothes and left him a new set of plain but well-made travelers' garb. Soft doeskin breeches reinforced at the thigh for riding, a fine linen undershirt and a thick woolen tunic with a hood are all folded neatly next to a sturdy but flexible pair of boots. The fit of each is perfect, as if they were tailored specifically for him. Even the holster for the slate has been cleaned and oiled. Refreshed by a bath and a good night's sleep, Link heads back to finish his talk with Impa in much better spirits. In the hall, a young woman is polishing a stone ornament inscribed with Sheikah runes; at his approach she drops the cloth with a squeak. He can't have met her before, but he knows her face.
He holds his sword out and shield at chest height, light on his feet. He watches his opponent for any twitches betraying her next move, but her crimson eyes give nothing away beneath the painted crest on her forehead. Her white hair is tightly braided, garb flexible but close-fitting in the Sheikah style. Without warning she leaps, one sword slicing viciously through the air as she whirls towards him, the other trailing behind. He blocks, knocking it to one side, and counters with a swipe which she dodges gracefully. He presses in, and she grins at him as she blocks his blow in return.
There's a shout from above them. "Ah, Impa! There you are!" the King booms as he enters the training yard, flanked by guards. Both combatants immediately sheath their weapons and drop to one knee, heads down in deference. "The Gerudo have sent news of their excavation," Rhoam announces. "Come, we must discuss how to re-deploy the Sheikah to best support their efforts."
"At once, your Majesty," Impa replies, bringing her arm to her chest in a Sheikah salute. She flashes Link an apologetic shrug and hurries after the King.
He comes back to himself to find Paya stammering her way through an introduction. Impa's granddaughter... He can definitely see the family resemblance, in looks if not temperament. He introduces himself, and in an attempt at small talk to fill the awkward silence, asks about her name. For some reason this makes her wail and blush fiercely, and she all but flees from the room. "I'd advise dropping the matter," Impa laughs as she comes down the stairs.
Paya returns bringing a generous amount of food for a late breakfast: steamed rice, thick fluffy omelette, crisp-fried sprats, tangy sliced vegetables, and bowls of refreshing clear soup. Link, who skipped dinner last night, eats at least three times as much as the two women. Impa smiles at him indulgently.
"You really haven't changed a bit, ha! But we need to discuss your next move. I hate to burden you with this while you are still without your memories, but Hyrule needs you. Zelda cannot contain the beast forever."
"I know. I intend to free the princess," he vows. Quite how he's going to do that, he has no idea, of course.
"Not a memory to your name, and here you are still willing to run headlong into danger," Impa beams. "Well, for that you'll definitely need to retrieve the sword that seals the darkness. Zelda took it with her when she went to face Ganon, but I believe her intention was to hide it for safekeeping in the great forest north of the castle, for the spirits there to keep watch over. Assuming she succeeded, it is likely still there."
Link nods, following along.
"The other thing you will need to do is to free the Divine Beasts from Ganon's malice so they cannot be used against us as they were last time. I admit I have no insight as to how this may be achieved. You may try asking Robbie, up in Akala far to the north of here. He is the closest thing remaining to an expert on the ancients' war technology. But I think the most important thing you need is to find some way to reconnect with your past. You may have muscle memory, but that alone will not make you the equal of Ganon," she warns.
"I hoped you could help with that," Link says. "You said you knew me before?"
"I can share stories of your past with you, but I suspect that simply telling you will not be enough," she muses. "I suggest visiting places you have a strong connection with. Before it was passed to you, that slate belonged to Zelda. Perhaps you can visit the locations she captured to see if they awaken any lost memories."
Link doesn't understand. "You mean the map pins? There weren't any on the slate when I got it."
"Have you not looked through the images on the slate yet?" At his blank look, Impa gestures for him to hand it over. She spends a few minutes scrolling and swiping with a concerned look on her face before giving it back. "Hmm. It seems the slate has not fared well in its dormant state, but it might be fixable. You could try asking Purah, my sister. She knows the most about its functions."
"Where can I find her?"
"She lives near Hateno village now, a few days' ride to the southeast." Impa throws him a bemused look as he rises to his feet. "You mean to go right now?"
"The princess is waiting," he points out. "And this is a detour."
Impa smiles softly at him. "Zelda has held the Calamity off for a hundred years, Link. She can hold on an extra day while you let yourself recover your strength a bit more. But I suspect there's still no arguing with you. I'll have Paya put together some provisions."
Notes: I'll be uploading a chapter every day or so until I catch up to Ao3, but after that updates will be on Sunday!