Link perches on a stone outcropping, watching the early sun burn the mist off the volcanic slopes. Somewhere on these winding, rocky paths, Zelda bandaged his wounds as the dying sunlight played on her hair, and Link marvelled that she couldn't hear how his blood sang in his veins at her touch, or feel the steady pulsing of his heart in response to her voice. He'd clenched his hands, consumed with the need to brush a stray lock of hair from her face as she concentrated.
You're not immortal, she'd warned him then. But is he not, if even dying hasn't set him free? How many times must the two of them circle back to the beast? They're trapped in elliptical orbits, with any poor souls unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity dragged along in their destructive wake.
He lets his mind drift to the things he learned at the Citadel. It feels like he hasn't stopped moving since then; he's had no time to process it all. He wonders what happened to his mother and sister. He could probably ask Impa, but a small part of him doesn't actually want to know. If he never finds out, he can hold onto the hope that they were among the refugees who made it out; that they made new lives for themselves in this diminished Hyrule. Maybe his mother remarried eventually, love and companionship lightening her later years. Maybe Aryll had children of her own, new sparks of joy and vitality amidst the despair brought by the Calamity.
He might have living relatives. Or, more likely, every single person who ever really mattered to him is dead and gone, and he only avoided joining them because the Goddesses aren't finished with him yet. Hmm. Maybe he should have laid off the Goron beer; it's making him melancholy. Kass alights next to him in a rustle of feathers, interrupting his reverie.
"I thought I'd come say goodbye," he says. "I wasn't sure whether you'd remember in the morning if I'd said it last night."
"I bounce back quickly," Link says with a wry grin. "You're going home?"
Kass hums in agreement. "As reluctant as I am to leave, I've been away too long. My heart yearns to see my girls. But I don't believe this is farewell. Merely a parting of ways for now."
Link looks out over the rugged terrain, to where he can just make out the towering spires of the castle in the distance. His heart yearns too, for people long since beyond his reach. "I have some things I need to do first," he says. "But I'll have to come your way sooner or later. Vah Medoh will need dealing with."
"I'll keep watch for you, my friend," Kass says warmly. "Until then." And with a sweep of his broad blue wings, he takes off westward.
~X~
When Link was five, before he was sent to Akala with his father to train as a page - before Karane and Pipit, before he'd ever set foot in the Temple and thought I should try pulling the sword, what's the worst that could happen - he had often gone into town with his mother on market day. This is one of the few memories from his early childhood that has burbled up from the depths of his mind, and he treasures it like a precious jewel. Aryll was still just a baby then, bundled up in her wrap at their mother's chest. The three of them would go to seek out interesting goods for the household. They might return with an order for a suckling pig or a basket of voltfruit, that Cook would scramble to accommodate - he's getting distracted.
What he means to think about is the toy shop tucked off the main square. There was a ritual to it: he would tug at his mother's skirts, she would pretend they might not have time. In the end she always relented, and the inside of the shop was essentially paradise to five-year-old Link. Shelf upon shelf was stocked with games and trinkets: wooden skittles, hoops and sticks, baskets of marbles and throwing jacks. In pride of place in the middle of the shop, on a pedestal Link needed to stretch onto his tiptoes to reach, was a finely-crafted mechanism: a painted plate ringed with little horses, that when spun at just the right speed would make them chase after one another just like the real thing. Five-year-old Link had been fully convinced this was genuine magic.
The point is - there's a moment where the illusion kicks in. Before that, it's a nonsensical mess and then suddenly, it resolves into magnificent prancing horses. Link feels a little like he's stuck in the moment before the shift, endlessly waiting for the blur of chaos to resolve into the fabled Champion. Maybe it just needs more of a push, and there's only one place left he can think of to try. It's almost certainly a bad idea, but the only other one he has is 'do nothing, and hope that everything somehow magically works itself out'. Link has never been a do nothing and wait sort of person.
He feels a swell of empathy for Zelda's tireless and futile attempts to unlock her powers, continually feeling like a disappointment to those around her. When he sees her, the first thing he's going to do is apologise.
~X~
Link follows the steep switchback road down the west slopes, all the way from South Mine to the Minshi wetlands. He uses the glider where he could, but it's still a challenging, technical route, and he has little attention to spare for idle thought during his descent. Another tower has sprouted skyward through the bog here, and he surveys the landscape from the top. To the South, its turrets just visible from here, the Castle perches on its high rock like a great beast.
To the north, the Great Forest stretches away to the distance in an unbroken carpet of green. Somewhere in there, Zelda left the Sword That Seals the Darkness for him. He seriously considers whether he should venture in to find it. A mythical sword could only make his task easier, but something stays his feet. He has little idea what awaits him there; the idea that he might find the sword but be unable to pull it nags at him. What if the sword doesn't recognise him as the Hero? The thought of being outright rejected is unbearable. No, better to do all he can to recover himself first, and then retrieve the sword.
Link heads South, across the lush rolling green of the Rauru hills. But by the time he stands on the bank of the Regencia river, looking at the shattered remains of the bridge to the castle mount, doubts have crept in. If Ganon notices him, the chances of making it back out alive are basically nil. Is it recklessly selfish, to even attempt this? What will happen to Zelda if he dies? To Hyrule? He shakes the thoughts away. He has no other choice - he can't hope to beat Ganon as a fractured echo of a better man, rattling around in his own skull and jumping at shadows. He needs to find his old self somewhere in the murky ruins of his mind, and if the answer is anywhere, it's here.
~X~
He settles into a gouge in the earth, out of the wind, and waits for darkness. The moon hangs red and menacing in the sky when he emerges, which is an ominous sign. He quickly dismisses entering via either the harbour or from the Castle Town side, both of which are likely to be crawling with monsters and Guardians. But he's reasonably sure he remembers a hidden staircase carved into the rock face to reach the harbour from the top. It's this he's aiming for as he paraglides across silently in the dark. It takes him a while to find the stairs, and climbing them in the dark isn't easy; the rope hammered into the rock as a makeshift handrail has long since rotted away. The entire way up his hackles are raised at the thought that there must be more of those flying Guardians. He shoves the thought away roughly, shifts his grip on the mossy stones as he puts one foot cautiously in front of the other, over and over until eventually he emerges onto the clifftop and allows himself a moment to catch his breath. It's quiet, but Guardians don't sleep. He can see several pulsing malevolently in the distance.
He skirts around the outbuildings, seeing the bustle of the castle while it was still occupied overlaid like an after image. Once this place housed an army, and had an army of servants to look after them; cooks, butlers, washerwomen and gardeners all thronged these grounds, and the lower levels of the castle itself. He lets himself in by one of the servants' entrances, passing through the guards' dining room. The tables and chairs have been reduced to splinters, and the banners on the wall are torn and filthy. In the far corner of the room a group of bokoblins are sprawled on their backs, snoring loudly with mouths wide open. He curls his lip at the revolting habits of the creatures Ganon calls his allies, and their insatiable need to destroy anything of beauty or worth. He could slaughter this group with ease, but it would likely rouse the rest of the castle. He tiptoes quietly past instead.
The narrow staircase emerges in what used to be a grand hallway, and he passes room after room with doors missing or hanging precariously on their hinges. He stops at what he thinks is the Ballroom door, and reaches out to try the handle.
He leans against the wall, suppressing a laugh as Zelda collapses into giggles beside him. She looks resplendent in a blue silk gown, but if anyone were to ask him - not that they will - she shines brighter out in the wilds. His own royal guard's tabard is starched and itchy against his neck; he hates having to wear this ridiculous getup to formal events. They're alike, in that respect.
"My thanks for the rescue, brave sir knight," Zelda teases warmly. "I fear I have whisked you away from destiny though. Lady Allerine did seem extremely keen for you to meet her daughter, who I hear is quite the catch. And only a dozen years your senior, after all!"
He pauses, hand still outstretched. Through the door he can hear the grunts and snuffles of moblins. His hand drops back to his side, the memory fading around him.
As he slips silently through shadows and across rotting carpet, he sees ruin and decay in evidence everywhere. Through the broken windows to his left, he can see a quiet garden. Zelda perches on the edge of the fountain in her prayer robes, drifting her fingers lazily through the water. He'll need to remind her to return to her devotions soon, but he can give her a few moments more. In the present day, large chunks of the fountain lie scattered amongst a tangle of weeds. A lizalfos dozes in the foliage, tail wrapped over its nose.
Link creeps by quietly and makes for the next staircase, pressing himself against the wall in a shadowy alcove to let the shuffling of a moblin pass him by. Upstairs, he finds the route to the Royal Quarters has collapsed - a pile of beams and masonry blocks the way entirely. He backtracks, but finds the same thing at every turn. There's no getting around it, the only way to Zelda's rooms that remains is to scale the walls from the outside.
He chooses the lee side of the tower, out of the wind and the sinister moonlight. It's a hell of a climb, looking from the ground up, and he's keenly aware it's wide open to the Guardians circling aimlessly in the sky.
He sends silent thanks to Claree for the suppleness of his boots as he works his toes into the first crack. The stone is chilly, sapping the warmth from his fingers despite the relatively balmy night. There's a vague memory itching at him, of making this exact same climb early on in his tenure as Knight Protector to the Princess. Zelda would probably be furious, if she knew; he can hear an echo of her berating his 'paranoia', but he takes took his job seriously. He needed to know if this is a valid route for an assassin. The night after their return from the desert, he plants himself on her balcony for his watch. She doesn't say anything, merely grabs him in a fleeting embrace and ducks her forehead against his sternum. He understands the unspoken 'thank you'.
His calves and forearms are burning by the time he drops down over the balcony railing. Half the balcony is gone, and the rest leans drunkenly. The room beyond has fared poorly, exposed to the elements like this. The deep burgundy bed curtains and sheets are balding and moth-eaten; the bookshelves are splintered and waterlogged. He runs a reverent hand over the edge of the writing desk, and tries the drawer. It's locked, but he jimmies it open with the dagger from his boot. Inside is a diary, spared from the worst of the decay. He picks it up, feeling a rush of memory washing over him.
Zelda running over to the desk to pull out ink and paper to jot down an idea that occurred to her as they were walking back to her quarters. Link watches from the doorway, free to gaze as long as he likes while all her considerable focus is on the notes in front of her -
Zelda sits in the chair, her bare feet tucked up under her as she holds the slate up to the light, humming lightly as she swipes -
Link raps smartly on the door to collect his new charge for her meeting with the Southern Horse Tribe delegation, and hears a small object thunk against the door and drop to the carpet. "Go away!" her voice floats, annoyed, through the thick wood -
He knocks softly with the back of two fingers, cautiously opening the door when there's no reply and slipping through the gap. Zelda is lying face-down on the bed, still in her prayer gown. She doesn't look up as he enters. "Go away," she murmurs flatly into the pillow. Link doesn't go to her, but he slides down the wall to sit with his knees up, and waits -
Zelda is sitting at the desk, head resting listlessly one one propped hand, when he arrives. "Zelda," he greets her, and she looks up. "Pack your things," he says, a smile threatening to burst onto his face. Zelda merely looks inquisitive, frowning slightly.
"I don't need to pack yet," she says. "We're not due to set off for Lanayru until tomorrow morning."
"Change of plans. We're going to the Tech Lab, Purah and the others are throwing you a seventeenth birthday party. We'll set off from there tomorrow."
"But my father?" she hesitates.
"What the king doesn't know can't hurt him," Link says resolutely. "You deserve an evening to enjoy yourself for once. I've got the guard covering for us, and we'll still be on schedule for Lanayru. I've been informed that there will be drinking, music, cards and cake. Though I make no guarantees on the quality of the cake, I think Robbie baked it."
Heartbreaking joy breaks out on Zelda's face and she embraces him, squealing quietly to herself in excitement, before dashing to her pack to start throwing clothes inside.
A tingle spreads through him. The memory he's cherished since Hateno must have been Zelda's seventeenth birthday party, before their ill-fated trip to the Spring of Wisdom. That means his friendship with Zelda wasn't something he'd ruined. Rather it was something he'd built, step by painful step, into something strong and warm. He tucks the diary into his pack and examines the diagrams on the wall, trying to see if any are still legible.
"Link!" he hears Zelda cry out suddenly. "Link, he knows you're here! I will try to contain him but you must go now! Run!"
He spots the red flash of a laser sight reflecting off one of the brass lamps and ducks behind the shelter of the desk just in time for the Guardian's blast to take out the rotting floorboards instead of his head. The desk teeters before sliding into the abyss, taking Link with it. He lands awkwardly on a pile of rubble, coughing at the dust cloud kicked up. If one Guardian has seen him, they all know where he is, and with the noise it won't be long until the rest of the castle finds him either. Link picks his way over the debris and runs down the corridor, pain shooting up through his right shin with every step. In the near distance he can hear the growls and baying of bokoblins and moblins. He skids around a corner, bouncing hard off the wall and flying down the spiral staircase. He vaults over a windowsill into the prayer garden, trampling through the foliage,rousing the sleeping lizalfos. It looks round confusedly before giving pursuit.
As Link looks back, he sees the smoke-form of Ganon roiling above the throne room, crashing over and over against a barrier of shimmering gold. Its red eyes focus on him and it bellows in rage. Link stumbles forwards, and sees the hulking form of a lynel blocking the major thoroughfare out into the grounds. He darts down a side alley between a guardhouse and the guards' bathhouse instead, coming out further up the road. Above, he can hear Guardians circling. There's no way he'll be able to climb back down the way he came. The lynel has spotted him and is charging him down. Link makes for the ruined bridge, legs protesting as he urges a last burst of acceleration from them. He can hear the clattering of hooves behind him as he reaches the drop. He surges forwards and leaps. As the moat rushes up to meet him, he twists himself to point heels-first at the water, arms tucked in around his chest, and prays.
~X~
He comes to on the bank of the Regencia, face down in the mud and still half in the river. He can't feel his legs. He isn't sure whether that's the chill of the water or something more worrying. Cool, ghostly hands touch the back of his neck. He tries to turn, but Mipha hushes him. "Lie still," she chides. "If you jostle things too much I may not be able to repair the damage." Link closes his eyes again, and lets her soothing hum wash over him while the darkness tugs him back down.
The sky above him is the crimson of fresh blood and shot through with jagged black lines, around a hole that he can't make his eyes look directly at. He sits up, shaking off the ash that seems to have settled over him in drifts as he slept. To the West, Death Mountain spews forth black clouds that endlessly form and reform into red-eyed monsters. Link is on top of the keep of the citadel; a few paces away stands his father, sword held loosely in one hand. His only hand, Link realises with a lurch of his stomach. Arn's other arm ends raggedly at the elbow, and thick gouges run down that side of his armor. His helmet is crushed inward in a way that would have resulted in instant death, were any of this real. Link stares at him.
"That's it, then?" Arn asks dispassionately. "You're giving up?"
"I'm not giving up. I haven't!"
"What else would you call this stunt?"
"..."
"Good men died, to buy you time that you squandered. You ran away, rather than face your demons head on."
"That's not true," Link says, groping towards the memory as he says the words. "The Princess, I was - "
"The Princess knew her duty," Arn says, bringing his sword up to point at Link's chest. "You made her turn back, instead of meeting it. You're still running away. Dying is the coward's way out."
Link rises to his feet; finds his shield is on his arm suddenly, his own sword in his hand. "I'm trying, I - "
Arn swings at him with a vicious overhand blow that Link catches on his shield, arms straining. When he looks up, the dead face staring out from the helmet is no longer his father's but his own, ravaged by time and half-decayed. The sky is pitch-black, and thick mist swirls around Link's ankles.
"Why seek to wear the mantle of a failure?" the decaying soldier rasps at him. "Let him rot in obscurity with the rest of us who failed."
Link finally manages to push the shade's sword to the side, and pushes forward to counterattack. His sword dissolves the illusion, and he's left alone in the formless dreamscape. The ash from the burnt sky settles on his shoulders like a mockery of snow.