Link skirts past Kakariko on his way back, heading straight for Lanayru. Crumbling promenades line the entire northern edge of the lake, stretching almost the entire way to the foot of the mountain. Link's not sure he ever knew who built these ruins. Time has worn down their facades, cracked their pillars - much of it lies under the lake, and the reflections on the glassy surface confuse the perspective. Other than the faint buzz of dragonflies over the shallow water, the only sound is the steady clop of Epona's hooves echoing in the empty space.
He spends the first few hours of the ride circling the same mental paths until they're worn smooth. Thoughts of home, family, and duty harry him - and running over and through them all, thoughts of Zelda. After a while he decides to try keep his mind otherwise occupied. He dredges through his memories for songs he sang in the army. Marching tunes, ditties, mournful ballads about leaving your love behind to go to war... though if anything, he's the one left behind. Zelda went to war without him, and is trapped there still. Filling the oppressive silence with song lifts his spirits, and the acoustics here are excellent; his voice reverberates off the walls so richly it's almost possible to imagine he's singing in chorus with others. Epona tosses her head as he sings, signalling those she approves or disapproves of.
When dusk falls he chooses a sheltered alcove in which to camp; he goes for the one with the most foliage breaking through the broken flagstones, on the basis that Epona would probably prefer it. Then he shucks off his boots and rolls up his trousers to go fishing in the lake. He sits under the overhang to roast his fish over a cheerful fire built on the flagstones outside. Sitting here in the moments between day and night, surrounded by the remnants of a forgotten culture, it feels almost as if he's somehow tumbled out of the current of time, and it's flowed on without him.
He's full and starting to nod his head sleepily when the wind suddenly picks up out of nowhere. It clears the wispy clouds and sends a shiver up his spine. It takes him a moment to realise the source of the sudden gale is a dragon, winding its way serenely through the ravine. The moonlight reflects brightly from scales the blue of thick glacier ice, and a head crowned with great spikes of hoarfrost. The dragon's impossible length takes several moments to pass by, leaving behind thick frost patterns curling over the walls and the surface of the water. Link's fire is guttering when he finally tears his gaze from the sky, and he hurries to rekindle it before it goes out completely.
Link leaves Epona in a secluded dell just below the start of the ascent; she'll be safe enough here while he climbs, and there's plenty of forage. He ties a blanket over her and strokes her nose.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he says, and she huffs his hair away from his face. "I won't leave you stranded again."
Then he shoulders his pack and makes his way across the snowfield. He's beginning to accept that he might not ever recover his full memory - might never be that person again, but - he can at least see how it all ended. He owes his past self, and Zelda, that much.
Snow lies in deep drifts to the side, and more thinly over the path, that winds up the mountain like the dragon which guards it. It dampens all sounds, and Link progresses slowly upward in eerie silence, other than the crunching of his own boots on snow and his own laboured breathing. Occasionally a snow-white hare darts away at his approach, or a pigeon flaps noisily up into the snow-laden trees.
He has to stop to rest after a few hours, brushing snow off a tree stump to sit down heavily. His breath crystallises in the air in great puffs, and his toes and the tip of his nose are both getting numb. His ankle is beginning to ache again. He flexes his fingers in his gloves to try get the blood flowing, and realises he's forgotten to take his warming elixir like an idiot. He's digging through his pack with clumsy hands looking for it when he's suddenly bowled over into the snow.
A snarling wolf in a thick white coat is standing heavily on his chest with its front paws. It lunges in to try bite his neck, and Link shields himself with his arms, trying to shove it off him. It clamps its jaws down on his arm and Link shouts in surprise and pain, smashing it on the nose with his other hand balled into a fist. It retreats, and he scrambles to his feet to draw his sword and shield. In the trees, he can see more wolves lurking, the light shining off their eyes in the gloom. He has a sudden, vivid image of how the scene looks to them, rich scent trails overlaid on the blanket of white and grey, all leading to him. He can almost hear the faint sounds of movement in the bushes; the slow soft drip of snow from the branches. Can almost feel the crunch of snow beneath his paws - he shakes the image away, and focuses on reality once more.
Wolves are smart and coordinated, in many ways harder to deal with in groups than bokoblins. But they're also driven purely by hunger; if he can scare them off, they'll seek easier targets. The wolf lunges at him again, and its brethren begin to circle out of their cover to surround him. He slams the wolf aside with his shield, and turns in a slashing arc to keep the others at bay. Sword held out, he slowly moves over to his pack and kicks his torch free. One wolf tries another rush, and he sends it yelping back with a slash at its nose.
Time to put Daruk's gift to use. Link drops to one knee, holding the amulet tight in one hand and channelling all his thoughts into his need for his friend. An orange shimmer appears in mid-air just as a third wolf lunges, and it cringes back in confusion. Link quickly grabs his flint and tinder, striking sparks against the torch until it catches, tongues of flame licking along the oil-wrapped cloth. As the shield drops he sweeps the torch towards the wolves, which hesitate and then turn tail back into the trees.
He's watching to make sure they're actually gone when a blast of ice hits him in the neck and shoulders, and he whirls round to see the commotion has attracted an ice elemental. Like its cousin the poe, the hood of its tattered robe hides unknowable darkness. From the shadowed depths comes a burst of laughter that sounds like icicles breaking on stone. Link lets out a noise of frustration. He's cold and tired and he's still nowhere near the end of his hike. He dodges another spray of frost then jams the torch upright in the snow and switches to his bow, clumsily pulling a fire arrow from his quiver. He holds it against the torch until it ignites, and aims right for the creature's hidden, mocking face. It disappears in a puff of steam on impact, the fire arrow thudding into the tree trunk behind and fizzling out when a small drift of snow plops down to land on it.
Link douses the torch in a snowdrift and gathers his scattered belongings. The flask is thankfully still intact, and he downs a gulp, letting out a sigh of relief at the flood of warmth it sends through his chest all the way down to his fingers and toes. Then he digs out the smaller flask of antiseptic and tips some into the wound on his arm, hissing at the sting. Finally, he ties the wound with a bandage, yanking on one end with his teeth to tighten it. He flexes, checking he still has the full range of movement. Good enough. He slings his pack back over his shoulders and sets off once more.
Finally, he reaches the staircase. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine steps to the Spring of Wisdom. The first and only time Link climbed this mountain, Zelda had attempted to count them; she'd lost her place several times, and finally given up somewhere in the six hundreds. Of all the Goddess Springs, it's by far the hardest to reach.
Power is the most easily-accessible; there in the open for any and all who wish to seize it. Courage is tucked in the depths of the jungle; hard to locate, but the way to it is easy to traverse. Wisdom is hard-won; a constant uphill trudge in harsh conditions with little sign of progress. There are several false peaks, where you think you're almost there - but when you crest you see yet more mountain stretching into the sky ahead of you. It isn't until the very end when you can finally see the summit.
... In hindsight, it should have been obvious from the beginning that Zelda was going to have the hardest time of all of them.
At the top, frost-rimed columns stand sentinel around a frigid pool, over which Hylia clasps her hands together in eternal prayer. The warming potion is still working its magic on his fingers and toes, but Link avoids wading through the water regardless; he's not sure whatever magic protected Zelda from its lethal chill will extend to him. Instead, he edges his way round and brushes the snow from a patch of flagstones, on which to build a fire. It's nearly dusk by the time any memory stirs. As the light reaches that in-between phase, where everything is harder to make out than you think it ought to be, he sees ghostly echoes of himself and Zelda entering the hollow, both dressed in fine Rito-made gear. Zelda is speaking.
"Do you think this will be the place, then? It's the only Spring left for me to pray at, and there is a common narrative in the histories of the Royal Family being most closely associated with Nayru of all the Goddesses." She sounds so hopeful; so desperate for him to be able to tell her that everything will be alright.
Past-Link shrugs one shoulder. "You have to try. We've come all this way."
Zelda's face shutters, and she turns to walk away. Link reaches out to grab her arm, gently halts her.
"That's not - I didn't meant it like that, I'm sorry."
"What did you mean, then?" Zelda asks, still looking a little hurt. She tries to pull away, and Link lets her arm slide through his grasp until he has a loose hold on her wrist. If she tugged, she could easily break free, but she holds position and waits for him to speak, a rueful expression on his face.
"I meant to say, I don't think the issue is how or where or how often you're praying. If prayer was really the key, the Goddesses could hear you from anywhere."
Zelda still looks deflated, and the Link in the memory huffs out a breath. "I'm still saying this all wrong; things were so much easier when I just didn't say anything... If devotion was enough, you've more than proved yourself - a thousand times over. No one could ask more from you than you've been giving. What I mean is - I don't think your father is right to keep pushing you down a path that isn't showing any signs of progress. So either this works, and that's the end of it, or it doesn't, and when we get back he can't argue when we tell him that things need to change."
"We?" A tentative smile hovers at the edge of Zelda's expression.
Memory-Link shifts until he's facing her more head-on again, and grasps both of her hands with his.
"It's something I've been thinking about, recently. When I was knighted, I swore an oath to serve the King, and he's the one who assigned me to protect you, but - what if that includes protecting you from him? He was wrong to scold you, wrong to treat you so badly for so long. Your work with the researchers is helping; he should let you put your talents to use."
This is easily the most words Link has ever recalled his past self saying at once, and he tries not to breathe too hard lest he disturb the memory. Zelda's expression has opened like a flower to the sun, and the Link in the memory carries on, encouraged.
"My loyalty lies with you, and if that means standing up to my King, I'll do it. I shouldn't have stayed silent on the bridge. I won't make that mistake again. What's he going to do, execute me? Good luck finding someone else to wield the sword."
Zelda laughs in surprise, and both Links smile to see her looking happy again. Link and Zelda are standing close now, in the memory; their breath fogging the air between them. The moment stretches as they watch one another, still holding hands, and Link bizarrely feels like an interloper. Then Past-Link steps back; Zelda's hands fall to her sides.
"I'll get the fire going," he says, looking over her shoulder, at the floor - anywhere but her face. "You should get changed."
They fade out, and Link wants to shout in frustration. Was that all there was to see? It's so tantalisingly close to an answer, and yet so far. He looks beyond the face to Hylia's blank visage.
"Some help you are," he snipes at her. The statue continues to gaze smugly out over the snow.
Link cooks, and eats, and then settles against the wall of the shrine to watch the clouds swirl in the darkening sky. He'd intended to stay at the summit overnight regardless, to avoid descending in the dark, but he's doubly determined to stay now in case any more of that memory returns. A few stray snowflakes float on the breeze, but the threat of fresh snowfall remains just a threat. As night falls in earnest, bright bands of colour dance in sinuous waves through the heavens - like restless spirits, or a portal to the sacred realm.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when gigantic eyes appear in the gloom at the peak. Then the lumpy surface of the summit peels away from the rock, and he realises the guardian of the spring has been here the entire time, curled around the mountain like a lizard on a branch. Up close, it doesn't look quite right. There's a sickly sort of pallor to the scales on its head, and its eyes look almost cloudy. Can dragons get ill? It stretches out to unwind itself, and Link catches a glimpse of a gash beneath one elbow that looks putrid. Foul sludge leaks slowly out of it, splattering drops which hiss on contact with the snow.
The dragon looks around, and sniffs him. Then it lays its enormous head down in the snow, trailing its injured limb down into the bowl. Does it - want him to help? Link carefully steps nearer, wary of both being eaten and of stepping in the little pools of noxious slime. This close, the dragon radiates a fierce chill, and he tucks his hands in his armpits and shivers while he peers in to look at the wound. There's something jammed in there, and the flesh around it looks puffy and irritated. He almost reaches for it, then hesitates and grabs his groundsheet from his pack to wrap carefully around the broken wood.
It takes a surprising amount of force to yank the wood free, and the dragon twitches minutely at his first unsuccessful tug, but thankfully neither bites him nor breathes on him; he's pretty sure the warming elixir wouldn't stop its breath turning him into an icicle. He pulls again, harder, and finally the wood comes free, releasing a gush of noxious fluid. Link jumps back but his hands and arms are splashed, and he rubs snow over hastily to stop it eating through his clothes. The wooden shaft is attached to a weapon head so big it could only have been wielded by a lynel or a hinox - or something even worse? - and is corroded with age. It must have been stuck in there a long time.
The dragon is still gazing at him expectantly, and Link peers into the wound once more to make sure it's clear of debris. It still looks nasty, and he decides to try clean it out with water from the spring. Once he's finished the dragon makes a rumbling noise deep in its chest, and swipes the very tip of its tail across the surface of the pond, which sends golden ripples racing across it. Behind the statue, he can see the glow of another shrine light up in the gloom. Then the dragon surges over the snow to leap off the mountainside, and winds its way down into the valley once more.
He wakes in the early hours of the morning, some sixth sense kicking in to alert him to something unexpected. Nearby, there's a soft golden glow that resolves as he watches into the form of Zelda. More memory? No - this Zelda is semi-transparent like the memories often are, but her prayer gown is ragged and filthy, and - she's looking right at him. A dream?
Zelda comes closer, and he sits up in his bedroll. She kneels on the flagstones next to him.
"Am I dreaming?" he asks.
She smiles. "If you were, how could you trust my answer?"
"How are you here?" he asks. He resists the urge to try touch her; both because he knows it wouldn't work, and because he's still unsure if it would be welcome.
"It's not unlike projecting my voice to you. It wasn't terribly hard to work out how, once I realised that if I could send my words to you, I could likely send my visage. But I don't think I can hold it very long. It takes a lot of effort, and I'm already so tired."
Link winces. "I'm really sorry about rousing Ganon by coming to the Castle. I didn't mean - "
She cuts him off. "It's alright. Ganon has had bursts of trying to escape before, and I've fought him down each time. He should be quiet for some time, now, and I will need to rest as well. I just - wanted to see, with my own eyes, that you were alright."
His heart skips, and nothing he could say right now feels adequate. He should - apologise more; ask about those final days, about the plan, about the state of her physical self. He should tell her how he feels; how he always felt - but no words make it out of his mouth. Zelda is already looking faint.
"I'm sorry to leave you without guidance again," she says, "but please don't feel like you need to rush and risk yourself unnecessarily. You're still not immortal."
Link manages a wry smile at her. "I promise to take more care, from now on. We're all working on freeing you - the Sheikah and I; the Zora have said they'll help. I'm sure the Gorons will too. We're coming, Zelda."
Zelda nods, and as quickly as she appeared, is gone again.
Notes: Based on my outline, we're about halfway there. And finally, our first real conversation between Link and Zelda! As always, kudos and comments are love :)