A deleted scene from the end of the last chapter, which didn't fit the tone "Come on," Link coaxes Epona, waving the slate at her as though it will make her understand what he wants her to do. "Just - open your mouth." Epona eyeballs him, but eventually he manages to get her lips open enough to shove one handle of the slate through. The look she gives him would have withered a lesser man. Before she decides she's done with this nonsense and lets go, Link punches in their destination. When he appears on the shrine platform, Epona follows, blue shimmers forming into her familiar shape in front of him. Link pumps one fist in the air in triumph. "Yes!" Epona snorts and bumps her nose against the side of his head. He ruffles her forelock. "Alright, alright, I'll get you a carrot."
xxxLink has sent messages to Robbie and Purah, so while he waits for them he pores over Impa's map of Hyrule. It's rolled out over the table with rocks weighing down the corners, and the slightly musty smell of it is comforting. The slate is ridiculously useful, but for route-planning nothing beats the physicality of paper; of running his fingers over trails and measuring distances with compass and string. He's been there a little while when Paya slides quietly into the chair next to him.
"What are you working on?"
He looks up, a burst of happiness unfolding in his chest at the sight of her, whole and safe. And happy; she's lost that edge of sadness which she'd carried with her when they first met.
"I'm trying to work out whether it would be better to approach Hebra from Birida, or Woodland Stable," he says.
Paya leans over, a wisp of hair escaping her bun as she does so. "Agaat Pass will only be open a little while longer; you'd run the risk of getting caught if the weather turned while you were still up in the highlands."
"True," Link sighs. It's exactly what he's been trying to convince himself wouldn't be a problem for the last half hour. "I'm not looking forward to having to pass so close to the Castle, going the other route." And, of course, there's the other thing - he'll be travelling the same road which forks up towards the forest and its waiting gift. He pushes the thought away yet again, aware that he's quickly running out of 'laters'.
"How have things been here, since you got back?" he asks Paya.
"Grandmother has become overbearing in her concern," she laughs. "I try not to chafe under it too much; I know she just worries. I've been helping with drilling the villagers in shortsword combat, mostly. And I've gone on a few salvage hunts with Granté to keep Robbie and Jerrin supplied with parts. It's nice to be useful."
"You were more than useful with those blade of yours when we took down the Yiga," Link tells her, and she lights up at the praise. Another change; only a month ago that would have sent her blushing from the room.
"Your trip to the desert was a success?" she asks, tucking her hands under her legs.
"It was. Vah Naboris is under Gerudo control again, and we have Chief Riju's pledge of military aid for the battle with Ganon. And I can go into the city whenever I like without worrying about getting thrown in jail again."
Paya lifts an eyebrow at that, but loud voices at the door prevent her from pressing further. He rolls the map safely away while Paya goes to prepare tea for their guests.
Having all the Sheikah together is just as chaotic as last time, for all that Impa's place is larger and tidier than either tech lab. Link talks strategies for the limited - but highly-trained - Sheikah forces with Cado and Dorian, and keeps half an ear on Purah and Robbie. The two bounce discoveries and theories between each other like a ball, talking over one another and breaking out parchment to scribble things down, arms gesticulating wildly. He gets the gist, at least; they've finally worked out how to block communications with Ganon via the slate, which might mean Ganon remains unaware that the last Beast has fallen - or might mean he instantly assumes it has and throws all his might into breaking Zelda's seal.
"We should be prepared to go into the final battle as soon as Medoh falls, then," Impa suggests, and Link agrees.
"So we need to have everything else prepared by that point." Granté looks apprehensive, and Paya nudges her foot against his in silent reassurance.
"We should reach out to Dorephan, Bludo and Riju," Link says. "Understand exactly what forces they can field, how long they'll take to get into position. Whether the Beasts... if they can still be controlled, at this point."
Impa meets his eyes, and her expression is full of sympathy. She's not the only one here who'd known the other Champions, but she was the closest of the Sheikah to them. She knows the ache which sits in his chest when he thinks of them.
"We'll send out envoys," she promises him. "The Sheikah have maintained some level of diplomatic ties with the other races through the last century; they should speak to us, especially since we're allied with you, Link."
Link nods, and steels himself for the next thing. "I'll also need to retrieve the sword before we take on Medoh's blight. If that does kick everything off there may be no time to get it afterwards."
Impa seeks his eyes again, but he averts his gaze by taking a long gulp of his tea, and the discussion moves on around him.
By the time Link stumbles into bed they've gone over everything which can possibly be discussed this far in advance at least twice, and his head is spinning with plans and failsafes. He slips into a fractious sleep.
Link and Epona touch onto the shrine platform closest to Woodland Stable with the first rays of the sun, and it's not long before they hit the point where the road splits. To the North is the verdant expanse of the forest, beckoning them. It takes all morning even at Epona's brisk pace to reach the edge, and the bright noon sunshine quickly disappears once they step inside the tree line.
The interior is oddly silent. In most forests there's a quiet cacophony of birds, insects, and rustling mice; the yip of foxes in the distance, the occasional creak-crack of branches breaking from their trunks. This forest has none of those sounds; only a constant whispering undercurrent that doesn't seem tied to the level of wind. Link keeps catching movement in the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look there's only the trees.
Not far beyond the border they come across a set of low ruins, torches burning mysteriously in their brackets at the edge of the crumbling arch. There's a thick mist clinging to the ground, obscuring the way further into the heart of the forest, and Link knows somehow that he must progress on foot from here. He brushes Epona down but leaves her unhobbled and loose, in case she needs to run.
"Head back to the stable if I don't return soon," he tells her, and she whickers in reply, nibbling his hair slightly.
Once he passes through the arch the fog thickens even further. It should be cold; it's a winter's day, and he's deep in the shade of the forest and surrounded by mist. But it's like there's no temperature at all, as if heat and cold are concepts that simply don't apply here. He takes the slate out, but isn't really surprised to see the map is a haze of featureless grey. Sighing, he tucks it back into the holster. Link takes one of the torches that burn so improbably in this empty place, and heads deeper.
His boots tread a careful beat through the long grass as he passes under the shadow of the twisting trees, alert to any danger. None comes, leaving him tense and on-edge. He sees skulltulas sometimes, high in the trees, but they watch him pass by in silent stillness. Looming shadows that look like moblins or hinox turn out to merely be rock formations. After a while he comes across another set of crumbling walls - only no, this is the same wall, he could swear it. He's got turned around somehow. The trees crowd in, their gnarled and shadowed surfaces making them seem like faces contorted in silent laughter.
Faint on the wind, he hears the strains of music. It's distant; barely audible even if he focuses on it. His feet are leading him towards it though, unerring on the uneven ground. He steps lightly over tree roots; gracefully ducks reaching branches. Memories snag at him: his mother's soothing voice reaching through the haze of a fever, but feeling unable to find her though the dizzying confusion. Running after a head of green hair through a sunlit forest, annoyed at how easily he lags behind, his friend calling back to him this way, keep up! Getting separated from his unit on one of his first assignments when the bokoblin he'd been chasing down had led him a merry chase into the woods. He bats the thoughts away like moths.
The music grows louder; he starts to see flashes of orange through the trees. This is what he came here for. The haunting tune, the flute and its musician are the object of his searching; he has to reach them. He speeds up, crashing through the undergrowth, off the path now, branches scraping and whipping at his face. As fast as he runs the flute player evades him, perpetually two steps ahead. The music stops and its laughter echoes through the trees.
He's helping Zelda over a rotten log to huddle in the shelter of thick trees while they wait for the malevolent searchlights to move on again.
"We have to get you to Hateno," he tells her. "To the boat."
"I'm not going to run," she scowls at him. "I know you think I'm too weak to fight but - "
He cuts her off. "It's not that; you know I would never - Too much has been lost already. We need to regroup, somewhere out of reach. Your survival is all that matters now."
Zelda pushes against his chest, angry. The tears streaking the grime on her face dried hours ago but her eyes shine bright with the threat of fresh ones. "We both need to survive! We need the divine powers and the sword that seals the darkness!" she shouts.
He shakes his head. Holds her face in his cupped hands, as though he can transfer into her all of his strength and faith and love. "The sword can choose someone else to wield it. Your powers are tied to you, your bloodline. You must survive. If I can buy you the time to do that, I will."
She opens her mouth -
He hits the floor hard. It takes him a moment to register the pain. He's tripped over an outstretched root and hit a stone, opening a gash on his knee. There are cobbles below his palms; mossy and worn but clearly not natural. The torch has rolled away. He picks it up, brushes himself off. Blood smears vibrant red through the tear in his trousers, a shocking splash of colour amidst the relentless grey of the forest. The sight of it combined with his pain seems to shake him from his trance. What he sees through his newly-focused eyes makes him curse. There's the goddess-damned wall with its arch, and the twin to the torch in his hand, still burning away merrily. This place isn't a fortress, repelling invaders; it's a trap.
Link sits on the cobbles, back to the wall, and digs through his pack for healing salve and jerky, which he chews as he thinks and waits for his skin to knit back together. It's hard to tell in the perpetual gloom, but he thinks it's getting darker. The sensible thing to do would be to set up camp, but the thought of dallying here any longer than necessary sends chills through him. He tears small strips off a bandage and stuffs the wads into his ears. That entrancing music was almost certainly not leading him to his goal. Had he not fallen and woken himself, who knows where it would have taken him.
Walking through the forest is even eerier in the dark, with sound muffled further. With night drawing in monsters begin to stir. Keese dive angrily at his head. Rattling stalkoblins emerge from the gloom. The skulltulas descend from the trees. And at the end of all this fighting, there's the wall, and the arch. Link clenches his fist tightly around the torch and squashes the urge to scream his frustration into the endless trees. The monsters don't seem to venture into this pocket of light and structure. He puts the torch back in its bracket, unrolls his bedroll, and goes to sleep.
In the morning his hand is already on his pommel before his brain can catch up. There's another of the squat creatures he thought he'd imagined on the riverbank, this one deep green with a mask like a sycamore leaf. It squeaks and hides when it sees him go for his weapon, but pops back out when he sheathes it.
"Mister Hero!"
Link sifts through his still-chaotic memories for a half-remembered snippet, Zelda animated as she discusses myths and folklore. Korok floats to the surface, as does Kokiri. Forest spirits, neutral or even benevolent unless angered.
"Hello," he greets it carefully. "How do you know who I am?"
It tilts its head like it doesn't understand the question. "Who else could you be?"
"...Right. I'm looking for something," he tells it. He hopes it's smart enough to understand.
"The sword! The Princess's sword!" it responds, hopping excitedly from stumpy foot to stumpy foot.
"Yes. Do you know where it is?"
"We all know! We watch it for her. The Deku tree watches most, but we help too."
Link reformulates his question. "Okay. Can you show me the way?"
Another head tilt. "The way is easy! Follow the sound."
"The music? Following that just led me in a circle."
The thing seems to shiver a little. "Not the music. Don't follow him, he doesn't play nice! Follow the sword!"
Link pulls the cotton from his ears and gazes toward the forest, seeing if there's another noise there. He can't discern anything over the faint whisper of the wind. He looks back down to the creature. Which has disappeared, great. He shoulders his pack and steps warily into the trees once more.
Perhaps it's the morning light lifting the gloom ever so slightly, or perhaps speaking to the korok has dispelled some of the magic, but his mood is much improved compared to yesterday's efforts. He can't hear anything - not even the treacherous flute; have the koroks chased the flautist away? - but if he concentrates he can feel a slight tug beneath his breastbone when he's going the right way.
The forest lightens as he makes his slow progress through it, and by mid morning the oppressive mist has gone entirely, leaving the trees bathed in dappled light that picks out bright sprays of bluebells on the leafy floor. Birdsong returns, and darners zip about his head. He pushes a particularly heavy branch out of the way, and gasps. Beyond is a hollow, lush with life and dominated by a truly enormous tree. It's so tall the top isn't really visible from here, and so broad you could hollow out the trunk and make a perfectly decent house inside. And dotted all over the clearing are koroks, playing and gathering and soaking in the sunlight.
They cluster around him like children as he enters the grove, tugging at his trousers and climbing up him to sit on his shoulders. There's a larger one too, who breaks out a pair of maracas to sing him a welcome song that has all the little ones bopping along. After the forest this tsunami of welcome leaves him feeling bemused but grateful, and he lets himself be steered to a treestump seat. The koroks bustle about, bringing him sticky rice and sauteed mushrooms plated on broad leaves. There's a gourd full of sweet juice, and a little pile of bright, juicy berries.
"Welcome back, Mister Hero," they all tell him. "We missed you! Come play with us!"
A small one tugs at his tunic. "Is the Princess okay, Mister Hero?" it asks. "She was going somewhere scary."
He lets it clamber up onto his lap, putting his empty leaf down. He knows this creature is likely older than him, but he matches his answer to its childlike query. "I'm going to go find her, and then together we're going to make sure the monster can't scare anyone else."
It absorbs that answer for a moment, and brightens up. "Okay! Good luck Mister Hero." Then it's off again, into the crowd.
Once he's eaten he approaches the Tree, and the pedestal set below it, catching a ray of sunlight. The Deku Tree blinks awake as he nears.
"It is good indeed to see you here, Hero," it greets him. "You have been sorely missed."
Link looks around the clearing. "Did I come here, before?"
There's a rumble which might be a laugh. "Not in this lifetime. Another Hero, another Tree. It is the way of my kind to pass on their memories, though. I don't believe the same is true of yours."
"I'm not so sure about that," Link says, mostly under his breath, though the Tree seems to hear him all the same, and smiles.
"The Princess left you a message, but I told her it would be better passed on in person."
Link's recovered enough of his memories now to guess at what it would have been, but there's a pang, still, at not having her words to confirm it plainly. Still, he understands what the Tree is really saying - it has faith that Zelda will be able to pass on her message; and faith in him that he'll still be around to hear it too. He's going to put every fibre of his being into ensuring those things are true.
"I must warn you," the Tree continues, "that the sword has its own mind, as to when it will allow itself to be drawn. Strength alone will likely not persuade it. Are you prepared?"
Link meets those giant, ancient eyes, and infuses his words with certainty he doesn't feel. "I am."
Taking a deep breath, he wraps his hand around the grip. The leather is worn-smooth under his calloused fingers, moulded to his hand. He tugs. For a moment he fears it will reject him, but the sword comes free as easily as he remembers it doing the first time, when he was seventeen and unafraid (because he didn't expect it to work; because he didn't understand what it would mean when it did). Just like last time, there's a connection he can sense without words - as though someone has said hello and I missed you simultaneously, directly into his brain.
A flood of foreign emotion washes through him in its wake; joy, sorrow, bright playful enthusiasm, and a deep sense of rightness. And then an indescribable feeling in the back of his mind, like the brush of weeds against his calves in the water; like someone reaching in and carefully sweeping the jumble into organised piles. He's lost to recollection once more, faster and deeper than anything he's felt before. Other places and other people he's been rush through his mind's eye; other Zeldas, their lives woven more tightly or loosely into his own. Oh - he remembers his mother, in truth; Beedle and Midna; other Impas, and too many others to name. His cheeks are wet, he realises distantly.
He has no idea how long the sensation holds him captive, but afterwards he feels like he's been picked up and shaken. Like all the pieces of himself have fallen into their correct place. Already the memories from those other lives are fading, letting the ones from this life take prominence. Link sits down heavily, the sword resting across his lap, and laughs for a long time. The koroks cluster around, curious.
"Mister Hero?" one squeaks.
He shakes his head, brushes the dampness from the corner of his eyes. "I'm fine," he smiles at it. Goddess, he's such an idiot. He's scoured the world top to bottom, scrounging memories from Impa and the Zora like a beggar, looking for an answer that was here the whole time. All he needed was the perspective to see how the bits fit together. Fi - for he remembers her now - radiates amusement and reassurance at him, as if to say took you long enough.
Well, you know I was never that bright, he thinks ruefully, and feels the wave of affection wash over him in return.