A/N: This chapter is brought to you as I shield my cat from the seaweed crackers I'm snacking on. (I caved and gave her a teensy bit.)
So today I finally came to terms with the fact that I'm busier than I thought on Fridays which means that this story will be posted Thursday evenings AEST from now on.
That means a happy early 15th birthday to the amazing game known as 'Twilight Princess'! It's my first LoZ game and basically decided the trajectory of my life. Thank-you to Nintendo for making this game, and thank-you to the creativity of the fandom giving me some of my absolute favourite stories ever! As you can tell, it's still a huge source of inspiration for me. I mean, I'm like 93k+ words deep into a 700k fanfic about it.
I'd like to credit 'The Wrong Love Interest' by Fangirlinggirlz for Epona's characterisation. I've seen her portrayed as the perfect mare or simply a way to get from Point A to Point B, but we forget that back in Ocarina of Time, she was a force to be reckoned with by anyone who didn't know her song. Not to mention how she single-handedly escaped the bulblins in Twilight Princess. To Epona, obedience is -and always will be- conditional.
Also here's a spoilerish content warning: a lot of children die (or have died) in this story. Like a lot. I'm not trying to be excessive with it but I just thought I'd warn you anyways.
And there's gaslighting and emotional abuse, too! Nasty stuff...
The Light Invasion
PART I - DESERT THE ARMY
Link of Ordon: Is your duty to your kingdom, or the parasite in your shadow?
Chapter 2 - The War They Will Not Name
There was an awful lot of pish posh regarding Zelda's predicament and it all began with Fabian. While her head had been clear as milk before, it was now as translucent as a glass of lemonade. Hardly crystal, but enough to make out the contradictory shadows within her husband's words.
What made the captain's quarters a more suitable dwelling than her pre-marital chamber in the north-eastern tower? The latter was designed for easy defence, and the fresh air and sunshine would do her a world more good than this windowless cage of stone.
And why had Fabian kissed her forehead while she was ill? As endearing as it was, it was foolish. He must have fainted in a council meeting of his own by now and bound a dozen more to their beds.
Then this whole nonsense about her dream, her persistent twilight dream, the kind of dream that she had been raised to interpret as a prophecy, being induced by an illness that had stirred up so suddenly?
This must be yet another example of Fabian's overly cautious behaviour. He always assumed a worst-case scenario with her. When she had tripped over the hem of her gown, he sacked her favourite seamstress. At least she was reinstated by Zelda's request, though not without a dark warning. Then there was the time when hot tea nipped Zelda's tongue. It was only ever served lukewarm after that. Zelda dared not complain lest she forget to blow on her tea. The handmaiden would jump from her skin if Zelda flinched around her prince.
Early in their courtship, Fabian's fawning nature had made him the prince charming she had dreamt of since her youth. For years, she had expected her marriage to be a loveless arrangement unlike the romance volumes she swooned over. Then came Fabian, sculpted by the goddesses themselves just for her. He gifted her flowers and frocks, books and bedazzlements. He was a gem to converse with and the finest listening ear. Tentative, sweet, loyal, and enamoured not by her royal title, but by her and her alone.
Of course, issues were bound to crop up eventually, but as husband and wife, they had vowed to carry each other through it all. Fabian always lifted his foot from the staff whenever Zelda asked, followed by a gracious apology. "I am so sorry, my dear. I was blinded by thoughts of you." A quick word about her illness, and all this panic and confusion would melt away. All would be right in their loving embrace.
Footsteps clapped down the hall. Zelda folded her hands over her stomach. Without the strength to sit upright, it was the most regal posture she could muster.
With the click of a lock, Fabian's back pushed open the door. He was laden with a tray of soup and tea missing their steam. Though disappointing, his kindly smile was warm enough. "How do you feel, my dear?" he asked.
"Better," she croaked. Her throat was still too sore for the 'thank-you' she wanted to add. Hopefully he would not think her ill-mannered.
He placed the meal on her bedside mantle. "Then my heart is a little lighter." Fabian helped her sit up and set the tray on her lap. "This soup is made from reekfish and the finest Ordonian cheese and pumpkins. I had them imported just for you."
Zelda inhaled sharply. "The ceremony." She was the one meant to receive the gift from the Ordonian representative.
"Fear not, my love. I will humbly accept the tribute in your stead."
Even with the reassurance, Zelda valued meeting the representative in person. She had planned to invite them to sit with her in the gardens and learn all she could about their way of life. After all, how could she rule a land or people she knew so little about? There was only so much the books could teach her.
She wet her mouth with some tea. Delightfully fruity, even without the heat. Notes of honey to soothe the throat. She bravely tried a handful of words. "You kissed a contagious woman."
Fabian laughed. "So I did. I don't believe I've told you this before, but I caught a case of the white plague in my youth. Surely you remember that anyone who survives it becomes immune?"
"How old?"
"Nine, I believe."
"Lucky." Because he was. The mortality rates were higher in children, elderly, and the disabled. A young adult like herself was unlikely to be lost. "Is there an outbreak?"
"There has only been a handful of cases. We were quick to catch and isolated them early."
"Then… may I stay in the princess's chamber?"
Fabian's kindly features twisted into shock and revulsion. Bulging eyes and a slack jaw. "My word! Think of all the servants and officials who exist between here and your old suite. How could you even think to risk their health and safety for your own comfort?"
Zelda's left glove stole a fistful of sheets. That wasn't- She wasn't- Yes, she was being insensitive. She was acting entitled to the luxurious life she was accustomed to. Perhaps, if the proper care was taken, she wouldn't have to be cooped in this cold room, away from the sun and away from the sights, but that was an awful lot of bother to ask for and an awful lot of castle to risk contaminating. The health of the masses needed to be prioritised. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Being selfish."
The only thing she couldn't fathom was why she wasn't placed in the princess suite to begin with (since it was closer to the council room that she had collapsed in) but she couldn't ask that because it would be yet another expression of entitlement. She was raised better than that. Raised to be humble.
Fabian softened with a sigh. "All is forgiven. Even the most divine ruler will have her hiccups. But know that even though you deserve the most lavish suite with the fullest of pillows and the softest of sheets, your willingness to forgo that for the welfare of your people proves that you are the most benevolent ruler I have ever known."
There was fire upon her cheeks. She dipped her head to hide her grin. Oh, to be a queen or a lovestruck princess all over again?
"You still have not touched your soup," Fabian said.
Indeed, she had not. With a silver spoon, Zelda swirled the silky orange liquid and brought the first sip to her mouth. The bitterness burned her tongue. It sent her sputtering. No soup Zelda knew had ever tasted this fowl.
Fabian whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and Zelda snatched it. She dabbed her face, front, and tray. "So bitter," she croaked.
"Ah, that's one of the rarer symptoms," Fabian said. "The plague spoils your appetite by spoiling the taste. All you can do is persist."
So be it. Zelda gulped through grimace after grimace, and halfway through, she chugged the remaining tea. That wasn't bitter, but the world worked in contradictory ways, and now she was too nauseous to care.
The next spoonful shook. Halfway to her mouth, she gave up before her strength gave out, dropping the silver back into the bowl. The tray was lifted from her lap. "I see you've exerted yourself enough," Fabian garbled. "Rest well, my love." She faded before his lips left her forehead.
Damn these goats. Damn them to Din's fire. The rise and fall of the sun did half a goatherd's work for Link, so without it, he had to work twice as hard.
The first camp of goats was more than happy to trot into the stable at the slightest suggestion. After all, it was night, wasn't it? The rest were the real beasts. They insisted that it was grazing time. They insisted it when they scampered away from the stable, and they also insisted it in the stable when they bayed and stomped their hooves, thus waking the sleeping faction.
When Fado slammed the door that 'day', Epona was panting something fierce. She deserved a feast and a bath after all that labour, but like everyone else, she was on rations.
Fado gave Epona's neck a good pat. "You better treat that girl well."
Link chuckled as he dismounted. "You sound like Ilia."
Fado laughed. "Don't flatter me like that."
The mare and her 'master' passed through the village with haste. Smoke singed the air and several axes split a log that stretched from Rusl's to Fado's. Faron was surely crawling with keese, deku babas, and bokoblins by now, so Hanch, Rusl, and Jaggle had felled an oak tree to fuel the flames of the town.
When Link reached Epona's stable, she trotted to her trough, and upon seeing it less full than last time, shot him a dirty look. Link shrugged. There was nothing to be done about it. No sun meant no rain cycle, so they couldn't afford to waste the water they had.
But Epona was a horse who neither knew nor cared about the rain cycle, so she tossed back her mane and trotted on out, flicking Link with her tail as she passed. Where was she off to? Oh. Oh no.
Link sprinted after her. "Epona, get back here!" With a rebellious neigh, she cantered through the clearing and around the bend to Ordon Spring. Link skid before the open gates and dashed into the water after her. She raised her moist nose and fled the hands reaching for her reigns. They splashed through the water in a game of cat and mouse. Link gripped his soaked knees to catch his breath. Epona made a point to slurp extra loud.
"Um, hi Link." Link whirled to the timid voice. Huddled by the cove wall was Colin. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his wrist.
"Hey." Link tried to maintain the cool in his tone, if he even had any left by that point. Kid must've seen everything. That wasn't important though, and neither was stealing Epona away from her victory. Link waded from the waters and knelt at Colin's level. "What's wrong." It was damn obvious what was wrong, but Link's ear was ripe to listen anyway.
"I think we made the spirits mad."
"The light spirits?" Colin nodded. Link crossed his legs before him. There were many theories tossed around by the townsfolk, but Colin's struck Link like none of the others had. It wasn't worth believing. Not entirely, but perhaps the light spirits did have something to do with this.
"If we did, it's pretty mean of them to punish us without saying what we did wrong," Link said. "Do your mum and dad ever do that to you?" Colin nibbled his lip and shook his head. Link forced a smile. "See? All you gotta do is be brave. We'll get through this together."
"But Talo said that we'll die without the sun. He heard the grown-ups say it."
Sweet Nayru, what was Link supposed to say to that? Don't worry, the sun will come back soon. And what if it didn't? That won't happen for a while. A short while. Don't cry. Man up. Now that was just cruel.
"Maybe, but for now, all we can do is be strong," Link said.
"Like the Hero of Time?" Colin mumbled.
Link's smile wasn't forced anymore. "Yeah. Whenever something like this befalls the world, there's always a hero to fix it."
A tiny smile tugged through the tears, and Colin pointed at Link's left hand. "It's gonna be you, huh?"
Link sighed as he ran a thumb over the marking. "I don't think so." If there was anything that this boring province had beaten over his head, it was that he was no one special. He wasn't Link the Swashbuckling Adventurer who scaled the highest of peaks or scavenged the deepest of valleys. He wasn't Link the Horseback Hero who liberated town after town from the tyranny of monsters. He wasn't even Link the Lone Wolf who lived by the whims of the wind. He was Link the Ranch Hand, tucked in the corner of a grander world. He herded stubborn goats, shovelled their rancid waste, and milked their udders day after day after day.
"A hero would've been called to his destiny by now," Link said, "but that means he could already be out there, fighting to bring back the sun." Oh, how Link envied this unknown stranger. Called for an adventure of legends and glory. As Ordon hunkered down on routine, as they fortified the walls of their prison, he was dying to leave.
At least Colin was brighter now. He rubbed the tear stains off his rosy cheeks. "Thanks."
"No worries. Just carry on until things turn around, okay?"
The boy gave a sure nod. "I think I'll go see if I can help with anything."
"Need an assistant?" Link offered.
Colin giggled. "Don't you have to put away Epona?" Yes. Yes, he did.
Having drank her fill, Epona was much more suggestible. She was a dream to lead, unsaddle, and close in her stable for a well-deserved rest, but the 'day' wasn't over for Link and Colin. There was still a mighty oak to dismantle, so after Link changed into some dry clothes, the boys started towards the village. They had just picked up their axes when Talo came running down the path to Link's home.
"Big metal monsters!" he screeched, waving his arms. "They're gonna eat us! Everyone hide!"
At the bottom of the hill, Rusl caught Talo's shoulders. "Be specific. What do they look like?"
"They're like bulblins but bigger and covered in metal," Talo blubbered.
"You're such a baby." Beth sauntered down the hill. "They're just soldiers." She clasped her fingers by her cheek and sighed dreamily. "I hope they're handsome."
Jaggle laughed triumphantly. "Looks like help's a-comin'." Fado, Pergie, and Bo jeered.
Sure enough, the overplayed song of Ordon was disrupted by the clang of metal boots. The people put down their axes and wood to crowd around the entrance, leaving a 'stage' for the approaching troop. Link wove between Pergie and Sera and stopped beside Ilia.
The village held a collective breath. It became tighter when the shadows formed at the top of the hill. About four soldiers in square formation marched into the moonlight. It glinted off a captain's badge on the front right. He cleared his throat as he unfurled a scroll to deliver notice of something. Food and water, or just some bloody explanation for whatever the hell was going on? Whatever it was, the village of Ordon would sigh in relief.
"Greetings, citizens of Ordon. My name is Captain Markus, and we are here to inform you that Hyrule is at war."
And before Ordon could release their breath, they gasped. Hyrule at war? Now of all times? They jostled against each other, shouting and bellowing questions. Why is Hyrule at war? Who are they warring with? Does it have anything to do with the missing sun? What do we have to do with this?
Bo stepped before the crowd and lowered his arms. "Settle down. Settle down. Give 'em time to explain."
Markus shimmied the scroll along. "By decree of the Honourable Prince Fabian Harkinian, Consort of the Radiant and Holy Queen Zelda, all eligible men must enlist in the Hyrulean Army."
"Now wait a damn minute!" Jaggle squawked. "We haven't been able to deliver the tribute to the Hyrule. That means we ain't liable to fight in any war of yours." Half the village jeered in approval.
With thin lips, Markus lowered his scroll. "The paperwork has already been finalised. Ceremony or no ceremony, you are all citizens of Hyrule, and you will serve your kingdom."
Rusl took Jaggle's shoulders and drew him back. "Forgive us, sir," he said to Markus. "Perhaps it would help if to tell us who we are at war with?"
"That's confidential."
The crowd exploded, but louder than the men were the wives and children. They stomped their feet, clutched their loved ones, and yelled that they couldn't take away their husbands, brothers, and fathers for some unknown war. Ilia's fingernails bit into Link's arm. "What about the missing sun?" she exclaimed. "Shouldn't Hyrule be focusing on that?"
"Silence!" The captain's roar drove a needle into everyone's ears. "Alright, I'm gonna read some names off this here scroll, and if you're called, you're gonna step forward. If someone doesn't answer, I'm putting this whole village on lockdown until we've got you all. Are we clear?" For emphasis, the soldiers stomped their feet and saluted in unison. The hilts of their sheathed swords glinted in the moonlight. The villagers nodded meekly. "Good." Markus raised his scroll again. "First up, Bo."
The mayor? Ilia's gasp was sharper than her nails. Aside from Link, she was the only one without a mother to fall back on. At least she'd have Link, right? Sure, maybe Link had thought Bo too old or necessary to the function of the town for enlistment, but Link himself could be too young. As much as he disliked it, the adults still thought of him as one of the kids in many ways.
"Fado."
He audibly gulped as he stepped forward. Poor lad. No more yells to rouse Link every morning. No more lying upon the fields to argue over the shape of clouds, no more setting up jumping fences, and now Link would have to take on even more duties to keep the goats healthy.
"Hanch."
The tiny man shrank behind his plump wife with a whimper. When a soldier trudged forth, Sera crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose, but these soldiers did not know to fear her glower like the Ordonians did. The soldier wrestled around her and dragged Hanch out by the forearm. "Daddy!" Beth reached for him as he was thrown into the line-up. He wouldn't last two minutes on the battlefield.
"Jaggle."
With a gruff sigh, Jaggle dragged his feet like a redead. When he reached Hanch's side, he crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air. Good old Jaggle. Never took anyone's crap. He might do alright.
Dread twisted Link's chest into knots as Markus smacked his lips. If he was reading in alphabetical order, then the next name would be…
"Link."
In the span of a syllable, Link's life of boredom and broken dreams had been swept off a table. A new one of battle and bloodshed was slammed atop it. When Link stepped forward, it was like uprooting himself from the bland dirt of Ordon, only to plant them into bitter, barren soil. Of course this was Link's life. A few precious years of innocence and fun, cut short by heart-wrenching loss, then dullness and drear, and finally, dying young as a nameless soldier among thousands. Just another nobody who had about as much impact on history as a snail.
"And finally, Rusl."
Good thing Rusl's family wasn't in Link's sights. It would break him to see Uli's hand fly to her mouth, or Colin's eyes once again team with tears. Worse than that was the moment when Rusl stepped into the line-up; there was a selfish flicker of relief. Link wasn't going into this without his mentor, but gods, Uli and Colin needed Rusl more.
"Alright men." Markus pulled a horn of leviathan bone from his pouch. "You have until this horn to pack your things. Everything is yours to carry, so it better be light." He stomped his foot. "Dismissed."
Link scampered up the path to his home, sprinted up the ledge to his house, ripped open the door, and slammed it so hard that a few pots jittered. He sank to his knees before the bookshelf, and then he just tore them off. A cursory glance, and he sent books spinning across the room. He had read this one to death. That one too. Adventures in the Goron Hot Springs. Now that was just salt in the wound. He'd die before he soaked in those blissful waters. From these books, Link had constructed a fantastical future for himself. The hope of someday living it was what got him to shovel one more dung pile, chase one more goat, or force one more smile. There had to be a point where life became whimsical again. There just had to. Or so he had thought before a bloody war came knocking and snatched that hope away.
Link paused. Locked in his grasp was a sketchbook of his childhood memories. The whimsy before the worry. On the first page, scraggly charcoal lined little Link stirring a big pot with Mama's guidance. On the page beside it, coffee strokes of Link holding his play sword skyward. He was riding atop the first steed he had ever known: Papa.
He flipped through like he was parched and the pages were the sweetest of water. Link doing a puzzle with Mama in charcoal. Papa reading him stories stroked in vegetable oil so that it could only be seen when held to a candle. Ilia and Link splashing in the spring in charcoal. Link's first sword lesson with Rusl in pumpkin soup. The wooden weapon was taller than his boyish frame.
Link's growth throughout the years continued to be recorded in his father's charcoal or whatever was in reach of his mother's brush. Link meeting his filly, Epona, for the first time. Him and Ilia carving faces into melons (which was very counter-culture by Ordonian standards). Papa teaching him how to aim with a slingshot. Link and Rusl in crossed wood. Baby Beth's tea party that all the older children were forced to attend (but ended up being kinda fun anyway).
The last 'good' illustration was when Link was 9 and wrestling a run-away goat. Mama never specified what the brown 'paint' was, and Link had been nursing too many bruises to ask. He was careful not to touch it as he turned the page.
Lines became scragglier. Smudges wilder. Subjects darker. Gone was the coffee, pumpkin, and oil, overtaken by a paste of healing herbs. Link bundled in a blanket with sullen eyes as he stared out the window. Papa sweating out a fever with a wet cloth on his forehead. A plague-doctor's mask. A flower-laden grave etched with the name Amitola. Ilia's mother.
Then the scribbles became more than clumsy. They were frantic. The chairs. The door. The medicine pot. The fireplace. The bookshelf. The medicine pot again. Pages were torn. Pictures were scribbled out. They were filled by a couple who had passed the book back-and-forth because drawing something meant that they wouldn't go insane within the cage they called home.
The second-last drawing was an attempt to paint what Link would look like at 17, because there was a future for him that Mama wouldn't miss. The wobbly lines painted a figure with lankier arms and a longer chin than the lad of the present, but who's to say it was intentional? The waist was wider too, but the bottom half of the paper was bare, aside from a single line trailing off the page.
On the next page, there was a sudden sharpness to the art. It had been entirely blacked out aside from the white silhouette of Mama walking into the distance.
Half the pages were left, and they were blindingly blank.
Someone knocked on the door. Leave him alone. The horn hadn't blown yet. Still, it would be foolish to defy a soldier's order. Link placed the sketchbook by his left and called, "Come in."
The knob twisted and Ilia stepped through. "Hey."
"Hey," Link grunted.
Unlike the rest of the village, she had a blanket invitation to enter. The floorboards creaked as she knelt beside him, and her nails raked the leatherbound cover. "Taking it with you?" she asked. Link shrugged. He had always said that he'd fill the rest of the pages with sights beyond Ordon someday, but that was meant to be when he left on an adventure. Enlistment was not an adventure. It was another encaging lifestyle, and one Link didn't know how to survive.
Ilia nudged the book towards him. "I think you should." Link drew the book into his lap, thumb running over the peeling corners. Any suggestion of Ilia's was usually a good one. Maybe he'd be desperate enough for his own scrawls, but who knew what storage would be like in the training camps? What if he lacked the privacy to let loose on the page? What if his division got ambushed by flaming arrows and the book met an ashy fate?
He set it back on the shelf. "It'll be something to come back to."
Ilia wrung her hands in her lap. "We both know this place isn't worth coming back to."
One of the beautiful things about their bond were the silences they shared. Sometimes they were content in each other's presence as Ilia brushed Epona's mane while Link fed her an apple. Other moments, like this one, held space for a shared tragedy that no one else understood. When the white plague ravaged the village, children and elderly dropped like autumn leaves, but only Link and Ilia lost parents and friends so young.
The rest of the children (aside from Beth who was too young to remember) were born after the reaper had left with his bounty, so they never knew the village as it once was. What was Ordon without the smell of Mama's pumpkin pie wafting all the way to the goat fields, or the shavings of Papa's wood carvings blowing just as far? What about Amitola show-riding her late steed through town, or the bone broth the grandparents slaved over every winter? What about Sera and Pergie's first-borns who evenly matched Link and Ilia in town-wide games of capture-the-flag?
What was Ordon without everything that had made Ordon worthwhile?
This harvest of men was a second wave killing what little good there was left. Ilia, sweet Ilia, didn't deserve to lose her father and the only friend who survived. She needed someone left to comfort her.
"I want you to take care of Epona," Link said.
Ilia sighed. "You know she likes you more." And not for a lack of trying on Ilia's part.
"Pamper her the way she deserves and that might change."
Something between a laugh and a sob escaped her. "Okay, but be sure to come back so I can rub it in your face."
He chuckled dryly. "This war couldn't wound me more than that."
The horn sounded. He hadn't packed a thing but there was nothing in this house worth taking anyway. Link slid down the ladder and Ilia climbed down after him. Epona's head craned out of her stable. She shook her mane and snorted in agitation. That horse could smell intent. The captain better let Link say goodbye lest she bust out and giddy up havoc.
In the heart of the village, everyone was exchanging hugs, kisses, and farewells. Ilia threw her arms around Bo's wobbly neck, feet dangling above the grass. Rusl's hand rested on his wife's swollen belly. A child he may never get to meet. The other hand ruffled Colin's hair. Rusl stepped aside as Link approached Uli. Godmother and godson drew each other in. Link should say something. He wanted to say something that could describe his gratitude to her for taking him in when his parents had passed. She wasn't his mother but damn, was she close.
"You take good care of each other," Uli whispered. Link nodded, but his mouth was too dry of words to say anything more. Her pat on his back said it was enough.
Next, Link knelt before Colin. The boy rubbed a red eye as Link settled a hand on his shoulder. At least he had words for him. "Looks like our little chat is gonna be even more important."
"I don't think I'm strong enough for this," Colin whimpered.
"Me neither," Link said, "but we'll never know unless we try." If only Link could encourage himself the way he could encourage Colin.
Link sleep-walked through most of the farewells after that. Talo told Link to "kill all the baddies", but what if those 'baddies' killed Link instead? Little Malo mumbled something inaudible and shuffled off without a hint of eye contact. Typical Malo. Always withdrew when he was upset. Beth wailed over not seeing Link's cool sword moves anymore, but at least he was gonna look "so handsome" in uniform. Pergie's hug nearly broke Link's spine, and Sera, the angel, held up Link the Cat for one last kiss on the forehead.
Like the cycle of seasons, Ilia returned. Ilia, his best friend. Ilia, his sister in all but blood. Ilia, the only survivor of his childhood. For the first time, Link would have to live without her doting lectures, her buoyant behaviours, and her endless empathy. She was the one who knew all his secrets as he knew hers. If not for each other, they wouldn't have stayed sane in this village for as long as they did. Out of every embrace thus far, this was the one Link willed to be trapped in for all eternity.
"Don't do anything out of your league, okay?" she said. He nodded into her shoulder. How long until he'd next hear her voice? "I love you."
"Love you, too." Those weren't words they shared often, but why leave it unsaid? When they pulled away from each other, Link was left with an emptiness colder than Snowpeak.
The second sound of the horn was timely. As ordered by the captain, the new recruits lined up alphabetically in rows of two. Markus and his second held the front while the remaining pair of soldiers marched behind Link and Rusl.
Neighs and stomping shook Epona's stable. She rammed into the door, smacked her head against the sides, locked her teeth around a wooden plank and tore it free. She was gonna hurt herself! Shatter her teeth or crack her bones. Link broke formation. He'd take the punishment later. That horse was too important to ignore. Shushes and soothing strokes down her muzzle settled her a little, but she still jerked her head and stomped her hooves. The moment he'd leave, she'd ruckus again. He could run for Ilia, but that could end with a blade to his back.
"That your horse?" Link whipped around. Markus had also broken formation. His hand rested on his hilt.
Link swallowed. "Yes sir."
"Bring her with you. The army could use a mare like that."
These bloody soldiers couldn't stop taking from this village. "I'd rather she stay."
"Are you defying orders, soldier?"
Link stood straight-backed with his arms behind him. "With all due respect, sir, she wasn't on the list."
Markus cracked his sword from his sheathe. "Without you, that horse is ripe to trample us all. Take her, or I'll put her down."
So this was the army that demanded Link's loyalty. One that swore to cut down anyone who showed courage. He gave a half-hearted salute then went to saddle and mount his mare. Epona was yet another piece of fodder for this unknown war.
By the captain's order, Link took up the rear, but a soldier caged him on each side. Great. Link had already earned himself a reputation as a trouble-maker. At least Epona was behaving, but knowing her, she was biding her time, waiting for the right moment to gallop away with her master on her back regardless of his orders.
As the unit marched for the bridge, the trees thickened, and so too did the shadows. Clouds must be covering the moon. No. Impossible. The last cloud had blown over Hyrule a 'day' ago, and the bridge ahead was bathed in silver light.
The wind whispered an alien tongue, but there were no rustling branches. Not even the usual tweet or caw or beat of wings. Any specks of light filtering through the criss-crossing canopy were eaten away by shadows. Epona halted and stared into the blackness by the spring. Catching unseen eyes. Should Link say something out of turn? Risk a lashing over a hunch?
He wet his dry lips. "There's something in the shadows."
No bark from Markus came. Not even the sound of his heel spinning. Instead, everyone halted just shy of the bridge. Listening. Waiting.
Finally, an order came from the front. "Run."
The front soldiers sprinted onto the moonlit bridge. Seven draftees clapped after them. After only two gallops, Epona reared with a neigh. Why? The way was clear. Link tapped her sides again but she backed away from their only escape.
She twisted around and galloped towards Ordon, but as soon as they left the darkness, something latched Link's leg. He was pulled off, the wind knocked from his gut. Heave. Heave. Look back. A vein of black had shackled his ankle and more were slithering towards him. Link seized fistfuls of grass. His elbows shook as he fought against the supernatural pull. Epona whinnied and reared as if intimidating a hungry wolf, but there was a line she was unwilling to cross. The shadow of a tree branch.
The grass in Link's right tore free. His wrist was snared. "Go to Ilia!" Link called. Epona paused. A hoof inched towards the shadow, only to jerk away. "Go!" he roared. Shadow snatched his other hand. Darkness snapped over his eyes and ears, muffling the fading gallops.
He was dragged against the grass, gravel, and grain, thrashing and screaming into a gag made of… of… no fabric Link knew. There was no weave texture. Just something thin and smooth and cool. It had to be more shadow, but shadows weren't solid. Shadows couldn't take captives. Was that the conspiracy? A war on darkness itself? No wonder the soldiers didn't say. They would've been chased out with pitchforks and flame.
Like a puppet, he was dragged upright by his wrists and head. The shadows crossed over his calves, stitching them to the sandy shore. The waterfall flowed, but not like normal. There was a low, menacing gurgle to it, contradicted by the gentle waves lapping at his knees.
The blindfold melted away. Standing in the ankle-deep waters of Ordon Spring was a towering silhouette unlike any race or monster Link knew. Gold dragon heads for feet, or were they shoes? Wide black sleeves tipped with silver tassels, or were they brawny arms tattooed with luminescent aqua runes? Then there was the face, or mask, of stone. A pyramid of bulging eyes, an upturned triangle nose, and a sharp-toothed upper lip from which a large tongue curled over the chin.
A foreign language garbled from the left and the right. In the deepest corners of Link's periphery, he was flanked by lanky, three-dimensional shadows with yellow firefly eyes.
The stone-faced figure hummed, then tossed an order. Link's gag withered away. He should scream for help. Demand that they release him. What gripe could they have with a common rancher? He didn't though; his life-threatening predicament was gag enough.
A draconic shoe pulled forth, counter to the current. The waves at Link's knees had receded. There was something in the water trying and failing to keep this menace at bay. The shadows pulled back Link's hair as the warlord drew closer, forcing him to meet those lifeless eyes.
"What is your involvement with the light invasion?" he hissed in a foreign accent.
"The what?" Why talk of a 'light invasion'? A dark invasion was much more apparent.
"Oh, he plays the fool," the menace teased to his transparent minions. They snickered. "You were on a mount with two bodyguards," he continued. "You had a right to speak. My soldiers singled you out as the leader of your unit which means you can't possibly be as ignorant as you claim."
Link wasn't even dressed like a soldier, let alone one of rank! "I'm a goatherd who just got drafted. I was ordered to bring my horse."
"And you are unaware of the nature of this war?"
"Not a clue."
The warlord's stone-plated shoulders sank. "Oh well," he lamented. "Might as well rid the light realm of one more soldier."
"NO!" Link screamed and thrashed against the shadows. He couldn't die with all questions and no answers. All misery and no glory. The shadows shoved him down. He tasted sand. The water reflected an ashy scimitar with glowing red runes. Hovering above his neck.
A bleat rumbled the beach. The spring was flooded with gold. The henchmen cried in agony. Link's restraints incinerated and he scrambled away from the bank. The menace had turned his back on him, statuesque before Link's dazzling saviour.
It was a house-size goat with cream fur, curled markings of rippling gold, and a halo of silver bone around a magnificent orb. The great guardian spirit of this province: Ordona.
They bayed at the invader, but he was not phased in the slightest. A laugh colder than a corpse contaminated the holy air. He swivelled his head towards Link. There was something so disturbingly smug about his half-turned mask. "How would you like to personally know the travesty your people have wrought upon my realm?"
He snapped his head forward. A force slammed the almighty spirit into the rock with a wail. They faded, along with the water's golden hue.
Link sprinted for the warlord, fist bound for his spine, but shy of impact, pain knocked Link to his hands and knees. Beneath his skin, bones shifted. Muscles twisted. Tension tore at every nerve. No feeling in his fingers. Endless feeling in some appendage erupting from his lower back. He collapsed into the reflection of black clouds rushing over a flaming sky.
As his scream mangled into a howl.
