A/N: Once again, thank you so so much to everyone who took the time to write a review! It makes my day when someone lets me know what they thought and it assures me that somewhere out there someone else is remotely interested in where this is going!

I hope you guys enjoy this one! Let me know what you think! :)

Guidance

I started awake to a warm, decidedly serene morning. Birdsong and sunlight filtered through the trees, and a gentle breeze off the river tousled the leaves. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my galloping heart. The dream had felt so incredibly real…

I scanned the woods for the Calamity, but for now I was alone. I got to my feet and made my way to the river's edge, washing the grime from the road off my face and hands. My reflection stared up at me, troubled, quivering and glistening in the current once the waters calmed. The image was bedraggled, with knotted hair and dirt-stained clothes.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Zelda?" I asked my reflection. It arched a slender brow at me, lobbing the question back.

I sighed, tracing thoughts upstream and lingering over the details of the dream. So little of it had made sense. The sword the Calamity had been wielding was unmistakably the Blade of Evil's Bane—which was impossible, because nothing evil could ever touch it and survive. So many of the sounds and lights were unfamiliar, unnatural, like nothing I had ever heard before, and I wasn't sure how my mind could've conjured such things. He had been different, too. His eyes had been wholly, pristinely blue, untainted by the brilliant orange coils I was used to…

Then I saw them, staring up at me from the water, and spun.

"You startled me," I said, breathless.

He didn't smile, all trace of yesterday's jesting mood unaccountably missing. "There's a crossing ahead. We'll take the east road, and reach the edge of the Lost Woods by nightfall. I trust you won't object this time around?"

I nodded, unnerved by his icy demeanor.

"Good," he muttered. "We'll reach the Sword tomorrow and be done with this."

I got to my feet wordlessly and followed as he stalked back into the forest, uneasy. Whatever progress I had made with him the day before seemed to have reverted overnight, and if his expression was any indication, things may have gotten worse. I foraged a simple breakfast as we moved north, and we crossed the Rebonae Bridge within the hour.

Through the course of the morning it became apparent that his mood had soured even more than I'd feared. I was never able to move fast enough for him, often earning an impatient growl to keep pace. The less forgiving terrain through the Crenel Hills made appeasing him especially difficult, and when he finally let me take a rest near the Thims crossing I all but collapsed on the riverbank.

Bitterness rose in my throat as I knelt to drink, feeling battered beyond recognition. His impatience with me, his sudden unwillingness to speak except to punish me, had me set on edge, and I swallowed frustrated tears along with the cool river water. I wiped the back of my hand against my mouth when I finished, panting. My reflection stared broodingly back at me on the trembling surface.

Hatred. That's what had colored his every glance, his every gesture and cutting remark over the course of the morning. Only I didn't know if it was welling up from somewhere deep within him, inseparable from his personality, or if I had done something to earn it. I glanced cautiously in his direction; he was standing on the bridge with his back to me, staring north towards the swollen shape of the forest canopy rising ponderously on the horizon.

And I was suddenly struck with the oddest feeling that we had been here together before.

"That's enough," he called when I had barely caught my breath, and I sighed as I heaved myself back onto shaking legs, too proud to complain.

We made our way up Trilby Plain in the heat of the noon hour, and I was teetering on the brink of exhaustion. My legs trembled with every step, and more than once I stumbled over uneven footing. Then they gave out on me completely as the muscles buckled with a change in the slope, bringing me to my knees, and as I went to pick myself up he was suddenly there doing it for me.

A small, surprised cry left my throat as he grabbed my forearm and heaved me to my feet.

"Let me go," I demanded, startled, his fingers biting painfully beneath my wrist.

"Stop slowing me down," he growled, and I winced when his grip tightened reflexively with his words.

"I'm going as fast as I can," I tried to bite back, but it came out too weak to resemble anything close to fighting words. "You're being unreasonable!"

"And you're being pathetic," he hissed, pulling me closer as he glowered. "You're weak, undisciplined, wielding your power around aimlessly like a child!"

"Stop," I gasped quietly, trying to pry his hand off my arm as the discomfort increased, flaring into pain.

"I should just kill you now," he sneered. "You'd be reborn as someone more worthy, and I wouldn't have to put up with your incompetence!"

"You're hurting me," I warbled, tears stinging my eyes from the pain and his unaccountable hate.

He let me go and I turned, hiding my face behind a curtain of hair as I cradled my wrist. I heard his irritated sigh and his steps crunching on the road, growing more distant, and slowly made to follow, my throat burning. The pain in my arm gradually dulled, aching when my steps jostled it but tolerable otherwise. It was the sting from his insults that lingered, bruising my confidence. Just yesterday he had told me not to doubt my power or my destiny on account of my failure to contain him.

Less than a day later, and he'd already found other reasons sufficient to discredit me.

I trailed him in tense silence, the distance between us stretching for long intervals as he regularly left me behind without acknowledging my slowness. He let me drink from the river once more when the road forked, and then we followed the road up into the Minshi Woods, the threshold that arched along the Eldin Foothills into the Lost Woods. Thick sunbeams refracted through the gnarled branches, filling the forest with rich orange light, and the Calamity finally slowed, moving over the delicate silence of the wood without disturbing the underbrush as though it were second nature.

We reached the mouth of the Lost Woods just before sunset. The canopy and the enchantment of the fog were so dense the brilliant veins of sunlight splitting the horizon were barely visible. Ancient stone archways, half-eaten by time and vines, marked the inconspicuous boundary where the magic began, and he ignited a flickering spark near them with a gesture to throw bracken on.

I settled next to it wordlessly, watching him work. Few passersby were foolhardy enough to venture into the forest's enchantment, so there were plenty of fallen branches suitable for firewood scattered nearby. Only Hylian Knights were taught the secret of navigating the magic by the royal family. There hadn't been one among them that could draw the sword the mist protected.

When the fire was healthily ablaze, he left me to trap an animal for supper, and returned as the twilight was bleeding into dusk with flayed and skewered hare—already dead, I noted with some relief. He didn't speak as he set it roasting, but his silence seemed more preoccupied than it did hateful. I was too tired to be very invested in that change, which was negligible. Not having eaten since breakfast, and having been forced to march at a demanding pace for most of the day, I found myself disinclined to waste much energy on him at all.

He handed me the spit when the meat was cooked through, and I balanced it across my knees, picking at it with my good hand. I kept the other tucked in my lap while I ate; it was still aching and sent pain shooting up my arm whenever I tried to flex my fingers. I was ravenous and finished the meal off quickly, tossing the skewer into the flames afterwards. I carelessly let my gaze wander and noticed how intently he was watching me, and for the briefest moment I locked eyes with him. I fixated on the fire again, hoping he would lose interest, but the damage was already done. I could feel him eyeing me in the firelight. It made my pulse throb unpleasantly.

"How badly did I hurt you?"

I didn't answer, stubbornly drawing my arm further into my lap without meeting his gaze. The last thing I wanted was to give him further reason to think me weak. Holding my own was difficult enough as it was.

But when he rose from his seat and knelt beside me, cradling my arm in his hands by the elbow and wrist, I didn't fight him, afraid that resisting would exacerbate the soreness. He drew it off my lap slowly, studying the bruise blossoming across my skin in the firelight. He traced the discoloration, and I held my breath; and then, gently, slowly, he felt up the length of my forearm, flooding me with a cool rush of magic that mended bone and ligament as he went, and the pain evaporated with it. His hand closed around mine, his fingers pressing softly into my palm as he stitched up the last of the damage.

"You should've said something."

I swallowed and slowly met vibrant, warring eyes. I couldn't formulate a coherent response; my mind snagged on bits of a bitter retort, thanks, questions, dredging up nothing useful. The dream had drifted back into my mind's eye, when he had looked at me with similar concern out of radiant, untainted blue eyes.

Finally, I muttered, "I was too proud."

He watched me, eyes clouded with thought, and his frown deepened. "Do you not know how to heal?"

"My mother died when I was young. My training was very basic."

"Only the sealing?"

I nodded minutely, a little ashamed to admit it. He released my hand, finally, and unfastened his right gauntlet. Then he reached for the small knife on his belt. At first the hilt seemed to have no blade at all; then a sky blue shaft materialized out of it and caught light, and he dragged it across the ridge of his exposed palm, leaving a welling trail of red in its wake. He offered it to me, and I took it cautiously in both hands, too surprised to question it.

"I don't know how—" I stammered, but he silence me with a look that was surprisingly patient.

"Just try," he murmured. "It's like unspooling thread."

My brow furrowed at the odd metaphor as I cradled his injured hand in mine, lifting my fingers to trace the wound. I ran them slowly along the edge, channeling power into my fingertips, but it didn't want to go anywhere. It lingered under my skin like water pooling in a valley.

"You haven't learned elements either," he guessed, and I pursed my lips, trying to focus on the task at hand. He sighed, shifting without jostling my work. "I should've started teaching you sooner."

I had mimicked the motions he had used to heal my arm three times, but nothing was happening. I let my eyes flicker up to his, briefly, as I made a fourth attempt. "What do you mean?"

"I won't be traveling with you after tomorrow. You don't even know how to light your own fires. Heaven forbid you should sprain your ankle or break a bone." He stilled my wrist with his good hand, correcting the bend of my knuckles. "Like unspooling thread."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Stop overthinking it. Let your power work for you."

I took a breath, refocusing my energy and trying again, forcing my reservations beneath the surface and opening my mind to the possibility. Eventually I felt it, just a trickle, flowing through my fingertips where we touched and tapping into my power, tugging downward in a small stream like a single, slender cord, unraveling out of me like…

"It is like unspooling thread," I murmured, watching the wound begin to mend. It was slow going, the pull on the phantom spool spanning my knuckles fluctuating sporadically between taut and slack as I tried to find a rhythm. The flesh knitted, weaving evenly in time with the unraveling sensation. I closed his fingers over his palm when I was finished, holding his hand closed while I searched for words. "After tomorrow. You mean after you're destroyed."

"Have you decided to believe me about that?"

"I suppose."

His eyes scanned my face in the firelight, guarded. He reached his hand back silently and slid it into the fire, bringing it back holding a tongue of shuddering flame. I stared quietly, watching apprehensively as he took my wrist and laid the fire gently in my palm. When he was satisfied he pulled his hands away, letting me hold it alone. It licked just above my palm, flickering hungrily in all directions as it sought something to consume.

"Feed it a little," he instructed quietly as it began to dwindle, and I did my best, channeling my own warmth towards it. The flame lapped at my energy, renewing off the sustenance I offered. Then he murmured, "Yes. After I'm destroyed."

My concentration faltered and the flicker suddenly went out. I expected him to growl at my ineptitude, but instead he wordlessly took my right hand again with his, palm up, and guided me towards the fire. I got to my knees beside him, letting his hand under mine take us into the flames. The heat and the light glided over my skin like silk, floating instead of devouring as his magic kept it from burning us.

"Take some," he directed, his voice uncharacteristically soft against my ear, and as it coalesced above my palm he withdrew our hands. He let go slowly once I had a handle on it, observing, and shook his head once, incredulous. "The bearer of the power of the gods, the strongest magic in all Hyrule—holding fire for the first time."

"No one thought it would be me," I whispered distantly, watching the fire dwindle and flare in my palm as I experimented with withdrawing warmth and then shunting it back again. "My mother's death was unexpected. We all thought…" I pursed my lips, cradling the little flame closer to myself as my thoughts spiraled towards unpleasant places. "No one thought it would be me."

We were silent for a while, listening to hollow winds shifting through the mist at our backs, embers eating through dry twigs, and the subtle breath of the flame I was nursing. At length, he mused, his eyes draped in shadow and colorless, "Including you."

I met his eyes, startled. He seemed to be seeing right through me. It was warm and unnerving at once.

"Of course," I said. I couldn't remember ever having to explain this to anyone. It was... sort of awful. "I was only six years old."

"I didn't think you would be so inexperienced." He sighed, troubled. "This could complicate things."

I stared, absorbing his concern and probably reflecting it tenfold. "How so?"

"Put that out and try making your own. Create the warmth, and then a spark."

I frowned as he sidestepped the question, but complied, closing my hand and letting it go cold, smothering the flame. I started channeling the warmth, and blindly willed my power to spark. My palm was dark except for the spattering firelight. "Nothing's happening."

"Try again."

"But how do I—"

"Stop overanalyzing everything. Stop thinking that you can't."

"It isn't that simple," I countered, frustrated. "How can I do something if I don't even know—"

Then his hands closed around my wrists, and I gasped as power surged through my veins. It coursed through my body, limitless, intense, luminous, pulsating in time with my heartbeat like molten sunlight. My eyes closed reflexively and my head lolled, and I sighed, reveling in the strange sensation.

"The power of the gods is in you," he murmured, sending the power surging again, and I rolled towards it. "Harness it. Stop fearing it. Stop doubting that you're worthy of it."

It was a reservoir, endless, a wellspring bubbling up from some deep, untapped place rooted deep in my being. The power wasn't unfamiliar; I had called on it more times than I could count, training to confront him. But he was right. I did fear it. I never simply let it exist in me, fill me, as it was now. I had always considered myself a vessel, a channel through which that power could manifest itself when Hyrule needed it. But now, luxuriating in it, conducting it through myself, the roles seemed reversed: the power was a channel, at my disposal to use as I pleased.

"Light the spark."

Fire erupted from both my hands, devouring the warmth. He let go of my wrists, but the change hardly registered. I was consumed by the sensation of my own power, by this tiny, insignificant expression of it. I sent fire spiraling upwards in a quivering shaft until it was above the trees; I shaped it to circle us in tortuous rings; I ground it under my fingers into a tame, glowing ember that cast soft light over the night, kept it balanced, shackled, on the edge of my fingertip; and then it burst to life again when I breathed on it.

And he watched, with dark eyes, from across the flames.

I must have passed hours like that: exploring what it meant to hold something that potent, that destructive, on the end of a leash and shape it as I pleased. It was different than the sealing power. That was the goddess executing judgment. But this was something much less holy, much less pure. It was just power, exerting itself on the world. Pulling at elements and banishing helplessness. And it was heady.

It was well into the night when I finally spared him another thought. I was lying on my back, staring up at thousand glistening stars blinking like jewels floating across an inky sea, rolling a silky fireball back and forth across my knuckles, playing mindlessly. I imagined the fireball was Hyrule, suspended precariously in the gaps between my fingers, where just one mistake could send it plummeting. It seemed appropriate.

"You said I complicated things," I prompted, not bothering to look at him. Maybe it was the power, the headiness of it, that made me less inhibited; but in that moment, in that flicker of borrowed strength, I didn't fear him. "My inexperience. What did you mean?"

"I'm going to need your power," he murmured. "Destroying a curse as old and as powerful as I am isn't easy. I was counting on your skills being more refined than they are, but you have the strength. We'll make do."

"Was she much stronger than I am?" I asked, imagining her: a princess, or a queen, a daughter of the royal house whose connection to the goddess was unclouded by doubt and refined in fearless forges. "My predecessor, I mean."

"She was very powerful."

"But you managed to kill her." He didn't respond, and I pursed my lips, thinking. "Did I disappoint you? You were so angry, and I didn't understand it. Was that why? Because I'm not enough like her?"

"No," he said, and I turned at the surprise in his voice, meeting his vivid, two-toned eyes. "It's because you're too much like her."

I turned back to the stars. They glittered dazzlingly in the night sky, stretched across the heavens like teardrops. They were ageless. They must have seen this battle fought dozens of times, goddess and Calamity circling the night, locked in an endless cycle, like the sun and the moon.

I didn't understand him at all. I didn't understand any of this.

"What happened to you, 10,000 years ago?" I breathed. "After so many eons, why are you trying to end yourself?"

He leaned over me from above, his face drifting upside down into my vision.

"Do you know what happens when you start asking about things that don't concern you?"

"You put me to sleep."

He hummed in agreement, running a cool fingertip up the bridge of my nose and across my forehead.

The darkness tumbled over me before his touch reached my hairline.

I drifted through the black into another vision. Sunlight trickled through shuddering leaves and blossoms caught on the wind's breath, flickering in spangled starbursts beneath verdant green veils. The light played on my eyelids with shadows, fluttering over each other while birdsong carried between the pristine stone pillars and the trees from around the sanctuary. I inhaled deep of the warm air, opening my eyes to watch the pale pink petals weave lazily through the sunbeams.

It was like paradise. But when I spoke, in the voice that was mine and not mine, there was an underlying sadness that no amount of paradise could remove.

"Do you ever wonder what you'll do… afterward?"

The Calamity was sprawled on the grass beside me, catnapping beneath oaks and dogwoods. A broadsword in a blue scabbard etched with gold overlay rested near his head, discarded like something forgotten amidst the tranquility. A bird trilled another complex refrain, long and lilting; he opened a single, curious blue eye, and cast it inquiringly in my direction.

"When this is all over, I mean."

He closed it again, folding his arm comfortably behind his head.

"A little."

I braided two blades of grass together between lithe fingers, quietly working up the boldness to press the issue. "Only a little?"

"I'll serve Hyrule wherever she'll have me. There are only a few things I want for myself." He paused, and then shifted onto his side, searching my face, and amended, "Just one thing."

"What would that be?"

I was watching my fingers turn the grass over in my lap, but he didn't answer until I met his eyes; they glinted in the light, touched by the ghost of a smile.

"I think you know."

I smiled, pulse flying, and my gaze flitted back to the grass in my hands. "Have you heard about Maz's latest invention?"

"Another Beast?"

"No. A new kind of Shrine that uses stasis field tech to heal on a cellular level. It's just a prototype, but he says it's powerful enough to bring someone back from the dead."

"Sounds unnatural," he muttered. "Not even you can do that."

"No," I agreed. Then I tilted my head, considering. "Not that I've had much opportunity to try. Maybe I just need a little practice."

"Maybe," he allowed. "All you need is a willing victim."

I smirked at his nonchalance. It was a ridiculous notion; resurrection was well beyond my abilities, even with the power of the gods at my disposal. "Wherever will I find one of those?"

"I wouldn't mind dying in your arms."

I went to scoff at him, but my throat knotted when I met his eyes. They were depthless, weighed down by the burden we both tried our best to ignore and the disquieting truth that there may not be an 'afterward.' And I knew, tethered to his gaze, pristinely blue and unending, that he meant it.