Chapter 3: The Price of Wounded Pride

\-==/\==-/

If the Gorons noticed the disgruntled expressions and glares directed towards Link that evening, they didn't comment on it. Instead they continued laughing, talking, eating, slapping one another on the back, and even singing and dancing.

Link looked down at his plate, mouth dry. Fortunately the Gorons had some edible - though charred - food in their city and had the sense to serve that to the knights, and it actually smelled and tasted rather good. Most of it consisted of meat from the ostriches living around the area, seasoned with some sort of spice unique to Death Mountain.

Link had already eaten quite a bit more than he would have on a normal day. Or, at least, more than he would have if he hadn't been receiving dirty looks from his companions the entire evening.

Because of me, we had to make an extra stop on our journey. We could've started heading back tonight, but because of me…

And the fact that Daruk had told everyone who would listen about how he took on those seven lizalfos and saved his life didn't make things any better. So apparently I'm stress eating.

"Hey, try this, little guy!"

Link turned and craned his neck to look up at the hulking Goron beside him holding out a large chunk of rock from his… rock roast, as the Gorons called it. "What?"

Daruk grinned widely. "Well, I couldn't help but notice you've got a Goron-sized appetite there! But that's not real food - trust me, I've tried it! Have some of this! It's much better!"

Link gulped and, not wanting to offend the jolly giant, hesitantly took the chunk of rock in hand. Eyeing it critically, he held it close to his mouth and tried to take a bite.

He didn't quite know what he expected - maybe the rock would taste like meat? Maybe it would crumble in his mouth?

But no - it was just a rock, as far as he could tell, with that gritty, earthy taste that didn't really taste like anything. And it was much too solid for him to bite through.

"Whadda you think?" Daruk asked eagerly.

Link looked upward, heart pounding anxiously. Slowly he gave an awkward half-shrug, half-nod, and the Goron beamed.

"Hah! Tastes so good, you're speechless! That it?" He laughed heartily, and Link found himself chuckling ruefully along.

What little good mood had returned to him was instantly quashed when he glanced down at the table and, once again, found each of the knights sitting around the Goron cooking fire glaring at him coldly. Link bit his lip, carefully stuffing the chunk of rock Daruk had given him into the pouch at his belt when he wasn't looking.

"So how'd you do that with those monsters?" Daruk asked, trying once again to pick up a conversation with him. "They really weren't messing around with you - they were givin' it all they got! What's your secret?"

Link frowned, diverting his attention to the question. The truth behind his skills, behind his training, was not something he wanted to share with anyone. Ever. Instead he scoured his mind for an acceptable alternative answer that was at least halfway true. "I… er… when I focus, I guess it sometimes feels as if time slows around me. As if time or… or something allows me to keep track of everything that's going on around me."

Daruk nodded slowly. "Focus… yeah, that sounds about right! Gotta hone your senses, eh, little guy?" He grinned. "There's no doubtin' you're a true warrior, and I respect that! You've got a true Goron spirit in there, and that's why…" His grin widened, and he got to his feet.

Link gulped. Oh, no…

"Right, everyone!" Daruk boomed, raising his massive hands and clapping them together for silence. "Listen up - this little guy Link here's now officially a brother!"

A great cheer went up among the Gorons, and they leapt to their feet, whooping and applauding. Link was suddenly absurdly reminded of the lizalfos' ritual to induct the chain into their tribe. Apparently there's a lot of that going around.

He tried to smile. There were worse things than being a Goron brother - actually, the thought of being anyone's brother brought warmth to his lonely soul - but the cold glares from his comrades only intensified as the feast continued.

Not good.

\-==/\==-/

He was yanked from his bedroll sometime that night, with a thick hand clamped over his mouth and an iron grip on his arms. Instantly wide awake he struggled ferociously, but more hands snatched his arms with bruising force and someone kicked his ribs as he was lifted to his feet.

"Enough of that, runt," a familiar voice hissed, and Link's eyes widened as he recognized Sir Hanvorien in the darkness. "I think it's about time someone knocked you down a peg or two."

Link's mouth went dry and he twisted against the meaty fingers locked around his arms, trying to free himself, but to no avail.

Cold dread froze his blood. In a contest of physical strength, I'm… no match for them.

Speed, agility, quick-wittedness - that was how he had won tournament battles. Not through brute force.

His breaths came faster as the small band of knights - Link counted five in total - at his sides and behind him started walking, pulling him forward with them. We're leaving camp!

That couldn't possibly mean anything good.

Sweat dripped down his spine and he tried to formulate a plan of escape. If I can take out the men holding me, I might be able to run for it…

Would that count as desertion? I could be severely punished for that.

So do I just let them hurt me?

Nausea coiled in his stomach. He felt absolutely sick at the thought of just sitting still and letting these men do whatever it is they thought would make for good revenge. No. I won't let that happen. I'll… escape somehow.

"Got the chains, Groose?" Hanvorien whispered, and Link's heart skipped a beat. Chains?

"Right on, Sir," came the familiar deep baritone from behind him. "Got 'em here in the bag. When do you want 'em?"

"In a moment," the older knight muttered, continuing forward until they came to a shallow pit in which a few inches of water sat. "Listen up, runt. Don't you get any ideas about escaping. As the head of this expedition, I'm in charge of discipline. And I heard Groose telling me that you almost let a couple lizalfos make off with our chain here. That sort of carelessness and disregard for our supplies ought to be punished." He grinned, his teeth glinting like a beast's in the moonlight. "So there's nothing illegal about anything we're going to do."

Link forgot to breathe for a moment, horror and anger paralyzing his limbs. The bitter taste of betrayal sat sourly in his mouth. They planned this. They planned this whole thing! Putting me in charge of the chain, Groose throwing it to the lizalfos… all of it!

Hanvorien made a dismissive gesture in his direction. "The chains, Groose."

Groose chuckled darkly behind him and removed his massive hand from over Link's mouth.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Link hissed, straining halfheartedly against the two knights who held him. "I haven't done anything to you!"

Hanvorien scowled and took a few steps towards him. "Have you, now?" he asked softly. "You want to know what it looks like when some scrawny little kid comes up and wins against all of the best knights in the kingdom? I'll tell you - it makes us look like we're not doing our job! It's a swift, hard blow to our reputations, it plants doubt in the eyes of our superiors, and it loses us favor with the King. And everyone else."

Link swallowed thickly. Groose wrapped his arms securely in chains behind his back. "I didn't mean for that to happen," he said quietly, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"Well, it happened anyway," Hanvorien growled. "Now, kneel."

Link recoiled in surprise. "Wh-what? Why?"

Hanvorien rolled his eyes. "Why d'you think? So we can bind your legs!"

Link shivered, slowly getting down on his knees. This is an awful idea. Let them hurt you? What are you thinking? This is unjust, and you know it!

But if Hanvorien was willing to pass this off as a legal punishment, Link wouldn't put it past him to call him a deserter if he ran. And what'll happen then? I might get discharged - and if that happens…

He had nowhere else to go.

He winced as Groose bound his chained wrists to his ankles, leaving him entirely helpless, at the mercy of those who hated him. He curled his hands into fists, cursing himself for landing in such a situation.

None too gently Groose tossed him into the pit; the water at the bottom did nothing to soften his landing and he grunted at the impact.

"Well," Hanvorien said with a smirk, turning to glance at the other four knights, "I'd say it's about time we got our revenge, eh? Have at him."

\-==/\==-/

Link stared at himself in the mirror of the little washroom adjoining the Royal Guard barracks, trembling. He dipped his shaking hands into the basin full of cold water and bowed his head, washing his face. His eyes closed -

Breathless, agonizingly winded, as boots and fists rained down on him, pausing only briefly to let him draw another gasp of air -

He looked up at himself in the mirror again, at the single bruise on his cheekbone. They had left his face almost entirely untouched in order to avoid suspicion.

The rest of him was a patchwork of fading brown bruises, his swollen skin painfully sensitive. Nothing had broken, of course, and they hadn't hurt him nearly badly enough to keep him from his daily duties and training, but he still felt sore all over.

Taking in a shuddering breath, he dipped a rag into the cold water and let it rest on his bruised skin, holding back a pained gasp - it felt like ice. Drops of water traced freezing trails down his chest and back and he closed his eyes again, feeling exhausted.

"There's a bit of blood on his tunic there. That'd be a good spot to get 'im."

"Ha! You got a little scratch, runt?"

"Better give that lizalfos the Master Sword - if it managed to get you, it must be a better warrior, eh?"

"Hey, look - are you crying, runt?"

Another tremor went through him as he snapped back to the present. His eyes, in the mirror, were rimmed with red from the tears he had just recently shed.

And it had been five days since their attack.

It wasn't from the pain, he thought, swallowing tightly. He knew that for certain.

He felt cold and empty inside. Small. Hollow. Weak.

They hate me, he thought dizzily, his head spinning.

And, unbidden, memories sprang to his mind. Sir Hanvorien kissing his wife tenderly on the cheek, ruffling his son's hair. Groose with a wide grin on his face, playing games with the village children, laughing cheerfully as they tackled him. Sir Garmish trying to flirt with the castle cook, making her smile and laugh while he blushed like a child. Sir Farthong staggering drunk through the streets, giggling like a little girl, as on either side of him two friends helped him home with rueful, amused smiles on their faces.

All at once, so much worse than ever before, Link was overcome by a wave of loneliness. His eyes burned as he realized that somewhere in his life he had gone wrong, somehow he'd messed up horribly, because instead of drawing people to him he only seemed to repel them.

Enough so that they took pleasure in hurting him, watching him squirm and wheeze for breath, something he could never imagine being enjoyable to watch.

He tried - oh, Nayru, he tried to befriend others. But at some point, people had become entirely unable to see him as something other than a warrior. A warrior who never lost, not to anyone. A warrior half the size and half the age of the kingdom's most experienced knights. A warrior bearing the Master Sword, harbinger of doom.

And the tears came, dripping down his face as strangled, wheezing sobs escaped his throat. Tears because he was alone in every sense of the word, and he despised himself for it.

Link sniffled quietly, running the back of his hand across his nose. No more, he told himself determinedly, blinking rapidly as he turned to lift his black undershirt from its place on a small table in the washroom. Quickly following that were the two tunics comprising his Royal Guard uniform, and last of all he placed his cap on his head and pulled gloves up his arms.

Right, then… time for the confession.

\-==/\==-/

"You - you want to be discharged?" Captain Janin stared at him incredulously.

Link swallowed. "Yes, Sir."

The Captain's clean-cut beard bristled with incredulity. "And why might that be?" he asked suspiciously. "You have a flawless record, you're the greatest warrior in the kingdom, and you bear the Master Sword - the most powerful weapon in our history. The Royal Guard is where you belong."

Link licked his lips nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "W-well, I… I just don't think this is right for me. M-maybe I should try something different, like… like breeding horses, or -"

Janin snorted. "Oh, yes, Link. Go ahead. Breeding horses is a sure way to save us all from Calamity Ganon. And what in Din's name could possess you to think this isn't right for you? You - you were practically born with a weapon in your hand! I've been training you your entire life. Give me one good reason I should have you discharged."

Link opened his mouth to reply, but words didn't come. He could lie and make up some terrible crime he had committed, but the only evidence would be his word. Captain Hanvorien hadn't even included his 'mistake' with the chains in his report of the expedition to Death Mountain.

He swallowed thickly. "Th-the other knights don't like me much," he said quietly, hating how juvenile he sounded.

Janin smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? That's because they're jealous. It's a good thing - it'll whip 'em into better shape." His expression hardened. "You'd best get used to having people upset with you, Link. They don't like what they don't understand, what they fear. Your skills are frightening, I'll admit. And the hard-working knights here in particular don't like being shown up, especially by someone like you. Just remember it's not your fault, and try to have a thicker skin."

"Sir, I -"

He shuffled several papers on his desk. "Sorry, Link. I'm not having you discharged. We need your skill, and that's final. Now, here's your pay for this mission – I'll let you know when I have something else for you."

Link took the proffered bag of rupees wordlessly and weighed it for a moment in his hand. He wasn't paid nearly as much as the other knights of the Royal Guard, being Janin's ward and not really having anything to spend a considerable amount of rupees on. Janin provided his food and board, the Royal Guard provided whatever travelling supplies or weapons he needed for his missions, and he wasn't – like many other knights – sending money home to help support a family. I don't even have a home or family outside of the castle, he thought bitterly.

"Something the matter?" Janin's voice was stern.

Link looked up and shook his head. "No, Sir." He pocketed the bag of rupees and turned his back on the Captain, his jaw clenched.

I know I don't need the money. I know. It makes sense not to waste that on me.

But for all the fires of Din they put me through, it'd be nice to get a bit more than a handful of rupees!


Updated 6/15