Chapter 43: The General

\-==/\==-/

Link finished dressing himself, tugging his mail shirt so that it fit more comfortably and smoothing the wrinkles from his tunic. A sliver of cold winter sunlight drifted coldy into his room from his small window, painting everything gray and colorless. He caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror - frightfully pale from the blood he had lost, and from the slight cold he'd developed from running out into the blizzard; there were dark bags under his eyes, a swollen shade of purple.

He looked, he thought with a heavy sigh, just as miserable as he felt.

He grit his teeth, walking restlessly across his room and back again, trying to distract himself from the sorry state of his appearance. I've got an hour. Less than that, now, actually - I should probably get to the Sanctum.

He lifted a hand to rake through his hair, remembered he was wearing a coif, and let it fall back to his side. Another lap around his room did nothing to settle the worms wriggling for attention in his stomach so he sat down again, curling his arms around himself and hunching over his knees. Wish we could just get this over with already.

Biting his lip, remembering his decision to at least try, he pushed himself to his feet again. I should do some stretches - loosen up, and all that. Maybe it'll help.

He grabbed his left arm above the elbow and pulled it across his chest to the opposite shoulder, instantly regretting it when the sore skin over his upper back stretched painfully. Letting go with a wince, he slowly lowered his arm back down and sat gingerly on the ground, stretching his legs out to either side. He began to lean over one leg, attempting to grab his foot, but again pain spiked in his back and he straightened, groaning.

Frustration swelled in his chest, mingled with a flare of panic that spiked his pulse, sending his heart pounding against his ribs as tears yet again prickled in his eyes. He bit down, hard, on his lip; he blinked furiously, trying to put an end to the stubborn wetness around his eyes.

"Goddesses, I can't do this," he muttered desperately, resting his head back against the wall. It's too much - even at my best, I don't know if I could beat Janin! And now, when I'm… when all this has happened… I don't stand a chance! What's the use in trying? There's no chance!

He remembered, with a sinking heart, Thrangus' eager confidence in him. He imagined the look on Zelda's face if he walked into the Sanctum and threw the Master Sword down at Janin's feet.

He saw Choice, running from the fury of that black colt all those years ago. He saw the wary, defeated look in her eyes and remembered how, after the days and weeks and months he spent with her, that look had faded into determined courage and admiration. How their roles gradually changed - whereas originally he had given her all the comfort he could muster, she became the one to comfort him as his training and nightmares intensified at Janin's hands.

He remembered, much to his surprise, the access phrase the Princess had discovered to enter the Shrine on the Great Plateau: To fight a lost cause.

Choice had been, in the Captain's opinion, a lost cause. And yet… just look at what she became.

Finding a friend in Zelda had felt like a lost cause as well. Link remembered the feel of her arms around him as she desperately sought comfort from him - first after the Yiga attack at the Kara Kara Bazaar, then so many times again afterward.

Maybe… maybe this battle isn't a lost cause either…?

He barked out a short, humorless laugh. With his wounds, with the agony of losing Choice sharp in his soul, how could he possibly win? And he hadn't caught so much of a glimpse of Zelda since taking her to the Sage Temple, and apparently she had been the one to report Choice's… misfortune… to her father. That was according to Janin, of course, and Link was hesitant to trust that his version of events was entirely accurate, and yet… Maybe we're not as close as I thought - maybe she is a lost cause. The thought sparked fresh pain within him, eerily similar to the twist of a dagger in his side, and he blinked several times against the threat of tears stinging behind his eyes.

No, he thought drearily, disappointment settling deep within his heart like silt to the bottom of a puddle. No, there's no hope for me here. I'll be in exile by noon.

He pushed himself to his feet and double-checked his armor once again, ensuring that nothing was chafing, that the tightness of his gauntlets due to the bandages beneath them wasn't cutting off circulation in his fingers, that his belt and baldric were secure. I accomplish nothing by waiting in here; I might as well head up to the Sanctum.

The thought sent prickles of icy nervousness up and down his spine and drained the moisture from his mouth. Licking his lips he walked to the door and pulled it open and stepped out into the quiet hall.

The castle was almost lifelessly quiet. He saw four Royal Guards and two Sheikah warriors at the Princess' door (they crossed their spears over the threshold as he passed, forbidding him entry) and no one else as he turned the corner and headed straight down a passage leading deeper into the castle, in the direction of the Sanctum.

He stopped, heart hammering, as the sounds of footsteps and excited voices echoed his way.

"Right this way," Groose grunted, unmistakable.

"... caused quite a scandal, this has, it's all anyone can talk about, of course…"

"...naturally he'll have to lose his position; can't have him staying on as her knight, not with his behavior, but you can't deny how utterly romantic this is…"

"Do you think he's got a chance? Think he'll -"

"Are you joking? Poor kid could barely stand, that's what I've heard, and he went and got himself stabbed, too. No, he won't last a minute!"

"Oh, but how romantic it would be if he did win…"

Link felt sick; the last thing he wanted was to be caught by this group. It's a public event, he remembered sourly, looking around for a hiding place. So apparently the guards are escorting guests up to the Sanctum…

The voices and footsteps were getting closer; they would have reached the top of the spiral staircase near the Princess' quarters by now. But the hall was uselessly straight and empty save for glorious tapestries hanging on the walls. No doorways, not even a cupboard he could try and cram himself in -

A hand snatched at his arm and he jumped with a startled gasp, whirling around and starting again at the sight of the General's stern, scarred face.

"Calm down," the man muttered, his dark eyes sliding in the direction of the oncoming group. "This way."

Keeping a firm hold on his wrist, the General led him close to a tapestry bearing the stylized images of several people bowing down, in the act of worshipping a figure with arms outstretched beneath the legendary Triforce. The General reached up and pressed at the cloth depicting the inverted triangle in the middle of the crest, and with a low grinding sound the wall next to it slid backwards, then rotated slowly to the side, revealing a dimly-lit passageway. The General nudged Link gently inside before climbing in himself and pushing the wall back into place. Link noticed, astonished, that the wall was actually a rectangular stone door with the shape of bricks and stonework identical to the wall outside carved on its face.

"Never seen this one before, eh?" the General asked with a hard grin. "Would've thought our dear Captain would've shown them to you right from the start."

"Sir, I-I know the passages," Link protested, feeling his face warming up. "I… I just haven't had to use this one yet." Or any of the others.

"You've been granted access to the maps," the General sighed. "There's quite a difference between memorizing a sketch on parchment and gaining familiarity with the passages themselves, especially if a quick escape depends on it."

Link frowned, his heart aching painfully. "Sir, I… I don't expect to remain in the castle much longer…"

"And that's why I wanted to find you," the General growled, solemnity returning to his rugged features. "I expected as much, when I heard what had happened. As I told you when we first met to discuss your qualifications for this position, I have done my research."

"...Sir?"

"I know what she meant to you," the man explained, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your horse, I mean." He inhaled deeply, brow furrowed contemplatively. "I knew it would be quite the wound - one that only time could mend. I… did my best to give you as much of that as I could, but… four days is not nearly long enough."

Link stared at him, confused, before a niggling thought in the back of his mind reminded him that Janin had mentioned the General convincing the King to delay his 'interrogation.' One more thing to look forward to today, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth.

"I had my doubts about you, boy," the General reflected, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "You know what they are, and I believe that you would agree they are well-founded. You're small. You've never experienced this sort of responsibility. Your upbringing was not of the sort to foster a healthy mind, as is proven by your frequent nightmares."

Link nodded, feeling a sinking in his soul. He hadn't thought it possible, at this point, to feel worse, but he did. He's right - I wasn't suitable for this. I never should have been here at all.

A hand on his shoulder stunned him out of his thoughts, and sharply he looked up at the General, shocked to find compassion written across his stern visage. "I was afraid of what would happen, but you've proven me wrong," the General murmured. "I spoke in your defense to the King, if you'll believe it, as we were deciding your punishment. All things considered, your actions have been nothing short of inspiring. And I never would have expected you to feel for the Princess as you do."

Link felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. Evidently the whole kingdom knows about this now. "Sir, I…"

"There's no need to be ashamed, no matter what Janin claims," the General growled firmly. "The Captain and I do not see eye to eye, as you may have inferred; I have a wife and children of my own and I've disagreed from the very start about Janin's plan to build the perfect soldier out of a child. However, the King granted him permission to try out his little… experiment… on the orphan of his choice, all those years ago. I saw the coldness in your gaze and feared that he had ruined you, that he had torn out your soul and replaced it with a bloodied blade. Never have I been more relieved to see a comrade fail in his endeavors."

Confusion had taken root in Link's heart. You… are you… on my side, then? He shook his head slowly, sadly. "Sir, I… I…" He exhaled heavily. "I failed, not Captain Janin. I… I don't believe myself to be worthy of this position - I've made too many mistakes."

"Yes, you've made mistakes," the General agreed. "But you did not fail. The Princess lives, yes? And more than that, she is feeling better than ever - about her destiny, about her mother's death… That's all thanks to you. It is not my place to counsel the King about his daughter - and neither is it yours - but I have long believed that he has been going about it all the wrong way. I could only pray for her to find healing, somehow, and she has found it in you."

"It wasn't right," Link muttered, avoiding the General's gaze.

"I disagree," the General groused. "Not all threats are physical, are they? The Captain does not agree, of course, but that does not change the truth of it. What good would you be, if you managed to stop the blade from piercing her heart but neglected to deflect the one pricking at her soul? A person can only take so much before they snap, and when they do there's no telling what extreme measures they may take." His voice softened as he scrutinized Link with a knowing gleam in his dark eyes. "You share much in common with the Princess, Sir Link. You have felt the weight of the world on your shoulders, just as she has. And what do you do when you can no longer hold it up?"

Link swallowed thickly, blinking several times in quick succession as echoes of his own past thoughts resounded through his mind. I can't do it. I'm sick of all this. Wouldn't it be nice to be finished.

"You're saying that the Princess might want to… to give it up?" He couldn't manage to say 'die;' it was too terrible to imagine.

The General studied him solemnly. "The King does not know the burden she bears," he answered cryptically. "Now, I did not seek you out to discuss such things - I wish to give you advice. You must win this battle, Sir Link."

"I can't!" Link blurted out, panic flaring once again in his chest, a mad bird desperately fluttering to escape. "Sir, I'm too weak; I can't -"

"You can," the General insisted. "Weak, is it? Janin would certainly have you believe that, but he is mistaken. What he sees as weakness, I see as strength." His eyes narrowed, burning with courage and faith. "Do you have something to fight for, Link? Monsters have been a threat longer than you've been alive, but I've seen men with love in their hearts fight past the brink of what should have been possible. I've seen men fight on even after losing limbs; I've seen them fight with blood pouring from their gut. They fought for those they held dear - they fought for the chance to return to them, to see them safe and sound; they fought knowing who was praying so desperately for their victory, their safety, and who would suffer should they fall.

"Janin never understood this sort of strength. He believes that the blade endlessly hammered and honed will never break, and so he fought to have you battered on all sides, to have humanity and mercy - which he saw as weakness - beaten from your bones. But I -"

"Sir," Link interrupted firmly. "I'm not physically strong enough right now to take him on!"

"Did you hear nothing of what I just said?" the General huffed irritably. "If the Goddesses had been looking for physical strength, they never would've chosen you, boy! They seek - and have always sought - strength that comes from within. From the soul. Don't you see, you've proven me wrong! I thought you were nothing more than Janin's puppet from the first, but everything you've done, from getting that necklace to confronting the most powerful man in the kingdom, has proven to me that you possess every whit of the courageous spirit unique to Hyrule's heroes."

Link's face had burned hotter with each additional word out of the General's mouth. "I don't know if I do," he admitted quietly, his guts squirming in self-conscious discomfort.

"Clearly you've forgotten what drives you," the General growled. "Well, you'd best remember, and fast, because I'd rather not shake hands with Janin after this is all through." His voice lost its hard edge; his brow furrowed and he rested a gentle hand once more on Link's shoulder. "These are dark times, boy. We're all looking for a hero to place our hope in - not those arrogant meatheads parading around as noble knights."

Link received the fleeting impression that the General was referring to Groose. He blinked.

"I won't keep you any longer," the General sighed, heading up the passageway. "This leads up to the Sanctum. You're welcome to use it, or head back out to the hall, but I figured you'd want a way to get there unseen."

"I do - thanks," Link said quickly, hurrying up the steps carved into ancient stone after the hulking man before him. He didn't say anything, too stunned by the General's words and intimidated - as usual - by his commanding demeanor to initiate conversation.

The General was silent as well, walking with contemplatively narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, his grand gilded armor clanking with each step. He appeared to have entirely forgotten that Link was there until they reached the oaken door that, Link surmised, must lead into the Sanctum.

"This is it, then," the General murmured almost tiredly, his hand on the doorknob. "Find your fire and cleave to it."

Link nodded, feeling suddenly cold and alone and frightened as the General slipped through the door, leaving him in the darkness of the passageway.

Find your fire and cleave to it.

It was the only thing to do, wasn't it? Zelda's worth fighting for, right? No matter whatever's come between us. Choice… she always believed in me; she would never stand for it if I just gave up.

He closed his eyes - although it made little difference - and drew in a deep breath. His mouth was bone dry, and his heart was somewhere in his throat, pounding hard and fast and gaining speed as a knot of snakes wriggled in his gut. Deciding to try was a good deal more frightening than deciding to quit.

For Choice, and for Zelda, he reminded himself firmly, curling his hands into determined fists. Tears pricked his eyes and he wiped them away, drawing in as deep a breath as he could muster, trying to forge his grief into resolve. He reached for the doorknob, a cool sphere fitting neatly in his palm like the pommel of a blade, and twisted it open.

A low rumbling of conversation rushed, with the consistency of water burbling over uneven stones in a stream, through the Sanctum. The passageway emerged nondescriptly from beneath the grand, arched staircase leading up to the thrones and upper levels of the room, keeping him concealed in shadows as he pushed the door shut behind him (there was no knob on this side, just an unlit candelabra in the adjoining wall that he guessed acted as a lever).

The center of the grand hall, bearing the massive seal with the Triforce at its focal point, was deserted; it was there, Link assumed, that the battle would take place. The rest of the room was packed almost to bursting with knights and civilians of all races. Those who had travelled to Castle Town to witness Link's punishment had evidently not yet left and planned on watching his duel as well.

Craning his neck to the Champions' Hall on the second level of the Sanctum, Link caught a glimpse of Urbosa looking up at Daruk, the pair of them in deep conversation, with furrowed brows and grim expressions. Beside them, Link caught a fleeting glimpse of gray feathers, bearing testament to Revali's presence there as well; Mipha was, he realized, absent. Guests were packed in all around them, leaning eagerly over the short wall around the opening in the center of the hall, wrestling with young children to keep them from climbing over, waiting in excitement for the fight to begin.

The lower level was no different. People were packed together around the edge of the room, squished together so tightly that Link doubted they could breathe at all. Parents lifted their children on their shoulders to give them a better view, and for a moment Link's heart squeezed - They actually want their children to see something like this? Something so violent?

Then he realized that the presence of children was something reassuring. They must not be expecting anything too… too extreme. Perhaps we'll be using tournament rules, then - no bodily contact; bladework only.

I could handle that, right?

He gulped in a shallow, nervous breath, once again scanning the massive - and still growing - crowd of onlookers. Thrangus, standing with several other young squires, caught his eye and beamed. His parents, Farglus of Tabantha Village and his wife, offered fond smiles when he looked their way; they stood with several other members of the village, including little Marin, all of them identifiable by their thick fur cloaks, hats, and tunics making them seem twice as wide as usual. They alone in the crowd looked accustomed to winter weather.

Purah and Robbie, standing with several of the other Sheikah, weren't looking at him. Instead they seemed to be arguing, fiddling with some sort of double-spyglass contraption embossed with the usual swirling ancient designs, and the eyepieces glowing a strange blue. He caught a brief strand of their conversation as Purah's agitated high-pitched voice cut over the crowd - "No, that piece goes here!" - and felt a nervous sort of grin spasm briefly over his face. Looks like they're having fun with this.

His grin faded as he noticed, hovering over Purah's shoulder, the scarred young Sheikah warrior that he had seen so many months ago, at the meal in which King Rhoam had first asked if he would serve as the Hylian Champion. She looked exactly the same now as she had then - wearing traditional Sheikah attire, with her eightfold longblade strapped to her back, and her hard crimson eyes blazing. She was studying him carefully, her brow furrowed, a slight frown twisting her lips. Once again, she did not blend in with the rest of the crowd; the intensity of her gaze and the poise with which she carried herself set her apart. Is she… is she Impa, the leader of the Sheikah tribe? Purah's sister?

Dragging his eyes away from the formidable woman, he glanced back over the rest of the crowd. He spotted Pita, from the bakery he had visited with the Princess, standing arm in arm with a stout, clean-shaven man with his short, graying brown hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail. Pita looked worried but offered him an encouraging wave when she noticed him watching.

Feeling slightly less alone and afraid, he at last turned his attention to the empty space in the middle of the room. Captain Janin stood across the seal from him, dressed smartly in his own tournament apparel – half-plate armor beneath a sky-blue tunic bearing the Hyrulean crest in yellow, with elegant crimson designs at the hem, reminiscent of the Royal Guard uniform. He was surveying the crowd with a calm, confident expression, a small smile twisting his lips but a cold glint in his eyes. Without even looking at him, the Captain still managed to convey his disgust with the situation.

Several other people filling the Sanctum seemed to harbor similar feelings, if not outright hatred. Finely dressed nobles searching for a place to watch turned their noses up as they passed him, lips twisting as if they had caught a whiff of something particularly foul. Others across the hall were talking animatedly with their neighbors, heads huddled together, eyes trained on Link. Although they did not seem particularly hateful, they were clearly gossiping about him, and he tried to ignore them.

He waited, not daring to move from where he stood, for the next several minutes. He couldn't tell exactly how much time was passing, but as the crowd of spectators - some of them with snow still clinging to their boots, dripping all over the stone floor - steadily expanded, filling the room to its bursting point, he knew that the battle was bound to begin soon. He reached for the Master Sword's pommel at his waist, remembered it was hanging across his back instead, and let his hand fall.

A hush fell over the crowd and Link's stomach jumped. Heads turned towards the main entrance into the Sanctum and he looked in that direction as, surrounded by members of the Royal Guard and announced by the booming voice of the herald standing by the grand doors, King Rhoam and Princess Zelda entered the hall. A lump swelled in Link's throat at the sight of her. Although beautiful as ever, dressed in her formal dark blue gown and wearing the necklace Link had bought her, she still managed to look unhappy. No amount of powder, it seemed, could mask the red rimming her eyes, evidence of the tears she had shed. Even now her eyes glittered with the promise of more tears to come, and her gaze was downcast and her head bent as she followed her father to their thrones.

Rhoam himself bore the aura of an angry stormcloud as he strode up the elegant arching staircase. His thick overcoat billowed impressively behind him, creating a sound not entirely unlike thunder, and his dark eyes flashed angrily as if like lightning when he glanced in Link's direction. His brow was heavily, dangerously, furrowed, deepening the lines in his face to form a terrible scowl. Link felt a chill run down his spine; truly the King of Hyrule was an intimidating figure.

The General, standing beside Rhoam's throne, bowed courteously as the King approached. Rhoam didn't seem to notice and instead took his seat as Zelda took hers next to him. The Queen's throne had once stood where hers did now, but after her death it had been removed and replaced by a smaller one more fit for Zelda's position.

When the King remained silent, low burbles of conversation started back up again amongst the crowd, and before long the room was echoing with the thrum of conversation once again. Link's heart pounded wildly against his ribs and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Surely it's not long now. It's bound to start at any time.

The thought made him feel sick.

He watched nervously as the guards at the hall's entrance heaved the massive doors closed, preventing any more guests from entering. Nausea coiled like a writhing serpent in Link's stomach and he drew in a shaking breath, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to calm himself. I need to focus! There's no room for me to be nervous - not now! I have to - to remember why I'm doing this. Focus on it - cleave to it, as the General said!

He looked up to the two thrones raised above the room. Zelda still looked absolutely miserable; she was staring fixedly at her hands clasped in her lap. He saw a small tear drip down her cheek.

But as she glanced up and met his eyes for the briefest instant, he could see hope in her eyes and felt a peculiar burn of emotion stirring in his soul - determination - alien after the aching grief that had swept over him throughout the past days. The sensation swelled within him, melting away his fears, replacing them with grim resolution. She hasn't lost hope - she still has faith in me.

Janin and the King won't be enough to keep me from protecting her. I hope.

He inhaled again, feeling his pulse gradually beginning to slow back down to a regular speed. I can do this, he told himself firmly.

The massive bell high above their heads tolled, silencing the crowd with its deep, resonant tones. Ten times it rang out, and then silence fell.

Then King Rhoam stood up and took a couple of steps forward. His gaze flitted from Janin to Link, and he opened his mouth to speak.


Updated 7/8