Chapter 46: Picking Up the Pieces

\-==/\==-/

Shadows wrapped the woods in a firm, cold embrace. Link could not see anything, so deep was the darkness, but he had wandered this forest so many times that he did not need a torch or the light of monstrous eyes to know that the gnarled old trees surrounded him. Ferns brushed against his calves, a whisper-light touch as he passed. An occasional low-hanging branch or bramble snagged at his hair and clothes, brief moments of resistance attempting to keep him from continuing onward. They never succeeded - he maintained his slow, cautious walk, inching along in the blackness.

It was the woodland of his childhood, the forest of his nightmares. And yet it was not - it couldn't be. For though he remembered the sound of heavy footsteps crashing through undergrowth, of anguished cries and pleas for help, of vicious snarls and the ring of razor-sharp blades unsheathed, this forest was silent. Dead. Lifeless. Even the plants at his feet and the crooked branches and thorns catching him as he passed made no sound. He could hear only his own breaths, and nothing more.

No wind murmured. No trees creaked or groaned beneath the weight of a hundred years. No animal, no other living thing, stirred the fallen leaves or scampered with the clack of small claws on wood across the branches blotting out the sky.

The silence was oppressive. Link could feel it pressing down on his ears, heard a peculiar ringing - the sound of nothing. Just as the darkness pushed against him, a physical force squeezing tighter like a constrictor's scaly coils, so too did the silence hold him in a vise, paradoxically loud, filling his mind with nothing.

And as he continued to walk, continued under the oppressive hand of the shadows, continued surrounded by the resonant silence, he began to feel ice blossoming from deep within his soul, slowly expanding outward, filling him, overtaking him with cold. It was a kind of cold that came from the void, from the absence of all light and sound and feeling, consuming the warmth of his body and leaving him hollow, broken. Each step felt heavier, each breath harder to draw.

With the cold, with the emptiness, came fear. He felt small - a bothersome insect in the shadow of a booted foot, helpless in the moment of his doom. He felt old - a withered pine clinging to a mountainside, having endured a lifetime of pain and suffering and helplessly watching the anguish of others. And he felt alone - a fledgling bird fallen from the nest, abandoned by his kind, rejected and forsaken by family, helpless in a world not meant for him.

It was impossible for him to remain standing, with the weight of the darkness pressing all the more firmly on his shoulders, and he crumpled to his knees without a sound. He felt dry, brittle leaves beneath his hand, felt the solid earth packed beneath them. Dead, cold, forsaken.

This was not a test of strength, he realized, nor of skill.

No, it was more, much more than that. It was a test of fortitude, of will and soul. And like all other trials he had faced, it had its roots here, in the woodlands of his childhood - a place of beginnings and endings.

He had proved his physical prowess. There was nothing more the forest could teach him about that. For many months now, he realized, it had been attempting to teach him something else. To teach him what it meant to love… and what it meant to lose.

Now, in the absence of sound and sight, in the absence of monsters and Zelda and Choice, he was discovering the strange agony of loss, of true loneliness, of the state of a broken heart, broken soul.

A soft sound - the first he had heard since entering this strange dream - caught his attention. The gentle brush of a light foot passing over leaves. Link dragged his heavy, aching head upwards, squinting into the darkness, and watched as two burning crimson eyes materialized out of the darkness high above where he knelt.

"Does the heart lose its feeling?" his shadow asked, his voice a gentle whisper. "Does the sun cease to shine, and the world cease to spin? Does color seep away, all life and light dissolve? When all has been lost and a spirit has broken… what happens then?"

Link could only stare up at his shadow silently. He knew the answer, but hated to admit it. He knew what had to happen next, but wished it were not so, wished that there was another way. His shadow's gaze did not falter, piercing straight into his hollow, empty soul without emotion.

"What happens then?"

\-==/\==-/

Light drew him from sleep. Unbearably bright, it burned against his eyelids, nudging him out of darkness and shadow. His eyelids twitched and he peered through his lashes, seeing nothing but white, painful and piercing. Grimacing, he turned his head away, dragging a heavy hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. Blinking, he opened his eyes wider and wider, and the details of the castle's infirmary bloomed into existence around him. Ancient stone walls, wooden beams across the ceiling, beds draped in white sheets, all of it bathed in pure pale light streaming from the large window to the back of the hall.

The infirmary was a long, rectangular room. Ronelda's supply cabinets stood near the main doors, adjacent to another, smaller set of doors leading to her and her assistants' private chambers. Protruding from the same wall as the cabinets, about halfway between the main doors and the window, was a large fireplace next to a small alcove filled with stacked firewood, with some space visible behind it. The rest of the walls were lined with cots, each with a simple, square night table upon which stood a pitcher, a ceramic cup, and a candlestick. The light from the window, large though it was, didn't reach the front end of the infirmary unless it was an exceptionally sunny day; to compensate for the lesser light, several chandeliers hung from the ceiling, evenly spaced between the front doors and the window.

The sun was out today, and far brighter than seemed normal. It struck the pure white snow outside, which reflected its light right back up at it and in every direction in between. The effect was blinding, as if the surface of the world had become one massive sun itself, projecting gleaming white light into eternity.

The window itself was heavily frosted over, feathery fractals painted across the glass, allowing only slivers of glimpses into the outdoors. As his eyes slowly adjusted he could make out the deep blue of the sky beyond the feathery dusting of ice.

Link lay quietly, turning his head back to face the ceiling. It was not unusual for the emotions evoked by his dreams to linger after he woke up, but it certainly felt odd to accept those emotions as normal. Normal for the last week, at least, he thought numbly, blinking slowly up at the wooden beams.

He didn't want to think. For this moment, at least, with the light streaming in from the window such a welcome contrast from the blackness from his dream, he was content to simply exist, breathing slowly, lying flat, feeling the ache in his muscles and the sting of his injured side and the sore throbbing of his back but paying none of them any attention further than acknowledging their existence.

He realized quickly that it wasn't just the light in the waking world that differed from the dark forest of his most recent nightmare. There was sound here, too - and not the grunts and shrieks of monsters or the ring of steel on steel. No… he closed his eyes, so as to better listen… distant shouts echoing up the stone walls of the castle, finding their way through the thick rock and the glass of the large window, into his ears.

His heart clenched for a moment, and a glimmer of thought - of dread - pricked at his numb mind. Muscles tensing, he pushed himself into a sitting position and then to his feet before he could lose his resolve; his vision went black for a moment and he swayed dizzily, his stomach lurching with the fear that he would fall over. The knife wound in his side was pulsing anew; the havoc it had been through had rendered the skin around it sensitive and badly swollen, and the wound itself felt raw from Ronelda's cleaning. Holding his hands, shaking, out at his sides, he resisted the urge to double over around the injury and instead focused on sliding his bare feet slowly over the cold ground.

He fought for each step, his body shuddering against his will from the effort it took to move leaden limbs worn past their capacity. He was still exhausted from his battle with Janin, from the strength he had dredged up from somewhere deep within where strength had not existed before, and did not exist now - not when he could barely move, not when he felt as if a strong breeze would be more than enough to bowl him over. With his left arm stretched out for balance, he leaned heavily on his right, which gripped the bedposts he passed as he struggled towards the window. The shouting continued, words indiscernible.

His overworked legs gave out and he slumped against the window when he reached it, the frozen surface burning against his skin through the thin material of the too-large nightshirt someone - probably Ronelda - had dressed him in while he lay unconscious. Shivering, he leaned against the window getting to his feet again and reached for the latch binding it closed. The blisters on his hands, he was relieved to notice, had nearly healed completely, and he worked the latch open with relative ease, pushing the window open.

A biting breeze drifted into the infirmary and he winced, recoiling instinctively and sinking to his knees. The shouts from far below remained indistinct, but he managed to raise his head far enough above the windowsill to see into the courtyard below. At once he realized that there was no malintent behind the cries he heard.

Daruk stood amidst the thick piles of snow, his grin visible even from this height. All around him were Hyrule Castle's squires, recognizable by their identical livery bearing the Hylian crest on the back. Other youth joined them as well - stable boys, and the children of the servants living at the castle, dressed in thick wool cloaks and hoods.

They were busy constructing a massive hill made of snow in the middle of the courtyard, Daruk gathering great armfuls and piling them around the sides while the larger boys used shovels from the stables to carry snow from pathways nearby to their hill, and the rest of the children merely gathered up as much as they could carry and, scrambling and sliding with yelps and startled shrieks of delight, packed them onto the very top. It was nearly as tall as Daruk by now, and Link thought he could see tufts of old grass emerging where the snow had been carried away in places. A stack of practice shields lay scattered beside the hill, probably to be used as sleds once the hill was tall enough.

"Should've known better than to expect you to stay put," a familiar voice growled from behind. Link's heart jumped and he looked over his shoulder to find Ronelda standing beside his bed, her hands on her hips and an almost rueful grin twisting up the corners of her stern mouth. With a heavy sigh she started forward towards him, her hard gaze landing on the open windows. "Thought you might've known better than that, boy - could catch your death in this cold. But I tell you what - I'll have someone come up and get rid of the frost here, and move a bed right up to the window." She studied Daruk and the children in the courtyard, and the lines in her face seemed to soften. "You're right about one thing - far more interesting to see what's out there than what's in here. But you shouldn't be up and about - not in your condition. So how's about you get into whichever bed's closest, eh?"

Link nodded, casting one last look at the scene in the courtyard and wondering what it was that he felt at the sight. Regret? Longing? Peace?

It seemed to him as though he was learning how to feel all over again; he could not identify what was going through his heart and soul.

Ronelda gripped his shoulder - carefully, avoiding the whiplashes - as he stood, supporting him as he struggled to move his feet forward towards the bed he had used during his last visit to the infirmary, after eating the poisoned fruitcake meant for the Princess. It was embarrassing, having to rely on Ronelda for something so simple as walking, but his legs were soon burning and shaking anew; he knew that he wouldn't have made it far without her help.

As soon as he was sitting down on the bed, with his back against the bedrest, Ronelda pulled the windows shut and fastened the latch holding them together, casting a stern glance in Link's direction as she did so. Link shivered again, feeling the warmth of the infirmary close around him.

"You're certainly quiet this morning," Ronelda noted, pouring water into a simple metal cup from a pitcher on the nightstand beside his bed. "Last time, as I recall, you were all but begging to get back on your feet, back to work… What's changed?" Her voice was polite, casual - kinder than he'd ever heard it before. Link didn't respond, maintaining his decision not to think about what had happened - what had changed, as she put it. He shuddered.

"Drink this," Ronelda ordered, handing him the glass. "You've not had much to drink at all for the past couple of days, I'm afraid. But I'm determined to see that change."

Link held the cup firmly in both hands, lifting it to his lips and taking a long drink. She was right - his mouth was dry and sticky, but at the first taste of water he felt cold new life, as it were, flowing through him. Rejuvenation.

"You've still not offered me an answer," Ronelda prodded gently, sitting on the stool resting beside his bed. "But… I think I know enough of what happened to understand. No need to explain." She went quiet for several moments, her gaze drifting back to the closed window coated in frost and now condensation. Link didn't mind, for when she was speaking, it seemed so much harder not to think.

"You've lost a lot; I'll give you that," Ronelda murmured at last, still looking at the window. "More than hardly seems fair for someone your age. I won't offer condolences - they don't help, I know, and I expect you'll grow tired of hearing them. Nor will I offer words of advice, for no matter my intentions or my past experiences, mine or anyone else's, I don't know exactly how you must be feeling, nor what would help the most. No person will go through the same experiences as another, and so they can't possibly know how it truly feels to experience another's life. The best we can do is try, and imagine."

Link's brow furrowed, and he fought against the rising pressure of tears behind his eyes. He tried not to think about what she seemed to be implying - that he was alone, always would be, no matter his efforts -

"There's one thing I think I can say," Ronelda admitted, finally turning from the window to look him in the eyes. "Once you've hit rock-bottom, there's only one way to go, and that's up. As I see it you have two choices - stay at rock bottom, where no one can hear you and no one can help you, where you are consumed by the horrors you've faced. Or you can start to climb, hard as it may be. You find something to hope for, some reason for climbing. Accept that there's nothing you can do that will change the past, and the only thing left for you is the future. Pick up the scattered pieces of your soul and weld them back together; let your memories fortify you in what way they can. It'll take time, sure, and when you reach the top the world won't look the way you remember it to be, but you'll discover your place in it. You'll discover a new sense of normal and move on from there."

Link's throat felt tight, as if a meaty fist had closed around it and was slowly squeezing. Those were the words he had not wanted to hear, but knew he needed to, desperately. That was the answer he had not wanted to give his shadow. When all has been lost and a spirit has broken… what happens then?

He swallowed with difficulty, allowing a single tear to trickle down his cheek. The last, he hoped. What happens then?

He saw, in an instant that flashed like lightning through his mind, the nightmarish image of his parents' mutilated bodies illuminated by Janin's torch. He saw Choice crashing through the ice to the river below, saw Janin's face twisted into a hateful snarl, saw the King's cold glare, heard the crack of a whip…

You keep breathing. You keep walking. You keep fighting. There's more to life than what's behind, and what's behind is beyond your reach for now.

I must make the choice to move on.

\-==/\==-/

His dreams were warm and cozy the next time he fell asleep. To compensate for placing him right next to the window, and the cold stone walls of the castle, Ronelda all but buried him in furs and quilts. Before he closed his eyes, she had him drink a mug full of hot tea smelling of lavender and poppy, herbs with properties that encouraged calm and rest; so it was that he drifted slowly, calmly, into a deep, dreamless sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

A gentle touch on his hand was what drew him back to consciousness. The sun was not so bright this time; it had hidden behind banks of clouds painting the sky a cold gray, sending pale, colorless light into the infirmary. Turning his head he saw who it was holding his hand, and his heart gave a small jump. Zelda sat at his bedside, staring absently out through the window, one hand thoughtfully cupping her chin while her other rested lightly on top of his. The dark sky and gray light drained the color from her visage, rendering her unnaturally pale and dim.

Link remembered with a jolt King Rhoam's warning to her, and his soul squeezed at the remembered sound of his hand striking her cheek. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered.

Zelda gave a start, turning to look down at him. "You're awake," she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I… I'm relieved."

"Your father -" Link started, but she shook her head.

"I promised him I wouldn't step through the doors," she said testily. "General Hawkwood was kind enough to show me another way in."

The General…? Caught off guard, Link shook his head, refocusing his thoughts. "I don't think your father will see it that way! What if you get caught?" An image of Groose holding the Sheikah Slate flitted through his mind.

"I won't," Zelda assured him. "The General's worked everything out - he's placed his own men as guards outside, protecting you. You know, since the Yiga attempted to kill you once, they might do so again… Regardless, if anyone comes in, they'll pound the end of their halberds once on the ground as a sign for me to get back into the passageway leading up here. And you don't have to worry about them - the General's men are far more loyal to him than the Royal Guards are to Janin. They won't sell you out." There was a dark glint in her eye and a sour tone in her voice; Link could tell that she, too, was thinking about how Groose had caught them.

"Why would he go against the King like that?" he protested, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of it. After he scolded me about what I did…

"Because he's not," Zelda said. "I promised my father not to go through the doors into the infirmary. General Hawkwood was given no orders against what he's doing." She winced. "So… yes, it's a bit underhanded, but my father won't find out. And even if he did, he trusts Hawkwood. It's… it's because of him that my father was convinced at all to let you remain as my kight."

Link nodded slowly, but worry was still gnawing at his heart. Now it's you and the General risking yourselves, and… I don't want either of you getting in trouble about this. "I still don't think you should be doing this," he mumbled. "It's - it's too exposed - what if the Yiga try to get you again?" I'm not strong enough to protect you.

"I'm not unprotected," Zelda protested. "Impa - Purah's sister - convinced my father that greater measures needed to be taken regarding my safety while you're still… off duty. She's assigned several of her own warriors to protect me, and they're here now, just… out of sight. She assures me that they'll keep my secret, and that they'll protect me better than any other guards." Zelda paused, studying him closely, her brow furrowing slightly as a glimmer of regret darkened her eyes. "Link, I… I should have been by your side throughout all of this. Not just now, after… well, not just now."

Link's heart clenched. Here it was - more of what he didn't want to think about. He blinked, swallowing thickly, and allowed the thoughts - the split-second memories - to pass through his mind. And let them go, and took another breath, and turned his attention back to Zelda. "I know you would have if you had been able," he murmured. "But… I saw the guards outside your door. I… I understand why." He remembered the doubts he'd had about her, about whether or not she had forsaken him as well; now, as he regarded her carefully and noted the regret and guilt in her gaze, he felt a stab of guilt in his own soul. She wouldn't. Not after everything we've been through. I shouldn't have doubted.

"How are you, Link?" she asked, her brows pinched together with concern. "How are you, really?"

A difficult question to answer. He felt something swelling in his throat, a lump of emotion that pricked at his eyes as he assessed himself, attempting to find a response. "I… I can't say," he admitted at last, avoiding her gaze. "But I'm… I think… it's going… better, at least."

Zelda nodded slowly. "That's… good," she whispered, giving his hand a light squeeze. "This… well… it all reminds me about how it felt when… when my mother died. Nothing… nothing was ever the same…"

Link shook his head. "No, it won't be the same," he said quietly, thinking about how heavily he had relied on Choice for support, about the comfort that came from knowing that Janin, rough as he was, had an eye out for him. "I… I won't… I know that things won't ever be the way they used to be. But… I hope… that it'll be… that I'll learn how tobe alright again."

Zelda nodded again, a soft smile slowly curving her lips. "I'll hope for that as well," she murmured. "And… until then, Link, I… I'm here for you. I promise."


Updated 7/8