Chapter 54: An Understanding

\-==/\==-/

Impa was bending over a familiar worn, thin book lying open on a Hinox scapula, along with several newer - and yet somehow even more worn-looking - books filled with notes and diagrams, when Link arrived the following morning.

"Ah," she smiled, looking up as he neared. "Good morning. Come closer - I believe I've worked out a plan for my correspondence with you."

Link squinted at her and hurried to join her, glancing down at the book on Thyphlo ruins - the same one Zelda had shown him all those weeks ago. The one written by his parents. "Erm… correspondence?" he repeated, dragging his gaze away.

Impa's lips quirked in a small grin with just the barest hint of mischief. "I suppose that word doesn't quite capture what I have in mind; I'm thinking more like a signal of some sort." She tapped a finger against a small design sketched in the book, a spiral with a tapering tic at one end. "This is a symbol found at nearly every Zonai archaeological site in the kingdom - every site except the youngest. Relatively speaking, of course.

"These youngest I refer to are three massive labyrinths located in remote areas across the kingdom. A few - very few - of the Sheikah records of the same time make references to these labyrinths, evidently some sort of collaboration project between the Sheikah and the Zonai to train the hero of the time. As a result, these younger structures don't quite have the same flowing, wild Zonai flair - they are more quadrate, more manufactured-looking. And the characteristic Zonai spiral design was altered - like this." She pointed to a drawing in one of the notebooks, detailing a spiral without a tic, with three fluted lines curving away from the outer ring. "I like the symbolism behind using this altered mark as a means of communication between us - since I, of course, am of the Sheikah tribe, and you have such mystical connections with the Zonai tribe; it's as if the old alliance has been reimagined.

"So," she went on, clearing her throat, "My current idea - granted, it's still a work in development - is that my messages to you will include this altered symbol upon them, in a different color of ink depending on the circumstance to add complication. Red for danger, blue for taking caution, and green for safe."

Link nodded slowly, beginning to catch on. "So when it's alright for me to visit the Princess again, you'll send me something with a green spiral on it."

"Exactly," Impa approved. "And the colors have a symbolism of their own, of course; the goddess Din is most commonly associated with power, and is often depicted in red. Nayru -"

"Is associated with wisdom, and she's blue," Link finished quickly. "And Farore is courage. Green."

Impa's smile contained a hint of pride. "It would take an enemy of considerable power to put you in danger. And I would consider caution to be, in most circumstances, a wise course of action. Courage… well, alright, I was thinking about it in reference to the heroes of the past, many of whom had strong ties to the goddess Farore. I… I suppose they must have faced great danger quite often, so perhaps there isn't a connection there to safety."

Link smirked. "Well, two out of three isn't that bad."

Impa rolled her eyes. "It's not even a passing grade, boy. My tutors would be rolling in their graves. Nonetheless, it's the best I can come up with at the moment. Keep an eye out for green - and until then, I have a new spell to teach you."

\-==/\==-/

The new spell was far more difficult than the spell of concealment. Instead of shadows, Link's task was to summon winds about himself, to mask and confuse the sound of his footsteps – something that didn't work very well in an underground chamber without even the gentlest breeze.

"If you can do it in here, you can do it anywhere," Impa encouraged him as he stood in the center of the Hinox prison, waving his arms around and feeling like an idiot. "However… I'll see about getting us a better place to train. Somewhere with a window, at the very least."

Link huffed in frustration.

By the end of the day, he hadn't managed to gather so much as a slight draft, and even Impa was getting frustrated as she attempted to demonstrate the spell and only barely succeeded. "Fine – let's just call it for today," she growled after an unsuccessful attempt. "The air in here – much too stale. Too dead." She pressed her lips firmly together, both brows pointed sternly downwards.

They parted at the top of the old, creaking wooden stairs, and Impa gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "Keep an eye out for my signal," she said, looking him sternly in the eye before straightening and walking away.

\-==/\==-/

His last day training with Impa was, he felt, in many ways surprisingly anticlimactic.

Expecting an intensive evaluation of everything she had taught him, he took extra care in stretching that morning, loosening up as much as he could before heading down to the Lockup. And indeed, Impa spent much of their morning in combat with him.

"I doubt it'll be much longer before we meet in Kakariko," she mused, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin as they took a quick break for water. "Depending on the weather, of course. Nonetheless, I must ensure that you are capable of continuing to practice on your own."

Link couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that – Deku powder was hardly a common material; he didn't want to use it too frivolously - but he said nothing, drinking deeply.

Once Impa was satisfied with the state of his combat skills, and after they had filled their bellies with a midday meal of smoked fish and white rice, Impa unbuckled a large pouch from her belt and handed it to him. "There's well over a hundred spells' worth of Deku powder in here. I expect it to last you several months of frequent uses. Practice regularly – all skills improve with appropriate repetition, and spellcasting is one of them."

Link raised an eyebrow at her, carefully fastening the pouch to his own belt. He still had quite a bit of Deku powder from the last bag she had given him. "Are you saying… I should visit the Princess every night?"

Impa lifted a brow at him. "If you make that little trip every night, someone is bound to notice," she reminded him sternly. "You know the Princess far better than I do, Sir Link. If she has need of your presence, if there is something that the two of you must discuss in private, then I believe you should use your new skills to make that visit. I will leave that to your discretion, however, and I trust you to make mature decisions. As I said - you know her better than I, and so it would be pointless for me to tell you when it is and when it is not appropriate.

"Admittedly, that makes my signaling ideas rather extraneous, but…" She drew in a thin breath through her nose. "I believe in preparing for any circumstance, no matter how implausible. You have a way now of determining whether or not a message you receive is or is not truly from me - the altered emblem of the Zonai, color-coded to match the overall tone of the content."

Link nodded. "So I won't be going every day. Then… how should I be practicing?"

"Use your imagination," Impa advised with a slight smile. "An interesting and amusing method you might try is going out into the Applean Forest for some hunting. Conceal yourself in shadow, bend the winds to mask your scent and the sound of your feet… give yourself a good shot, and make something of it. Rabbit meat is particularly delicious."

"But I can't… I haven't mastered the wind spell yet," Link pointed out, feeling a twinge of frustration. It would have been helpful if the King gave them a better spot to train before the month ended instead of apparently ignoring them.

"You know enough to get started," Impa waved him off. "That particular spell will be far easier out in the wilds than in here. I expect you to have at least given it a solid couple of tries before we meet again in Kakariko."

Link nodded resignedly. Good thing I know the concealment spell, then. No one to see me looking like an idiot.

They walked together out of the lockup, and Link felt an interesting mix of emotions. He was immensely relieved that he would no longer have to spend every day in the black pit of the Hinox prison, stifled by its dank, moldy atmosphere. But at the same time, it would be strange to wake up the next morning and know that he wouldn't spend the day training with Impa, learning some new arcane art or practicing the old ones, listening to tales of Hyrule in ancient days, sparring with a true artist of the sword. Impa was an incredible mentor, and he would miss learning from her day after day.

"Oh, good," Impa said, and Link looked up in surprise and confusion, thinking she had somehow perceived his thoughts. Then he saw - and his heart leap with delight - through the archway at the end of the hall an amber ray of light peeking between the miniscule crack between the two oaken doors leading outside.

"We finished early," he realized, involuntarily taking a half-step towards them.

Impa offered a tight-lipped smile. "I'd hoped we would finish in time; there's something waiting for you -"

"At the stables," Link finished, feeling his spirits sink slightly. "I've… been informed."

Impa's eyes narrowed, her gaze softening in concern. "I… I can see how it might be… difficult," she said quietly. "But at the very least, it might be better to get it over with. And… we do hope that… that perhaps it'll help, in some small way."

Link squinted at her, blinking. "I… yeah, I suppose." Timber? Well… I guess they're thinking that having something to do with my hands might… but it's been weeks – more than two months - since… all that …

With a final solemn smile, Impa gripped his shoulder and bent down to look him in the eye. "I truly believe that we - and the Princess - are in good hands, with you as the bearer of the Master Sword," she murmured, giving him a light pat on the back before letting her hand fall back to her side. "We'll speak again soon." Offering a curt, respectful nod, she turned and marched away from him, deeper into the bowels of the castle.

"Thank you," Link whispered into empty air. He felt a pang of guilt. I should've said that earlier - much earlier. Especially considering this… His gaze flitted down to the large pouch of Deku powder. Considering how much she gave me, in knowledge and resources.

His chest heaved with a deep sigh and he pushed open the heavy oaken doors opening out into the crisp even air. She's right about getting the timber. I might as well get it all over with now, do whatever they need me to do down there, and be done with it all.

The cold struck him like a solid wall and he stopped in his tracks with a grimace, icy pinpricks crawling up his arms and down his spine, pinching at his cheeks and slowly seeping through his tunic and trousers to engulf him fully. Yet his first breath held not the empty, frozen scent of a slumbering world, the scent that had infiltrated his lungs before the first snows. Instead, though patches of snow and ice still nestled against the shadows of the towering castle walls and clouds blotted out segments of the burning sunset, the gentle breeze carried with it the barest scent of something green, something warm and alive.

Rubbing his hands firmly together with a shudder, Link hurried out into the open, feeling a last puff of warmer air brush briefly against his back as he let the doors fall fully shut once more. He knew the path to the stables so well that he felt confident in his ability to get there from anywhere in the castle, even blindfolded.

Or… or in the middle of a blizzard, he thought grimly, feeling something dark and heavy closing around his heart.

For the first time he dreaded to find the familiar low wooden rooftops of the stables coming into view. And that dread coiled in his stomach like a writhing, nauseated serpent growing sicker and sicker the further he progressed along the wide path down the hillside. His feet were leaden, dragging with each step, until at last he stood before the doors, smothered in their shadow, and felt on the verge of vomiting. Old fears and worries and memories twisted around his soul, a hangman's noose tightening around his heart.

Years of blood and pain and darkness in the Illusory Realm, almost always followed by a visit to Choice's stall, huddling up against her for comfort; memories now painted black, tainted, by thoughts of blinding snow, cold that gnawed on his flesh with gusto, and ice - ice, and fear, and pain and grief that cut straight to the core -

The doors opened with a grinding groan and Link gave a start as a stable boy in a smudged tunic emerged with an empty sack slung over his back.

"Oh!" the boy squeaked, noticing him. "Sir Link, right? I… I didn't… you're here for…?"

"Timber," Link finished, trying to keep his features relaxed and impassive. "What exactly am I supposed to do?" Inwardly he winced; his voice had sounded gruffer than he intended.

But the boy didn't seem perturbed. "Master Taron's waiting in the tack room," he said, walking away. "He'll show you where to go."

Link nodded. "Thank you," he called, trying to put a bit more heart into his voice. Optimistically thinking, as he slipped through the doors, he had sounded much livelier that time.

Then the familiar warm, musty scents of horses and their food and bedding engulfed him, and he felt as if he was suffocating. And the sounds - tails swishing, hooves on wooden planks, whinnied greetings and low grumbles… His throat tightened; it was so difficult to breathe.

He tugged mindlessly at the neck of his tunic and strode towards the tack room as fast as he could without appearing too obviously in a rush. It wasn't far from the main doors, past the carriage house and records office, just before the stalls hosting couriers' horses. Upon stepping into the narrow room carrying the dusty scent of worn leather he felt sweat beading upon his brow despite the cold he had only recently escaped.

Taron, the stablemaster, was a large and once-intimidating man; now as he inched closer to his elder years, his stomach had rounded out and his hairline receded, and streaks of gray glittered in his moustache. He held in one hand a notebook and in the other a stick of charcoal as he studied the saddles, bridles, and blankets adorning the walls and jotted down notes.

Link slowed his pace, trepidation pressing his pulse faster, doing nothing to quell his queasiness. Feeling uncomfortably and painfully out of place despite the long hours he had spent here, he cleared his throat.

Taron jumped, nearly dropping his papers in surprise. "Sir Link! Merciful Goddesses, boy - I didn't hear you come in. You must be here for timber, yes?"

Link nodded, brows pressed together in a mixture of uncertainty and ongoing confusion. "I - I am, but… I really don't understand -"

"Oh, you will, you will," Taron chortled, shoving his notebook and charcoal into a massive pocket in his trousers. "Glad you showed up; it was getting a bit late. General said you'd likely turn up hereabouts sometime this evening, and he's not exactly a man you ignore, eh? But I was starting to doubt, I admit!" With a wide grin that deepened the wrinkles around his eyes he lumbered out into the hall and beckoned. "Right this way, Sir."

Link followed obediently; his confusion only mounted when Taron didn't take him back to the entrance or the carriage house, where he imagined repairs might require tinkering with wood - or rather, timber, as everyone seemed so keen to say. Instead, Taron took him to the stalls reserved for visiting horses - any horse either not bred at the castle or belonging to one of its temporary guests.

"Think you'll be happy with what you see," he said with a little chuckle. "My boys've had a pleasure tending to him. Truly a handsome beast - and with a heart o'gold to match."

Link froze, comprehension wafting through his mind like a crisp breeze. "It's… he's… a horse? Timber is a horse?"

Taron glanced over his shoulder, his brows pinched with good-natured befuddlement. "Well… yes, Sir. Yours." He stopped, gesturing down the corridor to one of the few occupied stalls.

Link's heart pounded faster, harder. In the split-second blink of an eye he saw Choice in his mind - Choice running from the black colt, Choice on the lunge line learning to follow his commands, Choice in her stall, ears pricked and eyes forward as he rushed to her side on the verge of panic, Choice plummeting beneath the black water -

I'm not ready. I can't do this.

His foot slid backwards involuntarily, and for a moment he considered turning tail and running back to his room. Sweat trickled down his spine and he shivered.

"So, what do you think?" Taron beamed, oblivious. And Link finally allowed his gaze to settle on the stall's occupant.

Timber was truly a magnificent horse. He was tall and broad, thick-boned and finely muscled, the very image of a powerful war horse. His coat was a very dark shade of brown that lightened around his muzzle and belly, contrasted by the midnight black of his thick mane and tail and, conversely, the white stockings down his legs ending in feathering around his massive hooves, which Link noticed as he drew hesitantly closer.

His sturdy neck arched gracefully as he regarded his visitors with dark, intelligent eyes that nonetheless bore more than a trace of gentleness. Link reached out with a shaking hand; curious, Timber leaned forward - bending down to make up for the height difference between them - and Link felt a puff of warm air from his nostrils as he took in his scent.

"I… I get that there's no replacing your old horse," a new voice chimed in uncertainly, and Link turned with a start to see Groose walking down the row of stalls towards them. "Or the bond you shared. But… but, I dunno, he's a great horse, and I… you need one."

"This… is your horse?" Link whispered warily, instinctively backing into Timber's shoulder.

Groose offered an awkward half-shrug with a sheepish smile. "Er… yours, now. But I suppose… yeah, he was sort of mine. My family's. We're all from that old ranch in Hyrule Field - Gronlon Ranch, run by my father, Gralon - maybe you've heard of him? Ranch was one of the best of its kind back in the day, and we haven't done too shabby ourselves. Timber was promising from the get-go, although when I went to my father and asked for his, er, best horse, Timber wasn't the one. Not spirited enough for a warhorse, he said." He cleared his throat. "Melidli helped me choose, actually, since she knows… a bit more about the situation than I felt comfortable sharing with Da. She didn't like the look in Leviathan's eyes - seemed a bit too hard, she said. Timber's just as capable as Leviathan, trained just the same, but more even-tempered. Not sure how he'll do in a real battle, but…" He shrugged again.

Link watched him carefully, scrutinizing for any trace of deceit. Timber sniffed his hair. I guess I'd hoped our paths wouldn't cross again, and now this happens.

But he could find nothing in Groose's expression but earnest hope and deep regret.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked finally, quiet. Taron, looking on, wasn't grinning anymore; he looked uncomfortable and shifted from one foot to the other.

Groose sighed. "Same reason I wanted to talk to you the other day," he explained. "And - and I'm not trying to… to buy forgiveness or anything - that wouldn't be right or genuine at all." His voice softened. "I'm just… I'm trying to… help, somehow."

And again, with a heavy heart, Link found himself contemplating Groose's situation and the nature of forgiveness. In this moment he believed Groose when he said he wasn't trying to buy favor; once again he was certain that the new Captain of the Royal Guard was being utterly sincere.

He looked up at Timber, who was watching the humans before him with naive curiosity. There was no replacing Choice, of course, but it was clear that Timber was an incredible horse in his own right, one that anyone with an eye for horseflesh would long to have the pleasure of working with. And the fact that Groose had made a point of choosing a horse with a kind disposition…

Link met Groose's anxious gaze and nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly, and he felt the words firm and steadfast in his heart.

A small, grateful smile played at Groose's lips. It wasn't forgiveness - Link couldn't manage that just yet - but it was as much as Link could do, and it was sincere.

It was enough.

\-==/\==-/

Note: Timber is based on the real-world Shire horse.


Updated 7/8