Heyo! It is I, the bearer of angst and slow-burn. I am currently reaping what I sow bc I am dying slowly so like, karma I guess. Here's some more pain. Enjoy. ;)

They collapsed to the ground with twin groans of relief, landing in a heap of dust. Hazen flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky. "Why . . . just, why . . ."

Irene's voice was hoarse from the first time she'd screamed--out of genuine fear. All the others were because the redeads had been in shadow, and only their raspy voices had let her know where they were. Which was really great for Hazen's eardrums, especially when the redeads were within a foot of Irene, who'd stuck to Hazen like a burr the entire time. He rubbed them now, numbly, trying to work some of the ringing out.

Irene sat up with a groan, rubbing her head. "Can we get going? I don't want those things to reappear and crawl up the ladder."

"They won't," Hazen said, without moving. "Link said they'd stay dead after we give them what they want."

"What does a . . . a--what did you call them?" She squinted at him.

"Redeads."

"What do redeads even do with beans? Or milk, for that matter? It's a little late for them."

A snort was the reply, along with a tired smile. It was rare that Irene cracked a joke, and part of Hazen wanted to appreciate it more, but his limbs were like lead. But they had to get moving. Groaning, Hazen pushed himself to his feet and extended a hand to Irene.

Once on their feet, they rounded the corner of the castle--which was a lot bigger than Link had made it sound. They stared up at the massive structure for a few moments, until Hazen continued on to the front gates. Irene jerked and followed after only a short hesitation. "Wait! You're just . . . walking in through the front door?"

"Link said he killed all the monsters and purified the castle," Hazen tossed over his shoulder. "We shouldn't run into any problems."

"Still," Irene muttered, sticking close to him, just in case. Her hand found his arm, and though he didn't say anything or pull away, she felt his eyes flick to her before turning forward again. She swallowed, feeling her cheeks heat as her mind turned to their journey there.

She knew she was jerking him this way and that, acting cold and aloof and then making him think . . . She felt bad, but it was confusing. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself, a cruel voice said in her head. Irene shoved it back down, tried to silence it, but the words lingered on, and she sighed. What was the point, anyway? Even if she could forget them, Hazen was right there beside her, a constant reminder of a dozen different things, all of which made her want to hide away.

That they were probably going to die by a crazy mask hell bent on destruction. That there were other worlds, other . . . timelines besides hers. That she was attracted to him. That she could never have him, even if they did defeat Majora. She wanted to run back to her Gram and escape into her warm embrace, and forget the obvious.

But she couldn't go back to her Gram. And it was because of Hazen.

It was hard, in the beginning. Irene let her gaze wander over the dark, cold stone walls of the castle. Hard not to blame him for her circumstances. It wasn't his fault, not really. But most of her attitude with him had come from that, and once her anger had faded, it had become almost fun to tease him. And now, when he thought she couldn't see and he shot her those looks, she felt her chest tighten.

They turned onto a staircase, and the incident in the inn came to mind. Irene was consumed with how warm Hazen's hand had been in hers that her foot slipped, and she felt herself tipping backwards--

--right into a hard chest.

Irene closed her eyes, swallowing, as she felt Hazen's heart thundering against her back. What is it with me and falling down stairs? she thought, righting herself quickly. "Sorry," she said, but Hazen just gave a short laugh.

"You know, I won't always be there to catch you," he said, then went still. His cheeks colored, and he cleared his throat. "You know, to--to keep you from falling."

Irene's lips twitched, but her witty response fled in the wake of Hazen's expression. Gods, he was so . . .

She let out a breathy laugh. "Guess you'll have to stick close, then."

She pushed past him, if only to hide the burning of her face. Gods, why had she said that? His shocked laugh chased her up the stairs, and at the top, she took the moment alone to lift her face to one of the broken windows. He was doing something to her, and by the way his face was still red when he passed her on the landing, he had no idea.

Gods.

Hazen cleared his throat. "We should keep moving. This place isn't the best spot for camping."

Desperate for a topic change, Irene asked, "What is it we're looking for again? I thought we didn't even need to go through here to reach Stone Tower."

"Technically, we don't," Hazen answered. "But Link said there's something here that would make that trip easier somehow. And from the way he talked about Stone Tower . . ." he glanced at her, and Irene found herself grimacing.

"We'll probably need it."

"Right," Hazen muttered.

They kept walking until they came to a door, and through it they ended up on the roof. Shading her eyes against the sun, Irene said, "What now?"

Hazen didn't answer, and when Irene turned she found him standing at the center of the roof, staring down. "Hazen?"

He looked up. "We have to jump."

"Jump?"

Hazen stepped back to let her see through the hole in the roof, which led down into a large room. "I'll go down first, then you jump down. I'll catch you."

Irene's first instinct was to argue, but they didn't have time for that--literally. So she swallowed down her protests and nodded. Hazen prepared to jump down, but before he lowered himself, he caught her chin with his fingers gently. "Irene. Don't worry."

The shock of his fingers against her skin made her jolt, flushing, and he let go, his eyes darkening slightly. He lowered himself down without another word, then called up, "All right, come down."

Muttering to herself, wishing the heat in her face would go away, Irene positioned herself and turned so she was facing Hazen, and let go.

It was almost like flying on her broom, except she had no control over this descent, and the sudden feeling of fingers digging into her hips and ribs was unfamiliar. Her body crashed against a hard chest, and slowly she was lowered until her feet touched the ground. Irene peeked her eyes open, looking up, and found Hazen's face inches from hers.

The breath left her lungs, leaving her capable of only staring--at least until they broke away, jerkily, hands trembling and cheeks flushed.

Irene turned away swiftly, not wanting him to see how much he affected her. It was getting harder and harder to hide it--he was unraveling her, and the more he touched her, the more she wanted to come undone. She swallowed hard, trying to remember why it was a bad idea: he was from another world, they were fighting a demon mask, they would have to say goodbye--either peacefully or violently, it was going to happen. But none of it stuck, and all she could think of was how badly she wanted to kiss him.

Irene let out a shaky breath, wringing her hands, and turned. Hazen's face was still red, and he could barely look at her, but a moment later something stole both their attentions' and held them.

The room was large, half-burned curtains allowing half-hearted light to stream inside. Dust motes floated lazily in the sun shafts, and the sound of wind was their only companion--if one didn't count the skeleton sitting in the throne at the head of the room, at least.

The heat in her face forgotten, Irene drifted closer to Hazen, lighting her palms with subtle magic. Hazen's hand ghosted over his sword hilt.

"No need for that."

Only biting her tongue kept Irene from making a sound. The skeleton didn't move, but then, she supposed it didn't really need to. There was no one else in the throne room, after all.

"Who are you?" Hazen called.

The skeleton surveyed them a moment, then said, "I was once Igos du Ikana, the King of Ikana Kingdom."

The man at the top of that canyon flashed into Irene's mind, his words echoing like dry bones. They spied on the hilltop castle with the bloodstained history. This was the king of that castle? The castle they now stood in?

Sudden discomfort surged through her, and she tried not to fidget. Hazen shot her a glance, addressing the undead king. "We're friends of Link. He told us you could help."

"I suppose that depends, doesn't it," Igos said, voice raspy. "What you need help with could require very little, or very much, of my assistance."

"We need to get to Stone Tower Temple, but not to conquer it," Hazen answered, amazingly not outwardly perturbed by the king. Irene supposed it helped to be royalty himself. "Link already did that. We're just looking for information. As the king, he thought you could help."

The king said nothing, simply waved a hand for Hazen to continue. With a glance at Irene, Hazen did so.

"What do you know of Majora?"

A beat of silence, and Irene swore the shadows quivered. "An ancient demon," Igos said, not moving. "Malicious and primeval. It was there at the beginning, and it shall see the end."

"Right, but, anything useful," Hazen pressed. "Like what its history is? Where it came from? How to kill it?"

"How to kill it I do not know," Igos said in his slow, raspy cadence. "Its history is its own, all recording lost beyond finding. Where it came from is not known to me, but I am not the oldest being in this land. Perhaps in the cursed temple lies the knowledge you seek, and perhaps not. Only time will tell."

"Time," Hazen muttered. He sighed quietly, thinking, then bowed to Igos. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Your help is appreciated."

"Remember what I said," Igos merely answered. Hazen smiled.

"Nonetheless."

Hazen then turned and led Irene from the room. Neither of them spoke on the way out, or even when they traveled back through the well. A few times, Irene glanced at him, watching the way his eyes flicked from one thing to another along the path.

For the first time, she wondered what it was like to be royalty. What it was like to grow up knowing everyone answered to you--expecting them to. How it felt to know he would rule the world one day. Did it ever scare him? Did he think he was ready? Did he want it?

Glancing at him again, she felt her lips pull into a slight smile. It suited him, Irene thought. He walked like how she imagined a ruler would walk: straight-backed, head high, eyes forward. Pride and power were obvious, and wealth glittered in the rubies on his sword hilt. Before it might have bothered her, how he wore his identity so clearly. Before, it had bothered her. The wealth he put on display, almost as a taunt to those less fortunate. To her, and her Gram.

But she knew him now.

She knew he had a kind heart, that he protected his friends and the innocent before himself. She hadn't forgotten how he battled Majora to keep her and the village safe, just hours after landing there himself. Or how he always put himself in the line of fire first, even if it was a little annoying. He had a protective instinct, a drive to take responsibility, and it didn't matter if he'd known someone ten minutes or ten years--he'd proven that with Irene.

He was even funny, when he tried. Or, more accurately, when Irene could focus enough on what he'd actually said. He was smart, intuitive, courageous, attractive, and he turned her inside out. He made her mind run around in endless circles, from wanting to hit him to imagining what he tasted like when they were alone.

Like right now.

Irene wondered what he was thinking now. She knew he hadn't wanted to separate from Saval and Tessen--was he worried about them? Was he thinking about Majora? They'd lost a day; the sun was setting beyond them, bathing the canyon walls in orange as they exited the well.

She accepted his hand to pull her up with a tired sigh. "We should get to Stone Tower soon, and camp there tonight," he said. Irene simply nodded, not trusting herself enough to answer further. Hazen looked at her a second longer before turning with a quiet, "Right."

They followed the path, avoiding the Gibdos, and came up to a disturbing carving in the canyon wall. A steep ramp led up to an opening, and with a quick glance, Irene and Hazen faced it fully. But neither went through.

"Look, I just wanted--"

"You don't have to--"

Both blinked at each other. "Y-you first," Hazen stammered.

Heat crawled up Irene's neck. "I--I just wanted to say that . . . I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't--you didn't--I mean--"

"Right," Hazen said quickly, his face growing red. "No, I--you're right, I just didn't want you to feel like--like you had to, or . . ."

Silence fell for a few awful seconds, and then they both jerked forward. Stumbling, Irene gestured for Hazen to go first. When he passed, Irene cursed the sky before following.

The silence was unbearable--awkward enough that the shock of seeing Stone Tower fell on blind eyes for the first few seconds. Then a boulder crashed, and suddenly all of Link's warnings made sense.

"What in the Goddesses' blood is this," Hazen muttered, too blown away to even cringe at his own curse. His mother would have swatted him for that one, but in the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. Stone Tower was everything Link had said, and somehow a thousand times worse.

"How did he even do this?" Irene groaned, leaning over the side slightly. Pitch blackness met her eyes. "Ugh," she muttered, leaning back into safety.

"Don't fall down," Hazen said, voice dead. He sighed, long and deep, scrubbing his fists into his eyes. "Okay. Okay. This isn't that bad. We just . . . let's just get across first, away from these boulders, and then we'll make camp."

'This', in Irene's opinion, was cucco shit. Stone Tower was less a tower and more a hollowed out mountain sticking straight up into the sky, complete with falling boulders, huge pits with no foreseeable bottoms, and platforms hanging suspended over those pits with no bridges. Not even a rope.

Irene had had quite enough of 'this', and she'd hardly even crossed the threshold. But Hazen was right--they needed to get to a place where a boulder wasn't smashing into the ground some feet away from them every few seconds, and dusk was settling in fast. So she swallowed her complaints and followed Hazen across.

The first jump was harrowing--no other way to put it. She'd barely made it, and only by digging her nails into Hazen's arm had kept her from falling over the edge. She stalked to the center of the platform, swearing all the way, and hissed, "This is stupid."

Holding her hand outward, ignoring Hazen's questions, she focused her energy inward, searching for what she knew was there. Come on, she thought. The boulders crashing faded out, Hazen's voice muted, and as soon as she felt the first spark, it was all around her. Breathing in deep, Irene blew out her breath, and felt the air around her respond.

It blew wisps of her hair across her face, and she smiled. It whispered to her, voiceless, but it spoke all the same. She felt her embarrassment and frustration fade away, gone with the wind, and almost felt lighter for it. She turned and opened her eyes. "Come on. Let's go."

Hazen approached slowly, his eyes fixed on her face, and there was something about it, something about the way she felt, that didn't make her feel too hot, or twitchy. "What did you do?"

Irene felt her smile grow. "I made us a bridge."

Hazen scanned the empty air before them. "I don't see one."

Lips twitching in a smirk now, Irene shrugged and stepped into open air. Hazen gasped and lunged, seizing her arm before she fell. But she wouldn't fall.

His expression made her laugh out loud. "It's an air bridge," she explained, as his gaze roved over her feet hovering over thin air. "I changed the air currents so that they buoy us while we cross."

"Amazing," Hazen breathed, smiling. It lit up his eyes. The wind ruffled his hair a bit, teasing it into his eyes, and Irene's smile got a little softer. "How did you do that?"

His eyes on her were almost too much, but she wasn't embarrassed. Magic was something she could never be embarrassed about. She rolled her eyes at his question. "I'm a witch, remember?"

His laugh chased her across the air bridge, and he watched her closely while she made the next one. She snorted when he waved a hand across her face as she concentrated. Once on the other side, Hazen pulled her across, his fingers warm through her robe. For a moment, she didn't move, and he didn't let go, and Irene felt some of that heat come back.

His fingers twitched on her arm, and he let her go slowly. "We'll camp here tonight," he said, voice low. "Start our search again in the morning."

Irene gathered the last of her fleeting courage and met his eyes. That was a mistake.

His face was inches away, and as she raised her head, her mouth almost brushed Hazen's. He froze, not realizing how close they'd been standing, but he didn't move, and it felt like Irene was glued to the ground, unable to move even if she'd wanted to. And Goddesses, she didn't want to.

But she had to. Irene lowered her gaze and stepped back, and Hazen did the same, and they both busied themselves with setting up camp. The respite gave Irene the chance to breathe, play catch up. She'd had a lot of time to think about him, how she felt about him, and when she thought about his face so close, his breath fanning over her jaw, it was so easy--too easy--to face the truth.

She wasn't mean to him because she disliked him. No, she was nasty because she was afraid. Afraid to lose him, afraid that she would have him and then he would slip through her fingers. She remembered how she'd felt earlier that day, when he'd held her hands and told her she healed people, not killed them, and felt that first crack in the wall around her heart. And even earlier, when he'd shoved her out of the way of the bomb mice, and they'd argued. She'd nearly cried for him then, only barely keeping herself in check.

She'd had to be tough to provide. Her Gram needed her. Only Link had ever really seen her softer side, and even then she shut it down quickly. But with Hazen, it surfaced all too easily. He had a way of puncturing her strongest defenses, and her reaction had been immature--to lash out, to push away. Alienate. She couldn't let people in, because it hurt too much to lose them later. Like when she'd lost her parents.

But the longer she'd spent with Hazen, despite their fights, her harshness and their awkwardness, the less she wanted to keep the walls up, and so they came crashing down around her. So why did she still fight?

Irene glanced at Hazen. He was sitting by the fire, trying to get it to catch on the dry leaves he'd gathered. Guiltily, Irene slid closer and lit the fire with her magic, shooting Hazen a small smile.

His lips twitched upwards, and as the fire grew, coaxed by Irene's sparks, and she watched Hazen take out his mercury sword. For a long moment he simply held it, running a finger along its edge.

"Do you miss it?"

Irene blinked. "Miss what?"

Hazen lowered the blade, staring out at the sky and all its stars. "Home."

Oh. Irene looked down, watching her finger draw circles in the dust on the ground. "Always."

She peeked at him, and found him smiling, even if it was a little sad. He glanced over at her briefly. "Do you have any siblings?"

Irene shook her head. "No. My . . . parents died when I was young, so . . ."

She trailed off, her voice tight, and Hazen was getting that look in his eyes, the one everyone got when she talked about her parents, so she forced a smile to her face. "What about you? Any siblings?"

Irene was glad he was so smart. He picked up on the cue immediately and looked away, huffing a laugh. "Yeah. Two brothers and a sister."

His expression, that half smile with the memories playing behind his eyes, was so potent that Irene caught herself matching it. She leaned forward, propping her chin up on her knee. Hazen caught her raised brow and laughed again.

"Dinsel and Faroe are the troublemakers. Twins. They're always getting into some kind of mischief. You would like Dinsel," he added. "The two of you would be unstoppable."

"They don't sound so bad."

"Just wait till you're the one standing in their way," he snorted, and Irene laughed. She watched how his smile persisted, how his eyes softened and he lowered his head, nodding to himself.

"Yeah the twins are a lot, but . . . Nayra is the baby. She's eight now, but . . . she's the sweetest kid I've ever seen."

Something about the way he said that, some flicker of a memory, dimmed the light in his eyes. Irene cocked her head, scooting a little closer. "Is she all right?"

Hazen took a slow breath. "Yeah, she's all right, I just . . ." He seemed to fight with himself for a moment before exhaling deeply.

"When she was just born, I . . . there was an attack on the castle. Some monsters slipped through, got into our rooms. My mother woke up and fought it, but . . . not without casualties." He swallowed hard. "Her close friend, Karane, was killed."

Oh. Irene put her hand on Hazen's arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't--I didn't know."

Hazen let out a small laugh, though the pain on his face was clear. "It's fine. Like I said, they're both okay. It's just a hard memory for me, and our family."

"I can imagine," Irene said, her heart twisting. Her own memories rose up, like black smoke swirling through clear water, and she found her voice speaking words she'd only ever told one other person.

She tried to keep it steady, but her voice trembled despite her efforts. "When I was twelve, my parents . . . were killed in a monster attack," Irene said, staring at the flames as if they held the answers. Her hands wrung themselves, hanging between her knees. "They were in the village, distributing herbs and poultices. When the monsters came, they stayed and fought, but . . ."

Speaking became difficult through her tight throat, so Irene looked up at the sky, blinking rapidly. Swallowing felt like eating a stone. "They weren't fighters," she managed, finally glancing at Hazen. "They were healers. They didn't know a thing about killing, or . . . or hurting, but they still . . ."

She broke off, a hand raising to cover her eyes. Even now, with him, she had to hide. When she was sure she had a grip on her emotions, Irene lifted her face. A tear slipped through, though, and left a cold track down her face.

"When I told Link, he stormed out. Didn't say a word to me or Gram," Irene said, smiling wetly. "He came back hours later, drenched in monster blood, a dozen open wounds all over him. When I was done healing him, he just . . . hugged me and left. We've never talked about it since."

There was a short silence, shared by remembered pain, and then Hazen spoke. "When you cried over those mice, it was because of them. Your parents."

Irene wiped her face. "Yes."

Another memory made its way forward, and it coaxed a laugh out of Irene. "Link used to make fun of me for not killing bugs. He called me 'the nicest mean witch' he'd ever met."

Hazen joined her laugh, but it faded too soon, and for a long time, the only sound was the crackle of their fire and the distant rumblings of the boulders. Now that she'd spoken of them, Irene's parents were all she could think of.

Her mother's long blue hair, usually tied back in a loose tail, swinging behind her as she showed her daughter how to crush herbs with a pestle. Her father's calloused hands showing her how to properly skin a rabbit. Their voices, swirling and melding together until she couldn't pick their cadences apart anymore. Their faces faded into blurry, vague images, twisting and reforming into a new face.

Irene took a breath and found a smile, somewhere deep in herself, and turned to Hazen. He'd gone back to staring at his sword, and the shadows in his eyes were deeper. "You remind me of him," Irene said.

"Who does?"

"You do."

"Of who?"

"Link."

Hazen didn't respond immediately. His fingers tapped the blade, and he offered a tight smile. "My father was the hero."

Ah. Irene didn't answer, sensing Hazen wasn't done. And when it was clear she was giving him time, he heaved a sigh. "He was this . . . great hero who saved the world, along with my mother. They stopped the villain, won the war. I don't . . . I don't know if I can do that."

The first thing that came to mind was to ask him if he really needed to. Then the reality of their circumstances set in, and Irene bit her tongue. Hazen had stopped talking, but his shoulders were tense, and his gaze was fixed on the blade again. He looked the same way he did when he wanted to talk, but was holding himself back.

"What was it like? The war?"

Hazen looked at her, surprise evident. But his shoulders loosened, and Irene suppressed her smile. "I don't know. I was born shortly after it ended."

He looked down again, uncertainty making its way into his eyes, and he added, "But there are plenty of stories . . .?"

Irene answered with a tilt to her head, mouth lifting upwards. Hazen felt his own lips pull up, and nodded a little.

"It started when my grandfather's old advisor returned to the empire," he began. "He'd gone missing around the same time my mother, Zelda, ran away."

"Why did she run away?"

Hazen tapped the side of his head, but when Irene raised a confused brow, he gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry. I'm used to a crown being there."

"Ah. So she ran away from the responsibilities?"

Hazen nodded. "She was sheltered her whole life, kept away from the world after her mother was murdered."

"Who killed her?" Irene couldn't stop the question.

Hazen winked, sending butterflies through her stomach. "No spoilers. We'll get to that, eventually."

It took a long time, and Irene could tell Hazen was unsure about some parts. It had all happened before he was born, after all, and it was a lot to remember. But Irene listened to it all, amazed and trying to keep her questions down. They sprung up anyway, and though he was exasperated at being constantly interrupted, Hazen answered them all . . . eventually.

"Wow," Irene said, when it was over. She'd brewed some tea during the story, and by now it was well into the night. "That was pretty amazing."

Hazen nodded quietly, nursing his cup of tea. Irene tried to catch his gaze, but he avoided her eyes. "The Battle on the Water was always my favorite part," he said. "Something about it always stuck with me."

"Urbosa's death seemed to be a driving force for your mother," Irene offered.

"She'd only just met her," Hazen said. "And taken away, just like that." He sighed. "She always says it's over now, but I know my mother still hates Ganondorf for that. Yet another person he stole from her."

The others--Mipha and Lulu, the other Champions, Raven, Nabooru and Rauru--came to mind, and Irene scooted closer. Her leg extended, the toe of her boot tapping against Hazen's. "You know, things like that don't just . . . go away. When I think about the monsters that killed my parents, even though they've been dead for years, I still feel angry. Hurt. It's hard to forget," she added gently.

"Especially when there are those who still remember," Hazen muttered. Irene's brows pulled together. "What?"

Hazen shook his head. "Nothing."

Irene took his hands, surprising them both. "Look. I--I know it's hard. But worrying about what people think of you won't help anything. Besides, why should they have lofty expectations of you in the first place? I didn't hear about any of their heroic deeds during the war." She scoffed to drive the point home, and it brought a bright smile to Hazen's face. "As if they get a say in what you do with your life."

"Right," Hazen said, and Irene caught a sarcastic streak in his voice, "Only a crazed mask gets that privilege."

Irene let out a surprised snort. "Exactly."

Their eyes met, and the sounds of their laughter bounced off the walls of the Tower, and it dawned on them that Irene still held Hazen's hands.

Irene thanked all the gods that it was so dark as her face flushed red. She gently untangled their hands, but not before Hazen's thumb rubbed her palm. His fingers left streaks of heat across her skin as he let go, and as soon as he was gone Irene wanted nothing more than to hold him again. She shot him a quick glance and found his eyes on her face, the blue sparkling like sapphires.

His smile faded into something softer, the sight of it sending Irene's nerves into a frenzy. She swallowed, hoping he couldn't see how red her face was, and she realized she was still close. Very close.

Meeting his gaze took more courage than she wanted to admit, but once there she found she couldn't leave. Her chest grew tight, and she felt her fingers twitch in the dirt, wanting to pull her all the way in.

Hazen's eyes flicked from hers to her mouth, his throat bobbing, and Irene's heart stopped. He'd looked at her like that on the stairs, and when she'd almost rolled off the cliff that morning. He took a breath, and--

Rocks skittered down the tower walls and Hazen leapt to his feet, sword drawn. Irene lit her hands with blazing light, her heart in her throat. She shined the light in every direction, the heat in her gone with the wind, replaced with cold fear.

They scanned the shadows for several long moments, but nothing came forward. No glowing yellow eyes, no breath of flame. Hands shaking, Irene swallowed the stone in her throat and backed toward the fire.

Hazen did as well but kept his sword out. "I'll keep watch tonight," he said, voice tight. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah, right," Irene muttered, rubbing her arms. The same adrenaline that had flooded her body moments ago was gone, leaving her shivering and unsteady. Hazen noticed and removed the jacket he wore, placing it on her shoulders. He hesitated behind her before sliding his fingers beneath her hair and lifting it up, over the collar of the jacket. His touch left little flames on her skin, making her shiver.

He let out a short breath as Irene turned. "What about you?"

Hazen cleared his throat, looking away. "I'll be fine. I've got the fire you made."

Irene raised a brow. "You know I can make plenty more, right?"

That did it. Hazen's eyes cleared of fear and uncertainty and he laughed a little. "Chivalry is only dead because you're killing it, you know."

"Chivalry is dead because it's often used as an excuse for less desirable interactions," Irene shot back, and Hazen raised his hands.

"Fine. You win. This time."

Irene snorted in response, settling down on the ground. "Wake me if there's anything," she said, because she couldn't quite dispel the fear in her. Hazen nodded, his own reflected in her eyes, and with a last short breath, Irene closed her eyes.

Despite the scare, she was asleep in minutes. Hazen watched her shoulders rise and fall, wondering if she really believed what she'd told him.

As if they get a say in what to do with your life.

Sometimes Hazen wished he could say that too. But he was the prince. Whether he liked it or not, they did have a say in his life. They approved or disapproved of his decisions, even his mother's. They even had a say in who he married. They had an iron grip on the reins of his life.

He sighed, poking at the fire with his sword. It wasn't as if he wanted to change it, though. It was irritating at the very least, but they answered to his mother, ultimately, and to a lesser extent, himself. And his mother had always ensured that no one would ever impose their own will on him or his siblings. She'd always hated court protocol, his father had whispered to him, many times.

The memory brought a smile to Hazen's face. He wondered what Irene would think of them--his parents. She'd just heard their heroics, after all. Would she want to meet them?

The thought of Irene and his mother going head to head made him laugh nervously. Both immovable forces . . . he had no doubt they would become friends, though, and somehow that made him more nervous.

He missed his family. What were they doing now, he wondered? Searching for him, no doubt. His mother was nothing if not devoted--to her people, her nation, her family most of all. She'd never stop looking. And his father . . . he'd raise hell. As for his siblings . . .

The twins were a pain in the ass sometimes. But now more than ever, Hazen wished he was with them. Wished he could hear their schemes, see their pouting faces when he found them out. He wished he could toss them up and down, like he had that morning when everything went to shit, that morning when it had all been normal. Boring. Perfect.

He entertained this train of thought as the night went on, dreaming about a life where things were different.

Hazen stood before a crowd, shifting in his tunic, specially tailored just for this. His naming ceremony. He stared out at the crowds, watching as they cheered him on, and his gaze caught on the same thing he'd seen that day, four years earlier.

At the same time, a pulse went through the crowd. No one seemed to notice, but Hazen did. He wavered on his feet, gaze locked with the vision's, out in the crowd.

Zelda smiled at him, arms holding each other across her white sweater. In a flash, Hazen remembered more--and looked to the center of the crowd. She smiled at him there, too, resplendent in her cream, sparkling gown. And to the right, her hand on her hip, there she stood again, the candlelight shining on the gold hilt of her sword, the Triforce pin on her sash, the epaulettes of her uniform.

Hazen stepped forward, but as soon as he moved, the scene was sucked into darkness, and his shout was lost to shadow.

"Mom!"

Suddenly the darkness abated, and he was in their rooms in the palace. The living room. It was dark, the sky outside hidden behind rain clouds, and the few candles that were lit flickered from somewhere else.

The door to his parent's room was ajar. Hazen stepped forward nervously, hearing the sounds of sobbing the closer he got. Swallowing, he pushed the door open, finding his mother sitting on a chair, bent over, face in her hands. She was crying.

He rushed forward, but his feet were stuck, and he lurched forward. "Mother! It's me--!"

The ground beneath him vanished, and he was falling--

Hazen shot upright, soaked in a cold sweat, cold metal in his hands. He dropped his sword, running a hand through his hair. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and it was then that he registered a voice.

"Hazen?"

He looked over to find Irene staring at him, her hand raised, inches from his face. She jerked, lowering it. "I--are you okay?"

Hazen looked forward again, taking deep breaths. He pushed the nightmare from his mind, trying to forget the sight of his mother crying, of her apparitions at the naming ceremony. He swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'm okay," he croaked. "Don't think I'll be sleeping anymore, though."

Irene didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. The unconvinced look in her eyes said enough. Hazen stood up and walked to the edge of the hole, sighing into the darkness.

"Then let's not sleep," Irene said. "Let's . . . try and figure out where to look for clues about Majora."

Hazen closed his eyes, nodding. He turned, trying to ignore her thinly veiled concern, and said, "We should start by finding the throne room. Boss rooms are usually a good place to find things, right?"

"Right," Irene agreed. She spun in a circle, turning to look around the seemingly-empty Tower. "This place is so old," she mused. "I wonder what we'll find."

"Even if it's nothing about Majora, I bet we'll find at least something," Hazen said, watching her light a dozen small flames and send them around the Tower. He was already feeling his nightmare fade. "It's got to be at least as old as the giants."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, Anju's grandmother's story said that the giants ruled the four lands of Termina, right? So if that was the beginning, then wouldn't Stone Tower have been built after the giants?"

"Who says that's the beginning, though?" Irene argued, cocking her head.

"I--" Hazen stopped, looking suddenly lost. "I guess I just . . . assumed?"

"Well, you know what they say about assuming," Irene said primly. Hazen snorted. "Anyway, even if the giants were the beginning, then shouldn't there be something of them here?"

"Yeah," Hazen said slowly. Irene opened her mouth, but something was pulling at her mind. There was something she wasn't getting, some detail . . .

This place is so old.

There should be something of the giants here.

I am not the oldest being in this land.

"Perhaps in the cursed temple you will find the answers you seek," Irene breathed. She felt a realization creeping up on her, filling her with excitement, and a smile began to spread.

This place is so old.

"And--and the giants have been here since before Stone Tower, and--oh oh oh! Hazen!"

He turned, a brow raised, but upon seeing her excitement, he fixed his face. "What is it? Did you figure something out?"

Irene was practically bouncing on her feet. "Igos said he wasn't the oldest being in this land, right? And if Stone Tower was built after the giants had been established as the rulers, then--and Link said he freed the giant here from Majora's other mask--"

Hazen's eyes widened as he listened to her disjointed rambling. "So then the giant must still be here--and that means we could ask it about Majora since it was friends with Skull Kid!"

"Yes!" Irene high-fived him, and they both started talking at once, loud enough that neither heard the rocks sliding down the walls until it was too late.

Irene was in the middle of a plan to find the giant. "And maybe if we can get to the boss room then we can fi--"

The rock came from nowhere, slamming into the back of her head. Hazen turned in time to see Irene tipping, her eyes already closed--and as she fell, right over the side of the abyss, a pair of glowing, yellow eyes blinked to life behind her.

"Irene!"

Hazen dashed forward, wild fear in his heart, and lunged right into Skull Kid's path. With its chittering laugh it shoved into Hazen, sending him soaring over the edge, its nightmare eyes the last thing Hazen saw before being swallowed by blackness.

:))))))))

Review replies!

thelinkmaster001: don't hate me lmfao. I promise it'll get better! You just ...gotta wait a little bit :P

(I know this is in response to an older review you left but it's especially relevant for this chapter HAHA)

To James Birdsong: thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it :)

Weeelllll that's it for this Monday! Happy Memorial Day everyone, stay safe and enjoy that day off from work! You know I will be.