Link stared at Captain Remont in disbelief. His father…out of every Senior Guardsmen in the entire castle, his father is the one he is faced with?

Part of him wanted to ask, "why?" but no words left his mouth.

The captain returned Link's gaze, and, seeing his apprehension, elaborated,

"Alger requested to be your opponent," he glanced between father and son, debatably, "He assured me that your relationship would not interfere with the test." The unspoken question was there—"was he wrong?"

How did his dad even find out he was taking the Royal Guard's exam? It wasn't like they ever talked; and even if they did, Link wouldn't have mentioned it for fear of this exact scenario.

Alger spoke before Link could, "It won't be a problem, Captain. When I was his age, I'd have been honored to be given the chance to face my father in formal combat."

"Honored" was not the word Link would use to describe his feelings towards the matter.

"I'm not you," Link thought despondently, "I'm not like you—I don't want to fight."

It occurred to him that while he didn't speak much to his father, Captain Remont—being his superior—probably did. Which was likely how he learned of Link's desire to take the exam.

The captain seemed satisfied by that answer, and nodded, "Very well." Stepping back, he added, "You may begin when ready."

Link instinctually took note of his father's opponent's weapon—a spear. Specifically, the black, Royal Guard's spear limited to use by those in The Royal Guard alone. The Hylian crest was carved intricately into the spearhead. A spear offered longer reach than a broadsword, but did not permit the use of a shield.

Alger's weapon choice came as no surprise to Link; his father preferred a spear to a sword, and was quick enough to make up for the lack of defense. In many of their past sparring sessions, Link had been unable to get close enough to him to even land a hit, unless he too was wielding a spear.

Link wondered if it was too late for a weapon change.

His answer came in the form of a spear cutting through the air, just an inch past his right ear.

Link dodged to the left, shield up and sword drawn, ready to fight.

"Always pay attention to your opponent." Alger said, drawing his spear back.

Link readjusted his grip on his sword, which suddenly felt awkward and heavy in his hand. His heart was racing, and it wasn't from exertion in battle. He willed himself to calm down—panic never preceded good decisions.

The Royal Guard's exam was designed to test an applicant's skill—it was not meant to be a genuine conflict between two people. Each fighter was to test the applicant to ensure they responded appropriately when faced with a skilled opponent; it was not a traditional win or lose scenario. If it were, there'd be no point; of course those of higher ranks in The Royal Guard could easily best a new recruit, but that wasn't what they were trying to do. If the applicant fought well and stood his or her ground, guarding and attacking when appropriate, then they would pass. The fighters were not supposed to go "all-out" against the applicants, they were supposed to give the applicant a chance to "defeat" them once they had proven their skill and see if they recognize the opening for "victory" and take it.

Link knew his father was not going to do that—he would have to genuinely defeat him.

Dodging a spear once again, Link scrambled to come up with a strategy. How would he beat him? There was no way he was going to be able to knock him down like he had Mable; the man was much taller and broader than he was. He wouldn't be able to disarm him like he'd done with Kodah, either—Link knew that from experience.

"What are you waiting for?" Alger's impatient voice drew him from his thoughts, "Come at me!"

Hesitantly, Link swung his sword in a horizontal slash, but the movement was slow and easily parried by Alger's spear shaft.

His father looked semi-annoyed, and a tad confused, "You're going to have to try harder than that. I know you can."

Link held up his shield and backed a few paces away, trying to buy himself time to think of a strategy.

It didn't do any good—his mind was blank.

Alger, done waiting for his son to retaliate, threw his spear forward; stabbing in quick succession. The force of it ricocheted off Link's shield, metal colliding against metal loudly. The strain of keeping his shield steady through the series of attacks wore on his injured arm, but Link grit his teeth and did his best to ignore it.

This time, when Alger drew his spear back in preparation for another attack, Link brought his sword around in a spin, and felt the blade collide with something other than metal.

His father recoiled with a sharp hiss, dropping to one knee and wrapping an arm around his middle. Link's eyes widened in horror.

He didn't hurt him, did he?

What a stupid question. "Of course you did," Link thought to himself, "he wouldn't be doubled over in pain otherwise." Guilt wrapped around him. What had possessed him to use a spin attack? It's nearly impossible to hit something with the flat of a blade using that move. He should've known better.

Link sheathed his sword and stepped forward with a hand outstretched, ready to help him up, an apology on the tip of his tongue.

"Dad, I'm so—"

His words were cut short by Alger, who, in his apparent recovery, sprung to his feet and speared his weapon straight at his unsuspecting son.

Link scrambled backwards, dumbstruck, and barely had time to shield himself from the blow.

As the spearhead rammed into his shield—yet again—Link's mind reeled to catch up with the sudden change.

Had it been an act? No, surely not. His father was many things, and one of them was traditional. Alger regarded traditional fighting techniques and the honor that came with them highly—he would never stoop so low as to pull an underhanded trick like that.

Link frowned; that meant he really had been injured, and was continuing to fight anyway.

Another blow to his shield, and the pain in his shield arm reminded him that his father wasn't the only one continuing to fight past an injury.

"Seems the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Link thought sourly.

The two warriors traded blows and dodged attacks for some time. Link was still somewhat concerned for his father's well-being, but decided it would be smarter to just finish the battle.

So, they fought, unrestrained, until Link came to the slow, unfortunate realization that he was tired.

Panting hard, Link stumbled forward after delivering another blow with his sword. He'd fought two people prior to this, and the third was really taking a lot out of him, both physically and emotionally.

He watched his opponent warily, bringing up his shield when he recognized Alger was preparing another attack. Only this time, when the spear collided with his shield, it did so with enough force to knock Link off-balance. Link stumbled, and when the spear hit his shield again, the momentum sent him sprawled out on his back. Link's sword landed a few feet away from him; knocked from his hand.

Link stared up at the sky for a brief second, before lifting his head just in time to see his father preparing to bring his spear down on him.

The situation didn't register. Suddenly, his blood ran cold, and panic radiated through his body like an electric shock. Before Link even knew what he was doing, he'd gotten to his knees, braced himself, and when his father drew near, Link took his shield and slammed it into his father's face with a loud—crack—.

Alger dropped his spear with a cry, reeling back, both hands holding his nose.

Link couldn't speak, he wanted to—badly. Link wanted to apologize, to travel back in time and change what he'd done; maybe kick his past-self in the process for good measure. Instead, all he could do was stare with a look of abject horror etched onto his face.

He couldn't help but think of Mipha and her incredible power to heal; what he wouldn't give for such an ability at that moment.

His father's voice cut through the air; breaking Link's train of thought with one simple question,

"What is wrong with you?"

Link froze, both horrified and ashamed. Surely, his father was going to resent him for this. He'd be disqualified from the Royal Guard for his own reckless incompetence, and all of Hyrule would know their alleged "hero" broke his father's nose in a sparring match in a fit of blind panic.

His father looked down at him, pinching his nose shut to staunch the bleeding, and giving him a look of utter confusion.

Alger continued, "You did great! You should be proud." He praised him.

Link shook his head in disbelief. Unable to bring himself to speak, he signed the obvious with trembling hands,

"You're bleeding."

Alger frowned, and Link regretted signing; he knew his father didn't like it when he used Hylian Sign in situations that didn't require the silent language.

He responded, "If it's the blood your worried about; don't. You're likely to see much worse in the coming war against the calamity.

…What?

No, no—he didn't understand—it wasn't the injury itself; it was him! He caused that! He'd hurt someone—his own father, of all people—and he hadn't meant to!

He hadn't meant to. Logically, Link knew his father would never hurt him; this was not a fight to the death with moblins on a battlefield. But in that moment, it was like he wasn't even himself—something akin to a frightened, feral animal had possessed him and lashed out thoughtlessly.

In the heat of battle—a practice one, with no lives at stake—he panicked, like a coward, and hurt his father; the very same man who'd warned him explicitly that he isn't allowed to be afraid.

Captain Remont came forward, speaking calmly,

"While that is true, you'd best head to the infirmary to get that patched up," with a slight chuckle, he added, "Needless to say, I think your son won this battle, Al."

Link blinked—did they not understand? Or…did they simply not care?

Alger agreed, and, after giving Link what was probably meant to be a reassuring pat on the back, left the training grounds and headed towards the castle infirmary.

Captain Remont looked at Link with concern,

"Perhaps you should go with him, you look a bit unwell." He suggested.

Link shook his head mutely,

"I'm fine," he signed.

The captain clearly didn't believe him. While he might not have understood what was wrong, he could tell there was something off; Link could see that much.

"We'll continue the exam after Lunch. In the meantime, take a break." That wasn't a suggestion.

It took a moment, but his brain eventually unfroze and registered Captain Remont's words.

"Oh, right," Link thought to himself, "I still have to fight the captain."

Lunch wasn't until noon; it wasn't even eight in the morning yet, meaning Link had a few hours to kill.

Heaving a sigh, Link left the training grounds, unsure of where he was going.

Unknown to him, Kodah watched him go, curiosity alight in his eyes.