The fires that burned the field all around him matched the fire in Link 's soul, the one he had to embrace in order to survive. In front, a fierce, rugged guard, wearing rudimentary chainmail, leather pads, and boots, aimed his short spear at Link, slowly closing the distance. Fear was long gone from Link's mentality as he stubbornly marched towards certain death. The man was now the first of many obstacles to survival, and he was sure to best the child standing in front of him. Link, wearing only a tunic and ragged pants, waved a burning fence post back and forth to maintain distance between himself and his full grown opponent.

Waving his makeshift torch was of no use; the longer, pointier spear ultimately decided the distance between the combatants. With each of the weapon's jabs, Link had to jump backwards, creating a window of opportunity for the spearman to quickly close the distance between them. Link had to steel himself to resist the urge to jump back whenever the spear's thrusts came. He was so focused on anticipating when and where the tip would strike that when the attacker thrusted his weapon forward, Link jumped back, but only then realized that he was too close to the raging field of fire behind him. And while Link's mind raced and panicked, the next spear thrust came in contact with the right side of his hip, striking muscle and bone.

The pain was immense, but the attack missed the vitals and presented him the rare opportunity to charge forward. There was no time for pain. When the spear withdrew, Link's lunge forward caught the spearman off guard. Link wildly swung his torch, forcing his enemy back to avoid the flame at the end, but kept his feet moving forward. The spearman backpedaled from Link's aggression, but his feet could not keep up with his backwards momentum, tripping him onto his back.

The boy triumphantly stood over his frightened enemy, whose lips were moving, but no sound came forth. Link could tell he was begging mercy, but the pleas of mercy were pointless. The fires burning the fields closed in on the two rapidly. Link smiled, knowing that the last thing he would do before the flames consumed them was kill his tormentor. And then he plunged his torch downwards into the man's face.

Pain in his leg jolted Link awake in a bed. How? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep to the smell of dung penetrating his crooked and beaten nose. When he looked down to check his injuries, he noticed the wooden stick splinted onto his leg. Fresh bandages around the splint stiffened the leg, and the ones slinged around his arm held his sore shoulder. The only bandage untouched was the filthy one wrapped around his left hand.

He sat up straight and looked around, surveying his surroundings. The dark, shanty room of a hovel probably stuck behind a house or something was furnished with nothing more than a dresser, a candlestick on a low table, chairs, and the bed he laid in. The stink of smoke on his clothing dominated his sense of smell, and mixed in with the smoke was the stench of mold seeping from the old, wooden walls.

Of course, the first thing Link should have seen was the baby faced girl with a boy's haircut sitting attentively at his side. "Mum!" she called out, piercing Link's eardrums, "He's awake!"

Link groaned from the sudden noise filling his ears. "Wh-where am I?"

The girl's freckled cheeks and small mouth curled into a hospitable smile, "You're at me home! Me and me mum found ye asleep outside right by our manure pile." She could have been no older than thirteen.

"And you brought me in?"

"Well," she began, but she was cut off when the door into the bedroom opened.

A bearded man with silver, well groomed hair and a tall gait stepped into the room. He smiled at the girl, "Thank you, Woaphie. Go and see your mother." He glanced at Link with no emotion, took a deep breath, and then walked to the window, staring into the very early morning view. The faint, blue morning light shining through the sole window of the room highlighted the blue color of his cape and dulled the redness of his robe, and the colorful jewels hanging on his golden chain reflected light all over the walls.

Of course, Link's eyes first flashed to sword hanging on the belt. The sword and its scabbard always revealed much about the owner, even if they were not his originally. Judging by the length and width of the scabbard, the rapier was only useless against armor. The metal disk at the end of the hilt held a spherically cut ruby, a symbol of power, but the cross guard flamboyantly swirled around the hilt and the blade like a flower, a symbol of beauty. A gilded scabbard suggested this sword was most likely only used for ceremonies. It was the long knife with the plain leather sheath and worn out wrappings on the hilt that was used for killing.

"Perhaps you should think twice before you decide to utilize such drastic means for such a simple task," his chastising tone was, without a doubt, exactly what Link expected to hear from the mouth of Nayru's Judge.

"Next time leave more instructions," was Link's response.

"It's not me Mister Praetonmore and the Zellink Alliance will be hunting for," the truth resonated with the pain in Link's leg, which was still very broken.

Link groaned from the slight movement, "You could have warned me that the blacksmith was connected to the Zellinks."

"I needed to leave as little information as possible. Safety reasons."

The pain was not nearly as bad as he last remembered it, but there were still very unnecessary reminders of his wounded limbs. "How did you know I was here?"

"A little bird told me." Instantly, Link felt suspicious.

Sir Mawar had retired out of the Royal Guard, her Majesty's personal bodyguard detail, for many years now, but he enjoyed keeping the title if only to remind him, and perhaps others, of his service to the Throne. A veteran knight looked better in the eyes of the people than a power hungry politician, but anyone who truly worked with him knew that he was both. Link's only form of leverage against him was testimony of very questionable decisions Sir Mawar had made in the pursuit of justice. Unfortunately, death was an easy solution to this problem, and Link was currently at Sir Mawar's mercy. Link pressed, "You went out of your way to sweep me off the streets, probably before anyone got a good look at me."

"News about the fire spread quickly, so yes, I dispatched someone to survey the area, and that's where they found you cuddling next to a large mound of manure. She had to rescue you before Sir Rhychester led his men through the alleys to search for you."

Link looked down and realized his shirt and pants were changed, although they felt a bit large on him. He supposed the rank of smoke smelled better than the rank of dung anyday.

"After working with you for the past few years, I know you better than to just save anyone's life for the sake of charity."

The old man whipped his head around, "I have never seen anyone so ungrateful!"

Link returned the glare with a cold and fierce stare of his own, "You didn't save my life, you saved the chain to my life!"

Sir Mawar sighed and returned his gaze out the window again, "Hmph, you're free to live as you may, just not as a bounty hunter for the next ten years. Or, you can continue following my instructions as you are told until I decide to give you the antidote."

Link narrowed his eyes at the euphemistic twist of words. "What instructions?" Link asked out of curiosity.

The old man smirked. All the white hair on his face could not hide the crooked scar drawn down the left side of his cheek. He began to walk back the same way he came in and then stopped at the doorway before turning to look directly into Link's eyes, "In due time, you will be notified of the next job. The revelation of my information must adhere to a strict schedule. In the meantime, I suggest you lay back, relax and let your body heal. The wonderful family here has instructions to shelter you and feed you until such time comes."

Link grumbled, "So then why did you come see me?"

"I'm sure you were going to have questions about how you got here. I also came by to tell you to take better care of yourself," as if years of bounty hunting could not tell Link how to take care better of himself; and yet here he was, bedridden by a broken leg and only too lucky to be alive, and not rotting with a noose around his neck. There were days Link wanted nothing more than to strangle Sir Mawar. This was one of them.

Sir Mawar was an interesting man with an interesting history to say the least. The fact that he once served as one of the Queen's royal guards was no secret. The confidential missions and bounties given by the man were clearly benefiting the throne, but what consisted of his network of spies was nothing more than a conglomerate of self-serving thieves, ambiguously moral swords for hire, and some of the worst gang lords. By day, he would don his robes of justice and his title of Nayru's Judge and rain justice down on the criminal scum. By night, he would employ the very people he swore to protect the realm from.

Link never bothered to ask why. He received a job, to kill or kidnap someone usually, and then received money for each head. The more politics got involved the more problems occurred during the job, so Link avoided knowing as much as possible. Then he supposed knowing the politics alone was the reason why Sir Mawar could control the whole city from behind a desk, and not knowing was why Link was just a Link. The secret was in Sir Mawar's ability to empathize; in Link's case, the old man knew Link wanted, needed really, food and shelter most.

Sir Mawar parted with a his last reminder, "You are always free to hide from the Zellinks here, where I can find you, or you can hide out there, where the Zellinks can certainly find you." There was no way in Din's Hearth Link was going to stay here. Link had been chained like this and ordered around under penalty of death way too many times to not understand how being a slave worked.

Link would rather deal with the Zellinks. "No thanks to you!" he fired back at him, but the mysterious man was gone, and the door had already closed behind him before the last sentence was finished, "Tch, dunghole."

The last time Link had seen Sir Mawar in person had to have been over a year ago. Memories in his brain could only stretch back about a year, for the most part. So many answers to his questions about his past life had faded into irrelevance. How old was he? Who were his parents? The only question he could answer with descriptive detail was how he received each scar.

He suddenly checked his left hand, and to his relief, the fortnight old bandage wrapping was left untouched. No sense in opening that bandage and reliving that horrific memory. He shuddered thinking about the nightmares his cursed scar, the first one, gave him. There was only the now, and right now, Link needed to find a way out of Sir Mawar's grasp. The negative sentiments about his employer translated into different ideas plotted in his mind, but in order for Link to do anything stupid like that, he needed to heal, and fast. And then he needed to move somewhere else. Somehow, he needed to snag a…

The door violently flew open, the same young girl wearing her nightgown waved her hand and danced her way inside with clumsy, flat feet as she introduced herself, "Hiiii! My name is Woaphelia, but everyone calls me Woaphie! What's your name?"

The last thing Link wanted to do was talk to her. "Link," he replied with the generic no name.

"Wow! Me mum told me not to talk to Links, but she told me I can talk to you!" Woaphie lifted her hands and hopped on one foot, before losing her balance and tumbling softly on the floor. Then, with renewed energy, she kicked herself back up onto her feet and struck a far reaching pose, "So we're gonna be friends whether you like it or not!"

Link groaned loudly. Today was going to suck. Again.