Author's Note: Yes, I know, I'm running a bit ahead of schedule- but the next arc is coming along well, so I thought I'd update. Enjoy!

Link paused in the stairwell a few steps up— and around the corner, out of sight— from the servants' entrance in the southern wing of the palace, checking his veil one last time before he slipped out. When he'd gone to explore Gerudo Town's bazaar the day before, while Zelda had been deep in the afternoon's negotiations, the scarf had slipped out of its fold and nearly exposed him in the marketplace. He couldn't afford to risk that again. He hooked two fingers under the layer of cloth that rested over his nose and tugged gently, half-expecting to feel the corner tucked by his ear slide free again.

When the fold held he let himself relax a little, then patted the pouch on his belt to make sure everything was in there. Sheikah Slate, yes— he never left it if he could help it. Wallet, yes. Knife on his left hip, as usual— just as a precaution. Odds were he wouldn't need it. As busy as the bazaar had been the day before, there hadn't been any conflict that he'd observed.

That and, well, if the guards caught him picking a fight he'd be thrown out of town, and then Zelda would really be unhappy with him.

She certainly hadn't been happy the previous evening, when she'd returned to their quarters after a day of negotiation to get him up to speed on everything. Dragmire had apparently stonewalled her at every turn, and the two of them had been up late in the evening pouring over her notes on the session and the records she had of trade over time, on travel records, on past treaties with the Gerudo and how those had changed over the centuries. His head had been spinning by the time she finally set her notes aside and blew out the candles for the evening— every glimpse of her royal responsibilities left him more boggled than the next.

Satisfied with the state of his kit— and with the absence of the guard usually stationed at the servants' entrance— he slipped out of the unobtrusive wooden door and into the streets.

Even the alleys south of the palace were busy by midmorning. Gerudo vai sat or stood in small groups at every street corner, packs of children raced up and down the uneven cobblestones, the occasional Hylian, Sheikah, or Rito woman wandered a sidestreet as if looking for the way back to the central plaza. Link wove through it all, feeling invisible in his plain green kurta and blue veil. Like he was just one of the women.

The bazaar was bustling by the time he reached the main square. Gerudo vai hawked their wares in loud voices, waving at anyone who passed by. A cluster of women had formed outside one of the shops set into the buildings— primarily a tea shop, as far as Link was aware, though they also served a drink the Gerudo who had served him the previous morning called 'kahve', which had smelled heavenly but tasted terribly bitter— and he wove his way through the cluster to the bar inside and settled down at one of the stools. The air was heady and redolent with the scent of black tea from Tabantha, with local Gerudo mint, with the unfamiliar roasted tang of fresh kahve. The woman on the other side of the counter caught his eye and winked at him, and a moment later a glass of iced mint tea slid across the time-smoothed wood and into his waiting hands.

The tea shop was too loud for Link to really overhear any conversations, but his eyes were drawn to the trio of guards near the end of the bar, and he tilted his ears as much as he could, trying to listen through the din to catch their words. The noise subsided a moment, and—

"—in the Temple again until sometime after first watch last night," the shortest of the three said, pushing a heavy lock of red-blond hair over her shoulder. "Apparently Nabs had to escort him back to his quarters."

"That's, what, the third time this week?" That was the one leaning against the counter, the slim one with pink hair tied back in a thick, ropey braid.

"Try the fifth," said the tallest guard. Unlike the other two, she'd cropped her hair nearly to the scalp on both sides and pulled the top and back up in a high horsetail. "He's been like that since Lady Barriara died."

The almost-blond hummed, shoulders sagging slightly. "Poor Mira. And with the word about Farosh out of the Vatorsa—"

"He's looking too much for signs and portents, if you ask me," the tallest said. "Danda and her dragons, that meteor the week after the chief died, and now with that blighted Hylian princess digging around and the rumors out of Hyrule that someone's drawn the Blade again—"

The other two hissed warningly at her— the pink-haired one actually reached up and clapped a hand over her mouth, and Link averted his gaze as the almost-blond cast a wary glance around the tea shop, her glittering green eyes anxious.

"Not in public , Furosa," the pink-haired one hissed.

"I'm just saying ," the tallest huffed. "The sooner he stops letting the Rova tug his ears like he's still a child and gets back to looking for those fucking Yiga, the better off all of us will be."

The almost-blond said something else, but something clattered down on the bar counter. Link jumped, losing the conversation thread immediately.

"Something the matter, honey?" the barkeep asked. "You're awful distracted today."

"I— it's nothing," Link said. "Just thinking."

"Anything you need help with? You look a bit lost," she replied, and Link paused a moment, looking her up and down. The barkeeper was fairer than most of the other Gerudo Link had seen, and her thick red hair was threaded with grey. She was dressed differently, too— a smock over her kurta, stained in places, and she wore a full-length skirt rather than sirwal. And, well— she was a barkeeper. People talked in tea houses and bars and forgot other people could overhear.

"...I'm new to town, just came in yesterday," Link said slowly. "And I'm...really curious about local history? I've never left Hyrule before, and we don't hear much about the Gerudo in Akkala."

The barkeep hummed. "Well, if you weren't Hylian I'd say to go to the Temple of the Triune. The Rova— the priestesses, in your language— they keep the history of the people there. But that's out of your bounds, so..." She drummed her fingers on the counter, long nails rapping sharply on the wood. "You could talk to the archaeologists, I suppose. They're on the north end of town, right next to the inn. One of them came in yesterday talking about some big expedition to the ruins in the West Barrens she and the others were planning, I'm sure they'd have something for you."

"That's good," Link said, and tugged thoughtfully at the end of his veil. "And if I wanted to know something about the local legends? You know, the spirits of the desert?"

That earned him a sharp bark of a laugh, and the barkeep reached back and grabbed a pitcher, refilling his cup of mint tea before she answered. "That's not information for outsiders, honey," she said. "A loose-lipped vai might talk, if you're listening, but the Desert of Mysteries and its spirits are anything but safe for little Hylian vai, even ones that walk like they carry swords."

Link flushed and ducked his head, avoiding her gaze. Most people couldn't pick out a swordsman's walk— he wasn't sure how she'd seen him walking, either, her eyes had been on the group of merchants ordering kahve when he'd come in.

"Take yourself to the archaeologists, honey," the barkeep said, and patted his hand. "Leave the local spirits to their business and keep an eye on your own."

"Thank you for the advice," Link said, and slid a red rupee across the counter to her. "...You know, I don't think I caught your name?"

"It's Telma, honey," the barkeep replied, and took the rupee from him. "You stay safe now, ya hear?"

"I can't make any promises," Link said, and picked up his mint tea again, sipping thoughtfully at it.

Telma clearly took that as a signal to go attend to other customers, and she bustled off almost immediately, leaving Link nursing his cup alone. The guards had cleared off, he noticed, and while the tea shop was still busy, the crowd had thinned. Before long it would clear entirely, and then a little Hylian 'vai' like him would stand out like a sore thumb. He finished his tea quickly, sliding the cup back across the counter towards Telma, then tightened his veil a little and ducked back out into the bazaar.

The sun was higher in the sky now, concentrating the shade to where it could still cling to the walls, or huddle itself under the vendors' awnings, and the people had done the same. It would be midday soon— the 'hour of madness,' as one guard he'd spoken to the day before had called it— and at that point most of the shops would close for a few hours while their owners retired to sleep through the heat of the day. Link wove through the crowd, heading quickly towards the north entrance to the plaza. If he wanted to catch the archaeologists, he'd have to do it fast.

Once he was off the main plaza, the noise of the crowds fell away, leaving the alleyway almost deafeningly quiet. It was disorienting for a moment, until Link could shake it off and continue on.

The inn, thankfully, was clearly marked— by Hylian customs, even, though he supposed most travellers even to Gerudo Town would be Hylian. The crescent moon was carved into the stone over the lintel, the edges of it soft and worn with age. Link studied the doors on either side of the inn— one nearer to the east wall, the other almost directly in the middle of this building block— and kicked himself for not learning to read Gerudo. Their script was wildly different from Hylian— or even Sheikah, even ancient Sheikah, which he was slowly learning to decipher over Zelda's shoulder as she studied ancient ruins.

Still, though— through the half-shuttered window to the west of the door to the inn, he could see a stack of thick books perched on the inside of the windowsill. That looked like archaeologists to him. Zelda had similar stacks in her study in Hyrule Castle, and in her bedroom, and in her quarters in Kakariko— she'd even carried along a couple of books on ancient Hyrulean comparative religion, on the ancient Sheikah religion, and her own well-worn notebook for field notes. Link made his way up to the door and rapped at the doorframe.

Silence.

Then the door opened, and Link reeled. The face on the other side was Sheikah — a woman maybe five years his senior, he thought, with thick glasses perched on her nose. Her red eyes, brilliantly magnified, peered through them at him, and her black hair was pulled back in what Link recognized instantly as a 'distracted scholar's bun'— the only updo Zelda could manage on her own.

"Well?" she asked, when he didn't say anything, and Link gaped at her a moment longer before gathering himself.

"Are you the archaeologists?" he asked.

"One of them," the Sheikah said. "This had better be important, girl. We're in the middle of a vital translation."

"I just, um," Link said. "I had some questions about the ruins? Telma sent me."

"Oh," the Sheikah replied. She turned, and shouted back into the house, "Hey Shaima, there's a Hylian at the door! Says Telma sent her! Do I let her in?"

A voice— the accent was Gerudo— shouted back, "Well, duh ? Telma knows not to send trouble our way."

The Sheikah turned back to Link, scowling at him over her twisted wire frames, then sighed and pushed the door a little further open, gesturing for him to come inside. "Well?" she said. "You heard her. Come in, ask your questions, then shoo . This isn't a museum for know-nothing Hylian vai to poke their noses in."

Link grimaced back at her, but stepped in anyway and let the Sheikah close the door behind him.

The first room in the little dwelling was full of books. Link had seen the inside of Hyrule's royal library before, and in some ways this rivalled it— every spare inch of the wall had shelves on it, and every spare inch of those shelves was covered in books. Leather-bound field journals occupied most of the wall beside him, each marked and labelled in words he couldn't read, organized by some system beyond his comprehension. Linen-bound books imported from Hyrule— these ones with stamped titles on the side in Hylian— occupied the better half of the rear wall, butting up against what looked like a repurposed wine rack that now held hundreds of scrolls. The left-hand wall had heftier shelves, piled high with sun-baked clay tablets, and— no, his eyes weren't deceiving him— literal chunks of stone sat at the base of those shelves, every inch of their weathered surfaces graven with letters.

Zelda would have felt right at home here, he thought. He'd have to bring her down at some point— she'd kill him if she missed out on this place entirely.

The Sheikah ducked through a curtained doorway into a neighboring room, and Link followed her as quickly as he could. A second woman— this one Gerudo— was seated at a large table near the window, bowed over a set of scrolls and a number of books, but she looked up when Link and the Sheikah entered. Her long coppery hair was pulled up in a neater bun than the Sheikah's, but it was also held up with a pair of chopsticks, which Link thought was nearly as dubious.

"So Telma sent you, huh?" the Gerudo— Shaima, he assumed— asked.

"She did," Link said. "I, um. I had some questions about some of the ruins in the deep desert?"

"Been a while since we had any Hylians ask about that," Shaima said. "You with one of the Hylian chapters of the guild?"

"No, but the friend I came here with is," Link said. "She's a little caught up in something right now, but she asked me to go on ahead and try and find your chapter. Her...mentor, in the guild, he's working on a thesis and he sent us to find evidence for him."

"Typical Hylian masters," the Sheikah said, rolling her eyes.

"Ashei," Shaima said, though her tone stayed mild. "You know what he's looking for, though. Right?"

"Old religious ruins," Link said. "I'm pretty sure they're Triune, though the last one had Hylia's crest in it in places…"

"Well if they're Hyllic ruins, your friend's mentor is gonna be out of luck if he wants anything older than three millennia," Shaima said. "Worship of Hylia wasn't brought to Tantari until about that time— it's actually really interesting, Ashei's mentor found lots of evidence of a Calamity contemporary to that invasion and she thought there might be some sort of correlation between the two—"

"Stay on track," Ashei huffed, then turned back to Link. "Well, girl?"

"...Triune, I think," Link said. His gut had begun to tie itself in knots at the mention of a Calamity , and...three thousand years ago felt significant...but before he could finish the thought it slipped away from him like fish in the current, leaving him with a dull ache at the base of his skull. "We found one that seems tied to her master's thesis in Faron, and the writing in there was Ancient Sheikah. Z— Hilda thinks it's contemporary to the Divine Beasts, maybe even older."

"Even older ?" Ashei yelped. "You're joking . The Divine Beasts are the oldest things anyone's—"

"Wasn't there the one excavation under the old Temple of Time that turned up something interesting a couple years back, though?" Shaima replied. "And those ruins out in the deep desert that we were going to take an expedition out to are probably contemporary to the Divine Beasts, though it's hard to tell." She met Link's eyes there. "A lot of ruins out in the deep desert are so sand-blasted, or full of the stuff, that it can be hard to safely uncover them at all, much less tell what may have been carved on them— oh, but I'm getting off-topic again. Would you mind telling me what the murals looked like, in your friend's temple?"

"The main one on the wall was the Triforce," Link said. "Though there was this...weird circular crest in the middle of it." He didn't tell her how staring too long at that central crest had caused a sharp ache between his brows, like he'd struck his head on something.

"Hang on," Shaima said, flipping through a second notebook. She turned a few more pages, then held the book up to Link.

In the center of the page was the symbol from the temple of the sacred flame, a moon-within-a-half-moon-within-a-crescent.

"Did it look anything like this?"

"Exactly like that," Link replied. The strange nagging was back. Surely that symbol was more familiar than just the temple— surely he'd seen it before?

"Farore temple, then," Ashei said. "Triune temples usually come in threes, though— three altars, three different rooms, something like that. Shaima, show him Din and Nayru's crests too."

Shaima flipped the pages dutifully, and sprawled across the next two were two more crests, both hauntingly familiar— the three-lined symbol from the last temple, and one other— three crescent moons, joined along the back of the arch, each set with a smaller circle between their horns.

"The one with the three lines, that was there," Link said. "That one's...Din's?" Shaima nodded in confirmation, and Link forged on before he could stop himself. "But that one was in the middle of another mural on the wall, this big stylized flame thing— and there was writing under that, but it wasn't readable."

That wasn't entirely a lie— it wasn't at all readable to him, and Zelda had only managed to decipher one line of it, and half of another— and what had she said about it? He couldn't quite remember...

"...Well, I don't think either of us have seen anything like that," Ashei said.

"There's nothing like that in any of our predecessors' journals, either," Shaima added, more sympathetically. "But we can send a message to the guild, see if anyone else has found something, and we can keep an eye out on future expeditions and let you know if we find anything."

"...Thank you, anyway," Link said. "I think I've got a better idea what we're looking at now."

"It's no trouble," Shaima said.

Ashei scoffed. "Yes it was," she said, then shot Link a look. "Now go on, get back to the inn before the hour of madness gets here. Hylian vai get heatstroke so easily, especially fair ones like you."

That wasn't so much a cue to leave as it was an order, and Link nodded, bowing politely to the two of them before ducking back out through the curtained doorway, and then back out into the street.

The sun was higher than it had been when he had gone in, high enough that even the height of the walls and the narrowness of the streets was no shield from the glare. Link scowled, tugging his headwrap a little lower to shade his eyes, then turned and hurried back towards the palace, towards the north entrance this time. The streets were deserted, as was the servants' entrance, and Link was grateful for it— no one had to see him slump, panting, against the cool stone wall just past the entryway. The palace hall was cooler than the street, shaded and breezy, and it was a relief against his sweaty skin.

He made his way further into the palace, towards the main courtyards, but something stopped him before he got very far. Some...awareness, almost. Not any of his ordinary senses, but some deep knowledge told him to go no further. There was something he was supposed to do here, on the north side of the palace. He stopped in the hall, studying the wide stone tiles underfoot, the whitewashed masonwork and stone of the walls and ceiling, the elaborate blue and gold tiling at the level of his shoulder, and waited. Link had always been inclined to listen to his gut instincts, even if they made no sense; they'd never led him wrongly before.

...And wasn't the guards' training court on the north side of the palace, at any rate? He'd meant to check it out the evening before, but Zelda had asked him for his help with planning her strategy, and he had never been able to deny her anything. Surely it couldn't hurt to go and check it out, even if it was too hot to use?

His mind made up, Link padded up the hallway, his soft leather boots whispering over the stone. He counted doorways, trying to remember the directions he'd been given, and nearly walked past the door anyway, until the flash of sun on steel caught his eye. One of the guards had left her spear propped up against a wall just inside. Link ducked in, clinging to the shadows under the eaves, and made his way over to inspect it. The spear was longer than he was tall, much longer, and even at his distance and angle he could see the spearhead was keenly honed.

The training court itself wasn't much different from the courtyards Hyrule's knights trained in back at the castle, as far as he could tell. Most of the court was open space, for drilling formations and maneuvers or sparring one-on-one or in small groups. A rank of straw dummies, thoroughly patched back to wholeness, stood along one wall, and Link poked at them curiously before deciding they weren't worth his attention.

A large black scorch ran along the other wall, the one still cast in sunlight. That wasn't like Hyrule Castle's training yards, Link noted. That looked like someone had misaimed a fire arrow and scorched the wall rather than a target, or something to that effect. He braced himself, then made his way across the courtyard, wincing a little at the burst of direct heat as he made his way to the scorch mark. It was no hotter here, but the scorch mark practically flaked under his fingers when he touched it, and there was a lingering scent of something to the air, something sharp and almost acrid—

Ozone . A Gerudo mage had practiced here— had thrown a lightning bolt powerful enough to crisp the mortar between the stones and scorch the layer of dust and dirt laying across them to ash.

"What do you think you're doing here?" a voice demanded, and Link jumped and spun back towards the entrance to the courtyard. The light blinded him— he couldn't see the speaker, just her shadow, but her voice was oddly low even for a Gerudo—

The shadow moved as the one casting it stepped out into the sunlight, and Link's mouth went dry, as if dust had abruptly infiltrated his veil.

The newcomer was Chief Dragmire— it had to be, since Zelda had said he was...well, a he . Link couldn't help the way his eyes roved over the chieftain, taking him in as best he could. The man fairly glowed in the noonday sun. His dark skin looked almost burnished, and his long, high-ponytailed hair haloed his head like a blaze of flame. The sun glittered on the bracer-like cuff bracelets he wore, and his eyes seemed to glow in the brilliant light. He was nude to the waist, where his wrap-skirt hung low on his hips, held in place with a brilliant red sash.

He was stunningly beautiful, in a way that made Link want to back away or grab a sword.

He stood his ground instead. "The guards told me I could use your training yard during our stay, if I wanted," Link retorted.

"I don't see a sword on you," Dragmire replied. " Or a training staff. Did you expect us to provide them?"

"I was in town before I came here," Link said. "Didn't think your guards would much appreciate me wandering around armed like I expect to be attacked."

"With the Yiga abroad, you might as well," Dragmire said. He had training staves, Link noticed— two of them, one in each of his hands. And he was drawing closer with every step, so Link had to tilt his head back to keep meeting his gaze. He was much larger up close than he had seemed from a distance.

"Do I have reason to think your guards won't be able to protect the bazaar?" Link said, keeping his voice even, and he relished the way Dragmire's eyes narrowed, glowering at him.

"You Hylians think you're so funny," Dragmire bit back. His posture was frighteningly tense, Link noted— especially through his shoulders and arms, and his neck was stiff, his chin held high.

If Link didn't know better, he would almost have said Dragmire was in search of a fight.

"I'll make you an offer, Link," Dragmire said, and Link's eyes snapped up from the powerful curve of a deltoid to the Gerudo King's face. "I'll provide you with a training staff, if you'll spar a round with me."

"Now?" Link asked, cocking his head challengingly.

In response, Dragmire tossed him the staff in his right hand. It flipped end over end, faster than Link had expected— but Link was faster. He snatched it out of the air, twirling it easily in his right hand, then passed it over to his left. When he looked back up at Dragmire, he'd produced a third staff from somewhere and taken a stance, his feet shoulder-width apart and staves held point-down. His eyes were focused on Link.

"Whenever you're ready," he said.

Link lunged at him in reply. Their staves clattered together, Link's one meeting Dragmire's two— and then Dragmire heaved him backwards. Link stumbled. Ducked a sweep of a staff over his head, jumped one aimed at his legs. His feet skidded for purchase on the dusty stones underfoot.

Dragmire didn't have the same sort of problem. He kept coming, staves lashing in tandem, pushing Link back. Too fast, for someone of his size. His eyes blazed . Link ducked, evaded. Threw himself aside and rolled, trying to come up at Dragmire's back. The Gerudo's staff caught his next strike. And the next. And the next. Link gave ground. And gave again. He tried to hook an ankle around Dragmire's. The king danced backwards, barking a laugh, and Link growled. His reach was too large, or Link's too short. And two staves...

Link's next strike slammed down on the back of Dragmire's hand.

Dragmire yelped. The staff clattered to the ground from numbed fingers. Link slashed at him again. Dragmire caught it on his remaining staff— and missed Link redirecting the blow, coming up from beneath with his body. He slammed into Dragmire's shoulder with his skull. The Gerudo reeled, staggering backwards. His boots slipped.

Next thing Link knew he was sprawled across Dragmire's chest, the pair of them flat on the pavers. Link scrambled upright, straddled his chest and snatched up the nearest staff to rest the tip beneath Dragmire's chin.

This close, he could see Dragmire's eyes clearly. They were the color of good topaz, Link thought, a pale, clear gold shading down and down into their own depth, darkening to a ring of deep red-orange around the black of his pupils. Something hot curled in his stomach, and he had to tighten his grip on the stave to keep from pressing it forward, into the soft hollow of Dragmire's throat. It had to be the adrenaline from the fight— he wanted to throw the staff down and run, too, or maybe cast it aside and take Dragmire by the sideburns to kiss the scowl off his lips.

He threw the staff aside and scrambled back to his feet instead, offering Dragmire his hand instead to help him up.

The Gerudo glowered at him a moment, golden eyes wary and intent, then reached up and clasped his hand around Link's wrist. His skin was warm against Link's, and his hand was nearly large enough to engulf Link's forearm— and something about that sent a thrill through him. Link pulled, setting his weight against Dragmire's, and a moment later he was face-to-face with Dragmire's broad chest. He took a step back, meeting the Gerudo's gaze again.

"...I should have anticipated your skill," Dragmire said. His tone was rueful, almost embarrassed, and unless the sun was playing tricks on Link's eyes, a high blush had spread across his cheekbones. "The King of Hyrule wouldn't have sent his only daughter with an incompetent guard."

Link shrugged. "I'm short, even for a Hylian. Most people underestimate me."

The corner of Dragmire's lips quirked up into a wry smile. "Even so, that doesn't excuse my foolishness. Or, for the matter, my rudeness. I forgot I'd granted you use of the guards' training court."

"It's alright," Link said. "You've been negotiating with Zelda all morning, I think that's plenty of reason to have forgotten."

Dragmire groaned in response, burying his face in his hands. "Your princess is easily the most infuriating person I've met."

Link couldn't help the laugh that burst out of him. That was one way to put it— Zelda was tenacious and hardheaded, and frighteningly intelligent, and he'd never won an argument with her. She was used to getting her way, he'd gathered, or to breaking down whatever resistance she faced with carefully chosen arguments. Dragmire snorted, turning his face away, but not before Link caught the grin spreading across his features; a genuine one this time, he thought.

"Walk with me?" Dragmire offered. "We're fools standing out in the sun like this."

"Sure," Link replied.

He hurried to keep up with the Gerudo's longer stride when Dragmire stepped back into the hallway, leading Link deeper into the palace. Dragmire didn't slow, either, but he didn't speed up to leave Link behind. They both fell quiet for a moment, and Link let Dragmire pull ahead, studying the topography of his back. His thick red hair, even in its high ponytail, fell nearly to the small of his back, swaying with each step. A set of pale scars rippled down his left shoulder— three of them, too ragged and parallel to have left by anything other than claws. Judging by the spacing, the only thing that could have left them was a bokoblin. He resisted the urge to reach up and touch his cheek through his veil.

They emerged into another courtyard a minute later, and Link gasped. The space was shaded and cool, the towering walls of the palace stretching high overhead. A ripple of water over stone caught his ear, and the soft patter of it falling into a pool, but he couldn't tell where it was from— every way he turned, a new plant blocked his path. Palms and ferns and curling vines, a spill of moss over one wall— and yes, there was the water, flowing down from a chute in the wall to trickle into a gravel-bottomed channel along the floor, irrigating the verdant space. Dragmire strode deeper in, and Link darted after him.

"My grandmother, Chief Riju, started this garden," Dragmire said quietly. "She thought it wise to keep an oasis in the palace, open to all of our people, to remind us..."

"Of what?" Link asked.

"...That things are worth fighting and dying for," Dragmire replied. "That hope thrives even in the barren places, if we are willing to cultivate it."

"...Why are you telling me this?" Link asked.

Dragmire sighed, and knelt in one of the paths, carefully straightening a slumped-over stem and replacing the stake holding it upright. "...Frankly, I hope you'll tell your princess," he said quietly. "She seems...so caught up in whatever's going on in her head that she won't hear a word I say, no matter how I try to speak with her. We spent the entire morning debating pointless, miniscule tweaks in the wording of my mother's treaty, and...I don't know. It feels like she's wasting time, trying to draw this out unreasonably."

Link's gut did a slow roll, and he tucked his thumbs into his belt to keep his hands from furling into fists. "I'm sorry she won't listen to you, but I don't know what I can do to help."

"Just listen," Dragmire said. He stood carefully, then moved deeper into the garden. Link followed him, watching him move through the greenery. "...You know, my grandmother mounted a campaign nearly a century ago to help Her Highness's grandfather ferret out the Yiga. Their strongholds were in the border of our highlands, and I believe she felt...responsible, for the danger they posed to both your people and mine. And for a very long time, we thought she had been successful." His voice cracked, and there was a pause before he continued. "...I wish we hadn't been wrong. Or that we'd been more prepared, and not paid the price in blood."

"...I'm sorry," Link said. "...About your mother. You…"

"I know," Dragmire said quietly. They entered a clear space near the back wall of the garden, where the water trickled into a pool, and Dragmire seated himself at the edge of it, staring intently at the floor. Link settled carefully next to him and watched his face. "...I was...very close to her. I wish…" He sighed, then looked up and met Link's gaze. "...But wishing isn't going to do me any good, and it won't protect my people."

"...Why do you think they struck now , of all times?" Link asked.

"...I have my suspicions," Dragmire said. "It's the Yiga . Why else would they move, after a century of silence, if not—"

"—The Calamity," Link said. "You think it's waking up?"

"There have been signs. One of our guards reported sightings of the dragon Farosh among the Vatorsa and Risoka— the highland tribes— beginning just over three weeks ago, before my mother fell. And, of course, the Yiga are abroad again, and traders from the Toruma, out near the Desert of Mysteries, report sightings of spectral vai near the ancient battlegrounds, and—" Dragmire cut himself off, shaking his head. "...I don't even know why I'm telling you this, but...goddesses preserve me, I've had the same dream every night since my mother was slain."

A sensation like ice trailed down Link's spine, and he sat up a little and scooted closer. "...Can you tell me about the dream?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Fire," Dragmire said immediately. "In the dream, I'm standing out in the desert, surrounded by ancient pillars. One of them is broken, and...I know, somehow, that I'm responsible for it. And there's...it doesn't make sense, but the ground is hollow and I can see through it, and there's a fire underground, and a voice that calls my name, and I get on my knees and dig for it but I can never reach it before I wake, no matter how deep I dig. The Rova…" he hesitated a moment, then sighed. "They've been telling me it's just a stress dream. That the loss of my mother and the mantle of kingship has given me nightmares— but this isn't a nightmare. It means something."

"Is that why you've been spending so much time in the temple in the evenings?" Link asked.

Dragmire groaned. "...And I suppose you overheard the guards gossiping in the bazaar, if you know that," he said. "Yes, that's why. The Rova know something they aren't saying, I'm certain of it, but I don't know how to get them to tell me."

Link hesitated. A fire in the desert, buried in an underground ruin— it sounded too similar to be true. Or to be coincidence .

Oh, Zelda was going to be furious when he let her know, but his gut insisted.

"...I know why Zelda's been delaying you in the treaty meetings," Link said.

Dragmire's head snapped up, and his golden eyes locked onto Link. "What?"

"...Look, I'm really not supposed to be telling you this, but…" Link hesitated. Dragmire's stare riveted him to the spot, and the tang of ozone struck the roof of his mouth. "...Zelda and I have been following a prophecy. We were going to come here anyway, even if your mother was still alive— Zelda found some old inscription in a ruin, something about three Sacred Flames and reforging the Sword that Seals the Darkness to keep Calamity at bay, and— we think one of them is in the Gerudo Desert. And we need to find it, before anyone else can get hurt."

The ozone smell vanished instantly. Dragmire rocked back in his seat, his eyes gone wide in shock.

"...And you think your Sacred Flame and the fire from my dream...may be the same thing," Dragmire said quietly.

Link nodded. "It has to be. They're too alike for it to just be chance."

Dragmire lunged forward abruptly, catching Link's hands in his, and Link found himself reeling at the sudden contact. " Yes ," he said. "Link, please— tomorrow at sundown, at the Temple of the Triune— oh, it's forbidden, but you and Princess Zelda must come speak to the Rova with me. If your Sacred Flame and my dream are one and the same, they'll know— they know all of our lost holy places and forgotten temples in the Desert of Mysteries. We'll find it. Please . I need these answers as much as you do, and together maybe we can get them."

"I— okay," Link said, swaying slightly. "I...what do you want me to tell Zelda?"

"That I'm calling off our meeting tomorrow afternoon," Dragmire replied, springing to his feet. He pulled Link up with him, seeming almost ready to spin him around before he remembered himself. "We'll need time to prepare— of course, I have duties to attend to, and I'm certain the two of you will have something you'll need to ready in the meantime— and the meeting location, of course. The Temple of the Triune. At sundown. Tell her to come armed, just in case."

"I will," Link said, and bowed deeply. Dragmire nodded in return, his golden eyes dancing, and part of Link wanted to say something else— but the words escaped him.

He turned on his heel and fled instead, racing up the wide, white halls of the palace and the stairs leading to the quarters he and Zelda shared.

When he finally reached their room, he thought for a moment that Zelda might be out somewhere— the silence was almost as heavy in the air as the heat. She usually made some sort of noise even when alone, the rustle of her pen across paper or the turn of a page, the shifting of heavy fabric, the creak of furniture or floorboards, but he could hear nothing through the door. He hesitated, then rapped sharply at the wood, leaning closer to listen.

There. The muffled rustle of fabric as someone moved inside.

"You can come in," Zelda called. Link pushed the door open.

Zelda was perched on the edge of her bed, looking away from him, but she glanced up as Link entered, her brilliant green eyes glittering in the light through the closed shutters. She was in her plain clothes again, the unpatterned sirwal and kurta he remembered from their trek to Gerudo Town rather than the robes she'd worn that morning. Her thick brown hair was loose about her shoulders, and heavy with water— she must have bathed after her meeting with Dragmire; the air smelled of her floral soap. She had a comb in one hand, and was holding a book open with the other.

"That doesn't seem like an efficient way to do your hair," he said teasingly, shutting the door behind him.

"Efficiency wasn't my intention," Zelda replied. "I'm looking over some of the records on trade with the Gerudo that Father had sent to me before my next meeting with Dragmire."

Link pulled his veil down, then sat down behind Zelda on the bed, taking the proffered comb and beginning to work its teeth through her wet hair. "I...don't think you need to worry so much about it," he said.

"I take it you've spoken with him?" Zelda asked.

"Yeah, just before I came up here," Link said. "I know I wasn't supposed to, but I told him about the Flame."

Zelda stiffened under his hands, then shot him a look over her shoulder. "You what ? Link!"

"I was thinking about the inscription!" Link said defensively. "You know the one line you only got part of, the bit about—"

"The prince ," Zelda said, and slammed her book shut. "I'd forgotten all about that— you really think the prince it mentioned is Dragmire?"

"We were talking," Link said. "He wanted me to get you to cut him some slack on the negotiations, but— Zelda, he told me he'd been dreaming about a fire in the desert for weeks ."

"Since we found the path to the first temple?"

"Since we found the path to the first temple. He's the prince from that inscription, he has to be."

Zelda shifted restlessly under Link's hands as he finished combing her hair and laid the comb aside. "The line was mostly illegible," she said. "We don't know what it said in its entirety, just that the subject of the line was a prince. It could be a warning not to trust him, for all we know."

"You're right," Link said. "But he did agree to take us to the Temple of the Triune to speak to the..."

"The Rova?" Zelda suggested.

"Yeah, the Rova," Link agreed, and carded his fingers through her hair. It was drying quickly in the heat, he noticed, and for a moment he was tempted to indulge and run his fingers through it again. Instead he separated it into three sections, then began to weave them together. "He said they might know something about the temple or the Sacred Flames."

Zelda hesitated, and Link paused in his braiding to let her think. "...I'm still not certain about this," she said. "I have a...a feeling about Dragmire, and I can't quite place it, but he's...I'm more aware of him than I am of...of most people."

She said the word with a weight to it that made Link sit up straighter— that tone meant, always, that she was talking about her powers, the sacred abilities inherent to her bloodline. When she said aware , she meant it the same way she meant she was aware of the sacred towers or the goddess's springs, of the power she said lived beneath the land that he could never learn to feel. Something about it made him think about the urge he'd felt during the spar, the one that wanted him to shove the end of the training staff into Dragmire's throat.

"...I have a feeling about him too," Link said. "But also, he knows things we need to know, and if anything goes wrong, I think we can take him."

Zelda nodded thoughtfully under his hands.