Chapter Fourteen: The Lost Hero
The afternoon wind rose clouds of ash. Misly thought she would never get the grit of it out of her eyes and teeth.
Two days since the Shadow had fled. The citizens were trickling back. Some even dared to enter the city. They returned with meager provisions. It would be a long, hungry winter.
And as such, she worked with the other women to sort through the useable goods. She tied a cloth around her nose and mouth the block the greasy stink of the cremation fires. The bodies of the slain monsters took a long time to burn.
They had plenty of fuel, though. Half the city had been demolished.
Misly lugged a bag of unspoiled grain to a building designated for food storage. She thought it might have been a playhouse. She struggled to lift it into the holding crate.
Brown hands closed over hers and helped shove the heavy sack into place. Her heart skipped alarmingly. She knew those hands.
She set her chin and turned to face him. "You survived, then," she said lamely.
The Lieutenant dusted off his palms. "I did. Not for lack of trying."
He had a bandage around his bicep, bruises and scratches to his face. She lifted a hand involuntarily, then snatched it back.
"I did, too. Survive, that is."
"I see that."
What was happening to her? Where was her sparkling wit? Her polish? Everything she had worked so hard to cultivate, to captivate?
"And I am grateful for it," he added.
She couldn't speak to tell him her joy in his safety. She scolded instead. "Where have you been?" she demanded, ripping off her mask. She was boiling hot, all of a sudden.
"Clearing the city," he explained. "And looking for you."
She cast about for something to distract him, to give her more time. What was wrong with her?
"I lost your knife."
"How?"
"There was this monster and I was running, but it cornered me. I stabbed it, but it jerked it out of my hands, and I was running again and- "
His lips pressed against hers, silencing her babbles.
A long time later, he lifted her chin. "I can't understand a word you say when you talk that fast."
She was blubbering now, noisy tears of joy and worry and heartache. He held her close.
"My parents will hate you," she hiccupped. "I need to marry someone rich."
"Why?"
"So Nelsin can be a Magistrate."
Sorrint gave her a wry look. "I doubt there will be an Assembly Session this winter, astana. And who says I am not rich? It means wealthy, correct?"
She nodded. "Are you?"
He shrugged. "Does it matter? To you? I don't give a damn about your parents. Does it matter to you, Misly Thala Brynn?"
She shook her head. "Of course not." That earned her another breathless kiss. She could get used to this. To him and his drawling accent and how he made that sort of smiling scowl when he was exasperated with her.
"I'll ask him, if you want. That's how you do this in Hyrule, yes? Ask the father?" That bewildered him.
"How is it done in Ordon?"
He actually blushed a little. "Women in my home are many times more forward in their…interest."
She blushed, too, wondering how many women he had been pursued by. He was a good-looking man. Not the most attractive she'd met, but solid and clear eyed. Those were stupid examples, but he just felt…safe. Strong. Powerful. Her legs went all weak.
"Are you unwell?"
She started to shake her head, then changed her mind. He gripped her elbow, now scolding her for working too hard. She clutched at him and he scooped her up. She did not protest as he strode down the street with her in his arms for all of Hyrule to see. She wanted every female on the continent to know this man belonged to her and her alone.
She snuggled up to him, her lips touching his neck. His grip on her tightened, even as he hissed at her to stop.
She smiled. She would employ all her arts to make sure he knew it, too.
Sheik watched Ordon pace. The man limped heavily, but rebuffed all urges to rest, to be healed.
"See to Link," he'd say. The healer would remind him that they had done all they could for the boy. Now, they could only wait.
Sheik stretched his own aching body. Middle age was a cruel tyrant. The cool weather and misting rain did not help matters.
The medallion at his neck warmed and he turned to see Impa coming toward them. She greeted him cheerfully, touching her forehead to his.
"Brother."
"Sister."
She grinned at him, her lopsided smile no longer identical to his. She glanced to the Ordonian king. "No change in the prince?"
Sheik shook his head.
"The queen?"
"Awake, but weak still. She frets. You know how she is."
Impa made a disgusted noise. "Why don't they let her see him?"
"Something about their delicate mental states? They had a connection, one of his Lieutenants told me. She could see his memories and speak with him across distance."
Impa frowned. "How?"
Sheik did not try to understand. "I do not trifle in the affairs of the Goddess."
Impa snorted rudely. She had never been so respectful. "Where are they?"
Sheik waved over his shoulder. "Can't you see his king fretting himself to death?"
"That's Ordon?" She examined him critically. "Younger than I thought. Looks handy with that cleaver strapped on his back."
Sheik eyed her. "I doubt you'll have much success there, sister."
She elbowed him. "Go rest, little brother. I'll see if I can get this Ordon to leave off his death watch as well."
"I wish you luck."
She made a face at him and strode over to the anxious king.
"Ordon? Greetings, friend. I am Impa."
Sheik left them to it. He ducked under the heavy curtain hung over the missing door of the house. It had been some wealthy citizen's residence. Now, their wounded lay on makeshift pallets in the great room, more crowded into the dining salons.
A scowling Ordonian soldier let him peek into a room at the back.
The lamps burned low, not entirely hiding the pallor to the prince's face.
"How is he?"
The healer sitting near him glanced up. "His physical injuries are healing well." She twitched the heavy bandage wrapped tight around his chest. Another was fastened around his arm, his leg, his head.
Sheik grimaced, knowing too well what she meant. "The queen?"
She pointed to the building across the garden.
Sheik found his queen restless and impatient.
"Is he well?" she demanded. Her own healer urged her to lay back. "They won't let me see him. I can't find him in the dream place! Please, is he- "
"He is alive," he told her. She hit the mattress with clenched fists.
"That's not what I mean, and you know it!"
The healer was out of patience. "Your Majesty, please, I must insist- "
She pushed him away and swung her legs out of bed. Tried to, at least. Sheik caught her when she stumbled, her entire body trembling.
She swatted away the hand he lifted to her forehead.
"Don't you dare," she snapped. "I'll have you banished!"
He chuckled, wondering at the change in her. Love, he supposed. Yet different than before.
"I was only going to feel your temperature, my queen."
"She's in a high fever," the healer stormed. "And needs to rest!"
"I'm fine!"
"What good will it be for you to slay the colossus, single-handedly storm the palace, defeat Ganon, and then die from a simple infection!"
Zelda scowled but relented. Allowed them to tuck her back into bed. Swallowed the medicine Sheik noticed the healer slipped a double dose of sedative into at the last moment.
It worked quickly. Her eyes grew heavy and dark.
"Please," she begged Sheik. "Please, watch him. I'm so worried he'll do something before I can see him, before I can forgive him."
Sheik held her hand tightly. "I'll keep him safe, little one. I promise."
The herbs finally dragged her under. The healer shooed him away.
He was aware that he was alive. Lying in a soft, warm bed. Aware of people moving around him, turning him, changing the bandages that covered his wounds.
But it was muted, obscured by the dark trees around him. Link stood in the cold twilight and looked around aimlessly.
Voices whispered to him. He knew them well. That one mourned with the regret of a mother. That one raged, whining and strident. A small child called for help, lost and alone.
He walked toward it. He had never dared before, fearing what he would find, what would happen of it wasn't a child, but some demon waiting to consume him.
The crying grew louder. His chest felt heavy, hot and sharp where her Sword had pierced him. Her face had been terrible. He remembered that much, the pain of the Sword and her own guilt.
It was a child. It sat huddled in the roots of a drooping tree, arms wrapped tight around its thin legs.
He crouched by it. "Little one? Are you lost?"
It sniffed and lifted its face. He stared into its eyes, one clouded, the other vibrant blue.
The boy flinched as Link reached for him. He drew back an instant but persisted. The boy's skin was cold under his fingers.
"Who did this to you, little one?"
The boy shrugged.
"Where did you come from?"
The boy's uneven stare stabbed into him. He knew this boy, remembered him. He pressed his hands to the earth, griped the sheets to keep himself within.
It tried to drag him in, hungry, so hungry. The boy's mouth opened wide, a silent scream, wanting something, anything to fill the void in them.
"Gently now."
Pain pulled him back. He groaned and they moved him more carefully. He panted, sweat on his face.
Goddess above, he was tired of pain. He had used it to keep him here for so long, had lived with it gnawing at him until he couldn't remember what it was like to not hurt.
He had used it to mask how weak he was. Link of the Gotkasi, Champion, Captain, Prince, Chosen: how could this man be weak? He slew giants, defeated armies.
Now? Now they all knew. They had seen how easily he had fallen to Ganon. They knew it was all a lie.
Someone wiped his face gently.
"Sleep, Link. Try to rest."
The boy's eyes would not stop their accusing stare.
"Are you lost?" he asked yet again. "I can help you."
The boy did not speak. Had he any voice left? Any choice? The darkness beyond whispered that he did. He could always choose to give in, stay here in these dark woods. Lie down, sleep, finally sleep.
He wanted to. Even rested against the slimy trunk. The wound in his chest throbbed with his heart. He could still feel where she had tried to heal him. He was grateful for it, though she did not know this was something she couldn't heal.
Was that her hand on his face? He smiled, drinking in her warmth.
"You shouldn't be here."
Not his voice, but what he was thinking.
"What's happening to him?" she asked in a fierce whisper.
"Your Majesty, he needs to- "
"Tell me. Please."
The man sighed. "We are doing our best, but the damage…"
A distant memory of those words, Cantor to Ordon. Before he knew who the tall, bearded man was, before he could really understand what they said.
We'll do our best, sir. But the damage…
The boy next to him shivered, remembering, too. He pulled him close, cuddling the boy's starved frame next to his.
"It will be alright," he told him.
The boy looked up, his one bright eye searching his face.
"Does it hurt?" he asked in a soft, whispery voice.
"What?"
"Dying?"
He had died many times, in as many ways. "No. Before, yes, if you've been in battle. But death is quiet. A release."
The boy thought about this. "I want to die."
"I know."
She rested her head on his chest. The weight of it pressed into the wound she had made. He wanted it, wanted her close to him, but resented that her touch brought more pain.
Couldn't it just stop?
"She's crying."
He sighed, stroking the boy's close-shaved head. "She's sad."
"Why?"
"She thinks we're lost to her."
"I am lost," the boy said.
"She thinks we're going to die."
He didn't understand. "Why does that make her sad?"
"She loves me. Loves us."
The boy watched her for a while. "Does she know it hurts you?"
"Her love? I don't know. But she would never hurt us on purpose."
The boy rubbed his chest, the same place as his own pain.
"Does it always hurt?"
"What?"
"Love?"
Link considered. "No. No, not always."
"I don't want to hurt anymore." His thin voice cracked. "Will you make it stop?"
"I can't."
The boy tried to push him away. Link held tightly to him, soothing him. "Hush, little one. You cannot hide from it. Only endure, fight."
"I can't."
"You can. You are strong."
The boy's eyes closed slowly. "I'm so tired."
"Sleep, little one. I'll protect you."
"You won't leave me alone?"
"Never."
The boy smiled. His sigh lasted a long time, his body finally relaxing. Link held him and watched the swirling mists above them.
Champion.
He sat up. The mist was clearing, opening.
The voice again, beckoning him. The others had fallen silent. He stood, looking to where it called to him. He bent down and lifted the sleeping boy. He stirred and wrapped his thin arms around Link's neck.
It was brilliant after the dimness of the woods. He blinked against it.
The boy pushed from his shoulder and grimaced. "It's too bright."
Champion.
He knew that voice. He turned to see the Master waiting. He dropped his eyes, ashamed.
The boy squirmed until Link set him down. He watched disbelieving as the child ran to the Master.
"There you are!" the man cried. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"
The boy squealed with joy, giggling as he was swung up into the air.
There was another, a youth. And another, an older man. Dozens of them, all gathered around the child, hugging him, caressing him, welcoming him home.
Link had to look away. His pain was nothing to this ache, knowing he didn't belong with them.
"Link," the man said, his ancient voice warm with pride.
Years of discipline, of obedience forced him to respond, "Yes, Master?"
The Hero of Old smiled. "No, Link. You are the Master of the Sword." He took the boy by the hand. "Guide our Hero well."
They were gone.
Alone.
It had been his fear as far back as he could remember. Even through the mist of the Goddess it cut, sharp and desperate.
To be alone. To die alone and forgotten.
Now? Now he would die known as the Hero who failed, who allowed Ganon to consume him.
A cruel irony.
"I am many times called a cruel mistress."
He lifted his head from his hands. She looked out over her kingdom, the whole of existence spread before her.
She sighed and looked down at him. He stared back, surprised. She was not beautiful like Her sisters. But her eyes were warm and understanding.
"You did not fail." she said. "Because you were never the Hero." She touched his head, his cheek. "I am sorry, my child. It was a lie We had to let you believe."
"Why?"
She did not answer him. "You are not weak. You did what no one else could."
"But why?"
"We are so proud of you."
He was taller than Her. "Tell me why!"
She smiled tenderly up at him. "Because she loves you."
When he woke again, he was truly awake. He sat up, surprised at how easily he moved. He felt his chest. His fingers found the old brand and the new scar crossing it.
The room was quiet, but he could hear activity outside. Afternoon, he thought, by the color of the light.
His legs were shaky. He waited until his head stopped swimming, then stood. Someone had left a pair of loose trousers and a tunic on a chair. He dressed, wondering what day it was. What month.
What had happened to him?
He had to sit.
It was all there. Everything. Every day, every memory. His breathing grew ragged as he remembered.
Hyn, the slave master, and his cruel whip. The thin blanket he slept on, the hunger and the fear.
The desperate thirst, the biting stones cutting his feet, the bitter taste of the blood in his mouth.
Their heavy hands as he lay helpless, unable to move.
The noise of the city, the leering faces. The searing light when She looked on him before everything became muffled and dim.
A new hunger, always pushing, driving, seeking. Never satisfied. Never enough, never good enough. The fear he dare not voice, lest they realize his worthlessness, see how weak the foundations of his strength truly were.
The might of Ganon.
He pressed his fists into his eyes. He would do anything to have Her let him forget that. He would die Her slave a thousand times. The taint of the Shadow on his soul. Remembering what he had done.
His home in flames. The innocents he slew, thousands who died by his hand. Cantor. By Ordona, her father!
"Link!"
He dragged himself out of the well of his memories.
She stood in the doorway. Was it the sun or her own radiance that shone behind her?
She was there, too, this goddess, winding through his thoughts. She came near him and touched his face, his lips. He stared up at her.
She smiled sweetly, kindly. "Link, do you remember what happened?"
He did. All of it. Not a thundering crash of memories, but filling him, swelling from the void in him.
The quiet and gentle Sella, who would hum to him when he could not sleep after a beating.
Rhynna and her patience while he learned to talk again, to not fear to be touched.
Firn, Harro, Cantor, Davin, Sorrint.
The expression on Ordon's face as he watched Link, an expression he did not have a name for, but later learned was pride.
His own pride when he realized that his lord trusted him. Wanted him. Loved him.
Laughing with Sorrint and Wilm. Alea's giggles as they slipped away from the firelight.
The power, the intoxicating promise of the Goddess' blessing settling over him. The first time he held the Master Sword.
The moment the truth struck him that he loved this woman. During their flight back to Hyrule to return her to her people. Watching her sleep curled up on the ground, her regal beauty relaxed into something earthly.
It was a new fear, knowing he would die for this woman. He would have before; it was who he was, who he had been trained to be. But also that he would live for her, do anything to make her happy.
Which he had failed at, utterly.
He dropped eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said. It was pathetic, inadequate. But nothing else could be said. How could he tell her now? After he had ripped her country apart, betrayed her, abandoned her? "Zelda, I am so sorry."
"It wasn't you."
"If I had been stronger, if I had- "
"No," she said firmly. "You are not weak. You fought so bravely. You did what no one else could. You defeated Ganon. I am so proud of you."
He stared at her. Had that been her in his vision? He thought Faroe…but if she was the Hero, then…
"You are not weak. You held the Triforce. And you gave it up."
He remembered that to, the infinite spread before him. How small this conflict was, how fleeting their lives were. Yet, so precious.
But, if she was the Hero, if she held Courage, then he held the others. He held Power and Wisdom.
"Link? Are you still in pain?"
Was he? He was surprised when he found that he wasn't. Physically, yes. He'd been stabbed with a sword made from the might and glory of the Goddesses. But his self-doubt, his deep, hidden self-loathing…
Firm inside him shone the Power of Ordona and the Wisdom of Hylia. How could this have happened? Why? What did he do now?
He caught his breath as she touched his neck, pulled his collar aside. She felt the scar she had made and her eyes sparkled with tears.
"Can you ever forgive me?"
"Zelda, darl-" He closed his teeth on the endearment. "There is nothing to forgive. You saved me."
She sent him a swift look and dropped her eyes again. "I missed you, Link."
She was so close. He could take her in his arms, kiss her, pull her to the still warm bed behind them. She loves you.
"After you defeated him, do you also remember what you did? What you said?"
That had the reassuringly normal fuzziness of blood loss, rather than any divine intervention.
"A little."
"You called me something. Volje, I think?"
He swallowed. "Did I?"
Her eyes were brilliant behind her lashes. "My Ordonian has gotten much better, but I'm not sure what it means."
"It's not Ordonian." he hedged.
"Gotkasi, then?" She had moved closer somehow. Her body pressed against his. He kept his hands at his sides. "A compliment, I assume? Or a pet name?"
This woman would be the death of him. "Not…not exactly."
Her arms twined around his neck. "Tell me, my prince. Tell me exactly what you mean."
Firn was there when she woke up. She blinked at the woman, disoriented. Firn in Hyrule? Or was she still in Ordon?
Firn smiled and pressed a finger to her lips. "He is still sleeping."
Another strange thing. Link lay next to her, sprawled on his stomach. She stared at him, too.
"Heard you up talking past midnight," Firn commented. Zelda snuggled into the warm blankets to hide her blush. They had spent much of the night talking.
Among other things.
"Hungry?" Firn asked. "The cooks are just waking, but I can find you something to tide you over until breakfast."
"Yes, please," Zelda said meekly. Hylia save her, she felt fourteen years old again, caught kissing a boy behind a bush in the gardens.
Firn patted her head and went out.
Now what?
Link grimaced as the door shut. She held perfectly still and he settled back to sleep.
Hylia hear her plea, what did she do now?
First, find some clothing. She slid out of bed and scrambled into her tunic. Except it was his tunic. Goddess, she was bad at this.
Finally in the correct clothing, she sat and tucked her legs up. Her toes were cold. The bed was warm. But she didn't think she had the courage to crawl back in and risk waking him up.
She hid her face in her hands. She had practically dragged him into the bed. She actually had pushed him back a little. Not that he had resisted her. She hadn't wanted him to have time to think, to find a reason why this wouldn't work.
They both knew what the other felt. Still, it was… not mortifying. Uncomfortable. Yes, uncomfortable to acknowledge the emotions she had been carrying through this madness.
And when he woke up and remembered -he remembered everything, now- what would he feel? The same shyness? Or regret? Disappointment?
His lazy smile as he had fallen asleep hinted that he had not felt so in the early hours. But sunrise had a way of returning people to sanity.
Firn was back. She moved soundlessly across the rug. She placed a tray with covered dishes on a low table.
"It is still early, my dear. Will you try to sleep for a while longer?"
Zelda glanced warily to the bed. "No. I'm not tired." A lie; she was exhausted. Sleeping for the next week sounded like not enough.
Firn sniffed but led her to a dressing screen. A standing bath in tepid water and a dress that did not quite fit. She grimaced at the skirts. They felt cumbersome. Firn cinched the extra fabric around her waist with a silk sash.
"Had to find something this big, to fit your shoulders, my dear."
One outcome of swinging a sword for the last five months. Had it really been so long?
Firn continued the effort to tame her hair. The ends had been cut off as hopeless. Bit by painful bit, they were combing through the rest.
Eyes watering, Zelda told Firn to shear it.
"No," the woman said firmly. "Your head will be cold this winter."
"I don't- "
"And you wouldn't want to be bald at your wedding, would you?"
Zelda clamped her teeth shut and fumed.
As the morning progressed, more servants moved stealthily through the suite. A mix of Hylian and Ordonian guards stood at the doorways. Firn coordinated everything with a gracious smile.
No one seemed the least astounded at any of it. It was more embarrassing than if they were shocked.
Firn herself carried in the Master Sword and the Sword Made to Pierce the Darkness. She lovingly laid them in a stand. Zelda's weapon looked drab next to the gilded sheath of the Master Sword.
"A fine blade," Firn commented, touching the diamond with reverent fingers. "Elegant, clean, precise."
"It fulfilled its destiny." He had used it to dispel the Shadow. She had used it to save him.
"And you will continue to answer the call of the Goddess."
Was that what was eating at her? The thought that she was finished, her part in this grand battle over? For all the heartache and pain, she had almost enjoyed it.
He felt the same, laced through his memories. A small peck of guilt that he enjoyed the power he wielded. Did that make him like Ganon?
"For when he finally wakes," Firn said, handing her a bundle of cloth. It was a Champion's Tunic. "I am still hemming yours, my dear. Should be ready later this morning."
He found her sitting, tracing the embroidery of his collar with her fingers.
He cleared his throat. She met his eyes shyly. He smiled a little and she knew everything would be alright.
He didn't want to wear it. She told him to stop being stupid and yanked it over his head. Firn brought hers in, cut longer, a half dress almost, after the Tatolan fashion in the south.
"You wear the Blue well," Link told her.
The azure silk gave her brazen confidence. "I just hope Firn didn't use my entire supply of besum for it. Otherwise, what will we use for our- put me down!"
He continued to grumble as she smoothed the wrinkles out of the shoulders.
"You're still the Champion and a Prince," she said firmly. "If I have to wear this stupid crown, you can bear wearing a blue tunic." She had found the spiked crown waiting by the weapon stands. She had lost it during the battle with the colossus and hoped it gone forever.
"Goron?" he asked, grimacing at the daggers above her head.
"From King Baeark himself."
Link groaned. "Is he here?"
"No, why?"
"Maybe he won't kill me now he knows I'm royalty," he mused. "Bad politics, to murder the consort of your most powerful ally."
"Might be preferable than getting one of these yourself." She shifted the heavy metal. "Gives me a headache."
She buckled her sword in place and turned to find Link had gone pale. She followed his gaze to the Master Sword. She held it out to him.
"No." His tone was flat, none of the playful refusal about his tunic.
"It is no longer cursed." She had peeked while he still slept. The steel shone bright. She had felt the soul of it stir and hastily returned it to its place.
He reached for it, then clenched his fist. "I can't. I am not the Hero."
There it was, plain in his eyes: the hunger for power, for the might of the Sword. He looked away from the temptation.
She threw the baldric over his shoulder and pulled it snug over his heart. He was weeping. She held him close.
"You are worthy to hold it," she told him fiercely. "It chose you. Even though They knew who you were. It knew you would prevail."
His held her tightly for a long time, then pushed back. He wiped his face impatiently with the back of a hand.
"Ask it, if you doubt."
He drew it carefully. The hairs on her neck prickled.
Champion.
It was not the voice she heard. Link sighed and some of the tension left his face.
"See?"
His voice was thick as he asked, "Were you always this bossy?"
"Are you always this stubborn?"
His firm mouth on hers was answer enough.
Firn bustled in. "Alright, children, enough, enough. You can't hide in here all day! Link, astana, Ordon is sitting on thistles out there. Please go reassure him you are not dead?"
Link laughed and she had never heard anything more wonderful.
"Ta, Firn, I'm coming."
Epilogue
Enon scowled at the shoes of the adults around him. They were all scolding him, yelling at each other, shouting for others to come support them.
Young Terpandra sniveled across the room, clutched tightly in his mother's arms. Enon made a face at him and his own mother cuffed him sharply.
"You dishonor our name," she said fiercely.
"Mama, I had to- "
"Enough."
Being royalty was the worst.
The crowd turned as one, still arguing hotly.
"What is going on?" The queen's voice carried over the noise. "No, Bustine, enough!"
They hushed, chastened. Enon's mother gestured curtly for him to approach the queen. He did but dropped his eyes when he saw the Prince at her side.
The queen stood with hands on hips. "Now, what is so important I needed to be pulled from my wedding feast?"
Enon wondered if she had always been so brusque, even before her rise as the Hero. All the songs he had heard about her described a gentle beauty, a delicate, radiant queen.
She was radiant. Incandescent, in fact, as she glared around the room.
Terpandra's father apparently had the courage his son did not.
"I apologize, Your Majesty, Your Highness. A little dispute, a scuffle between boys- "
"A scuffle!" Terpandra's mother shrieked. "That demonspawn nearly killed my son!"
Enon felt Link's questioning eyes and flushed.
The queen's voice was icy. "To whom are you referring?"
Lady Terpandra did not hear the danger. "This…this…animal!"
Enon wondered if he should bite the finger that jabbed at him. He read the warning in Link's face and ducked his head meekly once more. Would they believe him if he sniffled a little? He doubted it.
Lord Terpandra tried to salvage the situation. "She is distraught, Your Majesty. Our only son, you know, overprotective."
Enon's mother's hand clamped on his shoulder. "As is my child, yet I do not see reason to coddle him."
Enon winced in anticipation of the caning he would get. There was certainly no coddling in his house. His mother, his family, all of Ordon, may indulge and adore him, but that did not stop swift and due justice.
The room went warily still when Link spoke.
"I have yet to hear what this 'scuffle' was about."
Enon did not like how the adults would not meet the Prince's eyes. It was harder, now. He had always been something more than the men around him. Now his eyes glinted with the power of a god.
Enon clenched his bruised fists and lifted his chin. "It was my fault."
Link did not believe him. "Explain."
"I lost my temper. I am sorry, my prince. Your Majesty."
"And what happened to make you lose your temper?" Link persisted.
Enon swallowed nervously. "Terpandra said something I disagreed with."
"Disagreed." Link swept a cold look over the boy's bloody nose and swollen eyes. "Must have been quite the philosophical dispute."
Enon's skin prickled as whispers rushed around the room, translating this into every language represented among the guests. He had to get out of here, stop the queen from hearing. He bowed low to the fuming woman.
"I am deeply sorry. Lady Terpandra, if there is any way I can make reparations- "
She swelled with rage. Zelda cut her off.
"I'm curious," she said in that falsely calm voice. "What was said?"
Enon looked panicked to Link. He knew. He had to have heard the slurs muttered behind her back. Link smiled a wicked smile.
"Yes, Enon, tell us what was said."
He chanced a look to his mother. Her mouth was firm. "Speak, son. Never be afraid to tell the truth."
He was afraid. Which is why he had tried to silence the stupid boy, show them it was a terrible idea to cast aspersions on the queen. On the woman the Champion of Ordona loved.
"Terpandra was commenting on the unusual nature of Ordonian wedding customs."
The queen's laugh was as false as her calm. "That is hardly something to fight over, Enon."
"And…" He had to clear his throat, the worry and fear making him sick. "And how we of Ordon must have different ideas of a woman's virtue."
The queen raised an eyebrow. "For all the lessons you shirk, you are remarkably glib, Enon. I fear some of our Hylian guests may not understand your meaning."
She knew, too. A weight lifted and his anger burned bright. He spoke loud and clear in Hylian. "He called you a whore, my queen."
The silence in the room went on and on.
"A whore." She turned to the Terpandra family. Her Ordonian wedding costume left her stomach bare. The slight rounding there made the traditional symbols of fertility redundant. "Neither original nor accurate, seeing as I only bed one man."
That man's arms were folded across his bare chest, his own markings of besum dye vibrant. "Thank you, Enon, for defending your queen's honor. But you know it is unbecoming a Prince of the House to fight those he knows are without the skill or strength to defend themselves."
Enon was more ashamed of that than this whole sordid mess. How he had enjoyed the surprised pain on Velt's face, the ease at which the taller, older boys went down under his attack. Feeling Terpandra's nose crack under his fist, his blood pounding hot and fast under his skin.
"Yes, my prince."
Lord Terpandra was scrambling to make apologies, assuring the queen that his son would be chastised, that this in no way reflected his opinion of his queen. She stared coldly at them until they had the sense to flee. The others dispersed as quickly as was dignified.
Enon stayed where he was, held in place by his mother's hand on his shoulder. Soon they were alone, the four of them.
Zelda's calm faltered. Link took her in his arms. He whispered something to her. She nodded and straightened with a toss of her head. Her braids swung, a golden foil to the silver spikes of her crown.
"Enon," she beckoned. He went to her hesitantly. She knelt and hugged him tightly. He hid his face in her shoulder for a moment. He loved this woman so much, for her kindness to him, her devotion to his prince. "My brave warrior. Was it awful?"
He hated how anger still made him cry. He wiped his eyes impatiently. "I told them to stop, that a woman's virtue is her own. They wouldn't apologize. They dishonor their queen!"
"Who was it, my dear?"
"Terpandra and Velt and Retno." The others had run when the servant had discovered them. He wondered how they would explain away their bruises.
She kissed his forehead. "I thank you, noble Enon, prince of Ordon. But I must still punish you for behavior unfit a member of the House Dhatin."
He set his chin. "I am a soldier of Ordon. I pay my debts gladly."
He spent the rest of the feast sitting gingerly in his seat. Link had a heavy hand. It was an honor that he volunteered to give the beating; Enon's mother, despite her stern words, always went easy on her darling. The man saw his squirms and reached over to ruffle his hair.
Enon scowled for the benefit of the Hylians looking sideways at him and hid his grin in a forkful of cake. They would never understand, these soft Hylian savages.
He was a Soldier of Ordon.