A/N: Not really much to explain. Just don't get too used to frequent updates! I'm trying to keep a couple chapters ahead in the current draft, so these won't get up probably without a 2+ week delay between each. Now enjoy!

Chapter Two: Guardian Angels

In all her nineteen years, Myria had never seen a blizzard like this.

The Aldean foothills of Snowpeak were well-known for their harsh autumn squalls, but even her mother Feyla had not seen a storm like this since she herself was a young girl. The wind howled around their small home with the furor of a wolf denied entry to the rabbit's den. Snow blew so thickly that the young woman could hardly see ten feet in front of her when she went to check on Daevin, who refused to come in the house but stayed to watch his animals in their tiny stable. Myria was glad of the rope Feyla had thoughtfully strung between house and barn just before the ominous clouds had rolled in two days ago.

'At this rate,' she thought as she battled through the blizzard for the fourth time, 'we won't be able to get to Prywyn for another two months. Thank the Goddesses Mother had the foresight to gather herbs before it got this bad.'

The girl strained to see through the flying snow, pulling her scarf farther over her nose to protect it from the stinging flakes. There—the dim silhouette of their small house finally resolved through the darkness, lantern light faintly shining through the den window like a ghostly beacon. Clinging tightly to the rope on her right, she plowed forward through the slight path still visible from her previous runs.

Only twenty feet from the house, however, Myria paused. She studied an irregular snow bank perplexedly; that hadn't been there twenty minutes ago when she left the house. Risking the blizzard's wrath, she let go of the rope and tromped through the waist-high snow to it. Suspicions arose in the back of her mind when she recognized its vague shape, but she set them aside as she knelt and began digging through the enormous drift.

Her wool gloves quickly became soaked and waterlogged, but despite the threat of frostbite if she didn't get them off and warm her hands, she continued. At points when the wind grew too strong to work through, she simply hunkered down and waited it out. She was making good progress—the fresh snow was light and loose, easy to shift aside. The wind even helped somewhat, as it sculpted the snow in a fashion that thinned the portion through which she dug.

After what felt an age from when she began, her hand hit something solid—and only slightly warmer than its environment. She didn't stop now that she knew what was beneath the snow, though. Instead she continued to unbury it at a frantic pace, quickly revealing a hand and an arm.

It was a warrior, judging by the sword hilt she uncovered near his left shoulder. Within ten minutes she had him free of the snow that had trapped him and began towing him toward the house. Suddenly the twenty feet might as well have been twenty miles; the man was at least a head taller than her and dense with toned muscles. Even a strong fisherwoman like her would have had difficulty hauling an unconscious man like him across flat ground, let alone through a blizzard.

But she couldn't just leave him out here, even for a few minutes to get her mother to come out and help. He could die of hypothermia or frostbite in that short time. Daevin's help was out of the question, as he was even farther away. So Myria gritted her teeth, prayed to Din for strength, and forged on as best she could.

Finally she stumbled onto the small stone patio her father had built shortly before his disappearance. Wearily she shifted the warrior's weight to one side in order to open the door; the simple effort took all her remaining strength.

Myria was vaguely aware of her mother looking up from her knitting as she and the stranger collapsed just inside the threshold. She gasped and rushed over to them, closing the door and helping her daughter up before turning to the bedraggled man sprawled on the floor. Only then did Myria notice how pale and blue his skin was, and the icicles that had formed in his hair and on his clothes. She had a feeling his ornate sword wouldn't have come out of the sheath if she had tried to draw it at that moment.

"Quickly—" Feyla's curt voice cut through her fascinated study of the man. "—get him on the couch."

Together the two easily managed to lift and carry the sodden soldier from a gradually enlarging puddle by the door to their only couch. At a few words from the healer Myria darted into the back portion of the house and then the cavernous cellar for the herbs Feyla would need. Having retrieved the delicate dried plants, she rummaged around in a trunk in her mother's room for some old clothes of her father's and snatched an extra blanket for good measure. Arms loaded down with the supplies and an extra pillow, she returned to the living room.

By that time Feyla had already stripped him and laid two thick blankets over him. His wet clothes were draped across the fireplace mantel to dry and she was readying a pot for the ingredients that would make her special remedy.

Myria handed her mother the required herbs, laid the clothes she had pilfered on an end table, and draped the extra blanket over her patient. Gently lifting his head forward so as not to disturb him, she slipped the pillow behind his head; his skin felt icy against her warming hands. Drops of water from his hair traced tiny rivers down her fingers.

Gingerly she brushed aside the golden bangs plastered to his forehead and laid her palm across the pale skin. "He's got a fever, Mother," she informed Feyla anxiously. She checked his pulse; it was weak, but steady.

The older woman smiled reassuringly at her, slowly stirring the simmering broth. "Don't worry dear. He's young and strong—he'll pull through it yet, just you watch."

Reluctantly, she took the healer's advice and sat back to wait, drawing a chair up beside the stranger's head. Though she knew her mother was the best healer in the Aldean foothills—some said the best in Aldea—Myria nonetheless worried for him. By her judgment he had been out in the cold without proper gear for far too long. From what she could tell about him by his belongings, she guessed he was a soldier. But either he hadn't been expecting a blizzard, or he wasn't a very smart traveler; he hadn't had any food that she could see. She even checked through his stuff to be sure she was correct.

Nothing.

What kind of idiot went out into a snowstorm of this magnitude, let alone without food?

She turned her attention back to the warrior. Now that she thought about it, she realized he was a foreigner—Hylian, if she wasn't mistaken. Not many Aldeans had ears that long and pointed, and the few she knew were of Hylian descent.

But then what was a Hylian doing here? Little news reached Aldea of their neighbor's activities, as the pass through Snowpeak Range was treacherous even in mild summers. Once in a while an enterprising merchant or rugged mercenary would pass through the little village of Prywyn—aptly named Pass Guard in the ancient tongue—but they were usually gone within the week.

Myria decided this person didn't fit the normal circumstances. His sword, for instance; it was the most beautifully crafted thing she had ever seen. She was sure ordinary soldiers didn't carry such pretty weapons. Even his facial features gave her the impression he wasn't common. His face was oval shaped with a small nose and angled eyebrows—perfect aristocratic Hylian traits. Despite the drawn look he had gained from his ordeal, she admitted to herself that he was rather handsome. He couldn't have been all that much older than her, either.

Her mother's presence dragged Myria from her musings. Feyla held a cup of steaming "elixir soup" in her hands, which she offered to her daughter. "Don't give it to him too quickly, or he'll wake with a burned mouth."

Nodding dutifully, Myria accepted the clay mug carefully and blew on it to cool it down some. When she judged it was only little hotter than lukewarm, she tilted the stranger's head forward again and carefully dripped the potion down his throat. She breathed a small sigh of relief when he feebly swallowed it; at least he could still interact with his surroundings, even in unconsciousness.

Feeling much better about his chances of recovery, Myria set the mug on the end table as her mother departed for the bedrooms.

The girl was determined to watch over him until he awoke, stupid Hylian or not.

The Kasiri estate in spring time had always been his favorite getaway. Warm sunlight glinted off the tumbling surface of Eldin Lake like dancing fairies. Frothy waves splashed against his face as he dove into the crystalline waters. A breeze chilled his bare torso every time he climbed onto shore, making him race for the warm lake again just to escape its caress.

He shook drops of water from his long bangs and blue eyes after his second dive, grinning at feminine laughter coming from the safety of the grass a few feet from shore. An elegantly-dressed woman with dirty blonde hair sat near the beach, randomly picking budding wildflowers to add to her growing bouquet. She was about mid-thirties, but had the glow of a young woman in her prime that was obvious when one looked into her green eyes.

"Link, if you stay in there much longer, you're going to become a Zora," the woman chastised lightly, eyes twinkling with mirth. She plucked a newly-bloomed white lily out of a clump beside the deserted dock from which he had been diving.

He merely laughed at her concern. "You know that won't happen, Mother—I love the land too much. The water's just such a wonderfully refreshing feeling after being cooped up all winter."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew something was wrong with this situation, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Unconcerned by it, he leisurely swam back toward the dock as the sun lined the nearby Goron Ridge with amber illumination. Water streamed from his skin like hundreds of tiny waterfalls as he strode onto the beach; he shook his golden mane as vigorously as a dog to dislodge the moisture. He smiled contentedly, watching the world's lantern slowly dim as it sank farther behind the mountains.

A rough horn call broke the evening stillness, echoed by a dozen others of the same variety. Immediately his head whipped around to face the direction of the sound. His mother stood slowly, gazing worriedly out at the eastern hills across the lake.

"We should get back to the manor, Link," she suggested anxiously.

Before they could do anything, however, a black-fletched arrow sprouted from her chest.

"Mother!"

"Mother!"

Link instinctively lunged forward, but his hands only met empty air. Adrenaline surged through his body with a speed matched only by his racing heart.

It took him a few seconds of panting and blinking to realize he wasn't on the lakeshore anymore. Slowly he began to regulate his breathing, using a meditation technique he had learned long ago to quickly calm himself down.

It had just been a nightmare—nothing life-threatening, nothing with fangs wide open to devour him. He was safe. Sadly, he knew his long-deceased mother wasn't.

"Mother, he's awake!" the feminine voice he had heard in his dream called again. He noted her voice quavered slightly with shock, which he guiltily guessed was from his rude awakening. Wondering where he was, he slowly opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a brunette woman hovering concernedly over him. A pair of gorgeous dark brown eyes studied him expertly but without any attempt at concealing her worry. Her long hair framed her face and was haloed by a light source Link couldn't place at the time.

She was the most welcome sight he'd ever seen.

"How are you feeling?" the woman—a girl not long out of her teenage years, really—queried anxiously.

He exhaled heavily and leaned back, faintly noting the pillows behind him as she felt his forehead. Despite his vigorous awakening, he could feel his whole body shaking with fatigue. When he attempted to answer, he found that his throat didn't want to cooperate; he cleared it tentatively and whispered, "Could be better. Where am I?"

Truth be known, he didn't remember much after running into that second blizzard. A day after losing Dwayne and his knights was all he had gotten before the monster storm had jumped him. He was pretty sure he had gone delirious that time, despite his training; lack of food could do that to a person.

"You're in my home. I found you buried in the snow outside. My mother and I have been taking care of you since."

He rubbed at his face wearily. "How long has it been? I completely lost track of time in the mountains…"

Another woman entered his line of sight, who he guessed was the first's mother. They had quite the familial resemblance—similar colored hair, similar shape to the eyes and cheekbones. Her eyes were more amber and her hair a lighter cinnamon brown, though. She handed a steaming mug to her daughter. "You have slept for three days, running a fever and shaking like a leaf. You are lucky Myria found you when she did."

"And that Mother is the best healer in the region," the girl added with pride, smiling at her mother and taking the mug. She held it out to him. "This is what she calls her elixir soup—heals just about anything. Careful; it's hot."

Warmth immediately relaxed his hands as they curled around the cup. He sat up and cradled it in both hands, studying its pale yellow contents. At first glance it didn't really look all that appetizing, but the smell was irresistible. After blowing on it a moment, he took a cautious sip.

Delicious was the only word he could think of to describe the taste. Being careful not to burn his mouth, he drained the mug.

When he returned the cup, he noticed he wasn't shaking anymore. He smiled at Myria, pleased. "Thank you," he said gratefully.

She returned his smile shyly. "You're welcome."

Her mother replaced the girl on the seat beside him as she moved out of sight around the couch. "That girl hasn't left your side except for necessities," the woman told him seriously. She smiled and patted his hand. "I told her you'd make it. You are strong."

Link sighed and closed his eyes, remembering the feeling of helplessness he'd become well-acquainted with recently. He couldn't stop the king; he couldn't stop his father; he couldn't stop the knights; he couldn't even survive two blizzards, thanks to his own stupidity. How strong was he really if he was powerless to help himself, let alone others?

The woman seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts. "Everyone makes mistakes, young warrior, though some weigh more heavily on certain people." She nodded, appearing every bit the sage at that moment. "You are one of those; you take the weight of the world on your shoulders, unbidden, and expect nothing but good from your efforts in return. I think you could use some more pride in yourself, if I'm not mistaken."

He licked his lips nervously, eyeing her suspiciously. "Who are you? You sound like Sir Ezeck with all that philosophical talk."

Giving him a smile that took ten years off her countenance, she said, "I am simply Feyla, a healer of the Aldean foothills—and you, Sir Knight, are at the mercy of my compassion."

Catching the none-too-subtle hint in her words, Link hesitated. How much could he tell these people, to whom he was indebted and yet knew almost nothing about? He decided a vague truth would have to do for now, as much as he hated to twist statements even a little.

"Yes, I am a knight—" He added wryly, "—though only recently knighted, if that. My name is Link Kasiri. I was attacked unjustly and chased out of the country shortly after the ceremony for reasons that I don't know. I came through a blizzard only to run into a second one days later; I was completely unprepared. I don't even remember what happened after that. Next thing I knew, I was here."

Feyla studied him with sympathetic eyes. Link got the feeling she knew he wasn't telling everything. After a moment, though, she simply nodded slowly and said, "You have been through much, young knight. I will let you keep your secrets." The woman patted his hand maternally, giving him a sad smile. "Now sleep; regain your strength. I have a feeling you're going to need it."

.oO—Oo.

Link took the healer's suggestion to heart. For the next four days he remained bedridden, unable to stand but determined to gain back his strength before doing anything too strenuous. As far as he could tell, he had plenty of time; Dwayne's men would never be able to follow him through that blizzard and the deep drifts it left behind.

Throughout his recovery, Myria was his constant companion. The first day felt the most awkward, as Link was still too weak to move or hold a proper conversation for any length of time. But thanks to Feyla's herbal expertise, that quickly changed. By the time he managed to hobble around their small house by himself, the two youths were inseparable.

Cooped up by the vast plains of snow beyond their door, the pair resorted to storytelling and impromptu games to pass the time and burn energy. It didn't last for too long, though, as Link's strength returned by leaps and bounds. Soon it was like keeping a wolf—albeit a tame and friendly one—in a cramped cave. Even teaching Myria how to play chess on a makeshift board and with pieces he carved himself couldn't keep him occupied for long.

"Your turn," Myria reminded amusedly.

The knight's head swiveled around from where he had been gazing distantly out the window. "Oh. Sorry." He took a moment to study the board, then moved his white-square mage three squares up and left. "Check."

The girl pouted, frustrated by the move which she hadn't seen coming. Inwardly, Link smiled at her expression; he could have called her cute, the way her nose wrinkled and her eyebrows angled nearly as sharply as his own. But he wasn't going to say that out loud: one, he knew her reaction wouldn't be nearly as pleasant; two, he was in the middle of a fight. Half of chess was a mental battle—trick the opponent here, trap them there, make a feint which would disguise the real offensive. After a while, they'd simply get too frustrated to counterattack properly and make fatal errors. In the meantime, he had to keep up the poker face to unnerve and unbalance her.

"You know," she commented, fingering her black-square knight contemplatively, "I get the feeling you're not even trying, yet still managing to pummel me into nothing."

He lifted a finger sagely, a gesture he was borrowing from Sir Ezeck specifically for that effect. "Ah, but you forget—I've been trained in the intricacies of chess for years. You, my young apprentice, have just started to grasp the basic principles of combat."

Myria sighed and leaned back from the board, the knight left where it was. "Maybe we should take a break, then." She grinned. "Besides, it's about time you met my crazy brother."

Now it was Link's turn to appear confused. 'Nice shift in power there,' he noted absently. Aloud, he said, "What about the snow?"

To his chagrin, that simply made her laugh. "What—is the fearless knight who braved two blizzards afraid of a little powder on the ground? That's pathetic." Still grinning, she stood and moved toward the door. "I'll have you know, you've been practically pacing like a caged animal the past few days. It'll do you good to get out, snow or no snow."

Unable to resist, Link laughed and followed her. "Alright, I'm coming."

To his delight, the snow wasn't as deep as he had feared. An adequate path had been plowed out of the drifts by Myria's feet in weeks previous, allowing them to walk through half the amount of snow piled around them. The stable Myria had told him about lay twenty-five yards from the house, nestled under a rocky overhang which kept most of the snow out. A paddock large enough for two horses to easily roam without overgrazing encompassed two sides of the barn and flowed out into the unbroken snow beyond.

Link inhaled the fresh winter air appreciatively, glad to be in the wide outdoors again. Not a cloud broke the endless blue sky. The snow sparkled like a field of diamonds in the bright sunshine. A puff of steam drifted before his face when he exhaled.

"So, why exactly do you call your brother crazy?" he questioned curiously as they approached the quaint stable.

"We'll, he's a bit eccentric," the girl explained slowly. "Ever since Father left—or so Mother says—Daevin's been obsessed with the horses and other animals he left behind. It's gotten to the point where he doesn't often interact with outsiders, or even Mother and I when he's in a certain mood."

"Oh." He blinked. "And you're taking me, a stranger, to meet him…why?"

Throwing a grin over her shoulder, Myria said, "One, I want to see both of yours reactions. Two, I get the feeling you're a horse person, so you two might get along nicely. Maybe we can bring him out of his shell a bit."

Link sighed resignedly and shook his head. 'Goddesses help me,' he prayed amusedly.

They continued in silence toward the stable. Despite Myria leading the way through the snow, Link quickly felt his muscles begin to burn from the exertion. He welcomed the challenge, though; the exercise could only be good for him at this point, as long as he didn't overdo it. A few minutes later, they stepped out of the snow bank into a shoveled, open area beside the barn's main door.

"Daevin!" Myria called, hurrying toward the door. The wood had been cut into two at about waist height, and the top half was swung ajar at that moment. "There's someone here I'd like you to meet."

There was a loud thunk against the wooden interior and the squawking of irritated poultry. Over the terrified bleating of goats, a muffled voice shouted back, "I'm kinda busy at the moment, Sis. Tell 'im to come back later, will ya?"

The girl visibly flinched as something crashed against something else inside. A dog barked and a horse whinnied shrilly. His curiosity piqued, Link joined her to observe the chaos.

The barn was really little more than two stalls—both occupied at the moment—a rickety tack room, and a straw-covered common area. Cuckoo nests lined the floor beside the makeshift equipment shed and a folded cot was propped against the wall nearby. Beds of sheepskin for two dogs had been set up in the corner to the door's right.

But Link only noticed these later. His attention was elsewhere.

A young man in rough farmer's garb darted about the fifty-foot-long space, nimbly jumping panicked cuckoos and dodging the flailing hooves of a third, enormous draft horse. Link's eyes had trouble keeping up with the fast-moving lad, but he did manage to conclude that Daevin wasn't much older than him. And that he, too, had a family resemblance to Myria and Feyla.

"Is that Epona causing trouble again?" Myria demanded.

"Yes," her brother shot back distractedly. Link mentally applauded him as the boy slid under a potentially lethal blow and snatched at the mare's lead rope. The powerful horse, however, would have none of it and yanked the line from his hand once more.

"I'll help him," Link declared, gently pushing Myria aside to open the bottom door. He slipped through before she could protest.

Noticing the newcomer in their midst, the other animals quickly moved from his path. As he cautiously approached the vexed equine, he began to hum and then whistle a simple melody. Instantly the lesser creatures and other horses quieted, listening intently. Daevin, too, backed away from his horse and studied Link curiously.

But the knight had eyes only for Epona. He had judged her incorrectly—she was no plow horse. Even in the dark barn he could see she had the powerful hindquarters and thick cannon bones of a warhorse. She seemed a little skinny, but her shaggy winter coat was lovingly cared for. Her eyes shone with equine pride and intelligence as she pranced restlessly.

Epona's feet stilled for a moment as Link's melody reached her velvet ears, which swiveled forward to better hear the soft sounds. Snorting and shaking her mane out, she stamped a hoof imperiously and dipped her huge head to scrutinize him. He didn't flinch at her antics, simply continuing the lullaby without quaver or pause. Step by step, he inched toward the mare.

The tense moments melted into calm as soon as Link put a soft hand on Epona's massive neck. Every creature gave a collective sigh of relief when she huffed heavily and amicably bumped her nose against the Hylian's torso. He chuckled and scratched behind her ear, which she leaned into contentedly.

"She likes you," Daevin whispered incredulously.

Link cocked his head at the older boy confusedly. "All knights teach their mounts Zelda's Lullaby. It's supposed to have a soothing effect on any animal, really, but horses especially seem to appreciate it."

The Aldean nodded dumbly, still awed by the display. "Well, yeah, but…Epona's not just any horse. She doesn't let just anyone approach her, let alone touch her. I thought I was one of the few who could—and even then that isn't guaranteed every time."

'Oh.' Link smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

"So I was right!" Myria proclaimed triumphantly, leaning against the half-door. "You are a horse person—an animal whisperer, too, if I might be so bold."

"It's just an old knights' trick," he protested modestly.

"Can you teach me?" Daevin demanded excitedly, latching onto his arm. Epona snorted irritatedly at the motion.

Link laughed at his childish enthusiasm. This kid wasn't crazy, he decided—just a ten-year-old at heart. "It's really very simple. First, pick a melody…"

Across the stable from the two boys, Myria smiled. This was going to be the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

She had no idea of just how true that prediction was.