A/N: Thanks for the favs and reviews guys! I'm so excited for how this story is gonna turn out.

But as for this chapter, it was getting really really long, so I decided it would be wise and split it into two parts. The second part will get really sad I'm warning you.

And as promised, here is the reference art for Eric (in work attire): fav. me /d810agc (remove spaces)

It had been two days. Link had heard knocks at his door several times; he hadn't bothered to get up to check who it had been, though. In fact, he hadn't even gotten out of bed since the dispute with Zelda. Link just lay in his cot, without motivation, and stared blankly into empty space. His eyes remained heavy and stinging under the rays of sun that peeked in through the window. It was just past sunrise and the sunlight flashed in Link's room. He turned his head skyward, preventing the sun from glaring into his eyes.

Link stared at the ceiling, running one hand through his mess of hair on his head, and nibbling at the thumbnail of his other. His eyes rolled in their sockets, analyzing each crack and imperfection embedded in the stone walls. Sighing, Link blinked several times, and then met his gaze with a small leather sack. The bag was full and lying on his dresser across the room. Link raised a brow, sitting himself up in bed. He hadn't noticed the sack until now, and his curiosity of its contents was growing by the minute.

Link pulled himself over to allow his feet to hang off the edge of the bed. He swung them back and forth, back and forth in a childish manner. He stared at the floor, wincing due to the slight discomfort rooting from his left ankle; he had removed his splint yesterday, but he still had to keep it wrapped. Link sighed. He knew he would have to stand and walk – he wanted to see what was in the bag. Slowly, Link began to stand, placing all his weight on his right foot. He raised himself and balanced himself on one foot. Then, he gradually began to apply pressure on his left side. Link cringed. His ankle felt like it was on fire; it stung, it cramped, it echoed a bitter sensation. Despite the pain, he continued to stand on both feet, his weight adjusted to his right side, without his crutches. Link's eyes were opened wide. His cheeks were drained of their rosy color. Link shook his head, though, dispersing the strands of fear that remained.

The blonde boy gulped, lifted his left foot and placed it in front of him. His knees shook until his balanced was confirmed, and his weight was shifted, unequally, on both feet. He then gradually began to shift his weight to his left foot as he lifted his right. His face grew tight and bereft of color: the excruciating pain clawed at him as he was frozen in his circumstance. Link bit his lip, holding in his screams, as he resumed from his mental pause, and continued to place his right foot adjacent to his left. He kept on hobbling, left foot then right, until he was directly in front of the dresser. He doubled over, pressing his hands on the top of the dresser. He held himself up as his head hung; sweat was bubbled all over Link's ghostly skin; his breathing had grown heavy due to the pain – he panted rapidly to regain his breath. The boy stood there, without moving, for several minutes. Some of the color in his cheeks returned and his breathing slowed. Link raised himself to stand as upright as he could.

Link reached for the sack, pulling at the yarn which cinched it together. The mouth of the bag opened wide under his tugging and pulling, allowing him to examine the supple insides. He reached his hand in and it met with a soft fabric. Link wrapped his fingers around it and tugged it from the bag. Once he unfolded it, he held the garment up in the air to see what it was. Immediately, his face flashed a bright red: despite all he had been through, he still had innocence to, more personal, subjects. A clean pair of undergarments was in his hands. Link's face was hot, since he knew that it was mostly likely Zelda who prepared the small bag for him. He ended up placing the pair of underwear on the dresser beside the sack. He figured it was only clean clothes, nothing with a sneaky intention.

Link reached his hand back into the bag, and pulled out a pair of trousers. They were a tan, jean-like material that was similar to the pants he had worn for the past year and a half. They were similar to the trousers he would wear back in Ordon. He smirked at the fabric he held up; he was satisfied with them. Link placed the trousers on top of the undergarments that lay on the dresser. He then pulled out the remaining clothing from the sack, immediately throwing it to the ground in a panic. His eyes were wide and he gawked at the garment. He didn't want any more reminders of the "destiny" he had to fulfill. He didn't want anything to remind him of her. He didn't want to accept what was before him, but his clothing conditions said otherwise: the old tunic he had on held a musty odor of sweat and illness, and the odor irked him.

Link stared down at the tunic: it was forest green and was practically identical to the tunic entrusted to him by the goddesses. Although he hated the garment that was given to him, he felt disgusting in his current attire. Link began to slip off his shirt, pulling the disheveled fabric over his head, leaving his skin bare: exposing the obvious scar that cascaded down his back. The rough skin ran down his spine to the small of his back. It was the permanent reminder of his hell.

Link proceeded to slip off the trousers from his waist, letting them fall to his feet. He lifted each foot from the fabric on the floor. He stood in the middle of the room, stripped of all but his underwear, and stared at the mirror. He had grown thin: all his strength had left him in the past few weeks. He looked like a typical teenage boy who studied an easy trade that typically the women would learn: he looked as skinny as Hyrulean soldier before training. Link sighed, placing his hands on his hips. His eyes jolted open: he wasn't expecting to feel his hipbones to pungently stick out his sides and poke at his hands. He hadn't been like that before. He always had a thick lining of muscle between his bones and his skin; now that layer barely existed. Link's neutral face mellowed into a frown. He took his fingers through his hair, sweeping his bangs from his face, and then raising a brow at his reflection. He traced the outline of his cheekbones with his finger: they jutted out from under his eyes on his gaunt face.

He sighed; he knew there were other bones that stuck out from his body, and he knew they weren't supposed to do that. Link removed his hand from his face and took it to his lower half. He wrapped his fingers around the bow on the drawstring of his undergarments, and pulled the two strands of string to loosen the waistband. He shoved his thumbs on the inside of his waistband, sighed, and then pulled the fabric down just enough to hide himself. His hipbones were revealed. His reflection only showed the disappointment that filled Link's eyes. With all that has happened to him, all he felt was like he was lost. He gibed his frustrations under his breath, and reached for the clean undergarments from the small pile and laid them atop. Link fixed his thumbs under the waistband, and continued to slip off his current pair, then quickly replacing them with the new and clean undergarments.

"Nice butt, boy." A faceless voice entered through the slightly ajar balcony door. Link jumped, stumbled, and fell to his knees. He quickly covered himself, although he was already hidden by the new undergarments; he whipped his head around the face the entrance of the stranger voice. Link's cheeks were bright red, but his long hair covered his blush from the owner of the intruding voice. He reached up and dragged the clean trousers from off the dresser, and began to slide his legs into them, grumbling curses of annoya nce – pissed off phrases – from underneath his breath. He waited for the voice to speak again – he wanted to know who this person was. He felt violated in a way, but he had an aversion in his gut that it was just a big foolish prank. Then the voice spoke.

"Relax, Link. Relax." It seemed familiar. Too familiar. Whoever this trickster was, was somebody he knew personally. "It's just me." In that moment – a split of a second – Eric swung down from above the balcony doors, a clawshot in hand. Link's eyes widened as he hurriedly finished pulling up the trousers to his hips. He then sat there on the floor, shirtless, and gawking at his unexpected visitor. Eric only blushed and chuckled at the boy's expression. "I'm only kidding with you, calm down." Link gritted his teeth at the guard. "I've been coming to check up on you since the dispute with Zelda. Every other time, except for now, you've been asleep." Eric still had a cheesy grin on his face; he continued to giggle at the younger's frustration. As the guard's amusement lowered, he recomposed himself to a gentle and stately manner. "I came to see if you found the clothes I went and bought for you." Link's face flushed red, he hadn't expected that the guard cared about him that much. "But, I see you did." Eric nudged his shoulder at Link, who only had half of the new outfit on.

"Any-who, I see that you're awake. Since it's my day off, and I'm bored – I assume you are too – would you like to get out of this dusty old room? I was going to head out anyways, but since you're here, I figured I'd see if you'd want to go with." The red-head walked himself over to Link, who still sat on the floor, and offered a hand to the boy. Link glanced up at Eric, and took his hand and heaved himself up. He tried to look his guard in the eye, but he had to stand on the tips of his toes to do so, before sighing and giving up.

Link rolled his eyes. "I'll go," he muttered. He reached down and picked up the new tunic, curling his lips at the green cloth once again, and then slipped it over his head. Although he despised that it was similar to the Hero's tunic, he did note that it was actually comfortable without all the chainmail that had dragged him down. Link reached around the tunic to the tie the fitting straps correctly. Eric paid attention to the numerous times the blonde had to swat is elongating hair from his face to see what his fingers were fumbling with.

The older took the initiative, reached around the boy and took his hair in his hands. Startled by the slight tug on his hair, Link yelped. Eric bunched the hair and tied it in place with an extra ponytail he had found lying around: he allowed the boy's bangs and sideburns to hand loosely by his face, since he assumed that was how Link styled himself. Now, with his hair tied back, Link's pointed ears seemed to stick out more: they were more visible to Eric. The guard stepped away from the shorter, and took a good look up and down his body. Link's face turned red, and it was noticeable that the tips of his ears did as well. Link reached a hand back to his ponytail, taking it in his hand; his blushed darkened in shade as he bit his lip. "I look fine like this?" Eric nodded to the boy, who returned a vague smile; the red-head noticed the emptiness in the boy's emotion – he noticed the pain his lips and the lost look in his eyes; he didn't mention his findings, though. Link released his hand from his ponytail. "So, where will be going today?"

"I was thinking we could head over to the market, and then to Telma's pub." Eric immediately regretted the fact that his tongue always outran his head. Link wasn't old enough to drink, and he didn't want to risk Zelda getting after him for taking a minor to a bar. But, Link did know Telma personally, so he assumed it would be okay. "And then back to my apartment for supper, if that's okay with you, of course." The taller shrugged his shoulders at Link: a goofy grin was plastered on his face, which inhibited his animated nature.

Link nodded. "That's fine with me. Besides, I'll get to see Telma again, if she's in town." He tugged his tunic down to fit him at his shoulders; he wrapped his belt, which held his small pouch, around his shrinking waist. He glanced over at Eric. The guard wore his own clothing rather than his typical chainmail uniform: he wore loose, yet nice, trousers. They made him look of the upper class to which he belonged. He also had a button-down top that had a neatly folded collar and cuffed up sleeves: overtop, he wore a black satin vest which was buttoned down the middle. In the left chest-pocket, there was a small white handkerchief that hung out like a cravat. Eric's red hair was swept to the left of his face neatly: his hair wasn't dirty and loose strands didn't stick out. Gawking over Eric's attire and outward appearance, he truly felt like the farm boy he was. Standing next to the tall man, he felt frivolous and out of place: his argument for such comprised of his messy hair, ranch-hand clothes, and short stature. Link felt unfit to be such a friend to Eric, who was far superior to him: he felt he couldn't accommodate to his friend's supremacy.

Eric smirked at the shorter, who was silent with his mouth parted slightly. He grabbed the boy's boots from across the room, and placed them at his feet, giving him the intimation to slip them on. Link stared up at the man, dazed, until he came to the realization of what Eric had just done. His face blossomed pink of embarrassment as he quickly drew on his boots: he grazed the leather gently against his left ankle – it was essentially healed, but was still considerably sore. Eric winced as he watched the boy's grovel to the pain from his ankle. As the pain dwindled down to being barely noticeable, Link stood back on both of his feet, as equally as he could. The off duty guard reached for the door and opened it for the young boy. The blonde strode through, nodding a thank you to the red head.

Eric followed Link through the doorway: he motioned to the boy to wait where he was. The blonde's brows rose: he was intrigued. The red head scurried down to the hall to the storage room: Zelda had some of Link's extra belongings in there. Eric entered the room, scanned it quickly, grabbed the nearest jacket, and swiftly walked back to Link. He practically threw the jacket into the boy's arms. "Put it on. I don't want you catching a cold." Link nodded, placing his arms in the sleeves of the coat, and them pulling it up to his shoulders.

The blonde's face lit up with a pained smile once he was accustomed and fitted in the coat. The duo then began to head down to the castle doors. Eric heaved one open, permitting Link a sliver of space for him to hobble through. Eric lead the way as Link followed behind him as they weaved through the castle yard, finally making it to castle town. The taller of the two took the shorter under this arm, dragging him through the dense crowed: his face remained stolid as many blunt citizens mumbled gibes of the gay guard – the mumbled hatred and shame toward the guard for taking the hero.

Link was caught off guard by their actions, although he didn't know much of Eric, he didn't care: he was a good friend, and he had enough of a heart to end the abusive sayings. He halted his strides as Eric continued, until his hand fell off Link's shoulder. The red head turned, staring at Link, muddled and inquisitive about the short boy. Link's head hung – faced the ground – and his bangs and sideburns fell with gravity as well. His jaw was clamped tight and he closed his eyes. The crowd began to stare at him, forming a big circle around him – he was the hero after all, they all knew who he was.

"Why are you all so crude?" He mumbled. His words were distorted by the chatter of the citizens staring at him. Fed up, he jolted his head up, and shouted, "I asked, why are y'all so crude?" Link's eyes were wide; his nose was scrunched up, teeth clenched, and lips snarling up. His eyes were filled with fire, and his fuel was their disrespect to Eric. "Now, I am the hero. You all know that, I know that. I shouldn't have to say any more than that. I am not stuck up; I am not a snobbish brat; I am not one who prejudices people! If I am your hero, I know many of you look up to me. Why can't you act like me then?" He paused, taking a break and surveying the silent crowd. Their faces looked as astonished as Eric's was, except his face was burning red. "So what if he does have a thing for guys?" He swung his arm over in the direction of Eric, who buried his face in his hands. "I wouldn't care. He is loyal to Princess Zelda and Hyrule, and since he is a soldier, he is willing to risk his lives for you. That's all that should matter. I don't care. You shouldn't either." He shook his head, as he began to walk toward Eric, taking his arm and dragging the guard behind him. The crowd split for Link and Eric, and didn't say a word. Although some still whispered crude comments, they were about Link now; he didn't care anymore. He was too miserable to give notice.

The boys quickly exited the plaza, and headed down the back alleyway, avoiding the crowd at the marketplace. Eric was released from Link's grasp. "We're heading to Telma's first, I'm assuming." Link grunted, and nodded. Eric beamed as he followed the determined short boy. He aided the boy down the stairs before they reached her pub. Eric heard no noise, and sighed. He was grateful it wasn't currently busy. He darted in front of Link, holding the door open for the small boy. Link smiled up at Eric in return, his appreciation unfeigned.

As Eric continued to open the door for himself, he was greeted by Telma's shriek and the sight of her running toward the boy. The woman grabbed the small boy by his middle, and held him tight in a hug, lifting him off his feet. It was obvious that Link couldn't breathe under her tight grip. His face was red and winded, as she continued to shove the air from his lungs in a tight hug. Coughing and sputtering, Telma took the indication and fixed Link back on his two feet: he hobbled as air returned to his chest. The plump woman guided the boy over to a barstool, Eric sitting to the right of him.

Telma put herself behind the counter, placing her hands on her hips, smirking at the two boys. "What can I get you two gentlemen?"

Link remained silent, while Eric took a cursory survey of the variety of drinks the woman had to offer. He pointed to one on the far left; Telma turned her head in the direction of Eric's direction. "Two shots of that rum, please." The red head grinned at the woman while reaching for his wallet from his trousers. Telma brushed him off, signaling him that the drinks were on her. The plump woman filled two shot glasses to the brim, and slid them in front of Eric. She then faced Link. "Now, what can I get you darling?" But she was silenced when the red head slid one of the shot glasses in front of the boy. Her eyes widened.

"Link, I know that you're not old enough to have that." Telma scolded the boy, grabbing the tip of his ear. Her grin remodeled into a frown as she watched the boy glare at her.

Link tugged his ear from Telma's grip. "I don't care."

"You're going to be in some hot water with Zelda if she finds out." Telma stuck her hands to her hips in a cross manner.

The blonde shrugged his shoulders. "I said I didn't care."

"How old are you?"

"What?" Link looked up at Telma, baffled by her question.

"Are you deaf? I asked how old you are." Telma folded her arms across her chest.

"Eighteen." Link rolled his eyes, taking the shot glass to his lips and downed it.

"Last time I checked, you were seventeen."

"I have a birthday, y'know." The boy snapped back at Telma.

Telma gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes. "Oh, really?" She began to tap her foot against the hard floor. "When was it? Why wasn't I told?"

Link gulped. His face turned white and he had a look in his eyes that stated he was going to vomit. "I-I don't want to talk about it." His head looked down at the countertop: his eyes wide and lips parted, his breathing started to become labored.

Telma grabbed the boy's ponytail, and yanked his head up, making him face her. His lips formed a scowl as she looked firmly in his eyes. It was guaranteed he wasn't going to talk. She sighed. "Link, I am not here to be a mean woman – no, I am not a mean woman. I am doing this because I know you're young, and you shouldn't be doing things as such." She pointed her hand to the empty shot glass.

Link didn't look her in the eye. "The day she left." His eyes welled up with tears, he shut them tightly; they still allowed the tears to fall. His face tightened as he tried to resist the somber feelings overwhelming him: he failed. His tight lips turning into a silhouette of the longing he felt. "The d-day she left was my birthday." He sobbed. He planted his head on the countertop as he cried like a baby: loud and tearful. Yet, he was extremely anguished. Eric rubbed the boy's back as he cried. Telma and Eric exchanged looks: Telma's face retained and expressed her uneasiness for Link's mental state. Eric's eyes held a dismal fatality – his heart was beating softer by seeing his friend in such pain. He felt in debt to the boy: Link stood up for him earlier, yet he didn't know what to do for him now.

"Oh goddesses, I would do anything to get her back." Link slammed his fist on the counter-top, ceasing his cries for a mere moment. "Take a limb, take my home. I just want her back." The sobs from the boy were painful to the ear: they were depressing: they hurt.