The road rattled beneath the rickety wagon wheels. A old workhorse let out a lazy, tired whinny. Link let out a low moan and rubbed his eyes. He could smell the smoke from so many chimneys float in, and he knew he had to be at Castletown as the cart came to a slow halt. His body was shivering, despite the midsummer warmth. Link slowly and reluctantly stretched out of the merchant's cart and looked up at the tall gate that loomed above him.

The scene laid before him seemed as if it was framed almost expertly, like many of the oil paintings he had seen on display at the inn. He had thought this moment would be branded in his memory for his entire life.

The sky was washed in an ombre of periwinkle and magenta; the horizon was split from view by a monstrous wall of cobbled gray limestone that stretched as far as he could see in either direction. The rock monstrosity loomed above him, nearly 30 feet high, held together by speckled stones that reminded him of the fowl eggs Purah and he had found once, nestled against a rock ledge. So confidently hidden, yet so fragile. Link had begged her to leave them in their nest, but Purah refused, and dropped one. Even then, he could recall its dark orange yolk splattered against the rocks, soaking into the blades of grass below. He cried when it happened.

He was crying now. He was ashamed, even as the tears streamed down his face.

The sky and the walls and the earth beneath him blurred together as he tried to place one foot in front of the other. The storm raging inside his tiny chest echoed a feeling he had experienced so many years ago, with the tiny bird eggs, yet it had been magnified by a experience, it had grown through his understanding. Loss.

A loss of what had mattered most to him.

Linked wiped his face roughly on his sleeve, and he could feel the sticky wetness smear across his eyes and cheeks. He felt small and helpless, a tiny blonde speck against the immense grayness of the Hylian walls. He could make out a silhouette of a man in the gate-the familiar outline of a man clad an ornate green tunic, with a blue Hylian shield on his back. The man stood like a pillar, unmoving.

Link stumbled forward, heart heavy and apprehensive. His steps started off slow, as he clumsily bobbed forward. As if beyond his own control, his stride became faster, and he picked up speed. His legs moved independently of his own body and the young boy's face feel quickly into his father's green tunic. Link's hands grabbed the soft green fabric, clinging to the fibers as if he feared he might slip away. He could feel a hand grasp tightly at his shoulder. Arn said nothing, but led the boy towards the castle in silence.

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He had been allowed to live in the castle with his father. Allowed, he remembered, was the word the knights of the castle had used. Arn's primary responsibility in the royal guard had been to keep the princess safe, and so he had already been given a small knight's quarters, located near the young Zelda. Building a small oak bed and squeezing it into the already cramped quarters inconvenience no one other than the father and son, and so Link's presence in the castle was tolerated. He found himself becoming his father's shadow, following him around his rounds, trying to learn what he could.

When he was left to his own devices, to keep himself occupied, he played a game where he tried to stay a unseen, silently wandering the cold stone halls, trying to see how long he silently move about before being noticed.

And so he began his new life.

While his father was serving as royal guard, he would try to find a way to help however he could; he was determined to be more than tolerated. Link would find a way to be valued. Sometimes he would help in the kitchens. He had become so good at not being noticed, that he would scale the castle wall, swim the moat, to collect mushrooms and whatever else he could find. If he was lucky, in the tall grasses surrounding the castle, he would find a fairy he could trade to one of the castle guards for lessons in swordplay. Even though they only let him use sticks to practice, he felt somehow complete, as if he was the most himself when he was in that dusty sparring ring.

Link's favorite part of the day was getting to see his father, usually after dinner, or at breakfast, depending on what rounds he was assigned. They would eat whatever Link had brought up from the kitchens either at Arn's desk, or sitting on their straw-stuffed mattresses. There was always a new book on his desk. Usually in old glyphs that the young Hylian didn't understand.

Link would talk to his father about what he had seen. What he had learned, what he had overheard when he was being a shadow on the wall. Arn would smile and laugh, and go back to reading whatever old book or tome he had on his small wooden desk.

For a time, the young boy noticed his father had stopped reading. His books vanished from the rough-hewn desk.

"I think," Arn said when Link asked, "King Rhoam has taken notice of my venture into academia." He chuckled nervously, "I think it may be in my best interest to stay quiet, and go unnoticed for a while. Besides," Arn smiled, "a break from reading gives me the opportunity to teach you how to handle a sword in a way that WON'T get you killed."

Link blushed

"You can't think I hadn't known you had been practicing? Son, at the very least don't ask a fool like Tarin to teach you defense. For goddess' sake, the man holds his shield upside-down half the time. All he's going to be able to teach you is how to get stabbed in the gut by a halberd, and then you'll wish you still had your fairy to save you." Arn stuffed a bite of glazed meat into his mouth, and chewed it roughly. "I imagine we should start at once."

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Thank you for reading! I hope the back-and-forth format isn't too confusing. Please review!