A/n: Warning: this is a LOOOONG chapter. So if you have something important to do, like watch "The Bachelor" like me, then read this later. If not, enjoy!

Last End: Legacy

All things have their time.

There is a time for the sun to rise, proud and bright; there is a time for darkness to cloak, cover, and destroy, vicious and mysterious. There is a time for the sunset, when all hope seems lost. There is a time for the dawn, when hope may just be possible.

There is a time for heroes and a time for villains; there is a time for the innocent and for the moderate. The latter group struggles to decide which way to turn as the stronger forces battle each other.

All these things are in a cycle, following the waxing and waning of the moon. Nothing stays the same, and no one lasts forever.

Once upon a time, there was a hero. He had conquered the land from the people who had overtaken it, and his strategies of justice kept the citizens at peace. Courageously he defended his home, proudly he called it his own, and wisely he ruled it. The evil ones had been vanquished, sent far away where no one could call upon them again.

Or so they thought.

It was a sad day when the king had passed, imprinted in the people's minds. He was their leader, their hope, and their salvation; they didn't know what to do without their savior. But he was never forgotten by his children, and the kingdom reveled still in glory and pride. Not a foe was arrogant enough to threaten them, no force strong enough to attack. It was maintained by the wise ancestors of the great hero of legend, and to him they learned from. It seemed as though there would be no end to a nation as powerful and peaceful as they.

But all things have their time, my dear.

Slowly, something crept up from the ashes. It slunk stealthily around, cloaked in darkness and hidden in the gloom. The twilight was its home and its resting place, gradually gaining power. It kept its plans quiet and undeterred, and so, when the time was right, it struck.

Unprepared, the rulers could not defend themselves. They had been a country so serene for so long the very idea of unrest was impossible. They couldn't understand how this had happened. They couldn't believe their savior had let them down.

The people fell into despair, the land into ruin; dust covered the city streets. Forgiveness, shelter, and love were hard to come by; barely was there a day where the word "joyful" was introduced.

In his iron fist, the usurper ruled his stolen kingdom sadistically, licking his lips of the blood of the citizens. Mountains were bowed in terror before his might, and the seas flickered uneasily. Around them, the land was surrendering, and the rebellions were losing hope. It seemed as if their home would never be their home again.

Far away, in the gentle woods, a young boy was born. He was an intelligent boy, with a simple life, and he enjoyed the simple pleasures. He didn't understand the world outside, sheltered as he was, but he didn't need to. You can never miss what you've never had, and so the world outside he was indifferent too. It was another place entirely, supposedly dangerous, but it did not matter to him. He had no wish to leave his home. The children of the forest were his family, and he was theirs, though he always seemed different…

In reality, the night was only growing darker, the evil king feeding upon the people's terror. It was wrong to show compassion to anybody, they be a foe. Love was forgotten in these days, and the only tangible emotion was fear. The air was thick with it, and hearts were heavy. Slowly the population was dying out, for everybody's anxiety for themselves, and in this, they were actually taking themselves into the grave. And it looked as though the tomb was eternity.

And far away in the grove, the cerulean-eyed youth learned of his destiny. As the words washed over him, he could not comprehend what he was hearing. His life was a lie? The only thing he needed was not what he was destined for? How could this be true? The forest was all he loved. He needn't go out into the world and seek his fate – his home was here.

Yet the wise knew it was not to be. In reality, people were dying. The brave were being tortured, the cowards were being manipulated, and the innocent were being slaughtered; all of this was taking place, and the very one who could halt it was reluctant to do so. How was that just? He asked. The boy couldn't ignore the stinging question, and, dejected, left his one and only home to fulfill the destiny he wanted to forget.

And the young one slunk away into the night, trekking along with his miniature sword tucked into its sheath. An adult's shield hung upon his back, a heavy burden for one so young. A few weapons were rummaged in his pockets and bags, and his only armor was his tunic of forest green.

Though no one knew it at the time, not even he, this boy was a hero. The blood of the courageous pulsed through his veins, and his heart beat with valiance and compassion. He was what the suffering longed for, though no one knew it; he was the hero destined to save the world, though time had not recognized it. Dawn was finally sparking in the far, far distance, barely seeable; and though it was hardly visible, it was there, and that in itself is incredible.

This little boy, striding alone through the fields, was the hope of the world, and he held it upon his slender shoulders. He was the new hope.

It wasn't long until the boy was called upon his first task. Swiftly he, with his native blade and unlearned hand, was swarmed by pleas. Bravely he added each and every one of them to his workload, and somehow, he managed to do it. It was then the kingdom realized they had the first hints of a hero within their grasp.

And the boy grew to a man, yet it seemed as though he'd only blinked. Unfortunately, the land was darker than ever before on his seventh year after leaving home, and it was then that he battled his hardest. He bounded through the plains, slaying monsters and protecting the citizens; his valor and strength increased with every task successful, every life saved, every evil destroyed; every swing of his shining sword was a blow to the grand enemy, who awaited him in his cursed lair.

The grand enemy, the evil king from seventeen years before, knew not how to lure the young man into his traps. Oh, how he longed to kill the boy, to smote him and be done with it; but, nevertheless, every ensnarement he threw at him was insufficient. The "hero" seemed to be protected by some kind of enchantment, or spell; the usurper, even after all of his years of power, found his curses to be useless. They fell pathetically at the feet of the warrior, whom almost glowed with a subtle light. It was, you could say, the aura of goodness, but the king knew it not. He could not understand anything of love and hope. He only knew hatred and suffering, and that is what he was familiar with. It was all he had ever known.

But the king knew a thing or two about human relationships, and he'd heard of this love. It was that confusing, nameless, strange emotions that filled the boy's eyes when he had learned that the Sheikah warrior was actually the princess; it was that same expression that had struck his face when he'd snuck into her courtyard. That was when the wicked warlock had watched that look for the first time, and it was when he only knew a glimpse of it. After years of mind-numbing musing over the unfamiliar expression, he was startled to see it in the boy's eyes when the "hero" gazed dazedly into the princess's striking blue eyes. And that was when the usurper understood it for the first time.

And he used this against the foolish boy. He snatched the princess from the youth's grasp, and his face had turned ghostly pale, angry, and anxious. And the king loved it.

He knew the hero was coming. The boy couldn't resist the beautiful princess, the girl whom cried furiously at the evil king. She had such spirit, such a fire, for one so wise and proud. The king could understand why the boy had fallen so hard.

And then came the day when the forest boy, now a young man, had appeared at the top of the tower; standing in the doorway, much taller than the king remembered, his eyes pooled with courage. And then he'd looked up to see the one his heart loved in her crystal casing; his face was distorted by rage. He'd attacked the evildoer, much stronger than the warlock had remembered. The battle was long and wearying, but in the end, the Blade of Evil's Bane was thrust into the wicked heart of the epitome of evil, and he was vanquished forever.

The tales of what happened after are not of much importance. The Queen of the land thanked him for his deeds, trying to explain her endless gratitude, but he told her it was nothing. After all, he'd done it all for her, though he couldn't find it within himself to tell her so. The moment lapsed into silence. This is the same for the young man's life afterward. He could not return home, so he roamed about the pleasant fields, now bright and rebuilt, but he could never get the beautiful princess out of his mind, or his mind out of his memories…

A few strands of her auburn hair were braided behind her head that day, her flowing tresses sashaying down her back. She was clothed in a formal, embroidered white gown, lining her fine figure as she slowly, gracefully, danced up the aisle. Her pale, snow-white fingers were folded gently in front of her, her innocent white arms long and beautiful at her sides. Her slender hands nestled a fresh bouquet of muted yellow flowers, and in the center, a single blue rose. Earlier, in the quiet and privacy of the woods, she'd whispered in his ear, her warm breath caressing the side of his neck. She'd told him that the rose was the same color as his eyes, and that was what it represented, because he would forever be her only.

If only, if only…

If only that were true.

Alas, the hero in the legend is I. All things have their time, and no one knows this better than I. I can't continue on like this; but I want to. I want to fight again. I want to soar across the land. I want to be victorious. I want to feel my enemy's spirit crushed beneath my blade. I want to win.

But I can't.

This poison they have tapped inside of me, it is agonizing. It burns as I bleed, it surrounds my heart. It is pulsing through my veins even now, pushing the life-giving blood out through the gap in my side. It pulls at my consciousness, my sanity, and soon, I know, it will battle with my life.

I don't want this to spread to anyone else, as I know is very possible; and I wish I could warn them, if only I could speak. If only I could utter a word.

Oh, goddesses, what I would tell her if I could only work my voice. I would tell her how much I love her, how I've cherished her since I first laid eyes upon her. I would help her understand why I've never told her, and how much I regret it now – now that I am dying.

Some hope I'll pull through. I know others, such as my fellow swordsman, is desperately awaiting the news of my passing. I don't blame him. I can't find it in myself to.

Here, in this room, cold and white, I am chilled. An invisible wind batters my weakening bones, even as I blink my eyes wearily. Is there hope for me?

I can't tell you.

I'd like to believe it, but I'm not certain. Everything looks grim, gloomy, and dim; my eyesight is no different. I can focus on very few things now, except in my thoughts. I think of Zelda in my mind. I remember how beautiful she is. I marvel over the divine creation that she is, and I silently pray for her each and every day as I lie here, alone. I know she'll be alright.

I just wish I was with her.

I wonder distantly about Ike, hoping he had the strength to escape the castle. He's always been strong, but, I once considered myself strong also, before I was imprisoned there. I ponder if he let the secret go, the only thing that was important to them. I feel awful that Ike was tortured on my account, but glad that he never knew how they broke me. He'll never know, now. I wish I knew where he is – I could send help. I could fight for him. Ike is the only brother I've ever had, and if anything happened to him, I could not bear it. There is a certain bond that forms between two men when they lift their swords together in battle, striking back-to-back, fighting to bring down the common enemy.

Perhaps we shouldn't have slunk off into the night, but we knew we had to. None of the others were brave – or foolish – enough to steal back what we had lost, but Ike and I knew we could.

Did we succeed? I know I didn't. We were incarcerated before I could strike with my Blade of Evil's Bane, Ike with his divine sword. Then we were separated, and the weeks of torture, living Hell, began. I finally managed to escape, with the power of the Goddesses – Din's fire, Nayru's love, and Farore's wind – but I couldn't recover what we had been robbed of. I don't know if Ike made it out – oh, Nayru, please say he's alive – or if he could free it. I try not to think about our failed mission.

I shift exhaustedly on the operating table. I have been here ever since I came back, half-dead; even now, I am very barely alive. I feel it in my heart as the poison slowly seeps in. As soon as it conquers my source of life entirely, I shall be no more.

I don't know how to respond to that. Mostly I try to ignore it, but the visits of the living are making it difficult. They seem to glow before my fading eyes, bathed in the aura and colors of life, while mine slowly dwindles into nothing.

I'm only a legend now. I pray that a hero can follow in my stead – continue where I have failed. I am obviously not the hero of old, if I cannot bear this burden; I pray that the one who comes is. One will come, and I know this; I myself took up the sword of my hero of old.

Does this mean that I am the hero of old?

No, I can't be. Yet if every hero before the next is the hero of old, the elder must be the hero of old.

So who is the true hero?

I stare blankly above me, my mind boggled by this. Who is the true hero? Who is the one whom they have spoken of for ages, centuries, eons? His name is "hero of old"; but if what I just realized is correct, then that could refer to any hero older than the current one. So who was the first hero?

Could it be…perhaps it doesn't matter who the first hero was. Maybe all that matters is who the hero now is.

If this is true, than I truly am nothing but a legend.

Fear grasps at my heart now, stifling its beat for a moment or two; I gain back my choking breath and force myself to face the truth.

I am only a legend.

A tear almost escapes my eye, and I can't explain why. I think, possibly, it is the uncertainty of things, or, actually, lack thereof. I want to think that there may be hope – but I also know there is none. Hope is a spiteful sneer in the distance. Hope is not for me.

My time is coming. I feel it. I know it. My time is almost over.

An angel sits by my side. She has been there since I came back, and, truly, since I was a young hero. She is the only thing that I shall regret: I regret never having told her. If only I could speak…

She strokes my hand tenderly with her downy fingertips, her warm, alive palm clutching my limp one desperately. I know what she wants to believe. I want to persuade myself too. But I can't.

My heartbeat stutters again, and I feel that terrible poison sink deeper into its chambers. Her rose-soft hand pressures mine, and I feel rather than see her draw closer to me. I want her as close as possible. I am thankful no one else is here.

I muster my strength, my last reserves. This is the last time I will speak. This is my last act. I am the last hero. I am legend.

"Zelda…" I whisper, the breath in my lungs just giving me enough to say this. It hurts, and my throat constricts, but I don't care. For her I would do anything. I have.

A sharp, panicked sound escapes her lips. Her face is white as she leans over me, one hand across her chest to keep her silken locks at bay, the other tightening on my paling hand. I must look awful, especially to her, one so gorgeous. She seems to shine in my eyesight, bright with that aura of life, but also the glow of an angel…

I summon the last of myself. "I…love you."

Her mouth is open, her face shocked; yet it also lights up. Then it drops suddenly, as if the world is being pulled from under her.

My mouth is drying, salty, and the taste of death is sour. It is covering my body like a shroud, and we both know this. That dreaded feeling twists my stomach, like the sickness you get before you vomit, or when you're on the verge of hearing terrible news.

Abruptly I cannot feel my body. I am a lone soul, floating in limbo, suspended in nowhere.

I look at my love for the last time; it feels as though I'm not controlling my eyes. I can't bear the look of utter, raw terror and anguish in her eyes, her beautiful eyes. I want to return the pressure of her grip, but I cannot. I can't do anything.

I can only close my eyes as she leans down. Only the feeling of her lips on mine, my secret dream for as long as I can remember, returns me, for barely a second, to earth.

It is barely a second, but it is long enough.

Long enough for me to hear her final words to me, the words of a lover. In that split moment, my last, I understand that she knows I'll always love her.

And she'll always love me.

"Sleep well, Link…"

A/N: Special thanks to Guessworks for giving me the courage to do this. I was really wondering, for quite some time, if I should kill him or not…and after I read her story, I had the courage to do so. I have to warn you guys, this means he's NOT coming back. I'm sorry. But I hate when authors bluff about that kind of thing. He's not coming back…

Wow, that chapter kinda took a toll on me. I apologize for the sucky beginning, but I wrote this completely planned, for once the first time. Whew, that was dramatic…I hope…I hope it wasn't cheesy…yeah…and it got really long…

Thanks too: JSparks! Yes, you were right;) Ike will be explained later. I'm glad you like the story!:D Lovingyourillusion: haha, yeah, good! It's my story, so YOU WILL ROLL WITH IKE'S ONE EYE. Actually I can't even remember where that idea came from…ChaoticXXHearts: HAHAHA, lol, NO, Ike's NOT from the moon. This time I honestly can't figure out where you came up with that. Yeah, it musta hurt…poor Ike…I'm so cruel…Oh, thanks! Glad you didn't think she was OOC. Oh yes, you definitely influcened some of this stuff…actually, this chapter too…way to go….Nope, you've got the prophecy wrong. It is very specific. It means everything it says, except yeah, you got one thing right. To Anyone: haha, I knew you'd like that. I enjoyed writing it, and that's why the chapter was so long. Oh, don't worry, you got it fine! Hehe, thanks!

I'm so glad you all reviewed! Gracias! I hit 20+ reviews in 5 chapters, not bad(: Review again, please, I hope you enjoyed! Until next time, which I have the next chapter planned, so it should be out tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

I gotta go watch the Bachelor. ~Araceli L