The rain lashes down all through the night. Impa stands by the widespan windows of the Lounge and observes the drizzle-drenched hedgerows of the Gardens from the comfort of the indoors. The fireplace crackles behind her, and except for the ghostly faces of portraits which hang above the mantelpiece, she is alone.

No more serving pots of tea on a tray. No more brushing cake-crumbs scattered on the sofa. No more echoes of laughter through the halls. All these things she would miss.

The door clicks open behind her. Impa turns away from the window to greet her visitor: the pale and stubbled face of a grieving man in a navy-blue dressing down. His shadowy eyes light-up at the sight of the Attendant.

"Ah, Impa." he addresses her directly. "Just the person I was looking for."

"Can I be of service, Your Majesty?"

"I trust my Zelda is tucked up in the nursery safe and sound?" he inquires.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. With extra blankets."

"Excellent…" he breathes and relaxes in the armchair. In the firelight, the lines of his face appear more defined and cracked; he has aged considerably in these last few harrowing weeks. Would he ever recover from this?

"Terrible weather, I must say." His Majesty says observantly. "Although I must admit, I do enjoy the rain sometimes. I like the sound it makes on the glass."

Impa responds with a nod. It was not often that they were in each other's company. She feels as though she should be doing something useful. Perhaps she should offer him some tea?

"I was reading today's issue of the Castle Town Times earlier this evening." the King chortles. "What a load of hogwash."

"I am so sorry you had to read that, Your Majesty." Impa apologises sincerely. "I shall ensure that no more issues of that rag pass through these halls ever again."

"Don't worry, Impa." he smiles. "After all, they're just rumours. They can't hurt me. No, what has affected me is the vicious words in which my closest acquaintances used to describe me. After I granted them my hospitality, my wealth, and my company. I suppose I should have known, right? I always had an inkling that one of them would betray me ever since that mysterious omen on my birthday…never did I suppose that all four of them would drag my name through the dirt…"

"They never were good people." Impa jabbers. "I always knew they lacked a certain level of morality shared by the masses."

The King laughs. "Well, it's safe to say that they won't be welcome to return to this place any time soon. I guess it's just you and I now…"

Impa nods. "Can I fetch you anything, Your Majesty? Tea, perhaps?"

The King shakes his head wearily. "All I ask is that you promise me this: you will always remain loyal to me and my daughter for as long as you hold your post here. Let us raise her to become a better ruler than I ever was. Never let her come to harm or be lambasted by journalists as I have been. May she choose her friends more wisely and keep herself in good company."

"I promise to take excellent care of her, Your Majesty." Impa bows. "She is my priority and utmost responsibility, and I will ensure that she lives the best life a Princess can live."

"Good…" he murmurs and closes his eyes. "I think I shall rest here tonight. Tell Faito not to worry about my whereabouts."

Impa obeys His Majesty's wishes and leaves him to listen to the pitter-patter of the rain on the glass. She ascends the stairs of the empty Castle and pays a visit to the nursery before bed. She lights a lamp on the chest-of-drawers and leans over the side of the cot. The shadow of her silhouette is cast upon a bare mattress. The cot is empty. The Princess is gone.