Coin-Operated

20.0

I Dissolve in Trust

Cole Malladus turns the Calatian book over in his hands. This one simple book has the whole West in an uproar? Honestly. One would think the desert dwellers were brutes of some sort – well, that irksome Ghirahim sure thinks so. With a long sigh, Malladus falls back into his chair, tossing the book onto his desk.

The Book of Mudora.

What kind of title was that anyway?

It isn't just some ordinary book though. It's a book full of old lore that's been passed down for generations now. As he had flipped through the book, Malladus recognized many of the stories for he's heard them for many, many years now. Some of the stories differ from the first time he'd heard them, however, but he supposes that is to be expected when things are passed on orally.

It's a dangerous book by Ghirahim's standards.

Tales of conquest by heroes of great strength and skill… tales in which magic is interwoven. Like the old story of the Moon. An evil mask possessing a child threatened to bring the moon crashing into the earth. It's a feat preposterous by any other means but magic.

The desert dwellers' protests over the book burnings have gotten so violent, he actually had to call in the Guard to contain them. He scowls at that fact. Ghirahim would give him the shit job to do. It's just his style.

Cole Malladus glances at the phone on his desk, sitting innocently in the corner. It watches him with careful innocence, knowing when to speak and when to stay silent. He considers picking up the receiver and making a call, but decides against it.

He rises from his chair and grabs his jacket. He'll go and get a drink. Maybe bring back to his room some whore. Maybe even slit her throat. It puts a little bounce in his step, at the very least.

…

Fate has ripped her from him.

Link looks about him as Hyrulean soldiers prepare to break the caste's last defense with a battering ram. Archers from above them set arrows aflame and fire at will down on the Hyruleans. A mist hangs in the air, and Link knows that rain is coming. Through the dirt, grime and blood that splatters his face and hair, he throws his head back to look up at the darkening sky. Maybe the goddesses wish to weep with him but are holding back.

Nobody knows she's gone.

He doesn't dare say anything.

Morale is at its highest since they started the siege. Days of slow progress has been building up to this point where Hyrule's forces can finally storm the castle interior. Men are gleeful, hurrying towards the cracking gate to be part of the first wave to crash through. Their voices roar above the battle as they charge forward.

Link had lost his helmet at some point.

A hand claps his shoulder. "Come on, lad," a gruff voice calls to him from within the helmet of the knight looming over him. "He's gone, and the castle's about to fall. We need all hands."

Another figure enters Link's periphery. "Oi, come on! The gate's about to break!" He flips his visor up and takes a long look at Link, motionless and catatonic in the middle of a battlefield and clutching the body of a dead knight in his arms. "Wha's wit' you? First time in combat?" he asks, eyeing the body.

"Just leave him," says the first. And the two men head off to join the party forcing its way into the Calatian castle.

He's not sure how long he stays where is. Some other knights try to rouse him, but they all eventually leave him to join their comrades as they take the castle keep. The roars of the battle is just white noise to Link, who is lost in the grey, stormy clouds.

Finally, Link feels the first droplet on his cheek. Then his forehead. Only then does he allow the building tears in his eyes escape. Colin finds him then wailing in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by the dead. "Milor-" the squire calls, but he is cut short by the sight of his master. Link curls himself over, shielding the body in his arms from the coming rain. The move does nothing to silence his lament.

She'd grabbed another knight's helmet after he'd fallen and placed it over her own. With the helmet, she was indistinguishable from the rest, and it was only pure luck on a Calatian archer to land such a hit.

Colin reaches a hesitant hand out to the deceased's helm. His fingers hook under the metal, and when he sees that Link won't shove his hand away, his breath catches in his throat. Slowly, he pries the helmet off, and her pale face is revealed. The squire sinks onto the muddied ground, patches of grass kicked up from the clashing armies, as the rain spatters her face. The squire finds himself unable to look away from her glassy eyes.

Colin chokes a little.

The castle is theirs, but at a great price.

The squire stays by his knight master's side all the way back to court. The service is lavish, and the chorus sings heavenly laments in her name as the lid to her casket is closed. Flowers cover almost every inch of the temple, brought forth from all the people crowded in to mourn her. Everything is suitable for a woman of her stature. Link stands at the ready as one of her pallbearers. Stone faced among the mourners, Link helps carry the casket out of the temple to her final resting place. His tears have long since run dry.

Colin only meets his master again in the graveyard long after the service has ended and the crowds have dispersed. It took days and days before the cemetery was blocked off to the public, and in their wake are the hundreds of flowers from the temple and trinkets left by the people as a token for their lost monarch. The squire's footsteps echo inside the deep mausoleum. Torches still burn along the walls illuminating his master as he stares blankly at the fresh etchings on the wall. Calloused fingers slide across the fresh cut stone, tracing each line that forms her name. He never thought he'd outlive two monarchs.

The boy clears his throat, but his master doesn't acknowledge him. "Milord?" he calls.

Link's head turns, but just barely. He says, "Colin, I've just sent out a letter."

"A letter?"

"Yes," Link breathes, letting his fingers fall from his lost love's name.

"To whom?"

His master heaves a heavy sigh. "I know how hard it can be to find someone to study under-"

"But sir!"

"Don't interrupt!" Link roars, finally turning to face his squire. Since the battle, his temper has been on a short lease, and he is quick to snap. His face softens at the fear written across the boy's face. "I wrote… I've written a letter to Sir Valenzuela," he says, much more gently this time. The knight rubs his eyes. It's a small attempt at shielding himself from the world. "I don't expect to receive a response for some time, but I am sure he will be willing to take you on as his squire."

"But…"

"Colin," Link sighs again. "I'm going to return to Ordon. Alone."

"I can come with you!"

Link shakes his head. "No," he says firmly. "Not this time. You and I will remain at court until I get word from Valenzuela. After that, should he accept, you will be his charge, not mine, and I will leave for Ordon.

"There is something strange in those woods that Her Majesty was after, and I intend to figure out those woods and find that anomaly." Yes, one that has attracted hordes of beasts, such as the Ghoma. The pale face of the cartographer who suffered from a surge comes to mind as well. Something is out there, and Link intends to snuff it out.

"I don't understand though!" his squire cries. "Why are you sending me away?"
"I can't be who I was," Link seethes, and he claps his hands onto his squire's shoulders. His eyes flick around in the dimly lit crypt. "And I certainly can't stay here. I'd like for you to understand one day, but I also do not wish this upon you at the same time."

Without another word, Link leaves the crypt.

…

Wine sloshes in the glass, the dark ruby liquid almost glowing under the light. The sterling silver fork and knife cut away at the food on the plate. He eats alone, stewing over his current predicament. The sickly grey tongue jets out from his mouth and slides over his lips.

The president must consider the possibility of fake names, but what's the likelihood they'll have the same names as those two wretched beings from the sky? He considers the many lifetimes that have passed since the Sky's victory over him.

One finger taps the dark mahogany table top.

Ghirahim needs the sword – it's the final piece. His initial hope was to recover it through the ban on magic, but nothing has turned up. It must have been put back to rest in the last few centuries – Cole Malladus swears he held the blade in his hands after the fall of the Harkinian monarchy. The question now then is who put it back? Certainly not the Hero, for Malladus stole that incarnation's flesh.

Probably the most annoying part is waiting while his task force combs the Lost Woods. Those with magic are the only ones that have any sort of hope of navigating that twisting labyrinth, but the searches haven't turned up anything remotely what the president is looking for, and it makes Ghirahim's blood boil.

The sword, the president tells himself, will show itself in due time. However, Ravio and Hilda are a problem he can deal with for now. Wherever they're hiding, he vows, he'll wiggle them out and eliminate them. They got the best of him the last time around, but this time – oh, this time – he'll rip everything out right from under their feet.

The president rises from his chair and crosses the room to the telephone. Gloved fingers lift the receiver, and President Ghirahim turns the dial.

…

He freezes. The bed squeaks with the sudden movement, and his eyes rove around the dark room. He blinks. He can see the stars blinking back at him through the window. The curve of the curtains and the lacy valance. Then there's the ceiling, and his feet on the bed. The dark shapes of the furniture in the room – a dresser, a chair, a table. His eyes rove everywhere in the darkness, processing the strange shapes.

He can hear the heavy winds outside and the way the house creaks from it, but there's nothing else. No one else in the house but him goes bump in the night.

Link has turned himself on again.

He knows this, because next to him on the bed is Zelda, soundly asleep under the covers just like everyone else in the house.

Link thinks to himself how long her hair has gotten, how dark the circles under her eyes have become. She looked a bit hollow when they first met, but not like this, and a streak of guilt runs through him. Careful not to wake her, he reaches over to her, and his fingers make contact with her skin.

If he could breathe, the air would choke him.

The skin of her cheek is just so smooth. And- and soft. Every little ridge the tug of his finger makes slides under the pad of his finger as he drags it down her face. She sniffles a little. Link's fascination doesn't wane. His finger falls off the point of her chin.

He runs his hand over the quilt, trying to feel each thread that punctures the fabric, but there's nothing.

Zelda rolls away from him.

Warmth seeps through his core.

If he could weep, he would. It's her. Caressing the deepest part of him is her, he's so sure. She gives his core a comforting squeeze of reassurance. He curls in on himself, the mattress squeaking beneath him.

He misses her, by the goddesses!

This thought brings him pause, however.

Is she the one that's turning him on? Starting up his system whenever she pleases? His eyes dart to Zelda in the dark, lying sound asleep. He feels a strange string of guilt worm its way through.

…

After the long day's work, Link slips back into the bedroom, where Zelda has already eaten his dinner for him. She sits on the bed against the headboard, hidden behind a newspaper. The dishes for his dinner sit on the nightstand. He smiles at her when the newspaper in her hands falls to her lap. "We'll leave tomorrow night, how's that sound?" he asks her as he sits down next to her.

After a good wash, her hair is shining and bright, loosely curling around her shoulders. Her skin is clean and glowing, finally free from the layer of dirt that had covered it for so long. She'd been able to help with the laundry, and he's sure if he could smell, the fresh scent of their clean clothing would meet him. The most pleasing thing to Link though is that her eyes don't have the dark circles anymore – they're still there, but not as pronounced, and it's a welcome improvement.

She asks him, "And we'll get to the desert how?"

"Hitchhike, by the looks of it."

Zelda frowns at him.

"Oh come on, it's not so bad," he pleads. "Besides, even if we could afford train tickets, I'd get picked out during inspection." She sighs, knowing him right, and turns her attention back to the newspaper in her lap.

One curl hugs the curve of her cheek, and he stares fixated on the one lock. Each twisting and turn of blonde strands shines under the lamp on the nightstand. Instinct and drive overtake him.

Her hair is so silky when he runs his fingers through it, mesmerized by the texture. "What?" she half laughs, pulling away from him. The blonde locks slip away from his hand. "You'll ruin my curls."

"Nothing," he chides. "Your hair is just…" he hesitates, unsure if he should disclose anything to her. Link settles on "so long" in the end.

"It has gotten long, hasn't it?" Zelda says, turning away from him to look at herself in the mirror on the dresser. "I don't even really have bangs anymore, do I?"

"I could cut it," he offers, surprising not only Zelda, but himself.

She holds up one lock. "I suppose it needs at least a trim… huh?" muses Zelda as she eyes some of the knots and split ends that she holds in her hand. She sucks her bottom lip as she thinks it over. "Well, sure. Why not?

"Let's see…" she says to herself. Zelda starts opening up drawers and rooting through their contents.

"Are you sure that's okay?" Link asks.

"I'm just looking for some scissors," Zelda says dismissively. Eventually she finds a sewing kit. She turns the pair of scissors over in her hands. "It seems almost wrong when they're meant for fabric," she laughs a little.

"It should work," says Link taking the scissors from her as she peers out into the hall for any signs of the house's other occupants. Link can hear Maribelle and the wife arguing again down in the kitchen. Zelda rips the top sheet from the bed before tiptoeing across the way to the bathroom. "Here." He takes the chair that sits in one corner of the bedroom and drags it into the bathroom. After wetting her head under the tub's faucet, she sits down on the chair and drapes the sheet over her shoulders. "Think of everything, huh?"

"What's that?"

Link shakes his head.

She helps him comb her hair out, and she laughs at her reflection. "It really is long without the curls!"

He smiles to himself as she talks. Wondering about Ruto. About Malon. Wondering what her work is like now. "How short you want it?" he asks her.

"Huh? Oh." She blinks a bit at her reflection. "I don't know," she says, shrugging her shoulders. "I'll let you decide."

"Don't you complain after then," he warns her.

She giggles, almost like a child, and kicks her feet some.

Little by little, locks of blonde hair litter the floor. He gives her her bangs back, trying to snip them carefully in a straight line. It's weird – the way that the water makes her hair slick that is. She tells him he's not half-bad when he's close to finishing and that maybe he should consider becoming a barber. They laugh at that.

When he finishes, her hair is almost dry, curling up on itself again in loose locks and waves. His hands come to rest on her shoulders as they look into the mirror at themselves. Zelda's changed so much since their first meeting, but he – Link is still the same. Unchanged. Unmoving.

"You know what it looks like?" she laughs as she fingers her short bob cut. "It looks kind of like Ruto's hair. Don't you think?" There's a bit of darkness that creeps into her eyes when she says this.

"Oh?" he threatens, but she smiles brightly up at him. "Is that bad?"

"No." Her eyes fall back to her reflection. "It's perfect."

His hands slip from her shoulders, and he wraps his arms around her, bringing them cheek to cheek. Link relishes in the strange sensation that tingles through him from the contact. "Link?" she calls. There's hesitation in her voice. He gives a soft hum and turns his head, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you," she murmurs, closing her eyes.

"Mm-hm."

She places her hands on his arms – and by Din, are they warm.

Originally, I wasn't going to use that flashback/dream/what-have-you, much like the one from earlier chapters of Link as a ragdoll and scarecrow. I have a few others, so some of them may crop back up - not sure yet. Actually, there are a lot of things in the last couple of chapters I didn't intend on including, but I'm glad I have so far.

The new job is more demanding than I thought it would be. I feel like I'm a professional babysitter, not running a restaurant. This is my last week in school, and then I'm off from that at least! The next chapter has been mostly done for a while now, but I'm a bit stuck, so I'll see how far I can get on it during my time off.

Also, thanks to everybody that's left comments, messaged me, favorited/followed this story so far! I know I don't always get to respond, but I do read everything, and I appreciate everything you guys have to suggest or say. I'm really surprised by it all.

Until next time! Peace!

:3