Chapter 3

In the beginning, there was only blankness. Like mist it lay over the familiar shell of her body, numbing her thoughts, making her weak and lethargic. Midna knew it well; the shadows that granted her sanctuary in a world of bitter light used to feel that way, before she had met Link. Only with the Fused Shadows had they become something more; a place to grow, to draw energy from. A place to live.

But not any more.

The shadows were rejecting her, nudging her from the only place she had ever felt safe.

Their blissful numbness, their comfortable monotony, their immutable and lulling touch drew ever farther away. They were becoming a realm of pressure. She had to summon up an ever growing amount of strength to remain sunken within them, to keep them from releasing her body into the harsh, unprotected outside. For they no longer seemed capable of harbouring her; the more she lingered, the more she felt her connection to them weaken. She was drawing closer to an unseen edge despite her every effort to turn back. All she could do was slow herself down, and that feat alone demanded her utmost concentration. As Link was released from the light spirit's hold and she heard his whimpers of pain and distress, the nudge had become a steady push. Out of desperation she allowed her fingers to slip into the light that had once shunned her like a magnet with the same polarity.

And the light once more drew away from her, tainting her hand ink black, dissolving her shape to an unrecognizable malformation. It did not know what to do with her skin that was neither part of the shadow world, nor the world of light. It could not hold her, and soon assaulted her with needles of pain. Fighting her growing hysteria she withdrew, and prayed the shadows would hold her long enough until she had recovered enough strength to fortify her ties to them.

But she soon began to realize; whatever caused the shadows to repel her came from within her own body.

She was changing, mutating. Zelda had touched her in a place so deeply buried that Midna had not known it even existed, until that little spot had begun to grow, to expand, and to pulse. At first, there was nothing but a slight tingling; she had felt a similar touch at her fingertips whenever she used her magic. But as Link departed into the woods at a steady gallop, it began to pound against her chest like an iron fist, trying to break out of her.

Midna could not distinguish it from the rest of her body's pain as, goaded by Zelda's magic, her new heart came to life.

The more it grew, the more limbs it seemed to affect. Like worms it carved through her, burrowing tunnels to her wrists, her fingers, her shoulders, her neck. A heavy weight grew within her midriff, pulling these burrowers down through her legs and feet. The newly formed veins and arteries carried the princess' magic through her entire body, feeding it, nurturing it like a wilted flower. Midna did not know temperatures, and thus perceived the ever accumulating warmth in her extremities as nothing but deep, persisting discomfort.

It hurt to be in the shadows. It hurt to move. Her body slowly turned to flesh and blood, and still Midna could not enter the light.

Hours passed that she took no notice of as she lay in a stupor within Link's shadow. The pain was growing stronger the farther her transformation reached. Her belly had become a battlefield; the creation of her intestines felt like arrows piercing her abdomen, swords sliced her skin puckering with pores, maces shattered her bones as organs were restored and pushed into place. Everything hurt no matter how she turned in her black confines. Her insides churned like boiling water, groaned and gurgled and pulsed with discomfort. As the pain morphed into near unbearable agony, she grew panicked. Many times she tried calling out to her wolf companion, only to find that the whimpers trying to bubble from her throat could not draw in enough air from her crippled lungs. She could do nothing but endure it, and wait for it to pass.

In the hulking expanse of the Faronian Giants, the shadows grew agitated as rays of hot sunlight sliced through them. Midna slipped in and out of consciousness and barely noticed Link's inhuman jumps from root to root. By now, a hollow numbness broken by the occasional sting of stagnant pain had overtaken her belly. But it was overshadowed by the tension building up within her chest. It stretched like a balloon ready to burst, enticing her to inhale. She would have gladly complied had she found enough strength even despite her stupefied brain struggling to make sense of the need; as a Twili who had evolved out of most bodily needs, air was only useful to her for speaking.

She was at the brink now; nothing but a thread held her rooted to the shadows. She saw only the velvety orange of her eyelids, heard the sound of Link's voice and clanking metal like through a layer of woollen cloth. Faintly she remembered keeping a cluster of rakes and a chest packed with goods in the shadows with her. Before, stockpiling their dissolved shapes had been a feat as mundane and effortless as speaking, yet as her consciousness finally bid her farewell, she lost her hold on them.

Before she even felt the painful thud of her body finally toppling from the shadows and hitting stone, her mind was pulled into a world of nothingness.

0

Link felt it more than heard it; a barely perceptible knock on his cheek as if a flea had bounced against it. At first he thought to have imagined it, but upon pressing his ear against Midna's chest he heard it clearly; a heartbeat, faint and frantic.

She was still alive. His first reaction was a strangled sob of relief, but it did not take long for him to notice the abnormality. His eyes widened, first with awe, then with horror. Something was badly wrong.

Never before had he heard a heartbeat from her. Never before had he held her with his Hylian hands.

He knew that Twili did not sweat, for her riding on him had never left neither scent nor humidity on his wolf coat, and the only smell he had ever gotten from her had been the filth collected across a multitude of days. And yet, her entire body was covered in moisture and clammy to the touch. His wolf self had been particularly perplexed to find a creature on top of him that did not shed any warmth. Now her formerly flat belly was bloated, hard, and most definitely warm. Her skin, too, had changed from an otherworldly smoothness to slightly porous, and inside her half-open mouth, he saw her single fang coated with a thin layer of blood. Had he ever seen her bleed before?

Yet despite her many changes, she was still not breathing.

He grew panicked. Holding her close to himself, he crawled towards his heap of dry leaves and gently laid her onto the blanket. The stab wound sent a few painful reminders his way, but he forced himself to ignore it. His hands flailed about helplessly, unsure of what to do, when her tiny body suddenly began to twitch and tremble as if trying to bear a terrible strain. A cough forced its way up her throat and made a few droplets of blood fly into the air. His hands moved more on impulse than on the command of his befuddled brain, turning her onto her side. A careful tap on her back freed more blood, until a shock went through her and she instinctively inhaled.

Her quick gasps were shaky, strained, as if her body had never properly breathed before. Her hands curled upon themselves, opening and closing in search for something to grab, while her feet pedalled and kicked aimlessly on the coarse woollen blanket.

''Midna?'' he asked, gently brushing his fingertips over her heaving shoulder. She was shivering; the sweat must have chilled her body. Some blood still trickled from her lips and left tiny circles on the brown blanket. He reached behind him into the open chest, pulled out a rag, and gently wiped her mouth and chin. A loose strand of hair fell over her closed eyes that he smoothed aside. Her forehead was hot and perspiring. She did not react to his voice calling her again, yet as his arm came within reach of her prying hands, he was startled by her minuscule fingers tightening around his thumb. A careful pull did nothing but urge her to squeeze harder.

Link raised his brow as it began to dawn on him. Her body was pure, flawless, its newly formed limbs glossy and untarnished. A major contrast to his own skin that, albeit still considered young, was blemished by years of scrubbing, minor scratches, and tiny wrinkles deepened by usage. Her hair, formerly strands of coarse, straw-like spikes dangling from within the circle of her crown, glistened in the sun's soft diffusion like silk. Even the profound mark on her forehead left by the Fused Shadow had vanished, its former position nothing but an outline in his mind. And those random instinctual movements she made that groped for the air seemingly without purpose… He had seen Colin behave exactly the same as a baby.

Had Zelda given Midna the ability to survive within the light world by transforming her very body? Link could not find any other explanation for his companion's sudden… materiality.

The implications of this insight became clear to him in the same heartbeat. He did not even have to think about it; the most primitive instincts within him awoke at the sight of Midna's curled and shivering form on the blanket, and guided his hands before his mind could consciously give the order to scoop her up and ease her into the crook of his right arm, well away from his throbbing stab wound. She gave no evident reaction to his touch, but her erratic breathing seemed to calm. Smiling, he pulled the blanket over them both.

His heart warmed as he watched her sound asleep in his embrace. Except for her unnaturally broad head, she was only as large as a small child, and lighter even than any he had held before. One of her hands had slipped out of his embrace to lay curled on his chest; he cupped it with his own, and was astonished at the size difference. A child's hand this big would have been chubby, but hers was long, thin, elegantly curved, and proportioned like that of a grown woman. It had no fingernails and still held its deep black hue contrasted by meandering, turquoise lines, but with her skin now as porous and uneven as his own, it looked exotic. Sublime.

Beautiful.

He was too tired to feel ashamed of his staring, too relieved to try and coax her awake. She seemed safe – for the time being. If his assumptions were correct, it would not be too long before he'd have to try and give her some sustenance, if she did not ask for it on her own. It was best to wait until she woke up.

He leaned back against the wall to rest for a moment, when a red spot on his stomach caught his attention. His brow creased as he inspected the small patch of blood on his bandage; it was already larger than before. As if having cowered in the darkness waiting for its chance to pounce, the pain swelled and once more dug deep to where it hurt the most. He clenched his teeth and hissed; it was almost amusing how his selective mind seemed to push to the foreground exactly what was most important. But could it not just wait? How bad would it be if he allowed himself to slip into sleep, only for a few hours, and let rainbows and starlight carry him through the morning chill until he felt stronger? The wall behind him was so comfortable, the blanket lay upon him like a weighted net. Just a few hours…

But his hand had already lifted the gauze, his mind now lucid enough to properly take in the sight. The wound itself looked almost harmless; just a little blood welled up within its centre and sluggishly crawled over the clean skin surrounding it. But he was hunched over far enough to see the entire area swollen, bloated, and shaded a sickly yellow near the puncture where the skin had been bruised by the brute force of the stab. The cut itself was encircled by a ring of red – the beginnings of infection. There was still time, however, still a chance to stop the spread and perhaps even suture it to hurry its healing. Gazing at it for a while longer, he found himself perplexed; come to think of it, it looked too fresh for a wound that was at least a day old and which, on top of it, had been previously borne by a muddy, slobbering wolf galloping at full speed through dirt and brush. His fingers carefully widened the cleft and caught a brief glimpse of clean, soil-free flesh before the blood welled out in oily gushes and he squeezed his watering eyes shut. The pain made his head spin.

If I let the infection spread too far, I'll die. It's just a matter of hours.

He frowned as those words crossed his mind. The clearly came from him, and yet their tone seemed different, as if a part of his mind he had never heard before had spoken up for the first time.

No, that wasn't quite true. He had felt it before, laying itself like a coat over his rational mind, stifling it until only his bare, raw instincts spurred him onward without fear nor doubt. It had pushed him from root to root across the crowd of Faronian Giants, disregarding his vain attempts to let panic pull him to a stop.

Whatever it was, it seemed reasonable now. His body felt sluggish with exhaustion, but he straightened nonetheless and gently eased Midna back onto the blanket. The leaf mattress beneath had stored some of his warmth and would keep her protected from the chilly morning air. By now, his vision was swaying and playing with his senses, the ceiling stuck in a constant tilting loop. Shaking hands groped for the first-aid kit lying open by the fallen lantern and reminded him of Midna's baby fingers trying to catch whiffs of air. Whatever would she have done with it? Kept it in a jar?

He giggled at the thought, blinking away tears to scan the kit for the brass suturing needle. How he was supposed to fiddle the silk thread into the minuscule hole with his clumsy fingers slippery with blood was beyond him. It seemed that Renado, however, had accounted even for this minor detail, but it took Link a good moment to realize the thread had already been inserted. The sight caused sudden anger to well up within him, and he glared at the curved needle with hatred in his eyes. Renado, the kind samaritan, always keen to help, always such a good man. He had not even allowed Link to thread his own needle! What insanity had driven him to such a decision? That Link was an incompetent fool?

Goddesses, he was tired. Gone within a heartbeat, anger was replaced by fear. How long did the tip of the needle rest at his gaping wound, already drowned in crimson? He could not tell, and it made him want to weep. The longer he lingered, the louder his mind screamed deprecations until one word distilled from the mess and filled his throbbing head like an echo.

Coward. Coward.

But for what? For not being brave enough to pierce his skin? For not being enough of a hero to pull the sword out of its pedestal?

I know why the sword rejected me. Because I failed.

For weeks he had been working a goal deemed so important that the goddesses themselves had chosen him to do it; gather the ancient power of the Fused Shadows, and destroy Zant before it was too late. Every day that fear of not being strong enough, of failure, had haunted his steps, had pushed him to his limits, had kept him going with all the resolution he could muster. He had even kept it all secret from everyone he cared about to give himself a safety net for mistakes. For somewhere deep in his mind he had been certain that it would all turn out fine. The spirits would guide him, perhaps even the very goddesses. Somehow he had expected everything to sort itself out in the end.

But oh, goddesses, the catastrophe he had banned from his mind to keep his sanity, to keep faith, and keep going, had happened. He had failed.

Coward. I could not even stand before him. I had to kneel, his blade in my body like a perverse intrusion.

More tears welled up in his eyes as he inspected the large wound piercing his abdomen just above his left hip bone. There might be organs in the way. Curls of intestines prone to internal bleeding he would never notice until it was too late. A simple rotation of his torso made all sorts of wrong stings and pains emerge from within. Its walls were the ideal breeding ground for infection. If he let it spread, it could have been over within the week. Perhaps painful but certain, a death plain and unremarkable as might befit a failed hero. To Hyrule and its people, he had already been a disappointment. Succumbing to the blade of his foe would have wrapped it up nicely, allowing him to quietly slip into oblivion, into the depths of the lake that no light could reach, buried by the mountain never to be seen again. To his brother and all the children he had failed to bring home, perhaps some justice would have been dealt. If anything, it would have rid the world of another monster, a beast consumed by so much hatred that it had gutted its enemy without guile nor remorse. To the spirits and the goddesses – beings of such endless wisdom – it would have been confirmation that he had never been the right one to be chosen, to wield the sacred blade and tread in the footsteps of his many predecessors. For it was the sword with its amethyst cross-guard that had truly dealt the ultimate blow. Tested his worth, and found him wanting.

All it would have taken was a simple relaxing of his fingers to release the needle, lay back down, and let nature do the rest.

I would consider death to make up for my defeat? As a punishment? Or as an escape?

''Damn it…'' he hissed. Was it his own mind screaming insults at him? Why did it feel like a completely different part of himself? Why did it contradict his own feelings and fed them back to him tasting bitter with cowardice?

And then that mask appeared before his eyes. Bulging sockets, pointy nose, lolling, mocking tongue curled outwards. A black figure with a silver helmet, composed and confident, silently waiting for him to take a step forward.

I'll let the air poison me and rid the world of my cowardice. Is that the solution?

It was the Wolf. Snarling and growling, it stood beside him trying to take control of his actions. And he just could not push past it.

He opened his mouth to release a shaking sob, and heard Midna's quiet voice moan out in protest behind him. He clapped his hand over his lips to stifle his next cry until the taste of fear mixed with the blood on his fingers and made him nauseous. Simultaneously, the Wolf pounced and pushed his left hand downwards, burying the needle deep within the wall of the wound. Like a flush of cold water the pain roused him back to reality, to the little room in the quiet cathedral ruins that had become his shelter.

And hers.

Slowly he turned to look at her. In that fateful night, she had stepped in front of him to protect him. After he had failed her – her and all of Hyrule – and lay in the dirt wounded and helpless, she had given him her loyalty. She had stood before Zant without fear nor hesitation.

Was he truly contemplating death? How could he think of suicide when Midna was in this state of vulnerability? She needed him. Hyrule needed him. He might have failed in his initial mission, but the world as he knew it was still very much alive, and he had the princess to thank for that. He was in her debt, in more aspects than he would ever be comfortable to admit. With that thought crossing his mind, he could almost hear Midna's high-pitched voice admonishing him, and it made him smile.

''What on Farore's good earth are you thinking? Did the princess hesitate to do what was necessary to clean up your mess? Get your head out of the dirt and start to act like the hero you're supposed to be!''

With a deep, steady breath, he was able to look at the injury again, focus on the tip of the needle, and guide it to its next mark. It was harder to clear his view of tears than it was to endure the pain of the suturing. He knew he was doing well when less and less blood broke through the ever-narrowing confines of the cut. One knot, two knots, three knots. He indulged in a fourth for good measure before cutting the silk with his knife. Next came a cloth pad soaked in iodine – courtesy of Renado who had insisted Link take the little glass bottle with him wherever he went. The liquid stung like a hornet but felt blissfully powerful; he almost enjoyed its fiery trickle through every inch of the stab until it ran out of his back. Almost.

By the time he had wrapped a new bandage around his middle, his head was swimming. He managed to crawl back under the sheets beside Midna, and lay on his right side contently watching her sleeping face. She looked peaceful and healthy, her cheeks slightly flushed with colour. All that mattered to him at that moment was her recovery. And of one thing he was certain; if he could give Midna comfort and support with whatever hardships she faced in her undoubtedly unsettling condition, he would consider himself honoured. Perhaps he could finally start repaying her for keeping him on the right track.

Is this the solution? Will I be enough to defeat him and his god without the goddesses' sacred weapon at my side? Won't the same thing happen again?

''Leave me be,'' he muttered, closing his eyes. ''Go back to the shadows.''

The Wolf growled as answer but retreated to the depths of his mind, silent and seething.

Sleep was relentless and forced Link's eyes shut before he took notice of the footsteps that resounded from the top of the cellar stairs. The figure stood still, looking down at the hero and his companion in silence. After a while, it turned away, its soft-spoken message melding with the uneventful dreams presiding over Link's resting mind.

''A sword wields no power unless the hand that holds it has courage. I am awaiting your return. Do not turn away from your fate.''

When Link next awoke, he looked straight into the wide eyes of a little imp, felt her warmth radiate from her glowing cheeks, and couldn't help but smile.

0

"I don't know if you should be up and moving like that," Midna said, her voice soft and hesitant. It held only a fraction of its former power, but Link could hear her subtle efforts to make it sound stronger.

"I'm fine. Really. It doesn't even hurt that much any more. Now hold still and keep your arms up."

With a sigh she complied, her frown deepening. Link could see she was uncomfortable standing completely bare before him, and hurried to fumble the suturing needle through the two linen pieces he had previously cut out of a pillowcase. With the spare needle he threaded the parts together at the right shoulder. The pillow had held just the right amount of cloth to wrap around Midna, and she visibly relaxed as he lifted the left side over her exposed breast and concealed it behind the worn but clean fabric.

His hand slipped a little, and Midna twitched. "Please don't prick me."

"Or you'll throw a rock at my face?" he said and grinned, but his smile slid off as he saw the silent distress on her face. ''I'll be careful, I promise,'' he hastened to add, but she held on to her troubled countenance.

He slipped on the sleeves next and crudely threaded them to the body of her makeshift gown. It would look like an oversized night dress, for Link had never been more than a passable tailor, but it would keep her warm, protected, and decent. She was already shivering less than in the morning, although he knew that was because she kept herself in range of his warmth radius. Her body had done astonishing progress with taking in food and water, but her temperature regulation still seemed to be completely off. He was convinced it would sort itself out with enough time, but he had already made his peace with the idea of sacrificing one of their woollen blankets for a surcoat should the summer heat prove to be insufficient.

"How much longer? My arms are starting to hurt."

"Just as long as it takes to attach the sleeves."

He was glad to see at least her impatience had not vanished with her former shadow self. But he would have lied if he'd declared she was still the same being that had found him in Hyrule Castle's cells so many weeks ago.

Her body becoming material had bombarded her with an array of physical perceptions that were as new to her as spreading wings and flying off might have been to him. She could not distinguish cold from pain, the result of which had been several hours of recurring panic attacks whenever Link lifted the blanket or moved away from her, until he had repeatedly assured her that the cold she felt was not poison in the air but simply the morning chill of their cavernous shelter. Her first sip of water had been a disaster of coughing and gagging that resulted in her flat out refusing any kind of liquid or solid to pass her lips. But that resolve had been quickly toppled by the loud grumbling of a tiny stomach at the sight of Link's cast-iron pot filled to the brim with wild cherries from the grove above. One after the other had vanished between her silver lips until Link had been forced to physically stop her from gobbling up the whole pot. But he he'd been too late; she had learned the lesson the hard way.

A night spent throwing up half-digested cherries had opened her eyes to the precariousness of her situation; she was vulnerable and fragile, dependent on an outsider to take care of her. Link had anticipated her to be angry, denying, perhaps even hateful of such a realization and the very clear fact that she needed him to survive. With how unpredictable she had been over the last few weeks, he had been prepared to deal with all kinds of negative reactions to his care.

Shame was something he had not expected, not from his strong-minded and independent companion who had once done everything in her power to make him feel inferior. And yet, it filled her eyes when she snuggled closer to him for warmth or accepted another sip from the waterskin. Shame made her look away and hastily cover herself as she became aware of her nudity. It glistened within her eyes when Link promptly cut open one of his pillowcases and set to work whipping up some clothing for her.

No amount of persuasion could convince her that he was happy to do these things for her. He was beginning to wonder if Zelda had also altered Midna's personality when converting his mortally wounded companion to the realm of light.

''How about we go outside for a while once I finish your shirt?'' he asked, tucking the other sleeve to lie snug with the shoulder. His measurements were slightly off, but it would have to do. ''I'm sure the sunlight would do us both some good.''

She stared at him, startled. ''Why would that be?''

''Well…'' He paused, thinking. ''Sunlight always cheers me up. And it's warm. I'm sure you'll like it.''

She looked doubtful, but after a while she nodded and continued to watch him sew. There it was again, that look of shame and sadness that made her head droop and her eyes narrow. He felt a strong urge to scoop her up and squeeze her, and groped instead for a hemp rope that he wrapped round her waist and tied with a loose knot.

''It'll keep the dress from catching in your feet,'' he explained.

Sitting back he inspected his work, and cringed. The dress was straight enough, but the stitches were a nightmare and one sleeve was definitely too long. The collar, too, would have to be somehow laced to keep it from opening too far; due to her unnaturally wide head he had been forced to leave a lot more space than he would have had with a regular shirt. The hem could use some doubling lest he wanted it to fray. And to his dismay there was an old grease stain at the level of her belly button that he had not noticed. It looked more like a rag than a shirt.

''Oh dear…'' he mumbled and started on a flustered apology for his mediocre cloth-making skills, when he saw a light pass over Midna's face.

She was inspecting the dress with glistening eyes, flexing her arms, feeling the worn cloth with her soft palms. A smile crossed her lips that widened as she took a few steps towards the staircase, away from his body heat. ''The air doesn't hurt any more,'' she said, looking past the cellar ceiling at the brilliant blue sky. She stretched out a tentative hand into the sunlight cascading down the stone steps, and gasped.

''What is it?'' Link asked, alarmed.

But Midna was still smiling. ''I can touch it. It feels good, like you said.''

She started up the stairs, mindful of the long hem of her dress, and grunting with effort Link picked himself up and limped after her.

He had been in the grove a few times during her recovery, but mainly to forage some wild food and collect water. With Midna's discovery of their lush surroundings and her clear awe of its beauty, he had to admit that the glade with its old ruins was fantastically picturesque. Nature seemed in peak condition here; there was no rot on the tree trunks or mould on bush leaves, and the moss covering the old, crooked pavement was moist and vibrant.

Midna gingerly stepped over the soft grass, her bare feet carefully exploring the ground. He made a mental note to procure some leather for a pair of shoes; it wasn't quite clear how much her magical abilities had been inhibited, but he doubted she could fly in her current condition.

''The air, it feels different here. As if something is in it.''

He approached and crouched beside her. ''What do you mean?''

She stooped, touching the grass. ''I don't know how to describe it. It feels different, in my nose. What is it?''

''You mean the smell of grass?'' He picked a blade and rubbed it before holding it under her nose. Her eager nod made Link thoughtful.

''So when you were a Twili, you couldn't even smell?''

At his words, she grimaced and turned away. ''I'm still a Twili, Link. I'm just more aware of things now than I was before. I could still feel the grass and breathe the air, but there was nothing special about it. Not like there is now.''

She let her palm brush over the high spikelets of the grass. ''There are so many feelings that I can't even name them all. The air that is flowing around me – I guess that'd be the wind – or the way this grass has spots that sting when I touch them. Even the warmth of the sunlight feels different to when you're giving me your body heat. It's just so much to grasp.''

He smiled, gently touching her shoulder. ''It'll come to you in time. And I'll be there to make sure you don't die by accident.''

He had meant it as a joke, but she did not smile back. Her legs gave way under her, and she plummeted to the grass. ''Why are you doing this?''

''Doing what?''

''Helping me, taking care of me. With how I treated you during our search for the Fused Shadows, I don't get how you could even stand to be near me. And when it mattered most – when Zant was right in front of us and I could have taken him down – I failed. I made you a promise that you would live to return to your brother, but Zant attacked you, nearly killed you. No… He did kill you. I watched you die. The arrow he shot at you, it was meant for me, and yet you were the one who took it– ''

''Midna, do you see an arrow somewhere in my body?'' Link answered. ''If anyone failed, it's me. I was supposed to fight Zant, and I lost.''

He will be undefeatable now that he is master of the Fused Shadows. A regular weapon could not even scratch him.

Link gritted his teeth and pushed the Wolf back. Why could it not just leave him be? Three days they had now spent in the grove, resting and healing, Link teaching Midna how to take care of her transformed body. And yet, the Wolf was not satisfied with his own quick recovery. Constantly it would ram against the mental cage Link had built around it, rattling the bars, trying to lay its instinctual mentality over Link's reason and rationality. Its thoughts were so similar to his own, sounded nearly identical, but he could easily discern the reckless, thoughtless pouncing in its logic – or lack thereof. It simply could not understand; there was nothing Link could do to free the sword no matter how much the Wolf pushed him back to it. For he had tried, again and again, visiting the walled glade at the end of the ruins while Midna was asleep, drawn to the embedded weapon by its incessant calling and his counterpart's mental pushes. No amount of strength, determination, or desire could lift it but an inch. It rang with encouragement, feeding him false hope, only to shatter it by withdrawing from him. It was useless.

He just wasn't worthy of it, no matter how much strength and resolve the beast tried to feed him.

Midna took no notice of his inner struggle. ''You don't understand, Link. This was not supposed to happen. You weren't ready to face him yet, but my arrogance and stupidity got you badly hurt. It forced the princess to sacrifice everything she had left to save me. Me. It doesn't make sense. And now we're here in some forest wasting time while Zelda is trapped in that castle with Zant's god, the source of all his terrible power. And I can't do anything about it! I can't enter the shadows, I can't use my magic, I can't even fly. I'm nothing but a burden now. So why do you keep helping me?''

''Because you are important to me.''

She stopped short, taken aback. ''I… What? Why?''

''Because you are the only one who knows,'' Link replied softly. ''Who really knows what happened. The Fused Shadows, the Wolf, the spirits, Lakebed Temple and how I nearly died so many times there. You've always been there. True, you might have been a little rough with me on occasion, but I'm beginning to suspect those Fused Shadows were the source of that. Everything about them felt wrong to me, from the beginning. The fact that you haven't hit me yet is a good sign.''

He chuckled as she made a face and attempted to punch him. She quickly composed herself though, returning to her state of gloom.

''Maybe Zelda gave you her blessing because I begged her to help you,'' Link continued, absently playing with his blade of grass. ''Maybe because she knew you would find a way to use it to turn things around. I'm not sure. But I'm glad she did it.''

''Why? I really don't understand.''

Link looked at her intently. ''Because I… I don't want to be alone.'' Alone with that… beast.

Those were definitely his own thoughts, but he left them unsaid.

She sat in silence for a long while, contemplating his reply. A smile tugged at her lips then, a smile that reached all the way to her eyes and made them radiant. ''We have another shot at taking down Zant. He was waiting for us at the spring, he caught us off guard. But this time, we'll take the fight to him. This time we'll do it together. With the goddesses' blessing that rid you of your wolf form, we will free the princess and Hyrule. And perhaps, in the end, even my own world.''

Her look of hope was so earnest that he could only smile as answer.

They had both survived Zant's killing blows, somehow. When it mattered most, they had shown their true allegiance to themselves, had united against their common foe regardless of how obnoxious she had been or how many mistakes he had made. There in that luscious forest amidst ruins of old where peace reigned like an old wise king, they had been given the time to heal. And that was more than he could have hoped for.

And yet, as he leaned back against a tree and watched Midna's didactic discovery of the glade's undergrowth, all he could feel was bitterness. No matter how hard he tried, he just could not bring the words across his lips and shatter the newfound hope she had just gained.

She was putting her faith in him, and why wouldn't she? Zant had left her dangling above her radiant death long enough to turn around and deal with him first. Link could still hear the usurper's words as if they had just been uttered. ''Look, Midna, at the pup the goddesses have summoned to oppose us. He is the only one who stands in the way of our people's salvation.''

They both believed him to be a threat, the only one who could put an end to the invasion. But by now Link knew that was no longer the case.

The blade had rejected him, and he could not even summon up the courage to confess to her. He had kept quiet about the nature of what she called the goddesses' blessing, only touching on it briefly to sate her curiosity. But she had no idea that he had failed at his last, ultimate test.

Coward.

That reproach came from both of his spirit parts.

Grunting, he picked himself up and lumbered back towards the cellar steps.

''Are you okay?'' she asked, still sitting in the meadow surrounded by flowers and clover like a toddler discovering the outside world for the first time. In a way, that was exactly what she was, he thought. That, and so much more.

''I'm going to lay down for a while.''

She cast him another bright smile and wrapped her arms around the sleeves of her dress. ''Thanks for the shirt. Really. And for being there. I'm glad I'm not alone either.''

He felt the lump in his throat and made another vain attempt at breaching it. But it sat too deeply; she would have to wait a while longer for the truth to pass his lips. ''Just be careful. And don't eat anything.''

He had a lot of thinking to do.

0

A scream echoed within the thundering sky. Fire, rain, smoke, fog. The outlines of a gatehouse shimmered in the fitful glow of lightning. Thunder turned to hooves that galloped across a lowered drawbridge at a breakneck speed. In the dark of night, a pair of yellow eyes glowed from inside the open gate.

''Link!'' Ilia screamed as she rode past him. Epona's nostrils were flaring with effort.

Link could not see what chased her, but the outlined he made out from the shadows was large and clearly human.

''Who is he?'' he called, but Ilia did not hear him.

The man atop his coal black steed leisurely strolled across the drawbridge. His arm was outstretched and tilted at the ground as if trying to summon his demons from the very earth. And at his fingertips, a robed figure stood tall and intimidating, each of its steps a crooked dance of joy. It lifted a pair of wide sleeves decorated with countless strips of flapping cloth, and the storm whipped at them, made them tremble and spin like ribbons of paper.

''Who are you?!'' Link roared, drawing a shining weapon of brilliant silver. A dark blue hilt reflected the lightning and sent its own flashes of light into the night sky.

''Look, oh Lord, at the pup the goddesses have sent to oppose us,'' the robed figure at the black rider's fingers called. Its voice was like that of a child, high-pitched and lilting. ''He cannot even hold that cursed weapon!''

Link looked at his sword that had suddenly turned rusty and dull. Its weight increased tenfold until he could not longer hold it. Gasping, he sank to his knees, the blade rammed into the muddy earth. His weight sagged against it and only pushed it in deeper.

''No, I can do it,'' he wheezed and tried to pull the blade out of the mud. It sank further.

''Don't you know, whelp…'' the black man murmured darkly, ''… that a sword wields no power unless the hand that holds it has courage?''

''Courage?'' the robed figure sneered. ''He cowered before me, begging for mercy!''

''I did not!'' Link screamed, summoning all his strength to pull on the blade. It simply would not yield.

''Why do you try, whelp? Why do you fight?''

''I fight for my friends,'' he groaned, tears flowing over his face. ''For my brother. For her.''

''You cannot fight without a weapon.''

Shrieking, Link felt the Wolf inside him pounce. Teeth bared in a savage snarl, fur standing on end, it glared at the two figures concealed in the mist.

I don't need a weapon. I am the weapon, it growled, and jumped at their throats.

''Link!''

Midna's voice pulled him to a stop. The wind picked up and swirled around his enemies, cloaking them from view. The cold of night changed to stifling heat, rays of hot sunlight pried his eyes open. With a yell he sat up, and the dried leaves below him scrunched and rustled.

''Link! Help!''

''Midna?''

The imp's call was coming from the glade above. Frantically he reached for his Ordonian sword and bolted up the stairs, the sun blinding him viciously.

He couldn't have been asleep for long. The low sun marked the end of the warm afternoon as it slowly disappeared behind the treeline. Fog had arisen from the moist earth, diffusing its light to milky white. Weapon raised he looked around, and saw movement at the edge of the woods.

From the darkening tree trunks emerged a bright shape, half-concealed behind Midna's dangling body. She was thrashing and kicking at whatever was holding her by the collar of her dress, with little effect. Link sprinted across the cathedral ruins, his sword raised, all pain in his side forgotten. He saw four legs and tufts of fur that shuddered as the animal turned and looked at him. With a yell he came to a shocked standstill.

Of all creatures that could have attacked her, it was an enormous, golden wolf. Its fur glistened and shone as if covered with fireflies, and in its right socket one glowing red eye pointed at Link like a beacon. Midna dangled from its teeth, helplessly flailing her arms to try and land a hit on the animal's head.

In a flurry of light and pillowcase linen, it dashed off into the ruins.

Link was tempted to allow the Wolf access to his limbs to give him a boost of speed, but his side pounding and protesting as he stumbled through broken pillars and collapsed walls made him think twice of it. He could barely keep up with the golden beast, and only the wolf's glowing fur kept his eyes rooted on it as it flashed between the chiselled stones like a torch in the night. He barely had time to ruminate on the oddity of such a sight as the kidnapper led him through the bygone cathedral and passed the crumbled altar. He lost sight of it when it disappeared in the fog of the back chamber, and Link feverishly tried to remember if the walls surrounding the dormant sword had had any holes the wolf could slip through. His bare feet patted on the stone stairs before he came to a sudden halt in the grass.

Link felt his jaw slacken.

Before the blade stood a figure clad in rusty armour; its epaulettes and round shield were covered in ivy that flowed from the metal like vines. But the body wearing the armour had neither flesh nor skin. Its ivory bones looked weathered like the ruins, covered in grime and soil as if it had just emerged from its grave. Its skull was grey and cracked and yet alive with a single, glowing red eye that pierced the fog like a flare.

The wolf and Midna were nowhere to be seen.

''Midna!'' Link called, and got no answer. ''Midna, where are you?'' Panting, he fixed his angry glare on the skeleton. ''Where is she?!''

The figure stood still, one bony hand poised upon the handle of its sword resting like a cane beside it. With the other, it hefted its painted shield to rest at its side.

Link made a careful step forward. As quick as lightning, the skeleton surged towards him.

Link raised his weapon to parry the blow, but it never made contact. Like a spectre, his opponent's sword flickered and sliced right through Link's blade, colliding instead with his body and flinging him backwards in one wide, painful swing.

''A sword wields no power unless the hand that holds it has courage.''

Those words echoed across the glade like the murmurs of a hundred voices. Link drew himself up, anxiously feeling his side. But there was no cut, and the pain ebbed away quietly.

''You have courage, boy, but do you have what it takes to become the hero for whom this world despairs?'' the skeleton asked in its strange multitude of voices.

Slowly Link stood up, eyeing the skeleton. ''Who are you?''

''That is not the question you should be asking. I will ask it for you: who are you?''

Link frowned, weighing his father's sword nervously.

''Are you a child who weeps with injustice? Are you a coward who would run from their own mistakes? Are you a beast? A man?''

The creature straightened and pointed his sword at Link's nose. ''The turmoil in your mind has tainted your spirit, a spirit that was once labeled unbreakable. The sacred beast runs wild within you, untamed and unleashed. You have disgraced the proud green of the hero's tunic you wear!''

A low growl worked its way up Link's throat. He did not even notice it.

''Anger controls you like a puppet, darkness thrives within your heart. Who is your puppeteer, hero, that you may cut their strings and be free of their domination?''

''I'm not being controlled by anyone,'' Link grated. ''Now tell me where my friend is!''

Instead, the figure rushed at him again, and Link met it head-on. Rage and fear fuelled his moves as he ducked and sidestepped his opponent's blows while swinging his weapon like a club, but the skeleton met him with unnatural strength and dexterity. Link found himself teetering from his own momentum and was once again brought low by his foe's ghostly blade.

''What do you want from me?!'' he roared.

''I want you to defeat me.''

''How? My sword can't even touch yours!''

''There is only one blade that can parry my strikes. The Master Sword.''

The skeleton took a step back, revealing the white pedestal behind it. Link once more felt the sword's power vibrate within his very core as it lured his hand towards it, begging him to pull. Its name rang like a chant within his mind. The Master Sword. His weapon. The weapon of the hero.

''Take up the sword, and wield it in the name of the goddesses.''

He was up and running towards it in a heartbeat. The moment he curved his palm around the hilt, the power vanished from the blade. With a cry he pulled his arm back as if he had been stung.

''Draw it!'' the skeleton commanded.

''I can't!'' Link screamed. ''It won't let me!''

''Who are you? What are you?''

''I don't know.''

''Why can't you draw it?!''

''Because I failed!''

His scream was so loud that the birds flew from the trees. Sobbing, Link crumpled to the ground, scrunching up the grass until his fingers dug into the soil. He threw down his fist and screamed again, this time in pure frustration. Again and again he hit the grass, pounding his rage into the dirt to be swallowed by the earth. When his cries finally subsided, he sat back and looked at the sleeping blade through a curtain of tears.

The armoured skeleton stood behind it, looking on sombrely.

''You see your defeat at Lanayru's spring as a failure. You think you are unworthy of wielding this blade, and only your desire to do good is spurring to you draw it. Desire can never draw the Master Sword. Only courage. True courage is needed to face one's mistakes, to rise above one's failures, and become a better person than before.''

Link watched, speechless, how the figure lowered itself to its bony knees, mimicking his stance. ''You have been told this before. The hero is not destined, or chosen, to be the saviour of the world. He is chosen because he has the values needed to become the saviour. A hero is forged just like a weapon, through hardships and experiences that will test his virtues and shape him to fit the needs of whatever calamity Evil has thrust upon him. The goddesses are his blacksmith. But you must be aware that, although you and the goddesses are on the same side, their side is not your side. They do not feel like we do. They will burn their fires as hot as is necessary to make their weapon yield and be shaped. And you have yielded. Now is the time to be shaped into the weapon that you need to be.''

More tears streamed across Link's cheeks. ''How?'' he whispered.

''Accept your defeat. Acknowledge your savagery in Eldin. Rise above your fears and your anger, your pride and selfishness, and meld your spirit with the divine beast that is your counterpart. He is not your enemy, but an ally. Only with his aid can you face the true Evil that is threatening this world. As I once have many centuries ago.''

Like a flame breathing to life, the golden wolf appeared next to the skeleton. Its one red eye bore into Link's as intently as that of the armoured ghost. They were one and the same; one spirit with two forms, each enhanced by the other's strengths, to form a final entity of power and harmony.

Deep within him, Link felt the Wolf pounce against his inner wall, and this time he opened the cage. Breaking free, it seized control of his limbs and forced him to a stand. Link's head swam and swayed until the image of the gutted ogre re-emerged from his deepest memories; he could smell the blood and decay as if he stood right before it. His horror made him stumble backwards, but the Wolf stood fast and snarled at the carcass in satisfaction.

I have triumphed over you. You were the weaker one. Your cadaver rotting in the dirt is my proof of superiority.

The vision changed to a forest heavily crowded by trees. At the foot of a slope, a bokoblin lay face-down in the undergrowth, an arrow sticking out of its back. Link gasped in recognition; it was his first Moblin kill after a heated chase through the Ordonian woods.

This arrow is my trophy. I have won, and you have lost.

Ilia's downcast face appeared among the trees where she sat before a wounded Zora child. The Wolf approached her, snarling and grumbling, readying itself to pounce. Link at once surged forward and grabbed it by the scruff of its neck despite his horrified certainty that his meagre strength could never hold the deadly beast back. And yet the Wolf paused, calming, to look up at him for guidance. Breathing in deeply, Link looked once more at his forlorn best friend.

You don't know me, but I will still fight for your safety, and for those you treasure.

Those words came so naturally to him, he did not even have to think about them. As his vision shifted again and he was presented with Midna's newborn body shivering alone in the cold, the Wolf lowered itself close to her, mirroring Link's moves.

I will give you guidance and warmth in your hour of need. You forever have my protection.

His last vision returned him to Lanayru's cave. The Wolf growled in defiance as Zant stood before it, his black robe billowing in the harsh wind of the storm outside.

Link looked at the Wolf, hesitant. At once it pounced at the usurper, and was flung aside as easily as a fly swatted by a towel. Link found himself impaled by his enemy's blade, crumbling to his knees before being tossed aside himself. A black arrowhead streaked with orange soared towards him, ready to impale him. And there the Wolf stood, surrounding him like a shield, devouring the arrow that viciously pulled the beast from the shadows and into the outside world.

To be this world's salvation, I must become stronger, and seek the power I need to vanquish those whom steel cannot kill. And I must learn to see the benefits of defeat, for in its wake, a new opportunity may arise.

Link's eyes moved down to the faint orange glow that came from between the skeleton's knees. Zant's arrowhead lay in the grass, severed from its shaft, a crystalline embodiment of his terrible magic. It had formed a bridge for the Wolf to enter Link's world, just as the curtain of Twilight had banished Link's Hylian body to the shadows. The Wolf was right. He was right. It was a new opportunity for both of them, born from defeat yet promising in its potential. Zant's prideful killing blow would be his downfall.

''And your defeat may be the trial of another to overcome and grow upon.''

He turned in surprise, and looked into the beautiful cerulean eyes of the princess. She stood before him in her royal attire, a look of hope on her porcelain face. A set of three golden triangles glowed upon her right hand that she stretched out to him. As Link extended his own, his mark radiated brighter than ever.

''Like you, I have been given special powers from the goddesses, Link. You are not alone in this fight. And do not fear for my safety. I am honoured that the sacrifice of my freedom will help you overcome this threat to the world. I will be waiting for your return.''

Slowly, Zelda's body began to fade, as did the image of her quarters from his distant memory. Her last words rang within his mind that cleared to the sight of the lonely sword standing upright before him like a soldier on guard.

''Please, protect Midna. She is more important than you know.''

There was no doubt in Link's mind any more. The Wolf stood beside him, casting no shadow onto the vibrant grass, as Link stepped forward and laid his hands upon the leather-bound hilt. The Master Sword sang with feral longing and encouragement and once more thrust its power upon him. His every muscle was taut; figures of past heroes appeared like phantoms from the sacred blade and stood around him, hailing him with their weapons raised. Their blades formed a swirling circle above Link's head that cast a mesh of shadow and light onto his green-clad body. Among them stood the armoured skeleton, its own blade held aloft while its single red eye shone like a star.

And a glorious chime sounded from the Blade of Evil's Bane as Link freed it and aimed it skyward. With a flush of power the fog within the glade was driven away, and the sun cast its brilliant rays upon the hero and his hallowed weapon, celebrating their union with a torrent of light.

0

The wave of air rustled the leaves above her. Midna looked up from her shadowy confines and tentatively reached a hand into a ray of uncovered light. Her limb exited the shadows and was instantly hugged by the radiance of the sun. The myriad of feelings returned; she had not lost her material form after all. The relief she felt, however, was instantly topped by what she saw in the glade before her.

Grunting she crawled out of her hiding place, now fully taking in the glorious sight that Link presented. He stood in a wide stance before the pedestal, the sword that had once rested in the stone held high above his head. The green of his proud tunic looked livelier than ever as it reflected the glow of his weapon.

''The sword accepted you as its master,'' she breathed, and he spun around in fright.

''Midna?''

Before she could blink, he had hurried towards her and taken her into his arms. ''Where were you? I thought I had lost you!''

''I'm fine. The creature let go of me and I took cover in the shadows over there. Link, I can do it! I can use my magic!''

Excitedly she flexed her hands before him and produced a few meagre sparks. It was only a fraction of what she had once been capable of, but it was better than nothing.

''So you can hide in my shadow like before?''

''Yes.''

''And it doesn't hurt you?''

''No, all it does is conceal me. But I still have all the feelings and needs that you have.''

''You won't have to worry about that. Whatever you need, I'll get it for you.''

His eyes held all the earnest of a loving parent, and it made her smile. Looking down at his left hand, she gingerly reached for the dark blue guard. ''This is it then? The hero's weapon?''

His ears lowered slightly as he gripped the sword tightly. ''Yes. It's… a lot lighter than my old sword. But not too much. It's–''

''It's just right?'' she asked, and he smiled.

She took a step back and approached the pedestal, drawn to the dim orange glow that came from the low grass. As she realized what it was, she gasped.

''I think that came out of my body as I transformed back,'' Link said, kneeling and reaching for it. At once she jumped towards him and pushed his arm away.

''Don't touch it! It'll turn you back into a wolf if you do.''

He hesitated, but his face showed no fear. ''Maybe that's a good thing. I am much faster and stronger as a wolf than I am like this. I think we should take it with us.''

She frowned, thinking. ''With it, you'd be able to turn into a wolf whenever you like.''

''It's an opportunity,'' he agreed.

''Yeah,'' she said, grinning darkly. ''And since Zant was kind enough to give it to us, why not just keep it?''

She noticed the relieved smile he wore, and raised her brows in surprise. ''What?''

''It's just good to have you back.''

''Huh?''

''It's nothing. Don't dwell on it.''

Standing, he let her take crystal with the hem of her dress and gazed at the crumbled cathedral walls. ''I'm trying to remember what the princess told us in her chamber, but I was so focused on you that I barely remember her words. We need to find Zant, but how to we get to him?''

''With the Mirror of Twilight,'' she answered, coming to a halt beside him. Her turquoise veins of Twili magic pulsed and shone in the fading light. ''Zant travelled across the realms using his god's incredible power. Such magic is unheard of in our world. Now that he is trapped in the Twilight Realm, the only connection between the worlds is the Mirror of Twilight. Zelda said it was somewhere in the desert, didn't she?''

''Yes, I think she did. But the desert is huge, far larger than all of Hyrule combined. I've only read about it in books, and each of them said the elements were treacherous. And if our stay in Lakebed Temple has taught me anything, it's to be prepared when fighting against the unknown.''

''So what do you think we should do?''

He turned to face her and kneeled. ''First, we should make sure you get all the rest and food you need. I will only leave this place once I am certain you are fit to travel.''

''You're the one who got stabbed. We should focus on you just as much.''

He sighed but grunted in agreement. ''After that, I believe I should call upon a friend in Castle Town and accept her proposition. If there's anyone in Hyrule who has connections to knowledge and resources concerning the desert and the Mirror, it'd be Telma's Resistance Group.''

Straightening, he held the sword close to himself and started for the exit. Midna followed but cast her nervous eyes around herself.

''That wolf, the one that dragged me here, do you think it'll attack us again?''

Keeping his slow pace, Link looked down at her. ''It wasn't there to harm you. And I don't think it'll bother us any more.''

''What did it want from us?''

Link's eyes traced the top of the treeline, a faint smile gracing his lips.

''I think it just wanted to play.''

No matter how much she pried on their way back to the sunken cellar room, Link would say no more.

000

Author's note: I've been wanting to write this part of the story for over five years now. And just like with most things you set out to do in your youth, it doesn't quite seem to turn out the way you expected. As a child and teenager I was determined to become a vet and had even started down the long schooling path to get there. Now I'm a metalworker. Way off target. But there's nothing I'd rather be doing, and my work has opened my eyes to many possibilities and growth opportunities that I might never have experienced had I chosen a different path.

This chapter was a learning experience, and it reinforced my understanding of the fact that what you start might not become what you intended. What I had planned as a long, deep, emotional account of Link's profound care for Midna and her care for him, with me joyfully dabbling in describing days spent in the sacred grove and detailing every single moment of their shared recovery, became a gamble of what to throw out and what to keep and how it all made sense. I am astonished this chapter stayed under the 20 page mark with only 17 extra pages' worth of throwouts and discarded scenes. It was hard work that melted my brain and truly made me contemplate what it is that I want to express with my writing. It made me question my sanity and drained my motivation to keep going until finally a day came where 5 hours of writing just whizzed by and the chapter took on its shape of another (heavy) brick in the building of this story.

I am most certain it could be much better. But I wrote it to the best of my abilities, and in the end that is all I can do.

See ya soon in Castle Town!

DR