"…"
A distant voice, garbled as if heard from deep underwater. It pulled, most unwelcome, at Link's consciousness, dragging him from something dark and murky into something firelit and painful. And, indeed, as the voice became clearer, so too did the stabbing pains across his body, the fierce stinging burn on his back, the ache of what seemed like all of his battered bones.
"…another chance! It has to be now, so get up!"
He was tired of these demands. So tired of them. Couldn't they just let him die?
"Please, soldier – I'm putting my neck out on the line for you, can't you see? Get up!"
…That… that didn't sound like Linebeck.
Link stirred at last, forcing his weary eyelids apart to find one of the prison guards bending over him. He tensed, and at once hissed in pain, a hoarse groan escaping from his lips. The guard's shoulders sagged – in relief?
"I'm going to get you out," the guard said, a note of wonderment to his voice, as if he could hardly believe he was saying it. "I… I believe in what you said. I've unlocked your chains; can you stand?"
Link raised his head, his senses sharpening, his mind catching up to what the guard was saying. His eyes narrowed and he nodded grimly, taking the man's proffered hand with his left and forcing himself to his feet. He took a moment, breathing heavily through gritted teeth, to adjust to the new pain flaring up across his battered body.
And then he noticed the corpse of another guard in the room, and his eyes widened.
"I – I killed him," the guard said nervously. "If you take his clothes, and we give him yours… and then chain him in your place… it might buy us some time."
Link swallowed thickly. This is a horrible plan, he thought, his heart racing faster in near-panic. I can barely walk – how could I pass for a guard?
And then there was the fact that this man had murdered a comrade in arms. Was this all a trap? Some sort of set-up for a third party that wanted him dead?
"I'll… need your help," Link said at last, his voice a hoarse rasp. He dipped his chin towards his badly swollen right arm, a myriad of colors that was not at all arm-shaped anymore. "Can't do much with just one arm."
The guard nodded quickly, at once bending to strip his former companion of his clothes and armor. Link felt oddly disturbed, watching him. I'm… possibly getting help in an escape. Isn't that a… good thing?
And yet he felt oddly dirty, in a way entirely different from the sensation of blood and grime on his skin, when he struggled into the dead man's underclothes and armor. The feeling only intensified when the prison guard locked his comrade, now dressed in the bloodied remnants of Link's shirt and pants, into the shackles on the floor. He swallowed thickly, tearing his gaze away and trying to keep his limping as subtle as he could as he followed the traitor-guard out of the cell.
Something's not quite right about this.
But as they continued their trek through the prison, Link quickly turned his sole attention to keeping pace with the guard, his breaths heavy through the visor of his helmet, the weight of armor on his shoulders pressing down on his freshly-acquired burn and a myriad of whiplashes quickly sapping the last dregs of his strength, forcing him to dig deep into his soul for the fortitude to keep moving.
"Stay quiet," the guard next to him muttered. "We're approaching the main gates. Let me do the talking."
Such a cliché phrase, Link thought with a roll of his eyes. As if I'm even capable of talking normally right now!
He struggled not to react when the guard took his left arm and draped it across his shoulder, supporting half of his weight as they turned a corner.
The front gates were so close – Link could see the vast white expanse of the Tabantha snowfield beyond, and his heart ached painfully with longing. So close – I can't believe it!
There were four guards at the gates, he noticed as he and his newfound ally approached. They were watching him curiously, he realized with a spike of worry through his heart. No doubt wondering why I can barely walk – what's this guy thinking?
"Bernard drank too much again," the guard at his side said as they got within earshot. "Loss of his daughter's really getting to him. Mind if I take him out for some fresh air?"
"Nothing like some crisp mountain air to clear the mind," one of the gate guards nodded. "Better get yourself sobered up before Linebeck sees, eh, Bernard?"
Link mustered the strength to nod, relaxing slightly. I guess I could probably pass fairly well for a drunk, he thought reluctantly. Maybe this guy's smarter than I gave him credit for.
His spirits soared as the gates creaked open, hope swelling in his chest as the prison guard next to him helped him pass through to the other side. He kept his head low as they passed the gate guards, lest any of them look too closely and spot the bruises on his face through the visor of his helmet. His heart pounded hard as his feet crunched over the fresh snow on the road beyond, as snow now falling drifted onto his shoulders, as crisp mountain air filled his lungs with a slight ache – Are we really getting away with this so easily? It can't be that simple!
The guard led him around the side of the fort, sticking close to one of the walls. To stay away from the watchtowers, he realized, although he was feeling more worried as time went on, and the cold around him only increased, draining his limited energy all the more. Especially as the slope of the hill the fort perched on became ever steeper, ever more difficult to descend safely.
"Where… where are we going?" he asked at last, and then at once the guard stopped rather suddenly and faced Link, gripping his left arm rather tightly. Link met the man's gaze in surprise, saw the coldness and hatred there –
And then a knife plunged into his chest at the base of his sternum between plates of armor, drawing a choked cry from his throat as he stumbled backwards, collapsing almost at once.
"You think you're all high and mighty, with your talk of the Goddesses," the guard snarled, looming above him. "You say you fight for the people. But you've killed your fair share of innocents, haven't you? The raids you and your men lead – you're no better than those you claim as your enemies!"
He bent down, wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife, and yanked it out, drawing a short scream from Link's throat. Link covered the wound at once with his left hand, the warmth of his blood seeping over cold fingers.
"Linebeck refused to have you killed," the guard said bitterly. "He was wrong to keep you alive. I believe you when you say you won't break. And so we might as well end you now, keep you from ever possibly being a threat again."
Link curled weakly around the freely bleeding wound in his chest, unable to keep back a groan of pain. "And you – you killed your own ally to achieve your goal," he wheezed, glaring at the man. "You – you'll be killed – as soon as they find out. Linebeck – he doesn't take well to betrayal – as you've seen." He was breathing quickly, shallowly, the cold numbing some pains but amplifying others.
The guard's face paled for a moment under the visor, then hardened. "I – I don't care," he muttered bitterly. "I'll have died a hero. I killed one of the greatest threats to Ganandorf's regime. People will see that, someday." He nodded slowly, as if to reassure himself. And then he prodded Link's body with his foot, pushing him over the edge of the hill, sending him tumbling through the snow down the steep slope to rest in a heap at the base of a boulder below, clinging to consciousness by a thread as the cold and snow and wind whistled all around him and fresh pains reawakened across his battered body, drawing a feeble moan from his lips.
He heard the clanging of a bell from the fort far above some time later, signaling that a prisoner had been found missing. He kept silent as footsteps and voices sounded directly above him, closing his eyes and resigning himself to death. Better to face my end here, than be brought back to be tortured more, he thought dimly.
The voices and footsteps eventually faded. There was nothing but the cold, gnawing at him like the jaws of a starving wolf. Even the pain faded simply to numbness, disappearing into the white expanse around him. He opened his eyes, expecting it to be the last time; he watched the snow lightly falling all around him, on him, burying him next to the boulder. The graceful dance of snowflakes as they drifted slowly down, the perfect peace and stillness that the winter storm draped across the wilderness.
And the last thing that he saw, before darkness swallowed him back up, was a truly unusual creature forming from the snow drifting around him. Cloven hooves padding soundlessly closer, belonging to a horse-like creature with a thick white mane and the eyes of an owl. He saw it bending down to examine him, and then the darkness claimed him for its own.