Chapter 67: The End of Love and Duty

The girl screamed in his arms, her hands pounding uselessly against his vambraces. His helmet and pauldrons scraped against the confines of the dark pathway. He hunched his shoulders trying his best to move through the black tunnel without hurting himself or the princess.

"Let me go," she wiggled in his arms. "I order you to let me go! Let me go! I hate you!"

Through the dark he ran. Stumbling about, blind. Bashing into everything in his path. Were the walls crooked, or was he that uncoordinated? His shoulder slammed into the stones. He spun about, trying his best not to smash her into the walls as well. All the while she screamed and sobbed all the louder. Now what direction did he face?

Think, boy, think. He heard his grandfather's voice, clear above the din of violence and screams that echoed through the tunnel. The long dead man's tone just as harsh as when Jora was small. When his grandfather would strike his knuckles with a switch every time he did his sums wrong. 'I will not have my legacy be half-wits in steel like your father. The kingdom has enough of those dying in the mud. Remember, boy. It was my work that won us this hold. My wealth that bought your father's horse and armor.'

He needed an actual plan. He stopped and set the child down.

She whirled about and pounded her fists into his cuirass. "Go back," she demanded. "We have to go back. I can still save him."

"Princess," he knelt and took her hands as gently as his gauntlets would allow. If she continued to strike his armor, she'd likely break a bone in her hand. "If we go back we will be caught."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do. But we can still make it out. Your father wanted you to escape, to live. At least honor him in that."

"But… but." All the struggle left her. Her arms went limp, and her breath ragged as she tried to inhale her sobs.

"You need to be strong, just for now. Just until you're safe. Princess, that magic you made, the light. Can you do it again? We need to see to get out of here."

"What? Oh." Her hand slipped from his. A sphere of golden light formed between them, revealing the tight, grim walls, and her tear-drenched face. She looked so pitiful, all he wanted to do was pull her into a hug and tell her that everything would be fine. But now was not the time.

"You know these tunnels?"

"Yes."

"Then lead us out of here."

She nodded, sucked in air in an attempt to stop her lip from quivering, turned and pushed her hand forward. The ball of light swept ahead of her, revealing the cramped stone corridor as it twisted around the outside of rooms. The princess walked forward, strong as Jora knew she would be, and silent as a Sheikah. Leading him through the path, never hesitating for a moment even as she passed openings to side passages.

After three or four turns, Jora was completely lost. He'd never had a good head for directions. If he had stumbled through the place without the girl there was no way he'd ever find his way out in time. It wasn't helped that every step he took, his armor rustled together, or smacked up against the wall.

Goddesses help me. I'm just as likely to lead the Gerudo straight to the princess as I am to protect her. If any of them had the wit to listen to the walls, they'd only have to follow the noise he made to capture them once again. So he silently prayed, first to the Three, then to Hylia that Most-Feared was as vindictive and stupid as she appeared. That Rijya was not the one following them. That Ganondorf's treachery kept him occupied elsewhere. That Nabooru…

That Nabs did not know what was happening.

The princess led him to a ledge. Jora glanced over the edge, at least a story drop, maybe farther. Metal rings embedded into the stone to act as a ladder down. "Hold a moment, are you certain that's safe?"

"I'm certain," she said as she swung her leg over the edge and climbed down. "Not like there's anywhere else to go if it isn't." Jora reached for her, holding his hand outstretched in case he needed to catch her. But the girl was surefooted. He watched her climb halfway down before he checked the strap of his shield and followed. Clanking with every single step. How was he going to get the girl out of the city like this? A fully armored knight wet with blood was not something difficult to spot.

When he reached the bottom, Zelda brought her light up to him. She had stopped crying, though her wide eyes looked just as sorrowful as before. "The rest of the way is straight, there's a ladder up. We'll come out at the gardens."

"Long way from the gardens to the gate," Jora muttered. "Keep your light ahead of me. I'll climb up first."

Neither spoke the rest of the way through the passage, though with every step Jora's armor clanked almost loud enough to drown out the princesses quiet sniffling. When they reached the second ladder, he turned back looking for any sign of movement behind them. Nothing yet. "I'm going up. Do not come out until I tell you it is safe."

"What good will that do?" Zelda said. "Even if it's not, there's nowhere else to go."

"Just -please- don't argue with me now. Perhaps you can find some dark corner to hide."

She looked doubtful, Jora could tell she had a dozen rebuttals forming in that quick little mind of hers. But they would do little good here. He climbed up the metal rings. Listening for any noise that came from above. He heard nothing. Not even the distant sounds of slaughter within the castle. But what if that was just because his helmet muffled the noise? What if the thickness of the stone over his head masked them?

His hand found the stone slab that opened the secret passage to the garden. What if he headed straight into a trap?

Act, boy, act. His father's voice came to him. As he often instructed when they drilled for hours in the training yard, working until he was so bruised, he could hardly stand. 'You stand there paralyzed, trying to be clever, eh? You stop to think at the wrong time, you die. You hesitate, you lose all your advantages. Remember boy, it was my sword that granted us our titles and prestige. The will to act that let me when my battles.'

The longer he waited, the more likely Ashdin would be upon them. He pushed at the stone, it ground against the earth as it opened. Night sky and the howls of battle greeted him. He stuck his head out, looking about as best his helmet allowed. People fled the castle. Vague shapes he could hardly make out. A fire burned in one of the towers. The doors to the grand hall were torn apart.

"It's clear," he said as he pulled himself out.

He hunched over the hole, hoping not to draw attention until the princess stood beside him. "Don't look at the castle." He positioned her ahead of him, blocking her from the destruction of her home.

"But, I know-" she twisted her neck around, trying to see.

"You know all of them," Jora took hold of her chin and turned her head back in the direction of the gate. "But now is not the time to think of them. Run."

She did as told for once. She ran as fast as she could. But she was still young, and small. She still wore a royal gown that slowed her further. And though he tried to help her, Jora could not move quietly.

They barely made it halfway to the gate before a cry pierced through the violence of the night. "Bethmasse! I see her! I found them!"

Jora cursed their ill luck and looked behind them at the three shapes dark against the night sky raced after them. Gerudo he could tell, but the only one that he knew instantly was the largest of them. "Faster."

"I can't. Run. Faster." The Princess shouted.

Jora and Zelda crashed around bushes and trees. Zelda gasped as they burst through the other side of the gardens. Jora looked upon the gate, torn completely asunder. Rubble and upturned earth scattered across the ground around it. Two dead guards lay just outside, bloodied and trampled beneath the feet of those fleeing from the castle. Servants and nobles all rushing over them together, without a second's thought.

Only one person struggled against the tide, trying to make it into the castle grounds. A nun, by the look of her robes. Some poor noble soul who thought they could help when the world turns to chaos.

"I have them!" Came a happy yell just behind them.

Act, boy!

Jora planted his foot and turned. A twist of his shoulders sent his shield swinging around him, tethered to him with a leather strap. With practiced precision he grabbed the center grip and pushed the shield forward.

The Gerudo's blade struck the steel rim of his shield. He pushed forward, sending the woman back as he drew his arming sword. As he struck, he looked upon the Gerudo's face. A Molduga-Skinner, one of Rijya's guards. Not her. Thank the Goddesses, it wasn't her.

The warrior dodged back, though his blade still sliced into her thigh. Not deep. A glancing blow at best. But it would hurt.

Behind the Gerudo the bushes and trees shook, as Bethmasse and her other companion burst forth. Three on one? He'd faced those odds before. But that had been against ruffians. Or common Gerudo raiders during the war. Not the elite. Not Bethmasse.

He would need to finish this one fast. His sword rose and fell, letting years of training flow through him. He beat aside the Gerudo's blade, struck low, raised his shield high. Natural. Fluid. Just as he had trained all his life. The Gerudo could barely keep her footing as he pressed down upon her. Even in the dark, he saw her once fierce eyes grow wide in fear. He slashed down toward her neck. She tried to catch his blade upon the hilt of her own, angling her sword to thrust toward his face. A desperate attempt to retake initiative.

It was nothing to twist his own sword, sending the Gerudo's blade off the line of attack, and leaving her center exposed for his own strike.

He swung.

She yelped.

His blade struck not flesh, but steel and wood as a heavy spear thrust between them. His opponent scrambled away, back behind the massive woman that saved her life.

"Sir Penrest, Knight of Foxes," Bethe said, as she pulled her spear back. Still poised toward him, ready to strike. At her shoulders the Gerudo he had been so close to killing had found her lost courage. Easy, when you outnumber your opponent. And at her other side came another of Ganondorf's guard. Caeiti, was that her name? The quiet one.

"Commander Bethmasse, the Dread Spear."

She nodded to Zelda standing behind him. "You are outnumbered. Hand over the princess, and no harm will come to you."

Jora shook his head. "If our positions were reversed, and I asked you to hand over your king. Would you do it?"

"Never."

Jora swung his shield forward, just as Bethe's spear shot toward him. "Run!" He shouted as steel struck wood. The other two Gerudo charged him. He pulled back his shield to block one, as he angled his sword to parry the other.

"Leave him to me. Get the girl," Bethe ordered, as she thrust again. Jora rotated his chest, letting the massive spear strike his cuirass. Turning a killing blow to nothing but a bruise, but what a bruise it would be. He knew of Bethmasse's great strength, all knew it. But knowing and feeling such strength coming from a woman were vastly different things. Most knights did not strike so hard. By the Three, he couldn't strike that hard. "This is good, I worried there would be nothing honorable in this fight. I will be glad to add your sigil to my spear."

Her partners moved to get past Jora.

With a roar he swatted aside Bethe's spear and launched himself at Caeiti. His shoulder struck her in the side. Covered in steel, he toppled her over. Breaking bones as he landed atop her, and rolled back to his feet.

"Filthy voe!" Rijya's guard screamed. Turning away from the princess to slash at him. Good. Her blade smacked into his shield. He twisted it to his side and swiped with his blade. This time he struck true, and got to hear a rewarding howl of pain.

Then the massive spear struck his helmet. And for a moment his vision blurred, and the back of his head burst into pain.

"Jora!" Zelda's voice pierced the sky.

Hylia save me. She's supposed to be running!

Golden light streaked past him. The Dread Spear grunted, as she ducked out of the way.

"Get away from him!" Streams of light. One after another burned through the night. As bright as a beacon, and just as likely to draw attention.

For her part, Bethmasse leaped away from each surge of magic hurtling toward her. The Molduga-Skinner was not so fortunate. A beam of light struck her in the chest. She flew back, screeching. Landing hard on the ground and writhing in pain. Jora got back to his feet and ran for Bethmasse swinging low. Somehow, she managed to turn his blow aside, before ducking around him. Narrowly escaping another burst of Zelda's magic light.

"Got you, brat," came a cruel voice. Jora turned to see Caeiti, one arm pulled tight to her side, covering her likely broken ribs. Her other hand gripping Zelda's hands. The magic light dispersed as Zelda screamed. The warrior clenched her grip and the crunch of snapped fingerbones pierced the air.

Jora ran toward them. Bethmasse's spear struck him in the backplate, knocking the air out of his lungs and almost forcing him to the ground. He tried to slash at her, ward her away so he could get to the princess. But Bethmasse proved too strong, her reach too deadly. It took all his effort just to defend himself.

The big woman sneered, and for a moment glanced away. "Sister!" Bethmasse shouted in Gerudo. "Watch out!"

A cloaked and masked nun moved to Caeiti's side. The Gerudo turned to her. "Get away, or I'll-"

The nun slammed her hand into the side of the Gerudo's neck. The warrior stumbled, clutching at her throat. Her mouth opened to offer some curse, but only blood spilled out. It dribbled down her chin, and mixed with the blood that leaked from between her fingers. The warrior fell before the nun with a dripping knife.

"Sheikah," Bethmasse hissed, glaring at the figure.

Act.

Jora ran toward the giant of a woman. Her spear lunged for him, too late to force him back. He caught it on his shield. The spearhead scratched over the painted emblem of the royal family but moved harmlessly to the side. He had his opening.

The Gerudo moved fast. Already pulling her spear back, preparing to parry Jora's next strike. But fighting this close, within her reach? His sword could maneuver, her spear could not. He struck one way, then feinted to the other.

The spear caught nothing but air.

The blade struck, clanged off the steel bracers she wore on her arms. She roared, forcing his sword high. Goddesses she was strong. She slammed her arm down, striking him on the shoulder. Near buckling his knees from the force of it.

He reeled back, then smashed his head forward. His helmet struck at her chin. Breaking her jaw if he had any luck at all. She stepped back. Somehow taking such a blow and keeping her wits enough to move in a steady calculated retreat. Not allowing any dramatic opening, but trying to gain distance where her spear and long arms would regain their advantage.

He would not give it to her. Shield forward he pursued. For just a moment he was a hero of legend. But in a sword fight, a single moment can decide everything. He swatted aside her attempts to defend herself with shield and sword. When she gave one heavy blow toward his face, he raised his shield high. Pushing her weapon and arms up with them. His sword struck first the leathers that protected the joint of her thigh. Then went up. A backhanded cut that landed just past her bracer and sunk into her elbow. Piercing through bone completely and tore through flesh on the way out.

She roared with her mouth full of blood. Somehow remaining on her feet, though her leg shook, and her right arm hung limp. Cut at such an awkward angle, Jora doubted the best physicians would be able to save the limb.

And yet she still tried to fight. Dropping the two-handed spear she pulled out a curved long-knife.

Jora did not give her the time to swing it. He struck. Somehow his opponent blocked the blow with her dagger. But he still had leverage. He stepped in, twisting his sword around the dagger until his pommel faced his opponent. It smashed into her temple. Twice. Before Bethmasse the Dread Spear finally fell.

He'd won. Thank the Three. Breathing hard, he looked to the Molduga-Skinner a few paces past the fallen titan. Somehow she had survived Zelda's barrage and struggled to stand and find her weapons. With a single stroke, Jora made certain she would never rise again.

"Zelda," he gasped. The girl was safe, though holding her mangled hands up to the masked nun beside her. Her face tucked into the woman's robe.

"Lady Impa, speak so I know it is you."

"It is, Jora."

"Good, we need to get her out of the city. I pray you have some tricks to do it."

"No," Zelda said, through her wincing and whimpering. She pulled her face from the damp fabric and looked into Impa's eyes. "Not out of the city. We need to reach the Temple of Time."

"Temple?" What was that girl talking about? "The Gerudo did not honor their pledge of fealty, do you believe they'll adhere to the rules of sanctuary?"

"Of course not," she only glanced at him a moment before looking back to Impa. "Father Rauru needs to know what's happening. They'll come for him and what he has. This is it. Ganondorf's plan requires that he get to the Temple. And Rauru needs to be warned."

Rauru? The priest from that little temple near the market? It had been suspicious when she asked to visit it, but what did he have to do with anything?

"And Link and Navi," she continued before Jora had a chance to ask. "I calculated how long it would take for her travel to the Zoras and then to return to Castle Town, they should be here this week. If not today, tomorrow, or the next."

"What are you talking about? Who's Link and Navi?"

"A boy and a fairy," Impa said.

This is ridiculous. No one had seen fairies for near a hundred years. "No more wasting time. No more arguing. We need to get out of here." Back at the castle, he could hear the Gerudo giving their war cries. Someone must have seen Zelda's magic, they would be coming. "Move."

"Come child," Impa wrapped her arms around the princess and led her toward the broken gate. Thankfully, the crowd fleeing the castle provided some cover. The night's darkness a little more. Once they got out, perhaps Impa would take them to some secret spot. Where Jora could shed his armor, and Zelda her livery. They'd have better chance of survival if they had some form of disguise.

As Jora crossed the broken threshold of the shattered gate a horse and its rider approached. The only ones coming from within the city toward the castle gate. This time not a nun, and definitely no Sheikah in disguise. The one person above all he hoped not to meet. The one he most wished to.

Their eyes met. She did not say a word. She did not need to. Her inability to hide her emotions was one of the things he enjoyed about her. He could always tell when he made her happy, when her mother's condition made her sad, when she quietly raged at court politics. As clear as a well-kept ledger. As honest as a sword.

One look told him everything he needed to know.

Jora positioned himself before the child, as Honeyhoof stopped a few feet before him.

"Lady Impa," he said. "Take the girl somewhere safe."

Nabooru did not try to stop them, as they fled toward the city.

"Thank you, Sir Jora. For protecting her when I couldn't," Impa said before she disappeared into the crowd.

Zelda lingered a moment longer. A look of wrath and sorrow twisted her expression. "Best her, Sir Jora. And find me when you're done. I order you."

"As you will, your highness."

Nabooru dismounted. They both drew their swords and readied their shields. Hers a curved scimitar and a rounded shield with Gerudo marks gleaming like a mirror. His a long straight arming sword with the heavier heater emblazoned with the crest of the royal family. Man and woman. Knight and raider. Hylian and Gerudo. The entire story of their war writ small, wasn't it? How had he ever hoped it would end different?

He lunged first. Slow. More a gentle probe than anything. She stepped off the center line and angled her shield just right to catch it, should he turn the thrust into a feint. Then she stepped forward, slashed high then low. Elegant as ever. Precise and deadly. His shield matched both strikes.

The crowd fled from them. Jora vaguely recognized some of the frightened faces that looked on in horror. No one dared interrupt the duel.

"I didn't want this," she said, as she pulled back. Preparing for the next exchange of blows.

Jora hid his blade behind his shield as he advanced. Careful, moving in such a way to disguise where he would eventually strike. When he lashed out toward her leg, she skittered away as though she had known the entire time. Swinging her blade down toward his head to cover her retreat. He pulled his head back as the blade sailed safe past him.

"Neither do you, I know it." She pulled her blade high, preparing for a hard and deadly strike down. "What's done is done. It's over. We can leave. Let Gan do what he wants, it doesn't need to matter to us."

Jora thrust once more. This one faster. Less probing for a weakness and more demanding her response. Her blade battered it down. Only for Jora's shield to rise forward and slam into her side. She growled and hacked at him with her blade. Taking deep gashes from the rim of his shield. He pressed forward, sending her back a step.

"Sands take you! Say something!"

"You betrayed me."

Their blades clashed. Their shields struck. Once when Jora first asked Nabooru for her company he took her to a ball. When they went out to the dance floor she floundered off beat. Her face blushing a deeper red with every misstep. No matter how he tried to help her, she could not find the rhythm. They ended up stumbling over each other, as Nabooru grew angrier and more embarrassed. Until Jora could do nothing but laugh and tell bad jokes until she laughed with him. Out there, she was flawed, finicky, unable to match anyone's tempo but her own. But here, where the tempo came from the clash of blades and not the beat of a drum their movements were perfect. She was perfect. Flowing, slashing, dodging, blocking. Her hair whipped about like a flickering flame. As their attacks went faster and faster. Until their flurry of blows must've looked vicious and chaotic to everyone but them.

Within the storm of blades, it was a dance. The only dance that mattered. The only dance they had left.

Think, boy, think.

She had only been using him. None of those happy memories mattered. It was all just some long game to gain his trust. She did not care that she destroyed everything he valued, all he loved. She was as terrible as Ganondorf. As vile as the Most-Feared. As evil as the witches she so hated.

She must be killed.

Act, boy, act.

Her blade went wide, almost drawing his response with it before she converted the slash into a perfect feint. He caught it with his shield, pushed it aside and cut down with his sword. She moved like fire, flickering away. A red gleaming swirl as she stepped out of line, to regain control of her blade and once more came forward to attack. Always to attack.

All they shared a lie.

Think!

The blade came fast. But she misstepped. Her foot slid on the wet grass. Pure luck. The simple twists of fortune that could decide a battle. A lesser warrior would fall, her shield only dropped a finger's width. But that was enough. He could strike. He could kill her. He only needed to swing his arm.

Act!

The moment passed. Her blade realigned. She stepped forward into the thrust.

His sword did not parry. His shield did not guard.

The scimitar struck just beneath his cuirass. Bursting through mail and plunging into his stomach.

His arm swung far too late. She caught it on her shield and backed away. Her sword left his body. He gasped, as blood rushed out of the wound. His sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. He soon followed, dropping to his knees. He clutched at the wound and felt his gauntlet slicken.

"Breathe. I have you. You're going to survive." Her arms surrounded him. Trying to get him back to his feet. A forced smile beneath worried eyes. "Now we're even for Sotari Pass. Yes? This is nothing. We'll have matching scars."

It felt good, to be in her arms again.

"And I promise I will spend the rest of my life making up for tonight."

Think, boy!

She directed him back into the castle. She could lead him to a surgeon. She could clear his wounds. He could survive if he went with her.

Act, boy!

His fingers touched the hilt of his dagger. It would be nothing to pull it out and plunge it into her exposed neck. Nothing. She deserved no more befitting end.

He pushed her away and fell back to the ground.

"Let me help you," her voice broke as she held back a sob.

He did not trust himself to speak. Instead glaring at her. She reached for him again, this time he pulled his knife free.

"The surgeons. The court physicians. Gan won't attack them. I know he won't. You'll be safe there. They'll see to your wound. Please."

She reached for him again, and he slashed. Not hard. His blade nicked the side of her arm. The kind of cut you wouldn't even notice if it happened in battle. Not until well after it scabbed over as you dressed your other wounds. But Nabooru pulled away, looking at him as if he was the traitor of the pair.

"Fine!" She backed away from him. "Take yourself there. But go! You can hate me the rest of your life for all I care. But make certain you have the life to hate me in." She stormed away, back into the castle and back to the chaos.

He could not take his eyes from her, until she disappeared into the darkness. He'd never see her again. He did not know what else would happen this night, but that one point was clear to him as a bright summer day. This was their end.

Jora's jittering fingers found his sword and managed to sheath it, before he pressed his shield into the ground and pushed himself to his feet. Adjusting his cuirass, he tried to angle it to press upon the wound. Stop his blood from leaking out of him as best as able. With a deep breath, he shook out his hands trying to get the feeling back into them. The princess had given him an order. He could still fight, for a little bit longer. So long as she got out of the city before he fell, then this would all be worth it.

He would not fail the royal family again.

Another Gerudo fell to his blade. How many had he killed tonight? Five? Perhaps six? He stared at the corpse at his feet. It looked like Nabooru. Each of them looked like Nabooru.

"Thank you, sir knight." Said a father and his son. The father's arm bleeding from the raider's knife. The son frozen in fear.

"Get to safety," Jora rasped. Everything hurt. His head, his shoulder, his stomach most of all.

"Sir knight," the son said. "You're wounded."

Once more Jora looked back down, blood covered his legs, seeping from the wound in his gut.

"Come with us," the father said. "Sir!"

But Jora marched on, making his way through the marketplace. Until he took a poor step and his legs stumbled. Nothing before him that made him trip, no wound on his legs to weaken them. He near fell into the alley. Only staying upright because he leaned against the wall. "Almost there," he whispered to himself. It was cold. Winter would soon be upon them, he knew. But this was nothing like a winter's chill. He glanced down and saw his entire bottom half drenched in red.

He slid down the wall. His eyes grew heavy. Perhaps he could just rest a moment. Before he finished the trek. It was hard work, just walking now. But he could make it.

He just needed to keep telling himself that. He could make it. Keep saying it, until somehow he could make the lie become true.

Just a moment's rest, so his numb feet could find life once more.

A faint light drifted down the alleyway. Someone was coming. Perhaps a Gerudo to finish him off? He reached for his sword but his fingers wouldn't grip it. They slid right off. Then his arm no longer seemed to want to move. Come on. This can't be the end.

"Navi," came a child's voice. "Another one's down here."

Jora turned his head, only then realizing the light was not from a torch, or lamp, or a flame of any kind. It was blue, and fluttered at the shoulder of a little boy in green. "I don't believe it."

The little boy sheathed his own blade. He had minor cuts and bruises on him. He'd been fighting. With only a flimsy little sidesword as his weapon. He needed a shield, or armor, or something or he'd get himself killed.

"You're injured, but Navi is going to look at it." The boy knelt at his side. "She'll heal you."

The little blue light circled around him, looking down over his stomach before landing on his breastplate. "He's lost a lot of blood." She said, in the same tone he heard surgeons and priests make a hundred times in the war. Too much blood, and nothing they can do to help.

"Listen," Jora tried to say, though his voice sounded so weak. So quiet. "Listen to me. I know you."

The boy took his hand and squeezed it. "Save your strength. We've already helped a few people tonight. You're going to be safe." And the boy meant it. He seemed to truly mean it.

The fairy lifted up the lower edge of his cuirass and managed to crawl inside to get a closer look. It felt like an insect crawling inside his armor. She did not stay there long. She flew back out and flew to Jora's ear, speaking low enough he was certain the boy could not hear her. "I'm so sorry. You're too far gone. I can only help with the pain, there's no reason you should pass in agony."

"No," Jora shook his head, forcing the fairy to fly back. "You must listen. I guarded the Princess Zelda. She spoke of you. She escaped." He tried to lift his free hand, but it wouldn't move. He winced, grunted. Forcing everything he had left into that arm. When had this armor become so heavy? Slowly, the arm rose, shaking like his grandfather had before he passed. Too weak to even eat by himself. When he was young, Jora hoped to never grow this weak. "There's a temple, half a mile in that direction." His arm fell and refused to move again. "You must go there. You must find the princess."

"We will," the boy said. "Once Navi's done with you. I'll take you someplace safe, and then I promise I'll go to the princess."

"She's done," Jora said. "And a knight can find safety himself."

"You can barely walk. You don't need to worry, you can lean on me. I'm stronger than I look."

"I said 'go.'" Jora pulled his hand free of the boy's. "She's done enough for me."

Link looked at him and then at the blood around him. "Oh," was all he said.

"Boy – Link." That was his name, wasn't it? Jora nodded to his side. "Take the shield. I think you'll need it before the night is done."

"No. That doesn't seem right, it's-"

"It's too heavy for me. I'll just leave it behind if you don't take it. Then no one will have it."

Link took hold of the shield. Looking to see if Jora changed his mind. It was too big for him. But he seemed strong, hopefully it will help, whatever comes next. Jora would not be there to use it.

"Go. The temple."

"We will," the fairy said.

"And we'll tell the princess, what you did."

The two disappeared through the night. Leaving Jora alone to die.

It was a cold thing. Dying. Harder than he expected to let the endless night claim him. He shut his eyes and let his mind wander. He had no energy left to direct his thoughts, simply letting them overwhelm him. He feared he'd see his grandfather at the end, disappointed that his death meant the family line was finished. Or his father, saddened that all his training went to waste.

He did not expect to dream of a woman of blazing red hair and a fiery passion, and the life together they never got to have.