Chapter 3

"Say it again."

Link, who had spoken the brusque command, was leaning against the schoolhouse with a grey, cloudy sky smouldering above him. Most of his expression was covered by shadow, only the corners of his face and his golden, tousled hair showing clearly.

Symin, who had reluctantly stayed behind for another private discussion after class—not that it began uncomfortably—opened his mouth to repeat what he had said, but then stopped short of uttering it again. It was his most severe expression which probably made him pause. Link knew that, could see his reaction on the older man's aged, wrinkled face and grey, furrowed brow.

"There was an attempt on Princess Zelda's life." Symin's voice when it finally came, sounded grave, contrite even. Something he wished not to tell him, Link thought, then saw the older Sheikah man avert his eyes. "A fortnight ago," he continued, "though it was thwarted at the last second."

"Why was I not told?" Link asked pointedly, losing his temper swiftly. "Who else is aware of this?" In his anger, he balled his left fist, slamming it on the side of the school.

"The Sheikah Shadow Guard," Symin said darkly across from him. "They have the village perimeter under their protection even now."

Link said, a slight edge to his voice, "But why has Zelda not been relocated?"

He heard Symin suck in his breath sharply. "She refuses to abandon the school," he then answered in his more even tone. "The Princess is very stubborn. You, better than anyone, should know this."

With a heavy sigh, Link ran a steady hand through his long, thick hair, saying, "Who was it?"

Symin shrugged then. "We do not know. But under the cover of dark beneath a starless sky, they struck, garbed in black and with masks bearing no markings. Once intercepted by the outer guard, they were able to evade capture, and our intelligence units have gleaned no information about them since."

"How were they armed?" Link asked in a different tone, one more probing. "They could have been of the Yiga. Perhaps another sect, even."

"I cannot say for certain," Symin said cautiously. "Even so, the Princess and the Yiga Clan do have a history of violence, and Leader Kohga has not been seen for several years."

Link shook his head. "That is not altogether true," he said quietly, turning to look out into the colourless distance. "In my recent travels, I encountered him numerous times in the Depths. But that alone does not provide us any sort of trail to follow."

"The Depths, you say?" Symin questioned, scratching his thin, grey beard. "I did not realize he had fled his hideout in the Gerudo Highlands."

Link had remembered then; he recalled the fact he had never told anyone of his interactions with the Yiga Clan. Even though he had dealt with them so frequently—foiled their nefarious schemes and misdeeds—he still never found it pertinent enough to share with the others. And yet, with this new knowledge of a foe bearing an interest of wickedness for Princess Zelda, he found himself vexed. Such behaviour was similar to the Yiga Clan's actions of the past, but he had no knowledge of their presence in East Necluda. Nor did they have a hideout this far eastward. Never mind the absolute seclusion of Hateno Village, coupled with Zelda's modest lifestyle. It shocked him, he felt, to realize they had somehow discovered where she was hiding out. He once considered this place a shelter from outside evil, otherwise he never would have left her alone. It was peculiar, to be sure, and that is what bothered him more than anything.

Symin was gazing pointedly as him, awaiting his response; he had seen his frown as well. "It matters little," Link then said, casting a stern gaze at the older man. "Perhaps the Yiga are behind this plot, perhaps not. With such little information to go upon, who is to say?" He had not meant to sound so annoyed, but his tone was not one of understanding. He was angry at himself too, he thought, and more than that: he was disappointed such a thing had transpired without his knowing; resentful of his neglect for his own princess, the one whom he loved so dearly.

"I am sure," Symin said thoughtfully, "that it will not be the last of its kind. With such times of peace on the horizon, there will always be forces of evil striving to subvert it."

"I rather think," Link replied dourly, "the coming times of peace are a herald of better things to come, not an omen of darkness. The greatest darkness—rather, evil personified—has been banished from these lands. What exactly did we fight so hard for if it still lingers?"

Symin frowned heavily. "But not the dark hearts of people," he said deeply. Swallowing hard, he continued to say, "I fear the halcyon days to come, for in my heart I see the resolve of our people—of our strength—diminishing until we are no longer prepared to face the common wickedness of men."

Link just nodded. He could not help agreeing with his sentiment. It made too much sense; it was almost typical of Symin to be so correct in these matters. He felt himself tense up then, felt his fingers curl, squeezing hard to form fists. And then, he saw Symin look him directly in the eye.

"Whether Princess Zelda realizes it or not," he uttered quietly, "she needs you now more than ever." He turned to go, then paused, looking back at him one last time. "Go to her," Link heard Symin add, and watched as he slowly disappeared over the hill down toward the village.


Which is what happened later that same evening. Link had tarried around the village for the remaining hours of day—placing his horse in the stable—and tended to several miscellaneous tasks and such, then realized the gloom of sundown was already upon him. He had found himself in front of her door, wearing his well-worn champion's leathers he had forgone for quite some time. By now, he had bathed, cleaned himself up nicely as to be presentable, and knightly in appearance. But still, he felt, something was not quite right. Perhaps, he thought, Zelda would be in agreement. And so, Link, clearing his throat, raised a lightly-clenched fist, and with his knuckles, tapped upon the almost-too-quaint door of his former home. He was met with a firm stillness afterwards, as he stood motionless awaiting a response. Time swelled to pass slowly, then, as he waited for his princess to answer his beckoning. Link's bravado had continuously leeched away from him in those precious seconds.

He wondered, standing there with a turbid sky behind him—a glowing, orangish lantern dangling beside him—if he might have cause to regret everything that had happened up until now. His steel-blue eyes focused on that light again, unconsciously drawn to its subtle, flickering hues. It helped calm him, he felt, as he waited further for Zelda to greet him. And with his vision centred on the low-lit flame, he pictured himself a fond memory in his mind, standing atop the snow-capped mountaintops of Lanayru: Zelda's bare hand grasped his own with their fingers interlocked, her smiling serenely at him. She wore her milk-coloured furs. Small, white clumps of freshly fallen snow speckled her golden hair. He etched every detail of her there, stolen from his wandering mind, painted onto a canvass cut from his heart . . . his very soul. He remembered the length of her ears, the tip of her perfect nose, her cheeks even, made to be faintly pink by the frigid air. Link watched her breathe—loved doing that secretly—could see that plainly in the rhythmic, misty clouds escaping her parted lips. And then she uttered something he would never forget: "Please . . . hold my hand like this forever," the princess had said.

He felt a happiness overtake him then, standing there, reminiscing, alone and on the porch of his former home. There, in the corners of his lips, crept the beginnings of a smile. His brow—furrowed and hard—softened alongside it. How long had it been since he thought of such moments? He had suppressed them, he realized, tried hard to push them to the furthest corners of his confused, uncertain mind. Though, his introspective musings would be short lived.

He had not the time to answer such an imposing question.

The iron latch lifted. The door creaked outwards, opening fully.

And there stood Princess Zelda, dressed plainly and unassumingly as always. He felt himself tense up as he looked upon her there. She was more beautiful than the many pictures in his mind, he thought then, gazing upon her round, soft face and warm, inviting eyes of viridian. The mild contours of her jaw were highlighted by the scintillating lanternlight. Her golden brow was high, seemingly relaxed, a far cry from when he left her earlier in the day. She seemed subdued, demure even, if such a word could describe the princess who tried to banish him just this morning.

He really did not think things would go this well, though.

Link watched as she looked him over in great detail. Her large, inquisitive eyes travelled slowly from his boots up toward his midsection, coming to rest on his own. And once they did, he bowed his head respectfully.

"Your Highness," he greeted firmly.

He thought Zelda would repel his polite gesture, but she did not; that only served to strengthen his resolve. Link saw her smile kindly, and it did not appear to be forced. He watched as she turned her head slightly, reaching for something out of sight. Her soft, shoulder-length hair spilled about the side of her face to conceal her gentle expression. And then she turned back to him, now holding the Master Sword in both hands, encased in its familiar blue and gold scabbard. With great care, she handled it—with reverence, even—before extending her lithe arms outwards for him to take.

"Your sword," she said, finally.

A look came over him then in this moment he could not properly identify. He just knew, felt the creasing of his skin, saw the subtle reaction on her own expression which told him so. He took a knee, holding out his hands to receive the bestowal. There was grace in her movements then, as she lowered the slumbering sword by its sheathed blade gently onto his open palm. The fingers of his right hand curled meticulously around the hilt then, as his left travelled meaningfully along the length of it. It felt light when she finally let go, as if the sword truly had no weight to it. Such was the craft which gave birth to the sword that seals darkness. He stood, then. And when he could feel the scabbard of it slide along him slowly to straddle his back once more, something changed inside him. The Master Sword set upon him beckoned feelings of old—completed him, even—like his withered being had been restored instantaneously.

Zelda looked upon him expectantly. Of what? He did not know.

There was thunder in the distance. Evenfall was upon them.

Princess Zelda then said, speaking carefully, "Your post will be here tonight. There is a storm brewing up ahead; you may quarter inside if you wish. I bear no desire within me to keep you in the cold and rain overnight."

However composed Link might be, she was always a match for him. He would acknowledge her offer this time, though. "You honour me with your kindness," Link said evenly. "However, I will stand my post outside for now."

Zelda's expression, not surprisingly, had changed slightly, but not in a bad way as one might expect. Eyes bright in the lanternlight, she said, "As you wish. Supper will be on the table shortly. I am going to fix a seafood curry tonight. I know you love the taste of porgy. Please, help yourself to it."

And now Link's own obstinate expression had shaped itself into something different. Zelda's cooking was always delicious, and he had not enjoyed a decent meal since before his last departure. He shifted his weight slightly, made uncomfortable by his growing hunger.

"That sounds wonderful," he then said.

Silence followed between the two. Long enough for their eyes to avert from each other. A moment later, Link and Zelda exchanged glances, and then he watched her turn. She paused to look at him out of the corner of her warm, inviting eyes.

"I will go and begin preparations then," Zelda said at length, "so you don't go on hungry."

Carefully Link replied, "I will be here."

Silence again. But then he saw her expression soften further before she turned completely, disappearing into the low-lit cabin.

Link went about his watch then, perusing the grounds of the home, striving to identify any noticeable weak point. There was not a lot of vegetation, nor were there areas for concealment or very many points of entry. In fact, the only real pathway to the house was by way of bridge or down the mountainside. No common assassin would have an easy time infiltrating this home, he determined, unless they themselves had considerable skill. But the night was windswept, with distant thunder sounding on the hills westward, and a rising darkness gathering all around. Perhaps under shadow and a lashing rain could one make entry uncaught. And as the wind picked up, and the weather deteriorated further, Link realized fingerless gloves made for little warmth. He was numb with cold almost, suddenly wishing he was aside the warm, inviting fire Zelda had going within. But Link was never so weak of fortitude to let the cold get to him. He was accustomed to severe weathers. From the sweltering heat of Death Caldera to the harshest freezes of Hebra, he had endured it all, and then some.

It was silent outside now, as Link stood motionless at his post. Through the windows, he could hear the muted crackling of a fervent fire, and an occasional muffled sound as Zelda went about the house. Time passed, and before he knew it, there seemed like some sort of a cataclysm on the mountains ahead. Lightning streaked the tempestuous sky in spears of white; and from those spears came a thunderous sound and a driving rain. The wind was wild, wailing horribly; cold rain lashed him mercilessly even as he huddled underneath the porch. Deeper in the evening found him suddenly turning to knock on the door. He had wanted to check on her anyway.

When Zelda answered the door again, he watched her look him over with large, concerned eyes.

"You are soaking wet and shivering," the princess said worryingly. "Please, come inside; supper is ready."

"If I may," Link said quietly, stepping into the doorway beside Zelda. He felt an immediate warmth. Then, he realized how close she was, and how easily he might wet her clothes with his own. "Forgive me, your highness," he swiftly added, placing his hand near hers on the door. "Please, allow me."

Princess Zelda, who had been holding it open for him, frowned a little. "You needn't be so formal now, Sir Link," she said demurely, annunciating his title purposefully. "Here alone, and in the comfort of each other, I am just your Zelda. Is that agreeable?"

With a sigh, Link's shoulders sank a little bit. Her advances were more than mere friendliness, he knew. One look at her was enough to tell him as much. But he had not the resolve to repel her any longer. His brow, furrowing with confliction, relaxed.

He said: "If it pleases you, Zelda."

The princess's own youthful, beautiful face softened in a smile. "I see you have discovered how to satisfy me," she murmured quietly. He watched her recede slowly into the cabin, turning to look at him in candlelight with a mischievous glint in her eye. "But are you sincere?" Zelda added afterwards.

Her tone was light-hearted, playful almost. Something almost implausible after their shared meeting earlier in the day. She was quite emotionally unstable, he realized, there looking at the princess who loved him, who smiled so wide simply because he shared the same room with her. His eyes were fixated on her, absorbing her entire being. She pulled him in like that with her warm, friendly demeanour.

He knew Zelda had him right where she wanted. And . . . that was just fine, he determined, relentingly so. "Look at me closely," Link then said; "and tell me what you see."

Zelda's viridescent eyes seemed to drift away from him then, as if she had suddenly become embarrassed. He could see that, had an acute sense for such things concerning her, even.

"Supper is on the table and getting cold," she said quickly, changing her tone, and the subject. "If you need to dry your leathers, you can set them by the fire. Please, make yourself comfortable here."

"I will do that," Link said, loosening the buckled leather strap across his chest. "It is quite warm in here, after all." He bore the Master Sword from his back then, laying the scabbard against the wall, pommel facing downward.

Zelda had not moved. She was watching him, he knew that, could feel her heavy gaze as if she were studying him like one of her specimens. Underneath her watchful eyes, he placed his leather pauldron near the lively fire. It was quite damp; it would begin to smell if not properly tended to; and speaking of smells, he rapidly took in account the present aroma of the cabin. The scent of hay and animals was commonplace here in Hateno. But within these homely walls, what he smelled now was resting upon the dining table. He found himself hovering over the dish, gluttonously so. It was a large, steaming bowl of seafood curry with porgy and razorclaw crab: a delicacy of East Necluda.

Princess Zelda knew precisely how to win his waning heart. She knew him too well. He had no qualms about that, as he watched her set two pewter plates on the table, followed by eating utensils. "Please, you should not keep yourself so restrained," she said kindly. "I want you to sit and eat. It would be a pleasant night if only we could both talk amicably over a warm, cosy meal."

"In that case," Link said, feeling the beginnings of a smile work over his face, "I will not stand on ceremony any longer." Moving fast, smiling carelessly, Link sat down at the table and dug out a big scoop of curry.

One portion for Zelda, he thought, and one for himself. And once both of their meals were plated and ready for eating, he watched his host—being the princess—sit down across from him. She took her spoon in her right hand, fingering it as she eyed him carefully from her now-seated position. She had already poured him a cup of something. It was a dark red colour. Perhaps it was wine? Lifting the glass with his left hand, he drew it to his nose. It was sweet smelling, fruity even. He realized then, looking at Princess Zelda across from him, he had honestly underestimated her shrewdness.

"Take a sip," Zelda said, still smiling. "It is fresh from the arbours nearby; squeezed and fermented, I believe, just over a fortnight ago. It took quite an effort to convince Mayor Reede to raise up grape orchards, but eventually, he acquiesced."

Link leaned back in his chair, savouring the sweet smell of the wine. It took him a brief moment, there—relaxing like so—to absorb everything around him. And here he was, alone with Zelda, sharing a delicious meal . . . sipping wine even. He had not felt so content in her presence in quite some time. The glass was cool on his lips, the wine pleasant as it trickled down his throat. He set it down, watching Zelda across from him take a drink from her own. Afterwards, she swished the glass around thoughtfully. He could just barely see her most devious smile through its translucency.

"Thank you," Link murmured. "This is too kind . . . For someone such as myself, I mean." He took a spoonful of curry into his mouth, then.

Zelda's golden brow furrowed slightly. "If you believe this to be preferential treatment, you are mistaken. Rather, it is not my intent to see us drifting further apart."

Link's mouth tightened, but he said nothing. His right hand placed the spoon on his plate and stilled. Then afterwards, an unexpected silence between them arose. He had not the slightest idea how to reply to that. She had sooner grown uncomfortable too. He could see it painted on her newer expression of worry. His lack of response unnerved her, he saw.

Zelda sat up further, tilted her head to one side, saying, "Perhaps my choice of words is lacking. What I . . . I mean, what I truly wished to say is . . ."

Her timid voice drifted off with the sound of rain lashing their shingled roof. A crack of thunder followed. Link felt himself unconsciously shift in his chair. He was nervous too, and less than ready to ruin their peaceful moment shared between them.

"You need not explain yourself," Link then said, slicing through the heavy air with some effort. "I have been doing some thinking too. For a long time, even."

"I see," she replied wistfully.

His voice, rather his tone—one of warmth and understanding—seemed to calm her down. He was rewarded with a smile, albeit a weak one, from her again. He watched as she raised her glass, moving it in small circles to make a pattern in the sugary liquid. "We forgot to toast," Zelda said very quietly. "Shall we drink to our fondest memories, then? To all our friends; to those we have lost?"

"I will drink to that," Link agreed, raising his own glass.

He drank, remembering the past with fondness, recalling his friends, old and new. He tasted his curry again, and for the second time tonight, he felt relaxed. He had not enjoyed a meal like this in . . . Well, Goddess Hylia above, he could not even remember at this point.

"I miss them all so much," Zelda said suddenly. Though, she had smiled in the moment. It was a smile not born of happiness, but of melancholic remembrance, he felt.

"As do I," he said, in a voice far removed from the moment they shared together. Then, he felt her bare foot nudge him from underneath the table. It drew him back to the emerald pools of her soulful eyes. "Yes?" Link asked plainly, setting his nearly empty plate of food aside.

There was a pain in her eyes, then. A deeper sadness, as she said, "I know you wish things between us could . . . return, to how they once were; to when you served honourably as my knight attendant. If only I could give that to you, and the happiness which you seek." Her voice trembled. Zelda wiped the sadness from her eyes, looking at him remorsefully. "There is a selfishness within me, Link. It is deep and encompassing. There, I have searched my heart for the truth of my soul, as if you could not give it to me."

"You have done no wrong," Link protested, looking at her with his own regrets. "We have both failed to understand each other, indeed. But you are not to blame for this. Please, Zelda, you should never shoulder such things by yourself. For it is I, not you, who vowed never to break my oaths to your family and the kingdom of Hyrule. Oh, Goddess, Zelda! Do you know what I have done? To others who forsook their oaths . . ."

Zelda winced, perhaps from the pain laced in his voice, or maybe the thought of such things seemingly bothering her greatly. But to him, it was far worse. He could see their faces, hear the voices—their last words, even—before he brought his sword down upon them. And for him to sully his own pride. To quit his oaths. It was unthinkable, considering what he had done to those in the past. They were all honourable men, until they were not, judged guilty of the same treachery he perpetrated.

His hands balled to fists. Tight enough until they shook. But then he felt an intruding hand skim across his own, encompassing it.

Princess Zelda, giving him a reassuring squeeze, said, "You have been through so much . . . and I have said such terrible things to you. If Father and Mother are looking down upon me now, they surely must be disappointed. I did you so much wrong, and for my own selfish desires. This morning, I . . . I almost . . ."

No, she was wrong, Link found himself thinking as her quivering voice faded away. He was more at fault than her. Goddess, damn it all! He could not bear to see her like this. Not that King Rhoam of Hyrule had ever favoured anyone more than his own daughter. But still, her own self-doubt had seemingly taken its toll upon her. True enough, it was vaguely familiar; he had recognized the tempestuous Princess Zelda this morning, the one who would so callously sign him away to some far-off land. He needed her to understand, quite clearly, his own position on things.

Link, his mind reeling, swallowed hard to keep eye contact with Zelda. Her hand on his own now was shaking terribly. Her eyes were crestfallen, near to tears and then some. She was barely holding it all in, he could tell immediately. There was a silence as Link fought to master his own turbulent feelings.

He sighed to break it: "We cannot go on like this," he said. "Zelda, you—"

And then, just then, with his eyes straining to stay her own, and the storm raging outside, Link felt a chill crawl down his spine. He tensed up, felt Zelda squeeze his hand for dear life, forcing him to flinch as her nails dug deep into his skin.

At the last second, Link dived immediately sideways as a long, curved blade came down, cutting into the dining table and cleaving it in two. Zelda, reeling with fright, screamed to a pitch louder than that of a frightened aerocuda.

Catching himself on the floor with the palm of his right hand, Link immediately pushed off with an animalistic fury, pirouetting away from another errant swing of a sword. It whistled through the air, cutting through his champion's tunic. Something clenched his heart, then, squeezing harshly as he nearly avoided a devastating wound to his abdomen. He buried that feeling, angled his face forward and bared his teeth with a furious expression. Still roaring ahead, Link grappled for the attacker's weapon, both of his hands going immediately to the blade's hilt and to his arm. Once he had control of him, his mouth relaxed into a macabre expression realizing the assassin had failed to finish him quickly. And afterwards, with Zelda stuck to the wall in fright, her eyes on the two struggling over the sword, Link was able to pull free of the attacker's grasp. Now armed, he turned the assassin's own weapon against him, swinging the blade with an effortless, low-to-high diagonal motion, so as not to catch the ceiling. His strike was true, cutting deeply into flesh and spraying the cabin's walls with a sporadic geyser of blood.

But he had not expected the assassin to draw a short blade in the very last moment.

Link could not quite remember the last time he had been cut so gravely. Especially by another man. On the other hand, his darkly-garbed foe rested in front of him now, sprawled out on the ground in his death throes with a gaping, mortal wound. But that was not what he was worried about currently. Rather, the incessant screaming of Zelda behind him stirred him more than anything.

He dropped his newly-acquired blade to the ground, falling to one knee. And stuck in his gut was the short blade, though, the depth of its reach and whence it protruded offered him no comfort. The wound was horribly deep, he could tell and see that as his own blood spilled from him with haste.

Link fell back onto his bottom, no longer able to kneel. Propped up on two hands, it was all he could do to keep himself from ending up on his back. He breathed haggardly; felt terribly lightheaded now, like the first time he drank too much. His wandering eyes travelled slowly from Zelda in front of him, who was soundlessly saying something over and over, to the floor where his own fluids mixed with the assailant's.

His physical strength was failing him. The world was twisting and turning. The sounds of the rain, the howling of the wind. All of that was gone. Link last remembered falling backwards, as everything went completely dark.