Chapter 9
It was cold in the gully beyond the edges of the road. There was a dormant, sheltering line of snow-capped oak trees between them and the pathway which had led them deeper into the wilderness, but even so the wind was sharp like a knife whenever it swelled anew.
There had been a harsh snow last night, something common in the midst of an unforgiving winter here in Akkala. Their road was made white, their travel difficult, as they rode out from the citadel garrison whence they had started, but Link refused to turn back. He had said very little to his travelling companions as the day wore on, and he felt that was for the best.
They had crossed into the highlands under the cover of darkness and cut through the Shadow Pass. There they tethered their horses in a grove about a mile southwest just after dawn, and their party began traversing the gully by way of foot. Accompanying him were a score of gallant swords. Beside him walked Sir Gralens and Sir Hoz, and to his back lingered young Eryck and Earl, who had, in their bravery, volunteered for this unexpected duty. Link bethought himself of the dangers, of their young years. What they lacked in combat prowess and experience, they more than made up for in courage. Eager to prove themselves they were, and he had not the heart to refuse such daring. By now, the snow had warped the landscape to be strange and mystical to look upon, almost lovely when the sun was out, but around midday, the shining luminescence above had been concealed behind thick, grey clouds gathering heavily overhead, and it was only cold now, scarcely beautiful at all. It was snowing even this very second, although the looming branches of the slumbering oaks jutted outwards to catch the brunt of it.
He looked over to see grave lines carved and twisted into Sir Gralens' expression. Link recalled their mission, then, understanding the gravity of what had taken place the day before. In the early evening of yesterday, a pack of monsters had set themselves upon some fisheries and the surrounding hamlets on the peaceful shores of Lake Akkala. Terrible was their doings, and the scourged settlements beckoned Hudson himself to come forth to the citadel and call for aid. Princess Zelda, who had been feeling unwell, was said to have retired early to her bedchambers. With their leader indisposed, her knights then took it upon themselves in a moment of swift, decisive action. Sir Gralens mustered the castle garrison's finest, stepping up immediately to lead the host. Not one to stand idle in these moments of darkness, Link decided—almost completely without strain—he too would join them, and the Master Sword would be party to their efforts.
When Link heard the whickering of horses approaching through the grey veil, he realized the monsters, for once, were scouting the area for potential threats. Or that, alternatively, they had allowed for them to take first action, as rash as it may be. Pressing himself to the damp, cold surface of the gully, he raised his right hand with a fist to halt his company of men. He thought then of Princess Zelda, of one of her warm, comforting fires under a cosy roof.
Presently a grouping of several bokoblins arose from the misty haze ahead. They were snickering and squealing amongst themselves with rowdy exuberance. The hot breath of their horses and their own made puffs of white smoke in the cold; his did as well. Lying prone against the gully, Link watched them go by. He heard Eryck's soft breathing next to him. Once the party had vanished out of sight, and the trouncing of hooves faded, Link turned to look at Sir Gralens.
"Scouts," he muttered under his breath. His first word in hours. "They must have come from the north. Their camp should be near at hand."
They all watched him with bated breath, expecting him to command an attack, or to give orders on what would follow, but he did not.
Sir Gralens and Sir Hoz waited another few moments then rose to their feet. Link stood as well, wincing slightly at the stiffness of his body. He had not adventured outward like this in quite some time, and certainly not after his most grievous injury in autumn.
"We will lie in wait for them to pass through once again," Sir Gralens said, his voice so unusually morose Link glanced intently at him amidst the swelling bloom of winter. Behind him, Earl looked concerned.
"We must be careful," Link said. "It would not do well for us to be seen."
Sir Hoz nodded. From his satchel, he withdrew a small piece of charcoal and some much-creased parchment. He began scribbling something down. "Shall we begin with the blue-coloured one?"
Monsters, more specifically bokoblins, were not usually one to be found alone. Rather, they almost always travelled in small groups like this. And since the vanquishing of the Demon King, very seldom did the skies above take up the insidious colour of red, nor had there passed through a blood moon heralding evil reborn. It made this brazen attack all the more surprising. For these wretched beasts to be wandering these open roads—near civilization, even—it was startling, and that realization had rendered Link perturbed.
Sir Gralens killed the blue bokoblin, first cutting down its mount as it galloped along the path after straying from the others, and then beheading the thing as it lay trapped underneath. The wintry storm had picked up; nebulous and grey was their surroundings by then. Link helped conceal the corpse under a thick blanket of fresh snow.
Nobody spoke, and Link could think of nothing to say. The bokoblin had not ever seen them coming. It was a grotesque, piglike creature . . . crudely armoured and with a very distinct two-pronged horn sticking out from the centre of its now-detached head. Link wondered if the beast had a family of its own, friendships and connections much like they did. He was unsure of these monsters; so much about them was unknown. And yet, such thoughts mattered little. Their kind had to be culled from these peaceful lands, after all.
They set up for another ambush at the edge of the gully. Eryck was keeping watch over the road toward the south, waiting to signal the advancement of the monster patrol. After a while, without speaking he raised his hand to motion their approach. A couple horses. Maybe three, Link could hear in the distance.
Link suddenly realized he had not felt cold anymore, let alone tired; such was the effect of the impending battle.
Seconds later under the cold gaze of Sir Gralens in the blur of a gale out of the east, Link leapt forward out of hiding and hacked an unlucky bokoblin from its horse with his magical steel. By the time he did it, the others had taken notice, squealing their surprise at the grim sight of their fallen comrade.
Link heard the others come up from the gully, and battle cries followed. The abandoned horse snorted in alarm and raced off into the blurry distance. By then, though, he had been set upon by another bokoblin with a charge to run him down. Its spear was lowered, pointing sharply with a porcine roar serving to strengthen a weakening resolve. It had not mattered, though. With the Master Sword raised alert, Sir Gralens—wielding steel of its own special craft—dashed forward and intercepted the monster, unseating it with a carefully-pointed thrust into its side. Earl stepped up, and with a blade into the heart, silenced its wailing squeals of panic. This bokoblin was darkly-coloured and mean-looking, its monstrous visage hard to look at underneath the clear light of day.
Turning his head, Link saw to his right the last of the monsters. The strange-looking beast reared its curiously-bridled horse to a halt, and hailed him with a tilting head and a disgruntled screech. With his blade canted in such a way, the bokoblin was clearly frightened. Behind them, the other knights and guardsmen stepped closer, awaiting their next move. But he knew what that would be. Even in these unforgiving conditions, he could see the fear evident upon it as a ghastly aspect of terror.
With a flick of the reins, the horse abruptly cantered around and took off in the other direction. Link, expecting this, raised the Master Sword. His brow knitted in concentration; a blue energy began to swell around its shining blade. Glowing brightly now, Link swung it in the direction of the fleeing foe, and a shrill light shot out to fly through the air. It struck true, striking the cowardly monster in the back, slinging it from the saddle and onto the snow with a reeling yelp. Stepping up to the flailing bokoblin, Sir Hoz plunged his blade into its throat. Its convulsing form sooner stilled, and with it, the monster's soul—if the demon-spawn ever had one—fled quickly and away from its body. With a skilful flick of his sword like as a brush, he painted the freshly fallen snow with a brooding line the colour red.
Later, they dragged the bodies into the gully to dissipate into smoke and ash out of sight from others. The panicked sounds of their fighting might have carried far in the brief stillness of the wintry air. Such precautions needed to be taken, upholding the element of surprise. And as the sun rose further over the landscape to pass the day, the weather increasingly deteriorated. There would be no stars tonight, Link realized, looking out into the white expanse where the clouds never broke, and the fog thickened to be insuperable. They had unsaddled and unbridled the freed horses and sent them on their way into the wilds. Sir Gralens had taken an ear of the dark bokoblin as a trophy. Earl and Eryck, now veterans of their first real battle, talked excitedly amongst themselves about the incursion. And they continued further north, to where the scouts had originated.
Further north, but not too far. He had a good feeling the encampment was close.
Sir Gralens touched Link briefly on the arm. With his head forward, he turned his blue eyes to see the knight looking at him with some concern, though he did not say anything. He was glad, because he did not wish to talk right now. His contrition had begun to take foothold again, thinking about things on their careful march through the snow. Their present circumstance did not make it any better, either. It was no wonder why looking into the blank snow regaled him with memories of the past. The mind did strange things sometimes, and memory injured him nearly as much as it restored his spirit or mended his soul. Which led him, predictably so, to thoughts of Princess Zelda, and the unbidden, vague shapes of their love which he strove mightily to suppress. Memories once forgotten entirely, even, came back to him on the snowy surface of recollection. What sort of man was he, Link wondered, to debase himself and cast off his honour, to tarnish the very virtue of his princess and liege? He was her sworn knight attendant no more. No longer was he fit for such an honoured role. Perhaps, he thought, the steadfast Sir Toren might have already taken up that forsaken mantle, and would fulfil such a duty guided by both piety and goodness. He could not trust himself to be near her side any longer. Goddess, save him! It was shocking, to realize just how vast was his need; how greatly he yearned for her touch, her smell, even. If not for the intemperate cold biting at his face, he would sooner find himself aroused at the simple thought of her. And with that ill-timed awareness, he fell hastily into misery and self-pity.
It was seductively easy to envision himself there in her arms before a fire, or with her warm, naked body pressed against him softly and his senses encased by the sweet, flowery scent of her. He did it all the time: yesterday, after he had sent her away, lying awake in bed later that night to stare up at the ceiling above, and even here and now, gently on the cusp of yet another battle.
And all of these thoughts served only to remind him of his need of her.
That had been the thing which made him profoundly unsettled. If not but one urge led him to steal away his princess's maidenhood, then at long last he finally recognized what he must do. A wind blew eastward then to make sweet, sad music as it passed through the dead, barren trees of winter. It sounded like poetry, carefully crafted from the grieving heart—his own heart, even—and in its gentle tune it spoke imminently of sorrow and shame.
In such a mood, with so many things to remind him of his untimely downfall, Link had felt all-too-mindful of winter's keen lament. He had only now the comforts of companionship, of his brotherhood of knights which he strove desperately to preserve. And he was unwilling to compel them to be heedful of his despair. It was enough his good name had been tarnished in his heart and mind only. If anything had kept him going, it was his kinship with his newfound brothers and his duty to the land of Hyrule. His love of the people, his adoration of peace and the sanctity of life. He need not the comforts of a woman—of love, he knew now—feeling the brisk air against his cheekbones, seeing his fellow knights march forward against it in their suits of armour and with a steely determination. No, he would never reveal such indignities. Not that any of that tale would ever reach the ears and fill the minds of most of the people in Hyrule. But Link would hardly wish word of his impiety to spread beyond the knowledge of his own princess. The feelings of despair, left in a permanent state of melancholy and remorse; this was punishment enough, he felt, a just and certifiable result from his breaking of oaths. It was of a worse state than death itself, he thought, and his role to play in the kingdom was not close at end.
Link clutched those feelings tightly, choked back his suffocating love for Zelda; a love which he knew transcended all else. His heart thudding now, he saw, up ahead over the trees, an arrow of smoke arching into the sky in the vague distance. With a fist, he halted his men and froze where he was, listening.
Turning to face his brothers-in-arms, Sir Gralens looked at him, to Sir Hoz, and then to Eryck. After a second, he looked back at Link, and then pointed.
After a long moment, Link nodded his head.
In silence they crept through the wood, closer to where the camp was. The smell of some type of meat cooking upon a fire led them closer in the footholds of the cold. When they reached nearer to the clearing, Link squinted his eyes to get a better look at their enemy.
There, he glimpsed the sight of several more bokoblins, and further behind them, a hulking mass of a beast: a moblin, black as pitch, dragging an incredibly large club.
It took him a moment to fight the urge to leap into battle immediately. He recalled what they did to those poor lakeside villagers. They were a quaint people, living their lives peacefully to the bother of nobody. There would be further blood spilled today, he knew, before the time came for him to wipe his blade clean.
"On your command," Sir Gralens said, taking in the scene. He had briefly laid another hand on Link's shoulder.
Sir Hoz said nothing, but highlighted by a wavering, pale light Link read a disquietude in his eyes.
Almost silently, the Master Sword was drawn from its sheathe.
They had known what was coming, then. A contingent of men readied their bows. Sir Gralens studied the situation carefully for a few, brief moments, then motioned with a strong gesture for Earl to come forth. From his satchel, he withdrew a fire fruit and pierced it upon an arrow, then he nocked it back slowly, meticulously even, awaiting the order to loose it.
The noises from the camp had gradually begun to dwindle. Now, the sounds of the moblin's own thudding footsteps could be heard. There yonder by a wagon of hay was what Link recognized to be a bomb barrel. He pointed to it, denoting the precise target for Earl to strike.
Which was their cue. At his signal, he loosed the arrow. It whistled through the brisk afternoon winter air and a second passed before it struck its intended target. The pale light around them shrunk, a large boom came, and a mesmerizing explosion of fire and chaos followed.
Monsters fled in panic. By the time they had known what was happening, their first line of men had already set upon them with battle cries and drawn swords to smote them asunder. Link stepped over the charred bodies of two unlucky bokoblins, and pointed his magical steel toward the large, raging moblin who was swinging its club at anything it saw. The beast was one of great size, more so than any he had seen surely. It had fire there in its lifeless, dark eyes and the bestial roar it let out struck fear into his men in the moment. But Link was never one to cower from such things. In his quietude, he ignited another sort of fear into the beast. And its answering reply came with a snarl and an errant swing of the large club, striking the ground to shake it as an earthquake would. It had not come close to its focus, and already his own retort was made ready with a lowering of his shoulder and the effortless movement in a sort of dance, which to others outwardly appeared beautiful to look upon. The Master Sword—ever evil's bane—sunk deep into the fell-creature's muscular thigh, cutting through flesh and tendon; perhaps its bone, even, which was hard like rock.
The moblin's fury bordered on insanity as it was brought to its knees. It had clearly, in its monstrous guise, seen its understanding of defeat and the oncoming realization of imminent death. Link drew his eyes away. Then, in the seconds which followed, the beast's foresight came to fruition as he drove his shimmering blade deep into its chest. And with a great many arrows jutting out from its leather-like skin and a sword embedded in its black heart, it let out one final wail of anguish before he wrenched the blade downwards, sending it to the cold ground with one last thunder upon the earth.
A great cheer of victory from all around followed its welcomed demise. And when the shouting ceased and the battle was over, Link came to find a great many of his men—of whom were weary and wounded from fight—huddled in a circle around someone. With his blade encased to slumber once more, he pushed through the crowd swiftly to the front.
"Step aside," he bade them; "and disperse to secure the borders of the camp!"
There were murmurs from all the knights and soldiers as they fled from the crowd. Next to him, Sir Gralens and Sir Hoz stood bloodied and sullen, looking down at the unfortunate sight beneath them.
Young Earl lay upon the ground, heavily wounded in the gut by a crudely-crafted spear. He seemed to bear the grievous injury strong like a knight would. Better was he for it, than most men of his like.
"Send for our horses and the litter," Sir Gralens said, eyes flashing with an ardent vigour. "At the comforts of home may we find this brave, bloody man aid to fight another day."
Eryck nodded gravely and swiftly sent a signal for three others to follow him. Sir Hoz shook his head despondently.
"I have grown weary," he said quietly, "of bloodshed these past months. Will there ever be peace in these lands we call our home?"
Link stayed silent, kneeling to get a better look at his wound. He bore his left hand free from his glove, placing the palm to Earl's forehead to push his grimy, tousled hair from his eyes. He shook his head slowly, bringing his gaze back to that of Sir Gralens, looking steadily at him now with sad blue eyes.
"I am certain of it," said Link. He hesitated for a moment. "This is the very reason why our kind must exist: to fight endlessly for that coveted peace."
He had begun walking away as he spoke, and he had not afforded his comrades the opportunity to reply. It had grown colder now as the day passed quicker into evening, the hidden sun a distant memory behind the mass of grey, ever-expanding clouds. After a while, Eryck and his company had returned with their horses in tow. They mounted up, placed the wounded Earl on the horse-litter, and began to ride. Through the passage cutting the wood in two, they could see the citadel's majesty looming large above it all and the shadow it cast upon the land.
On their way back, Link had said nothing to his men before they reached the great bridge and further the gates. Not that he had chosen not to; he was too deep in conversation with his own conscience, and otherwise preoccupied with the swiftly approaching audience with his princess.
As he came upon her bedchambers, Link registered the anticipated fact Sir Toren was posted in front of the door leading to the princess. Even after they had returned, it seemed to him then, Zelda had still yet to emerge from her room. Beforehand, they had taken Earl to the infirmary to be looked upon by Doctor Galbert. He would live to fight another day, he surmised. Any the case, he had lit a candle before the Goddess to aid further in his recovery; she would no doubt smile upon his victory in combat today. And as he drew nearer to the door, he realized the knight who was standing guard had been looking at him with an expression indicating surprise.
"Welcome back," Sir Toren said. The look on his face had not changed, becoming more prominent in the clear candlelight. He was dressed as a knight would be, though that would soon change. He smiled thinly now, a reflection of his mind. "It is so good to see you safely returned."
"It went mostly well," Link said mildly. Even nearing his confrontation with Zelda, he felt calmer now; the ride across the white landscape and into the citadel had taken from him the remnants of battle. "Is the Princess in her quarters?" he asked, raising his voice slightly.
He was still dressed in his battle-armour, stained with blood and the grime of war. He had not the time to change; he had come straight to see Princess Zelda.
"Her Highness?" Sir Toren asked judiciously. "Indeed, she is. Last night, the Princess . . . Well, perhaps she does not wish to be disturbed." He looked at Link for a moment as if he would explain further, but then turned his head toward the closed door. "I have not yet," he said over his shoulder, "told her of what has transpired, as not bring further ruin to her condition."
Link stepped forward and gestured. "I will go and speak with her alone," he said.
"If you think that is right," Sir Toren replied quietly, looking at him with careful interest.
There was a short silence. And then with a thoughtful tone, Link said, "I will not be too long."
Turning to the broad door, Sir Toren banged upon it, and announced, "Sir Link has come forth, your highness!"
There was no response. A brief moment went by before the knight decided it was best to allow him entry anyway. By candlelight, he could see the concerned expression and arched eyebrows he would well remember as unusual. After he had lifted the latch, and pushed the door open, he stepped aside for him to pass through.
When the door closed behind him after he walked into the room, Link was met with a curious sight, though not an unexpected one.
He had not seen her for more than a day. She was clad in a silk sleepwear so diaphanous she might as well have been naked before his eyes. The signs of disarray were evident not only on her physical form, but the room as well. Her sheets and blankets were scattered, pillows strewn about uncaringly. She wore no jewellery, as she normally did these days. Nor did a fire crackle on the hearth in the back like it always did. Her royal crown lay upside down on the chair beside the bed. Zelda Hyrule was not one to embrace the coldness of a bleak, imprisoning chamber of stone. And when he had seen her lying upon the bed clutching one lone pillow tight against her breasts, he felt something constrict his heart.
His voice was lost to him looking upon her frail form like so.
He struggled to control his emotions again as he came forward, his fist tight upon the pommel of Master Sword which dangled along his side. He tried again, without success, to speak . . . but he could not. Little had she registered his approach, and when he had come closer to see the dark lines of despair underneath her swollen, red eyes, a piercing contrition nearly forced him from the room. He had conquered the ultimate evil, but little could he stand triumphant over what he was feeling, and the several, encompassing layers of pain, inexorable and streaming as the current of an ever-flowing river.
She was so beautiful even in her inconsolable state it served further to choke him. She was as like a goddess born into flesh, something holy, and incorruptible. His mouth began to dry up. He looked at her stilled, long-limbed form, and the memory of their love-making rushed back to taunt him from beyond the portals of their mortal coil.
How shameless was he; to look upon her in such a state and with feelings of lust and desire? His own fear of ignominy was the root cause of her anguish. He had come here today to relinquish his eternal duty, to beg for reassignment. But now, looking at her like this, he had suddenly and simultaneously come to love her anew, and fear her all the same.
Thus the never-ending battle for the good and evil in his heart continued. This evening, one side had won out, though.
He swallowed with difficulty, and went to sit upon the bed. He realized, belatedly so, he would probably dirty her sheets with his soiled suit of armour. "Look at me, Zelda," he said, touching his bare, dirty fingers to her cheek.
It took her more than a few seconds to register the touch. She drew a long breath, seemingly to clear her mind, and then sat up slightly to look at him from her low position. Moonlight was shining through the cracks of her shuttered, high glass windows, cutting down the middle of her face with a thin dagger of pale-blue light. He sooner noticed she was working his battle-worn form over with uneasy, pained eyes.
Zelda took another shaky breath. "Why are you dressed like so?" she asked.
"There was an incident down on the lake," Link murmured gravely; "and I set out with a score of men to hunt down the monsters responsible. We have only just returned."
"An incident?" she said. "Do you mean to say . . . ?"
"Yes," he said, "a middle-sized band of monsters came down from the mountainside to raid the fishing hamlet. Several of the village people were murdered, and many others maimed. We do not know why they did it, but I suspect they were in search of food."
She made no immediate reply. Instead, she made fists in the sheets, averting her eyes from his concerned own. He waited until she had gathered her emotions, before speaking again. "One of our own," he went on further, "was gravely injured in the battle. Doctor Galbert believes he will make a full recovery, however."
"Who was it?"
"A younger student, one named Earl."
Zelda closed her eyes. Her hands began to tremble. "And the monsters?" she asked. Her voice was unsettling to hear; it was weak, and unsure sounding, as thin as the sheet of ice covering the windows outside.
"Dead."
"How many of them?"
"We are not certain. But I counted twelve amongst the corpses."
"And their kind? I mean, were they . . ." Her eyes were still closed. She had brought her arms up to wrap around herself. It was cold in her bedchambers. The puffs of misty smoke from her breath spoke as much.
He tried to keep his voice gentle for her. Link had realized how tenuous her state was, saying, "Several bokoblins of various colours. And they were led by one darker moblin."
Zelda opened her eyes. "There have not been any such monster attacks for many months. I don't think they would pillage our villages simply out of hunger."
Link shrugged. "The reason for it escapes me. But they were well-armed and ready for our counterattack." He looked at her closely for a moment and then rose to his feet. He gazed then at the corner of the room to see the smouldering fire which had burned out some time ago. Beside it, there was fresh wood and kindling, and he went over to it and knelt, busying himself with them underneath the watchful eye of the princess. He had not said anything further, just tended to the fire to bring about some warmth to her bedchambers.
"Where is Hudson?" she asked at length.
He said, without turning, "He had come himself to bid us news of the atrocity. Tarrey Town has not enough guardsmen to protect the surrounding hamlets. We must send aid of our own."
"I will command Sir Gralens to send forth twenty men, then."
Link looked over his shoulder and nodded his head. "Which bring us to another matter of concern," he said quietly, preparing himself for what was to come. "I have come to offer up my resignation as Commander of the Royal Guard." He swallowed harshly, seeing her expression morph further into a strong dejection. "Instead, I have found a desire within my heart to oversee the academy. There, I will give guidance and head up the next generation of knights."
The room fell briskly into silence, then. Looking into the now healthy fire, Link saw a future there shaped of flame. He knew that future would be without her. He closed his eyes, but the imprint of the light was still there in the darkness.
He had finally done it.
"Do you . . . truly wish for this?" Zelda asked, distressingly slow. There was a pain in her voice which hurt him deeply. "Oh, Goddess!" she exclaimed further. "Please, Goddess, no!"
He stayed there kneeling, never daring to turn and face her. It seemed she was crying again; could hear her whimpers behind him . . . her erratic, desperate breaths for air.
"It is for the best," he then said. Something hard and tight within him constricted further. His own breathing slowly turned to be laboured. He had not wept since that fateful day when she had returned from her corporeal form as the Light Dragon. He would hold these tears, he swore to himself, as he stood before the fervent fire.
Zelda wept now, though. Wept tears of anguish behind him and out of sight.
"But . . . your promise," she bleated; "and your oath. You swore to be my own knight, unto death, even! Were those empty words, Link? Could you . . . Can you truly forsake such vows?"
"Look at what this tryst has cost us," said Link, his voice roughened. "We have mistaken duty for love, and where has it led us? I swore an oath to your father; vowed to protect you above all else. I did not do so carelessly, and neither have I done so now. We have our own duties to uphold, our own legacies to fulfil. Dreams are beautiful . . . but they are just that, and nothing more."
She could not know it, but Link's thoughts then were almost an absolute mirror of her own: he was thinking of the horrible future without her, more so their love. He desperately wished to turn and embrace her quivering form. To hold her tight against his chest, and to kiss her full upon the lips and to tell her everything would be fine. In the past, he saw a future reflected upon the shimmering waters of the marbled fountains in the Hyrule Castle gardens. He saw her smiling there, years ahead in age and with his beautiful, blue-eyed child at her hip looking up at him inquisitively. And then, a moment later, when he realized this was just another dream; and he could remember how his every action had been spurred by this distant wish.
She would be the last women he would ever hold. His heart, he realized, would only ever beat for her, and whatever love he had for the world would die along with the loss of her.
He heard her speak his name again. What was it about the way she said his name? Slowly, he turned to face her, finally looking into those disconsolate, muted eyes of green which he had never once known. If he had his way, he would embrace her and kiss her upon the brow, much like his father used to do unto him whenever he had to depart. But he would not, only looked at her with his own crumbling countenance which bespoke his truest feelings. And that was the worst part; he knew she could see right into his soul, to know immediately the heart of the matter. Underneath her most anguished look, he thought better to take the Master Sword and plunge it into himself.
Everything he had said to her was a lie, and she knew it.
For a long moment she sat there on the bed, clutching her pillow with her visage hidden by dishevelled hair. Her whimpers came periodically, and not much else. But when he had set himself to stand tall and went to turn, she had finally spoken.
"What is it," she said, addressing Link, "about us which makes you so afraid? Will you ever tell me the truth?"
"You already know why," said Link; his pulse quickened in the face of this question.
"No, you are mistaken," she said, emboldened, no longer made fearful by the unknown. "If you leave me now, it means your vows are already broken. And there is nothing keeping us apart." Her emerald eyes opened wider, then. "Is there . . . is there another in your life, Link? Does your heart long for somebody else?"
There was a great deal to be said in response to such a question. But he could never explain such things to her. Instead, he turned away, saying, "I take it you would not understand me."
When he had begun to walk toward the door, an unfamiliar voice cutting through the silence made him pause:
"Liar!"
He had turned his head slightly, but not nearly far enough for her to see his expression. A strange air suffused the room, then. He felt that singular word rattle mercilessly within his skull for a long moment afterwards. His fingers curled into the palms of his hands, forming hard fists. His knees, ever strong in the face of mortal danger, shook. But he turned his head forward, and yanked the door open to the surprise of Sir Toren who still stood outside awaiting his departure. With a slam, he flung the door shut, and his heavy stride took him past his eventual replacement, through the corridor, and further down the stairs. And it was at this precise moment, Link remembered afterwards, that he had finally freed himself of the shackles long set in place and by people who no longer drew breath.
