Thanks as always, you guys! Hope you enjoy this one, too.

Chapter 44: Shadows and Depths

Everyone was watching as Link stood at the edge of the island. He was going to jump. Everyone expected him to jump; he had said he would do it. He knew he would jump.

He walked to the edge in silence. The crowd were cheering, but he couldn't hear them, only the wind in his ears. He was going to jump.

No-one was going to catch him.

He looked over the edge, into the clouds below, deep grey around the darkness. It was inevitable, it was the only way. He couldn't change it. Yet his heart raced as he desperately searched for a way out, even as he stepped back again: five paces back, run forwards, leap.

Link whistled, but his loftwing wasn't there. He fell towards the clouds, panicking, knowing nothing could save him. His loftwing was gone. Zelda wasn't coming for him, couldn't come for him. The darkness opened up before him, and he slowed, realising numbly that he was holding the sailcloth she'd made for him.

It wasn't going to save him.

Link's eyes snapped open as he woke with a gasp, his heart racing, the hard floor beneath him impossibly reassuring in its solidity. A bluish shape resolved itself into Fi, hovering by his side and looking down at him, strange and too perfect. The faint light from the Goddess Sword cast the room in subtle shades, picking out edges in silver-blue light. He was on the surface- in the desert-

"Master Link."

Link refocused on Fi, and her endlessly calm voice.

"I detected significant disturbances to your sleep."

"Yeah…" He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face; through his hair, the sense of strangeness and threat slowly fading. "It was a bad dream, I guess."

"You have previously expressed a concept that is also recorded in my database: that humans can find it emotionally helpful to speak of such things to others. Would it assist you to do so now?"

Link ran her words through his head a second time, and smiled, faintly. "Are you sure you want to hear about my stupid dreams, Fi?"

Fi thought about that question for slightly longer than she had intended to. To want something as humans did was not in her design. Emotion was necessary for desire, and she possessed neither. However, a preliminary evaluation did suggest that it would be a course of action favourable to her wielder's well-being. That the conclusion appeared to have been assigned slightly more weight than she could justify suggested a fault in her analysis, but Fi decided that she would assess that later, when her master was not awaiting her response. He had already waited for over a second, and it was probable that further delay would cause his emotional state to change in a negative fashion.

"If speaking of your dreams will improve your emotional state, then I encourage you to do so, Master."

You never say you want anything, Link thought. Even when I was trying to work out what to do about the demon on Skyloft – about Batreaux – you never told me what you wanted. Just that you thought it was a bad idea. Do you actually want to hear? He regarded Fi, hovering nearby, her blank eyes somehow clearly focused on his own. You don't have to be here. Well, you do, but you don't have to be out of the sword. Have you been there all night again…?

"Well… I guess. It sounds a bit stupid, though. It's nothing important. Just stuff that happened…" He sighed, leaning back on his hands. "It was about the time Groose kidnapped my loftwing, a few months ago. Except it seemed like everyone was watching, and Zelda wasn't even there. I knew I was going to jump – that's the stupid part. I knew my loftwing couldn't come, he wasn't there, I knew nobody was in the sky, and I knew I was going to jump anyway, like it'd already happened. I guess it had. Except, when it really happened, it was Zelda pushing me off the edge, and she caught me, too. But, in the dream… I don't know. I just jumped, like I couldn't do anything else. And then I was falling. I knew nobody would save me, I knew Zelda wasn't there to catch me this time. Even when I remembered I had the sailcloth, it didn't feel like it would help. Like I was going to fall into the dark clouds and I was going to die there." He sat forward, shoulders hunched, curled in on himself. "It was stupid. I've landed with that sailcloth from above the clouds three times now, and it's fine. But it felt… like it couldn't be."

Fi had adopted a kneeling pose beside him as he spoke, her subtly metallic face impassive, yet its closeness a comfort. Link had the impression she was thinking, though, as ever, he couldn't entirely put his finger on why.

"It is common for individuals under stress to experience unpleasant dreams related to their situation, Master." That was true, as far as it went, but her analysis suggested that there was a significant probability that the cause ran deeper, and was far more specific. "That you have done so is not indicative of any deficiency on your part." She could not produce an accurate assessment of the probability that it was a direct consequence of her having told him of the raising of the islands, but even a crude estimate placed it above 60%. There was a further question that would allow her to significantly refine that estimate, however.

"Please relate the incident involving Groose that you referred to."

Link sighed. "Well, okay." His head lifted a little, however, as he set his memories in order. "It was a few months ago. Three or four, maybe? I woke up late since it wasn't a class day, but I'd promised Zelda we'd practice for the Wing Ceremony together. I was kind of late finding her, and she teased me about it." He smiled a little. It was the banter of old friends; there had never been any harm or malice in it. "But, as we were going to take off and get going, I realised I couldn't feel my loftwing's presence. He wasn't anywhere nearby. Zelda thought I was still just teasing her back, and she pushed me off the edge." His muscles tensed at the memory. "I tried, I called my loftwing with everything I had, but I could only feel this really faint, desperate frustration from somewhere far away. I couldn't think of any way to stop myself falling – and then Zelda was there. She and her bird dived under me so I landed across them, and flew back up with me. Her poor loftwing pulled a muscle in her wing saving my life, but we made it back. She felt so bad…" He sighed again. For once, he hadn't just been able to easily tell her it was okay. "We got her loftwing to the bird doctors and started out to look for mine. Zelda insisted on coming with me, and it was probably a good thing she did. I still don't know how he did it, but Groose and his sidekicks had managed to trap him in the caves and bar the entrance. It took both of us to get him out again, and if Fledge hadn't overheard them talking and told me about it it might have taken days before I could find him." Days in which the loyal, brave bird would have been suffering, trapped, unable to fly, or to find food or water. Too many days and it could have been fatal, just as it almost had been, far quicker, for Link himself.

Fi updated her previous probability estimate to almost 90%. The similarity between the two sets of events was limited to Link falling; in his dream, as in the past, he had even had the capacity to do so safely. The danger had not been the landing, but what he would face when he did. The fall itself, at the time, he had even enjoyed. Isn't this incredible? She had reminded him that she did not possess the capacity to find anything 'incredible' in the emotional sense that he used it. Well, can you feel mine? Since she was conscious of his emotional state, she had answered in the affirmative. Then I hope it's good!

The traits of kindness and consideration, even for the spirit of a sword that had been designed solely for him to wield, had remained in him, the similarities more significant than the differences.

"I guess you're right, it makes sense that I'd dream about it," Link went on, and Fi recognised that she had inadvertently remained silent for too long. "When I think too much about where we are, or what we have to do, it's honestly pretty terrifying. And apart from all this, that's the scariest thing that ever happened to me." He looked around himself at the empty room, his posture relaxing slightly more. "But it was just a dream this time. And I'm not… not out of control, like I would be if I was falling without my loftwing. I'm not even on my own." His clear blue eyes swung back from the rest of the room and fixed on Fi's, and for once it was the sword spirit who had the impression that her master was perceiving something beyond simply her projected appearance. "Does it worry you, Fi?"

"I am not capable of worry, Master."

"I guess not…" Link shrugged, a little awkward. "But you tell me how likely you think everything is or isn't. You have an estimate of how likely it is that we'll succeed, don't you?"

"Yes. It is extremely imprecise, however, since too many variables remain as yet unknown."

"How much d'you think about it?"

Fi considered how best to interpret his query. "I update my assessment whenever relevant information is obtained. Each time that you achieve an objective, acquire a potentially useful item, or demonstrate or learn an additional skill, I am able to add that information to my analysis."

"So you're basically thinking about it all the time?"

"Not precisely, Master. The analysis is regularly, rather than constantly, updated."

"Still." Link twisted in his sailcloth bedding so that his entire body was facing her. "You wouldn't bother if you were already certain we'd do fine, right? A hundred percent probability?"

"In that case, I would update the analysis only at negative events," Fi agreed. It would be a waste of processing time to update such an analysis if favourable events occurred, since the probability of success could not rise above 100%.

"Maybe you don't worry like I do. You don't… feel it, here." He pressed his right hand to his chest. "But that still sounds like worrying to me. Just, in a different sort of way."

Fi went still and silent as she considered his words, but Link could all but feel her thinking them over, rather than the crushing absence that had happened when he'd said something wrong, like when he'd asked her why she was afraid of Ghirahim. He couldn't really imagine existing without emotion, but Fi had said she did, so all he could do was try to understand it. He wasn't sure he could, not really. And yet…

It had not occurred to Fi to attempt to describe her actions through the framework of the imprecise, emotional words that were second nature to her wielder. She had been programmed with definitions of them all, of course: linguistic definitions were necessary for speech. None of the definitions were entirely appropriate to her, but her master was not a person of strict definitions. While it was incorrect to state that she worried, was she exhibiting behaviour that he might reasonably characterise as worry – behaviour that would exemplify worry in another individual? It was not possible for her to worry as he would: she had been programmed without emotion in a deliberate and explicit choice that prevented her from diverting from her purpose. If she were to experience emotion, it would be a sign that she was significantly damaged, potentially beyond repair. If that were the case, the mission with which her master had been entrusted would be doomed to failure, whether directly or indirectly.

If, however, he simply referred to her behaviour – if his 'in a different sort of way' only referred to her repeated reanalyses – then, from a certain point of view, it would be self-evidently true. On the other hand, encouraging any misconception of emotion went against her imperative to provide her master with accurate information. However, she also possessed an imperative to encourage behaviours and personality traits which would be beneficial to him.

"Master Link," she said finally, several seconds after he had finished speaking. "Inasmuch as the repetition of such an analysis corresponds to behaviours that would signify worry in another human, your analogy is not entirely incorrect. However, your statement that I do not feel worry is significantly more accurate." She paused briefly, just long enough to mark a change of subject. "Your attempts to understand my perspective despite the difficulty it presents you are commendable."

Link gave a small, uncertain smile. "I'm doing my best. I… I know you'll probably say you have to, and I guess you sort of do," and he glanced briefly at the glowing sword by his side before returning his full attention to the spirit projected from it, "but thanks for being here with me." And if you asked me to put the sword down, I would. You wanted me to take it in the first place, but I wouldn't drag you around against your will. "I feel a lot better now."

Fi's assessment of his condition concurred: his emotional state had significantly improved. "You are welcome, Master." Her head turned towards the door, and Link felt her attention shift briefly. "Less than two hours remain until sunrise. I recommend that you investigate the reservoir and determine whether it will be possible to replenish your water supply."

Link nodded. "All right." He stood, careful not to step on the crumpled sailcloth that had once again served as his bed. "Uh… where should I start?"

"Close visual analysis shows that the hatch opposite the door is provided for maintenance access. The space beyond is cramped, but sufficient to admit you."

"All right." He paused to light his lantern, casting the room into light and flickering shadow, and picked the Goddess Sword up from the floor, sheathing it before buckling on the belt and baldric that carried its scabbard. Crossing to the maintenance hatch, he knelt before it, squinting at the dusty surface.

"What's this?" Curious, he brushed dust away, revealing strange symbols made only slightly clearer by the process, flaked and faded with time.

"The sign reads 'Maintenance Access Only', Master."

Link looked around at her, floating serenely behind him, and found himself smiling again.

"So that's what you meant by 'close visual analysis'…"

Fi inclined her head in a nod.

"Well, it looks like someone else has done something here recently." What looked like some kind of catch or bolt at the bottom of the small door was largely free of dust. Link gripped it, then tried to move it: first up, then down, then sideways. It seemed to shift slightly more when he tried moving it rightwards, so he put all his strength into it, the ancient and stiff mechanisms resisting at first before finally, gratingly giving way. The door suddenly jumped forward slightly in its frame, and Link pulled it – creaking and screeching on untended hinges – towards himself, opening out and up. It stuck when he let go of it, and given how hard it had been to pull open, he doubted it would fall shut behind him.

"Anything in there, Fi?"

"I do not detect danger, Master. I shall return to the sword to avoid disconcerting you as you enter."

Disconcerting me? Link thought, kneeling down to peer into the space beyond as Fi returned to the sword with a subtle chime and flash of light. It seemed to be a narrow opening between large pipes, ending in a cylinder – maybe for water storage? – with a square outline visible on the floor at its base. Trusting in Fi's senses, he crawled in, looking around cautiously just in case, lantern held up in one hand.

The square outline proved to be a trapdoor, a simple handle offering a way to lift it up. Link pulled experimentally, and it almost flew into the air, the rusted hinges broken off and offering no resistance. Surprised, he set it to one side and waited for a moment before leaning forward to look in.

The cylinder ahead of him continued below the floor, and everything but that vanished into impenetrable blackness. Link held his lantern out over the hole, and, crouching low to the floor, lowered it through. Even then, it gave him little but greyness and a strange light shining back from below – no, Link realised moments later in a dizzying shift of perspective: the reservoir was vast, stretching away from him in every direction, still holding water after all this time, perfectly still in his lantern's light. It was the reflection of his own lantern that he'd seen.

Even as he began to wonder how he could possibly reach the water, he realised that the regular pattern on the side of the column looked suspiciously like a carven ladder. Drawing the lantern back, he reached in with his off hand instead, stretching out to touch the ladder. Whatever it was made of – solid, and cold, and just rough enough to provide him with grip – it seemed sturdy enough.

"I guess I have to climb down there, huh, Fi?"

It appears to be the only viable means of reaching the water, Master.

If that was the case, then there was no other option. Link sat back, fastening his lantern securely to his belt, double-checking the hang of his scabbard. He didn't really want to climb down into the darkness of the underground lake, but he'd done far worse, and he didn't have much choice. Shifting position, he sat on the edge of the opening, placing his feet on the rungs – then, gripping the top edge, began to climb down.

It was easier once he was away from the trapdoor, easier and harder all at once, his single light descending slowly towards the still waters and casting back impressions from the walls in the middle distance. Other columns, all narrower than the one he was climbing, supported the roof, a sight for which he was quietly thankful. The air was still, humid, somehow old, and the thought that it had probably been undisturbed for a thousand years – save maybe, hopefully, by Zelda and the Sheikah – sent a shiver of strangeness through him.

The climb seemed almost shorter than it looked, and Link very nearly put his foot in the water before he realised he was at the bottom. Climbing down a couple more closely-spaced rungs – stopping just before the water would have lapped over the top of his boots – he lowered his body as far as he dared, his own motion turning the still surface into a scatter of scintillating reflections. Hanging on with his off hand, he awkwardly unhooked his empty water bottle from his belt, pulling the stopper with his teeth and lowering it down until his hand hit the ice-cold water and he could hear it begin to fill. Only once it had did he replace it with the other, partially empty already since he'd stopped rationing himself after Fi had determined there was water here.

With both filled, he started back up, conscious of every lap and ripple of the water, of his own breathing, of the way even the littlest sounds echoed back magnified in the silence of the reservoir. Keeping his focus on moving from one rung to the next, it was once again almost a surprise when he reached the top and could haul himself thankfully out, putting the trapdoor back in its recessed place with a sigh of relief.

It was another relief to crawl awkwardly back out of the cramped passage and close the hatch behind him, forcing it back into place and the strange catch closed once more. Standing, Link stretched, then crossed to his former sleeping space to shake out and fold the sailcloth, looking at it in his hands for a long moment before carefully stowing it away.

"I guess we should get going…"

I recommend doing so, Master. Assuming you maintain a cautious pace, you will reach the levirail station shortly before sunrise. It will be possible to determine your next steps in daylight, before the heat grows sufficiently to inconvenience you.

Link nodded. "Okay."

He moved the barrels aside and slid the makeshift door along the wall, leaving it propped up for whoever might pass that way next. The corpses of the aracha that he'd thrown outside before he slept had vanished, presumably eaten by whatever other predators roamed the silent city.

He would have to be careful – but here on the surface, he always did.

A longer one this time! But very few patch notes. Also, we fully revisit Link's nasty near-death experience!

Patch Notes
- Link and Fi hold entire conversations not related to the in-game help.
- Previously moved in-game event now fully revisited.