Chapter 10: A Fate Worse than Death

"Again!" A frustrated cry slashed through the open field, swiftly devoured by the metallic symphony of clashing blades. Each clang resonated like a phantom echo within Noah's battered ribs. Sweat pricked his eyes as he desperately parried another of King Rhoam's punishing attacks, the practice sword feeling like a dead weight in his trembling hands. But just as he found a sliver of space, King Rhoam was upon him again, relentless pressure never-ending.

As their training swords connected, the two figures stood locked in a tableau of wood. King Rhoam, as Noah discovered was like a mountain of muscle, completely unmoveable. While King Rhoam braced his practice sword against Noah's trembling blade, their faces, inches apart, mirrored the youth's fear etched against seasoned stoicism.

'Is he seriously still holding back?' Noah wondered as he unwillingly gazed upon the grin on King Rhoam's face.

Noah's question bounced off the taut air as he rolled on the floor generating some distance between the two. The metallic tango continued, each clash of their swords reverberating through Noah's aching bones like a blacksmith's hammer. Every parry felt like a desperate gamble, every shift of his feet a dance on the edge of a crumbling cliff.

King Rhoam down blows with relentless rhythm. Each strike seemed tailor-made to expose Noah's weaknesses, like a fisherman casting nets and hauling in every twitch of hesitation. Yet, there was no malice in his eyes

Even Noah couldn't deny it, he was improving. At the very least he was becoming semi- competent, Noah never expected he'd be able to use a sword or parry a strike before today. Although King Rhoam was allowing, him to parry as if to teach him, this angered Noah to an extent.

Just as a tide of despair threatened to wash over Noah, he spotted an opening. The king's blade dipped, leaving his left flank exposed. Noah lunged, fuelled by a flicker of reckless hope. His practice sword sang through the air, a brown meteor aimed at the king's vulnerable side.

But Rhoam, the seasoned warrior, had laid his bait. His wrist flickered, snagging Noah's blade with a bone-jarring crack. The force sent a jolt through Noah's arm, nearly tearing the sword free. He stumbled back, heart hammering a panicked tattoo against his ribs.

"Good try, Thirty-Six," King Rhoam rumbled, his voice a playful caress. "Perhaps next time…"

"Again!" Noah roared, fury overriding the agony in his limbs. He hurled himself back at the king, a whirlwind of defiance against his own limitations.

The tide turned swiftly. Within a few exchanges, King Rhoam's blade became an incomprehensible whirl, a dance of wooden light. With a sickening clang, Noah's sword sailed from his grasp, spinning harmlessly before clattering in the grass.

Disarmed and defeated, Noah crumpled to his knees.

"You have a bad habit to grow bad habits." King Rhoam's voice cut through the fog of shame. "Perhaps it's the unfamiliarity of Link's body or the lack of practised muscle memory, but your movements are sluggish, your stance rigid. I would recommend—"

"It's not my damn body!" Noah's voice cracked with frustration. "This technique you taught me feels awkward, twisting me unnaturally. It distracts me which hinders my strength!" He nearly yelled, the humiliation burning his throat.

"Your body?" King Rhoam echoed, his gaze narrowing.

For a moment, a strange stillness descended. His next words choked in Noah's throat, leaving him with only shame and defiance warring in his eyes.

King Rhoam finally broke the silence with a sigh. "Very well. Fight me however, you feel is best. I won't hold you back."

"...Really?" Noah asked, scepticism arching an eyebrow.

"Indeed," the king confirmed with a slight frown. "But be warned, the outcome may be...even less graceful."

As Noah retrieved his sword, a wave of embarrassment washed over him. Here he was, a teenager throwing a tantrum worthy of a child, and not to anyone but to the king of an entire kingdom. It was like berating the Australian Prime Minister in a playground argument.

'Australian prime minister…? Never mind perhaps the American President would be more accurate.' Noah distractedly thought he wasn't a political man, but Australia didn't have the best track record for powerful and notable prime ministers.

If there was anything to know about Australians, we didn't really care much about anything if it didn't negatively impact us.

Rhoam watched Noah scramble to his feet, retrieving the dropped sword with clumsy haste that mirrored his footwork in their duels. A sigh escaped his lips, heavy with disappointment. 'Average, no… perhaps worse than average,' he thought grimly.

Even before his unfortunate demise, Rhoam had always possessed keen intuition and a sharp eye for judging others, qualities he had relied upon countless times in his life, earning him credibility. At first glance, Noah appeared to be a disciplined warrior; his physique suggested as much.

Hylia knew he did. Link's body, sculpted for combat, housed muscles that rippled beneath the boy's threadbare tunic. Yet, to Noah, those muscles moved with the awkward grace of a newborn sand seal—flailing limbs and stumbling steps marked his every move. His swings lacked the finesse of a seasoned swordsman, lacking the fluid economy of movement honed over many years.

He wouldn't expect Noah to rival Link's skill, not without the Hero's mind, honed instincts and dozens of other equally important things. However, even farmboy brawlers often displayed better technique, shepherds parrying wolves with more elegance. Noah, with the Hero's body, fought like a man swatting flies with a sledgehammer. It was… frustrating. Exasperating, even.

No blame rested on Noah's shoulders; in fact, a pang of guilt gnawed at Rhoam. But that didn't mute his opinion. Watching Noah fall into his patently incorrect stance, Rhoam sighed again, hefting his own practice sword.

"The fairies won't be growing any brighter," he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

Noah wasted no time. He charged, a childish snarl twisting his features, the clang of swords marking the start of their clash. 'Agility, great… technique sloppy, too many gaps,' Rhoam thought, effortlessly parrying another swing.

Their bout didn't last long. Noah's attacks lacked impact, his stance remained easily dismantled. When given free rein with his own style, he doubled down on his clumsiness. Frustration gnawed at Rhoam, years of battles and knightly training boiling over. He parried one final attack, then sent Noah's sword spinning beyond reach.

'Perhaps I'll need to hit him a little harder, just to ensure he doesn't try to keep this stance.' He thought, but then, something else suddenly snagged his attention, a whisper in the undercurrents of his being, pulling his focus away from Noah

It wasn't fear that much he knew. Fear had a familiar tang, an icy grip on his spine. This was different. It was a prickling on the back of his neck, a low growl in the primal part of his soul. It was that instinctual hair-raising that had saved him from countless ambushes

'Danger.'

After nearly a century of tranquillity, it dulled his senses, making Rhoam's reaction time just that little bit slower—a mistake

King Rhoam whirled around, his reflexes awakening just in time. Wood clashed against wood with a bone-jarring clang, the force behind his opponent's desperate slash nearly knocking him off balance. 'Link?' the thought flickered through his mind, confused that the danger was right in front of him. Moments ago, Noah had shown no remarkable skill with the sword, and now, that impact was nothing compared to his previous attacks, it was enough to raise his guard.

He parried, adjusting his blade with the practised ease of a seasoned Knight. Yet, the change in Noah's attack pattern caught him off guard. Before he could regain his footing, another shadow materialized, a phantom slash aimed at his blind spot. "When...?" gasped Rhoam, thrown onto the defensive, struggling to keep up.

Instinct, a primal growl from some ancestral cave, seized control. He stumbled back, heart hammering against his ribs, a desperate shield against the unseen. The wood met with a sickening crack, sending agony through his shoulder, barely deflecting the blow.

Roam hastily took a few steps back, desperately seeking distance. Then, with a surge of adrenaline, he charged forward, aiming to take control of this bout. Yet, upon meeting Noah's blade, an unsettling emptiness of his opponent's blade confused him. Noah's training sword, as if guided by an unseen hand, effortlessly slipped through his guard as Noah stepped towards his side, aiming for his abdomen.

'He anticipated that?' Panic flared, hot and bright in Roam's chest. Despite his spiritual status and vulnerability to physical attacks, Roam's instincts remained human as he drove his own blade out, driven by pure survival instinct. The clang echoed through the clearing, but it was the choked gasp that followed that chilled him to the bone.

Noah crumpled at his feet, the training sword clattering away, Noah's eyes wide with shock and pain as he vomited the contents of today's breakfast, and continuously coughed.

Roam immediately felt disgusted by himself as he stood above him, chest heaving, his own gaze mirroring the boy's horror. He had overreacted, his instinct causing him to not hold back on his last blow. Was it the hallucination of Malice? How else would Noah have been able to keep up with himself, albeit briefly?

"Young Noah, are you alright?" Rhoam knelt by the boy, his hand hovering hesitantly over his shoulder. Concern etched his weathered face as he took in Noah's trembling form. "You took a nasty blow, I apologise."

Silence weighed heavy in the air, broken only by Noah's choked gasps and the rustle of leaves. "Again," he rasped, voice rough with barely contained sobs, "I can go again! I'll get it right this time!" His words, punctuated by choked gasps, rose in pitch, teetering on the edge of hysteria. The forest held its breath, waiting for the storm to break.

"No, Noah," Rhoam rasped, his voice hoarse with a conflicting cocktail of guilt and fear. He knelt beside the boy, hand hovering hesitantly over his shoulder. "It's alright, we'll stop."

He had gone too rough on Noah, even before this attack. Noah wasn't one of his Knights or even a member of the garrison, perhaps he had placed more hope on him than he wanted to admit.

"Damn it!" Fury coiled in Noah's gut, spitting onto the earth as he slammed his fist into the soft soil. He'd tasted it, just a flicker, of victory. Just as Noah felt some resemblance of harmony with his technique, King Rhoam effortlessly parried it in a heartbeat.

"Sharpened minds, like rested muscles, yield the best results," King Rhoam's voice echoed, laced with surprising respect. "Yet, you should be proud, Thirt- Noah I mean. Few have tested me like you just did. He paused, a thoughtful line creasing his brow. "Perhaps... keep that unorthodox technique of yours. Not every soldier marches to the same beat."

Noah's heart stuttered. "But you said it was flawed..."

"Not all paths begin with the same stride," King Rhoam countered, a glimmer in his eyes. "For some, the greatest strength lies in forging their own way. You may be one such wanderer."

With that, he gestured towards the woodcutter's cottage. Noah rose, wiping dust and dried tears from his old shirt, and silently followed closely behind King Rhoam.

Bottled emotions churned within Noah. He'd felt it rising ever since he stepped foot in Hyrule land, each failed practice session chipping away at his composure. His latest failure threatened to spill over. Pulling aside the worn curtain, he entered to find King Rhoam sheathing his sword and rummaging through a shelf of mismatched utensils.

"Please, take a seat. I suspect we're both famished," the King offered, his eyes holding a flicker of concern.

Noah nodded silently as he attempted to calm himself, opting to channel his turmoil into action. He cleared the cluttered table, remnants of their breakfast scattered. The clinking of plates provided a soothing counterpoint to the storm brewing within him.

"Forgive my belated inquiry," King Rhoam cleared his throat, "but how old are you, Noah?"

"Nineteen," Noah replied, surprised by the question. "Though I suppose I neglected to mention it before."

"Ah, I see," King Rhoam mused, intrigued by Noah's response. "Commencing scholarly pursuits at nineteen is rather uncommon in these lands. Did you undergo any prior apprenticeship or training?"

'Oh, right,' Noah mulled over silently. 'Zelda was already a scholar at seventeen... But in this place, I suppose it's around the medieval times in Hyrule, things might kick off much earlier for kids. Different starts, I guess.'

"Actually," he hedged, "Things are different where I come from. I had some… informal training before embarking on my studies. You could say it was similar to an apprenticeship."

A clatter from the shelf jolted Noah's gaze. King Rhoam, mid-reach for a mug, lurched forward, clutching his chest with a groan that shattered the room's tranquillity.

Noah stopped what he was doing and placed his hand on King Rhoam's shoulder. "Sit down, Your Majesty," he urged, his voice laced with concern. "I'll handle the food this time. You take a rest."

Under his unwavering façade, Noah almost forgot about King Rhoam's condition. Here stood a man who was more than the crown he wore—a monarch haunted by the shadows of a kingdom lost to time. A king who had witnessed his kingdom crumble, his people scattered, and a father who lost his beloved daughter. He was soon going to die, or at least be tormenting himself with his failures endlessly, which to Noah was a fate worse than death.

Yet with his limited time he chose to train Noah to help him survive. Noah felt an immense debt to Rhoam—one he knew he could never fully repay, a sense of indebtedness that weighed heavy on his heart.

As time soon passed, Noah fumbled in the cluttered pantry. Flour stuck to his tunic like rogue snowflakes, and a pot clattered ominously on the stovetop. He peeked inside, grimacing at the bubbling brown sludge that vaguely resembled the vegetable stew he'd intended.

"May I ask something?" Noah's voice was barely a whisper, the flickering stovetop reflecting the turmoil in his eyes.

King Rhoam, his weathered face etched with lines carved by a century of sorrow, leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead, ask," he rumbled, his gaze piercing through the shadows like a sunbeam. "There are no shadows in here, young Noah."

Noah swallowed; the atmosphere sombre. "How do you find your… peace? Your end?"

King Rhoam's lips twisted in a sad smile. "Worse than death, some might say." He closed his eyes for a moment, the image of a man trapped in an endless twilight etched onto his face. "No rest, no solace, just the gnawing hunger of undeath."

"Then why? Why settle for the worst?" Noah's gaze subtly gestured towards the Traveller's sword, its worn hilt gleaming on the wall like a silent sentinel.

A sombre smile drew upon King Rhoam's face as he followed Noah's gaze. "Because death, true death, eludes me," King Rhoam revealed, his eyes snapping open. "My physical form, mere dust and echoes. You could slash and hack at me all night, and yet sleep would remain a mocking mirage."

Noah felt a chill crawl down his spine. He had forgotten that the King, while looking alive and healthy was practically a ghost.

"Is there no escape then?" Noah asked, his voice a mere thread. "No way to… end your torment?"

King Rhoam's gaze met his, holding a flicker of something akin to hope. "I don't know much about my Spirit form. akin to you there was no guiding grace or spoken prophecy, I placed faith into my own being which guided my 100-year survival."

He paused, studying Noah with unreadable eyes. "However, I on good grounds can say this..." A hush fell over the room, "Within the Kingdom of Hyrule, there speaks of a sacred flame, a blade forged from the heart of Hyrule, capable of severing even the strongest of bonds."

Noah's breath hitched. "You don't mean…"

King Rhoam's smile deepened. "So you know of it. Yes, only the Master Sword, the bane of darkness itself, holds the key to my slumber. The sword that seals the darkness, with its burning light, could pierce the veil of my Malice and my spiritual bonds, granting me the peace I yearn for."

"I don't know much about it," Noah admitted, lifting the two bowls of his creation and walking towards King Rhoam. "But if it's a sword, perhaps the Kingdom's descendants have it somewhere."

"Perhaps so," King Rhoam chuckled, taking his bowl gratefully. "Oddly enough, the last hands I saw it in were yours."

Noah stammered, "What can I say, I have slippy fingers."

As the two tasted the food, an awkward silence dawned upon them. Then, King Rhoam cleared his throat, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "This is a… unique soup."

"You don't need to sugarcoat it," Noah spoke, having tasted it himself. "Don't worry, I wouldn't be offended if you called it…"

Suddenly, King Rhoam's eyes lit up, a playful glint in their depths. "Dragon Breath Stew! Yes, that's it! Spiced to rival the Goron mountains, with enough kick to wake the dead!"

Noah blinked, then gave a small chuckle. "Dragon Breath Stew? That's… not quite what I was going for, but I like it better than 'Burnt Offering.'"

As their smiles filled the small cottage, the sombre tension dissipated. King Rhoam, despite his fate, still held onto a playful spirit, and Noah, for the first time that evening, felt a genuine connection with the man.

The fire crackled, casting warm shadows on King Rhoam's face as he recounted tales of Hyrule's Golden Age Noah sat there and listened intently, a fragile melody hung in the air against the backdrop of impending loss. With a final chuckle, he sighed, the weight of centuries settling in his eyes.

"I think it's time."

Noah felt a pang in his chest as sadness began to swell. These past few days were difficult for Noah but King Rhoam was the first person he had spoken with since he arrived, and while he did almost get killed by him several times, he began to look up to him.

He was the first person who acknowledged his existence, guided him, and even trained him. It may have been selfish, but he wanted to remain with him longer, perhaps he wouldn't be opposed to not leaving The Great Plateau.

He met King Rhoam's gaze, surprised by the serene acceptance reflected there. No tears, no despair, just an unwavering resolve etched into his weathered features. It was then Noah realized: that while he clung to the fading warmth of their companionship, King Rhoam had already reached peace with his fate.

Shame burned in his throat. Had his fear and selfishness blinded him to the King's quiet dignity, his acceptance of the inevitable?

"Okay," Noah managed, his voice rough with unshed tears.

King Rhoam offered a gentle smile. "I'll meet you outside shortly. There are a few… matters I need to tend to."

Noah nodded, understanding unspoken the need for private farewells. He stepped out into the crisp air, the sun at begun to lower on the vastness of the Great Plateau mirroring the emptiness he felt within. But within that emptiness, a spark of courage flickered. He couldn't grant King Rhoam what he truly yearned for, but he could be there, a steadfast presence at the end of this long, lonely journey.

As King Rhoam emerged from the shack, a small bag in hand, Noah, noting the king's lack of acknowledgment, refrained from doing so himself. The King guided him, and together, they traversed the Great Plateau in silence. Occasional snippets of conversation filled the air, interspersed with moments of quiet reflection until they ascended the stairs, where Noah realized their destination.

"The Temple of Time?" Noah asked.

A solemn nod from King Rhoam affirmed Noah's realization. "Throughout the ages, the Kings and Queens of Hyrule bid their farewell here, acknowledging their years of service to the Kingdom before their passing. Ceremonies were once grand... It's where I bid farewell to my father... and to my wife."

"I wish I could have known her," he said softly, his voice a thread of sympathy in the vast emptiness.

King Rhoam's lips curved into a ghost of a smile. "She would have welcomed you, young scholar. Her laughter could fill this temple's silence. We were blessed with a kingdom in bloom, Zelda was still young... and the people loved her… not more than I of course." His eyes met Noah's, a shared grief between them.

"Our time together has been brief," King Rhoam continued, his voice trembling slightly, "but your presence has been a spark of warmth in my many years of solitude here. Thank you, Noah, for reminding me that Hyrule's flame still flickers."

Noah swallowed, overwhelmed by the weight of King Rhoam's gratitude. "It was my honour, Your Majesty. You've raised me from the ground I nearly collapsed on. And... thank you for not ending my journey as swiftly as you began it."

Shame flickered across King Rhoam's face. "No, the true burden lies with me. What has happened to you is unforgivable, a debt I can never repay."

Noah shook his head. "No blame rests on your shoulders, Your Majesty. You've done all you could, more than I ever could've asked."

King Rhoam reached into his sack and drew out a weathered leather-bound book and a small bag of hardened leather tools. "But that doesn't mean I can't give more he said, his voice regaining its playful glint, "these might come in handy. Some knowledge for your journey, some skills to keep you alive in the wilds."

Noah stared, speechless. "But when...?"

A wry smile graced King Rhoam's lips. "Did you think you were the only one not sleeping?"

"…i…" Noah couldn't find the words.

King Rhoam chuckled, a dry rasp that echoed in the temple's emptiness. "We both know your way with words, young scholar. Leave the talking to me, the surviving to you." He reached into his cloak and produced a worn, but still sturdy paraglider. "And this,"

"Oh, this is…" Noah hesitated, he nearly mistook the paraglider for something else, surprised on how small it was compared to what he would've expected.

"Here, on this isolated plateau, we are surrounded on all sides by steep cliffs, with no way down. If you were to try to jump off, well... no death could be more certain. Or more foolish."

Noah's breath caught in his throat, hearing the familiar words. He held out his hand, with King Rhoam accepting the gesture. As the two shook hands "Thank you," Noah choked out, the words inadequate but true.

"Now go." King Rhoam pushed the sack into Noah's hands.

Noah nodded his head, he wanted to say more but he wouldn't be able to find the words, or keep his emotions in check. Noah merely turned around he descended the steps, the warmth of King Rhoam's embrace lingered on his skin. Turning back, he saw the King standing alone in the temple doorway, his silhouette framed by the rising sun. "King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule," Noah called out, his voice firm despite the tremor in his heart. "I may not be the hero you wanted, but I promise, I will find a way to set you free. So hold on, Your Majesty. Someone will come."

"I have waited centuries, young Noah," King Rhoam's voice echoed in the empty temple, each word laced with yearning. "But next time, no more secrets."

Noah locked eyes with King Rhoam, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them. In that fleeting moment, Noah felt the urge to probe for clarification, yet the answer seemed to hang palpably in the air. Despite holding Link's memories, Noah had never sought advice on where to go next or what to do in this world, in fact there were many things he should've asked King Rhoam but didn't, such as Calamity Ganon, and it dawned on him that King Rhoam had never pressed for explanations—an unspoken gratitude Noah now realised.

Eventually he smiled nodding his head. Noah then turned and walked on, the weight of his oath heavy on his shoulders, but the flame of King Rhoam's expectations burning brighter than the sun in his tear-streaked eyes.

As Noah's footsteps faded on the wind, Rhoam stood alone, the weight of their parting like a stone in his chest. He turned, his gaze landing on the weathered stones of the Temple of Time, and for a horrifying moment, the world shimmered, reality warping around him.

The crumbling edges of the temple righted themselves, the ancient stone glowing with a sudden vibrancy. Sunlight, unnaturally bright, streamed through restored stained glass, casting mosaic patterns on the polished floor. In the centre stood a woman, bathed in this divine light, her back to him. A figure of impossible beauty, her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, adorned with a crown sparkling with gemstones. His queen.

Rhoam's heart became vulnerable, a desperate hope flooding his soul. He stumbled forward, his voice choked with emotion. "My dear… is it truly you?"

The woman turned her face a perfect picture of his memories. A radiant smile curved her lips, blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Rhoam?" she whispered, her voice like the sigh of summer wind.

He reached out, fingers trembling, and she met him halfway, their hands clasped warm and familiar. Time ceased to exist, the world narrowing to just them, their reunion bathed in the ethereal glow of this impossible dream.

He wanted to pour out his grief, his despair, the centuries of torment he carried in his cursed flesh. She wanted to listen, her touch a balm on his aching soul, her gaze filled with an infinite understanding. As he spoke, the temple grew brighter, bathed in the warm light of their shared memories. Laughter echoed in the restored halls, children's voices rang with joy, and Hyrule was whole once more.

But even in this paradise, a serpent lurked in the shadows. A flicker of doubt, a chilling whisper at the edge of his mind. This couldn't be real. Not here, not now. The curse…

Terror coiled around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He looked at his wife, her smile faltering as the light around them began to dim as tendrils made of Malice surrounded them. The temple walls crackled and groaned under the pressure of the tendrils, the restored beauty dissolving into the familiar decay but even worse.

He held his tears in as her image dissolved into dust as the darkness swallowed her whole. The dream shattered, leaving him gasping on the cold, hard floor of the ruined temple, the harsh sunlight cutting through his eyes.

His hand, still outstretched, was empty. Only the phantom warmth of her touch remained, a cruel echo of what he had lost.

His grief tearing at him anew, the weight of his burden crushing him into the cold stone as everything within sight was enveloped by Malice until eventually, that was all he could see.

As Malice engulfed his sight, everything warping into its grotesque visage, his last thoughts drew back to his duel with Noah. How the boy's skill and movements suddenly caught him by surprise, he sensed a familiarity at first but couldn't recognise it. Ironically, it was in his last moments did it resonated deep within him. "Ah, I recognize it..." he rasped, a whisper swallowed by the encroaching darkness. "It... was Link's stance."

Even in this abyss, even beneath the suffocating weight of his curse, Rhoam saw a spark. A flicker of the flame he had protected for so long, burning within another. And somehow, amidst the crushing despair, a fragile hope bloomed. Perhaps, just perhaps, Hyrule's hero had returned.