Chapter 67: The End of Love and Duty
The girl in his arms screamed. Her hands pounded uselessly against his vambraces. His helmet and pauldrons scraped against the confines of the dark pathway. When he tried to hunch his shoulders and plow through the dark, he struck the twisting walls and almost dropped the princess.
"Let me go," she wiggled, desperate for her escape. "I order you to let me go! I hate you! Let me go!"
Still, Jora stumbled through the dark. He bashed into everything in his path. Were the walls crooked, or was he truly this uncoordinated? His shoulder slammed into a stone so hard he spun. He pulled the child tight, trying his best not to hurt her as well. All the while she screamed and sobbed all the louder.
Now which direction did he face?
'Think, boy, think.' His grandfather's voice came to him, clear above the din of violence and screams that echoed through the tunnel. The long-dead man's tone was just as harsh as when Jora was small. His grandfather would strike his knuckles with a switch whenever he did his sums wrong. 'I will not have my legacy be half-wits in steel like your father. The kingdom has enough of those dying in the mud. Remember, boy. It was my work that won us this hold, my wealth that bought your father's horse and armor. You have a mind, so think.'
He stopped and set the child down.
She whirled around and pounded her fists into his cuirass. "Go back!" she demanded. "We can still save him. We must go back!"
"Zelda," he took her hands as gently as his gauntlets would allow. Her fists didn't hurt him, but if she kept striking his armor, she was like to break a finger. "If we go back, we will be caught."
"You don't know that!"
"Yes, I do. Your father gave his life so you could escape, so you can live. At least honor him in that."
"But… but." The struggle left her. Her arms went limp, and her breath ragged as she tried to inhale her sobs.
"You need to be strong, just for now. Once you're safe, we can all fall apart together, but not now. Princess, that magic you made, the light. Can you summon it again? We need to see to get out of here."
"I can," she fought through her ragged breaths. Her hand slipped from his, and a sphere of golden light rose between them. Stark grim walls surrounded them, and spiders scuttled away from the light. Zelda tried to turn from him, but he saw her tear-drenched face. He wished to pull her into a hug and tell her that everything would be fine, that he would keep her safe. He pushed those feelings away; sentiment must not slow them down.
"You know these tunnels?"
"I do."
"Then lead us out."
She quivered but managed to steady herself. He could not see her face but knew she once more donned the expression of the Princess. No longer the child who wanted nothing more than to read her books and show off her wits. She raised her hand and the ball of light swept ahead of her, revealing the cramped stone corridor twisted around. The princess walked forward, as silent as a Sheikah, and strong as Jora knew she could be. Leading him through the path, she never hesitated even as she passed openings and side passages.
After three or four turns, Jora lost all sense of where they stood in the castle. He'd never had a head for directions. If he had stumbled through the place without the girl, there was no way he'd ever find his way out in time. It wasn't helped that every step he took, his armor rustled together, or smacked up against the wall.
Goddesses help me. I'm just as likely to lead the Gerudo straight to the princess as I am to protect her. If any of them had the wit to listen to the walls, they'd only have to follow his clanking to capture them once again. He silently prayed to the Golden Three and Hylia that the Most-Feared was as vindictive and stupid as she appeared. That Rijya was not the one following them. That Ganondorf's treachery kept him occupied elsewhere. That Nabs…
He prayed that she had no knowledge of what was happening.
The princess led him to a ledge. Jora glanced over the edge, at least a story drop, maybe farther. Metal rings embedded into the stone acted as a ladder. "Hold a moment, are you certain that's safe?"
"I'm certain," she said as she swung her leg over the edge and started the climb. "It's not as though there's anywhere else to go if it isn't." Jora reached for her, holding his hand outstretched in case he needed to catch her. But the girl was surefooted. He watched her climb halfway down before he checked the strap of his shield and followed. Clanking with every single step. How was he going to get the girl out of the city like this? A fully armored knight wet with blood was not difficult to spot.
When he reached the bottom, Zelda brought her light up to him. She had stopped crying, though her wide eyes looked just as sorrowful as before. "The rest of the way is straight, there's a ladder up. We'll come out at the gardens."
"Long way from the gardens to the gate," Jora muttered. "Keep your light ahead of me. I'll climb up first."
Neither spoke the rest of the way, though with every step Jora's armor clanged almost loud enough to drown out the princess's quiet sniffling. When they reached the second ladder, he turned back looking for any sign of movement behind them. Nothing yet followed them through the dark. Wenton and Bellard must be making Ashdin fight for every inch. "Do not follow until I tell you it is safe."
"What good will that do?" Zelda said. "Even if it's not, there's nowhere else to go."
"Just -please- don't argue with me now. Perhaps you can find some dark corner to hide."
She looked doubtful. Jora could tell she had a dozen rebuttals forming in that quick little mind of hers. But they would do little good here. He climbed up the metal rings, while listening for any noise that came from above. He heard nothing. Not even the distant sounds of slaughter within the castle. But what if his helmet muffled the noise? Or the thick stones overhead hid a battle, right over their heads?
His hand found the stone slab that must open into the garden. What if he opened it and found only a trap? Was there no other way to go?
'Act, boy, act.' His father's voice came to him. As he often instructed after they drilled for hours in the training yard, working until he was so bruised, he could hardly stand. 'You stand there paralyzed, trying to be clever. But cleverness won't stop a blade. You freeze, you stop moving; you die. You hesitate, and your every advantage will disappear. Remember boy, it was my sword that won our titles and prestige. The will to act bore me through my battles. You still have your strength, so act.'
He pushed at the stone. It grinded against the earth as it opened. The night sky and the howls of battle greeted him. He stuck his head out, looking around as best his helmet allowed. People fled the castle, some trampling over the flowers of the garden, but none paid him any attention. In one of the towers a fire blazed, if left unchecked it'd spread to the chapel and from there the tower given to the Zora ambassador. The doors to the grand hall had been burst open, within the dark shapes of the Gerudo fighting against knights and soldiers. Friends he'd known for years now died, and there was nothing he could do to help.
At least the violence drew the enemy away, none of the Gerudo stood between them and the gate.
"It's clear," he said as he pulled himself out.
He hunched over the hole, hoping not to draw attention until the princess stood beside him. "Don't look at the castle." He positioned her ahead of him, so she could not see the destruction of her home.
"But I know-" she twisted her neck around, trying to glimpse the battle.
"You know all of them," Jora took hold of her chin and turned her head back toward the gate. "But now is not the time to think of them. Run."
She did as told, for once. But she was still young, and small, and wore a royal gown that slowed her further. Jora placed his hand to her back and tried to help her along, but it did little good.
They barely made it halfway to the gate before a cry pierced through the violence of the night. "Commander Bethmasse! I see her! I found them!"
Jora cursed their ill luck and looked behind them at the three shapes dark against the night sky racing after them. One of them he knew from a glance, the Gerudo giantess looked more like a demon with the flames behind her.
"Faster."
"I can't. Run. Faster." The Princess shouted.
Jora and Zelda crashed around bushes and trees. Zelda gasped as they burst through the other side of the gardens. Jora looked upon the shattered gate, something tore it asunder. Rubble and upturned earth scattered across the ground around it. Two dead guards lay just outside, bloodied, and trampled beneath the feet of those fleeing the castle. Servants and nobles all rushed over them together, without a second's thought.
Only one person struggled against the tide, trying to make her way into the castle grounds. A nun, by the look of her robes. Some poor noble soul who thought they could help when the world turned to chaos.
"I have them!" Came a happy yell just behind them.
Act, boy!
Jora planted his foot and turned. A twist of his shoulders sent his shield swinging by its leather tether tied across his shoulder. With practiced precision he grabbed the center grip and pushed the shield forward.
The Gerudo's blade struck the steel rim of his shield. He slammed his shield at her, forcing the woman back as he drew his arming sword. As he struck the Gerudo's face came into the light. A Molduga-Skinner, one of Rijya's guards. Not her. Thank the Goddesses, it wasn't her.
The warrior dodged back, but not fast enough. His blade sliced into her thigh. Not deep, a glancing blow at best. But it would hurt.
Behind the Gerudo, the bushes and trees shook as Bethmasse and her other companion burst forth. Three on one? He'd faced those odds before. But that had been against ruffians. Or common Gerudo raiders during the war. Not the elite. Not Bethmasse.
His sword rose; best to kill this one fast. He beat aside the Gerudo's blade, struck low, and raised his shield high. Natural. Fluid. Just as he'd trained all his life. The Gerudo lost her footing. He pressed the advantage and her guard fell apart. Even in the dark, he saw her once fierce eyes grow wide with fear. He slashed down toward her neck. She tried to catch his blade upon the hilt of her own, angling her sword to thrust toward his face, a desperate attempt to retake the initiative.
It was nothing to twist his sword, sending the Gerudo's blade off the line of attack and leaving her center exposed for his own strike.
He swung.
She yelped.
His blade struck not flesh but steel and wood as a heavy spear thrust between them. His opponent scrambled away, back behind the massive woman who saved her life.
"Sir Penrest, Knight of Foxes," Bethe said as she pulled her spear back. Still poised toward him, ready to strike. At her shoulders, the Gerudo he had been so close to killing had found her lost courage. Easy, when you outnumber your opponent. And on her other side came another of Ganondorf's guards, Caeiti, was that her name? The quiet one.
"Commander Bethmasse, the Dread Spear."
She nodded to Zelda standing behind him. "You are caught. Hand over the princess and no harm will come to you."
Jora shook his head. "If our positions were reversed and I asked you to hand over your king. Would you do it?"
"Never."
Bethe raised her weapon into a salute which Jora returned. Then the spearhead shot toward him, and Jora's shield met it. "Run!" He shouted as steel struck wood. The other two Gerudo charged him. He pulled back his shield to block one and angled his sword to parry the other.
"Leave him to me. Get the vai," Bethe ordered as she thrust again. Jora rotated his chest, letting the massive spear strike his cuirass. Turning a killing blow into nothing but a bruise, but what a bruise it would be. All knew of Bethmasse's great strength, but knowing and feeling the forcing coming from a woman were vastly different things. Most knights did not strike so hard. By the Three, he couldn't strike that hard, and he was stronger than most.
"This is good, I worried there would be nothing honorable in this fight. I will be glad to add your sigil to my spear."
Her partners moved to get past Jora.
With a roar, he swatted aside Bethe's spear and launched himself at Caeiti. His shoulder struck her on the side. They toppled to the ground. He rolled over her, back onto his feet. Covered in steel, he must have broken some of bones in the landing.
"Filthy voe!" Rijya's guard screamed, turning away from the princess to slash at him. Good. Her blade smacked into his shield. He twisted it to his side and swiped with his sword. This time he struck true and was rewarded by her howl of pain.
Then the massive spear rattled his helmet. And for a moment his vision blurred, and the back of his head burst into pain.
"Jora!" Zelda's voice pierced through the pain.
Hylia save me. She's supposed to be running!
Golden light streaked past him. The Dread Spear grunted as she ducked out of the way.
"Get away from him!"
One after another the light burned through the night. Each beam as bright as a beacon and just as likely to draw attention.
Bethmasse leaped away from each magical surge that hurtled toward her. The Molduga-Skinner was not so capable. A beam of light struck her in the chest. She flew back, screeching. When she landed, she writhed in pain. Jora ran for Bethmasse swinging low. Somehow, she managed to turn his blow aside, before ducking around him. In one movement escaping him and another burst of Zelda's burning light.
"Got you, brat," came a cruel voice. Jora turned to see Caeiti, one arm pulled tight to her side, covering her broken ribs. Her other hand gripping Zelda's hands. The magic light dispersed as Zelda screamed. The warrior clenched her grip and the crunch of snapped fingerbones pierced the air.
Jora ran toward them. Bethmasse's spear struck him in the backplate, knocking the air out of his lungs and almost forcing him to the ground. He tried to slash at her, ward her away so he could reach the princess. But Bethmasse proved too strong, her reach too deadly. It took all his effort just to defend himself.
The big woman sneered, and for a moment glanced away. "Sister!" Bethmasse shouted in Gerudo. "Watch out!"
A cloaked and masked nun moved to Caeiti's side. The Gerudo turned to her. "Get away, or I'll-"
The nun slammed her hand into the side of the Gerudo's neck. The warrior stumbled, clutching at her throat. Her mouth opened to offer some curse, but only blood spilled out. It dribbled down her chin and mixed with the blood that leaked from between her fingers. The warrior fell before the nun with a dripping knife.
"Sheikah," Bethmasse hissed, glaring at the figure.
Act.
Jora ran toward the giant of a woman. Her spear lunged for him, too late to force him back. He caught it on his shield. The spearhead scratched over the painted emblem of the royal family but moved harmlessly to the side. He had his opening.
The Gerudo moved fast. Already pulling her spear back, preparing to parry Jora's next strike. But when fighting this close, within her reach, his sword could maneuver, but her spear could not. He struck one way, then feinted to the other.
The spear caught nothing but air.
The blade clanged off the steel bracers she wore on her arms. She roared, forcing his sword high. Goddesses she was strong. She slammed her arm down, striking him on the shoulder, near buckling his knees from the force of it.
He reeled back, then smashed his head forward. His helmet struck her chin, breaking her jaw if he had any luck at all. She stepped back. Somehow taking such a blow and keeping her wits enough to move in a steady calculated retreat. Not allowing any dramatic opening but trying to gain distance where her spear and long arms would regain their advantage.
He would not give it to her. Shield forward he pursued. He swatted aside her attempts to defend herself. When she gave one heavy blow toward his face, he raised his shield high. Pushing her weapon and arms up with them. His sword struck first the leathers that protected the joint of her thigh. Then went up. A backhanded cut that landed just past her bracer and sunk into her elbow. He pierced through bone and tore through flesh on the way out.
She roared with her mouth full of blood. Somehow remaining on her feet, though her leg shook, and her right arm hung limp. It clung together with sinews; Jora doubted the best physicians would be able to save the limb.
And yet she still tried to fight. Dropping the two-handed spear, she pulled out a curved long-knife.
Jora did not give her the time to swing it. He struck. Somehow his opponent blocked the blow with her dagger. But he still had leverage. He stepped in, twisting his sword around the dagger until his pommel faced his opponent. It smashed into her temple. Twice. Before Bethmasse the Dread Spear finally fell.
He'd won.
Thank the Three.
Breathing hard, he looked at the Molduga-Skinner a few paces past the fallen titan. Somehow, she had survived Zelda's barrage and struggled to stand and find her weapons. With a single stroke, Jora made certain she would never rise again.
"Zelda," he gasped. The girl was safe, her face tucked into the nun's robe, her mangled hands held up and away so nothing would brush against them. "Lady Impa, speak so I know it is you."
"It is, Sir."
"Good, we need to get her out of the city. I pray you have some tricks to do so."
"No," Zelda said, through her wincing and whimpering. She pulled her face from the damp fabric and looked into Impa's eyes. "Not out of the city. We need to reach the Temple of Time."
"Temple?" What was that girl talking about? "The Gerudo did not honor their pledge of fealty; do you believe they'll adhere to the rules of sanctuary?"
"Of course not," she only glanced at him a moment before looking back to Impa. "Father Rauru needs to know what's happening. They'll come for him and what he has. This is it. Ganondorf's plan requires that he get to the Temple. And Rauru needs to be warned."
Rauru? The priest from that little temple near the market? It had been suspicious when she asked to visit it, but what did he have to do with anything?
"And Link and Navi," she continued before Jora had a chance to ask. "They should arrive within a week, if not earlier. I'll need to contact them and tell them to avoid the city."
"What are you talking about? Who's Link and Navi?"
"A boy and a fairy," Impa said.
This is ridiculous. No one had seen fairies for a hundred years. "No more wasting time. No more arguing. We need to get out of here." The Gerudo war cries drew closer. Someone must have seen Zelda's magic; they would be coming. "Move."
"Come child," Impa wrapped her arms around the princess and led her toward the broken gate. Thankfully, the fleeing crowd provided some cover, and the moonless night a little more. Once they got out, perhaps Impa would take them to some secret spot where Jora could shed his armor, and Zelda her livery. They'd have a better chance of survival if they had some other disguise.
As Jora crossed the broken threshold of the shattered gate a horse and its rider approached. The only one coming from within the city toward the castle gate. This time not a nun, and definitely no Sheikah in disguise. The one person above all he hoped not to meet. The one he most wished to see.
Their eyes met. She did not say a word. She did not need to. Her inability to hide her emotions was one of the things he enjoyed about her. He could always tell when he made her happy, when her mother's condition made her sad, and when she quietly raged at court politics. She was as clear as a well-kept ledger, as honest as a sword.
One look told him everything he needed to know.
Jora positioned himself before the child, as Honeyhoof stopped a few feet before him.
"Lady Impa," he said. "Take the girl somewhere safe."
Nabooru did not try to stop them, as they fled toward the city.
"Thank you, Sir Jora. For protecting her when I could not," Impa said before she disappeared into the crowd.
Zelda lingered a moment longer. A look of wrath and sorrow twisted her expression. "Best her, Sir Jora. And find me when you're done. I order you."
"As you will, Your Highness."
Nabooru dismounted. They both drew their swords and readied their shields. Hers a curved scimitar and rounded shield with Gerudo markings gleaming like a mirror. His a long straight arming sword with the heavier heater emblazoned with the crest of the royal family. Man and woman. Knight and raider. Hylian and Gerudo. The entire story of their war played out. How had he ever hoped it would end in any other way?
He lunged first. Slow. More a gentle probe than anything. She stepped off the center line and angled her shield just right to catch it, should he turn the thrust into a feint. Then she stepped forward, slashed high then low. Elegant as ever. Precise and deadly. His shield matched both strikes.
The crowd fled from them. Jora recognized some of the frightened faces that looked on in horror. But no one dared interrupt their duel.
"I didn't want this," she said, as she pulled back. Preparing for the next exchange of blows.
Jora hid his blade behind his shield as he advanced. Careful, moving in such a way to disguise where he would eventually strike. When he lashed out toward her leg, she skittered away as though she had known the entire time. Swinging her blade down toward his head to cover her retreat. He pulled back as the edge sailed safe past him.
"Neither do you, I know it." She raised her scimitar high, preparing for a hard and deadly downward strike. "What's done is done. It's over. We can leave. Let Gan do what he wants, it doesn't need to matter to us."
Jora thrust once more. This one faster. Less probing for a weakness and more demanding her response. Her blade battered it down. Only for Jora's shield to rise forward and slam into her side. She growled and hacked at him with her blade. Taking deep gashes from the rim of his shield. He pressed forward, sending her back a step.
"Sands take you! Say something!"
"Did you always mean to betray me?"
She did not answer. She did not need to.
Their blades clashed. Their shields struck. Once when Jora first asked Nabooru for her company he took her to a ball. When they went out to the dance floor she floundered off beat. Her face blushed a deeper red with every misstep. No matter how he tried to help her, she could not find the rhythm. They stumbled over each other; as Nabooru grew angrier and more embarrassed. When she nearly dragged him to the floor after one misstep, Jora could do nothing but laugh and tell jokes until she laughed with him. Out there, she was flawed, finicky, unable to match anyone's tempo but her own. But here, where blades set the cadence, their movements were perfect. She was perfect. Flowing, slashing, dodging, blocking. Her hair whipped about like a flickering flame. Their attacks drove faster and faster. The storm of blades must have looked vicious and chaotic to all who saw them.
But to him, it was a dance. The only dance that mattered. The only one they had left.
Think, boy, think.
She had only been using him. None of those happy memories mattered. It was all just some long game to gain his trust. She did not care that she destroyed everything he valued, all he loved. She was as terrible as Ganondorf. As vile as the Most-Feared. As evil as the witches she so despised.
She must be killed.
Act, boy, act.
Her blade went wide, almost drawing his response with it before she converted the slash into a perfect feint. He caught it with his shield, pushed it aside, and cut down with his sword. She flickered away. A red gleaming swirl as she stepped out of line, to regain control of her blade and once more came forward to attack. Always to attack.
Think!
All they shared was a lie.
The blade came fast, but her foot slid on the wet grass. Pure luck. The simple twists of fortune that could decide a battle. A lesser warrior would fall; her shield only dropped a finger's width as she steadied herself. But that was enough. He could strike. He could kill her. He only needed to swing his arm.
Act!
The moment passed. Her blade realigned. She stepped forward into the thrust.
His sword did not parry. His shield did not guard.
The scimitar struck just beneath his cuirass, bursting through mail, and plunging into his stomach.
His arm swung far too late. She caught it on her shield and backed away. Her sword left his body. He gasped, as blood rushed out of the wound. His sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. He soon followed, dropping to his knees. He clutched at the wound and felt his gauntlet slicken.
"Breathe. I have you." Her arms surrounded him. She tried to get him back to his feet, wearing a forced smile beneath worried eyes. "Now we're even for Sotari Pass. Yes? This is nothing. We'll have matching scars."
It felt good to be in her arms again.
"And I promise I will spend the rest of my life making up for tonight."
Think, boy!
She directed him toward the castle. They could find a surgeon to tend his wound. He could survive if he went with her.
Act, boy!
His fingers touched the hilt of his dagger. It would be nothing to pull it out and plunge it into her exposed neck. Nothing. She deserved no more befitting end.
He pushed her away and fell back to the ground.
"Let me help you," her voice broke as she held back a sob.
He did not trust himself to speak. When she reached for him again, he pulled his knife free.
"The court physicians, Gan won't attack them, I know it. You'll be safe there. They'll see to your wounds. Please."
She reached for him again, and he slashed. Not hard. His blade nicked the side of her arm. The kind of cut you wouldn't notice if it happened during the thick of battle. Yet Nabooru pulled away and looked at him as if he was the traitor between them.
"Fine!" She backed away from him. "Take yourself there. But go! You can hate me the rest of your life for all I care. But make certain you have the life to hate me in." She stormed away, back into the castle and back to the chaos.
He could not take his eyes from her; not until she disappeared into the darkness. He'd never see her again. Whatever else would happen the rest of this night, he could not say, but that one point was clear to him as a summer day. This was their end.
Jora's jittering fingers found his sword and managed to sheath it. He pressed his shield into the ground and pushed himself to his feet. Adjusting his cuirass, he tried to angle it to press upon the wound and stop his blood from leaking as best he was able. With a deep breath, he shook out his hands trying to get the feeling back into them. The princess had given him an order. He could still fight, for a little bit longer. So long as she got out of the city before he fell, then this would all be worth it.
He would not fail the royal family again.
Another Gerudo fell to his blade. How many had he killed tonight? Five? Perhaps six? He stared at the corpse at his feet. This one had her hair, as the last wore her clothes, or held her sword. All of them, all of her, killed by his hand.
"Thank you, sir knight." Said a father, his arm bleeding from a raider's knife. His son still frozen in fear behind him.
"Get to safety," Jora rasped. Everything hurt. His head, his shoulder, his stomach most of all.
"Sir knight," the son said. "You're wounded."
Once more Jora looked back down, blood covered his legs, seeping from the wound in his gut.
"Come with us," the father said. "Sir!"
But Jora marched on, making his way through the marketplace. Until he took a poor step and his legs stumbled. Nothing tripped him, and no wound on his leg weakened them. And yet, he only managed to remain upright by falling against the wall. "Almost there," he whispered to himself. It was so cold. Winter would be soon upon them. But this felt nothing like a winter's chill.
"Another step. Just another step." But words could not keep him moving. He slid down the wall, his eyes heavy. Perhaps he could rest here a moment, then finish the trek. When had it become so difficult to walk?
"I'm almost there." A quarter mile, no more. After a moment to catch his breath, he would stand up and reach the temple. His legs could get him that far. He needed to keep telling himself that. Keep repeating it, until somehow, he could make the lie true.
'...you stop moving; you die.'
He wasn't stopped. Not yet. He'd rise again as soon as his numb feet found life once more.
A faint light drifted down the alleyway. Someone approached. Had a Gerudo spotted him? He must look easy prey, but he was still Sir Jora Penrest, the Knight of Foxes. He reached for his sword, but his fingers wouldn't grip it. They slid right off. Then his arm no longer seemed to want to move at all.
'...dying in the mud.'
"Navi," came a child's voice. "There's another down here."
Jora turned his head, only then realizing the light was not from a torch, lamp, or flame of any kind. It was blue and fluttered at the shoulder of a little boy. "I don't believe it."
The boy sheathed his own blade. He had minor cuts and bruises on him, and a bit of blood splashed on his tunic. He'd been fighting, with only a flimsy sidesword as his weapon. He needed a shield, or armor, or he'd get himself killed.
"You're injured, but Navi is going to look at it." The boy knelt at his side. "She'll heal you."
The little blue light circled him, looking down over his stomach before landing on his breastplate. "He's lost a lot of blood." She said, in the same tone he heard surgeons and priests make a hundred times in the war. Too much blood, and nothing they can do to help.
"Listen," Jora tried to say, though his voice sounded so quiet. So weak. "Listen to me. I know you."
The boy took his hand and squeezed it. "Save your strength. We've already helped a few people tonight. You're going to be safe." And the boy meant it.
The fairy lifted the lower edge of his cuirass and managed to crawl inside to get a closer look. It felt like an insect wriggling inside his armor. She did not stay there long. She flew back out and flew to Jora's ear, speaking low enough the boy could not hear. "I'm so sorry. You're too far gone. I can only help with the pain, there's no reason you should pass in agony."
"No," Jora shook his head, forcing the fairy to fly back. "You must listen. I guarded the Princess Zelda. She spoke of you. She escaped." He tried to lift his free hand, but it wouldn't move. He winced and grunted. Forcing everything he had left into that arm. When had this armor become so heavy? Slowly, the arm rose, shaking like his grandfather had before he passed. Too weak to eat or even clean himself, demanding the servants do that for him. When he had been young, Jora vowed to never grow so weak. "There's a temple, not even a mile in that direction." His arm fell and refused to move again. "You must go there. You must find the princess."
"You can lead us," the boy said. "Once Navi's done with you, you'll be all better. You'll see."
"She's finished," Jora said. "And I have... I have more to do out here."
"You can barely walk. You don't need to worry; you can lean on me. I'm stronger than I look."
"I said 'go.'" Jora pulled his hand free of the boy's. "She's done enough."
Link looked at him and then at the blood around him. "Oh," was all he said.
"Boy – Link." That was his name, wasn't it? Jora nodded to his side. "Take the shield. I think you'll need it before the night is done."
"No. That doesn't seem right, it's-"
"It's too battered, I'd never allow myself to be seen with it anymore. I'll just leave it behind if you don't take it. Then no one will have it."
Link lifted the shield, stopping to see if Jora changed his mind. It was too big for him, but Jora nodded for him to take it anyway. Hopefully, it will help him survive the trials of the night so one day he could grow into it. The boy slung the shield over his shoulder with a practiced ease.
"Go. The temple."
"We will," the fairy said.
"And we'll tell the princess, what you did."
What I did? What have I done, but fail?
The two disappeared through the night. Leaving Jora alone to die.
It was a cold thing, dying. And harder than he expected to let the endless night claim him. Would his father and grandfather return? United, finally, in their disappointment at him.
No stopping them now.
His eyes shut for the last time. But the dead did not greet him. Instead, he fell into a gentle dream, one of a woman with blazing red hair and a passionate spirit, and the life together they never got to have.