Interlude: The Meaning of Dreams

Author's Note: This is something of an apology to those of you still interested in the story and proof it's not abandoned. I'd have hoped to be a bit further in my edits and perhaps even started posting Part II by now (though I am happy to note that I have started writing it). But life gets in the way, as always. So, here's a chapter that I removed, because I didn't think it quite fit the flow I was going for. And I'm not 100% on if I want to go this route with one of the characters. It would have taken place between Chapters 71 and 72. I hope it's enjoyable and you're all doing well.

He returned to that familiar old dream. It had been his last respite during the long days listening to councilors whose words all ran together. When his head ached trying to think through the implications of decisions that could affect the lives of thousands of people. When his heart broke at the hatred of his only child. And now when pain racked through his body from a dozen scrapes and bruises.

The dream began, as it always had, in a tavern. Strangers moved about him, forgotten and faceless. Some danced, others clapped their hands, or promised to buy him a drink. All blended in with the surroundings, the background of his dream. All except one, a man in priest's robes stood in the corner. His face strangely clear, with a thick white mustache that spread out until it filled into his sideburns. Had he been there? It didn't matter, why look at some bald old man when he could look at her?

The lute sang in his hands, and he hummed the melody as he played. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen watched him, with a face that he'd never forget. She wore simple clothes, nothing splendid, but not well-worn either. Her hair tucked beneath a white bonnet, that framed her thin face. Drawing his attention to her eyes, the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. And that smirk. Before she ever spoke a word to him he knew a sharp tongue hid behind it.

What had she ever seen in him? He'd been young and strong and passingly handsome perhaps, in his youth. But in his dream, he was always just him. A man who threw away every blessing he'd once had.

"You play well," she said, once the song finished.

His tongue near caught in his throat. She spoke to him; then as now he couldn't believe his luck. "I know a song or two."

"More than most knights, I've seen."

"And who told you I was a knight? I could be a traveling minstrel. Here to make a quick coin for the tourney."

She smiled as bright as the heavens. "Could be, but you're big for a bard. And is it normal for minstrels to wander around with all that?" She nodded to the stack of his armor he'd tucked into the corner of the tavern. Battered and bent from use, the dust from the road clinging to it.

"It might not be mine." He'd placed the armor away so he could watch it as he played, and his friend Arn bought lodgings for them. But kept them far away so people would see his clean clothes and not the armor that gave away he could afford only the one set.

"You keep glancing over every time anyone gets too close to them. So, Sir Knight, are you planning to win the tournament and the heart of the princess? Sweep her off her feet as readily as you knock men from their horses?"

"You doubt I can do it?"

"Oh, not at all. Every young knight across the kingdom has come with the same goal, but I'm sure you're the special one."

He laughed. Had that been what won her? She teased him and he'd just laugh. When had he lost that? When had he become so serious all the time? "In truth, I hope to win a bout or two. Start making a name for myself."

"And what name would that be?"

"Liotidos. Lio, you can call me Lio. Sir Lio Beramus."

"I've heard of your family, I think. House Beramus, you have lands somewhere." They'd only spoken a moment and she already could tell something bothered him. How had she always known? "You don't?"

"My uncle has lands. I'm… I'm hoping to find somewhere else. Perhaps you could help me end my search?"

She laughed again, that beautiful laugh that still made his heart ache even in the memory. "A bit forward, don't you think?"

"You're a merchant's daughter, aren't you? You're not a noble woman, you wouldn't be sitting in this tavern talking to me if you were. And you clearly come from money."

"My father has a fair share of rupees."

"A merchant could always use a knight to guard his caravans. Or if he's a banker he could use protection just the same. Grant me your favour, and I'll wear it proudly into the tournament, my lady."

"I thought I wasn't a noble lady. Wouldn't you be embarrassed carrying the token of a merchant's daughter? Wouldn't you prefer some fancy noble to grace you with fine silk?"

"For your token? I'd cast down the princess's own favour."

"A treasonous statement," she thought for a moment, and that smirk grew. As if she kept a devilish joke all to herself. "It's an easy thing showing up with some girl's ribbon draped from your lance. No one may even know where you got it. But look for me at the tournament. If you're brave enough to ask for my favour before the entire kingdom, I'll give it to you."

"Anything," he said.

"Then I'll see you at the tourney."

"Where will you be seated?"

She just kept that playful grin as she walked out of the tavern and into the streets of Castle Town. He vowed then and there to do whatever he needed to find that merchant's daughter. He'd follow those eyes and that smile to the ends of the world.

He never thought he'd follow her to a crown.

What had she ever seen in him? A hundred knights rode before the royal stand asking her favour as they entered the lists. She refused them all, so many better men. If she'd chosen Arlan she'd have the finest soldier of Hyrule at her side. If she'd chosen Sir Bellfor, perhaps the greatest warrior of the age would never turn traitor.

But she chose him.

And the kingdom died for it.

Until his turn came, he'd scoured the crowds for her. The cushioned seats for the wealthy commoners first, then the minor lords, and last the wide opening where the poor stood to watch the tilt. He couldn't find her anywhere among the faceless remnants of his memories. But he saw that one face, wherever he looked. Wrinkled and bald, with keen eyes that always watched him.

He rode past the royals to bow to the King, Queen, and Princess.

Only then did he see her. That mischievous grin, daring him, the second son of a second son, to do as he promised. In armor that no matter how he cleaned it the night before, still did not have the polished sheen of great knights that could afford to train in one set of armor and wear another to a tournament.

One face he could still see, King Daltus IV, a thin man in royal purple and a perpetual frown. He'd been bemused that such a low knight, barely a step above an errant would dare ask for his daughter's favour. And his face turned red when she accepted.

"So, you are brave enough," she teased as she tied her token to his lance.

"Brave enough to face your father."

"Don't worry, leave him to me. Good luck, Sir Lio."

Then she went back to the king, took his arm in her own and whispered to him. Until the anger drained from his features. No one else could do that, not his advisors or even his queen wife could get King Daltus to change his mind. Lio certainly had never accomplished it in the years that followed.

Zelda talked her father into accepting the match.

"I was here for this," a voice said over Lio's shoulder. The mustached man stood beside him, somehow standing as tall as he on his horse, looking up at the royal box. "I lost a fair share of rupees betting on you." He turned to look at Lio and gave a warm tired smile.

"Who are you?"

But dreams shift and leave without answers. One memory became another. Now a king, he paced outside the royal chambers. His closest friends scattered about watching him. Darunia, before he became chief sat on the ground. Arn ordering him to sit down and have something to drink. Banzetta with her own child in her arms, making cooing noises to quiet the babe down.

All of them more real than the faceless crowd, but after ten years he no longer remembered them completely. He'd known Arnault all his life, and yet now the lines of his face didn't seem right. And Banzetta's voice drifted out of focus. In truth all he heard, all he remembered clear as the day it happened, were the noises coming from within the room. Screams and groans and words of worry. Even knowing that it all went well in the end, he felt that same fear grip him. Not of what could happen, but what did.

Then the cries of newborn, and a door opened. His wife on the bed, drained and tired, and beautiful. His child, his newborn Zelda, wrapped in clean blankets and held in the arms of a midwife. But over her shoulder, the strange man nodded in approval.

"You weren't here."

"No."

The midwife put the child in his arms, and all he could see was the most precious gift he'd ever received. But why was the man there? Dreams did not mean anything. They couldn't. They mustn't. They took so much from him. But he needed to know.

"Who are you?"

The baby moved in his arms and the scene turned to the last of these moments in his life, the one that turned all the joy to rot.

The four of them stood in the dark, with two babies nestling in their mother's arms. The caravan had been his wife's idea. Leave in the night so no one knew what happened. With any luck their disappearance would go unnoticed. That's what she said, and Lio believed her.

Some nights he dreamed what would happen if he told her to stay. If they never parted that night, and no harm came to his family and dearest friends. What a life they would have together. An age of peace under the wisest queen in living memory. A family that loved him. A life where he wouldn't be alone.

But this time he let the dream play out in full. It would be the last time he dreamed it; he knew. He'd never have a chance to see his wife and friends again. Why waste time on useless fantasies?

His wife tugged at his beard to bend him down to kiss her. "Don't ride out to meet him. You have nothing to prove."

"You don't need to worry about me, my love. Should the Gerudo come, they will waste themselves against the walls." He looked once more into those blue eyes before he went to his daughter. Kissed her on the forehead and told her how much he loved her.

Arn bowed as the women went to the wagons. Then they took each other's arms in friendship. Wished each other luck before Arn followed their wives. Away from the castle where they would have been safe, to follow some dream of finding a prophecy that Lio doubted ever existed. But that night, he believed. They all did. And they paid for their misjudgment in blood.

"Was this the last time you saw them?" Asked the man.

"Yes," Lio whispered as he watched the wagons ride out. A single wheel clattered against the cobbled stones of the streets. Had it always been that way? "Who are you?"

"A priest. I don't think we ever met, though my temple lay within Castle Town."

"Why are you here?"

"I haven't figured that part out yet. I remember dying, and drifting, and then I found myself here."

"How'd you die?"

"Ganondorf." The thump of the wheel grew louder, though the wagon moved further away.

"I'm sorry. Am I also dead? Is this death? Seeing your saddest moments forever?

"These are sad moments?"

"What else could they be? I should never have been king. I fell in love too young and too quick and doomed a kingdom. I had the perfect wife and I let her die. I had friends who followed my orders to their doom. I had a daughter and-" Even in his dreams he couldn't say it. Even though he knew it to be true, in his bones. "I let her die too."

"No," the priest said. "Perhaps this is why I'm here. It's said that the souls of those with work left to do are kept from Hylia's embrace. Until their duties are finished, and they are allowed their resurrection."

"Well, you'd know, wouldn't you?" He wished to see Zelda again, instead of wasting his final night with this strange figment of his imagination. "And what does your duty have to do with me?"

"Your daughter lives. She lives and she's safe."

"How could you know that?"

"Because I was with her. I sent her to safety. Your daughter lives."

The wagon disappeared into the dark, and yet the rhythmic thump of the wheel came closer. Slow and heavy, and laden with death.

Lio sighed and shut his eyes. "Dreams mean nothing."

"Perhaps, just this once, yours do."

Footsteps, that was what he heard. Footsteps. And a heavy door opening.

His eyes opened, as his doom entered the room. But he didn't feel fear. He felt nothing, as he thought of the dream. He'd been wrong so many times, let this be one of them.