Chapter Text
Midna wanted to rip him to shreds so badly that it made her physically ill.
Bile burned in her throat, and her stomach ached as animalistic shrieks echoed through the misty darkness. They stabbed into Midna's brain and grated in her ears like jagged needles.
She was reeling, and off-balance, but she was a princess, soon a queen, and she was not scared.
No, damn it all, she was angry.
Midna had never been more furious in her entire life, and she was sure that none of her previous incarnations had either.
“Zant.”
She spat his name like a filthy word and focused on his ugly, nasty, smug face, hoping that it would distract her from the horrors occurring around her.
She couldn’t afford distraction right now.
He stood at the top of a small knoll, arms folded behind him, as if he was some sort of god watching his creations.
Fury seared her throat.
Zant was a fool, and he’d always been power hungry, seeking, pushing boundaries. She’d known he was greedy, that he wanted more, but hadn’t realized it extended this far.
Well no matter!
I’m more powerful than he is.
I’ll burn him to ash!
“Dearest Princess. How wonderful to see you in good health.”
Zant's voice was oily, and dripped into Midna’s ears like thick blood. She wanted to claw it back out before it poisoned her.
Zant stared coyly back at her with his wide yellow eyes, unblinking. He was mocking her. Testing her. He wanted to see how she'd react to all of this.
“Good health? Good health?” She flung a hand at the twitching, moaning beasts that surrounded them in the creeping black mist. Midna's heart twisted angrily. “Quit your bootlicking, Zant. What the hell is the meaning of this?”
How did this happen? How could I let this happen?
Zant tilted his head serenely, seemingly amused at her rage, completely unfazed at the chaos around him.
“Nothing bad is happening,” he said simply, shrugging, as if black magic wasn’t wreaking havoc on Midna’s subjects, on her people.
A wide grin split his face, yellowed teeth glinting in the low light. “They are merely fulfilling their destiny and becoming my servants. My dear, precious servants. They’ll be much happier than when they were oppressed citizens under your apathetic regime. Rejoice with me, Princess, and together we can help them achieve new purpose, new possibilities.”
Midna seethed. Her jaw ached as she ground her teeth. It was a miracle that she hadn't popped a blood vessel with how hard her heart was beating. It was like a drum beating in her hollow chest, pounding out to the tips of her fingers. Her fingernails cut into her palms as she clenched her fists.
The bite of pain was almost refreshing.
“What are you blathering on about, Zant?” she demanded, an insidious little bead of fear welling up in her. “If this was some sort of spell gone wrong, I won’t stand for this kind of experimentation. Tell me now what happened, and turn them back. Immediately! Or I’ll charge you with treason, and execute you here and now!”
Zant lazily turned away to look over the orange dusk of the eternal twilight, ignoring her question. “Tell me, Princess, of our own traditions, if you please. You should know them well, considering they brought us to where we stand now.”
Spirits, he’s actually gone mad.
A part of her desperately hoped this was just a misfired spell, some horrifying bit of magical research that would be destroyed and erased as soon as she dealt with the situation, but it was looking less and less likely.
Midna was astounded at his callousness, his audacity.
“What traditions are you talking about, Zant? Are you insane? Our people are in pain! Quit playing this game!”
Zant scoffed, flicking a hand idly. His sleeve snapped loudly, loud enough to be heard even over the ruckus.
“Oh, don’t play the fool, princess. Speaking of the people like you care about them. It's beneath you. I speak of the very traditions that crowned you monarch.”
Zant finally turned to face her, deigning to offer her his full attention. He glided closer until he was staring down at her. He leaned till they were nose to nose, and Midna strangled the urge to back away.
I’m stronger than him.
I know it!
I’m not going to back down to this jackass!
His breath, clammy and wet, brushed against her cheek. Zant was the picture of calm indifference, but Midna curled a lip, disgusted, and leaned closer. His stupid intimidation tactics wouldn’t cow her.
“The custom here,” Zant murmured slowly, “is that the most powerful Twili shall be chosen to serve the realm as ruler. If you do, indeed, hold the most power of all, you should have no trouble returning our people to their previous forms. Tell me, highness, how much power have you already expended to save your people? And how does it feel to be a failure?"
Midna glared, and straightened further, steeling her spine. The stringy saliva stuck in the corners of his mouth made her nauseous, but she ignored it, shoving away feeling like she’d been trained.
Nothing could trump her disgust, even as guilt and fear began to worm deeper into her gut.
Instead, she honed her anger into a blade of glass.
“Zant, are you implying that I’m unfit to rule?”
He shrugged, absolutely nonchalant. The frills on his robes shuddered and shivered at the movement and Midna sneered. It really added to his reptilian aura, especially when his grin spread wider than it seemed like it should have.
“Failure is failure,” Zant hissed, “and the Twilight realm has no place for weak rulers.”
She couldn’t hold back a tremble.
He isn't wrong, Midna thought shamefully.
She’d worked as much magic as she could, bleeding herself dry, and nothing had helped her subjects, mutating under a curse she’d never seen before.
She'd been forced to watch as their bodies twisted and snapped, and grew much larger than they'd ever been meant to grow. Each and every one had screamed last past the time she had fled, unable to bear the sight any longer.
Midna wanted to rage and scream and tear at her hair, but that wouldn’t help the twili.
Her already cramping stomach twisted sickeningly at the thought of kowtowing to Zant. He would eat it up, spit it out, and then rub it into her face, and his lust for power would only bring more suffering to her people.
“Oh, Midna,” Zant murmured, smiling, voice full of false pity. He leered. His grin was wider than she'd ever seen it, and Midna suddenly realized she could practically feel the madness in him, ringing through the air.
How have I never noticed it before? It's right there, in his eyes.
Perhaps she’d simply never cared to see it, too confident in her own power.
I’ve been a fool.
“My dear Princess. I want you to give me your fragment of the fused shadow.”
“Zant, what the hell are you blathering about?”
Midna snorted, and tossed her hands into the air, her own robes whirling, hoping that bluster would hide her panic.
There's no way…
“The fragments of fused shadow are in the care of the spirits of the realm of light. You were my father’s aide, and yet you didn’t even know that? And here you claim that I’m unfit to rule.”
She laughed bitterly. The sound stung her throat, tight as it was from the tears that she was viciously holding back.
“Rest assured, Princess,” Zant said, ignoring her laughter. “I do know. The royal family has always been full of liars! And those who aren’t liars are nothing more than the ignorant fools that believed them.”
Her laughter vanished, choked out of her throat. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt blood draining from her face.
No. No!
“What are you saying?”
Zant smiled indulgently, like a parent to a child asking a silly question. “The royal family lied when they said all four fragments had been hidden in the light realm.”
Fear swept over her like a tidal wave, and a chill drained any remaining warmth from her bones.
Is he implying that he knows where the last piece of the fused shadow is hidden?
That closely guarded secret was only passed to the most trustworthy of counselors.
Was Zant truly that important to Father? Is this some sort of cruel power play?
“The last piece should be in possession of the royal family,” Zant said softly, yellow eyes glowing hungrily. “That's you.”
Her heart vanished out of her chest, and left the rest of her insides to pool around her lungs, crushing and squeezing.
Damn it.
Damn it!
He does know.
“Give it to me.” Zant extended his hand, pale and thin, beyond his sleeve. He twitched his cool gray fingers, just once, as if she was a lowly servant.
Midna scoffed, and threw up all the bravado she could muster. Slapping his hand away, she called upon the reservoir of magic inside her soul. This was taking things much too far. She would not accept this from Zant, and she would not leave him unpunished for his impudence.
“Those claims are ridiculous, Zant,” Midna growled past her teeth. “Even if I were going to give anyone the fused shadow, it certainly wouldn’t be you. Its power would overtake you in an instant!”
Midna couldn’t resist a snide little jab as she folded her arms. “And your display here proves you’re too much of a fool to handle that responsibility anyway.”
Her words made him twitch.
“Fool,” he hissed, eyes narrowing.
Midna stepped back, startled, fear spiking through her neck.
She’d never heard him so angry, so venomous, even as prone as he was to raging temper tantrums.
He’d always had a strange way of moving, stiff and sudden. But now, Zant was trembling with rage, muscles seizing and spasming under his robes.
Midna swallowed hard, heart pounding.
There was something growing in the air. Some air of power, dark and slimy, gathering and growing like mold.
Twili magic, even the fused shadow, doesn't feel like this.
What is this?
“You’re a fool, Midna!” Zant screeched. He hunched like an animal, and Midna was now genuinely scared that she was going to get bitten. “I’ll merge with the fused shadow. I'll use it's power! I’ll rip it from your mutated corpse! And I’ll blot out that piercing light with shadow, and create true darkness! I’ll become the king that rules over all! I’m destined to!”
Midna shook her head, even as her heart seized. Her breathing was catching in her throat, shame and fear pulsing throughout her chest.
“You’re destined for execution, Zant. You’re insane!”
The spell Midna hurled was the strongest that she could manage at the moment and it crackled with all of her considerable force and fury, burning a fiery orange, tipped with angry teal, but Zant brushed the magic aside like it was nothing.
He flicked his hand and it just… melted away like mist, splattering plasma onto the dirt to fizzle away.
The magic he cast back, however, hit Midna like a battering ram, tearing at her hair and skin, and ripping away at her power.
She couldn’t stop a wheezing grunt at the impact, lungs clamping shut. It felt as if Zant was tearing away part of her soul, peeling away at the magic that filled her and poking holes in her insides.
Her teeth clacked together, and she bit her tongue as she hit the ground. Pain ate through her and she gasped as Zant’s curse ripped its way through her. Panic was acidic, melting her brain as she realized what was happening.
No, spirits, please, no!
I can't let this happen!
I can’t be left powerless!
She’d rather die than be stripped of her magic. It was who she was, and where she derived her purpose and power.
Zant should not be able to do this! No one should! she thought frantically. Where did this come from?
This attack was foreign. Whatever it was, Midna had a sickening certainty that it was not Twili in origin.
So where…?
Zant stared down at her, something like pity on his face while she writhed in the dirt.
Humiliation burned through her, but fear tempered her anger.
Her internal battle with Zant’s spell was taking all her concentration, and the fire ripping at her insides stripping away her willpower.
She didn’t even dare to try and use the power of the fused shadow. Zant was sure to sense it and rip it from her.
Midna needed help. Desperately. But among her people, warriors were few and far between. They'd become a gentle people, steeped in the softness of twilight. There was little need for warriors, or soldiers. But there was one person Midna could call upon.
“Vulk,” she huffed, ribs aching. Her mouth was dry and her throat burned as she sucked in another breath. “H-help!”
Zant smirked, toothy grin smug.
He towered over Midna, robes swirling in the dry breeze, and kicked a spray of dirt onto her suddenly chilled body. “Such a shame. You don’t even have the power to cry for help properly. Who are you even calling for?”
Behind Zant, Midna’s familiar, her savior, stepped out of the gloom, shaking golden, glowing fur. Red eyes burned like hot coals, and white fangs glistened in the black mist.
At first, the wolf spirit had only appeared sporadically, but Midna had recognized the creature as a guardian spirit, a divine beast meant to protect and lead, and she’d trusted his judgment.
He’d only appeared to her recently, but once it became apparent that his presence was relatively consistent, Midna had taken to calling Vulk.
Though Vulk didn’t speak, his watchful eyes were comforting, and the ways he communicated with sounds and body language often told Midna to stop and reconsider.
Midna didn’t think that he had shown himself to anybody but her, and she’d sort of assumed it was a privilege of the rulers of the twili.
One didn’t just question the presence of a benevolent spirit. It was a private sort of thing, anyway.
Now, Midna suspected that he’d kept his presence private for a moment just such as this. Perhaps he’d come just for that purpose.
Dust ground against her teeth and Midna spit grit out of her mouth, grimacing in pain as she pushed herself up to one elbow.
She had to speak through gritted teeth, but she couldn’t hold back a grin as she gestured behind Zant, and said, “him."
Vulk coiled, and leapt, claws and teeth bared and shining.
The spectral wolf slammed into Zant with his full weight and power, but Zant hardly even stumbled.
Midna spat a curse.
Damn him and his ridiculous height. Why does he have to be so tall?
Zant shrieked, piercing the air with his voice as Vulk tore at him, digging claws into Zant’s flesh and snapping at his face.
Zant ripped at Vulk, and the weight of his spell on Midna suddenly lightened. She gasped as her lungs released, and she stumbled to her feet.
Away, she had to get away, gather herself, see if there was anyone to help her. As she pushed to her feet to flee, Midna’s heart twisted at the sounds of the fight behind her.
Behind the raging screeches from Zant, she could hear pained whimpers from Vulk. Zant’s magic sizzled and crackled in the air behind her.
Midna made the mistake of looking over her shoulder as she ran, and nearly tripped over her own feet as Zant grabbed Vulk around the neck with one of his long hands and slammed the golden wolf into the dirt. The spirit wailed in pain, writhing and snapping in Zant’s grip, but unable to break free.
“Aggravating little pest!” Zant shrieked, fingers buzzing with energy. He straightened, and sliced a hand through the air. His robes flared around him with a sickly glow of magenta light. “You’ll not serve me. Disappear!”
Vulk didn’t even have time to wail. Zant’s spell pierced thick, jagged spears through him in an instant, and his corpse dissolved into nothingness, as if Vulk had never even been there.
“No!”
Midna’s cry ripped through her throat, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood.
Her eyes burned and her vision suddenly swam. She was dizzy and breathless, and spirits, it’s like he’s tearing my soul in two!
She may have only known Vulk for a short time, but his silent companionship had been so comforting, and she’d felt validated that a familiar spirit had appeared to her. They weren’t particularly common, and she’d been enjoying having something all to herself.
Vulk had been a steady companion in the time after her father’s passing and now he was gone, like he’d never existed.
Midna wished she could cradle his heavy head in her lap, and card her hands through the soft fur around his ears.
She wanted to cry.
But she couldn’t.
Not now, or it would be for nothing. She continued running, away, down the hill, like a coward.
Her bare feet ached as they slapped the ground, and they caught on patches of sharp scrub grass. She could hear Zant’s shrieks as he chased. Her mind was a whirlwind of shame and shock, but Zant’s original spell was still eating at her, poking holes in her attempts at magic.
She had no idea what to do. So all she did was run.
Is there anyone, anyone who could help?
Her mind whirled through the people she knew, those she might trust, but they were all cursed.
She alone remained untouched by Zant’s original spell.
That became more and more clear as Midna sprinted through the outskirts of the city, passing by writhing, transformed twili. Any residue of hope that she’d had faded, and the tears she’d stubbornly held back finally spilled.
Midna didn’t know where she was running to. She wasn’t even sure it mattered at this point.
When Zant finally cornered her, exhausted and weakened, he laughed, long and loud. A glowing sphere of magic, buzzing with power, gathered at his fingertips. His tasseled sleeves fluttered under its gravity.
Damn, those things are annoying.
“You’re powerless, Midna!” Zant gloated. Spittle flecked from his lips, and caught in the foamy corners of his mouth.
“You're alone and a failure.” He lifted his hand. His spell was unlike any other that Midna had seen. It was red and inscribed with geometric runes and patterns, and Midna couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.
It hovered above her, like a bloody moon, ready to rain despair and death.
“Begone, and perish,” Zant intoned, eyes bright and wild. His teeth glinted in the dusklight, and Midna knew she was about to die.
I just wish I'd managed to do something.
Anything.
Then my life and death at least might have been worth something.
“Despair, and burn in the realm of light while I take what is destined to me!”
The spell crashed down on her head like an avalanche, and everything was gone in a sear of bloody light.
Link blinked at the flash of the setting sun, squinting at the glow. The clouds were brushed with reds and yellows, and the sky was quickly purpling. Cool mist pooled under in the hollows of tree roots, and crickets chirped. Beautiful. Nice to be heading home, though.
Rusl walked beside him while Link led his mare by the reins. The wood of the canyon bridge creaked and clacked under her large hooves, but he knew the bridge would hold. It always had before. Life in this corner of the world was peaceful. It always had been, and he Link figured it always would be, ignoring the troublesome news they’d received lately, anyway.
He swiped sweat off his brow in the cooling evening before he could feel the chill. His and Rusl's handiwork was evidenced in the cords of wood tied to Epona’s back.
“The sky is beautiful this time of night, isn’t it, Link?” Rusl's voice pierced the quiet evening, interrupting the cricket song. He studied Link with deep-set, gray-green eyes.
Link swept his gaze over the clouds, admiring the scenery. I think this is my favorite time of day. It meant many things, including rest, quiet, cool evening air, and dinnertime. “Yes,” he agreed. “It’s very lovely. Quiet, too. You can hear the bugs and animals. Usually means dinnertime, too."
Rusl chuckled, bobbing his head indulgently. “You do enjoy that, don’t you,” he laughed. Then he smiled, and scratched at his rough beard, considering. “You’ve always liked the quiet too. I suppose this would be one of the times of day you’d enjoy most, then.”
Link cocked his head and nodded, combining the movement into a shrug. “I suppose so,” he said quietly. He craned his head to the sky, searching for the pale sliver of moon, or the first stars. “I like the light and the shadows. The stars are nice too. They remind me of when you taught me the constellations.”
Rusl grinned and reached to slap Link on the shoulder. “You did love that. I’d wager you could still name them all.”
Link smiled and shrugged. “Probably, but only because you made up all those interesting stories.”
“Tall tales, the lot of them!”
"Yeah, and you loved making them up!"
They shared a laugh. Evening bird song was sleepy and soft in the golden woods.
The pair walked in silence for a moment, before Rusl sobered a bit. “I, and many others I’ve known have always felt a strange sense of melancholy at this time of evening,” he mused. “The light vanishes, and shadows grow. They say that dusk is the only time that our world intersects with the world of those spirits who’ve left us behind. I think their regrets slip through easiest, and that’s what we feel around this time.”
“The intersection of our world with theirs,” Link whispered under his breath, curious. “What exactly does that mean?”
Who exactly were 'they?' he wondered. Are they the spirits of the dead? The damned? Those left cursed and abandoned by the goddesses? Does... everyone go there?
Rusl shrugged, and gazed into the depths of the forest. “I don’t know for sure. I feel that everyone’s thoughts are different. There might be books on the subject, but I only really know what I’ve heard from others. It’s not something that I’ve researched myself.”
Link hummed and nodded.
Well, that's a bit disappointing.
Caught up in his thoughts, he hardly noticed as they stepped off the bridge. Link helped Rusl drag the heavy wooden gate at the end of the bridge closed. He used a long slip of cord to tie the gates securely shut.
“Rusl,” Link asked, shaking his thoughts away. “Why do you always close the gate in the evening? You come here every night to make sure it’s shut. Isn’t the kingdom at peace? I know we’ve heard news of monster attacks, but those are from villages days away. We shouldn’t need to worry about anything dangerous, right? Especially here in the forest.”
Rusl cast a small smile over his shoulder as he tied another knot in the cord. “We should always be wary of danger, Link,” he said. He straightened, groaning as his knees cracked. “I thought that I taught you that in our swordplay lessons.”
Rusl motioned down the grassy trail, gesturing for Link to lead the way. “But I do understand your question,” he continued as they resumed their walk. “Yes, the attacks have happened in far away places. But the forest is dangerous in its own way. And if things are stirring further away, you can be sure they’re stirring in here too. In the forest, in the gloom of twilight, many dangerous powers sleep. The gate serves as a barrier, to protect the village.”
Not a very sturdy barrier, Link thought derisively.
The construct wasn’t even solid, and the wood was getting old and sunstained.
I doubt it would keep out anything, especially not any beasts that might live in the forest.
He pictured the wide holes in the gate’s design, and the thin cord tying it shut.
Definitely not.
He decided not to point it out. If it had worked in the past, what did he know?
Nothing odd had happened in Ordon for years, at least, not since he’d been adopted by Rusl. Surely, with a record like that, everything would be fine. Nothing would come so deep into the forest. Link absentmindedly scratched at a burning itch on the back of his left hand. Damn bugs. That was one problem living in the woods. There was always something ready to eat you.
The duo slowed to a stop in front of a large treehouse, built directly into the trunk of a massive, dead tree. It was Link’s house, and Rusl had helped him build it last year, around the time that Link had turned sixteen. He’d moved into his home (and out of Rusl’s) at the beginning of the previous fall.
Now, at nearly the same time of year, Link was only days away from turning seventeen and officially becoming of age. He was still slender, and not very tall, but he’d built a lot of muscle working the farm and tending the goats that Ordon village boasted. Not to mention that he spent most of his free time exploring the woods, climbing trees, or proudly practicing his swordplay, which he had picked up incredibly quickly, according to Rusl.
Rusl untied a bundle of wood from Epona’s back, and dropped it near the pile under Link’s door.
“Thanks for your help,” Rusl said, brushing the splinters off his hands. “I know you were working hard today.”
Link nodded and grinned, shaking his head. “Not a problem. I’ll walk you home and help you unload Epona.”
The mare, upon hearing her name, snorted and huffed out a breath. Link rubbed her nose. “Ahh, hush you,” he murmured softly, grinning and knocking his forehead against her cheek. “This is easy work for you.”
Rusl chuckled. “I was counting on it. Uli’s sure to have dinner ready by now,” he said, leading the way to the village trail. “Join us! It’s been a while since you’ve been by. I know you enjoy your solitude, but Uli, Colin and I miss you. Mealtime is your favorite time of day, and I remember that bottomless pit you call a stomach, so you must be hungry. And I know you’re excited about your trip, so I’m sure that makes you even hungrier!”
Link pumped his fist, and skipped a step.
He's not wrong.
Uli was the best cook in all of Ordon, and his stomach knew it… Although, if he was completely honest, the thought of his trip actually was actually twisting his stomach with nerves, though he couldn’t tell if it was making him hungry or nauseous. Whatever he was feeling, he was not going to risk this chance.
He was not going to mention his anxiety. Not to anyone. Except Epona.
And well, Ilia…
Inside the village, late as it was, it was quiet, but lively nonetheless. Many villagers relaxed on their porches, watching the fireflies that were beginning to glow, or finishing up last minute chores. They waved as Link and Rusl passed by. Link smiled and waved back. These villagers had been a part of his life since he was a child. They were practically family at this point.
As they approached a little house set near the back of the village, Link was nearly bowled over by a small set of arms. He stumbled, nearly toppling Rusl over into the creek, and yelped.
“Careful, Colin!” Rusl scolded goodnaturedly, rustling the little boy’s cornsilk hair. Colin obediently backed away, but hovered close by, rocking back and forth excitedly. “At least let Link eat before you try to kill him. You know how he gets when he’s hungry.” Rusl hopped onto the small wooden porch and kissed his very pregnant wife, Uli, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“It’s good to see you, Link dear,” Uli said, stepping around Rusl and embracing Link as he dropped the cords of wood from Epona’s back into the pile. “You’ve been so busy lately, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages! And now you’re going to be leaving soon!”
“Sorry Uli.” Link returned her hug, enjoying the warmth of her motherly arms. “I won’t be gone forever though. It'll only be a few weeks.”
“Oh, don’t worry too much about it, dear,” Uli whispered. She kissed his cheek and let him go, waddling back upstairs. “I'm sure you’re excited to be off on your own. I know you’ve been practicing all hours of the day and night with your sword. But I worry about you! It just feels like you’re growing up and leaving me! Just promise to drop by every now and then, and not forget. And to be safe, very safe.”
“I promise,” Link said, squeezing her hands in his. He turned and winked over his shoulder at Colin. “I’ll be careful. And I couldn’t stay away from my little brother forever, anyway.”
Colin smiled, showing off a missing tooth. “Mom made bread today! It’s fresh, and I helped her too, even though Malo says only girls make bread.”
“Well, Uli taught me how to make bread too,” Link shrugged. He leaned down conspiratorially to Colin, patting his shoulder. “Because girls definitely aren’t the only ones eating bread. Plus I don’t have a girl, so I needed to know for myself.”
Colin blinked languidly. His pale blue eyes and soft face always made him look perfectly innocent. "But you have Ilia," he said, plainly
Link sputtered, choked on a glob of his own saliva, and hacked until his throat cleared. Heat flooded his neck and cheeks, and the tips of his ears burned. He resisted the urge to rub at them.
"Are you all right, Link?" Colin asked, staring at him curiously.
Whenever Colin said such things, Link could never quite tell if the boy knew what he was insinuating or if he sincerely was that oblivious.
Link and Ilia had been flitting around each other since they were children, and even more so lately, with Link growing into a strong, independent young man, and Ilia blossoming quickly into womanhood. Ilia was Link's best friend, even if it was by default because they were the only teens in the whole village.
The only problem was that Link was never sure what Ilia was thinking. Link wasn't a people person on the best of days, but Ilia was especially confusing, with her sweetness and then her sudden, nonsensical swaps to waspish annoyance.
Link was pretty sure he'd never understand women. Sometimes even Uli had weird reactions to things that Rusl said or did.
“I’m, uh… I’m fine, thanks Colin,” Link said. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, swiping at the raised hairs there. “Ilia and I are just friends. There’s… nothing going on there.”
Colin’s large doe eyes stared into Link’s. Link wondered if he looked as guilty as he felt, although why he felt guilty, he wasn't sure.
There's really nothing going on between us... at least nothing that I understand.
Colin shrugged, like Link hadn’t just made a complete fool of himself. He was just glad Uli and Rusl were focused on their own conversation.
“Okay,” Colin agreed. Then he grabbed Link’s arm to drag him into the house. Link followed eagerly. He could almost taste the fresh bread and honey that was sure to be waiting inside.
And that was when the goatman called.
“LINK!”
Link couldn’t hold back a sigh, rolling his eyes. Fado had literally the worst timing.
Right before dinner, seriously?
He’s relied on me more and more lately to herd the goats back into the shed. He’s got his horse. Why can’t he finish up on his own?
“You mind helping me with the goats, Link? You know somethin’s gotten into them lately, and they’re puttin’ up a real fight tonight! I’ve been trying to get the last coupla goats in fer hours.”
Fado had come sprinting down the hill, and skidded to a stop in front of Link. Epona whinnied and stepped away, stomping. Fado rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“Sorry Epona, sorry Link,” he huffed. “I know I’ve been asking a lot of ya, but you’re just so good at it, and I’m getting old, ya know? These old bones don’t move around so great anymore, so I’m taking advantage of ya before you leave! Help me out tonight, and you can come in at tenth hour tomorrow mornin’.”
“It’s fine, Fado,” Link said, though he knew the man wasn’t much older than forty. “I’ll be right there. Grab me a chunk of your bread, would you please, Colin? And tell Uli not to wait dinner on me. I’m not sure how long this will take.”
Why the hell were the goats so aggressive today? Link wondered angrily, rubbing his sore hip (bruised from a ram’s horns) and scraped elbow (courtesy of the fall caused by the same ram’s horns). They had gotten more and more cantankerous lately, a far cry from their usual gentle disposition.
Uli had helped him clean his wounds, and had rubbed them with some of her herbal remedies. Not as good as potions, but much more abundant out here in the forest. Not to mention, cheaper.
Certainly, during the dark gray light before the stars gained any true radiance, the goats had acted as if they were afraid of something. Link and Fado had both checked the ground outside the shed for snakes or rodents, and had checked thoroughly inside the shed too. The only thing Link had found was goat droppings, hay, and a few unusually large spiders with white markings on their backs.
Nothing too strange. And yet, the goats had acted terrified and angry when Link, riding atop Epona, had tried to herd them inside the shed. It wasn’t until true dark, when the moon began to rise and shed a silvery glow upon the field, that the goats began to calm.
Still, Link had needed to wrestle the last stubborn ram into the shed. That wrestle had left him with his current aches. Damn thing.
Climbing the ladder into his treehouse, Link opened the door and felt his way to the fireplace. He always kept his firemaking tools in the same place, and at this point, lighting a fast fire was nearly instinctive, so within only a few minutes, he had a glowing hearth warming the cool room.
Link sat back on his haunches and let himself relax. He enjoyed these types of moments, with only the flickering shadows to accompany him. Almost as much as I enjoy eating, he thought, rubbing his belly. Uli’s bread was always incredible.
As the smallest pieces of wood burned to glowing orange-red coals, Link finally pulled himself away from the hearth, and readied himself for bed.
He scrubbed his face and slipped into his overlarge sleeping tunic, one which had once belonged to Rusl, and carefully folded his Ordon wrappings. As he organized them on the shelf, he rubbed the seams between his fingers. The thick threaded embroidery around the edges caught against the roughness of his callouses.
Link loved his Ordon wraps. He’d been gifted his first set by Uli and Rusl after he’d moved in with them. They’d been a replacement for the singed and dirty tunic that he’d been wearing when Rusl had found a six-year old Link stumbling through the woods, lost and alone, unsure of what had happened or where he had come from.
Uli and Rusl had tried to find where Link might be from, but nothing had come of it, except for news of a completely burned out village some two and a half day's travel from the forest, across Hyrule field, close to Castle Town.
Nobody had ever come for Link, and all efforts that Uli and Rusl had made to find Link’s origins had come to naught. When they had finally gotten Link to speak, all that Link claimed to remember were flashes of faces, children playing together with wooden swords, and soldiers. The name of his family, or his previous home escaped him. It seemed to be buried under a haze of fear and smoke that Link didn’t dare poke into.
One thing he actively tried to ignore was a foggy memory of a woman with honey blond hair and a tear-streaked face screaming at him that it wasn’t his fault, to run, to get out of the house before he got hurt. After that, there were flashes of flames and smoke, and then heat and wind and emptiness, and then, trees for ages.
And finally, Rusl shaking his shoulders and asking if he was all right.
Now, Link had been living as a Hylian in Ordon for more than ten years.
Link often wondered if there was anyone outside of Ordon who might know of him and if he had any family members. Parents, brothers, or sisters? He’d been wanting for years to travel to the burned out village that he suspected was his former home, but he’d never had the chance. Rusl had always worried about him going alone, and had promised that this was to be the year they could visit, but with Uli heavily pregnant, Link had begun to doubt that more and more.
But now, there was Mayor Bo’s charge.
Link had been gifted the responsibility to take an Ordonian-made sword and shield to Hyrule castle, to swear fealty to the kingdom on behalf of Ordon Village for Princess Zelda’s upcoming coronation. It had originally been Rusl’s duty, but with Uli’s baby coming so soon, he hadn’t felt comfortable leaving.
And so, for the first time in ten years, Link was going beyond the villages that bordered the forest, and into the very heart of Hyrule. He would be able to see the castle, and explore some of what life was like outside of the forest.
Rusl had seemed a bit reluctant, but he was finally trusting Link to make his own decisions! Link still smiled thinking about it. He understood Rusl’s worries, really, he did, but Link had been living on his own for a year now, and he was confident enough in his sword skills that he could protect himself against anything dangerous. And if he couldn’t, Epona was fast enough to get them both out of there.
The one thing about the whole situation that still confused Link had been Ilia’s reaction. He’d told Ilia of his desire to travel outside of the village several times. She’d always been more or less supportive, though perhaps a bit distant.
But when Link had told her excitedly about his upcoming trip, she’d gone stone faced, then stalked away after stiffly congratulating him.
He’d blinked after her retreating figure.
What was that about? he'd wondered, scratching his neck, and rubbing at the back of his hair. When no ideas sprang forth, he'd given up thinking about it.
I’ll never understand women.
He ran a hand one more time over the wrappings. These wrappings were a part of who he was, and they always would be. But he had to admit that there was another part of him that was distinctly different from the villagers he lived with.
He was a hylian among humans. He was definitely shorter and more slender-boned then any of the Ordonians, and his elfish features and long, pointed ears made him stick even out more. The villagers had never treated him as different, but the knowledge of the difference sat in the back of Link’s brain like a toad on a toadstool, quiet, but stolid.
Link shook his thoughts away. The important thing was that the villagers treated him like family. He felt it, and knew he had a home here. He knew they loved him, and he loved them. But there was still that insatiable curiosity within him that demanded he leave Ordon, just once. He had to know what his life could have been.
As Link climbed into his bed, he rubbed idly at the irritating burn on the back of his left hand. Wrapping his blankets around himself, he relaxed with a grin, pushing away his thoughts of his trip for the moment. He needed to be well-rested for that duty.
Only the goddesses know what will happen on the road.