(ZGen/Act/Rom)Wars of the Hero[T]

Yes, Layke, I am actually bringing this one back. I decided to try and ressurrect my old fanfic--from the bottom up. A lot of you probably remember this from the first time around--and I'm hoping you like the changes and improvements, and find that I'm much more prompt on the updates, not to mention the upkeep.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This first chapter only took about a week to write--which is pretty good, considering it's 17 pages, single-spaced, size 10 font. If can keep up the pace and keep up my other two works--I'll be good to go. I tried to keep a lot of the integral introduction stuff intact--the description of the setting at the beginning, the introductions of Link's mother and Link himself--and I think I did a pretty good job. I'll admit that a lot of this was drawn from a combination of Lord of the Rings and the introduction we saw in Twilight Princess, but I'm guessing most of you caught on to that. Arynnia is definitely modeled after Toaru Village, and the entire Calatia Fringe is modeled after the Shire from Lord of the Rings.

I wanted Link's female friend to play a more integral role in the main storyline, so I pulled out... Tessia, I believe her name was... and changed her to Ilia, and added a whole lot more dialogue with her. I actually plan to have Ilia present throughout--not just in Arynnia--so get to know her well; she'll be here for awhile. I also revamped Yune's character, as well as Takim, and changed Koron's name to Fado. Watch their personalities as well.

The Legend of Zelda — Wars of the Hero


Prologue – The Fable of the Hero

A great many years ago, chaos dictated this land of Hyrule. While its peoples struggled for control, an evil monarch and his army of shadows seized authority over the realm, aiming to enslave the populous and eradicate any signs of resistance. In the current state of turmoil, no proper alliance could be made to overthrow the conquerors. Hyrule fell quickly to the legions of darkness, and their malicious leader crowned himself emperor over the fallen nation.

And so the tyrant began his reign of terror, spreading his tainted influence over the whole region. The once prosperous kingdom of Hyrule was shrouded in darkness and its peoples, divided as they were, could do nothing to stem the calamity. The people prayed for a miracle to deliver them from this dark hour and restore Hyrule to the path of justice and truth; to reunite the peoples beneath one banner and overpower the oppression that had imprisoned them.

That miracle came in the form of a great warrior with a legendary blade, which some called the blade of evil’s bane. He single-handedly assembled a force of opposition against this dark ruler, and with his courageous army, he marched on the strongholds of shadow, where the most epic battle the world had ever known erupted. The warrior clashed swords with his adversary, the evil monarch himself, and, when the dust settled, the people of Hyrule were free once again.

This conflict, known as the Imprisoning War, would forever go down in history as the final battle for Hyrulean unity and the way of justice. But now that the war was finished, a supreme leadership had to be decided. One of the great Hylian kings was ascended to the throne, and he swore that his line would rule fairly, justly, and equally over all the realms of Hyrule. And so the Great King Alexander I was crowned, and Hyrule was united once more.

Upon seeing this great order restored, the warrior took his leave, departing into the Lost Woods, the forest of mystery. His deeds were heralded among those of the ancient heroes of legend, and the gods, satisfied with the battle’s outcome, glorified the hero by leaving behind a relic of incredible power. Three Golden Triangles, each representing the three distinct qualities the hero possessed: Power, Wisdom and Courage. If one could collect the three Golden Triangles, he could have his heart’s deepest desire granted; anything from limitless power to immortality. This “Triforce” was sealed away at the heart of the world, safe from the clutches of evil.

It is said that when Hyrule is once again terrorized by the threat of evil, the descendant of the legendary hero will take up the ancient sword, rally the armies of Hyrule, and march on the citadel of evil once again, all to deliver Hyrule from eternal darkness. And when that day comes, it is said that the Triforce will be united, and one’s wishes fulfilled.

But no one knows whether that wish will be spent for better or worse…

Chapter One – A Well-Deserved Celebration

The forest was very still—quiet enough for one to fully appreciate the singing of the birds or the whistling of the wind through the trees. Beams of sunlight poked in through the canopies, illuminating the underbrush and nourishing the vernal buds so they might flower. Every sound and color blended harmoniously, from the breeze swaying the branches up above, to the rippling of the brook as its fishy inhabitants leaped up from the water to snatch any insects unfortunate enough to pass overhead.

High above the wood, the sun shone blazingly, the heavens were painted a brilliant sky blue and peppered with clouds drifting on a drafty journey to who-knew-where. A flock of jays fluttered past, savoring the wonderful weather before soaring off to construct their springtime nests. Meanwhile, a twosome of rabbits emerged from the thicket to partake of the first invigorating fruits of the spring harvest—radishes, most specifically—indulging themselves in the flavorful yields of the fields.

Children could be heard frolicking in the village plaza, their parents hard at work sowing and garnering the harvest produce in preparation of upcoming festivities. School would soon be in session, and fruit and vegetable markets that were closed in wintry months would be reopened to merchandise their respective comestibles. And so the townsfolk opened their eyes, stepped out into the sun and embraced the start of a new year—the end of the winter hibernation and the beginning of the season of life. Festivals and parties of various sorts were already in the planning, the foremost of which celebrating a much-anticipated birthday.

Today was the forty-fourth birthday of the ever-illustrious Elen, Golden Lady of Arynnia and eldest sister to Qoryn, the mayor. All of Arynnia—nay, even the entire forest fringe—adored her for her deep-seated compassion and unsurpassable beauty, save perhaps this mayor brother, who did not much enjoy being overshadowed in popularity, much less by his own sister. And, as might be expected, despite the fact the whole town—as well as some of the neighboring ones—was in an uproar over preparations for the forthcoming event, Qoryn still managed to hold his sister’s birthday in great discontent. In all his time as Grand Gubernator of Arynnia—as he liked to label his office—his own birthday had not once undergone anywhere near the level of hoopla that hers seemed to attain year after year without fail.

The celebration this year promised to be especially spectacular. A few of the delegates from other forest villages nearby had been invited to attend the last party, and they had been so thrilled with it that they had requested that they be allowed to bring their townships’ respective citizens with them to enjoy the next one. Of course the party-planning committee was quick to agree, and so, for the first time ever, Arynnia would be hosting not only their own, but virtually the full populations of both the town of Saria and the Fringe’s self-proclaimed patron city of Remiera as well. Thankfully, both towns would be bringing in some additional food to ensure that nobody starved. One couldn’t hope to imagine how Arynnia could possibly have planned to feed so many people by themselves.

Link glanced up from his novella to stare out at the party flats below. This year there seemed to be a bigger turnout of volunteers to help prepare party games and set out tables and otherwise put things in order for the festivities—more than he could ever remember showing up to lend a hand in the past. He had to say, he was quite impressed by how profoundly his mother’s kindness had impacted the community, and took great pride and honor in being her only son. The words of Jean Castalle, the novelist whose work he was currently immersed in, rang true: “How precious it is, indeed, to know that the efforts of a loved one have been given all due appreciation.” Perhaps someday he, himself, would become worthy of such admiration.

He went back to his reading, and after a few moments he glanced up again to see whether any more progress had been made, only to find himself staring straight into the face of his best friend Ilia, her face so close to his own that he was amazed he hadn’t sensed her approach, much less felt her breath against him. While he did not let out a yelp, likely much to Ilia’s disappointment, his heart did skip a few beats, and he found it difficult to recover his breath. “You know,” he said matter-of-factly, reclining back against the tree but not breaking his gaze, “it’s rude to interrupt someone who is trying to read.”

“Perhaps,” she said, seeming not at all impressed by the thought, “but you sir, ought to know that it is just as impolite to make yourself scarce when there’s food to be had. Or did you forget that you were supposed to meet your mother and I at home for lunch half-an-hour ago? For someone who fancies himself a gentleman, you are awfully dreadful at keeping up with your appointments.”

Now Link broke eye contact with Ilia, though not so much due to the fact he was richly embarrassed that he had effortlessly wrecked the lunch plans the three of them had arranged weeks ago than from the unnerving death stare she was giving him. “Gee, it’s already one o’ clock? Time certainly flies when you’re reading a Jean Castalle! You know, I’m thinking maybe I should get one of those personal timepieces so that I can—“

She didn’t even bother to permit him to finish. Then again, it could only be expected—Ilia had never really managed to be a very patient person, especially when her plans were dashed or if she was particularly stressed. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter much whether the stress was positive or negative, because, on this occasion, the anxiety in anticipation of the festivities was tremendous. “We don’t have time for your antics, Link—the food is already getting cold. If we hurry, some of it might still be unsullied by the time we get back.”

After he rose to his feet, Link pocketed his book and grinned cheerfully at her. “Then what are we still doing here?” he said. “T’would be a terrible thing to let a good lunch go to waste on my account.” Ilia was still giving him the cold shoulder, but only barely managed to stifle the smile Link could perceive creeping across her features. And so they set off for Bungler Bridge and the road home, where their meal would be waiting for them.

As they made their way back to the main road, two boys, obviously siblings, darted across the path, nearly knocking Link off balance. They appeared to be pursuing something, and by the look of things they had almost caught up to their quarry. Link’s assumptions were confirmed when, mere moments later, a shout rang, “I got ‘im! I got ‘im!” and the lads scurried back onto the road, one of them clutching a small bristly creature to his chest.

“Lemme see, lemme see!” the other boy cried out, rushing to join his companion. His eyes went wide when his brother held out the exceedingly bushy squirrel, who had by now given up on making any sort of struggle. “Wow—he’s a big one! Let’s show sissy, let’s show sissy!” And the two boys ran across the bridge and vanished into the rabble that crowded the marketplace up ahead.

Thinking back on his childhood, Link recalled his own experiences with nature, and several similar instances came to mind. He always used to scurry through the woods as a little boy, trying to capture fairies in his bug-catching net. For long hours he would ferret them, but on only one occasion did he actually snare one. His father had suggested he put it in a bottle, and so he kept his prize in his room as a sort of memento of his youth. But he had been forced to release the fairy one night, years later, when his mother fell acutely ill.

He knew as well as anybody that fairies had healing powers, and so he had uncorked his bottle that the fairy might work its magic on his mother before letting it flutter off out the open window and into the freedom of the crisp night air. When he had taken that bottle from his bookshelf, he had caught a glimpse of the forlorn expression on the fairy’s face, and had vowed never again to hold a fairy against its will, no matter the circumstances. He felt guilty enough after keeping that one cooped up for as long as he had.

“So, Ili, what have you cooked up for us today?” he asked as they started across the bridge. “I do hope that whatever it is turned out better than that ‘pudding’ you tried to make a few days ago. That was absolutely dreadful.”

Ilia didn’t look back, which was probably for the better, since she probably was wearing her angry face, which, while Link did find it rather amusing to behold, usually meant that he had a slap coming his way. “You’d best be careful, gentle sir—you’re already on my bad list as it is, and I really don’t think you want to find out what’ll happen if you wreck what little esteem I have left for you.”

“Well forgive me for being brutally honest,” Link replied, failing to suppress a grin. “We can’t have you running around making meals for everyone if your cooking is so bad. Someone might end up dead.”

“Perhaps,” she said grimly, before laughing that evil, shrill laugh she let out whenever she thought of something particularly ominous to banter with. “You’d best beware what you foretell, my dear, lest your prophecies come to pass.”

Only the closest of friends could heave so many insults, death threats, and other fighting words to and fro without literally being at one another’s throats. As Elen liked to put it, “The two of you make quite the dynamic duo.” They were utterly inseparable, which was no wonder to anyone, especially considering that they had both been the only child in very loving and very close families and had lived next-door to one another since birth. Practically siblings, they were called, they got along just like brother and sister, fought like siblings—and even shared the same dirty blonde hair.

Birds of a feather flock together, as the saying went.

Soon they were immersed in a sea of shoppers hastening to buy their crops before the second planting of the season. The marketplaces were always bustling with customers during harvest-time—those who weren’t looking for fresh seeds to sow were out searching for gifts to present to his mother, from pendants to earrings, and, of course, the usual bouquet. His living-room usually looked—and smelled—like a greenhouse during the weeks after her birthday. Seasons greetings in their finest form, indeed.

They made their way through the market as quickly as possible and started down the path to Link’s house, where Elen was standing on the porch, giving Link that “you’re lucky I’m happy to see you” face so typical of mothers. “Link!” she said, tapping her foot impatiently. “You’re late… but I suppose I could have expected no less. You are your father’s son, after all.”

“Am I meant to take that as a compliment?” Link said in a futile attempt to lighten the mood.

Ilia shook her head, then stepped forward and said, “I found him sitting at the top of Bungler’s Hill, poring over that book of his—again.”

“Ah, I see…” Elen muttered, raising an eyebrow. “And what do you have to say for yourself, Link?”

Link hung his head in shame, then, apologetically, said, “I’m sorry, Mother. You of all people know how difficult it is to set down a good read. Can you blame me?”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right…” Elen sighed. “But that’s still no excuse. In any case, you two had better wash up—lunch is more than ready enough as it is.” Link turned to stick his tongue out at Ilia, who promptly socked him one on the shoulder. “Come now, hop to it!”

“Yes, Mother…” Link said, rushing into the house and straight to the washroom. Ilia just shook her head and rolled her eyes, and then followed after him.

As it turned out, Ilia had cooked up an unbelievable meal—a pair of luscious filleted fish, a nice loaf of bread made fresh from the Arynnian fields, along with several bunches of grapes, the same used by the breweries in their fine wines. Link had liked the meal so bunch that he devoured more food than Ilia and his mother combined. Of course, Ilia was quick to take note of this. “Well, Link?” she said. “Better than my pudding, isn’t it?”

He didn’t even stop chewing to answer. “Mmmph, yes—much,” he said through a mouthful of fish. Then he let out a chuckle, practically choking on his food. “So, Mother… how does it feel to be so old?”

Ilia gasped loudly and reached across the table to smack him on the arm. “Oh hush. Elen, I can’t believe you let him talk to you that way!”

But Elen simply ignored her comment, giggling and turning to look intently at Link. “It feels… enlivening… invigorating… now that I think about it…” she said, winking at him. “But, I suppose when the whole town celebrates your birthday, the prospect of just making it to the next one does start to grow on you a little bit.”

Ilia just sat there, mouth agape, unable to take her eyes off Elen. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, Elen… I think you go way too easy on him.”

“Well, you must remember, Ilia,” Elen explained. “I don’t have Calus around to tease me anymore. If Link hadn’t filled his shoes, I don’t know how I could have kept myself sane over the past eight years.”

She still couldn’t believe her ears. She cast one quick sideways glance at Link, who simply shrugged and went back to his plate, and then said, “”Well, that certainly explains why everything that comes out of his mouth is rude, discourteous, or otherwise uncouth.”

At this, Link dropped his fork and nearly coughed up all the food in his mouth. “All right, now—I’ve had enough. I don’t appreciate that!”

“But it is true, isn’t it?”

“Hmm… yeah, you have a point there…”

“Touché.” And she shot him a gigantic grin. “Actually, what I’d really like to know is how in the world Eryn puts up with you.”

Almost immediately, Elen came back with, “Because, despite the fact that he has a quick tongue and a smart mouth, he can be a real sweetheart when the time comes.” She reached over and squeezed her son’s hand, then shot up with a start and added, “Oh, and Link… did you tell Ilia what you’ve got cooked up for Eryn tonight?”

Ilia squeaked quite loudly and said, “Oh my goodness—are you finally going to propose?”

“Aww, Mother… must you spoil everything?” Link sighed. “Yes, I’m going to propose to her tonight. I bought some of those newfangled fireworks off of that old peddler, I think Beedle was his name, and I’ve even arranged for a pyrotechnic to come out and put on a bloody good display. That should be enough of a magical touch for the night, as if Mother’s birthday parties ever really needed them. Then I’ll probably take her to our spot in the woods, and then finally pop the question. Hopefully it’ll all go perfectly.”

“Aww, you’re such a romantic. Can you marry me instead?”

The question, no matter how comical, was a bit of a shock to Link, considering that she’d never joked about anything of the sort before. They certainly got along well enough, and knew each other more than well enough. But, there was, of course, the reality that they were already too much like relatives as it was. Things would have been far too awkward. “As tempting as the idea is, Ilia,” he responded, “I really don’t know if I could handle living with you, much less waking up to you, every day for the rest of my life. Not that you could possibly make my life more miserable than it already is.”

Ilia narrowed her eyes at him, obviously not amused—which was perfectly normal, he supposed. “On second thought, I take back what I said. It would be dreadful to be married to you.”

Link winked at her devilishly. “Ah, that’s much better… For a moment there, I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.” She punched him on the arm for the third time over the past twenty minutes—she’d probably given him quite the bruise by now. “Besides, I’ve already gotten a ring made and everything.”

“Ooooh, a ring!” Ilia squealed. “Can I see it?”

“Gee, you can’t wait for anything, can you?” he plucked a grape from the vine and popped it in his mouth. “You can see it when I announce our engagement. That is… if she says yes…”

“Bah, quit being so modest. You know she’s going to say yes. You two were made for each other.”

Of course he knew—that’s why he had finally decided to go through with this. At long last he had complete certainty that they could be perfectly happy together, and that their love was legendary. But, like all good things, it had risen from humble beginnings.

They had met at a feast in Dale two years previous. Their relationship had started out purely as a friendship, with the two gathering with friends at festivals and such, but it very quickly matured to a deep affection. They could often be found walking along creeks and wandering through the hills that divided Arynnia and Saria. This budding young love brought the twin villages closer together, and their citizens began jointly celebrating in times of merriment, at occasions such as Elen’s birthday or the seasonal feasts.

And, as their towns were bound in friendship, so their love was bound as well.

For two years he had been courting her, his incredible sense of adventure intriguing her every step of the way as they went for lengthy strolls in the wilderness. She found a certain comfort when talking with him that made her feel trusted, something she seldom received from her parents. Being very prominent citizens and members of the town council, they were the sort of people who luxuriated in exerting whatever power they had, and much of that control was exercised on Eryn. They had uncharacteristically permitted their daughter to see Link, despite the inescapable truth that they utterly detested him. Truly, he couldn’t imagine why they would hate him so—he hadn’t come across many people who had ever expressed any sort of displeasure with him whatsoever, yet they made sure to do so at every possible occasion.

His own mother, on the other hand, had been thrilled to meet Eryn. Whenever Link would ask her to, she would happily welcome his sweetheart into her home, making sure she was as comfortable as conceivably possible and stepping out when she felt the two of them needed time alone. She supported Link’s romantic antics, and was especially pleased that he’d brought a sweet and responsible girl like Eryn home. “Now, if only your father had done the same,” she would always say, and Link would always reply: “Come now, Mother—had Father married a respectable young woman I should hardly have ever come into being.” Eryn would often tell him that he and his mother were the cutest mother-son pair in the history of Hylia-kind.

Now he and his sweetheart were both of age, old enough to marry—without parental consent, that is, which Link had a feeling would be the only way he could ever tear her from her parents’ grip. Link had been working out the details of his proposal for weeks now. He would first have to make absolutely certain she enjoyed every moment of his mother’s party, but he had no doubt in his mind that these things would take care of themselves. He hadn’t ordered that fireworks show for nothing, after all.

He had already decided he was going to take her to the outskirts of the Lost Woods, to the secret waterfall grove they’d found on their walk during her first visit to Arynnia. They would depart from the party grounds sometime in the dead of night, when the music began to die down and some of the elders started to turn in for the evening. And she would inquire to which place were they bound, a habit brought upon her by her authoritative parents, and he would answer: “to the very heart of our love.”

When they got there, he would hold her for a while, and when she asked why they were there in the middle of the night he would simply shush her quietly, until they sat in silence. And when the moment was befitting, he would rise from his place beside, and stoop to one knee, and, taking her hand, he would confer to her the engagement ring he had had crafted by a ringsmith in Bremen. He did not know how things would take themselves from there, but he trusted in the strength of their love, and had no fear. Maybe some nervousness, but no fear—his love more than overshadowed it..

But, he had to admit, it was nice to get a vote of confidence from his best friend, for once.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Ilia.”

She winked and pointed her fork at him, and said, “Oh you’d better thank me. I don’t just hand out my best wishes for no reason, you know.”

Elen took her plate and rose from the table. “You know, Ilia, I know why Link and Eryn get along—they’re concerned enough with whether they’re happy that they can reconcile their differences—I think the real question is how you two tolerate one another. Especially considering you’re both always throwing sarcasm at each other, and you never seem to see eye-to-eye on anything. Yet, against all odds, you’re still the best of friends, and you still spend enough time with one another that any out-of-towner thinks you’re both related.” And she walked with her dishes toward the kitchen sink, leaving Link and Ilia alone at the table.

“Yes,” Link muttered, “especially when Miss Impatient over there is always criticizing me.”

“Oh hush.”

Link hopped into the back of a passing cart, fell back onto the soft bails of hay, and stared at the sunny sky, his mouth clamped on a toothpick he’d procured from Ilia when she told him he had something in his teeth after they’d finished eating. It looked to be about six o’ clock in the afternoon, which meant that soon the caravan from Saria would be arriving at the westernmost farthing, and he had a good ways to go if he wanted to greet Eryn. A fairly good distance separated him from the western gate, and the fastest way was to go by horse and buggy. But, seeing how Arynnia didn’t have any taxi system to speak of, hitching a ride on a delivery cart would have to do.

“Well, well, young’un,” the driver said. “Ain’t yeh goin’ ter say hello ter meh?”

After he pushed aside one of the bails, Link perked up to take a peek at the cart driver. “Yune? Well, isn’t that the most curious thing… Glad I ran into you before the party,” he said. The old man turned around and tipped his hat. “So, Yune, how’ve you been keeping up? My mother tells me you’ve been having some trouble getting buyers.”

“Ah, yeh know, business as usual…” Yune replied. “Clients be few ‘n far between, but I manage. Yeh and yer mother’re really the people who keep meh going. Yer mother’s kept ‘er faith in me even when I’d lost it meself, and she ‘n Calus ‘ave always been generous ter me over the years.” It was true—his family had always been Yune’s primary buyer, and he’d been spending time with the old man for as long as he could remember. He’d been the closest thing Link had had to a father these past eight years, especially with his favorite uncle Dyrin out of sight and out of mind.

“So, Yune, are you going to come to the party this year?” Link asked.

“No, Link, laddie, I’m ‘friad not. Yeh know I haven’t the time anymore fer tha’ sort of thing…” Yune replied through clenched teeth. “Got ter keep the buyers I’ve got, yeh know. Can’t really afford ter let any more of ‘em go.”

“Ah, well that’s a pity. You’ve also got to find some time to enjoy yourself. Else you might lose your mind.”

“Bah! I ‘aven’t had time ter do much of anything fer meself in… untold ages,” Yune said, cocking his head and grinning that toothy grin back at him. “Got ter much ter do ter be spendin’ meh time fritterin’ around wit’ yeh young’uns. Besides, I got meself enough time wit’ yeh when yeh were wee little lads ‘n lassies. Yeh kids’re so hard ter keep track of once yeh’re all grown.”

Link snatched the toothpick from out of his mouth and twirled it between his fingers. “You old timers and your lame excuses…”

“’Ah’m afraid I ‘aven’t the slightest clue what yeh’re talkin’ about, laddie,” Yune said, before taking the cart around a bend and toward the westshire front, where the Sarian caravan would be arriving. For the last few minutes, the two of them rode in silence, and, before long, the westshire gate came into full view. “Ay, lad—yeh’d best be off ter wait fer yer lover. If there’s anythin’ else I can do fer yeh, just say the word.”

“Actually…” Link said. “There is one thing…”

And so he told him, and Yune nodded, and winked at him. “Yer wish is my command,” the old timer agreed. “Jest meet meh here when yeh’re ready ter go.”

“Shall do,” Link said. “Thanks a million, Yune.” He bowed respectfully and started off for the gate where the Arynnian and Remieran dignitaries were already waiting. It would not be much longer, now. Soon she would arrive, and everything would be in order. He stood a fair distance behind all the others gathered at the gate, so as to disturb no one, so as to await his love unseen, and stared solidly toward the horizon. So many thoughts had filled his mind in the hours past, and he would find no occasion in those that still had yet to come to discharge them. He had a party to attend and a proposal to complete.

He slowly, gradually exhaled, releasing all tensions with his breath, and the wind snatched them from the clement evening air and bore them away, leaving him there with the sound of silence. And he closed his eyes, inhaled again, and, just as slowly, just as gradually, memories replaced his thoughts, flooding his mind as the air filled his lungs. Memories of her—of that night they had first met, at a gathering much like this, though certainly not as grandiose.

The two of them had been sitting by the fireside at the Dale lodge when they first laid eyes on one another. She had already been seated there for several minutes when he first stepped into the room, as he quickly noted from the fact that her face seemed still to hold warmth, despite the chill outside—there had been a rare springtime snow that night—and she was wrapped in a heavy picnicking quilt. The first thing he had noticed was how beautiful her long, shimmering green hair was—the color of summer grass, as he had told her. Then, when he sat down beside her, and caught a glimpse of her face as he stretched his hands out before the fire, he looked into those emerald-green eyes, and the love held captive in his heart was uncaged.

And yet, even before he could turn back to the fire, she had met his gaze, noticed the coldness of his breath, slid over to share her blanket with him, and said, “Somehow I get the feeling I’m not the only one who needs some tender warmth tonight.” As she had draped her quilt over his shoulders, her arm brushed against the back of his neck—only for a brief moment, but that moment had lasted a lifetime. They had sat together by the fire, chatting casually together for the next several hours, until their parents discovered them. As it had turned out, the party had ended long before their conversation, and they were the only two left in the lodge.

He had found himself wishing he had asked if he could meet her at a later date, since, at the time, he had possessed no idea as to whether they would ever see one another again. But, then again, her parents would surely have thought even worse of him than they did currently, assuming such a thing was possible, had he expressed such intentions so early in their association. And besides, as things turned out, they did see one another again—on many, many occasions. He exhaled again and opened his eyes.

Just out of sight and barely within earshot came the clip-clopping of horse hooves and the creaking of wagon wheels—the Sarian caravan drew near, and so he did the same, rushing forward to the gate and peering out of the trees. It was not long before the first came through, and, once they had all come to a complete stop, he weaved his way between them all, searching for the one that carried his sweetheart. It was not much longer before he glimpsed her descending from one of the carts, and, judging by her stunning outfit, he couldn’t have missed her had he tried.

Eryn was dressed entirely in the Toaru style, wearing a kimono that was the same shade as her eyes, with a silvery trim that complemented it perfectly, and bracelets and earrings to match. As rare a thing as it was, she had put her hair up, and stranger still, it was done in the same Toaru style, geisha and all. Of course, this strangeness, and the rareness of the occasion, both only served to further enhance her already unsurpassable beauty. He became very aware of just how remarkably underdressed he was.

“Well, well,” he said, with his arms folded and his eyes staring intently at her. “Who is this lovely young woman, come to Arynnia?”

She turned immediately to face him at the sound of his voice, and a smile wider than that of Naryu herself split the evening air as she ran to him. He met her halfway, arms outstretched, lifted her off her feet, and twirled her ‘round and ‘round. And then he set her down, and he kissed her, and his love ran deeper than that of Nayru, the goddess of wisdom, purity, and the deepest of affections.

“Somehow…” Eryn whispered as they drew apart, her lips barely inches from his, “I get the feeling we’ve met somewhere before.” She kissed him again, longer this time, with more life behind every molecule of her lips. “And somehow I get the feeling we’ve done that before.”

Link smiled down at her, and his gaze, which already pierced her eyes completely enough as it was, focused even harder. “I think the feeling is mutual…” They pulled completely apart, and he was fully aware once more that he loved her with all of his being. But, of course, his feelings aside, he had an engagement to prepare for, and an unforgettable night to experience in so doing. “The hour grows late, my dear. We should get moving. The party will have started before long, and I very much doubt you want to miss a moment of it.”

“How is it that you can be so focused on the party? We haven’t seen each other in almost a month!” Eryn said. “Is there something you want to tell me, Link?”

“I’m sorry, my love, but I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about. Love waits forever—time waits for no one. And, right now, we are in a struggle against time. We must make haste.” He gestured toward the main road, where Yune was still waiting at his cart. “All will become clear, in due time. Have patience, my love.” He bounded off toward the main road, whistling innocently. “Come, my love. Our carriage awaits.” When she followed after him, he took her by the hand, escorted her over to Yune’s cart, and gave her an arm up onto the bails. “You remember Yune, yes?”

Her face lit up even brighter than before at the mention of the old farmer. “Oh!—yes! How fare ye, Mister Yune?” She had find come across Yune the last occasion she had visited Arynnia, and he had shared with her every nature of stories about many Link’s neighbors and close relations from when they were much younger—most especially stories of Elen. As things turned out, he was lawfully considered to be Elen’s uncle—but, then again, he seemed to be ‘lawfully considered’ uncle to most Arynnians born during those days—and so he had been very close to her throughout her entire life, and, as such, had the best stories to tell.

“Aye, I be good as gold—nay, better,” Yune said through a toothy grin. “And whadda ‘bout yeh, Lassie?”

“I’m quite well, thank you, so long as the party that this handsome gentleman has so courteously offered to escort me to is worth any ounce of my time.” She poked Link playfully in the chest and winked at the old man. “But I suppose he has never let me down before, if you don’t count that time he brought me fishing at the water hole at the worst possible time of day for them to be biting. I don’t expect he’ll disappoint this time.”

“Well then, Lassie—I reckon we’d best find out,” Yune said as he began to drive the cart along the road back to the party. The sun dipped below the canopies of the trees, night drew her curtain across the sky, and, quite fittingly, Eryn’s head rested on Link’s shoulder as they rode silently into the hills of Arynnia.

Nothing can really best the feasts provided for the Golden Lady’s birthday parties. All of the best chefs in Arynnia put their culinary talents together and whip up perhaps the best-prepared banquet that can be found on the entire Fringe. In the years gone by a plethora of Arynnian specialties had been served up—one year they had had a fish fry, another they had hunted stags out on the Hyrulean plain. The year previous they had cooked up a less magnificent meal—nothing extraordinary like fish or stag—just a simple gaggle of cucoos.

However, this year the dinner had really been made into something special. Not only had the troupes from Saria and Remiera brought some food of their own, but these dishes were each unique to the towns from which they had been conveyed. The first course was a dish of the scrumptious mushrooms found only in the forests surrounding Saria, the second course was a Remieran vegetable soup—made possible by the fortunate fact that spring came early to Remiera—and the main course was a combination of Arynnian sauces on Remieran veal, with some Sarian spuds on the side. Dessert, of course, consisted of Elen’s many birthday cakes, most of which were concocted by the finest bakers in Arynnia. It was, to put it in as few words as possible, a perfect meal.

“Slow down, Link—you’re going to choke if you aren’t careful!” Elen said, as Link shoveled mushrooms from one of the serving plates into his mouth, without even being so decent as to use a fork. As if his impoliteness was not shocking enough, it was even more astonishing still that this was the third such platter he had singe-handedly devoured, and the mushrooms were only the appetizer. If he managed to finish the main course without leaving a scrap on his plate, Link’s insatiable appetite would cease to be simply astounding and venture into the realm of disturbing.

“Maybe so, Mother,” he said between bites, “but they’re also going to run out of mushrooms if I’m not careful, and, as I figure it—“ he paused to snack on a couple more “—that would be such a worse end for me. I would much rather die with a full stomach than from a lack thereof.”

Eryn gave him a hard smack on the arm before scolding him, “You really ought to listen to your mother—especially on her birthday. You know what they say about men—they always grow to treat their beloved ones the same way they treat their mothers. I assure you, if you ever regard me this way on my birthday, I shall make certain that you remember this day.”

“You know…” Link said as he plucked the last mushroom from the plate, which he then handed to a server who was walking past, “when Ilia threatens me like that, I have a hard time taking her seriously, but you—I’m actually scared of you.” Of course, one thing he had failed to take into account was that, had he been talking to Ilia, she would have come back with another smart-alecky comment, but that Eryn, on the other hand, simply gave him another smack on the arm. He surely must have developed quite a bruise by now—he’d certainly taken more than enough abuse.

Why was he comparing Eryn to Ilia anyway? Sure, they both were one-of-a-kind, but the two of them were completely different—like the leaves of a tree. Ilia rather enjoyed bantering with him, whereas Eryn hated it when Link was confrontational towards her. He had to admit, though—now that he’d thought about it—that it was quite comforting to not have to watch his tongue around his best friend, but always having to mind the interests of his fiancé-to-be when she was speaking with him.

Then again, what else could a best friend possibly be for, besides being the perfect, and also the perfectly unconditional prosaic companion? He and Ilia had been acquainted for as long as he could remember, and he knew that they would always remain close. They needed one another in that way—upon whom else could they vent their sarcasm without fear of being shunned?

“Ah, I see how it is!” Ilia fumed. “So, you don’t take me seriously, eh? Well, now is as good a time as any to get started!” She teasingly cracked her knuckles, very conspicuously flexed her arms, and then leaned back in her hair, twiddling her fingers sinisterly. “Besides, I don’t see why you’re afraid of Eryn, but not of me. I’ve given you plenty of punches throughout the years—so many that I doubt the number could ever be surpassed.”

Link glanced toward his mother, but she had already risen from the table, as she always seemed to do whenever he and Ilia were about to get into a verbal spat. He let out a sigh, shook his head, and turned back to face Ilia squarely in the eye.

“Now, now,” he said. “When did I ever say that I wasn’t afraid of you, Ilia? I’m positively terrified of you! It’s just that I’ve come to expect the worst from you, so I’m able to face that fear head-on. Eryn, on the other hand, loves me, and so I don’t know if I could bear to imagine the torture that would accompany actually having to suffer her wrath.” He turned to gaze lovingly at his sweetheart, then took her hand in both of his and stroked the back of it gently. “And I surely don’t want to find out the hard way.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving Ilia flabbergasted.

“I don’t even know why I bother trying to make conversation with you while your lover-girl is around. The discussion always turns back to her, somehow.” She quickly rose from the table and let out a muted snort. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you two lovers enjoy one another’s company and go sit somewhere where my presence is appreciated.” Link followed her with his gaze until she disappeared into the dancing crowd before turning back to acknowledge Eryn.

“Oh, finally,” Eryn said, breathing a sigh of relief. “She can be a bit edgy sometimes, don’t you think?”

“Yes…” Link said, heaving a very different sort of sigh and pulling her to him. Why, despite how perfectly the party was proceeding, did everything—the mood, the dinner conversation, Eryn’s attitude, and even his own attitude—seem rather inapt? He very much hoped these weren’t bad omens. No, no, they definitely weren’t omens. His love was true, and tonight, that was all that mattered. “You’re absolutely right about that…”

But why did everything feel so wrong? Perhaps his nerves were getting to him—he was feeling rather anxious, as one might have expected. Suddenly he felt very young and foolish and very aware of the ring box in his pocket and the money he had paid for it and how fast his life seemed to be passing by him. His own words echoed back to him: “Love waits forever—time waits for no one.” How is it that you can be so focused on the party? Is there something you want to tell me? Link… Link… Link…

“Link? Hello—are you listening to me?” Eryn said, waving her hand in front of his face. He must have zoned out for a moment—goodness, he was more nervous than he had ever been before. “You know, if you’re going to keep zoning out on me, I might just have to find someone else to dance with tonight. Come on, we’ve got time for one song before the second course is served.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. The band was playing “The Ballad of the Wind Fish” by the Indigo-Gos, which was a popular slow song among the Fringe town ladies. It also happened to be one of Eryn’s favorites. Had the Indigo-Gos actually been here, Link was quite sure that Eryn would have utterly melted. Mikau, the lead guitarist, was her second greatest love.

Link found it quite strange that so many young ladies found a fish-man to be madly attractive, although, he had to admit that Lulu, the lead vocalist and Mikau’s longtime girlfriend, was a remarkably stunning demoiselle herself. Unfortunately, the Indigo-Gos had had to cancel their gig here tonight for reasons they did not want to disclose, but perhaps that was a good thing, since the presence of the celebrity Zora band would have been a distraction from what the night was really about—his mother’s birthday, and his and Eryn’s love. Those were the important things—not how good the food was, not how nervous he was, and not which band happened to be playing on stage.

And so he swallowed his trepidation about the matter that he intended to undertake this night and allowed himself one carefree dance to the song that he and his sweetheart both loved so dearly.

“All right!” Ilia shouted from atop a stack of crates. “Last call—we need two more people to enter in this year’s archery contest before we can get started! Anyone else who wants to participate needs to report to the foot of Bungler’s Hill so they can register! First come, first served. We’d like to begin here in the next few minutes, so please don’t keep us waiting! Thank you, everyone!”

Eryn gave Link a quick nudge on the arm—right where that killer bruise was. It seemed to be a magnet for unfriendly contact of late. “Did you register yet?” she asked him.

“Blast it all, no I haven’t—must have slipped my mind. Or maybe all this wonderful food was just too good a distraction…” he replied.

“Well, you’d better take care of that, hadn’t you?” she said. “I want to see if you’ve actually improved since the last time I saw you shoot. You did actually get in some practice, right?”

Actually, truth be told, Link hadn’t picked up a bow during his own free time in many years. Sure, he did an awful lot of showing off in front of Eryn and had taken part in his fair share of marksman events, but archery wasn’t exactly one of his primary interests. After losing a contest in Saria to a young man named Takim—whom he had actually befriended in the process—he had said that he would need to squeeze in some practice before his next event so as not to be humiliated again. Of course he’d completely forgotten about it—he didn’t have the memory for such things.

And, of course, he did the wise thing and said, “You’re right, I had better get over there before someone else takes my place. See you in a little while, sweetie.” He swooped over to her and gave her a quick peck on the forehead and made haste for the tents set up at the base of Bungler’s Hill.

He’d won the contests at his mother’s birthday party since he was seventeen, but, of course, since there would be contestants from Saria and Remiera this year, as well, he would be a little more hard-pressed to perform at his best. Having already participated in a Sarian event, he knew that the only real challenger to his winning streak was Takim, but he had no idea how good the archers from Remiera would prove to be. Perhaps he should have gotten in that practice after all.

It wasn’t long before he reached the other side of the party field. After making her announcement, Ilia had gone back to running the registration tables. She pretended not to notice him as he approached. “I guess I’d better sign up before it’s too late, eh?” he said.

“Actually…” Ilia grinned, “you are too late. That guy over there got the last slot.” She gestured out the back flap toward a young man stringing his bow that Link immediately recognized as Takim. “I guess it’s a good thing I already signed you up, huh?”

“Oh, ‘ha ha,’ very funny…” Link said. “You’re a real one-woman riot.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you don’t have to tell me,” Ilia said smugly. “Anyhow, the bows are in the back, and you’ll get your quiver when it’s time to start. But I suppose you know all that already.” She snatched a stack of papers off the desk and started back for the party field. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to fetch me a Cloverleaf.”

Someone seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid him tonight. Was it something he had said—or had she actually been offended when she stormed from the table earlier? He had to admit, she had always seemed uncomfortable around Eryn. Even the night the two of them had met, before he had planted the seeds of their relationship, Ilia had seemed a little flustered. It couldn’t have been that she disapproved of Eryn—he had suspected that she did for months now, but hadn’t wanted to say anything on the matter—her supportive comments at lunch today dispelled that theory. Perhaps, as his best friend, she was so used to receiving his full attentions that she still hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of him giving some of those attentions to his sweetheart.

Or, perhaps he was just looking too deeply into things, and the situation was far less complicated than it seemed. Besides, he had to get a bow strung before the competition started, and since he didn’t yet have a bow of his own, he could not expect that those he was comfortable using had not already been claimed. He would probably have to take a few moments to get a feel for whichever one was leftover. As it turned out, the leftover one was a Cherrywood, and one of fairly good quality at that. He weighed it in his hands—it seemed to be light enough to be easy to wield, and sturdy enough to ensure a straight shot. Hopefully it would be sufficiently worthy to get the job done. He snatched one of the sinewy bowstrings from the table and strung it up, then headed for the contest spot against the face of Bungler’s Hill. What luck—he was left with the target right next to Takim’s.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Takim said. “’Tis an absolute pleasure to see you again, Paligré.”

“Indeed,” Link said. “Well met, Takim. How’re you enjoying the party so far? I hope the food is to your liking. It’s only the best around.”

Takim let out a hearty laugh that could have bested that of a tipsy middle-aged man. “I must say, I knew that the festivities would be superb, but it still managed to impress. You Arynnians never fail at that, I suppose.” He nocked an invisible arrow on his bow and drew the string. “So, Paligré, I take it you’ve been improving yourself since our last encounter.” The bowstring was let loose with a twang, and he gave a grin—his imaginary arrow must have hit its target. “I know I certainly have.”

“Actually, no,” Link said. “I haven’t actually picked up a bow outside of competition in a rather long time.”

“Ah, well,” Takim said, pulling another pretend arrow from his quiver and drawing back the string. “Your girlfriend seems to think otherwise.” He let it loose again, gripping the bow with a steadier hand than Link had ever seen. “You really oughtn’t to tell a woman something if you don’t intend to live up to it. She’ll take it as a sign of dishonesty.” He leaned the bow against a fence off to the side of the archery grounds and squatted on the ground. “And I know Eryn—there’ll be hell to pay if that ever happens.”

Obviously Takim was speaking from experience, so Link just had to ask, “What happened between you two, exactly? I mean, I know you had a bit of a falling out, but—“

“You don’t want to know,” Takim said simply. “Actually, allow me to rephrase that—you really don’t want to know. I don’t mind telling, myself, but it’s a sign of disrespect to a lady to go around spreading her secrets. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself in due time.”

Link couldn’t exactly argue with that—Takim was perhaps the most dependable chap he had ever come across in terms of keeping promises, secrets, and appointments. He wasn’t going to budge for anything or anyone. Perfectly respectable—in fact it made him even more likable. It was no wonder Takim was so popular in Saria. Link wouldn’t have been surprised if he had already made several friends here as well over the past four hours.

One of the attendants stepped forward and handed each of them a full quiver. “You two had better take your positions. We’re going to be starting as soon as Miss Ilia gets back.” Link slung the quiver over his shoulder and headed for the line, then took a moment to gauge the distance from the target and tried tugging on his bowstring a few times to get a feel for how far back he was going to have to draw his arrows to hit the target the way he intended to.

His uncle Dyrin had taught him how to shoot a bow when he was just ten years old—or rather, gave him a few words of wisdom and sent him merrily on his way. Dyrin had never really been one to follow the philosophy of “learn by example,” he preferred the “learn through experience” approach. As such, when he had taught Link how to spar with a sword, he had said only three words to him: “Stand your ground.” Then he handed him a training sword and came at him full-force. This method had reaped tremendous success, and had allowed Link to develop more of a personal style, both in swordsmanship and in marksmanship.

The first thing that Dyrin had told the young Link was to gauge his distance from the target, the diameter of the bow, and the tension of the bowstring, as he had just done not a moment ago. Those three factors were the most important in determining how to handle the bow and were also the most closely related. To balance them perfectly was key if he was to successfully strike the bullseye and claim his prize. As was the case with most arts of war, the second step was to make himself one with his weapon and one with his objective—in this case, his bow, his shaft, and his target. He had to be fully aware of every strand in the bowstring, every fiber in the bow itself, every feather of his arrow’s tail, the arrowhead, and the target several meters away. And, of course, the final phase of marksmanship was to bring all of these aspects together and combine them into a sort of singularity of awareness, focus, and skill—to follow the arrow through the air and guide it to the goal, like the wind guiding a ship into port, and to pull the target to the arrow in the same way.

He called all this wisdom to mind, and reacquainted himself with the art—just in time for Ilia to get back from the winery, a flask of Cloverleaf in hand. “All right, ladies and gents—are you all ready to begin?” she said. “I hope you took this time to prepare yourselves. We’ll be starting in two minutes.”

“Good luck, Paligré,” Takim said, patting him on the shoulder and taking his position, winking his one eye and staring down the field with his other. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re definitely going to need it.”

“Same to you,” Link said. “May the better man win.”

“As always.”

Link pulled an arrow from his quiver, set it on his bow, stared straight down the shaft and lined it up with the bullseye. He gauged his three factors, let his consciousness focus completely on the tip of his arrow and the tautness of his bowstring, and, on Ilia’s whistle, he let his missile fly, guiding it with all his focus. The results were not disappointing.

He allowed Eryn to carry his victory medal back to his seat as he stepped to the side to have a quick word with Takim. “I’ll catch up with you in just a minute, sweetheart— Hey, Takim, I just wanted to commend you on your performance tonight,” he said. “Mine was just a bit better. I guess I had a little luck behind me, after all, eh?”

“Thanks—but don’t sell yourself short, Link,” Takim replied. “You did a fine job out there—a lot more focused than you were last time I saw you shoot.”

“Yes, well, I suppose last time I was a bit nervous because it was my first time to compete with Eryn as a spectator. That must have factored in somewhere.”

“Understandable,” Takim chuckled. “There is one thing I would like to know, however—who taught you to shoot like that? It didn’t seem as though you were using your eyes at all—more like your hand was guided naturally, almost on impulse rather than by sight.”

“Who taught me, you ask?” Link said. “My uncle Dyrin, that is, if you use the term ‘taught’ loosely. All he really did was tell me how to balance my focus, and then he handed me a bow and had me practice for hours on end. So, I guess it’s become sort of like you describe—less a skill than one of many reflexes in my repertoire. My uncle was never exactly one to instruct by the books—he liked any skill to be naturally acquired, not artificially instilled.”

Takim seemed utterly fascinated by his uncle Dyrin—which was nothing new, of course. Dyrin was legendary around these parts. “That’s very interesting…” he said. “And when do you expect to see your uncle next? He seems like a very wise man and a very talented fighter.”

“Well, he is one of the Knights of Hyrule…” Link said plainly.

“Oh, really?” Takim gasped. “Remarkable! I didn’t even know they ventured out this far! It certainly explains how he knows so much about the arts of war, though. I should very much like to be given the chance to speak with him.”

“My father was one of them, as well,” Link said. As expected, Takim’s jaw dropped instantly. But Link ignored him, and went on. “We haven’t seen or heard from him in almost eight years, unfortunately. He was called to go on some sort of expedition not long after my father died. One can only guess where he is now—probably a long way from here, in some country on the other side of the Great Sea.” He took a quick swig of wine and lifted his eyes to the stars. “He used to come back with so many amazing tales—you would absolutely love them! He’s been deeper in the Lost Woods than even most of the most experienced trail-finders and climbed even the famed Death Mountain, he’s explored many of the islands of the legendary Lake Hylia and examined ruins the likes of which you’ve never imagined.”

He paused to take in a full breath of fresh air. “Ah, good old Uncle Dyrin. If I ever see him again, I’ll be sure to send him your way. I think the both of you would get along quite well. You’ve both got a taste for things unknown and that unbreakable sense of responsibility.”

“Oh, really?” Takim said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’m pretty sure if I’m intrigued any further, my patience will wear itself too thin for me to hang onto any longer.”

“Yes, well,” Link chucked. “I don’t exactly have a penchant for keeping things to myself, unlike you.”

“Maybe you’ve got it lucky,” Takim muttered. “In any case—“ he paused to down the rest of his wine and started back to the party field, “that party isn’t waiting for anybody. Maybe I’ll see you around, Paligré.” He didn’t wait for Link to respond—instead he just tossed him a rearward wave and carried on walking. “If your luck keeps up, that is—ha ha ha.”

Link waited a few moments as Ilia finished repacking the arrows, and then the two of them started back for the party field themselves, in total silence, not even looking at one another as they went. He made his way through the crowds, and as he took his seat next to Eryn, he realized that Ilia hadn’t come with him all the way back to the table. “Goodness,” he muttered to himself. “She really is making it a point to keep away from me.”

“Well, whatever’s the problem—I’m sure the both of you will work past it,” Eryn said, rubbing his shoulders. “I can’t imagine a Link without Ilia. She’s like your twin.”

“Yes, well—even twins can have their difficulties, I suppose,” Link sighed. “Where did my mother go?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Eryn exclaimed. “The serenading is about to start. You almost missed it!”

Every year the eligible bachelors would prepare love songs to perform for Elen in hopes of winning a kiss. Most of them couldn’t sing to save their lives, but the few who could were an absolute joy to listen to. This year, since everybody from Saria and Remiera had showed up, as well, there would be some fresh performances—since, of course, Elen hadn’t heard many of the out-of-towners sing before.

Link, on the other hand, had, since he had visited Eryn in Saria many times and they had crashed several of the most popular venues for the local musicians. “Is Fado going to be one of them?” Fado was a minstrel from Saria who was a remarkable singer and an equally talented fiddler—but these qualities alone hardly constituted something to write home about. His most extraordinary gift was his ability to write lyrics, and Link had been hoping that this year he would enter in the serenading contest.

“You betcha. And speaking of bets, I’ll wager…say…a hundred Rupees that he’ll win.”

“Now there’s a bet I’m not willing to take.”

“Oooh—smart boy.”

And the spectacle began. As was the case every year, many of the contestants were very obviously not born to be singers. However, just as many, particularly the strapping sirs from Remiera, were fairly endowed. By the end of the first hour, the participants had cycled through all the clichés in the book—most of them several times over. Who could complain, though?—at least Elen was happy. This was by far her favorite event every year. Though she got more than enough positive attention year-round, it wasn’t every day that she had thirty men wooing her with sweet words and sweeter tongues.

Fado was last on the roster—he had probably bribed the sponsors into placing him there. ‘Twas only fitting, though, since his would surely be the cream of the crop. He clutched Eryn tightly as Fado set his violin under his chin and lifted the bow to the strings, took a deep breath, and began to sing:

“Green are the lands where your feet choose to walk;
The wind’s blowing softer whenever you talk;
The sun shines so brighter whenever you’re near;
The moon climbs ever higher whenever you’re here,
And your golden hair is just as pleasant a thing
As rose blossom valleys in the dawn of the spring
Now I’m just a man, but I have this to say,
Keep asking for love, and you’ll find it someday.”

And he concluded his performance by slickly sliding a pink rose out from his sleeve, taking Elen’s hand, and presenting it to her—and the crowd burst into a fit of applause. Elen’s cheeks flushed the same color as the rose, and she promptly rose from her seat, threw her arms around Fado’s neck, and gave him an enthusiastic kiss on the lips. “Ladies of Saria!” she declared. “You are all so blessed to have such a handsome and gifted single at your disposal! I entreat you all to ask him for at least one dance before the night is through—else I will be having him all to myself.”

The multitudes erupted in hilarity, and Elen had to raise a hand to quiet them. “But, for now, just sit back and enjoy the fireworks! I know you’ve all been looking forward to them.”

Without delay, the rockets began to streak across the sky, peppering it with light that electrified the very soul. Link smiled widely—that Beedle hadn’t been exaggerating; this really was the most impressive display he had ever paid witness to. It wasn’t long before Eryn had slipped her hand into his and nuzzled against his powerful chest. “This has been the most magical night of my life…” she said, so softly that he could barely hear her over the boom of the explosions overhead.

And then their lips met, and the world became perfect. Almost.

Yes, this had truly been a magical night, Link decided. But then he remembered that he still had something more to do.

Originally Posted by LionHarted

Yes, Layke, I am actually bringing this one back. I decided to try and ressurrect my old fanfic--from the bottom up. I'd go into a more detailed introduction, but I'm about to go see the new Superman movie. Be back in a flash!

This only took about a week to write--which is pretty good, considering it's 17 pages, single-spaced, size 10 font. If can keep up the pace and keep up my other two works--I'll be good to go.

Gee 17 pages and a few hundred to go?

I like this better than the last. Has a more realistic 'higher fantasy' feel than the other. The dialogue remained consistant for each of your characters as you wound your way through the chapter. I especially enjoyed the conversation between Link and Ilia, was good and added a little bit of humor.

So here's hoping you can keep up the pace you've set for yourself and maybe we'll see another update before the end of the month

Originally Posted by achitka

Gee 17 pages and a few hundred to go?

Just like old times, eh?

I like this better than the last. Has a more realistic 'higher fantasy' feel than the other. The dialogue remained consistant for each of your characters as you wound your way through the chapter. I especially enjoyed the conversation between Link and Ilia, was good and added a little bit of humor.

So here's hoping you can keep up the pace you've set for yourself and maybe we'll see another update before the end of the month

Yes. I felt as though the sense that this was Link's childhood home was missing from the last version--since he had no friends to speak of and his relationship with Yune (as well as the character himself) was barely touched on. Obviously the Ilia character is there to replace Tessia, and I also gave her much more depth than she had before. She'll also play a much, much bigger role this time around.

Anyway, on to the first part of Chapter Two. [No, it's not quite finished yet. I need you to tell me if it's good as is, then whether I should proceed to the engagement, or add some more new material--so I hope you all plan to reply to this one. ] If I don't get any replies, I'm going to proceed very much the same way I did the first time around, which may or may not be a good thing.

I also shuffled the Ganondorf introduction scene to Chapter Two, since it helps foreshadow what's about to happen.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Last time I introduced Ganondorf, we really had no idea who he was or what he was doing at the Stock Pot Inn. This time, I wanted to keep that sense of mystery, but sort of foreshadow events later to come, and to emphasize the sense of dread that'll come into play later in the chapter, when Dyrin appears. I also changed a few things about the Yune scene. See if you can spot some of the more subtle ones. They'll be important later.

Also, many of you might notice that I'm including all kinds of aspects from Termina in this story. Allow me to explain: in this story, Termina is part of the Hyrulean continent, along with Calatia, Ikana, the Castor Wilds, and the Tantari Desert. That means Clock Town, Woodfall, and many other Terminian locales will make appearances here. Don't be shocked or surprised. The sequel, if ever I get to it, will explain my take on how a Majora's Mask-esque sequel might have worked. I can't reveal much now, but I can say that this, the first volume, draws plot aspects primarily from OoT, TWW, and ALttP, and draws scenery aspects from all games that take place in Hyrule or Termina that we've seen thus far.

Chapter 2 – Unexpected Visitors

“Stock Pot Inn and Pub; established 1284. Thirty rupees a room; forty for bed & breakfast; forty-three for private washroom. Best brew this side of Analon.”

Or, at least, that’s what the sign said. But, despite any of the boasts, Stock Pot’s biggest claim to fame was that it was, for sure, the most popular pub in eastern Hyrule—or in Clock Town, at the very least. Travelers often stopped by the Stock Pot for a couple beers or to swap stories with others passing through. The pub was often busy long into the night with drunken tenants and bored mercenaries seeking employment.

Like most of the prevalent hotspots in Hyrule, the Stock Pot also attracted some less respectable customers. Thieves, outcasts, and ‘other unsavory fellows’ would often stop by for a drink or two, usually causing trouble or plotting their despicable schemes. So it was perfectly fitting that tonight, despite the fact he wasn’t anywhere near fool enough to engage in any such activity in plain view, the notorious bandit known as Ganondorf decided to stop by for a spell.

Ganondorf Dragmire was a particularly tall, particularly brawny individual, even for a Gerudo. He wore sleek black body armor over ornately decorated Gerudo garb, made from the finest leather and silk in all Tantari Desert. His boots were steel-toed and cloths matching his silken clothing covered his bronze gauntlets. On his forehead was embedded a pendant studded with an orange crystal that many assumed was there to enhance his desert warlock magic. It was rumored that the magic of the ancient desert tribes was more powerful than that of the Royal Mages—and they were a considerably powerful bunch. As if this impression weren’t threatening enough, he also wore a small dagger at his hip, but it was said that he owned a much larger broadsword that was as long as a man is tall.

He had the flaming red hair characteristic of his race, but was prematurely balding even in his middle age. Such was the curse of the Gerudo—or, one of them, at least—they were athletically gifted beyond compare, but their life spans were fleeting when compared to those of other peoples. His rippling frame was very dark-complected, but that was only to be expected from one who dwells in the desert. On his face, he boasted a thin pointed nose, and his eyes were even redder than his hair. His expression was generally one of indifference, and he did not very much like to be stared at by those he saw in the streets.

But despite this intimidating appearance, Ganondorf was actually quite friendly, even if this amiability was more often than not geared towards those he intended to pilfer. He always enjoyed a good laugh, as well as making small talk and fooling with village girls. Of course the latter wasn’t exactly something to be proud of, especially among the Gerudo, but then again, there wasn’t much decency left on his plate to be degraded. He would not have been fazed either way—Ganondorf had never been one to care much for the standards of society.

He strode stoically over to the bar, choosing to ignore the piercing stares and gaping mouths of some of the other less frequenting tenants when he crossed the floor. As he took a stool, he tapped loudly on the bar to get the attention of the bartender. Immediately the barman turned from mixing drinks to acknowledge him, and quickly slid the beers across the table to his customers before stepping over to pay his attentions to Ganondorf.

“Good evenin’ to ya, sir; what can I get ya?” he asked. “The usual, I presume?” He may as well have not asked at all, as he was already fixing up the drink by the time he made the inquiry.

“You know me far too well, Caz,” Ganondorf said, slamming his four rupees on the bar, plus another as a tip. “I won’t be here too long, though. I’ve got some important business to attend you—just thought I might stop by for a few drinks before I head west, for old times’ sakes.”

“It’s been way too long. And what’s out west, if ya don’t mind me askin’?” Caz replied as he scrubbed a few mugs clean and set them out to dry. Not that he expected an answer—with Ganondorf, there never was one. He tended to keep to himself, especially when it came to where he was going and what he was up to. This obviously hadn’t changed in the slightest over the past eight years, even since his mysterious disappearance, which, by the way, Caz doubted would ever be explained.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ganondorf said with a chuckle. He took a swig of his drink, and then nearly coughed it up when he broke out laughing. “Oh, and before I forget, you should probably start clearing this place out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caz said. “Why in the world would I want to do somethin’ like that?”

Ganondorf chuckled again and took another swallow of his Stock Pot Stew. “Don’t get me wrong, old friend, you needn’t consider it… of the essence… but I would definitely recommend it. In a few minutes, you probably won’t be left with must of a choice anyway.”

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” Caz asked. “Ya didn’t invite any of your acquaintances to my humble establishment, did ya? A few of my customers are still a tad bitter about that, ya know.”

“Nevertheless, I can assure you that anyone still present in the pub will be removed, either verbally, forcefully, or of their own accord,” Ganondorf said plainly. “And I can also assure you that this was not my idea,” Ganondorf replied between gulps. “I don’t want to be associated with these people anymore than the next chap. I’m only here to keep them in check.”

Caz resolved that, based on this last exceedingly ominous comment, it was probably not a good idea to inquire any further, especially considering that it was also probably not in his best interest to know the answers to any questions he still retained. In matters of secrecy, it was ideal not to get involved, if possible. Then again, if what Ganondorf said was true, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Ya couldn’t have recommended they be sent someplace else?” said Caz. “I have tenants to serve, ya know. Business is business, money is money.”

“Don’t worry, old friend—you’ll get your money,” Ganondorf replied. “I’ll just need to do a head count when the party gets here to make sure they’re all accounted for.”

Then, in the distance, a steady, rhythmic thudding sound could be heard—the sound of marching, mindless marching, the marching of an army—loomed on the horizon. It was quite a sizable army, too, judging from the impending rumbles, and it was heading directly towards Clock Town. More specifically, as Caz deduced, directly towards the Stock Pot.

“That wouldn’t happen t-t-o be y-y-our company, would it?” Caz stammered.

“Regrettably,” Ganondorf replied. “You still have time to get your customers out of here safely. I would highly recommend it. Business is business, as you said—I don’t think you want your tenants frightened away, or the incoming ones to become too angry to find the place still full when they get here. Bokoblins tend to be somewhat impatient when it comes to such things.”

“Bokoblins?—here?” Caz blurted--so loudly that the words rang all throughout the Stock Pot.

At the very mention of them, the entire pub was thrown into an uproar. Ladies young and old erupted in a flurry of screams and rushed the front door, while their escorts struggled to accompany them out. Mugs, plates, salt shakers, sugar packets, and catsup bottles were scattered and broken all across the pub floor, tables and chairs were overturned, and many of the deserters had left their cloaks, wallets, or hats behind. Anyone who did not immediately abscond kept his eyes fixed on the still-ajar entrance.

“So much for keeping the place full,” Ganondorf chuckled. “Business is business, indeed.”

“What’re ya doin’, associatin’ yourself with their kind?” said Caz in a more hushed voice. “Those monsters are nothin’ but trouble, if ya ask me.” It was true—both the Bokoblins and the Moblins had been in the employ of the Dark One during the Great War, and they had been among the most feared soldiers of the forces of evil due to their ruthlessness and insatiable bloodlust. Both races were made up of pig-like monsters with remarkable strength and endurance and incredibly sharp senses. Fortunately they weren’t known to have the brains to complement their physical ability, but oftentimes this proved to render them even more dangerous.

Until very recently they had been in hiding in the mountain ranges to the north, but a few years ago they had started to become aggressive towards some of the villages dotting the endless plains—raiding and pillaging and kidnapping young girls, but only rarely resorting to lethal force. If the Bokoblins and the Moblins were now working in tandem with one another, it could only spell trouble. They were very wild, reclusive creatures, who seldom were keen on working as a group—someone had to be pulling the strings.

“They’re here.”

The Bokoblins led the pack. Caz’s suppositions were correct—this was actually an army. They were armed to the teeth with wide brands, wooden shields, body armor, and war boots. Several of them also carried scantily-crafted lightweight bows and had quivers strapped to their pant legs instead of pockets. All those who still occupied the inn quickly vacated. Something about the prospect of being slashed to pieces by a pack of monsters if they refused just didn’t seem appetizing.

Ganondorf, on the other hand, stayed seated calmly at his barstool and reached along the counter for a succulent sirloin steak someone had so kindly left behind as the Bokoblins poured in. Before too long the Moblins began to appear, too. Most of them carried spears longer than Ganondorf was tall, and they wore shabby suits of chain mail on their torsos and upper arms. Their faces were adorned with war paint in designs that even Ganondorf found somewhat intimidating. Each of them took a chair and sat chattering and grunting with one another.

Caz simply stood in shock, mouth agape, and proceeded to serve up some drinks. There must have been at least six hundred Bokoblins and Moblins in here—well beyond the maximum occupancy of the pub. It turned out to be a fortunate thing he had added the second story a decade ago. He’d never had the place completely full, but he had always figured the extra space would come in handy.

“So, eh, how will ya be payin’, again?”

“I figure this’ll cover it,” Ganondorf muttered as he set down a pouch of rupees and strode out of the pub.

It had been the biggest birthday cake that anyone around these parts had ever laid eyes on—over a meter tall and almost half a meter wide, larger than most of the people who had come to partake of it. Sixty pounds of pure chocolaty goodness baked for two hours at three-hundred-sixty degrees and frosted to perfection. Now there were only a few slices left, and, as he was finishing his rounds, Yune stopped by the party field to inquire as to whether or not the leftovers were being set aside for anything. Of course, they were not, and so the party committee spared not a moment in offering one of them to him, which he accepted graciously.

His cart creaked and shuddered as he rounded the bend, reminding him yet again that the rickety old thing was falling apart. Ever since last autumn he had been meaning to replace it, but he had not yet managed to scrape up the funds. Though business was still a drag this season, he had finally gotten a few more buyers, so hopefully he would be able to pitch some Rupees together and buy himself a new one. He finished up his cake just as he reached the very edge of town and the last stop on the delivery route came into view.

“Mmm…” he mumbled as he washed down the last of it with a gulp of milk, “I might jest hafta get meself ter this party next year, so long as the cakes’re goin’ ter be this good.” But, of course, the nature of his occupation meant that he was called upon more than usual during festival times so that farmers could get a head start on the season, so he seldom, if ever, got a day off during harvest-times.

He stepped out of his cart, retrieved the package of seed sachets from the wagon bed, and brought them to the front door of the house, where a stack of Rupees were waiting for him as payment. Out came his wallet, and he scooped up the Rupees and left the crate of seeds in their place.

“Yeh’re more than welcome, Misteh Aomura,” he spoke to the night. It was now time to turn in—he’d stayed out much later than a man of his age should as things were already.

A gust of wind blew across the Arynnian front, rushed through the old man’s beard, and rustled the leaves on the trees. The entire forest heaved a great breezy snore, and Yune thought back to the days of his youth. He had once aspired to be a sailor, to feel the wind gust through his sails much like it was tonight, and to explore the lands unknown to Hyrule. Before he had settled down in Arynnia, he had traveled quite a bit, but he had never been able to achieve this, his greatest fantasy.

Perhaps, gods willing, he might, even if for only a fleeting moment, see his dream fulfilled. It wouldn’t matter if he were just along for the ride—all he wanted was to taste the salty ocean air from the helm of a sailing ship, just once, and it would be enough. Alas, the chances of him ever leaving this happening little hamlet were slim to none, much less with time and resources to spare at sea, and so he would likely never find this repose. But it was nice to dream, even in old age.

In the meantime, he had an occupation to attend to and neighbors to look after, and all the signs were pointing to a mighty storm of the worst kind looming on the horizon. It was going to be an unusually harsh spring, to be sure.

As he rounded the corner and passed by Elen’s house, he heard her singing very loudly and very happily to herself, and peered into the lit windows to catch a glimpse of her silhouette dancing about the house. It did old Yune good to see the one of his dearest friends—a woman whom he had known since she was a little girl—so happy on her birthday. He lived for such things.

And as his cart passed by the house, a hooded figure descended silently from it and slinked off towards the front door, a sword grasped firmly in his hand.

I was reading this yesterday when the site went to sleep on me - so came back to it today - I like Ganondorf - he comes across as a real sort of person in this

just a couple of things I noticed

uhhh...sugar packets? Seemed so out of place I actually stopped reading and did a mental double take when I read it again

“Good evenin’ to ya, sir; what can I get ya?” he asked. “The usual, I presume?” He may as well have not asked at all, as he was already fixing up the drink by the time he made the inquiry.

For whatever reason that threw me...dunno, it was unexpected - and the dialogue that follow didn't indicate Caz would say something like that.

Love this part though:

Ganondorf, on the other hand, stayed seated calmly at his barstool and reached along the counter for a succulent sirloin steak someone had so kindly left behind as the Bokoblins poured in.

There are a lot of passive phrases scattered throughout the different narrative sections. They really do rob the story of some of its strength and that is a shame since the dialogue is very strong

It really is a pain get rid of them - if you want examples - I'll show you what I mean - (believe me, I just spent the last 6 months waging an all out assault on the stupid things to pull them out of my own writing )

Anyway, was a good half chapter and I enjoyed reading it.

uhhh...sugar packets? Seemed so out of place I actually stopped reading and did a mental double take when I read it again

That was the idea, actually.

For whatever reason that threw me...dunno, it was unexpected - and the dialogue that follow didn't indicate Caz would say something like that.

I hoped it'd come off as sort of a routine--Ganondorf walks in, Caz serves him up his usual drink, and asks the age-old question. There was supposed to be a touch of added humor in that Caz hadn't seen Ganondorf for going-on eight years, yet he still spoke to him like any regular customer.

But I guess I didn't pull it off quite right.

Love this part though:

I was intending to have more of the tenants stay when the Bokoblins and Moblins arrived, too, and to leave Ganondorf sitting there calmly sipping at his Stock Pot Stew amidst the pandemonium, but I guess I got lazy.

There are a lot of passive phrases scattered throughout the different narrative sections. They really do rob the story of some of its strength and that is a shame since the dialogue is very strong

It really is a pain get rid of them - if you want examples - I'll show you what I mean - (believe me, I just spent the last 6 months waging an all out assault on the stupid things to pull them out of my own writing )

I'll have to go hunting.

I actually found myself rushing to get this finished, because I was only getting about a paragraph every two days, and I didn't want to completely destroy the style. So that might explain why I missed some passives.

Its back, at long last! Congrats on the resurrection. I can't wait to dive back into this thing. ^_^

The detail has expanded in a grand scale, and your writing has definitely improved. Keep it up, man, you're doing great.

Here is the rest of Chapter Two. All of which I wrote today, believe it or not. In the past 10 hours, more specifically.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love the rewrite of the engagement scene. The last version lacked the emotional charge and the sense of anxiety that this one has, as well as failed to convey the actual nostalgia of that forest grove. I still kept it short and sweet, since most of what would be said and done would be those things drastically overdone in chick flicks and so on.

The scene about the Sages is much better than it was last time. It didn't have that epic quality to it before. Now, I've included the full Sage-Maiden legend, and a more complete account of how Dyrin, Link, and Link's father, Calus, all tie into these events.

He uncovered her eyes, and she exhaled. Such a beautiful place, a peaceful place, a safe haven from all that plagued the world, the mind, the heart—their special spot, a grove at the inner border of the fringe, where the forests of Calatia became the Lost Woods. It seemed ages since they had last come to this place together, though Link had often wandered here alone to stare into the reflecting pool and wonder when he would next be gazing into the eyes of his sweetheart instead of at his lonely reflection.

The forest canopy here was just perfect—there were enough boughs hanging over the pond to block out the sun throughout most of the day—excepting, of course, high noon—yet just enough of an opening to get a good look at the stars on a night very like tonight. And as the wind rushed in between the fingers on each branch, it whistled charming tunes to anyone around to listen. The babbling brook was always gushing pleasantly, casting ripples across its surface that surged in perfect sync with the whistle of the wind through the fingers of the trees and the trickle of the stream that fed it.

“Oh, Link… it’s just as pretty as I remember it!” Eryn said. “How I’ve missed this spot…”

As he had hoped. He had purposely avoided bringing her here during her last couple visits in preparation for this very night. Everything seemed to be going exactly according to plan.

“So have I,” he said. “Well, I can come here whenever I wish, but it’s never quite the same without you here to relish the serenity with.”

She giggled, as she always did, then stepped over to him and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Maybe we should just stay here…” she whispered. After that she kissed him—immediately they both were swept off their feet, and the idea seemed ever-so-very appealing. He wanted for them to be together always, to be such an integral part one another’s lives that they breathed the same breath and that their hearts beat with one rhythm—however clichéd the thought was. Such was true love—the oldest and most repetitive of all the recurring cycles of the world.

Link immediately remembered the ring box in his pocket, and his heart warmed at the thought that very soon he could bring wrap that ring around her finger and pull that dream closer to reality. But not yet—not until this kiss—this last utterly innocent kiss—was complete. And so their lips carried on their passionate dance, with her at the lead. He allowed her—soon enough he would make a move of his own.

They broke apart, both grinning so widely that they almost broke out in giggles at the sight of each other. “I’ve missed that, too…” Eryn breathed before slipping him another peck on the lips.

“Well, I hope you didn’t miss me too much…” Link said, taking her hand and kissing it gently. “You were right earlier—there is something I want to tell you…” He dug into his pocket and produced the ring box. It was red, the color of her lovely lips, and as he placed it in her hand he noticed that it fit perfectly in her palm—which was quite pleasing to note, since he had had it designed especially with this feature in mind.

She gasped—hardly to Link’s amazement—and, while Link could tell that she intended to respond, she was stammering so severely that she could hardly get out a syllable. This only made him smile even wider. He lowered to one knee and opened the box in her palm, revealing the emerald ring inside—the same shade as her eyes, and, of course, the kimono she still wore. And when her eyes lit up with excitement she became all the more beautiful.

When her stuttering ceased—or at least died down to the point she was no longer in fits—he asked that fateful question: “Eryn… will you marry me?” And the whole forest went still, as if waiting for her answer.

Of course she didn’t hesitate to give it, although her lips quivered like Death Mountain before an eruption as she spoke. “Y-y-yes Link, I will marry you!” They then launched into the biggest, warmest, fuzziest embrace either of them had ever encountered. “Oh, wow, I can’t believe it… this was so unexpected!” She nuzzled up against his warm, powerful chest. “I love you…”

“I love you, too…” he replied.

And there were no more words between them. All that ever needed to be said had been declared. Link just held her to him, stared at their reflection in the grove pool, and smiled. He felt like a child once again—a child who has just been given a new toy. It had been so long since he allowed his carefree self to run away with him that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. He could never have appreciated it more.

She had agreed, and they would be married before long. They would leave Arynnia together and cross the endless plains to live in one of the great western cities his uncle had described to him in his anecdotes and raise a family together. Everything was falling into place exactly as he had always hoped. At last his life—already perfect in every way imaginable—was finally nearing completion.

And so their love also was strengthened all the more.

Something was dreadfully amiss.

It was past two o’ clock, yet most of the houselights were still lit. His mother had asserted before he had left the party that she would be retiring for the night the moment she arrived at home, but she obviously had not done so. It was hardly in her nature to stay awake much longer than she expressly intended, so either she was having difficulty sleeping or someone else presently occupied his living-room. Somehow Link suspected it was the latter. He sped into a dash and hurried onto his porch.

As he approached the front door, his mother quickly swung it open and tugged him inside. He only got a short glimpse of her, but it was enough to tell that she seemed troubled. More troubled than she had ever been—even in the days following his father’s death. “Why aren’t you asleep yet, Mother?” he asked. “Is something the matter?”

She whirled around to face him, a finger in front of her lips. “Shh… we’ll talk about it in a moment,” she said in an almost-angry, much-too-serious tone. “We don’t want to be overheard. It’ll be safe once we’re in the living-room. Hold your questions until then.” As they made way for the family room, she cast a sideways glance back at the door, and then shut it silently behind them.

He passed through the threshold into the living-room, he felt as though he were walking through the surface of a bubble—he encountered a strange liquid-like membrane that seemed to engulf him, and then heard a loud popping noise and found himself on the other side of the doorway. When he’d finally entered the room, he looked over his shoulder to see what it was that had just happened only to discover that the cucco-clock hanging on the hall wall had stopped.

“What in the—“ he began, but stopped at the sight of a cloaked, hooded figure seated before the fire in his mother’s rocking chair.

“It’s a Flair charm,” said a scruffy voice from under the cloak. The mystery man lifted a hand to exhibit a small red stone on the end of a thin golden chain. “It’s a space-time distorter that locks anything within its radius in its own enchanted continuum. One can only enter the space under the enchantment if invited to do so by someone involved in its casting—which is why your mother had to meet you at the door. To anyone under the enchantment, time is essentially at a standstill outside the radius—so no one outside this room can hear us, see us, or otherwise.”

Something about that scruffy voice reminded Link awfully of an eccentric old uncle of his—so he couldn’t help but say in surprise, “Is that you, Uncle Dyrin?”

“I’m surprised you still recognize me, boy,” Dyrin said with a chuckle. “It’s been, what, eight years now? My, my, how you’ve grown in such a span.” He rose from the chair and pulled off his hood, and Link could see that this was, indeed, his beloved uncle. The two men embraced like old friends—like the dear kinsmen that his father and uncle certainly had been. “You look too much like your father now, you know. We might have to clean up that mop that you call ‘hair’, else I may never be able to tell the difference.”

“Not on your life,” Link said. “Gods, Dyrin—we thought you were dead!” He gave his uncle a brotherly slap on the arm. “What are you doing back here?”

Dyrin didn’t immediately answer, but first escorted Elen to her rocking-chair and then proceeded over to the lounger and had a seat. “Well, given all I’ve seen and done these past eight years I suppose it’s a wonder I ain’t dead, isn’t it?” he muttered. “Gods, where to begin…” If his mother’s composure upon his arrival at the door, the mounting sense of urgency, and the fact that they for some reason had to discuss something of apparent significance under a magical field hadn’t made it clear enough, Dyrin’s neglect to meet Link’s gaze as he began his account verified that this would likely be quite unlike his usual swashbuckling tales of adventure and wonder.

“I guess I should probably start off by explaining where exactly I’ve been these past eight years…” Dyrin said. “The King summoned me not long after your father died. Apparently the creatures that attacked Arynnia that day had been causing trouble all over Hyrule for quite some time by that point—ransacking various villages, killing and kidnapping and so on.”

“Yes, but that’s normal, isn’t it?” Link said, and then quickly realized how insensitive his statement had been, and elaborated, “I mean, Bokoblins have been raiding villages for a while, haven’t they?”

“Actually, they haven’t,” Dyrin replied. “Well, at least, they didn’t until a few years ago. You see, after the Hero defeated the Dark One all those ages ago, the Bokoblins—as well as their nastier cousins, the Moblins—went into hiding in the mountains at the northern edge of Hyrule. We decided to leave them be—so long as they weren’t bothering anyone, we saw no reason to persecute them, even if they were once among the Dark One’s ranks. After all, they are living beings just as we, and all life is equally susceptible to the allure of power.

“Things worked out pretty well, for the most part—it’s been only recently that they’ve become bold enough to leave the mountains, and since then, there have been attacks everywhere, for no apparent reason, it seems. Not just by the Moblins, though—some other equally vile creatures have been resurfacing too. Keese, for instance. And I’ve heard rumors about Lizalfos, too, but I haven’t yet seen any myself.”

“Well, what makes this different from all the other raids that have taken place over the years?” Link asked. “We hear things about random attacks by bandits on Solenia all the time.”

“Unlike most ‘random attacks,’ the raids started to display a definite pattern. Successive incursions gradually began to take place in more concentrated regions—Lake Hylia, most recently—most of them involving the kidnapping of young village girls. These are much, much more than just ‘random attacks by bandits,’ Link.”

“I’m still not following you.”

Dyrin shook his head. “I suppose you've never been introduced you to the legend of the Seven Sages… which doesn't surprise me, since it's not a common legend... and, since I’m obviously no good at explaining things myself—you don’t get the abridged version. I apologize in advance for being such a horrible storyteller.” He shot a quick wink at Link—of course he knew full well how much Link enjoyed his tales, but was always modest, however falsely, about his ability as a narrator. Obviously that much hadn’t changed since he left.

And so Dyrin recited it to him, word-for-word:

“The great Hero of Legend entrusted Seven Wise Maidens, the Sages, with the responsibility of organizing their peoples to join with him in the fight against the Dark One. One dwelt in the eastern wood, one resided in the mountains to the north, one called the southern sea her home, one lived as a nomad shrouded in shadow, one hailed from the haunted wastes, one had been christened by heavenly light, and one came from his own country, the greatest of them all, who could alter the flow of time and bend the very fabric of reality itself.

“They succeeded in their task, and provided many loyal, capable, and willing soldiers to help the Hero cut a swath across the battlegrounds on which he clashed against evil. And through this utter passion and devotion to the brave one’s cause, they were able to obtain magic unfathomable—a magic that could not be learned or taught, a magic that joined completely with them, that became the very core of their souls, that would never leave them.

“After the Hero conquered the darkness, the Sages celebrated his victory by building the great shrine that would come to house the Gateway to the Golden Land where the Golden Triangles slept, and, each of their peoples, in turn, built temples to honour the Power, Wisdom, and Courage shared by the Seven Sages. But, though the power of the Sages was unsurpassed by any power—save the power of the Golden Triangles themselves—it was not yet power enough to grant immortality, and, when the Sages passed from the world, the magic would be lost. So, the Sages conspired to preserve their magic through the greatest means of all—through inheritance.

“Though they could not transfer this power in all its fullness through natural means, they could follow their gods’ design and create relics in which portions of their power could reside. Each of them, in turn, created relics to contain their magicks— to serve as one of the keys needed to unseal the Gateway to the Sacred Realm. These keys were hidden at the hearts of each of the seven temples—and the temples themselves were sealed so that only those with the power passed down by the Maidens, or the sacred Guardians entrusted with safeguarding the temples, could enter. The remainder of their Sagehood legacy rested in their bloodline, to be awakened if ever the forces of darkness ever threatened the land once more.

“And so the Sages fell into obscurity, so as to protect their line from being threatened, should evil ever attempt to seize Hyrule, or the Golden Triangles, in any forthcoming age. This secret is bequeathed only to members of the Royal Family, to those who inherit the power of the Wise Maidens, and to their temples’ Guardians.”

Link was hung on every word. He had been fascinated with tales of the Great Hero of Legend ever since he was a child, but this was something else entirely—it added a whole new dimension to the story that he didn’t even know existed. But it didn’t take him long to discover that this was far more than just a fairy tale, and not much longer to deduce the connection it had to present circumstances.

“So, you think that the monsters are trying to find the descendants of the Seven Sages?” Link asked, though he was already sure what the answer would be.

“Well, that was the initial speculation, yes. And the King had summoned me to track down and protect the Maidens from these attacks.” Dyrin stared blankly, solemnly, into the fire still burning in the hearth. “But, of course, we acted too late. We’ve since learned that they’ve also made moves against the temples themselves. All but two of them have been breached. So, we don’t just think they’re going after the Maidens—we know they are. And we know that they’ve already kidnapped at least five of them. Either that or they’re subduing the Guardians themselves, but somehow I find that difficult to believe, especially considering that most of them actually live inside their temples. Besides, the Guardians alone can’t tap the power of the keys to the Golden Land.”

Link had nearly forgotten about that part in the midst of all the excitement. So this was even bigger than he’d realized. These monsters weren’t just going for the Sages, they were going for the Golden Triangles themselves. If they got their hands on the Triforce, there was no telling what calamity would befall Hyrule. This was a grave matter, indeed, and Link couldn’t help but feel slightly unsettled at the thought welling in his mind that he was about to get dragged into it.

“In any case, the temples are overrun, and the most sensible thing to do is try to protect the remaining two Maidens while we still can. The White Maiden is already in very capable hands, now the only one left is the Green Maiden, the descendant of the Sage of the Forest.”

“Which explains why you’re here,” Link said plainly. “To try to fix your mess, before it gets any worse.”

“Exac—“ Dyrin started, before he stopped himself upon heeding Link’s last statement. “Exactly.”

“But why not come here first? After the attack eight years ago you should have expected—“

Dyrin didn’t wait for him to finish. “Eight years ago the enemy was scattered aimlessly across the endless plains. It wasn’t until long after that they somehow realized that the only way they were going to secure their targets was to concentrate their efforts and go after them one at a time. The first place this happened was Death Mountain. The King sent me there after the raids started becoming frighteningly frequent, in hopes that I would be able to find the Red Maiden before they did. Obviously I didn’t encounter much success.”

He did his best to crack a smile, but failed miserably at that, too.

“Since then they’ve essentially made their way counter-clockwise, from corner to corner across Hyrule, scouring the villages in the vicinity of the temple sites for young ladies who belong to the tribes of the Sages: the Gorons on Death Mountain, the Sheikah in northwest Hyrule, the Gerudo in the Tantari Desert, the Zoras at Lake Hylia—you get the picture, I hope. This is their single remaining stop before they head off to the temple of the White Maiden: the Temple of Time, located in the City of Hyrule itself. Once the other six Maidens are in their grasp they need spare no expense in capturing the last and exploiting her powers to unlock and secure the Temple of Time and the final key to the Sacred Realm, and ultimately the Triforce of Legend.”

“What do you suppose they’ll use it for?” Link asked.

“That leads me to the frightening thing,” Dyrin replied. “You see, creatures like the Bokoblins aren’t clever enough to organize something this inventive by themselves. Besides, the Bokoblins couldn’t care less about the Triforce, I’m sure. I doubt if they even understand what it is, much less have any concept of how they would use it. So somebody who is much more intelligent must be the real mastermind behind all this. Judging by the fact that whoever—or whatever—it is seems to be employing essentially the same beasts that served under the Dark One in the Imprisoning War, we can deduce that he or she, or—heaven forbid—it, is either in the employ of the Dark One himself, or at least attempting to follow in his footsteps.

“So, if I had to guess, I’d probably go with something along the lines of world domination, immortality, or omnipotence, or perhaps some combination of the three. But, then again, that’s only speculation...”

Link was now beyond any doubt—Dyrin would commission him to play some part in all this. He now knew far too much to simply be left to sit idly by as the world fell to pieces around him. Why else would Dyrin have come to his home in the middle of the night to deliver him and his mother news of this grave matter? He hadn’t even had the time to fully enjoy being engaged yet. This was not fair.

“Let’s just cut to the chase,” Link said. “What is it that you expect me to do?”

“Actually, it’s pretty simple,” Dyrin replied. “I’d just like for you to try to find the Green Maiden, as soon as possible, so we can get her to the temple and out of danger.”

“Oh, and how am I supposed to do that?” Link said. “The Calatia Fringe is a pretty big region, you know… it could take weeks to find her, months, even.”

“Well then,” Dyrin said. “It’s lucky I’ve narrowed it down, then. The Green Maiden hails from either Arynnia or Saria town. The legends aren’t quite clear which, unfortunately, but at least they are adjacent to one another, and we are lucky enough to have most of Saria gathered here anyway, so that should make things a lot simpler for you.”

“You say that as if I’ve already accepted the offer to help.”

“Listen, I’m sorry to drag you into this, Link,” Dyrin said. “I have no one else to trust in these parts. No one who knows Arynnia and the Lost Woods like you do, at least. You and your mother are the only people I can count on to locate the Green Maiden and help me safely deliver her to the Forest Temple. Please forgive me, Link.”

He really didn’t want to forgive the old man, but he knew that this was far too important to ignore, and he could understand Dyrin’s plight, so his good nature gave in, and he bowed forgivingly toward his uncle. “All right, I’ll help. You have my word.”

“Thank you. I am very grateful. You don’t have to do this, yet you choose to of your own accord. You are your father’s son, through and through.” Dyrin then reached into his cloak and produced a short silver sword and a Hylian knight’s shield. “These are for you. I hope you don’t find the need to use them.”

Link graciously accepted them. They felt strange, like a piece of his past, like he had been reunited with a long-lost part of his soul and was finally whole again. But he quickly let the sensation pass and clipped the sword’s scabbard to his belt and the shield to his back, as the Hylian knights had traditionally done before they marched into battle. Dyrin looked him over, then shook his head again.

A loud pinging sound reverberated through the room, and it was coming from the Flair charm. “The Flair has almost run out,” Dyrin said. “We have a precious few moments. You and your mother search for the Green Maiden. I have other matters to attend to in the meantime. If you find—“

“Such as what?” Link interrupted.

“The only reason I am certain that the Green Maiden has not yet been captured is that I overheard the enemy’s plans. The only reason I arrived here before the enemy did is that I ‘accidentally’ allowed them to discover me, then drew them away from the forest before proceeding to get a head start for Arynnia. By now they will likely have caught up with my trail. I hope to find a way to buy you some more time.

“In any case, if you, by chance, find the Green Maiden before sundown tomorrow, go ahead and move towards the temple. Do not worry about finding the way—the power of the Forest Sage will be able to lead you to it. Hopefully I’ll be able to meet you there, but don’t wait for me. The safety of the Maiden and of the temple is the highest priority.”

“I won’t let you down, Uncle,” Link said. And then he realized that he meant it. Every word of it. But just as abruptly he realized that he was doing this less for the sake of duty than as a means of lashing out against those deplorable beasts that were responsible for his father’s death. He could feel the hate welling in him, and it fortified his determination tenfold.

“Are you sure the Sage will be safe once she’s inside the temple?” chimed Elen. “This seems awfully like a desperate gambit to me.”

“Yes… and yes,” Dyrin said, “but—unless you’d like to come up with a better one--it’s the only plan we’ve got.” He turned to go, but Link grabbed his arm to stop him.

“One last thing, though, before you leave us—is there anything, any distinguishing quality, that we should be looking for in this Green Maiden?” he asked.

“Green hair,” said Dyrin simply. “Saria, the Forest Sage, had green hair.” The Flair’s bubble-like field then vanished with another loud ping, and Dyrin was gone, gone into the night.

Of course, Link had only ever met one girl who sported green hair. And he was presently engaged to her.

No, this is not all of Chapter 3. But you probably could have guessed as much.

Chapter 3 – Commitments

Link held up his lantern to illuminate the path, although quite senselessly, since he knew the whole of Arynnia by the back of his hand. This was the lane that led to the inn where Eryn was staying the night. One-hundred twelve more paces and they’d be at its doorstep. Maybe one-hundred eighteen, depending on how badly the rain had muddied the road. By the look of things, it was raining more than hard enough.

“I have the rottenest luck,” he said as he whirled about to face his mother and continued walking backwards along the path. “I lose my father at age twelve at the wicked blades of the Bokoblins. My uncle disappears for eight years, only to come back to drag me into this disaster, then go off and put himself in mortal peril in a reckless attempt to draw off another horde of Bokoblins—and Moblins as well, as he said. My best friend has been absolutely unbearable these past couple of weeks—“

“Perhaps not without reason,” Elen interrupted, tossing a wily grin at Link.

He couldn’t help but let out a snicker, because his mother was probably right. “Perhaps,” he said. “In any case—where was I—ah, yes: I finally propose to the love of my life, and now she might be taken from me, too.” He turned back to face the path. “Is it… me? Did I do something to deserve this?”

“Hmm, no, I don’t think so,” Elen replied. “Though, being your mother, I can say that maybe it’s just a sign that you take too much for granted.”

Link stopped dead in his tracks. This was a new one. “Really?”

“You always expect life to be perfect,” his mother said. “And perhaps not so foolishly, I suppose. You have been extraordinary blessed, darling—as everyone says. Your father was a remarkable man, your betrothed perhaps an even more amazing young woman, and it’s easy to see that you have never been lacking in loving companions. But, even after your father died, you still never learned to appreciate… people. One day, Link, Ilia might get sick and tired of your invectives and your dry sarcasm. I won’t be around forever, either, and you certainly can’t expect the same for Eryn.”

She was right. By the gods, she was right. But it was still unfair of her to use Eryn as the clincher.

He hadn’t been very appreciative of his friends and family of late. Perhaps he’d just thought that losing his father was the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to him—the only possible thing that could ever happen to him. He couldn’t imagine losing Ilia, or his mother, or Eryn—or even Dyrin, despite the fact that they’d been almost certain he was dead since two years ago. Even then he’d been certain his uncle would come walking through the door someday—though, now that he had returned, Link almost wished he had not come.

Such was yet another example of his inappreciative disposition—even in the face of an event he’d always expected he still found himself wishing it’d never occurred. Why couldn’t he just be glad that his uncle was alive, as opposed to angry at the turmoil Dyrin had brought in his wake? But before he could think on it any further, they arrived at the inn.

He knocked instead of ringing the bell—he didn’t want to accidentally wake up any sleeping tenants. It wasn’t long before the wizened old innkeeper arrived at the door. She was a short, frail woman, the sort often stereotyped as an old homebody who never eats anything she didn’t cook in her own kitchen from scratch, who wears nothing but floral prints, and who mistakes anyone who walks through the door for her deceased son-in-law. Her name was Marcilla, and she was the senile old dear of Arynnia—well-known for her soup, her impeccable maternal nature, and her doting on old Yune.

“Oh, Tortus,” she said. “You’re home late tonight—and look, you’re soaking wet! You must be so cold, dear. Why don’t you let Grandma whip you up a bowl of your favorite soup?” Tortus was Marcilla’s deceased son-in-law, who had vanished many years ago only to be found floating in a lake close to a month after his disappearance. Marcilla had never quite faced facts, however, and so now everyone she met would have to endure being called ‘Tortus’ at least a few times. Most were kind enough to humor the old lady, and Link was among them.

“No, thank you, Grandma,” he said. “I had enough to eat at Elen’s birthday party.”

“Elen?” Marcilla said. “Where is she? Has she taken that book back to the library yet? If she doesn’t give it back soon, it’ll be late, and she’ll have to pay the bookkeepers those three Rupees I gave her to spend on a birthday bangle.” Every year since Elen turned eight, Marcilla had given her three Rupees to spend on a bangle, and every year Elen had bought herself a cheap new one. Or, as was the case in more recent years, a cheap secondhand one.

“Don’t worry, Grandma,” Elen chimed. “I’ve already taken care of it. Mister Norris said it was quite all right and not to fret.”

Link had almost forgotten the exigency of their errand. They needed to speak with Eryn now. “Grandmother,” Link asked, “could you please find the room where Eryn Wenylthrom is staying for the night? We need to see her. It’s urgent.”

“Well, we mustn’t fritter precious time when there’s important business to be done,” Marcilla replied. “You both make some coffee, dears, to warm yourselves up while you wait.” She hobbled up the stairs and into the second floor hallway while the two of them entered, hung up their cloaks, and took a seat on the sofa closest to the fire to wait for her to return with Eryn.

Link passed the time by examining the shield his uncle had given him. It was forged from cold steel, its face was blue and bore an image of the Phoenix, emblem of the Knights, with an illustration of the Triforce painted just above that. Judging by the Phoenix design, this was probably one of the oldest styles used for a shield since the Great War. He flipped it over to take a look at its back, only to be astounded by the ancient Hylian text found inscribed therein. Of course, he couldn’t read a word of it, but just looking at it, just knowing he was holding a link to the past, was more than rewarding enough for him.

This must have been an ancient relic of the First Order of Hylian Knights, the group that was formed from the survivors of the battle against the armies of shadow. But how did Dyrin come to obtain such a thing? He supposed that Dyrin was probably given it in his quest to find the Seven Maidens, perhaps even in hopes of bringing the same success to his search that the Hero encountered during the War. Obviously it had not brought his uncle much luck, but, then again, as the saying went: what is useless to one may be handy to another.

It took only a short minute or two for Marcilla to fetch Eryn from her room. By the look of her, she’d not yet gone to sleep. Perhaps she was still so excited about the engagement that she didn’t want to end the moment. Perhaps it was the pouring rain. Somehow, though, Link expected that the reason, whatever it was, had something to do with his newfound revelation—her status as one of the temple Maidens. He intended to discern the cause either way.

“You don’t look like you’ve gotten any sleep yet, sweetheart,” Link said as she sauntered, groggy-eyed, into the reception area. “Is something the matter?”

She yawned and said, “What was your first clue?” before falling onto the couch and resting her head on his lap. “With all the excitement of the past night, I guess I just have too much to think on.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you sure that’s all?”

“Well…” she said, sitting up. “I have had this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that there’s something else I need to do tonight. Something important.”

“Oh.” So it was true. Eryn was the Green Maiden, and the temple was calling to her. Events were playing out just as he had feared. “In that case, there’s ‘something important’ that I have to tell you… My uncle Dyrin came to call earlier and he delivered some frightening news that you need to hear…”

He told her everything, starting with the legend of the Seven Sages. All the while she listened intently, so intently, in fact, that any semblance of sleepiness seemed to leave her at once. She even interrupted every now and then to ask questions, most of which Dyrin had answered for Link earlier. After a few minutes of explaining, however, Link arrived at the last of his account—and he told Eryn that she was the heir to the legacy of the Forest Sage.

At once Eryn went completely still, sitting perfectly rigidly and upright, staring into nothing, not blinking once, as though she was in a trance. Link tried to snap her out of it—he waved his hand in front of her face, tapped her lightly on the shoulder, have her a hard shove—but to no avail. “Eryn?” he said. “What’s happening, Mom?”

Elen crouched in front of Eryn and stared into her wide-open eyes. They began to glow bright green, even in the whites of her eyes, and they shone forth like lighthouse beacons. Swirls of color began to form over her irises, and they dilated almost unnaturally. “She’s being possessed by a magical force…”

“Well then we must do something before—“

“No,” Elen said. She placed her hand on Eryn’s forehead and turned to look at Link. “It’s all right. The power of the Sage must be taking over. Remember what Dyrin said: ‘they were able to obtain magic unfathomable—a magic that could not be learned or taught, a magic that joined completely with them, that became the very core of their souls….’ This must be part of the process of unlocking that power. Let her be for now.”

It was another minute before Eryn regained full consciousness, and Elen removed her hand from her forehead. But, instead of relief, Link was filled with more fear for now her eyes were wide open with some unknown realization. “We… we must go at once!” she cried. “Something is happening at the Forest Temple!” She rushed back to her room, and Link and Elen followed. Neither of them had ever seen her so flustered before.

By the time they had reached the door, however, Eryn had already discarded her nightgown to change into something better for travel in the rain—Link found himself having to shield his eyes to avoid getting too good a look at her, since, after all, they weren’t married yet. She quickly realized her mistake, closed the door, and briskly carried on undressing.

“Oh yes, Mother, ‘possessed’ was definitely a good way to put it,” Link chuckled.

“I heard that!” Eryn shouted from the other side of the door.

“You know, with things as they are and especially after our conversation on the way here, I would expect you to be a little nicer…” Elen said. “Maybe you really deserve all the responsibility being placed on your shoulders. I know Eryn sure doesn’t.

She was right again, as usual. But that didn’t make using Eryn as leverage any fairer.

At last - printing and liesure time have afforded me the opportunity to comment on everything you've posted so far! ^^ Your prose is brilliant, as always, your cast of characters, and the setting in which they are placed, enjoyable. I love the mixture of the LoZ series's various elements of the LoZ: Toaru, Saria, Death Mountain, Ganondorf, Beedle, et cetera. I find it especially delightful to discover Link has a mother in this story! I'm quite in suspense as to how this story shall culminate - and I enjoyed this most recent scene very much. Update soon!

Selah

Originally Posted by Selah

At last - printing and liesure time have afforded me the opportunity to comment on everything you've posted so far! ^^ Your prose is brilliant, as always, your cast of characters, and the setting in which they are placed, enjoyable. I love the mixture of the LoZ series's various elements of the LoZ: Toaru, Saria, Death Mountain, Ganondorf, Beedle, et cetera. I find it especially delightful to discover Link has a mother in this story! I'm quite in suspense as to how this story shall culminate - and I enjoyed this most recent scene very much. Update soon!

I am so very glad you are enjoying it, and all the gladder that you are noticing all the little references here and there. It has always been one of my hopes to see a game in which Link has a family while still being able to pursue his epic quest, and the closest we've come to this is TWW. So I'm taking matters into my own hands.

More of Chapter Three--there will be one last segment after this one, methinks. I'm finding it much easier to write these a segment at a time, now that I've gotten the ball rolling.

Enjoy, ladies and gentlesirs!

They certainly weren’t in Calatia anymore. That much was clear. Link was quite sure he had never seen this part of the forest, and not only because none of it looked even remotely familiar. Rather, it was due more to the fact that he and Eryn had been venturing into it for almost two hours. Even in the pouring rain and the pitch-dark of the night underbrush they were sure to have covered quite a span during that time. Besides, they had hoods, cloaks, and boots for the rain and lamps to light their way.

Despite all this, Eryn showed no signs of fatigue, even after she’d seemed beyond exhausted earlier. Perhaps her power as a Sage had overcome her exhaustion. It had certainly overridden her common sense and her general fear of stormy weather. And, somehow, it had granted her some semblance of a sense of direction, even if it could only lead her to her forest sanctuary, and not to the bakery around the corner of Main Street.

“How much farther, d’you wager?” Link asked. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he was beginning to grow tired of walking. He’d lost too much sleep over the last few days due to his apprehension about the proposal.

“We’re nearly there,” Eryn responded, before stopping mid-stride and staring up into the darkness of the tree canopies. “But we’d better be careful. The forest sprites whisper of danger in the woods.”

Hearing forest sprites must have been another one of the after-effects of the awakening of her Sage powers. Being married to one of the Seven Maidens would sure prove to be interesting.

“What?” Link said. Dyrin had told them that he had drawn the hordes off. What threat could possibly await them here? Unless some of the creatures once in the service of the Dark One already dwelt within the woods, as the Bokoblins had in the mountains, in which case they might encounter more difficulty than he had anticipated. Then again, Dyrin hadn’t given him that sword and shield just for show. He should have expected he might have to use them. “What else do they say?”

“They draw near…”

The both of them stopped in their tracks and listened as hard as they could for sounds of movement. Luckily the race of Hylia was gifted with an extraordinary sense of hearing—so extraordinary, in fact, that it was said that they could hear the voice of the wind. Most attributed this gift to the Great Spirit Rauru, the Caretaker of the Hylia, just as the ability of the Kokiri—the forest children—to hear the forest spirits was said to have been bestowed upon them by the Great Deku Tree, the Father of all trees. And it was common knowledge that most of the people from Saria town could trace their roots back to the Kokiri settlements in early Calatia, more specifically central Calatia, and most specifically Toaru.

He saw Eryn move out of the corner of his eye. She whirled about to turn northward and raised a hand, conjuring forth a whirlwind of leaves as though she had done it a million times. The Deku nut that had been hurtling toward her was spun off its trajectory by her spell and careened into the dark of the wood before shattering against a tree and exploding brilliantly. Of course, this could mean only one thing—Deku Scrubs. That certainly explained the danger.

Though Link had never encountered a group of them—let alone one of them—before, he had certainly heard some stories of them, such as how they’d terrorized many wagon convoys over the past few years. About eight years, now that he got a chance to think about it. They could very well have been among the Dark One’s followers. But why hadn’t they made any move against the villages?

No matter. They were certainly making a move now.

A few of them poked their heads out from the underbrush, and Link brandished his sword, readied his shield, and was after them in a flash. The Scrubs opened fire on him at once, but his shield arm moved quicker. Since its face was slightly curved, the shield was able not only to protect Link from the numbing power of the Deku nut barrage but also to repel them back to their sources, effectively immobilizing several of them. Those he could not deflect he battered with his sword edge. Those Scrubs who were left standing received the business end of his blade.

He moved like a machine from one target to the next, slaying Scrub after Scrub in seamless succession. His blade was perfectly in control, as though it were a part of him—like a finger or a toe, an eyelid or a lower lip. Just as Eryn had been seized by the essence of her magicks, he had been taken over by his warrior’s instinct. There was no stopping him.

Dyrin had instructed him well. Each of his sword strikes delivered the maximum force while expending the minimum effort, each of them struck their targets precisely where he’d intended to hit—for the most part that meant either straight in the snout, just between the eyes, or in the abdomen—and his movement was perfectly fluid. He had made a rough count of how many Scrubs were in hiding in the trees when they had first appeared. He had no longer needed the count by the time his blade had left its scabbard. When his eyes met a Scrub, he introduced his sword as well.

Within moments, there were no Scrubs left alive with whom to be acquainted, and his sword was back in his sheath.

Eryn just stared at him, flabbergasted. “Oh…kay…” she said. “That was more than a little frightening.” What did she mean by ‘more than a little frightening’? Did she think he was some kind of monster, after the way he had handled those Scrubs? Then again, he had never killed anyone before, and the fact that he had so easily killed so many with no hint of remorse was a bit unnerving. But he had done what he had to do. There was no reason for regret.

“I guess now I know how you must feel, knowing that you’re engaged to someone connected to the ancient legends,” Eryn added. “We’re never going to be the same after this, you know.”

“Don’t be silly,” Link said. “I’m the one having to turn killer. You’ve had this power locked within you all along..”

“Hmm…” said Eryn. “I’m not so sure I can’t say the same for you. I have never seen such life in you before.”

“Gee, thanks. The last thing I want is for a killer instinct to be part of my inner nature.” Even as he said this, though, in the back of his mind, he was gladder than ever to hear it. Ever since he had watched Dyrin spar with his father as a young boy, he had aspired to become a swordsman someday, to be granted the opportunity to gallivant across the land like his uncle. He had long thought those dreams had died, but now that he held the keys to fulfilling them, they flooded back in full force.

“No, no, you misunderstand me. You were willing to protect me at all costs, costs you were more than willing to pay. You threw your whole being into that fight, and I find it very admirable. Unlike my power, which is fueled and controlled by the magic inside me—by who I am—your ability comes wholly from you, and who you have chosen to be. I go to the forest temple because the foreboding that plagues me is far too much to stand—you come with me because you are concerned for my safety.”

She was wrong. He was concerned for her safety—that much was true—but it was far from his primary concern. His mother’s words rushed through his mind, and he finally understood. Yes, he did care about her, and very much, but he cared about her less for her inner beauty or her wellbeing than for the sake of maintaining his picture-perfect life and ensuring that he didn’t lose another loved one. This could be said for most people, however—seldom does there exist a motiveless act, attitude, or emotion.

For Link, though, this self-centered side of his nature was distinct and separate, as divided as the twilight from the dawn. It was more than just a nagging voice in the back of his mind—it was its own personality. Perhaps it had been brought on by the grief of his father’s death. His mother had said he had handled it usually well for a boy of his age. In his sadness, there would have been no room for selfishness—his love would have undoubtedly trumped it. He could have shut it out so completely that he partitioned his mind, and he would never have known.

But he knew it now. He felt it stirring in him. His love would not triumph so easily this time, however. The powerful fear that he would lose someone else—his mother, Ilia, Eryn—made sure of that. And it was that fear that had slain the Deku Scrubs, as much as whatever shreds of heroism would have liked to claim ownership of the deed. But what was done was done, and, no matter his motives for doing it were, he had successfully saved her from the aggressors, and that was all that mattered in the end.

“The call to fulfill my destiny has arrived. I must respond to that call.” And so she pressed on.

Considering the course of recent events, Link didn’t really want to know what his ‘call to destiny’ would be. But he had a feeling that his time was soon to come, and, when it arrived, he would have just as much choice in the matter as she.

Dee rest of Chapter Three:

The Sentinels stood guard before the temple doors, as they had for the past age. In the days of the war, they had been the last defense of Hyrule—the elite of the elite, the cream of the crop of the group that would later become known as the Knights of Hyrule. Now their stone likenesses guarded their mistresses’ temples in case they might need to be called upon again to fight against evil. Tonight one of these mistresses would claim her destiny.

Link and Eryn approached the steps that led up to the gateway, both of them a little apprehensive about what they would find behind those jade doors. There had been enough danger in the woods as it had turned out already. Perhaps some of those dangers had seeped into the temple as well. “Well, we made it,” Link said. “And I’m starting to wish I’d been brave enough to venture this deep into the woods sooner.” He was talking, of course, about the temple grounds, which were quite a sight to behold. Had they more time to spare, he would have wandered through the ruins like a child in a toy store.

At the foot of the stairs stood a statue of the ancient Hero, donned in the traditional garb of the swordsmen of old—a tunic the color of the green of the fields with a matching hood, a mail shirt underneath—wielding the legendary blade of evil’s bane, taking an aggressive battle stance. Link had always found it interesting that he looked very much like the Hero—he had the same long hair, the same basic figure, and the same definitive Hylian facial features. Then again, he supposed, the Hero actually didn’t have anything particularly distinguishing about him—it was not uncommon for pure-blooded Hylians to have messy blonde hair, blue eyes, long pointy ears, and angular faces.

Alongside this statue stood others of Kokiri warriors wielding daggers, bows, and slingshots—most of them of young women, in fact. At each of their bases were carved inscriptions in Old Hylian—and below that in the Kokiri script—probably meant to denote who each of these brave forest children were and what roles they served in assisting the Hero in the war against evil. And, of course, among these stood a statue of the Kokiri Sage, Saria—after whom, of course, the town of Saria was named, and to whom, of course, Eryn bore an uncanny resemblance.

After looking at the statue of the ancient Sage Saria and then glancing back at the image of the Hero, Link found himself overcome with the notion that it seemed almost too fitting that he was venturing deep into the Lost Woods in hopes of unlocking the power of the Sage for the sake of combating evil, just as the Hero had ventured into the Lost Woods in search of someone with that power for the same ends. Now that old bloodlines were reawakening after centuries of dormancy, it would hardly surprise him if the Hero would rise once again. And, given the course of recent events, and his likeness to the Hero, it would hardly surprise him if he turned out to be that Hero.

But perhaps his imagination was just running away with him, and he was digging too deeply into things for a purpose in all of this. So far he had felt like a tool—Dyrin and his father had been in the service of the King of Hyrule, Eryn was a reincarnation of an ancient Sage, and his mother was far more versed in this lore than he was. The Hero, on the other hand, had orchestrated the entire war against evil, and so, at that point, the similarities stopped. He knew next to nothing about the unfolding events and even less about the magicks involved. The extent of his education on these matters reached as far as the common lore of the Kokiri and of the Imprisoning War, none of which even mentioned the Sages, although, admittedly, they often mentioned the temples.

The Kokiri, for instance, had used the temple as a site of worship for the past thousand years or so, at least up until a few decades ago, when they had broken off ties with Calatia for whatever reason. Link believed that it was probably due to the constant rush of outsiders cutting down stretches of the Calatia forest to build towns and villages—Remiera, most notably. When the Great Deku Tree created the Kokiri it did so with the intent that they would be the caretakers of the forests of Hyrule, so it only made sense that their forests’ being threatened would not bode well with them.

His mother had gone with his father to visit the Kokiri once. He had always enjoyed the tales of the forest children and their faerie guardians, and of their tree-house villages and playful pastimes. Perhaps at some point during his errands he’d be called upon to take a trip to the Korok Haven to meet with them. He'd always been curious as to what it looked like.

He and Eryn made their way up the stairs and past the giant carven images of the Sentinels, and, upon reaching the door, they looked at the inscription emblazoned on it. It was written in Kokiri characters, so Link could make neither head nor tail of it—he could speak some of the Kokiri dialects well enough, but couldn’t read it for the life of him. Eryn, on the other hand, seemed to be able to, but Link wondered whether that was due more to her knowledge of the tribe from her town’s educational curriculum or to her innate familiarity with them as the heir to the Sagehood. Either way, she read it aloud:

“Green Maiden, of the Forest Sage’s line,
If you find need to enter,
A need that is true,
Your Sanctuary will open the way [for you].”

She stepped back, and motioned for Link to do the same. Then she raised her arms into the air, conjuring forth a ball of green light more beautiful than the shining sun, and cast it forward, at the door, which made a loud clicking noise that echoed through the temple courtyard. The temple began to quake slightly as the doors slid open, a haze of dust raining down on them as stone grinded against stone. But, within the door, there was another haze, and one that made both Link and Eryn feel quite uneasy. It was a dark gloom, bluish in color with a terrible odor that could only be the stench of wickedness.

Something had gone down inside the temple—but how? No one could enter without using the power of the Sage—or the power of the guardian. Something must have happened to the guardian of this temple. They would have to make haste, or the same darkness that was behind this madness would soon take hold of the key to the Golden Power that lay hidden within the temple.

“Are you ready?” Eryn said. “Once we go in, there’s no telling what we’ll find.”

“This is your destiny,” Link replied. “And, much as I wish it didn’t have to be, there’s nothing I can do to change that. You have to fulfill your calling, and I—well, I won’t let you go at it alone. I’m committed to this, all the way, because this is the path I have chosen.”

She stepped over and kissed him, then proceeded into the gloom. He followed after her, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Just in case.

Cheers, more! The history of Hyrule is brilliantly illuminated in these final two segments, and I loved the brief dissection of Link's actual motives for accompanying Eryn. The conclusion of chapter 3 puts me in mind of Wind Waker, particularly when following Medli into that one temple... yeah. Can't seem to recall its name. But oh well.

Link and Saria approached the steps that led up to the gateway...

I think that should be Eryn...

Looking forward to another update!

Originally Posted by Selah

The history of Hyrule is brilliantly illuminated in these final two segments, and I loved the brief dissection of Link's actual motives for accompanying Eryn.

I am especially glad that it turned out, since it was quite awkward to write. Hopefully I'll be able to keep the "changing" theme fairly consistent throughout, as it's sure to be of utmost importance later on.

The conclusion of chapter 3 puts me in mind of Wind Waker, particularly when following Medli into that one temple... yeah. Can't seem to recall its name. But oh well.

That was the intention. I'm oh-so-glad I pulled it off well.

I think that should be Eryn...

Right you are. *changes*

And I've already got another update ready. This is part 1 of Chapter 4, not Chapter 4 in its entirety.

Chapter 4 – Cleansing

The temple entrance shut slowly behind them as they entered the antechamber—or, at least, what Link deemed to be an antechamber—locking them in with the bluish haze and only the dim glow of the lamplight to illuminate the room. Not that it helped much—the haze was thicker than Yune’s beard. “Well, that’s comforting,” Link said. “D’you have any idea where we can find that key? I’m getting all kinds of bad vibes in here.” He hoped that, since her powers guided them to the temple, they might be able to guide them through the temple.

“Actually…” Eryn said, a slight quiver in her voice. “I… don’t. Until we stepped into this fog, it was as though I was being led by a long-lost memory, but now that we’re inside, there’s… nothing. I don’t think this fog is natural.”

Link rolled his eyes. “What was your first clue, the color or the smell?”

“Glad to see someone kept his sense of humor,” Eryn said. “At least I know I’m in good hands.” She pressed on into the fog, and Link was quick to follow.

“Always at your service, my love,” Link replied, winking, though he knew she would not be able to see. “So, how do you think this fog got here? This temple’s supposed to have been sealed for the past several hundred years. I’m guessing something’s probably happened to the temple guardian, but you probably know much more than I do, so I won’t presume to say that that’s the case.”

Eryn glanced back at him. “You’re probably not all that far off. At least, I can’t think of any other possibility. Maybe the first thing we should attend to is finding the guard—“ And she suddenly stopped in her tracks and fell silent. Link immediately followed suit, clutching his sword even more tightly than he already was. “Did you hear that?”

Before Link could answer, however, Eryn was scraped off her feet in front of him by what seemed to be a giant claw, and was taken, screaming, into the depths of the temple. He readied his sword and chased after it, running blindly through the fog, yelling her name but receiving only muffled, echoing, indistinguishable replies. Whatever the thing was that had taken her was incredibly fast, especially considering its apparent size. After a few minutes of running his feet were caught in an adhesive substance, which he quickly determined was made up of the sinewy strands of a spider’s web, and so he was slowed a bit in trying to forcefully make his way across the sticky floor.

Of course, even despite this, he was still consumed by his haste, and so he only just noticed the giant Skulltula before it descended upon him, and only just in time brought his sword upward toward it and jabbed it into its vulnerable underbelly. The Skulltula dropped the strand it was using to lower itself down to him and fell writhing in pain to the floor, squirming its last. A few more Skulltulas scuttled across the ceiling overhead, but Link ignored them and continued forward. He had to get Eryn back from that thing before he could venture to do anything else. She was too important to the matter at hand, and she was too important to him.

Skulltulas were spiders born from the curses of the Dark One on the forest in the days of the war. They had never been fully eradicated, but they only flocked to spots in the forest where trees were dead or dying, which meant that they only ever really flourished in winter. Link was not unfamiliar with them, having ventured into the Lost Woods several times throughout his youth—albeit not nearly as far as he’d gone this time—so he was more than capable of handling them.

Eventually his stumbling led him to a door, which he, of course, opened. It led into a stairwell filled with Skulltula webs, which he cut through with his sword to make his way across the chamber. As he approached one of the staircases, he held up his lantern to illuminate the stairwell, only to discover that it led deep down underground, into an entire hive of Skulltulas. He also noticed what appeared to be large, deep claw marks in the walls, leading downward—perhaps left behind by the creature that had snatched Eryn.

He swallowed his fears and started down the stairs, and it wasn’t long before the Skulltulas took note of his intrusion. His sword was no match for this many, especially since, with their hard skull-shaped carapaces, it would be difficult to get in jabs on their weak underbellies while they were on the ground, or even as they jumped, shell-first, towards him. Instead, he brandished his shield, and used it to push the leaping spiders back as they leapt at him, then jabbed its sharp edge against their abdomens as they were flipped over and knocked silly by its hard metal face.

There still proved to be far too many, though, and in the end he simply fled down the staircase from what had to be about fifteen big Skulltulas and many more younger ones. He was glad to find another door at the bottom of the stairs, and even gladder to find that it shut and locked tightly behind him.

But where was he now? This seemed to be a treasure chamber of some sort, judging by the decorative daggers and such hanging from the walls—some of them strewn about the room, probably by any monsters lucky enough to get through the door. Spider-webs covered even this room, but, even despite the webs and the bluish haze, Link still managed to make out the wooden chest tucked away on the far side of the room. He hoisted it out of the cobwebs and slowly opened it, just in case some other insect-like creature was lurking on the inside.

What he found within was quite different. It was a bow, obviously crafted by the Kokiri, but just as obviously fit for a full-grown Hylian man—and a very magnificent bow at that. The length was just right for a handle that size, there was not a single chip in the wood, which had been glazed to perfection. The bowstrings, quiver, and arrows that lay beside it were just as well-made, and Link spared no time in stringing up the bow and pulling it taut to gauge its distance. Judging by the tautness of the string and the curve on the bow, this beauty could probably shoot something from almost seventy meters away, which was especially notable considering its compactness. This was, in short, a light-weight longbow, sans the length.

He clipped it and its quiver onto his back alongside his sword’s sheath, then quickly looked around to see if there was anything else of value here. Just to be safe, he grabbed a dagger from one of the plaques and hung it from his belt.

He tiptoed back to the door of the chamber and listened for the sounds of Skulltulas shuffling about on the other side. Apparently they had given up on eating him, since he heard no movement. The door he’d used to enter was the only way in or out of the room, so he’d have to use it to make his way back out. He reached into his satchel and pulled out his water bottle, made from the unbreakable glass of the Analon forges—a gift from Uncle Dyrin—took a big swig, and prepared to dash back out into danger.

The door creaked loudly as he slowly opened it, and he peered out into the haze. If the Skulltulas were watching him, they were just out of his sight—not a very reassuring thought, especially considering the thickness of the gloom. He hung his lantern at his side, and readied his brand-new bow, just in case, and flung open the door, rushing across the room. At once he saw something that he had failed to notice before, likely because the first thing he had seen upon reaching the bottom of the stairs was the room he had to hastily entered—a wide hallway, blocked off by spider-webs except for a large opening at the top, which he assumed the thing that took Eryn used as passage.

To try to climb the spider-web and through the opening would be folly—he would be stuck, and the Skulltulas would have themselves a meal. But now that he thought about it, there was one way he could pass. He opened the lid of his lantern and brought the flame close to the web. It immediately caught fire, illuminating the entire chamber and sending the frightened Skulltulas skittering to higher ground. The flames quickly burned through the spider-web barrier and made their way up using the other web-strands, and Link rushed into the hallway before the Skulltulas could muster up the guts to follow.

At the end of the dark, dank hallway he found himself in what appeared to be a ceremonial chamber—that had perhaps been used to infuse the temple with the energy of the Forest Sage. Columns lined the green-carpeted pathway, and from the ceiling hung chandeliers, now covered in spider-webs. Strung up on one of these chandeliers was Eryn, and a host of Skulltulas were trying to decide what to do with her. Link wouldn’t give them the honor.

He nocked an arrow and loosed it into the fray, and the Skulltula that had made its way closest to Eryn fell dead to the floor. The others took note of the danger and immediately fell from the ceiling to scamper towards Link, but he was not in the mood to humor words with them, much less allow them to live. Dyrin had been so kind as to force him to learn how to fire off multiple arrows at a time—now those lessons would finally bear fruit. Of course, given that there must have been at least a hundred Skulltulas in this room, he’d need more than a fancy bowman’s trick to get him out of this tight spot, but, luckily, he had another idea or two up his sleeve.

His next three arrows he dipped into the chamber of his lantern, lighting their tips ablaze, and he fired the flaming arrows into the throng of spiders rushing at him. Of course they seared right through them—even through the hard carapaces—and even continued on through the crowd. The arrows killed a sum total of about five Skulltulas each, which had given the spiders enough of a scare to buy him time to light three more arrows ablaze.

But instead of firing these into the swarm, he instead turned his bow on the spiderwebs that bound Eryn, and within a few moments she, too, fell from the ceiling, catching herself in a tangle of vines she had conjured from midair, which she then spread throughout the room. Link in turn, took a hold of a few of them and lit them on fire as well, creating a mesh of flaming whips which he could use to easily take out ten or twelve of the spiders at once. He tossed his lantern to Eryn and then wielded the vines with as much ease as he had his sword and the bow, and, before long, after a few fiery cracks of the whip, all the Skulltulas were dead.

“Are you all right?” he asked Eryn, rushing over to take her in his arms for a moment.

“Of course, thanks to you,” Eryn said. “You got here just in time. And I see you’ve found yourself a bow. That would have come in real handy when we’d encountered those Scrubs, I think.”

“It’s a pretty nice make, too,” Link said. “The Kokiri crafted this, I’m sure. Only they could have such a way with wood.” He hung the bow back on his back and recovered his lantern from Eryn. “So, what happened to the thing that grabbed you? Obviously it wasn’t a Skulltula—they don’t have claws, and it was much too big.”

“It set me down in here and then went deeper into the temple—into that chamber over there.” She pointed to indicate the passage on the far side of the room. “None of the Skulltulas seem to venture that way, so I’d wager that that’s its hive.”

“Maybe that’s the central chamber, where the key can be found,” Link said. “If these creatures have anything to do with the dark haze, they’re probably born of darkness, and drawn to the power of the key.”

“Yes, and the fact that the Skulltulas have flocked to this place probably means that there’s an evil curse at work. Skulltulas only come out when parts of the forest begin to die. Perhaps the forest guardian has been felled?”

A loud thud came from within the inner sanctum. Link motioned for Eryn to get behind him, and so she did, and he pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming into the darkness. A great monster, scorpion-like in form, lurched forward, its single eye fixed upon him while its pincers snapped in anticipation. Link just stared unblinkingly at its eyeball, more terrified than he’d ever been before. As it advanced, he backed away, a jolt of adrenaline overtook him, and he launched an arrow at the eye. A shoot of blood spurted forth and splattered across the front of his tunic.

His arachnid attacker abruptly brought its colossal claw down towards Link’s head, but he dodged it just in time, and the blow meant for him instead crashed through a nearby column. Link quickly brought out his blade and sliced through the claw, which was now stuck in the pillar, cutting it clean off and covering his tunic with more bug blood. Now feeling genuinely threatened, the monster gazed for a moment with its bleeding eye at its severed limb before resuming its relentless assault.

Link leapt back and forth, evading the unmerciful jabs of the monster’s potent stinger every time they came at him. After one such sidestep he was lucky enough to land a slash, chopping off a fragment of its scorpion-like tail and sending venomous fluid splattering all over the room. He managed to bring his shield in front of his face before the toxins could spray onto his skin, and only just avoided an untimely and likely painfully acidic death. Its stinger all but worthless, the monster initiated a new stratagem of attack and climbed onto the ceiling before covering the chamber with hundreds of eggs.

“Well, that’s just great…” Link snarled as some of the eggs began to hatch and the larvae that emerged from them started to progress towards him. “This won’t do at all…” They charged him one by one, but he was quick enough with his sword to halt their advances. It wasn’t long before the hall was decked with twitching arachnid larvae, but there
were still many more rushing towards him. So many, in fact, that he was experiencing much difficulty fending them off, and some of them started coming dangerously close to biting him.

“Get back, Eryn,” he said. “This isn’t going to be pretty. Unless, of course, you’ve got a fetish for lighting bugs on fire.” He cast his lantern upon the ground, setting many of the advancing critters aflame and ultimately incinerating them. But it didn’t stop there—the fog seemed to be carrying the fire throughout the room, burning through any survivors. Link, who hadn’t expected such incredible results from his haphazard artifice, stood there for a moment to congratulate himself and to watch his masterpiece unfold.

But then he remembered that the mother was still alive. It came crashing down to the ground directly in front of him, and he was nearly knocked off his feet. If it hadn’t been angry before, it certainly was now that he’d exterminated its babies. With a tremendous roar, or at least a sound most comparable to a roar, the great behemoth smacked him across the room with its powerful tail. Eryn let out a small shout, but quickly quieted herself, lest it turn its attentions on her.

Luckily Link managed to plant his feet on the far wall and promptly sprung from it like a frog from a Lilly pad perch, an arrow at the ready, and he fired the arrow directly at the monster’s eye once more. Again it writhed in pain, and as he flew past the pillar in which its claw was stuck, he wrenched it from its place, and with a mighty swing he rendered the monster unconscious. The force of the swing sent him higher into the air, and he flipped over to land just in front of it and stuck his sword straight into the eye.

The monster struggled to get back to its feet, but to no avail. Link had not only sufficiently blinded it, but the trauma he had dealt to the eye coupled with the loss of fluids from the severed claw had been enough to finish it off completely. It collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap, and at once the haze began to vanish in the lamplight. Whatever that monster was, it must have been the source of the haze.

“Well, that solves that problem,” Link said as Eryn came to join him.

“Yes, but that still doesn’t answer the question of how exactly that monster got in here in the first place,” Eryn replied. “It troubles me to know that such curséd creatures as these could have penetrated the ancient seal. I have a feeling our business in the forest is far from finished.”

As if on cue, another great shudder lurched across the chamber floor, coming from the inner sanctum. Link and Eryn rushed into the chamber, where they found themselves face-to-face with what looked like the wide roots of a gigantic tree. The roots converged above them, leading Link to believe that this chamber was actually situated directly under said tree. One of the larger roots loomed above an altar, which Link deemed to be the altar that housed the key to the Golden Power. As he and Eryn approached, however, the trembling ceased, and from that root emerged what looked to be a face.

The eyes blinked, as if inviting one of them to speak, but they both were much too dumbfounded to do much of anything. So the face spoke first: “Greetings, young ones. Was it you who slew Queen Gohma?”

Link hadn’t heard of ‘Queen Gohma’ before, but he deemed it probably to mean the monster he had just destroyed. “Yes. It was I who destroyed it. I offer this blade as evidence of my deed.” He held up his sword, which was covered in the green blood of the vile fiend. And then it occurred to him who he was speaking to. “Pardon what must seem as ignorance, but are you… the Great Deku Tree?”

“I am, young one, but I would hardly attribute your unknowing to ignorance,” the face said. “Yes, I am the Great Deku Tree, guardian spirit of the forest, and also the warden of this forest temple. I sense that you come with many questions on the tip of your tongue, and I should very much like to answer them, if I can.”

Eryn was first to step forward. “O Great Deku Tree…” she said. “How is it that such a vile creature found its way into the pure sanctuary of this temple? Was not the sacred seal designed to repel such evil?”

The tree looked disheartened at his question, but answered it regardless. “I am afraid I might be to blame,” it said. “When I took on the responsibility of guarding the Forest Temple, I instructed the Kokiri to build it just above these roots, not far away from my watchful eye. But I put too much of my focus on the temple, and not enough on the rest of the forest. The Deku Tribe, who we forest folk have long thought to have fled the domain of my children, returned about eight years ago to harass the inhabitants of the Calatia Fringe, as I am sure you are well aware. I had thought that they would not be so bold as to attack the temple, but, just in case, I kept my gaze upon its doors, but recently the Deku Tribe attacked me instead, placing a curse upon me.

“Those monsters used my roots as a means of entering the temple, and the temple was covered in a veil of darkness. The Deku hoped that they might convince me to unseal the temple so that they might claim the key to the Golden Power, but I could not allow it. Even if it could mean the destruction of the entire forest.” The Deku Tree’s face fell even further, and Link could sense his remorse for such folly. “Because of that curse, I will soon wither and die, and the forest along with me.”

“But you can’t die!” Eryn shouted, a tear falling from her cheek. “You’re the guardian spirit of the forest! What will Hyrule become without the trees to spread and maintain life? We shall all surely perish.”

“Fear not, young one,” the Tree assured her. “The forest shall not die. I have seen to it.”

“But how? Eryn asked. “How can the forest go on without its spirit? Unless—“

The Deku Tree smiled down at them. “When I was a mere sapling, and my forests were young, it was foretold that one day a vile calamity would afflict me. I took the warnings seriously, and, as a precaution, I had my children—the Kokiri, those who have eternal youth, and the wood children, whom you know as the Skull Kids—travel to the Wellsprings of Life at the ends of the world with two Everflowing Chalices—cups that never run dry—to collect water from the two springs found there. The Skull Kids brought back the Water of Life, the water that has the power to restore life even at the brink of death, and the Kokiri brought back the Water of Health, which has the power to cure any affliction. When mixed together, these two create an elixir that should not only purge the forest of this curse, but also restore me to my former strength.”

Remarkable, Link decided. Two elixirs, one with the power to restore life, and another with the power to cure any affliction, both found in chalices that never run dry. They reminded him of the Fairy Fountains of legend, in which dwelt Great Fairies with almost equally potent healing powers. Most healing fairies could purge sickness or heal wounds, but only to a certain degree, and certainly not fully. These powers probably stemmed from the same source—the goddess of Courage, and of Life, Farore. Carrying this elixir, however, would be comparable to having a Fairy Fountain in his pocket. Perhaps he could get away with saving a few drops for himself.

“Of course, I cannot retrieve the waters myself,” the Tree continued. “They lie beyond my reach. In order to save the forest, you will have to mix the elixir yourselves. Can I count on the two of you to do this?”

Link had gotten over being annoyed with his uncle for selecting him for such a dangerous undertaking. After what had transpired tonight, in fact, he couldn’t see how his uncle could have trusted anyone else. He was his father’s son, through and through, and had even inherited his father’s legacy—an incredible aptitude for fighting creatures of darkness. And, like his father, he even carried a certain pretentiousness that many would call recklessness but that Dyrin would attribute to a strong nerve. He was not at all surprised to find that the Deku Tree was requesting this of him. And not at all unwilling to accept the request.

“Absolutely,” he said. Eryn nodded in agreement.

“Then it is settled. The Chalices I entrusted to my children. The Skull Kids hid the Water of Life in one of their forest grottoes, and the Kokiri kept the Water of Health in their village. It has been brought to my attention that, not long after I was cursed, the Everflowing Chalice of Health was stolen from Korok Haven by the Deku Tribe, and they took it to their palace, likely to attempt to drain it—which, of course, is impossible, so they are only wasting their time. Of course, it is rather unlike the Deku Scrubs to act with such forethought, so I fear they may be under the sway of evil, much as they were during the Dark War…”

Link burst with anger. So they had played a part in the Imprisoning War, as he had suspected. “Why were they not driven out from the forests long ago for turning on their brethren?” he fumed. “Why do they still soil these hallowed woods with their betrayal?”

The Deku Tree just carried on smiling down at him, those wise eyes revealing a sense of erudite fatherly pride toward Link for asking such a question. “Do not be so hasty to judge, young one. Indeed, they may be wicked, but they must remain here because the forests are the only place they can live. Many of them have fled to the Skull Woods to the northwest, but to cast them out because of past and present transgressions—to condemn them to death—would be a worse crime than any they could ever commit. Even the Hero stayed his hand after defeating the Evil One in battle, choosing instead to seal him away. We must treat all living things, no matter how wretched, with the same mercy that the Hero displayed. Only then can we be the righteous people the gods have always meant us to be.”

It came as somewhat of a shock to Link to hear that the Hero of Legend had not destroyed the Dark One. Had that not been the entire purpose of the war? But then he realized—no, it had not. The purpose had been to drive the evil out of Hyrule, and to restore control to its people. But what of the recent mounting evil? Had the Dark One actually risen again, along with his minions, to wreck havoc across the land once more? If so, the Hero would have to rise again as well, to defeat him once more. Of course, with this thought came the feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was attaining more and more of the qualities of that Hero.

“Before you go, young ones, do not forget to take that which you came for—the key to the land of the Golden Power. It lies within the altar before you. It is one of seven pieces of the Hero’s Medallion, a crest bearing the Triforce of Legend that, when brought to a certain shrine hidden somewhere in Hyrule, opens the way to the Sacred Realm, the dwelling-place of the gods. In the hands of darkness, the medallion is a threat to our land, but in your hands, it is our last hope. Now, approach the altar, and receive the Hero’s Piece!”

Eryn stepped forward, and raised her hands to pray before the altar, much as she had done at the temple’s gate, and the altar itself opened like a stone chest and revealed the treasure within. The shard of the medallion was green, and was shaped rather strangely. Link wondered very much how the other pieces fit together with this one to form the complete medallion. Judging by the look of things, the medallion was in the shape of a triangle. Eryn took it from the altar and presented it to Link.

“Here, Link, my betrothed,” she said, holding out the Piece before her. “I bequeath upon you this shard of the Hero’s Medallion. Keep it close, and keep it safe.” And she took his hand. placed the shard in his palm, and closed his hand around it. “You now hold a piece of my power, as you hold my heart.”

What had he gotten himself into?

“Hey, come back here!” Link shouted. But the Skull Kids he had been attempting to approach paid him no mind. They were too mischievous to care, and every time he thought he had caught up with them, they continued dashing further into the brush. In his haste, he clumsily tripped over a tree root, nearly falling on his face but managing to recover with a somersault and to maintain his rapidity.

The Skull Kids were already far out of sight. “Damn…they got away…” he muttered under his breath. These had been the third bunch to elude him. Somehow they had been fortunate enough to run across more of the wood children than expected, but all of them had managed to escape their grasp. “Oh well, I can’t give up now…” He gave up the chase and began to head back to meet up again with Eryn. It was pointless for her to try catching one of the swift imps—she was much too tired from the night’s ventures.

As he trekked back to the spot where they’d spotted the Skull Kids, he could see his footprints in the drying mud from his pursuit, but not those of the light-footed Skull Kids, who seemed to run like the very wind itself. It was said that they borrowed their speed from the power of these winds as well as from the forest. Their ability to tread so daintily was absolutely astounding—he had barely been able to hear their soft footfalls as he tracked them through the underbrush.

It was incredible spectacles like this that made him realize how very large the Lost Woods really were, and, as if this awareness were not enough, it brought to him a sense of how even vaster the world at large was. And to think he’d already explored much of what was unknown to him because of this new quest. He could never have been happier that his old uncle Dyrin had paid him a visit. He came upon another of the roots he’d nearly tripped over, and stepped over it spitefully. To think that the smallest thing could be such a hindrance seemed contradictory to his revelations about the scale of the world. He supposed that this was just symbolic of the fact that even the smallest creature can have the greatest impact on the world.

Suddenly he saw out of the corner of his eye another truly rare sight. A Keaton, a four-tailed fox-like animal with enchanted powers, the most elusive creature in the forest, was dashing circuitously around the grassy clearing before, upon sighting Link, it started to dash westward. It seemed to be beckoning him to follow, so he broke into a run and made chase.

The Keaton was much quicker than the Skull Kids had been, but Link’s determination to catch the beast was stronger than ever before. He could feel his determination pumping through his veins as his pace quickened and his heart thumping through his chest as his footfalls became softer and more frequent. Despite the sharp and pounding pain stabbing into his legs, he remained firmly resolute upon overtaking his quarry. But the Keaton was still exceedingly fleet, and it gradually faded out of sight.

Link was not on the verge of resignation this time, however, and instead enhanced his own gait. Though his thighs felt ready to burst, he continued this mad dash until he noticed the Keaton squatting confidently at the brink of the waterfall grove where he’d proposed to Eryn. He hastily slowed his stride, barely able to come to cessation to avoid plowing through the curious critter waiting for him. The Keaton sat unwaveringly even as Link approached, and continued staring intently as he stepped into the clearing.

Man and beast locked stares for a moment, and the Keaton gazed unblinkingly at a very captivated Link. He wondered why the Keaton did not flee. He wasn’t sure whether or not to extend his fingers to the animal for concern that it might abscond from the scene, but he conceded to his fascination and exerted the gesture anyway.

Surprisingly, the Keaton did not even flinch—it just watched him closely as his hand reached towards its snout. Sensing that Link was not a threat, the Keaton lurched its head forward and sniffed Link’s fingers before nuzzling against his outstretched hand. Link stroked the velvety fur lightly in response to the creature’s snuffle, and reached further to scratch behind the animal’s pointed ears. The Keaton shrank contently as Link relieved its irksome itchiness, and Link took another step forward to caress its silky hide with both hands, as a hunter pets his loyal hound.

To think what he would have missed out on had he given up the chase. He had definitely gotten out of this situation what he had put in. As is often the case, there must be effort to reap results. To lose sight of that most crucial of life lessons now would be calamitous. He watched as the sunlight reflected off the shiny strands of fur and caused the Keaton’s coat to radiate like glitter.

The Keaton stirred, its head jerked uneasily, it settled down again, then Link drew back his hands, and the Keaton stared at Link once again, as if to acknowledge his character. After a few moments, the creature abruptly whirled about and gracefully dove into the creek. Link impulsively plunged in after it, and saw the critter swimming down to the bottom, where he could spot a small tunnel. The Keaton disappeared into the burrow, and Link was all too compelled to follow.

Link’s head broke the surface of the water almost two full minutes after his initial descent, and he felt as if his lungs were about to implode. Huffing heavily, he clumsily pulled himself out of the water and took a moment to examine the grotto he had emerged in. The walls of the cave were lined with luminescent mushrooms and shimmering crystals. After looking confoundedly around the passage, his eyes rested on the Keaton, which was shaking its fur and splattering water throughout the room, making the already glimmering crystals shine ever brighter.

Approaching the Keaton he asked, as if it would answer him, “Is this your home?”

He was shocked to hear the Keaton reply, “No, ‘tis not, fair child. But I can show you the true purpose of this place if you will follow me. Be quick!”

It rushed further into the dark, and Link hastened to pursue it, still dripping wet and quite winded from the long swim. The tunnel was lengthy and shaped like a coiled snake, and Link had trouble keeping up. But the Keaton was approaching a bright light, which Link assumed was their destination, and wasn’t too worried about being left behind. The room into which the Keaton had led him looked very much like the inside of a hollowed-out tree, and there were ancient marks—not Kokiri, and not Old Hylian—on the walls that likely displayed more of the ancient lore of the forest. Link was a bit curious as to what the writings read, but figured that could be another question for another day, especially considering the time constraints of his mission.

But for now, he could take a moment to marvel in their mysteries.

His four-tailed guide pranced up the spiral pathway leading to the pinnacle of a spire in the center of the chamber, and Link could see a single Skull Kid meditating atop the turret. When the Keaton reached the top of the tower, it approached the Skull Kid, who snapped out of his trance and looked questioningly at the Keaton. In a voce inaudible to Link, the Keaton whispered something to the Skull Kid, who acknowledged it by nodding and rotating his head to face Link.

The Keaton strutted gracefully from atop the turret and Link assumed it was appropriate to advance towards the spiral trail, but before he could take a step, the Skull Kid levitated from his perch and hovered down to meet him. He gazed peculiarly at Link as if to stare into his inner self. After a brief moment the Skull Kid cocked his head and asked, “You are Link from Arynnia, correct?” The Skull Kid had a surprisingly austere and commanding inflection compared to the mischievous chuckles exhibited by most of the wood children.

“Yes,” Link said. How had this Skull Kid come by his name?

“The Deku Tree told me you would come,” the Skull kid said. “Then you are here for the Water of Life, are you not?” The Deku Tree had great power, indeed, if it could have informed this Skull Kid of his coming for the Water so promptly. Perhaps he had established some sort of telepathic connection with those he had entrusted with the ingredients of the elixir in order that they might better be kept safe.

“So it would seem,” Link replied. It was still quite awkward to find himself answering questions his interrogator appeared already to know the answers to. Somehow it did not occur to him until that very moment that it had been a random curiosity that had brought him to this place—this place that apparently was the place he was intended to find. He took it upon himself to ask a question of his own. “Are you its keeper?”

“I am,” the Skull Kid said. “Are you ready to receive the Water of Life? Have you something in which to carry it?” The Skull Kid produced a bronze chalice from under his straw hat, which Link could only take to be the Everflowing Chalice of Life. The water therein shimmered with an unnatural glimmer—it was obvious that it possessed magical properties. “If so, make haste—present it. The time of the forest grows short.”

Link removed the now-empty water bottle from his satchel and uncorked it.

“You have been entrusted with a significant responsibility—one I trust you will find the strength to carry out, even though the final steps will surely be difficult. Let us hope that, in that dark hour, you shall find the same faith in yourself that others have placed in you. Only then will you be able to triumph over adversity.”

The Skull Kid took the bottle and began to pour Water of Life from the Chalice into it. “With that in mind, I entrust you with this Water of Life.” He filled the bottle midway and returned it to Link, before replacing the Chalice beneath his hat. “Godspeed in your trek toward Korok Haven.”

“Oh, I won’t be headed for Korok Haven,” Link said. “The Chalice of Health has been stolen from the Kokiri by the Deku Tribe and taken off to their palace to the east. I’m going to need to retrieve it.”

“Speak ye the truth?” the Skull Kid asked. “In that case, your quest might be more difficult than I anticipated. Perhaps I ought to entrust that to you…”

“Excuse me?”

“An ancient weapon developed by my people—we call it the boomerang. It’s really quite primitive, but useful in a tight situation.” The Skull Kid reached into his shirt and removed a flat, curved wooden missile, studded with an orange jewel in the middle. “It usually doesn’t deliver lethal blows, but its value lies less in its capacity for damage than its ability to strike multiple targets.”

Link was confounded as to how this could possibly be used as a weapon, aside from as a blunt object with which to beat anything that came too close—much less hit multiple targets—but he knew better than to judge by appearances. “So, how does it work?”

“I would be all too happy to provide a demonstration,” the Skull Kid said. He lifted the boomerang and brought it behind his head, then, with a flick of his wrist he sent it spinning across the grotto chamber. But what use was an object such as this if it could only be used once? Link’s skepticism was quickly quelled when it rounded back and started spinning back towards the Skull Kid, who caught it neatly in the same hand that had thrown it.

“Impressed?”

“You practically took the word right out of my mouth.”

He couldn’t imagine how the Skull Kid could have called this a primitive weapon—it was pure genius, to put it simply. The fact that it was apparently non-lethal was actually not such a bad thing, since this seemed to be more useful for knocking out something like a palace guard, in this case. Or multiple guards, as the Skull Kid claimed. A simple arrow would have left more traces—not only the arrow but the blood that was sure to pour from the wound that ensued would be left behind, except in the best-case scenario, and, even then, it would require much too much effort and stealth to retrieve the arrow and dispose of the corpse. The reusability of the boomerang in most situations made it much more versatile.

“So, would you like to give it a try?” the Skull Kid asked. The once-stern tone of the Skull Kid’s voice had turned to a more childlike speech that reminded him very much of Eryn—much more like the playful Skull Kids he was used to dealing with. “I can promise you that it is not nearly as hard as it looks, as long as you can develop the correct posture. Given that you seem to be an expert bowman, I have confidence that you’ll catch on very quickly.”

He handed Link the boomerang, and was about to exhibit the proper form for Link when it came hurtling out of his hand and across the room, before curving cleanly back and returning to its master. Link had paid close enough attention when the Skull Kid had provided that demonstration, and mimicked the carriage impeccably.

It could only be more evidence indicating that he was a likely candidate for the descendent of the Hero. His ability to wield a wide array of weapons, his reckless bravado, his cool-headedness in the face of danger—all the signs pointed to the inevitable conclusion. He wondered if his uncle had any inkling or suspicion as to whether this might be the case. No—if Dyrin had, he would have told him before he ever undertook this commission, or, as it turned out, this series of commissions.

“Impressed?” Link said.

“You took the word right out of my mouth.”

The curse had spread to Korok Haven—a curse that stemmed from the Father: the Deku Tree; a curse cast upon them by those Deku traitors; a curse that, if left unchecked, would mean the death of the very forest itself. The guardian faeries of the Kokiri, too, were dying, and as their faerie mates passed away, so did their lives draw to an untimely close. Many of the younglings and elders had perished already—most recently, young Atchika, daughter of Mido, the Treór, had fallen in a faint, and not even the Asar had been able to wake her since. None of the healing powers of the forest could stem the mounting disaster. They would have to powers from the Outside.

Of course, two weeks ago those Deku traitors had stolen the Chalice of Health—one of the only keys to the restoration of the Deku Tree and the end to their affliction. It was imperative that they retrieve it, but most of their attentions were spent tending to the sick.

But on this particular morning, the sprites whispered of another hope, a hero of the forest who hailed from Arynnia. He had come with the descendant of the Forest Sage and cleansed the temple of its darkness. He had claimed the ancient bow once used by the Hero in the Great War long ago, and had accepted the responsibility of wielding it against evil. Many of the sprites said he was a reincarnation of the Ancient Hero, come again to the world to battle against the scattered forces of the Dark One before they could claim the Golden Power of the gods.

Mido did not speak with them, did not answer, did not even remark to himself. He just listened, eyes shut, to the voices of the forest spirits.

He prided himself on his ability to listen. It had been the quality that had elevated him to the rank of Elder among the Comhair Bhála—the Council of Peers. He was no speaker. He had very meager—if even existent—leadership traits, but, in the long peace, they had not found much need for them. His greatest act as Treór had been to cut off ties between the Kokiri and Calatia. The people had demanded that they cease official public relations with the Hylians, since all that their affiliation had accomplished was to popularize the Calatia Fringe due to the resultant prosperity, and, therefore, to invite an influx of settlers far too considerable for the forest to accommodate in such volumes. Over the past two decades, the flood of immigrants had died down, but eight years ago, the monsters had begun appearing again, and so their troubles still were not curtailed.

The Deku Tribe had not made any moves against Korok Haven, surprisingly enough, throughout the first several years since they emerged from the far east, from the deepest depths of the Lost Woods. For the most part, they steered clear of the Skull Kids, the Kokiri, and the Great Deku Tree, and set their sights only on Hylian travelers, most of them hailing from the town of Saria. Of course, in recent years, the years since ties were broken with Calatia, tensions were still high. The Kokiri, who possess everlasting youth, would not so soon forget the harm their Hylian cousins had caused the forest. The resultant friction, on the other hand, was enough to distract the Kokiri from one very important fact—that Saria town was foretold to be the home of the future Green Maiden.

They had been keenly reminded of this fact when the Deku tribe cursed the Deku Tree. For the first time in an age, they yearned for the unlimited power of the Forest Sage to return to them. And then they became aware of the Deku tribe’s true plot—to set the forest in a state of decay so that they could claim the key to the Golden Power for their own dark designs. Luckily, the Forest Sage had apparently evaded capture throughout the last eight years, or else the forest would surely be doomed.

That curse had brought death and tragedy to the Haven, and served as a painful reminiscence of the Great War of the age gone by.

And yet, Mido still just waited, just listened. Listened to the sprites pass along the latest from the Fringe. Listened to the Deku Tree’s directives. Listened to the echoing of legends through the trees. But soon the time to listen would be over. The Liberator was coming, and with him came the opening to act, to purge the forest of evil. He knew the legends as well as anyone. He had been there when they were born, when they were spoken from the mouths of the Ancient Creators of Hyrule: the Seven Sages. And he trusted in them. He trusted in them enough to wait for the Hero to appear.

He sensed the owl’s approach before the forest spirits could notify him of it. The time had, indeed, come, when the Hero would return to Korok Haven. He rose to his feet, stepped out of his hut, and set his eyes to the skies.

The Deku Palace is an impregnable fortress teeming with Deku Scrub sentries whose only goal in life is to safeguard the inner keep and eliminate any who wander into the outer perimeter. Night and day they march their routines, keeping a relentless eye out for any intruders and having a seed ready to fire if the dire need arose. So many times have they patrolled their course that they know every nook and cranny of the courtyards by heart and can sense when an unwanted trespasser is present. It would take someone as swift and silent as a mouse to slip past their nets. Many Lost Woodsmen pass by the stronghold and ponder what could possibly require such careful guard, and some are incited so powerfully to uncover this mystery that they attempt to sneak inside.

Needless to say, most of these curiosity-driven travelers are captured and never heard from again, and even if they are lucky enough to stray past the guards that swarm the inner courts, horrible shrieks of agony issue forth from the main keep following their entry. No one has endeavored to slip into the Deku Palace for the past several months, but its terrifying legend lives on in the tales and stories passed down by wizened travelers around the campfire on cold autumn nights. Everyone stays away from that dreadful place, as it is believed to be on cursed ground.

But all the horrible rumors didn’t stop Eryn Wenylthrom from stumbling into the great swampy forest clearing in which the palace had been erected. When Link had rushed off at a greater intensity than she’d ever seen him display, she had all but assumed that he was close to tracking down the Water of Life, so she had taken it upon herself to find the Deku Palace on her own and figure out a way to sneak inside. Now that she was here, however, her confidence had dropped tenfold.

If the Deku Scrubs were in league with their enemies to the degree that the Deku Tree had suggested they were, it was likely that they’d stock an entire army of sentries and lookouts if ever there were a breach—especially since they had stolen the Chalice of Health. In fact, there were already so many guards running their rounds that Eryn could hear the patter of their feet against the damp ground and the rustling of their leafy locks as they paced back and forth. She waded through the soupy swamp-water to peek through a gap between the planks that comprised the wall. Beyond the wall, several Deku guards were pacing back and forth, and Eryn could see that getting in and out of this place would be a serious task, even for her athletically gifted sweetheart.

Before she could make any attempt, however, a Keaton crossed her path. Like most people, she had never seen a Keaton before—they were such rare and mysterious creatures. It approached her directly, and in a voice that could only denote urgency, it said, “Lady of the Forest, you must stay away from this place! It is much too dangerous here!”

“But… how else am I to assist in the healing of the Deku Tree?” she asked.

“You have done enough,” the Keaton replied, “in bringing the hero of the forest to us. As you placed your safety in his hands, now, so must we, likewise, entrust to him the safety of these woods. Only one with courage such as his can deliver us from the impending doom.” The Keaton perked up, listening to the rustling of the Scrubs behind the great wall. “We must make haste.”

Seemingly from nowhere, a Deku nut came crashing through the trees and hurtled directly towards the unsuspecting Keaton. “Look out!” Eryn shouted, but to no avail. The Keaton was struck on the back, and collapsed to the ground, paralyzed by the nut’s potent sap and the bright light that issued forth. Another nut flew towards Eryn, but she conjured up a storm of leaves to repel it, and it flew back towards the Scrub who fired it, knocking him from the trees.

Unfortunately, her screams had alerted the rest of the guard to her presence, and, not a moment later, an entire army of Scrubs discovered her, launching a barrage of nuts too numerous to block with magic. She put up a valiant effort, but was quickly overpowered, and the Scrubs dragged her stiff, motionless, paralyzed self into the palace. “Oh, Link,” she thought. “I wish I had your courage…”

Chapter 5 is coming along nicely, although it was very hard to settle on a chapter title.

Chapter 5 – Old Bonds Reforged

From a distance, the grand city of Analon looks rather out-of-place. Its tall spires seem like great mountains looming over the relatively flat, swampy Castor Wilds. The city itself is carved from a plateau, which serves not only to furnish infinitesimal housing possibilities, but also to provide a considerable defense for the inner township. There is not another rampart of its kind in all of Hyrule, and its stewards pride themselves in that.

Not only is it magnificent to behold, but it was also one of the greatest trading centers in Old Hyrule, and its reputation had strengthened over the ages. Now it was the capital of Hyrulean commerce—a market for all sorts of goods from all across the land. More currency fed Hyrule through Analon than through any other port or trading post, including the city of Hyrule itself, and thus the citadel had to be substantially fortified.

But, despite all the efforts to prevent unwanted ‘business’ to make its way into Analon, a guild of thieves still managed to surface there. They managed to weave a complicated network throughout the great city, ensnaring whatever unsuspecting investors they could in their web of trickery and deceit. The center of commerce also became the center of crime in the blink of an eye. Somehow, despite all the thieves running loose, the city still managed to flourish. The brokers and crime syndicates seemed to have reached a mutual existence, and both groups were always in their prime. Crime in Analon became business as usual. Robberies were generally only skimpily investigated, and the thieves tended to pull only petty heists rather than large stunts, in exchange for bribes, of course.

One of the clients had failed to pay his dues, however.

The guild had set its sights on Hal Barten, a wealthy merchant and stockbroker who ran one of the most successful businesses in Analon: the milk-distributing business. His elder brother, Talon, owned a ranch nearby Lake Hylia and was his chief supplier, and with Romani Ranch and many other contributors to support him, his commerce was bigger than ever.

Mr. Barten planned to make the biggest exchange of his career at eight o’ clock in the morning, when he would buy two prominent milk bars from a fellow merchant. He would be carrying a large sum of Rupees, and would make the exchange for the deeds in cash. The money would then be placed in a safe and loaded onto a wagon, which would transport the money safely to his client’s treasury. The guild planned to make sure that that safe never reached its destination, however.

Research of previous transactions revealed that Barten took few—albeit sound—precautionary measures to ensure his money went where it belonged. These measures consisted mostly of a handful of armed escorts who were well trained in self-defense. The guild planned to divert the guards from their duties by staging a street scuffle that the escort would not be able to ignore. While the guards were busy breaking up the fight, another operative would slip inside the transport and empty the safe before replacing its contents with lead bars of equal mass. If all went well, the guards wouldn’t even suspect a robbery and the guild operatives would wind up with extra change in their pockets.

They felt they should be considerate, however, and allow Mr. Barten to make his purchase before pulling their heist; that way, they wouldn’t have both parties hunting them. Guild leaders had learned not to plunder loot that was vital to a large number of individuals, and make sure their robberies affected as few people as possible.

Ganondorf Dragmire had orchestrated their entire scheme, and it was Dragmire himself that would oversee it. Past experience had proven that anything could go amiss; a shipment could have more protection than anticipated, the thief might make too much noise, alerting whatever guards were on duty. It was too risky to rely completely on those directly involved in the burglary if something went wrong.

Currently, Ganondorf was en route to Analon, headed for the Thieves’ Guild. He still had the better part of a day’s ride before he arrived, thanks to another engagement, but he would arrive on schedule nonetheless. He still remembered the first day he’d walked into that cave, twenty years ago to this very day. He had been desperate to do anything he could to save his Gerudo people from starvation in the desert. But he was young then, young and foolish and uncertain of what to expect from this foreign culture.

The leaders of the Guild convinced him to enlist, telling him that if he did what they asked, he’d be able to feed his people. Being gullible in his moment of weakness, he’d taken their offer. They started him on the small-time heists, sending him on unimportant and relatively unfruitful errands, but he rose in the thieves’ hierarchy quickly. Before long he was one of their most respected leaders, and was finally able to provide for his people.

The Gerudo people had spent the last several centuries living in the harsh climate of the Tantari Desert wandering from shelter to shelter pursuing what little food there was. They had attempted to set up a permanent village, but too often were they forced to abandon it in search of provisions. It was a horrible existence, and the Gerudo longed to escape from it. But fate had bound them to the desert, and they were unable to leave it. Such was the curse of their race.

They had beseeched Ganondorf, a half-blood Gerudo, to depart and seek aid for their dying nation, for an ancient prophecy foretold: “A half-blooded savior of the desert folk shall rescue his people from eternal damnation in the desert sands.” He left Tantari and wandered the Hylian plain in search of help for his cause. After two months of roaming, he came upon the great city of Analon. Viewing its towers from a distance, he could remember himself thinking that certainly someone in such a large and magnificent city would be able to help him.

The first person he had encountered was Varon, the master of the Thieves’ Guild. Varon recognized that he was a person in need, and feigned concern to coax Ganondorf into joining the Guild. Ganondorf had accepted, and found himself drawn into what would become his primary existence. When he first enlisted, he never would have thought he might embark on an undertaking such as this. Now that he was a hardened criminal, he didn’t have to think on it. He knew what he and his crew could and couldn’t handle. They hadn’t spent the last twenty years sitting on their hands—they had been gathering valuable job experience, and now could truly be considered as the best of their trade.

It had actually been only twelve for him. His past eight years as a member of the Guild he had used to train in the arts of magic. Those bittersweet years spent painfully enduring the trials placed before him by his mentor had paid off quite handsomely. Now he was not only a skilled bandit and a powerful warrior, but also a competent warlock. He had learned much about Old Hylian lore, about the Dark War and the battle between the Hero of Legend and his shadowy adversary, about the Hero’s departure from this world and the nation he had left behind. These legends were lost to his people, but, in Hyrule, they thrived.

But, most interestingly, he had learned about the Triforce, the Power of Gold that the gods had given Hyrule in recognition of the Hero’s deeds. His master was all but obsessed with this sacred relic, and had devoted his life to the pursuit of this Golden Power. Ganondorf had expressed much interest, but, much to his master’s disappointment, had abandoned his apprenticeship. He had already learned all he needed to know. He could not allow himself to be sidetracked.

His master had called him back for one more task, however, and that was to await his agents in Clock Town, as they prepared to scour the eastern Calatia Fringe. He obeyed without question, but not without compensation.

Now that he was skilled in magicks and free from his master’s service, he could focus his attentions back on his duties to the Thieves’ Guild and to his people. With powerful magic and a wealth of resources at his disposal, he could provide the best for his people. No longer would they have to live a nomadic life—they could return to Baskadi and no longer worry about whether or not there would be food on the table and drink in their halls. And, soon enough, he would discover a way to fulfill the prophecy foretold and lift the cause on their race, and they would finally be able to taste the fresh air of freedom.

“Soon,” Ganondorf muttered simply as he pressed westward. “Soon, my sisters…”

After following the Skull Kid’s directive, Link arrived at the outskirts of Korok Haven, where he was greeted by a young Kokiri boy named Nelde and his faerie partner, Rikki, both of whom he soon realized were actually several decades older than he. Apparently his coming had been anticipated once again, this time by the Elder of the Kokiri, Mido, whom he was presently headed to meet. However that worked. He had only just been instructed to come here.

He and the Skull Kid had decided that, even with the boomerang at his disposal, he would need an army to storm the Palace. The Skull Kid had offered the assistance of his kin, but only if Link would assemble a group of the Kokiri’s finest to join them. Somehow the Kokiri had already been informed of this. Nelde had already asked him how many he expected they’d need for the battalion. As if he knew. Of course, he quickly recalled the Kokiri’s ability to listen to the forest spirits, and then things began to make more sense.

He didn’t question the idea that he might be leading the company—he had pretty much resigned to the fact that he needed to live up to his fate, whatever it may be, whether he wanted to or not. He didn’t much care that the Kokiri kept calling him the “hero of the forest” or the “Liberator”, either, even though all he had done thus far was cleanse the temple of the plague of darkness, and had not yet cleansed the forest itself, nor accomplished anything else that might merit such titles. It had become ridiculously obvious to him that he had quite a part to play in all this—a much larger part than he had anticipated, or than anyone had anticipated, for that matter—and that the Kokiri were well aware of this role and all it entailed. He would have to discuss this matter with the Elder.

For now, he just marveled at the Korok architecture.

All dwellings, vendors, and places of worship in Korok Haven were fashioned from the Great Trees—the ancientest trees in all the Lost Woods—and all of them were beautiful handiwork. This would be a place he might like to retire to sometime down the road, after all this was over and he could finally find his peace again. He could craft himself a homely hovel, and he and his lovely wife would raise a family there together, among the people who never aged and never died.

But first, he had to ensure that the forest would survive long enough so that he could make that dream a reality. All things depended on the task at hand. They arrived at the Elder’s hut, and Nelde showed him inside. A great owl was perched on one of the lower branches, and, upon seeing Link he—at least Link assumed it was a ‘he,’ based on its composure—bowed slightly, then took off into the midday atmosphere, and was gone.

Something about that owl seemed remarkably familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was his imagination. Then again, imagination hardly stems from instinct, and his instincts were screaming out to him.

Inside the hut were several ornate wall hangings, each depicting—like the stone images in front of the temple—different scenes from Kokiri history. Among them were portraits of what Link deemed to be former Kokiri Elders, as well as one of the Forest Sage, Saria. In the painting next to her stood the Hero, but his bangs covered his eyes, and it was nigh impossible to make out his facial features. Even despite this, he still looked uncannily like Link.

Mido was short and somewhat stout, particularly in the face. He was reclined on an armchair made from what appeared to be a Wolfos hide, and he was leaning on his fist and seemed to be lost in thought. A small purple faerie hovered above his head, trying in vain to get his attention. The faerie made herself scarce as they approached. “Just bow, and address him as ‘Treór’,” Nelde said.

Link did so, slowly, as he had been taught by his father. “Greetings, Treór Mido, I am Link Paligré of Arynnia. But I presume you already knew that…”

“You need not worry about pleasantries with me, Link,” Mido said, standing to bow back to him. “I may be the Elder of all Kokiri, but I have never had much of a taste for the grandeur of the status. Here, we are peers, hero of the forest.”

That reminded him—time to get down to business. “Why do your people call me that?” Link said.

“Do not endeavor to tell me you do not know,” Mido replied, staring at him skeptically. “You have thought much on your heritage these past several hours.”

Gracious—it seemed everyone in these woods could read minds. “How did you know that?” Link interrupted, but Mido went on despite him.

“In fact, you have inadvertently fulfilled most of the ancient Kokiri prophecies of the return of the Hero—you have protected the Green Maiden from harm, cleansed the Forest Temple of its curse, and now embark on a journey to cure the Great Deku Tree of its affliction. These things were long ago foretold by the Ancient Sages, and now they come to pass: ‘One day the Sage will return with her Hero protector, the temple will be cleansed of evil, and the Deku Tree healed of its curse.’ All that remains is that you march on the Deku Palace with us, secure the Chalice of Health, mix the Elixir, and return to heal the Deku Tree, and you will have asserted your role as the Hero of Legend. Link, you are the descendant of the Hero of the Great War.”

His life suddenly began to make so much sense. He knew now why his personality seemed to have changed completely after his father’s death. He knew now why he was an unnaturally good fighter, and why he had been chosen to collect the Hero’s Piece. When his father had passed on, he had inherited the legacy of the Hero. No wonder he had always been so confused, always searching for stability, always yearning for something more. He had been seeking his destiny, and now, it was right in front of him, waiting for him to reach out and take it.

He was not in shock—he had been perfectly prepared for the possibility ever since he and Eryn had arrived at the stairs to the Forest Temple. Now, though, that possibility was a possibility no more—he was the Hero, and it was no longer a matter in question. What was a matter in question, however, was what exactly being the Hero entailed for the time being, beyond ‘asserting his role.’ But he sup-posed Mido had probably already guessed that that was on his mind.

“Now comes the first moment of truth,” Mido said. He then stepped behind his seat, opened a chest, and pulled out a green traveler’s tunic. “My people have saved these garments for the day the Hero might once again come into our midst. They are Kokiri-woven, the finest traveling clothes in all the Fringe, at least. When the Hero rode into battle against the Dark One all those ages ago, he wore an outfit rather like this.”

After bringing it out so that Link could get a closer look at it, Link realized that these were the same clothes worn by the Hero in all the statues and images, and the same garb worn by the swordsmen of old, that group in which the Knights of Hyrule found their roots. Such clothes had not been seen for centuries, outside of reenactments of the final battles of the Imprisoning War. “Take them,” Mido said. “I would be honored if you would wear this tunic into battle with us.”

Link slipped into the white tights, which fit his figure perfectly, then followed up with the tunic itself, which had been tailored as a one-size-fits-all. These clothes were somewhat stuffy, yet comfortable and soft to the touch. The tights were made from a cottony material and the tunic just loose enough that his outfit breathed well, and his skin did not shrink from lack of exposure to the cool spring air. The socks were finely knit, and the boots were fashioned from quality leather and came up just high enough on his legs to be both protective against the elements and comfortable on his feet.

Then, of course, the gauntlets went on his wrists, and he fastened his equipment—his sword and shield and bow and the Water of Life and all the leather straps that came with them—onto his tunic and the ensemble was complete. He was ready for war. Ready to claim his destiny.

“My, my…” Mido said, shaking his head, his expressions revealing the nostalgia welling up in him. “When I see you standing there, wearing the legendary Hero’s garb, you almost look just like him… like the Hero of Legend… except you don’t have that sword—the blade of evil’s bane—and you’re missing your faerie.”

“What?” Link blurted. “A faerie?” What was Mido talking about? Why would the Hero of Legend have a faerie with him?

“Ah, I suppose the tales of the faerie have passed out of the Calatia tradition since the Old Age,” Mido said. “Allow me to explain. The Hero of Legend was orphaned as a baby, in Old Calatia, long before this country was united. Back in those days, Saria and Arynnia were the only townships to exist—and Arynnia had only just sprung up. The boy Hero had nowhere to go, but eventually was discovered by the Skull Kids and brought before the Great Deku Tree, who sensed that he was a child of destiny and demanded that he be raised as a Kokiri, and given a guardian faerie to watch over him as he grew. That faerie continued to follow him even after he learned that he was not a Kokiri at all, even after he became a grown man, much like you are today, and even into the fires of the Imprisoning War itself.”

“What happened to the faerie after the war’s end?” Link asked.

“She was sent back into the forest and dwelt in Korok Haven, hoping one day that the Hero might find need for her once again. But no one ever heard from the Hero since then, it seems. To this very day she awaits the Hero’s return.”

What a beautiful tale of undying adoration. “Talk about devotion. I couldn’t imagine waiting that long for someone.” Then he realized that he was thinking of Eryn as he spoke—that he wouldn’t wait that long even for her. A lifetime was much too short to spend reaching out for a lost, unrequited love. Even if it was the greatest love his heart had ever known—next to that of his parents, of course.

“I can introduce you to her, if you wish,” Mido said, heading for the door, his own faerie right behind him. “She’s praying in the shrine, at the moment, I expect.”

“She’s here?” Link was unable to mask his astonishment. He had thought the bit about her waiting for the Hero’s return was just a fairy tale—but it turned out to be true. Perhaps he should start putting more credence in fairy tales, and start paying more attention to Old Hylian lore. He had an awful lot of questions for dear old Uncle Dyrin, when and if he returned from whatever it was he happened to be doing at the time.

“Well, yes—that’s what I said,” He gestured for Link to follow him. “Now then, are you coming, or should I just sit back down in my easy chair and have some tea?”

“He is here,” the spirits said simply. “He has come to the Haven.”

But she was much too stubborn to pay them heed. She had held out hope for a thousand years that her beloved would return to her, but to no avail. After all they had been through together, after all he had said, he had left her, and there was nothing could be done to bring him back. There was too much hurt—too much pain and sorrow—for happiness and hope ever again to bud in her heart.

He had gone into the heart of darkness, and come out a changed man, and was now lost to her forever. How fitting it was that this parting—this loss—would take place in the forest that would come to be known as the Lost Woods. Some cruel trick by the gods, it was.

Yet, still, she prayed, though perhaps more out of habit than out of an authentic want for an answer to her prayers. And, still, she beseeched the forest spirits to bring her news of her beloved—of any sign or word of him—that she might find him and join him on another adventure. She knew as well as all the other creatures in the forest that the Hero would return someday, and she, of all creatures, had kept her eyes focused hardest on the horizon. Now, though, she had been driven to the point of despair, ready to teeter off the edge at even the slightest disturbance.

“He will come for you soon, Child,” the spirits said, but she persisted to ignore them. What did they know, anyway? Her beloved had apparently been due to arrive eight years ago, but he had not come for her then. The spirits’ power of foresight must have waned since the departure of the Green Maiden from their realm, into the land of Calatia, the province of Toaru.

“Why do you disown us, Child?” the spirits asked, more insistently this time. “Why have you lost faith in us, and the gods we serve? Why, Child, why?”

She told them.

“Why, you ask? I waited for him for a thousand years, patiently holding out hope with the faith that he would return, as you all said. Eight years ago, you told me he had arrived. But I do not see my beloved. I do not see his smile. I do not hear his voice singing as he strolls through the trees. I do not feel his cheek nestling against mine or his breath on me as he whispers his sweet-sounding words. If he has returned, where is he, spirits?”

The spirits were saddened to hear such angry and hopeless words from such pure and innocent lips, but sadder still to know the cause behind them. A fairy without wings is tragedy enough, but a fairy without faith is a heartbreaking. “A hundredscore and eight years and you still have learned nothing, Child. Learn to look with both eyes, Child, and you will see that things are more than they appear. It is the same with the prophecy. Believe in it, and you will see the truth. Fly by faith, not by sight, fair Child…”

“I need to see him… I need to know…” she said. “One cannot fly by faith alone.”

“Why not? He did.”

Deepwood Shrine was a lot smaller than he had expected it to be. Then again, he had forgotten to take into account that the Kokiri were like children, and so their buildings would be about the size of their houses—just big enough to accommodate him. He allowed Mido to lead him, and they came to a chamber on the far side, where a small bluish faerie fluttered all by her lonesome in front of a giant stone wall on which was depicted the Hero of Legends—wearing the same clothes, Link noted, that he was wearing now.

But not the same sword.

“Here she is…” Mido said. “Link, meet Navi the faerie.”

Navi turned to acknowledge him, then froze, as though in shock. The look on her face confirmed the fairy tale—she definitely looked as though she had been waiting for him for a thousand years and had a whole slew of emotions, including anger and joy, to spill out onto him at any moment. It was too bad he couldn’t be the very same man she was waiting for. He had to admit, she was kind of cute.

“Oh,” she said finally, obviously unable to find any other fitting words. Then, without warning, she flew towards him at breakneck speed, burying herself in his chest. “You’re back! I waited so long…” She went on nuzzling against him, as though expecting him to hug her in return—but, when he didn’t, she pulled back, gazing up at him with tears welling in her eyes. “You… don’t remember me?”

“Navi…” Mido said. “Your—I mean—he died, almost a thousand years ago. We tried to tell you, but you would have none of it. After the first hundred years, we just let you be. Link may look like him, he may wear his same clothes, and may find himself placed in the same position, but he is not the same man you grew up with all those centuries ago. I’m sorry, Navi, but this is the only Hero we have…”

“Oh,” she said again, sinking.

“Perhaps this was not such a good idea,” Mido said.

“No, no, it’s all right,” Link said. “Here, let me talk to her.” He stepped in front of Navi then knelt beside her, reaching a hand over to stroke one of her wings. She trembled at his touch, but did not raise her eyes to look at him. “Hey there, Navi. Listen—I know you’ve been waiting for… someone like me… and I know I’m not quite what you expected. You must feel like the gods have let you down, but, please, won’t you cheer up? For me?”

No response. Perhaps he ought to try a more sensitive approach. “For him? I don’t think he would have wanted you to squander your life moping like this. Hell, I know he wouldn’t have wanted you to squander it like this.”

She managed a quick smile, but it faded just as fast. “You do seem a lot like him. I wouldn’t be surprised if you… were his…” She stopped mid-sentence, but Link didn’t need her to finish.

“You loved him… didn’t you?”

“What was your first clue?”

Link let out a chuckle. “Well, that’s good. At least we know you have a sense of humor buried somewhere in there. Got anymore wisecracks to throw in, while you’re at it?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

He smiled wider. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Had she not been told that Link was not the very same man she had once known, she could easily have been fooled—he was a spitting image of the Hero of old. He had the same dry sense of humor, his laugh was the same, his voice was the same, his mannerisms and composure were the same, his hair and skin tone were the same—he even smelled the same. Getting to know Link was like catching up with an old friend—albeit, he wasn’t exactly that old friend, even though he was exactly like him, in every discernable way. She quickly gave up trying to rationalize in her head whether or not the fact they were so alike and yet certainly different made any sense whatsoever.

All she knew was that Link was just like him, and that talking to Link made her flutter in that same indescribable way. It was like she had fallen in love all over again.

But, then again, it was not like that at all. Link was quick to mention that he was only just the day before engaged—or very early that morning, more accurately—and that his betrothed was actually the heir to the Sagehood of the forest. A lifetime of jealousies flooded through—jealousies that she immediately noted were not aimed towards Eryn, but towards that Saria, her predecessor. Her man had, long ago, been somewhat of an item with Saria, and she found it more than a little awkward that their successors were also involved with one another. She also immediately noted how promptly the thought of how fitting it would be if things didn’t work out for Link and Saria crossed her mind, but did not dare to express it.

He spent nearly an hour keeping her company, trying to cheer her up with his witty sarcasm and boyish charm. And it worked. For the first time in centuries she finally felt comfort flood through her. She almost forgot that she was not with him.

And then Mido came, and told Link that time was drawing to a close. Link and Mido left Deepwood Shrine, and Navi followed, listening. They were preparing to storm the Deku palace, from what she could make out. The Deku had stolen something of great value, something they needed to heal the Great Deku Tree of a vile calamity—the Chalice of Health, most likely. Soon they would gather warriors and depart for the palace. Within the next couple of hours.

“You have not had any battle experience, I wager?” Mido asked.

“I have fought against my share of Deku Scrubs, but nothing like what we’re about to do,” Link replied. “I don’t know how to lead an army, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I thought not. I suppose that, coming from Arynnia, you wouldn’t need to have training for war. I shall command the battalion, then—I fought in the Dark Wars myself, believe it or not. Watch and learn from me, and if and when the time comes that the tribes need to rally once again, you will be more capable of leading them. Also, if you get the chance, I would venture to ask that uncle of yours to teach you a thing or two. After spending nearly thirty years as a Knight of Hyrule, he’ll probably be able to instruct you on the subtleties of armed conflict better than I ever could. He’ll have had more experience and training in combat than I, in any case.”

“I shall certainly make a point to do that,” Link answered.

Neither of them really knew what they were dealing with, though. Neither of them had seen the darker side of the war, the parts that never made it into the legends. The part that had only survived in the lore of the Shadow Folk. She had, though, and she would not let them fly blindly into this. It would be foolishness, and it would be the end to the only link she had to her Hero.

“Wait!” Navi shouted from behind them. “I went with the Hero into battle! I fought with him against the armies of shadow! Let me help, too!”

“Navi?” Link said. “I didn’t even know you had followed us out.”

“You two don’t know what you’re up against,” Navi said. “You may have fought in the Great War, Treór, but, with all due respect, you didn’t see much of the battlefield. Obviously you couldn’t venture far from the forest. You may know your enemy here, but you know nothing of what took place outside of Calatia, on the far side of the Endless Plains, on the Battlegrounds. And I seriously doubt his uncle knows that much about the arts of war—as you said yourself, Treór, we have had no need to fight for a very long time.”

She gulped, took a deep breath, and went on: “I can help you there. I know the enemy better than anyone who still lives. I remember those battles like they were yesterday. Take me with you, Link. Let me follow you into this fight, and wherever else your destiny might take you.”

“Are you sure, Navi?” Mido asked. “You’ve spent so much time—”

“Even if I spent the last ten thousand years dwelling on the fact that he left, nothing in the world could possibly make me forget those battles. Let me help, Treór. Link…”

“I don’t know… I don’t think that Link—”

“You can come.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m kidding…”

“Are you sure, Link?”

“Definitely.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mido said. “I’ll prepare the warriors, and we’ll depart within the next hour or so. Good thing you’re already suited up, Link. You might want to go for another quick stroll, you know, to break in those tights. And also—”

Navi interrupted him again. “Look! A Keaton!”

They acknowledged her, and saw the Keaton stumbling across the Haven on what appeared to be an injured leg, with a sizeable burn on its back, just above the left hind leg. If Link had to speculate, he would have guessed that the burn had been inflicted by Deku nut sap, and the same could probably be said for the leg. The question rested in when and where it had been attacked, but those questions could easily be answered directly.

They rushed over to assist it, and Link caught a closer look at the shape of its ears.

“Why must you people always inter—”

“That’s the Keaton that showed me to the grotto where the Chalice of Life is kept,” Link said, now close enough to recognize it with certainty. “It looks hurt, though… I wonder what could have happened?”

The Keaton did not hesitate to answer. “Child… child of Arynnia… the Green Maiden has been taken!” the Keaton said as it collapsed to the forest floor. “I… tried to warn her, but… I was too—”

Link didn’t need him to finish. “Where is she?”

The Keaton, now utterly exhausted, struggled to reply, but managed to get out the one word that answered everything: “P-p-palace…”

More rain was on the way, or, at least, so said the mass of black clouds looming overhead. Not a good omen just before a battle. Link didn’t need to be well-versed on the arts of war to tell that. Then again, he had fought more than well enough in the rain last night, and that was without the bow, boomerang, and armguards, not to mention the spiffy green cap he sported now. He threw a cloak on for the sake of preparedness and shrugged it off.

He had already refilled his quiver at the outpost on the outskirts, grabbed another bottle from Mido’s hut to use as a canteen since his original one was now a container for the Water of Life, and gotten in some more practice with the boomerang, but he still didn’t feel ready. So he did what he always did when he was overstressed. He released some of his tension in training—sword-training, this time, not archery practice. The Kokiri had set up a bunch of straw dummies in their training grounds and the opportunity was much too good to pass up.

But before long there were no more dummies to cut down, and much too much stress still left to vent, and no Eryn within arm’s reach to make that stress evaporate.

And then his anger at those creatures that had taken her, the scum of the forest, began to take hold.

Luckily, by that time Mido had also already discovered him, and informed him that the armies were prepared, and that they would march as soon as he gave the order. He sighed loudly, and Navi fluttered over to him, and reached out a hand to touch his cheek. As he exhaled, his anger melted into the breeze, leaving him only with his apprehension.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just keep me close, and I will keep you safe. Trust in yourself and your abilities, and trust in mine, and everything will be fine. The gods will aid us, as they did in the last Great War, and in the ages since. I have faith in you.”

“How? Not two hours ago you seemed beyond all hope,” Link said. “Now, though, you place all faith in me, someone whom you hardly know.”

Navi flew in front of his face, drew close to him, and lifted his chin with her forefinger. “I have since learned the difference between faith and foolishness. These past thousand years have been devoted to my own private follies. I looked too hard for what I wished to see, and not for what was promised me. It has been a hard lesson to learn, but… seeing you, and realizing that you are the Hero spoken of in legend, the one for whom I was waiting… my confidence has been restored.”

“And… would you say that I am the catalyst for this?”

She looked him straight in the eye and nodded. “Yes.”

He grinned slyly, and slid his sword into its sheath. “Well, then. If I can do the impossible, a little armed struggle should be nothing, shouldn’t it?” A flash of lightning lanced across the sky, thunder echoed throughout the Lost Woods, and the rain—seemingly out of nowhere—began to pour in buckets. He threw back his hood and stood, head held high, atop a small boulder, and stretched his arms out as if to embrace the coming downpour.

“Bring on the storm.”

Wow, just wow. Everytime you write, I get pulled into your world. You have such a control over words that your writing just comes to life. It is always very entertaining to read any of your work just for that reason, although I do have to say I favor your Zelda pieces just because I am biased.

The only complaint, if you could even call it a complaint, is that the beggining of the story was a little tough to get into, however, once you picked up the pace, the story began to flow quite nicely and I love the new version. It seems as if you are focusing alot on Link's internal workings, providing not only a rich adventure, but also a look into the mind of everyone's favorite Hero. I particulary like the last scene in which Link prepares to face the oncoming battle. Great symbollism there with the storm.

Do not stop, and I'm sorry for only now getting the chance to read this great work. I'm also sure that many people desire to see more, but come one people. He's had 3 or 4 updates in a row without anyone replying. Let's give some constuctive critscism and if nothing else, at least your encouragement. Patient is a virute, so I eagerly await your next installment when you have the chance.

P.S. I am VIRTUELESS, lol.

Thanks for all the positive feedback, Layke, and thanks for your continued support. I have to be honest--you were the main reason I restarted this project. Anyway, I'm just starting classes today, so it will definitely be awhile before my next update. Keep your eyes peeled and your fingers crossed, though--it will be here before you know it.