Chapter Text
The two men sat facing the holy spring of their village, observing the sunset as they did not long ago, basking in the glory of the light they had fought so fiercely to protect.
Rusl observed his friend and fellow villager in silence, astonished at how much the boy had changed in the blink of an eye. Where once sat a naive, happy farm boy now sat the Chosen Hero, he who had slain the Demon King and rescued their land from calamity. Graced by the goddesses, his once plain outfit had been replaced by a green tunic, a garment far too elegant for the likes of Ordon. Their young saviors' smile had too been replaced, his mind plagued by grief and indecision alike.
The hero's moniker had come at a hefty price. In exchange for restoring the light across the kingdom, he had sacrificed the glimmer in his eyes, the excitement in his voice, the blissful ignorance of youth. Rusl frowned, building up the courage to speak the words he never wished to speak.
“It feels like it was only yesterday,” he started, his gaze fixed on the calm waters of the holy spring, “when we last spoke like this. This must be déjà vu. Are you familiar with the term, Link?”
Link had never been a man of many words, and that was something the mantle of hero certainly hadn't changed. Noticing the silence that ensued, Rusl figured he shouldn't have asked such a meaningless question in the first place.
“Nevermind. After all, I'm truly in no position to teach you anything anymore. No one is. No one in Ordon, at least.”
“One can never be taught enough,” came Link's cool-headed response. “You're a far better teacher than you give yourself credit, Rusl.”
The hero frowned, his face illuminated by the warm rays of the setting sun as memories of his journey flooded his mind. For some unexplainable reason certain fragments of his memory were twisted, foggy… Like memories of memories, or sad remnants of a past life.
“What is your next move? Do you plan on staying here?” Rusl finally got to the point, his eyes fixed on Link rather than the spring. Surely, that was a question worth responding to.
Link avoided his friend's intense glare, his face expressionless, breathing softly as the light began to fade. “I suppose I'll stay here for a while. I'll help around in the village, get back to the ranch, make sure the kids and Ilia have settled back in… Things will go back to normal.”
Rusl sighed, shaking his head. He shot Link a disapproving look before standing up and gazing upon the horizon. Link followed suit, standing next to his friend.
A cold wind blew over the two men. Night had fallen sooner than expected. Something was off.
“Link… A year ago I met a fortune teller in Castle Town who gave me an astonishingly accurate prediction of my future. The following day I asked that same fortune teller to predict my wife's future. Then my son's. And then the day before my departure, I asked what the future held for Link of Ordon.”
Link finally turned his head to face Rusl, his expression still blank as ever. He had given up on the likes of oracles, perhaps in fear of discovering a fate even worse than the one bestowed upon him.
“Link of Ordon is a fine young man, she told me. He will grow strong and handsome. He will soon marry the woman he was always supposed to marry. He will live a peaceful, happy life until the day he returns to the soil from whence he came. His children will bury him next to his betrothed, as is proper, and his people will mourn his passing. In time, he will be forgotten, his kindness lost to the passage of time.”
The hero shook his gloved fists, trying his best to withhold his anger. Had the gods truly taken so much from him? Rusl caught wind of his boiling rage, yet he continued with his confession.
“The oracle was mistaken. Link of Ordon died the day the shadow invaded our land, his future cruelly taken from him. In his stead stands the Hero of Twilight, and although I know not what fate has in store for you, one thing is certain, my dear friend…”
Rusl extended his arm toward Link, gently grabbing him by the shoulder, offering him a sad smile. He prayed the gods would one day forgive him for what he was about to say.
“You will not live out the rest of your days in this village. You cannot. Yours is a higher purpose.”
Anger soon gave way to sadness as Link lowered his head, fighting the tears away. Everyone else had welcomed him back with open arms, declared him the pride and joy of Ordon… Yet the man he respected the most had just urged him to leave his entire life behind. Was that his reward for restoring peace to Hyrule? The price of being a hero?
Each day that passed, the mark on his hand felt heavier than the last. The colors around him faded, bit by bit, barely enough for him to notice. He was wandering around aimlessly, like a lingering curse that not even her magic could ever hope to break.
“I… I can't abandon my home! My friends! Ordon is my life!”
“Yet you will… You must,” he spoke bitterly, embracing his friend in a tight hug. No matter how much it hurt both of them, he had to push the boy away, help him manifest his true destiny. For the good of the land and all her inhabitants.
“Leave this place, Link. Leave and don't come back. Don't look back. Don't think about Ordon, or the kids, or even Ilia. Don't succumb to nostalgia.”
Link embraced Rusl, no longer able to contain the tears running down his cheeks like Zora’s waterfall. He bit his lower lip hard enough for it to bleed, desperate to redirect the pain away from his aching heart. After everything he had been through, everything and everyone he had lost… His suffering had no end. The weight of the world only grew heavier on his shoulders.
Something was missing.
“I don't want to leave… I don't want to forget you, any of you,” he protested in a desperate attempt to conceal the truth. He conjured an image of Ilia, standing by his house, waiting for him to return to her… All in vain.
The two men broke the hug, their forms obscured underneath the dark, moonless sky. They could no longer discern each other's face, though perhaps it was for the best.
Link's blue eyes glowed in the dark, a remnant of his beast form perhaps. He stood there in silence, clad in the hero's famous green. His spirit shone even in the blackest night. His spark had started an ever-burning fire, whose warmth had brought life back to a doomed kingdom, crippled and frozen within the mighty shadow of the Dark Lord. Yet he felt cold, deathly cold. For all its might, his own light eluded him.
“Forget us all, my friend. So that we may remember you until the end of time.”
“What of Ilia?” Link retorted, playing his final card in a last, futile attempt to deny his cruel fate. “She is waiting for me as we speak. How can I ever look her in the eye and tell her I must leave and never return? She doesn't deserve this, any of this! She's been through enough as is!”
He could not discern Rusl's expression, yet the man's sadness was evident in his voice. He took no pleasure in torturing Link so. Still, his conviction of the hero’s sacred purpose remained unshaken.
“Is it you that Ilia is waiting for?”
Link's heart shattered into a million pieces, seeds of doubt poisoning his thoughts. What if Rusl was right? What if Ilia's dear childhood friend existed no more?
Who was he truly? He wore the garment of the hero, but who wore his skin underneath it?
“I am still Link. Her Link.”
His voice was weak and meager. Link himself had lost faith in his own words. Lost his voice. He awaited Rusl's cold, rational response, but it never came. The tables had turned. Never before had Link felt so uncomfortable in silence.
At last, the hero lowered his head in defeat. If only Midna were there by his side to aid him with her advice. Perhaps he had become all too reliant upon the help of the mischievous, former imp.
In the end, Midna had found her true form, while he had never felt more lost in the world. And Zelda... Zelda was flawless. The princess would surely lose faith in him, were she to witness how weak he truly was. No, he had to face these hardships on his own, without the help of princesses stronger than him.
With tears in his eyes, Link yanked Ilia’s charm from within his tunic, using it to call Epona to the spring one last time. His trusty companion arrived within seconds, and Link climbed atop his horse, pleading with his friend to honor one final request.
“Take care of them for me, will you, Rusl?”
“Always,” he proudly assured the hero he was so proud to call his friend. As such, Link of Ordon disappeared into the night, leaving behind a name and a life that never was.
“Farewell, O brave child of Ordon, protector of Hyrule.” Rusl spoke to no one in particular, praying for the safety of the chosen hero. “May the goddesses forgive me for what I have done to you.”
Link could have ridden off to the vast plains of Hyrule Field immediately, yet he felt the urge to ride by his house one last time, still a slave to nostalgia. From a safe distance, the hero spotted the blonde hair of his beloved childhood friend standing outside by the wooden ladder, patiently awaiting his return, smiling even in the absence of light and warmth.
He wept for her, for she too had been cursed. Cursed to have fallen in love with a dead man. Another victim of fate. Another broken heart.
“Farewell, my Ilia. May you never be alone ever again.”
Gripping Epona’s reins tightly, Link bid his birthplace farewell, in search of a purpose… A reason to be.
Another woman he cherished had vanished from his life, all in the name of duty. Another bridge burned, another mirror shattered.
“When will it end?” he whispered to himself, to no response.
The princess was awoken in the middle of the night, cold sweat running down her gorgeous face. The nightmares would not stop plaguing her, not for one night.
Adjusting to the darkness of her royal chamber, Zelda pushed away her silk sheets and rose from her bed, neglecting to untangle her hair or find anything warmer than her nightgown to shield her from the cold. Slowly, the princess walked up to her window, placing her palm on the thick glass, observing her dormant kingdom below.
Hyrule slept in peace once more as it was slowly but steadily being rebuilt into its former glory. Everywhere she walked, Zelda was treated less as royalty and more so a goddess, as if she had descended from the heavens to rid the kingdom of the darkness that had swallowed it whole.
Everyone worshipped the princess after Ganondorf's downfall, making her inner turmoil all the more bitter.
Zelda rested her forehead against the glass, closing her eyes and grinding her teeth as horrible images of her latest nightmare assaulted her mind.
The nightmare was almost eloquent in its simplicity. The hero was on the ground, wounded, his sword far from his hand and his green tunic stained red in his own blood. The Demon King approached him slowly, savoring the moment, eager to deliver the final blow that would seal his fate and the fate of their kingdom. His death fast approaching, the hero met her gaze, pleading, begging for her help.
She cried and she screamed and she held out her hand in a desperate attempt to reach him. Yet the barrier between them was unbreakable, the distance between them too vast. For all her supposed wisdom, she could not save him, could not even bear to look him in the eye as he died defending a failed monarch.
Zelda forced her eyes open, her hand trembling against the glass and her heart audibly pounding, desperate to burst out of her chest. She frowned, in sheer disbelief of her own weakness. A weakness that would have doomed her entire kingdom, if not for the bravery of one Hylian.
The princess often reminisced about the enigmatic hero known only as Link. In the short time they had spent together prior to his departure, Zelda had come to learn that Link was born and raised in Ordon, a small village south of Castle Town, known only for its pumpkins. She had witnessed his otherworldly battle prowess firsthand and had later come to admire his infinite kindness and calm demeanor. A man of few words but decisive action, humble and modest despite his achievements of epic proportions. A hero in the true essence of the word. Someone who gained respect through sheer will and courage, rather than noble birth.
Though Zelda could not explain it, every time she was around the hero, a sense of familiarity washed over her. A feeling of relief, one she identified even as she stared into the eyes of his beastly form when they first met. Their souls were intertwined, in one form or another. Or at least Zelda hoped they were. The idea made her feel less…
Alone.
They had both risen to the occasion during the hour of judgement. Yet, when the dust settled, Zelda felt more lost and disoriented than she ever had. Was she truly the divine monarch her people worshipped, or was she still no more than a puppet on a string? The hero, she presumed, surely faced no such dilemmas.
She could not stay in her chamber, not for one more second. She had to escape, feel the cold wind on her face. Anything that would keep her awake.
For even insomnia was preferable to the horrors of her subconscious.
“If only I had your courage,” she whispered, clutching at her chest.