Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world is swimming in and out of focus. Each time it seems clear, it’s different from the last moment of clarity. It doesn’t stay that way for long anyway. In or out of focus, it doesn’t actually matter. It’s an everchanging mess and there is no making sense of it.

The room is white, then it blurs and it’s golden. Immediately after that it’s suddenly aged stones full of moss and then it’s an ancient paved garden with trees that shine gold and clouds that feel too close, somehow. In less than a second it blurs again into a dark cave lit only by the light of a torch.

There is no torch. There is a torch but no oil. The bird had some to sell, it was a mistake not to buy any. There is a torch but it’s powered by magic and there is no magic. A green potion would fix that.

There’s no need anyway, the room is brightly lit, has been through the last several shifts. And then it isn’t because the papered blue walls seem to bleed black until there is complete darkness. The room turning white again, even though it’s not the same room as the last white room, would have been blinding except the darkness didn’t last long enough for that. The room blurs into a forest before turning into a dusty street in a dusty village.

They think it’s all hallucinations.
They wonder why they don’t have a fairy like all the other kokiris.
They’re fantasizing about strangling the King and making the fucker’s eyes pop out of their rotten royal head.
More urgently, they think they smell the kids under the dust.
They’re going for it, they’re going to walk like Mommy and Daddy, they’re up on their feet...
They also think they heard a voice that woke them up, calling for help.
They’re horrified because they just learned of the sleeping Princess Zelda.
They’re annoyed because a boat just called them dim witted and they just want to save their sister already.
They lie down wondering if this is the night their old heart finally gives out and they find out what the afterlife is really like.
They also think it’s all just memories.
They wish this ceremony could be over already, the Princess is obviously distraught by it.
Rage wars with grief as their uncle draws his last breath.
Exaltation and relief flood their heart as Hyrule is restored following their wish.
Zelda laughs loudly at her own bad joke and they start laughing too.
They’re worried for their bird but the memory of Zelda telling Groose off will never not be cherished.
Did that blasted dragon get another head again since they last fought?
They can’t stop wondering how many Gorons Volvagia already ate as they search the Fire Temple to save the ones they can and to kill the dragon servant of Ganondorf.

These thoughts and more drown each other, each of them fleeting and yet dominating, countless moments fighting to be perceived as reality. Thoughts and feelings from far too many lifetimes, all feeling like they’re happening now and worse, like the entirety of each life, from childhood to death, is all happening right this moment, and that every second of each is fighting for attention. They have no idea which of them, if any, belongs to the lifetime they’re currently living. They’re not entirely certain that they are in fact within a lifetime right now.

They’re the boy without a fairy and Mido might be mean but Saria makes them happy. They’re also the same boy but now a grown Hylian, fighting to set everything right. They’re the orphan Ordon adopted and they live there happily. They're a kid who just saved the world and lost everything and they are fucking furious. They're the princess’ best friend and with help from the minish, the successor to the hero of men. They’re a student at Skyloft Academy and the Hero chosen by the Goddess. They're an old man who wishes people remembered the events that destroyed their soul if only to make sure they don’t happen again. They’re the Hylian Champion and they failed. Those lives and dozens more and every second of every one from birth to death all feel like the present moment and coherent thought is impossible.

Forward. All those lives agree on this much: they need to go forward. But every loss they’ve ever suffered, every loved one who died or left, is doing so right at this moment. Dozens of them, simultaneously dying or leaving, simultaneously just being there and perfect and THERE and alive, yet still dying or leaving at the same time. It’s ripping them apart but they’re desperate not to add to the pile and they believe the key is forward. So they make the legs and arms currently attached to their souls move forward.

All four limbs are required because they’re crawling. They made their body stand and try to walk several times already, and they keep trying, but they're seeing dozens of different terrains and they can't tell from one moment to the next how long their limbs are or whether they have arms and legs or paws, whether they could roll in boulder form instead or whether they have fins or barely have limbs at all and need to hop around, so they trip immediately each time they try walking, and they resume crawling. Even that is difficult because what their hands and knees and paws think they feel is not at all connected to what their eyes and ears think they see and hear, and there’s no telling whether any of those sensations match the present. It seems unlikely: the present moment is after all only one out of millions of moments fighting for dominance in their thoughts.

Forward.

Through all of it, that one thought keeps coming back so they push on. They push on when it seems like they’re about to crawl right through a wall and whenever they actually do hit one, they feel their way around until the way forward opens again. They push on when it seems like they’re about to go through lava and thankfully, so far that hasn’t been the present moment. They push on through waterfalls that don’t make them wet because they’re not really there, they push on through snow and sand that last a mere moment to their overstimulated senses, they push on through grass that begs for them to just lie down and rest, they push on through all varieties of floors and terrains that aren’t really there but that appear to be. Knowing where they really are right now or what they’re actually crawling on or through is out of the question. For all they know, they’re actually bleeding out in a ditch somewhere, or drowning in the ocean, or long dead, and ALL of this is past moments.

Which way is forward remains clear because it’s pulling at their very essence. They feel it on top of every other feeling they have ever felt, even though they're all fighting for dominance over their heart right now. They feel the pull through anger at countless things. They feel the pull through happiness over just as many things. They feel heartbreak because the woman they love just literally shut them out of her Universe and through that, they still feel the pull. They’re elated that their sister is safe and the pull still lurks beneath. They're head over heels in love and still feel it: the pull towards the goal, towards the Triforce, urging them on as surely as siren’s song. Wonder why would require a level of thought they’re not currently capable of.

They can see it. It blurs in and out of existence like everything else, but there are moments when it’s there, just a few steps away or off in the distance. They have no idea what it is and at the same time, know exactly what it is and they know that they need it. They know why they need it and at the same time, they don't. But they're drawn to it regardless, wholly and completely. They ignore it when a stone hallway changes to the bottom of a lake, ignore it when it changes to a river of lava, ignore everything but the three golden triangles that are sometimes almost within reach, sometimes nowhere to be seen, sometimes almost too far away to make out.

And then, eventually, they’re touching it, the hand of the body they’re currently inhabiting is touching the Triforce. It’s happening seven times all at once, at the same time as everything else, ever. They’re about to make a wish but they’re also herding goats, they’re also kissing their bride, they’re fighting some abomination or other, they’re also proposing to their boyfriend, they’re also fishing, they’re also playing ball, they’re also eating, they’re sleeping and waking and living lives where normality always eventually surrenders to fate and only sometimes comes back again, and they’re watching people suffer, and they’re walking through ruins upon ruins, the whole Kingdom nothing but a giant cemetery and also intact and full of thriving communities and beautiful fields and farms and forests and villages at the same time.

Over and over and over again, death and destruction and life and rebirth and death and destruction again. People are dying in their very arms, or just next to them, or too far for them to offer even a bit of comfort and the same people are also alive and laughing and happy. Fire rains down from the sky, explosions shatter homes, an endless stream of suffering and Demise laughing through all of it, and children playing and adults living happily and peacefully until the next cataclysm, and more suffering.

They can’t endure it any longer. They don’t know that the feeling of having already been broken by just one lifetime’s worth is part of their latest lifetime, the one associated with the body they’re currently using. It’s also part of several other lives anyway, it’s all the same by now.

Too many people, too many they loved, too many they didn’t know but that were probably loved by others. Too much death, too much pain, too often. It can’t go on. Not one more time, not ever again.

Their thoughts are scrambled over dozens of lifetimes still, their sense of self is non existent, but because they know everything they ever did, they know of the curse, and they know what they need to do. Across all their lives, from childhood to old age, through countless hardships and heartbreaks and moments of joy, the same wish pushes through.

They speak the words in dozens of voices at once, echoing each other in at least twenty distinct versions of Hylian.

“Let me end this. Let me break the curse and truly save Hyrule!”

Chapter Text

“Did YOU ever try it, Link?” Sana asked. She was pointing at the main feature of the clearing, the low stone slab with the reproduction of the legendary Master Sword sticking out of it.

Link snorted, crouched to come down to her level and smirked at her. “No, and neither should you! Look, there’s a VELVET ROPE. Pretty sure that means if you put ONE foot past it the King himself, under his true form of a giant... bug or something, comes out of nowhere to yell at you. Or BUZZ at you. Something like that. TERRIFYING stuff. And it’d be right away, too, look at the carriages behind us!”

Sana and the other kids laughed. The carriages in the waiting area behind them were indeed posh enough to pass as royal if you were silly enough to think royals would be here among common folks, and it was a delight that these posh carriages full of obviously rich people were BEHIND them. The kids - and Link as well if he was being honest - were all tickled pink that the rich folks had to wait their turn to come into the Master Sword Clearing of the Heroes Museum because their group, a bunch of normal kids from a totally ordinary school, was there first.

“So then, who’s first?” Link asked with a wink, smoothly coming out of his crouch and standing a couple of heads taller than the rest of them again. It’s not that he was tall, he was actually kind of short, but at 14, he was still taller than a bunch of six and seven year old kids.

One of the boys, Kilto, immediately ran under the rope, needing no other blessing than Link, one of the cool big kids at school and the class's babysitter for the day, implying it was okay. Link had to hold back a laugh when Kilto looked around nervously, apparently trying to make sure nothing was coming to yell or buzz at him.

The laugh died in Link’s throat when a roar resounded through the clearing, loud enough to make his very bones vibrate. He looked around frantically, trying to find the source.

Kilto and the other kids were frozen in place, casting panicked looks around. People in armor clanged out of some of the rich carriages, confirming that the people who owned said carriages were indeed ridiculously loaded. Link could not see what had produced the impossibly loud roar, but he could hear thunderous foot steps and could feel the ground shaking with each of those steps.

“The trees!” he yelled to the kids. “UP! QUICK! CLIMB!”

The kids were good listeners: they scrambled up the trees like champs. Even Kilto ran to the closest oak and clambered up without a second glance at the display sword he’d been about to try and pull out for a laugh.

Link was halfway up some kind of evergreen himself when the creature who’d roared appeared in the clearing. Its shape was indescribable: a mess of limbs, claws and teeth that made no sense at all. It was mostly black, but a black dirty with dried mud, dirt and blood. Worst of all, the impossible creature was as big as some of the trees the kids had climbed in, and it was painfully obvious that nobody was safe up in the branches.

As if to confirm, the creature batted a tree down that had been in its way. The tree, big enough to climb but thankfully not one of the ones the kids had picked to go hide in, broke with a resounding crack and fell into another one, causing a second crack and a haunting creaking sound as the second tree broke partway but held its ground as it groaned under the weight of the first one.

The guards from the carriages, useless bunch of ass lickers to the rich that they were, were turned in the monster’s direction but were too busy shaking in fear to actually engage it. The thing advanced and made a sniffing sound, from wherever its nose or noses were, and turned towards one of the trees that did have kids in it.

Link jumped down and dove for the display sword, hoping that if he yanked hard enough, the mechanism locking it in place would break and hoping further that it was at least solid enough to hit the monster with. He knew it wouldn’t be sharp, why in the world would a museum exhibit use a sharp prop, but if it was at least a blunt object. He might be able to hit the monster and luck into a tender spot.

Much to his surprise, he pulled the display sword out without difficulty. He ran past the armored cowards, who were still just standing there with their shields up and their entire bodies shaking, and at the monster. As soon as he was within reach, he swiped at the thing’s lower limbs and nearly lost his balance when what should have been a blunt toy sliced right through one limb and got stuck into the other, carrying the momentum of the slash much further than Link had expected.

He pulled the sword back out and jumped back just in time for the monster to fall as it failed to adapt to one of its legs being cut off. Link couldn’t imagine he’d get another chance of surviving the day along with all the kids, so he leapt and plunged the sword into the narrow part of the monster’s body located just below what appeared to be its head. Link couldn’t quite think of it as a neck: there were several small limbs coming out of it and that it was adorned with half a dozen misshapen eyeballs and one fang sticking right out of the fur.

Link hoped cutting through the not-a-neck would still kill the abomination, because he certainly didn’t have a clue what else to aim for. His hope was thankfully realized: the monster roared again, then gurgled and trashed, throwing Link off, and finally turned to dust.

Link stayed where he’d landed for a second, sitting on the ground and staring at the dust pile and at the display sword. He’d been ready to really yank to get what was supposed to be a crappy weapon out of its locking mechanism, but it had actually come really easily. Which meant the display not only had a real blade, it had a POORLY SECURED real blade.

“What kind of fucking idiot designed this...” he muttered. “I’m going to the museum office and screaming at someone...”

He got up and brushed himself off, then looked around to check on the kids. Everyone was staring at him, kids and useless private guards alike, which seemed like a gross overreaction to borrowing some sword that was just sitting there anyway so he could kill the monster that was attacking them.

"I'm going to put it back, sheesh," he said, rolling his eyes. "And you're welcome!” he added with a scowl, addressing the guards. “For, you know, killing the monster before it maimed and killed the lot of you. Not to mention a bunch of kids that you didn’t even TRY to help! But I guess that’s not in your contract, uh? Fucking pathetic! You AND the rich bastards that hired you and just stayed hidden! We could have all died! But we don’t matter a fucking bit to you, do we? I know what the plan was, don’t think I don’t! You were going to all climb back in those carriages and run for it once the monster got busy tearing the KIDS apart!"

The hired guards were still staring at him. The kids were staring at him too, some of them back on the ground and some from higher up in the trees. One of the rich buggers the guards had been sort of protecting came out of the most nauseatingly gilded carriage there and stepped forward, allowing Link to get his first look at him: he really was a rich useless waste of space, and a big one at that. Tall and large, wearing the finest clothes Link had ever seen, and apparently he was influential enough to get away with straight up wearing the royal blue. Not to mention a...

Link's brain stopped working for a second when his eyes spotted the crown above the face he now recognized from publicly posted portraits. Huh. No wonder the rich bugger got away with wearing the royal blue, it was the asshole in chief himself.

He thought about bowing but couldn't talk himself into it. He acknowledged the King with a crisp nod and a perfectly polite if frosty "Your Majesty" instead.

He wasn't sure what else to say. He supposed it was good he hadn’t called him a rich bastard to his face: his plans for the evening didn't include being tossed in a dungeon for insulting the bloody King. He'd already insulted the Royal Guards, that was probably not great for his future prospects already.

Strangely, the King did not look angry about his guards being berated and cussed at, or at the absence of a proper bow.

"Young man,” he asked. “Do you not realize what you're holding?"

“I do, actually,” Link said, feeling himself getting hotter again and unable to help it. A real sword, where kids could just take it for fun! He’d even encouraged it because honestly, why would you ask kids NOT to pretend to pull the pretend Master Sword out? “It’s a SWORD!” he continued, his voice rising in anger. “An actual, sharp sword! Right where kids can just take it for fun and try to pretend fight with it, and cut other kids up by accident! Did you know about this? Because it’s BEYOND stupid!”

Link realized right after that last comment that shutting up a few sentences earlier would probably have been a great idea.

The King didn’t seem to care. "How old are you?" he asked. "Where did you learn to fight?"

Link swallowed. He’d learned to fight because he was training, with an organized group no less, to overthrow the monarchy. He spent more time doing that than he did at school, and routinely day dreamed about the day he’d get to put that training to its intended use against the Royal Family and all their pet nobles.

"14, your Majesty,” he said, answering the easy question first. He quickly improvised the rest. “My aunt taught me, she... she was a monster hunter. Sorry." He stopped and made a show of looking embarrassed about his imaginary aunt’s illegal activities. Monster hunting was considered a crime, supposedly because of how dangerous it was. Link was pretty sure it was more because civilians taking out monsters all over the place made the guards who weren’t doing the same look bad.

The King said nothing for a moment, just standing there and staring. The guards were staring even harder now, like the King doing it too meant it was fine.

Link cleared his throat. "I'll... I'll go ahead and put it ba..."

"WAIT," the King called out.

Link stopped in his tracks and turned back towards him, an eyebrow raised.

"Young man,” the King said. “This is not a mere recreation, or an ordinary exhibit. There are no props here. You have in your hands the Blade of Evil's Bane."

Link looked at the sword. Then at the King again. Then at the sword again.

“Er… I don’t… that can’t…" he said. He swallowed. "Unless the stories about how only the hero can pull it out are all full of sh...” he stopped himself just in time. Dungeon life just really failed to appeal to him, especially since he was pretty sure his mom would kill him if he got himself arrested. “...lies. Full of lies," he finished.

"People have been trying to pull it out for as long as I've lived. I've done it myself as a youth. Not one group comes through here without at least one jokester trying it. Until today, it never budged. It did in the past, of course, before my time, but not ever since the last Chosen One."

"Then I guess the lock is broken, " Link said. He understood where the King was going with this and he was having none of it.

Every few generations, some threat conveniently showed up just as a revolution was brewing. Suddenly, a Hero would be found and some royal looking chick would be dug out of wherever, and the Royal Family all being straight up evil manipulating thieving autocrats would suddenly seem less important because one of them would (supposedly) save Hyrule from some manufactured vaguely pig-looking threat with the Hero’s help. Nice way to kill a revolution in the bud.

"The ‘lock’ is the sword itself choosing who can take it, and it cannot break,” the King said with the assurance of a man who got to declare himself right about whatever he wanted. “The Master Sword is yours. You are the Chosen One."

Link’s eyes narrowed. There it was, the plot confirmed. Explained why the King was even here, anyway.

"Absolutely fucking not," Link said. And he jammed the sword right back into its pedestal.

The King sighed. “Arrest him,” he ordered. “If he resists, we’ll assume he doesn’t want to be separated from all his little friends and take them too.”

Link’s eyes widened. The guards were on him in an instant: they were much braver and efficient against an unarmed teenager than against a monster, and he was subdued, chained and driven to his knees in front of the King before he had time to think of a suitable curse to direct at them for even considering throwing kids in jail if HE resisted arrest.

The kids clamored protests but the guards and the King thankfully ignored them.

The King was looking at Link with a much more royal expression now: hateful and disdainful.

“Look at you,” he sneered. “Blond hair, blue eyes, and all. A pure classic. I don’t even need to ask your name, it’s obviously Link. The Spirit of the Hero didn’t try to hide this time. How nice.” He snorted and lifted his nose. “I will grant you time to think about your responsibilities to your kingdom.” He turned his gaze to the guards holding Link. “Dungeon. Survival treatment.”

Link was sorely tempted to spit at him, but the kids hadn’t scattered yet and he didn’t want to give the royal dickhead an excuse to mistreat them.

The King turned his back on him and went back to his carriage. The guards holding Link hauled him to his feet and towards a different, slightly less gilded, carriage.

Link turned his head back towards the kids. “Back to the carts everyone!” he ordered. “The drivers will be there soon!”

He didn’t get a chance to see whether they listened: he was shoved into the carriage and the door, which already had the curtains drawn, was closed right behind him and the three guards that climbed along. He glared at them. They smirked.

Chapter Text

Link was dozing off and on, unable to really sleep and unable to fully wake. He was shackled to the floor and the wall in a sitting position with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out ahead of him and his arms to the side, pointing down and away from his body in a diagonal. The shackles had been adjusted and their chain tightened to have basically no give.

The metal restraints on his wrists and ankles dug further into his skin each time he slumped and the increase in pain level woke him up. He was in pain anyway, cramped all over from not being able to properly move, and his entire midsection was crying out, but the metal digging further into his raw skin still made things noticeably worse when it happened.

He was wet, too, because he’d had to relieve himself several times by now and he couldn’t even reach his pants to try and keep himself clean. One of the reasons his stomach was hurting was because he’d so far managed, through sheer force of will, not to also crap himself. He fully expected he’d soon wake up from a doze to find out he had lost that fight in his sleep.

He was also painfully hungry, and thirsty. He’d been fed a tiny bit of bread and water now and again, which was humiliating and unpleasant and still consistently left him wanting for more, but the aim had clearly been to give him just enough to barely keep him alive. Between that and the lack of sleep, and the constant pain, he felt more tired than he ever had or ever thought possible.

Dungeon life was even worse than he had imagined. And to think that anyone the Nayru Forsaken King disliked could end up here to rot while the ruling class enjoyed every luxury… even in his weakened state, it was enough to make his blood boil and a growl rise in his throat.

More to distract himself than anything else, he did think; not so much about his duty to the bloody kingdom like the Royal Dick had suggested as about the situation in general. Or at least, he tried to: lining thoughts up in a coherent way was becoming increasingly difficult, and his conclusions were downright exhausting to think about.

The light from the hallway hurt Link's eyes when the door to his cell opened. He closed them and turned his head away before he cracked one eye opened again by a slant to try and see his visitor, hoping it was more food, knowing it probably wasn’t and that it would barely help even if it was. He could see nothing but a blurry silhouette framed by too bright light.

"It’s been a week. Have you come to your senses?"

Link sighed, recognizing the voice. The King was visiting, which was a bit like a final confirmation of what he'd reasoned through since he'd been tossed in this windowless box and shackled to the wall and floor.

"Been thinking," he said. He would have liked to shout or snarl, but it came out in a mutter. He wasn’t sure he was audible, but he really didn’t think he could manage to talk louder. "I'm still alive. If you just needed some random guy…” He had to stop for a moment to catch his breath. “Your royal ass wouldn't be putting up with me."

"The signs of a monster attack were quite clear," the King agreed. He was speaking in a normal voice and was therefore much louder than Link’s mutters.

Link shuddered. "You're the fucking monsters.” He wanted to elaborate on how the King and nobles were even worse than what Link had just fought because THEY had brains and hearts and should know better, but the number of words it would take was overwhelming. “You’d have killed the kids too. And blamed the monster."

The King said nothing, which was more than confirmation enough.

"But I’m alive,” Link repeated. “You're stuck with me. Gotta be.”

"Unfortunately," the King agreed again.

"But why?" Link asked, sagging within his restraints in frustration and exhaustion. "Can’t you… use...a fake sword?" He could barely get the words out: he was out of breath, his mouth and throat were bone dry, he just wanted to sleep forever except he knew that wasn’t happening.

"The monster you killed has a lot of friends," the King said. "They have been impossible to destroy, impossible to hurt at all, and our hope was that the Blade of Evil's Bane would succeed where everything else failed. I was at the Heroes Museum that day with several young men and women specially selected from our best and most loyal family lines. They were to try and pull the sword out and if that didn't work, I would have made every last person there try it as well: every guard, every footman, every coachman, every servant. We were waiting for the school group you were watching to leave so that there would be no witnesses to our desperation. We've been silencing the witnesses of our attempts to destroy the creatures when there are any so as not to encourage rumors that we are powerless, but having no witness to start with is the less bothersome scenario."

"Can't do shit about your own mess… so you're killing…to hide it.” Too many words in the last few minutes. Link’s throat closed and he dissolved in a fit of coughing that left him panting. He took a shallow breath that he’d meant to be a deep one and met the King’s eyes again. “NAYRU FORSAKE YOU AND DIN BLAST..." He didn’t get any further, cut off by another coughing fit that left him exhausted. He sagged further, the chains holding him in position digging into his skin. He was too weak to try and do anything about it so he just accepted the pain. "By the… way. I lied. Aunt’s… not a… monster hunter," he panted stubbornly, in a desperate attempt to make the impassive King as angry as he was himself.

"I'm aware," the King replied. "You were searched. We saw where your stupid little rebel friends branded you. Din’s mark, base of your skull, which would mean… what do you call yourselves again, Din’s Fury?”

“Justice,” Link corrected. “Din’s…” he didn’t finish, still out of breath.

“Whatever,” the King said. “Your group is not a concern, never has been. None of the rebel groups are. We'll execute members when we come across them, we can't tolerate this kind of behavior, but you're completely delusional if you think they're anything else than a mild nuisance."

Link glared at him. He knew for a fact that this was a lie: whether or not his particular group was already known to be potential trouble, the very fact that a hero was needed meant the King had summoned a calamity to distract the population and prevent a revolution. He wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t been worried about the various rebel groups and the population in general rising against him. Throwing these facts in the King’s face would have taken much more effort than Link was capable of right now.

"Don't even have an aunt,” Link said instead, in a coarse whisper.

"We're getting off the subject," the King said with a shrug. "Hyrule needs the Master Sword to destroy these abominations plaguing us. And whatever created or summoned them,” he added after a pause, giving Link the distinct impression he’d almost forgotten to. “This is practically routine by now,” the King continued. “We are beset by something or other every two or three generations and every time, the key lies in finding the only one who can wield that damned finicky blade."

With an effort that he would never have associated with such a small motion until now, Link rolled his eyes at the King.

“Whatever summoned it my ASS,” he hissed weakly. “Beset YOUR ass! We both know how this happened!” The King was talking a lot, which was tiring to his ears and brains, but was at least letting him recover slightly between saying stuff himself.

“Getting off the subject again,” the King said.

“Isn’t the subject…” Link had to stop for breath and mentally measured his words so as not to waste them. “…that you’re an evil dickhead?”

“It is not,” the King replied.

Link would have admired how no amount of insulting the man had any effect on him, but it was pretty obvious that the King just couldn’t give less of a fuck about what commoners thought of him.

“You want me to take the sword back,” Link said. Too many words too soon again, he started coughing again. “And... give it you?” he added weakly once he could breathe again.

“No. In anyone else’s hands, it will just be an ordinary blade. You must wield it. As you said, we are stuck with you.”

Link chewed on his lip. “Abdicate,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I kill the beasties, you abdicate. Deal?”

The King burst out laughing. Link glared at him.

“You grossly misunderstand,” the King said as his hilarity calmed down. “For one thing, if you refuse, the beasts will continue to ravage Hyrule. It occurs to me I haven’t painted an accurate picture of the situation yet... let’s rectify that. Up to yesterday, the monsters had attacked a bunch of villages and a couple of towns. Yesterday, they descended upon a city. I forget which one, some shit hole up North. The casualties went from somewhere around a few thousands to over two hundred thousands overnight. Only a handful of those are nobles, and not many more are guards, because people who had the resources to do so fled while the monsters were busy with the less fortunate.”

Link swallowed.

“Refuse to fight and for the most part, it’s more commoners who will die. Your own town or city or wherever you’re from is bound to be hit eventually, but the point is that myself and anyone else who’s worth anything can escape relatively easily and find safety in some other land. I would prefer to preserve my Kingdom, because it IS mine. Away from here I may still be wealthy, but I wouldn’t be King. Just the same, you do not get to ask for anything in return for being granted permission to save your people. You have more stakes in this than I do, not the other way around. Whatever you know about how these monsters came to Hyrule is completely irrelevant at this point.”

Link sighed. “You’re going to execute me, aren’t you? After?”

“Obviously.”

“You are an asshole,” Link said, forcing every word out as clearly as he could. “Hylia weeps to see her blood corrupted so.” That last part was pretty much a rallying cry for his group and others like them, and not his own invention, but even though he barely managed to get it out audibly at all, he could not resist hurling that last insult at the monarch.

It turned out to be well worth it. The King’s cheeks colored, his eyes narrowed and his upper lip curled. “Will you cooperate, or will you let more people die while you wallow in your own filth in here?”

Link glared at him. “I’ll fight,” he said. “I’ll save Hyrule.”

The King nodded, then turned his back and left the cell, but didn’t close the door.

“Take the shackles off and show him to proper lodging,” Link heard him tell the guards outside. “Let me know if he tries to run, but remember that we want him to start recovering.”

Chapter Text

Link had known this was coming, but he would have really liked to be wrong.

He crashed down on the chair that was indicated to him - a stupidly expensive looking stained polished wood and red velvet number located in a stupidly expensive looking parlor with tapestries and everything. The chair was stupidly comfortable. He crossed his arms, and scowled.

He’d been woken up to go meet ‘Princess Zelda’, the one who would supposedly show everyone that the Royal Family was still the key to Hyrule’s salvation with just a bit of help from their hero. He was still barely recovered enough from his stint in the dungeon to walk for more than a few minutes without feeling like he’d run for hours, and yet he’d been rushed out of bed to come to this obnoxious sitting room, just so he could meet whoever they’d dug up to play Zelda’s part, and she wasn’t even here yet.

“Did she get lost on the way from the Dark World or something?” he grumbled.

The guards ignored him. He was cut short from ranting on about how ‘Zelda’ wasn’t even here yet by sudden trumpets right outside the double doors to the main hall. The doors opened to let in two overdressed women followed by a third one that managed to make the first two look like paupers.

She was a blond young woman with heavy court makeup on and her hair in an elaborate updo involving braids and a bun, and a few strands of hair stiffly curling around her face. She had a white gold tiara adorned with a whole bunch of diamonds and sapphires, and she wore a dress that seemed to be composed of at least two dozen layers of silk in various shades of blue from nearly white to nearly black, elaborately cut to allow each layer to be seen in one place or another: it was more sculpture than dress. That was overlayed further with a jewel covered layer of clear gauze. The woman met Link’s eye and immediately lifted her nose and curled her upper lip.

Link snorted and then laughed out loud. It wasn’t malicious as such, the lady just looked too much like a ridiculously exaggerated caricature of an aristocratic woman for him to be able to help himself. His hilarity was brutally cut short by the sudden sensation that nearly every muscle in his body, down to the tiny ones moving his toes and even including his tongue, was painfully cramped. He cried out in shock and pain and found himself sliding off his chair to the floor. The pain stopped almost as quickly as it had started.

Someone cleared their throat. Link noticed his eyes were closed and opened them, getting up off the floor at the same time. He had to support himself on the stupidly expensive chair to successfully pull himself up.

The trumpets played again, the customary little royal announcement tune. The players than lowered their instruments and both cried out in perfect practiced harmony: “Her Royal Highness Princess Zelda!”

Link, now back on his feet, snorted. “Puh-lease,” he said. “She’s as much the Princess as I am.”

His muscles cramped again, even more painfully than before. He screamed, unable to help it, and his legs gave out, leaving him sprawled and twitching on the floor by the time the pain passed.

“As of yesterday, I am the adopted daughter of the King.”

A woman’s voice. Link realized his eyes were screwed shut again, so he opened them and looked. He was still on the floor, but getting up again seemed like it would be an awful lot of effort; he didn’t bother. The sorceress who’d been introduced as Princess Zelda was looking down at him with a sneer.

“You may have figured out by now that I will not tolerate disrespect,” she said. “I suggest you start behaving yourself. As a start, you will kneel and apologize to me.”

Link tried to get up with the intention of staring her in the face to tell her she was crazy as a keese in a bottle if she thought there was any chance of that happening, but his arms and legs refused to support his weight and he just fell flat to the floor again.

It immediately felt as though he’d fallen in lava. There was no cramping sensation this time: instead, it felt like he was literally on fire. Again unable to help it, he screeched and thrashed, vainly trying to get away from the pain.

He was out of breath and completely spent by the time it stopped. “Can’t they... send YOU... against... monsters?” he gasped.

She tutted. “Sorcery hasn’t worked on them,” she said. “We wouldn’t need you if it had, obviously. In the interest of time, I will show far more mercy that you deserve and consider you appropriately punished for your behavior so far.”

She had walked up right next to him, so Link was quite literally sprawled at her feet right now. He managed to roll over partway to look up at her but couldn’t think of anything to say.

She narrowed her eyes. “I will not push generosity so far as to not expect at least some show of gratitude for my leniency,” she warned. “You will stop scowling and you will thank me.”

“Gra...?” Link didn’t bother finishing the word, it had too many syllables to be worth the effort. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on relaxing his eyebrows so as to stop frowning. “Princess Zelda,” he said, as clearly as he could. He couldn’t manage much more than a panting mutter, he was still out of breath from the fire and the cramps, and he hadn’t had that much energy to start with this morning.

“Yes?” she asked.

He opened his eyes and met hers, still focusing on keeping his expression neutral.

“Go fuck a lynel,” he said.

She lifted her nose higher, her mouth twisting in an ugly snarl, and signaled to one of her maids, who approached and deposited a package next to him. Link, who had expected pain again, stared at Zelda, confused.

“You and I are to go fetch your sword tomorrow morning,” she said. “These are your clothes for the occasion, and you are to consider them my personal gift to you. I have been informed that they were made a few weeks ago, before we found you, so I would assume that they are sized for a normal person. In other words, they will likely be too big for a pathetic shrimp like you. A tailor will be sent to you to adjust them. Guards.”

The guards all snapped to attention.

“Inform the King that as per his orders, I have met the Chosen One and presented him with his clothes.”

Link was just starting to wonder if he was actually getting away with his last comment when pain took him over again. It felt like both fire and cramps this time. He never found out how long he screamed: everything went black.

***

Link found himself genuinely grateful when he was steered to a different carriage than the one carrying the King and the brand new Princess, the following morning. He was dearly hoping the sword ceremony would be the last time he was ever required to see the sorceress.

To his surprise, he was still feeling as weak as a kitten. Significantly worse, in fact, than he had before he’d met the newly established Princess Zelda. He’d come to on the floor of the sitting room after her last attack, right where he’d passed out and lying in a puddle of his own vomit. The tailor had been in the room already, waiting. Link had cooperated with the measurements mostly for the sake of getting it over with, and had then been allowed to retire back to his room. He’d crawled back into his bed and had had to be shaken awake when the morning came. He’d had a funny taste in his mouth, he assumed from throwing up, and he would have much preferred to stay asleep.

He was wearing his tailored uniform now, which had turned out to be a green version of the livery of the King’s personal servants, complete with high heeled boots and a beret. The green version was ugly, and being dressed as the King’s personal servant was beyond humiliating. He’d caught a glance of Zelda as she climbed into the King’s carriage, and it was at least a little bit comforting to see that she was wearing a plain white prayer dress and that judging by her expression, she absolutely hated it.

The ride was uneventful, or at least uneventful enough for Link to sleep through most of it. He was shaken awake again when they arrived. The guards that were riding with him ushered him out and he was walked through a crowd to the Master Sword’s Display, by way of a cordoned off path. He noted dimly that the velvet rope that used to isolate the sword’s little platform was gone: a much larger area was now closed off to the public.

Link tried to focus his eyes on the sword and found he couldn’t. It was difficult to focus on anything. Despite sleeping on the way, he was even more tired than when he’d first been woken up.

He tried to look around at the assembled company. Flanking him were the King and his supposed Princess. He couldn’t see either of them clearly either, his eyes seemed locked on to something further away and he didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

“Link,” the King said with so much fake kindness that the incongruity of it drew a giggle out of Link. “Chosen one. The people would surely like to see you take possession of your birthright... perhaps you could face them as you do?”

That required walking around the sword’s platform. Link would have preferred not to, but arguing or resisting felt like too much effort so he made his feet move until the sword was between himself and the crowd. He considered himself lucky he didn’t fall: the world was not only blurry, but had started to sway, as well.

He was now facing the King and Zelda. She was kneeling because the Princess was supposed to be praying at this point. He giggled again because there was no way that woman ever prayed, except maybe to demons.

“Go on, Chosen One,” the King said. “Draw your sword.”

He sounded a bit impatient. Link took a deep breath again and pulled the sword out. It came just as easily as before.

The King handed him something long, blue with a bunch of gold stuff on it.

“A sheath for the Master Sword, Hero,” the King said. “Allow the holy blade to rest in it until it’s needed.”

Link frowned in confusion for a second before the meaning of the words pushed through the fog in his head. He was supposed to put the sword in that sheath. He took the sheath, painstakingly lined up the sword with the opening, pushed the sword and missed. As it turned out, not being able to see made lining things up a bit tricky. The thought made him giggle. He tried again, using his hands as well this time to locate where the sword needed to go, and successfully sheathed the Master Sword. His training kicked in at that point and he successfully attached the sheath to his belt after just two unsuccessful attempts and without even needing to be asked. He chuckled at how stupidly hard it all was right now, it was silly that it was hard at all, he was usually good at this stuff.

Someone pushed on his shoulder, encouraging him forward, back towards the carriage. Link’s legs were shaking by now, and it was a struggle to keep his eyes opened. The crowd was a blur, and he didn’t notice the commotion until the King’s voice rang in his ears.

“Guards!” the King barked. “Let her through! What are you thinking? Of COURSE she may see him!”

Link looked around, confused. Next thing he knew, his mother was hugging him. He hugged back weakly and dimly wondered if he was being sent home. He would have liked that.

“They have you drugged,” his mother whispered in his ear. “You’re not just tired, they drugged you so you wouldn’t make trouble.”

Link blinked in surprise. Why would they drug him? He was way too tired to make trouble anyway. He giggled at the thought.

“I love you,” his mother continued in a normal voice. “I love you so much, and I always will. Please, please don’t forget that.”

He felt her slip something in his pocket. He wanted to ask what it was, but he was too weak to talk. He was so tired, and hugging her was so comfortable, that he was dozing off. He tried to at least tell her he loved her too, but the very thought of pushing words out was exhausting.

She briefly hugged him tighter, and he felt her cheek against his; it was wet, as if she was crying. And then she was gone. Link was guided back to the carriage and from that point, knew no more.

Chapter Text

A few days after claiming the Master Sword again, Link went down to breakfast feeling like himself for the first time in seemingly forever.

He’d slept through the rest of the day he’d gotten the sword back, and through the following night, and although he’d still been feeling very weak when he’d woken up, his thoughts had at least been clear again. Clear enough in fact not to be surprised that the Master Sword was nowhere in sight – the King was obviously not going to leave him with it unsupervised.

He had headed straight for the toilet for privacy and had searched his pocket for what his mother had given him, hoping it was some kind of memento, hoping it would somehow help him feel better about not even having been awake enough to talk to her. She was his mother, he'd probably never see her again, and he hadn’t even had the energy or wit to say I love you back to her.

Her gift had turned out to be a piece of paper with just a few words on it: “Don’t refuse a gift just because of the source.”

Link had had absolutely no idea why his mother had wanted to give him that. The message was clear enough – if the King was to give him something useful, like maybe a shield or something, it would make no sense to refuse it. Why his mother had thought it necessary to give the advice, and to give it secretly no less, was a complete mystery.

That had been a few days ago and he still had absolutely no clue what the message truly meant. He’d kept the paper anyway: it had his mother’s last words to him on it, in her writing, and that was enough to make it worth keeping.

An extremely unpleasant surprise awaited him in the breakfast room: the Princess herself was sitting at the table, eating her own breakfast. She was wearing red and black today. Link could only see the top part of her outfit, but even just that much was enough to see that this dress was just as overdone and ridiculous as the blue number he’d first seen her in. She had a matching tiara again, a black silver piece covered in red rubies, and was court ready with full makeup and a fancy hairdo again.

“Your highness,” he said.

“Hero,” she said. “Finally fit again? I’m told you are to be reunited with your blade today.”

Link’s eyes widened. If they planned to give the Master Sword back to him today, it was probably for battle.

"I was wondering whether I had dreamt getting it back,” he lied. His trainers with Din’s Justice would have been proud, he was faking respect and being polite like a pro. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up, he was itching to throw insults at the ridiculous princess or better yet, to trip her and see how long it took her to pick herself off the floor with all the slippery fabric she was wearing. Being a bit passive aggressive about being drugged was exemplary behavior in comparison to what he’d rather be doing.

Zelda managed to cackle in a very snobbish manner. “I suppose you would,” she said. “That second dose was a bit much, you were literally swaying like a drunk. The physician has been whipped quite soundly for the whole debacle. Sit.”

Second dose? That was news to Link, but it explained why he’d felt even more out of it after the carriage ride. He sat down without answering.

“Do you remember anything at all? It would be a shame if you didn’t,” Zelda said, sounding absolutely delighted. “Your mother was there. She looks very young.”

Link’s fists clenched under the table: the token Princess made the observation about his mother’s age sound like a condemnation and a jeer all at once. “My mother was raped by some rich influential bastard when she was just fifteen,” he said. “This is going to come as a shock,” he added sarcastically, “but he got away with it. I arrived nine months later.”

Zelda sniffed and rolled her eyes. “One of THOSE,” she said. “Raped indeed. Highly ranked gentlemen don’t go around looking for common women. The thought is, frankly, disgusting. The diseases, the filth... why in the world would anyone go out of their way to expose themselves to all that? What actually happens, and it’s high time you found this out, is that shameless harpies throw themselves at every rich man they come across in the hopes of extracting something out of them in exchange. Your mother got herself pregnant hoping whoever she tried to ensnare would agree to marry her out of it. Just another gold digging harlot and like most of them, she started young.”

Link was up and almost on her, hands ready to strangle her, when the pain hit. It was a new flavor again, akin to breaking a bone except he could feel it in every bone from his skull to his toes, and the pain in each of these bones was way more intense than the one time Link had actually broken one of his arms as a kid.

He found himself screaming on the floor again until it stopped, and he had to fight back tears of rage. Zelda was still in her chair, not even looking at him as she sipped her tea.

He picked himself up and sat down again, taking his time to adjust his napkin on his lap.

“Projecting, are we?” he asked conversationally. “Do you call the King Daddy when he's fucking you? Maybe that’s what inspired him to make you the Princess Zelda? Does he slap you on the ass when you’re naughty?”

The pain felt like fire again this time.

***

Link didn’t make it back to his room after breakfast: he was accosted by a group of guards, who took him to a carriage and shoved him inside it before closing the door behind him. On the bench opposite him was the Master Sword in its sheath. He heard the driver yip at the horses and the carriage started moving. Link was rather glad he wasn't being made to change into the ugly green servant outfit, but the clothes he'd been supplied with and that he'd thrown on this morning weren't exactly ideal either: linen pants and linen shirt, comfortable enough but basically no more suited to fighting than night clothes. He shrugged the matter off: it was still infinitely better than the green livery.

Link reached for the sword and took it, trying to get used to the idea that it really was the Master Sword of Legend and that it really was his. He carefully unsheathed it and caught his reflection in the polished metal. Even though he felt better than he had since he’d been tossed in the dungeons, he still looked terrible: messy hair, pale with sunken cheeks and dark bags under his eyes. He sheathed the sword again.

They were riding for about an hour if Link judged by the movement of the sun. He tried to open the door when the carriage finally stopped to find he was locked in. He sighed and waited, sheathed sword in hand. He started debating breaking the door, but didn’t have time to make up his mind to try: the door opened on a man Link assumed was the driver. He was wearing the normal dark blue version of the King’s livery and had the dusty look of someone who’d just been riding outside of a carriage for a while.

“Can you ride?” the driver asked. “A horse, I mean.”

“Er... yes?” Link said.

“Good for you, less walking,” the driver said. He stepped aside, letting Link out. “I’m going to get one of the horses ready for you, just keep going on the road until you find the monsters, I guess. Or run. I don’t care, I’m not going any closer. Not like I could stop you if you did decide to take off.”

Link looked around. They could just make out the roofs of two houses uphill from where they were and just ahead of them, a few paces before the houses, the trail turned to a paved road.

“I’m not going to run,” Link grumbled. “That’s you fucking cowards’ specialty.”

The driver snorted and came back towards him with the reigns of a horse in hand. The reigned horse, a spotted grey male with a dark brown mane, was following meekly. “Looking forward to how big you talk when I see you next,” the driver said. “If I do.”

He gave Link the reigns and climbed back on the carriage. Without another glance at his passenger, he proceeded to make his remaining three horses turn around in a circle and took off back the way they had come.

Link looked at his horse again. “All right, Buddy. That's your name now, hope you like it.”

He mounted and spurred the horse to a trot straight ahead.

***

The first clue that something was very wrong was the smell. Buddy picked up on it too and pulled back, nostrils flaring and eyes wide.

Link dismounted and the horse immediately trotted back a way, not going so far as running away altogether, but retreating away from the smell and perceived danger. Link let him be and walked on, aiming for the top of the hill that was blocking his view. He wasn’t sure what the smell was: it reminded him of something but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His brains kept going back to something to do with meat, but it smelled nothing like food.

He forced the matter away from his mind as idle curiosity. It was very quiet, making it clear to Link that this village had been evacuated: a ghost town. All he could hear were some birds screeching.

He finally reached the top of the hill and the first houses on the outskirts of the village. His eyes fell on something in the road and the delusion he’d been desperately clinging to evaporated.

He was reminded of meat because the closest thing he’d ever smelled to this, not that there really was any comparison, was the back of a butcher’s shop. The shop had smelled like blood and meat, the air here smelled like far too much blood, gore and a bit of a sewer smell underneath.

The birds he was hearing were carrion birds: one of them, a crow, took off with a piece of flesh in its beak when Link got close enough to spook it.

The village had not been evacuated. Everyone was still here.

In the road, staring straight at Link, was the head and part of the upper torso of a boy that Link judged must have been around five or six years old. The kid’s hair looked like it was a light brown under the blood and dirt caked in it. His eyes were brown too. One of his ears was half torn off, either by the monsters that had killed him or the wildlife that was doing what scavengers do. Link couldn’t tell what color shirt the child had been wearing, there was too much blood on it. Surrounding the boy’s remains were those of a bunch of other people, bigger and even smaller alike, girls and women and men and more boys. Link spotted some paws as well, presumably from pets, and a severed eyeball that had once belonged to someone or something with green eyes.

Link tore his eyes away from the severed head and its immediate surrounding but his gaze just fell on more of the same: a woman’s arm a few steps overs, the nails painted a cheerful pink and the delicate lace of the sleeve stained red; a tiny, curled up pudgy leg still wearing a tiny baby shoe; two more heads, one a bearded red headed man and the other a very old woman. He heard a keening sound and realized with some distress that it was coming from himself.

He couldn’t seem to breathe properly, he was breathing hard and fast and it still felt like the air wasn’t reaching his lungs. He tried looking away again but everywhere he looked was the same, more body parts, more heads, some nearly complete bodies with large holes in their midsection or parts of their heads smashed in. He could see exposed brains, in some cases with pieces detached. He saw a woman with her belly ripped opened and the disembodied head of an unborn baby next to her. As a backdrop to all of it was the blood he had smelled: it was all over, smeared on the ground and the walls, on the bodies, on the trees, on the clothes, on the birds diving for meat, everywhere.

Link fell to his hands and knees and threw up for what felt like a long time, dry heaves taking over once his stomach was empty of even bile.

He got back up shakily. The monsters. The monsters had done this and they were probably heading for the next village to start all over again. He had to stop them. He could freak out some more later. He ran back to Buddy, mounted him again, and spurred him to a gallop, forcing the horse through the village as fast as he could for both their sakes.

“Sorry Buddy,” he muttered. “Just run through, just get me to the other side nice and fast, I got to catch the things that did this...”

He didn’t have to do much spurring. Buddy wanted away from here as badly as Link did and didn’t need any encouragement, galloping as hard as he could once he got going.

It didn’t take long to leave the small village behind but Link let the horse run. Buddy ran as long as he could before finally slowing down, shiny with sweat, his rider staring straight ahead, hands clenched on the reins.

The monsters who’d torn through that village were now within Link’s sight, just a few minutes ahead on the road. There were three of them, looking like variations of the one he’d killed at the Heroes Museum: big black dirty things with limbs and other stuff sticking out everywhere. They hadn’t seen him and Buddy hadn’t noticed them.

Link’s mouth twisted in a snarl.

“You did good, Buddy” he told the horse, patting him on the neck. “Thank you. I’m going to go get those guys, you’re going to stay here.”

He dismounted again and guided the horse a few steps off the road before securing his reins to a tree.

“Wish me luck,” he said with a last pat at the horse.

He got back on the road alone, unsheathed the Master Sword, and started a fast walk. Once he was at a safe distance from Buddy, he started yelling.

“HEY! YOU UGLY MOTHERFUCKERS MURDERING ASSHOLES!”

He started running then, as the monsters turned around to investigate the noise. They made some kind of noise and faced him, going so far as moving towards him as well, no doubt only seeing another prey.

The fight was a blur. In what seemed like no time at all, Link was surrounded by three piles of black dust. The monsters, when hit with the weapon that actually could harm them, were just big pushovers. So much death, and all anyone needed was the Master Sword.

The fight went out of him all at once and he collapsed on his knees and hands again, and heaved again with nothing coming up but a bit more bile. He didn’t get back up right away, every muscle in his body clenched and a roar caught in his throat. Every dead body and body parts he’d seen in the doomed village was imprinted firmly in his mind and his imagination was supplying him with their last moments, nothing but excruciating pain and utter terror, and all of it, all that blood, was on the King’s hands.

He eventually got up again and went back to Buddy, who was peacefully eating some grass. Link untied him and guided him back to the road. Everything was blurry.

“This is all the King’s fault,” he informed the horse, absently patting him. “Fucking evil bastard summoned these monsters. And you know why? To help him stay in power because even before he did that, he’s such a hateful fuck that everyone else wanted him gone. So, he called on monsters to scare everyone and get them off his back, and to try and pretend that when they get defeated, it’s going to be thanks to the Royal Family. It’s worked before. Sort of. I don’t think people ever buy it, they just don’t want the royals to keep trying, you know? And then after a while, their grandkids don’t remember how bad the monsters are and THEY try again because even when there’s no actual monsters, things are just BAD. There’s people starving, and dying with no doctors to take care of them, and the King keeps stealing most of the crops and whatever else people have, cattle and stuff and wood and anything they can make, and he and his buddies keep hurting and raping people, and anyone who protests, or anyone the King doesn’t like for any reason at all, gets killed or thrown in the dungeon.”

Buddy made no reply.

“Hylia weeps,” Link muttered, and as if in sympathy with the Goddess, his eyes overflowed and tears rolled down his cheeks. He swallowed and wiped them away, and mounted his horse again. Everything was still blurry.

He turned away from the road after all and into the woods: he wasn’t going back through that village, he couldn’t face seeing all the dead again for real. The fact they wouldn’t leave his head was bad enough.

“The King told me there’s over two hundred thousand people dead so far,” he told Buddy. “Actually, that was about a week ago, so there’s probably more by now.” His voice broke and he groaned in exasperation, wiping at his eyes again. “I thought I was horrified when he told me. I thought I was angry. I wanted it to stop, for sure, and that’s when I agreed to fight, even though the King just intends to kill ME when I’m done.”

He swallowed. The horse was walking placidly, seemingly neither enjoying the attention nor minding the monologue, and finding his own way between the trees.

“Truth is, today’s my first time seeing an actual dead person,” Link confessed. “Two hundred thousand just meant ‘a lot’ last week. But now I’m… I’m seeing the ones here and imagining piles and piles more.”

He wiped at his eyes again. He couldn’t seem to stop crying and he was getting pretty sick of it. He was a soldier in training even before he’d turned out to be the chosen one, he had to be a bit tougher than this. But then he supposed he was lucky he still could cry. That little kid with the brown eyes couldn’t cry anymore, nor could that lady with the baby ripped right out of her.

He didn’t say anything else for a while; it was hard to get the words out because his mouth was twisted and his throat was tight and dry. He noticed he had his arms wrapped around himself and decided that was fine. Buddy didn’t seem to mind either way, walking on.

“He summoned them,” he repeated in a low growl. “All these dead he told me about to talk me into fighting, they’re all HIS fault. Him and every fucking royal and noble. Scourge of Hyrule,” he concluded, quoting one of the mantras of Din’s Justice again. He unwrapped his arms from around himself, seized the reigns properly and turned Buddy back in the direction of the road.

“All right Buddy, back to the road,” he hissed. “Time to do some running. We’re going back to the Castle, and I want to get there as quick as we can. I’m going to kill the King. The Master Sword’s going to end some evil, right fucking today.”

Chapter Text

Link was regretting ever thinking the abominations that were popping up all over Hyrule were pushovers. The first few he’d defeated had been, yes, but it seemed like they just got stronger every time, and their numbers were increasing, as well.

He’d gone back to the Palace as planned after killing the three that had viciously murdered everyone in that village. Buddy had been an ideal horse, fast and obedient, and had gotten him there in record time, but nothing else had gone Link’s way since.

The King had been, unsurprisingly when you thought about it, very well guarded. Link hadn’t made it two steps into the throne room before feeling multiple pricks on his body. He’d woken up on the floor of the bedroom assigned to him, the Master Sword gone and a note left for him right next to his head, reading: “Sheikahs are real, you stupid child.”

He’d thankfully been given back his sword and sent out again. The coachman, a different one than the coachman who’d given Buddy to Link, was issued with a talking stone that would allow him to receive instructions on where to go next, and instructed not to bring Link back to the castle. Buddy was not one of the four horses attached to the carriage. Link wished he had been, he’d gotten attached to him.

The following few days were a blur of horrors. Whenever he tried to remember mundane details like when he’d last managed to sleep in the carriage or what he had eaten last, Link’s mind just fixated on the scenes of carnage he kept riding into. He was too late most of the time, catching the monsters after they had ripped through a town or village.

The one thing he could remember beyond the images of the ever increasing number of dead people that still never left his mind was the fighting. He knew without a doubt that defeating the monsters kept getting harder every time, with the number of abominations he faced at a time increasing and the beasts themselves getting tougher by being faster, stronger, and smarter.

He had found out a couple of days earlier, by seeing it in action, that the monsters could surround settlements they targeted with some kind of magical barrier that prevented people from getting out. That explained why the places that got attacked were never evacuated, and why there were always a lot of bodies in the outskirts: people would try to flee and hit an invisible wall. Link had arrived in the middle of the slaughter the first time he’d seen the barrier, and he’d been able to destroy the ten monsters besieging the town, but not before all but about twenty people had been brutally killed. The tears of the living accompanied the faces of the dead in his mind ever since.

Today was another instance of arriving too late. The monsters were still there but other than the noises the abominations were making, all was quiet. The streets were littered with body parts that Link was not allowing his eyes to linger on as he looked for an opportunity to quickly dispatch some of the monsters before starting the fight in earnest.

He suddenly heard a scream. He whipped his head around towards the source and his eyes widened: one of the monsters had ripped a house off its foundations and the screams came from there: there were still some survivors.

Link ran, scaled a wall for height and jumped at the monster that had ripped the house off the ground, impaling it in what appeared to be one of three torsos. It worked to slow the beast down, long enough for Link to swipe at anything that looked like a head, successfully severing four. It was enough: the monster turned to dust.

Unfortunately, five more materialized right around the former house and Link himself. Screams were still coming from the hole where the house had been. Link ran for the nearest monster and caught a glance at the cluster of survivors: seven people of varying ages, from an elderly man to a pre-teen girl. They were huddling together, too scared to think of running. To be fair, it wasn’t like running would have helped them.

Link cut one of the monsters’ legs, mostly to get its attention: no monster since the very first one Link had fought in the Master Sword’s clearing ever fell from having one of their many legs cut off. The monster did exactly what Link wanted anyway, extending parts of its body towards him to attack. Link went into a spin with the Master Sword, slashing every body part that came close enough, and eventually did enough damage for that monster to turn to dust as well.

He then turned for the next one, just in time to see it rip one of the survivors in two, roughly at the waist. Blood sprayed on some of the other survivors.

The screaming intensified despite the loss of one of the voices. Link’s jaw clenched. Down to six people he could save.

He slashed at the monster that still had half a townsperson in its maw several times in quick succession. The beast fell to the ground in pieces and dissolved into dust, leaving both half of its last victim behind. Link turned again to face the remaining monstrosities, only to find they'd multiplied, and that all six survivors were grasped by several monsters each, and being tugged in several directions at once.

Before he could even decide on a target, limbs seemed to shout out from every direction around him, from the mass that had the townspeople, from behind him, and even from the ground. He was yanked into the air and the Master Sword was ripped right out of his hand.

He heard another voice stop. Five. He was down to five people he could save. He tried reaching for the sword, but it was well out of reach, on the ground and a few steps away from where he was being held about one man’s height off the ground. Pain exploded in his right leg as one of the things holding him sunk some of its teeth into it.

He screamed in rage more than in pain. If the monsters killed him now, he wouldn't be able to save ANYONE else, and he wouldn't be able to save any of the five survivors here. He wouldn't be able to stop whatever was continuing to spawn them and to save his own town from eventually being wiped out too.

The faces of the dead swam in front of his eyes, from the first one he'd seen - that brown eyed boy with one of his ears partly ripped and most of his body missing - to the adult man who he'd just seen being ripped in two. They morphed into the faces of people he knew from home. The brown eyed boy was suddenly one of the little kids at school, Sana. The arm with the blood covered lace was now recognizable as his mother's. The man who'd just been ripped apart was one of Link's companions in the Saria Village division of Din's Justice.

"NO" he roared. "NO NO FUCK NO NO NO NO NOOO!!!"

Something bit his stomach. He screamed, tears streaming down his eyes because it HURT and that's how everyone was going to die: brutally, in pain, terrified. And there was nothing he could do. He screamed in rage: it couldn’t end like this, he had to be able to help more than he had so far. The familiar sight of all the dead he’d seen, the familiar sound of all the tears and screams he’d heard, filled his head.

And suddenly, the world went gold.

Link couldn’t tell where the light was coming from, and couldn’t understand why he could see through it at all despite its brightness, but the effect was unmistakable: every monster present screeched and melted before evaporating into nothing. Link, no longer held up by anything, floated to the ground rather than simply falling, and landed gently on his feet. The five survivors were staring at him.

The golden light dimmed and went out. Link noticed that none of the survivors were hurt, and that neither was he: the pain in his leg and in his stomach was gone. Had the light healed everyone, too?

“What…? Did…did anyone see what that was?” He stammered. “Where…?” He turned around, looking for a source for what appeared to have been some kind of spell.

The survivors were huddled together around their two dead. Some of them were crying, some seemed to be too much in shock to be able to do that just yet. One of them shakily pointed at Link’s sword hand. Link looked at it and his eyebrows shot up: on the back of his hand, glowing fainter by the second, was the mark of the triforce, just like the heroes and princesses often had on their hands in the old legends.

“You were just like the Dragon Princess.”

Link tore his eyes from his hand to look at the pre-teen girl who had just made that remark. She wasn’t looking at him, her head buried in a woman’s chest and her whole body shaking.

Link swallowed. The Dragon Princess was, in legends, a Princess of Hyrule who could turn into a huge sky dragon and who had possessed the Golden Power.

The Golden Power was the stuff of legends. If you believed historians, it had been a real thing that the Princesses could access, once, but it hadn’t been seen in ages.

Link swallowed again. He had caused a very bright golden light to kill every monster around instantly and simultaneously heal the people within its reach, and it had apparently emanated from a triforce mark that had appeared on his hand and was now fading, its job done for now.

The girl was right. There was no other way to explain this.

In desperation, without knowing he was about to and with no idea that he could do such a thing, Link had just used the Golden Power of legend. His mother’s advice not to refuse a gift no matter its origin was finally explained: Link was a direct descendant of Hylia through the lineage of the Royal Family, and his mother had both hoped he’d receive the Golden Power and feared he’d refuse to use it because if he had access to it, if he had royal blood, it meant one thing: the rich influential bastard who had raped his mother when she was fifteen was the King himself, and the Golden Power came from that evil fucker’s blood.

Link’s fists clenched and he heard himself growl. That was it. He was going to survive this, and someway, somehow, he was going to slice the King’s fucking head off before his protectors could stop him, and welcome the retaliation from every Sheikah and Guard in Hyrule, and at least, AT LEAST, die happy.

As for the Golden Power, there was absolutely no way he was ever using it again. He understood his mother’s advice, but it was too much to ask. He couldn’t do it: this was the power of the Royal Family, this was the power of the family that was the direct cause of all the misery and death in Hyrule. The fact he’d accidentally used it just now made him feel tainted already, and the only consolation was that it had saved five people. Using it again, on purpose, was out of the question.

Chapter Text

Link staggered back to the carriage, worn out. He’d been on the road for nearly two weeks now, fighting almost constantly with never enough sleep or rest in between.

The only thing he was happy about was that he’d held on to his resolution and had not used the Golden Power again. Nothing else, absolutely nothing else, was going well.

The ‘light show’, as the coachman referred to the one time Link had used his unwanted heritage, accidentally and without knowing it was even a possibility, had been seen throughout half of Hyrule. Needless to say, the King was fully aware that Link had manifested the Royal Family’s ancestral power. In response, the monarch had issued an official statement to the effect that Link was not of Royal Blood and that therefore, the power he’d exhibited was something else than the legendary golden power. All of Hyrule was to give thanks to the Gods and Goddesses for so blessing the Chosen One, while not insulting Hylia by mislabeling that blessing as something it clearly couldn’t be. The lie wasn’t surprising, and it wasn’t like Link wanted people to think he was related to the King, but the fact that the evil fucker could say something so obviously false with the full knowledge nobody would dare to contradict him was infuriating.

In the grand scheme of things, however, that was just a minor irritant. The much bigger problem was that the monsters weren’t letting up at all. Link was exhausted. The fighting was getting harder still for it, and he couldn’t truly rest even when he wasn’t fighting because he couldn’t stop thinking about all the dead, seeing them in his mind’s eye and hearing the cries of the survivors in his head. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. He did know that he needed to lie down for a bit right now: he’d managed to save some people this time, maybe a couple of dozen, but he’d had to destroy about as many monsters, and he really longed for a nap.

The coachman was waiting by the carriage with a saddled and reined horse, a black mare, when Link got there. Link tilted his head in question. Why would the coachman suggest he go on alone, and was he imagining things or was the man pale?

“Saria Village is under attack,” the coachman said hurriedly.

He said some more stuff after that, but Link didn’t hear it.

Saria Village was his home. It couldn’t be under attack, because it was at least an hour’s ride away from here. If it was under attack right now, it would be all over well before Link could get there. Therefore, it couldn’t be under attack. It couldn’t. The coachman was having a laugh, he was being cruel, he could tell Link was tired and needed some rest, so he was pretending Link’s home was in the middle of being wiped out to make his passenger rush there in a panic while he laughed it up.

“That’s a sick joke,” Link growled, fists clenched and his upper lip curled up in a snarl. How DARE the coachman joke about something like that? How dare he use the fact that so many people were dying to make a stupid prank?

The driver swallowed and took a step back, putting the horse between Link and himself. “No joke,” he said. “I’m sorry. Just... take the horse. Go. Maybe... maybe some of them are well hidden. There’s a revolutionary group there, isn’t there? Maybe they’re holding on? I only JUST heard, I swear.”

Link swallowed. The coachman looked serious. But he couldn’t be. Link refused to believe, even for one second, that the coachman was telling the truth. The man had not been friendly to him once since they’d left the palace, he was completely in the King’s pocket. No, the coachman was lying. He was definitely lying.

So! Fine then. Link would play along and go home out of it. He’d check on things, make sure there weren’t any monsters nearby, and then find the coachman again and punch him in his stupid face for scaring him like that and disrespecting everyone who really WAS dying. He’d get to talk to his mother again after all. Apologize for not following her advice about the stinking Golden Power. All good things.

He took the reins, mounted the horse and took off at a full gallop. It was a sick joke, and he was looking forward to throwing it back in the coachman’s face with his fists.

It was a cruel, stupid, disrespectful prank. The unmistakable work of a true Royalist. Saria was fine, it was not under attack, because it was too far for Link to do anything about it if it was. So it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. The coachman was going to regret this heartless prank as soon as Link found him again.

He leaned on the horse’s neck to decrease the wind resistance and to make it easier for the mare to go faster, longer.

***

Link stared at the flames without seeing them.

Making the funeral pyre had been selfish. He knew that. He should have gone back to the castle immediately after killing the monsters to reunite with the coachman and to go after the next batch of monsters.

Should have, could have, would have. There were limits to what he was capable of. As it turned out, he was incapable of protecting anyone he cared for, but he WAS capable of dragging their remains to one central location.

He hadn’t been able to keep them safe after all, but he was capable of gathering as many body parts as he could from the very same school kids he'd saved at the museum about an eternity ago, and he was capable of bringing them all together, one wagon at a time, in the middle of the village where he had already brought his mother and his closer neighbors. Some of them in pieces. Some of them mangled beyond recognition. None of them anywhere close to intact.

He was capable of doing the same for his former crew, the local cell of Din's Justice. And he was capable of going through the whole village to accomplish the same grizzly task, even though it had taken all day and most of the night, just so everyone could be together. It was not proper to send anyone off alone when so many were dead together. It just wasn't. He’d had to light the street oil lamps when it got too dark to see what he was doing, and he kept having to stop when his stomach revolted or when he couldn't move from shaking in exhaustion or crying, but he had done it. That much wasn't beyond what he could do. He couldn’t save them, but he could gather them.

He was also capable of surrounding their remains with all the wood he could gather without chopping more trees or taking houses apart. And he was capable of going around the whole improvised pyre with oil to douse the bodies and the wood with. He'd been worried it wouldn't be enough oil, but he'd gathered as much as he could. And he was capable of setting it all on fire with the ceremonial torch he’d found at the Church of Hylia he used to go to with his mother now and again. As it turned out, the fire did take, and it was still burning now. The smell was horrible and painful.

He’d been capable of that much. The most basic funeral rites. What he wasn't capable of was to NOT do that, to not to do at LEAST that. He hadn't been there to save them. He'd saved a few people in a town one hour away from here, and while he was there, his home had come under attack and he hadn't been there to save anyone. His mother, his friends, everyone he knew, everyone he loved… they had died horrible deaths while he was one hour away, trying to save total strangers.

He'd gone after the monsters first, before gathering everyone for the pyre. He’d caught the abominations before they reached the next village over, and he’d destroyed them. It hadn’t been to save others from them, that was just a bonus: it had been revenge, pure and simple. There had been ten monsters, and Link had finished them quickly enough that they hadn't had a chance to multiply. Once that had been done, he'd come back and set to work because there was absolutely no way he could possibly just leave everyone as they were.

He hadn't done any kind of funeral rite for any of the other victims in any of the other towns and villages, and it was entirely possible that more people had died somewhere else while he lingered here. It was selfish to have stayed so long, just to satisfy his own desire for his loved ones to be sent off properly. Completely selfish. He needed to move, he couldn’t stay here any longer, he needed to do what he could to save more strangers, because the people of Saria Village didn’t need him anymore, but those strangers did.

He took a deep breath and turned his back on the flames. He walked to his empty house and went to his bedroom. His clothing, the same shirt and pants he’d left the castle with two weeks earlier, were full of his mother and his friends’ blood: he couldn’t bear to wear them a moment more. They hadn’t been in good condition anymore to start with, stained and dirty and torn, but the fact that some of the blood on it now belonged to the people he’d cared for was too much to endure.

His hands automatically grabbed a pair of light brown pants and a green shirt. Link blinked at the pair of items, which looked like a lazy legendary hero costume, and shrugged. He changed, down to his underwear and his boots, and walked back out with the ruined linen clothing in hand.

He needed to get going. Attacks were still happening elsewhere. He could save some other people.

The fire was still burning outside. He tossed the ruined clothes on the flames, sat a few steps away, upwind from the smoke and the worst of the smell, and stared.

He couldn’t stay here any longer, he’d wasted too much time already. He was being selfish.

He couldn’t move.

Eventually, the coachman approached. Link ignored him.

The coachman cleared his throat. “Hero. Chosen One.”

Link circled his knees with his arms and kept his eyes on the fire.

“His Majesty The King talked to me through the stone,” the coachman insisted. “The Unnamed has been found. The source of all this.”

Link frowned. If there was a source, whatever its name or absence of name, it had to be what the King had actually summoned. Which meant the King hadn’t just ‘found’ it, the fucking bastard was just ready to finally send Link after it and end this madness.

End it. Yes, make it end, make it all be over… no more monsters, no more fighting, no more being too late to be of any good to anybody. Link swallowed and tore his eyes from the flames to glare at the coachman.

“Where?” he asked.

The Coachman handed him the stone instead of answering his question. Link snarled at it.

“WHERE?” he repeated. He thought of confronting the King about the fact he would have known where this Unnamed thing was all along and had allowed the slaughters to go on for weeks anyway to terrorize the population. It didn’t feel like there was any point. He was going to kill the King, he was going to figure out a way to make the man very, very dead before his protectors stopped him, and he could only kill him once.

“The Unnamed has restored an ancient fortress on the south shore of Lake Hylia,” the King said.

Link tossed the stone back to the coachman and got up, walking towards the carriage. The coachman followed without a word.

Chapter Text

The doorway closed behind him the second Link was inside the fortress, leaving him in near complete darkness, with a single lit torch mounted on the wall to his right providing a bit of light.

He stayed put for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. It was chilly in here, a stark contrast to the hot summer morning outside. It was humid, too, enough for Link to hear occasional drips of water falling from the ceiling and walls.

He was soon able to see a door on the far wall, blocked by metal bars right in front of it. He took the torch from the wall next to him and set about looking for a locking mechanism or a switch. Some of the stones making up the walls, ceiling and floor weren’t quite as fitted as the others, or looked a bit off, so he poked and pushed at them. When that didn’t work, he tried pushing on every single one he could reach. Nothing happened.

“Doesn’t help that I can’t see shit…” he muttered to himself. “Maybe with more light…”

There were two standing torches by the barred door, one on each side of it. He lit them up. With a creak, the metal bars blocking the door retracted upwards into the wall. Link groaned and rolled his eyes: the fortress was not only dark, and cold, and humid, it was also going to have magic locks activated in even more stupid ways than hidden switches.

“Great,” he muttered. “Fucking great...”

He opened the door and stepped into the next room, torch still in hand.

This room was better lit: there were large lit torches in all four corners, and another one in the middle of the room. The reason was obvious: it made the eight skeletons hanging from the ceiling perfectly visible, a little visual distraction to horrify unwanted guests.

And, as it turned out, to distract those same unwanted guests. Link only just noticed the three Stalfos Knights that were also in the room when they moved, charging straight at him.

They crumbled as soon as he hit them with the sword, but by the time the third one was a pile of bones on the floor, the first one had put itself back together and the second one put its head back on right in front of Link, as if taunting him.

“Oh, fuck YOU,” Link said. “You’re dead anyway, can’t you just STAY dead?”

He reduced them to piles that just put themselves back together a few more times before he happened to strike one right in the head, causing it to finally dissolve into dust. He made short work of the other two now that he knew what to aim for, and cast his eyes back to the hanging skeletons, half expecting them to attack next.

They didn’t. Instead, a ghostly form suddenly appeared in front of Link. It looked like a cross between the monsters Link had been fighting all over Hyrule and something uglier: its shape was best defined as an armored random mass with several appendages fading in and out of existence around it. Link didn’t hesitate: he charged at it, slashing it several times with the Master Sword before he registered that whatever the ghost-like thing was, it wasn’t material enough to hit, and it was laughing.

Link stopped, backed away, and glared at the apparition. The thing giggled. Link snarled.

The apparition bent in two in something vaguely resembling a bow. “Welcome Hero,” it said. It had a rather high pitched voice that didn’t match its size. “Pleasure to have you here. Your presence gladdens. I am the Unnamed. I have no name, I used to have several different ones and I tired of them. I am not really in this room, I am elsewhere. I wanted to talk to you. To chat. To have a conversation.”

Link’s hands tightened on the handle of the Master Sword and on the torch he was still holding.

“I must ask, I wonder, I’m curious,” the Unnamed said. “Hero. Little Hero, little child... do you recognize them? Do they look familiar? Do you know?”

Link frowned at the apparition. “I have no fucking clue what you’re on about. Come here for real, why don’t you? We can have a nicer chat then. With my sword planted somewhere it hurts.”

The apparition laughed. “The skeletons, boy. The remains, the bones... I wonder and I wonder, every time I wonder. Do you recognize them? Can you tell? Do you know?”

Link’s scowl deepened.

“No? Of course, you never do, you never remember. They’re you, child! Vessels for the Spirit of the Hero, your past selves... again and again you all come here to die!”

Link’s eyes widened and drifted to the skeletons. The Unnamed cackled.

“Celebrated afterward, as if you won. Big party, honored for your victories. I don’t mind. Your death is all I want, all I desire, all I request from Hylia’s corrupted blood. Once I have it, it’s over for a time. All done, no more monsters, Hyrule saved! The corrupted ones give so willingly, so I play along, I agree to the deal. A bit of waiting between each of you, it doesn’t matter. I get you, I get to hurt you and I get to kill you, and they get... whatever it is they get out of it. A speck of power that only lasts while they live their little mortal lives? It doesn’t matter. They give you up so nicely. Send you here like a lamb with your little sword.”

Link swallowed. The eight skeletons were the last eight heroes? If you went by the official record, the last several heroes had lived the rest of their lives in luxury after their fight, rewarded for their service. That was a lie, obviously: the Royal Family wouldn’t have been so generous. But even people who realized that and who guessed that the last several heroes had actually been executed or exiled so that they wouldn’t be a threat to the monarchs of their time didn’t usually entertain the thought that those heroes had all lost their final fight.

“Be a dear, be nice, be courteous,” the Unnamed said. “Don’t make me wait too long. Hurry to me, hurry to death.”

The apparition disappeared, leaving Link alone with the eight skeletons that were supposedly his eight predecessors. He shuddered. How did this keep happening? Why was the Unnamed winning every time?

Unless of course the monster was simply lying. It was entirely possible the eight skeletons were not the last eight heroes, or that if they were, their remains had been brought here after their deaths, years after their fight with the Unnamed.

But if they were the last eight heroes, why had they all lost?

Link took a deep breath. He’d just have to wait and see. He walked to the stairway on the right side of the room, which appeared to be the only other exit.

***

Link breathed a sigh of relief as he turned the key he’d just found (in a vase of all things) and the lock clicked, the sound echoing ominously through the room.

He didn’t care how ominous it sounded, he just couldn't wait to get this all over with and he was almost certain that this was where the Unnamed was: the red rug in front of the door was sort of a giveaway, but also, the hole in the ceiling showed darkening blue sky, making it clear that Link was at the top of the fortress. The room he’d just unlocked was literally the last one that Link had not already been in.

He had been in a lot of rooms. And in every last one of those rooms, the walls were cut stones shining with humidity, the floors were cut stones slippery with humidity and the ceiling was cut stones dripping with Nayru forsaken humidity. The whole fortress seemed to be humid on purpose and absolutely reeked of death, decay and filth. And it was cold, too. The only thing keeping the place from being freezing cold, in fact, were the many lanterns that somehow controlled several mechanisms because apparently, whoever had built this place had been fucking nuts. And not a single one of all the rooms Link had gone through on his way here, other than the very first one, had been empty of monsters. Even the many stairways had been crawling with various pests. Anything from keeses to gibdos to Darknuts. The journey through the fortress had been non-stop fighting in a dark, damp, and cold place. The trek had been exhausting but beyond that, it had sucked ass.

The only good thing that could be said about the fortress was that it had done a fantastic job pissing Link off, and Link was reveling in his anger right now. Being angry dulled everything else, it was wonderful. He kicked open the door he’d just unlocked.

The room was a stark contrast to the rest of the decrepit castle Link had just been forced to visit and do pest control in: the walls had wood paneling polished to a beautiful sheen, half of it hidden under luxurious brightly colored tapestries of various battle scenes (red was a recurring color) and the floor was entirely covered by a plush rug. The only thing in common with the rest of the fortress was the distinct lack of any kind of furniture.

Even more shocking than the beauty of the empty room was the fact that by all accounts, the room couldn’t possibly be in the fortress, or inside of any building Link had ever seen: it was impossibly long. Link couldn’t see the end of it, it continued beyond the horizon. It was a relatively normal width, a bit on the large side but nothing unnatural, but it just didn’t end.

The Unnamed stood several paces in, in what would have been the middle of the room if the room had been a square. It looked just like its apparition had, except very, very black and solid. It was wearing some kind of armor that seemed made of liquid darkness, with no visible seem or joint: just a solid mass that completely covered the Unnamed’ body.

Link’s upper lip curled and he unsheathed the Master Sword.

The Unnamed chuckled. “There you are. Here at last. Finally the Hero visits! Oh, I have a secret. I know something you don’t know... Oooh! I know TWO things you don’t know!” He chuckled again.

Link charged.

The Unnamed just stood there and when the Master Sword rebounded uselessly on the dark armor, not even making a noise, he resumed talking.

“Well, now you know one of them, I think,” the Unnamed said. “Yes, you’ve probably figured out one of my secrets, you surely grasp the truth of this fight!”

Link tried hitting him again before jumping back, sword in front of him. He needed to find the weak spot, the sword couldn’t penetrate the obviously magical armor. The Blade that Seals the Darkness it might be, but it seemed that the Master Sword still had its limit, and that liquid darkness armor appeared to be it.

“I’ll say it anyway. The Master Sword cannot harm me!” the Unnamed cackled. “That’s the first secret! Master Sword, Shmaster Sword! Oooh, do you believe me now, about your past selves? They all made it here. They all tried so hard! And there was nothing they could do! They were doomed from the moment they claimed that sword!”

Link’s heart skipped a beat. If that was true, if the Unnamed literally could not be hurt by the Master Sword, it was entirely possible that the last eight heroes really had lost their lives to him. And that Link would, too.

His eyes narrowed. That wasn’t going to happen, not before he killed the King. He jumped at the Unnamed again and started hitting every bit he could while circling him.

The Unnamed let him, laughing all the while.

“Don’t be so upset,” he told Link, in a suddenly completely different voice, lower and far more serious. “You have already saved Hyrule by coming here. It’s part of the deal: I get to hurt Hyrule for a while, then I get to kill you, and then I go away until the next time the corrupted blood summons me.”

He then picked Link up by the throat, completely ignoring the Master Sword hitting the limb that had done the grabbing, and tossed Link straight into the nearest wall.

Link grunted and got up gingerly.

“Do you want to know my second secret?” The Unnamed said. Its voice was back to the higher pitched one. “Are you curious? Do you want me to share? I can’t even be wished away. No wishing for you! No wishing for anyone! I... have... the... Triforce!”

Link’s eyes widened before narrowing again. The Triforce was an all powerful wish granting gadget that showed up in some legends and stories, usually to make everything worse or fail to do anything useful. Sometimes it was because someone bad made a smart wish and sometimes because someone good made a stupid wish. The moral usually was that good smart people don’t try to wish their problems away.

“Yeah, try again,” he growled. “What’s next, you’re going to tell me that the Three Golden Goddesses are your fucking girlfriends? You can’t KEEP the Triforce, you overgrown deformed shitty Chuchu. Everyone knows that. As soon as you make a wish, it vanishes.”

The Unnamed laughed. “Never said I made a wish,” he cackled. “Why wish when I can deal? The corrupted blood gives so nicely. But the Triforce is dangerous in your hands, little hero, so I like to know where it is. I like to know where it isn’t! I like to know you don’t have it!”

Link dismissed the matter of whether or not any of that was true. He had no use for the Triforce, so it didn’t matter if the Unnamed had been hoarding it for who knew how long. He wasn’t even sure why the monster had felt the need to brag about it – maybe he had a higher opinion of it than Link did.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Link snarled and launched for the Unnamed again, this time missing on purpose to end up behind him, still looking for a weak point to the armor. He didn’t see any so he just hit every narrow part he could see of the Unnamed’ body.

The Unnamed swatted him, sending him careening to the other side of the room and hitting a wall again. Link jumped back to his feet only to find the Unnamed right in front of him. He was pinned to the wall by his throat before he could make a move. He kicked and slashed uselessly, his feet not even making a noise as they hit the darkness that covered the Unnamed and the sword still having absolutely no effect.

“Time to die, little hero,” the Unnamed said, using his lower voice again.

The pressure on Link’s throat increased.

Link snarled, furious. He couldn’t die here, because if he did, the King lived. And the next hero would die and THAT King would live, and it would just keep going.

He was left with no choice but to listen to his mother.

He lifted the hand that was holding the Master Sword and put it on the part of the Unnamed that was holding his throat, and with all his heart, silently begged for light to fight the darkness.

For the second time in his life, the world went gold. The light was even brighter this time, blinding even Link.

The Unnamed screeched and was thrown backwards, the body part that had been holding Link by the throat outright dissolving. The monster’s agonized howls lasted right until the golden light died away.

Link wasted no time, rushing The Unnamed as soon as the light had faded enough to let him locate the monster. The Unnamed was struggling to get back to an upright position, and the black liquid armor was gone: the monster was still black, but it was the same dirty, furry black as the monstrosities Link had been fighting.

The Unnamed managed to teleport away and Link’s sword hit air. Link frantically looked around and located his foe leaning against a wall some distance away, panting and wincing on every breath.

The Unnamed hissed. “No. NO NO NO! You worm,” he panted in his lower voice. “You mortal insignificant mammal!”

He was interrupted by a fit of coughing. Link was reminded of his own difficulties badmouthing the King after a week in the dungeon and felt zero sympathy. He walked towards the Unnamed, glaring at the monster. They both knew the battle was over. The Unnamed was about to finally die.

The Unnamed’s eyes widened. He continued in a barely audible whisper, in his higher pitched voice again. “Insignificant! Tiny mortal! Yes… yes! Small! Easy to overfill! A gift, Hero: Yourself! Every version of yourself that ever was. Have them back!”

Link dove to dodge the magic spark the Unnamed had just sent his way, intent on rolling back to his feet and rushing the monster to finish him. The spark changed its course and hit him anyway.

Suddenly, the room was hundreds of rooms and open spaces all at once. Link’s eyes widened briefly as the knowledge of what he was even doing here, wherever here was, was suddenly drowned in a seemingly infinite surge of memories that all felt completely real and current as the past and the present become one.

He's just been given a shitty sword by an old man who told him it was dangerous to go alone.
He's killing a guard who’d been a friend the day before, in self-defense.
He's sleeping.
He's enjoying a meal with a cute girl.
He's dancing with a cute boy.
He's a baby and he's laughing for the first time.
He's an older woman enjoying the peace she bough with her own blood and sweat and he's the girl that she was.
He's a broken man and he's a happy man.
He's fighting and he's not, he's in cave and he's in a field and he's flying through the sky and he's digging a tunnel.
She is dying, impaled by one of the Unnamed’s claws. He's dying, his throat crushed by the Unnamed.
He's being launched out of a canon. He's talking to a fish person.

He holds on to the one fact that matters with every bit of will all those multiple versions of him can summon: there is an enemy that they need to kill. They can’t see it anymore, or at least they can’t see any one thing that's not constantly appearing and disappearing in a storm of sensations that renders their senses useless, but they have to kill it.

With no better option, they rush forward, slashing wildly with the Master Sword. It fails to hit the trees and walls that keep fading in and out of sight, it goes right through countless monsters that they barely see before they’re gone again, but it does hit something. They hit the same spot a few more times with diagonal swipes, each time hitting something relatively soft near the floor.

They stop when exhaustion wins out and their limbs fold under them.

They don’t lose consciousness. They can’t. Their mind has more going on than it ever did, they’re thinking every thought they’ve ever had, they’re seeing and hearing everything they’ve ever seen and heard.

The world is swimming in and out of focus. Each time it seems clear, it’s different from the last moment of clarity. It doesn’t stay that way for long anyway. In or out of focus, it doesn’t actually matter. It’s an everchanging mess and there is no making sense of it.

Chapter Text

They speak the words in dozens of voices at once, echoing each other in at least twenty distinct versions of Hylian.

“Let me end this. Let me break the curse and truly save Hyrule!”

Light explodes from the Triforce, and also doesn’t. They are making the wish and they’re watching it unfold, the Goddess Statue is falling to the surface and they’re fighting Ganondorf to reclaim the Triforce. They’re claiming the Master Sword, they’re also putting it back to rest, they’re listening to Mipha talk as she heals them and they’re listening to Daruk’s ghost thanking them for freeing them from the Divine Beast. They’re buying a hookshot from Ravio and they’re smiling at the bird on the oil salesman’s head.

Ravio, the Salesman, Mipha and every other person they’ve ever seen briefly morph into the Spirit of the Master Sword, Fi, before the world blurs again and starts spinning through everything from every lifetime again.

They’re showing Mido that they do have a sword and shield and Mido briefly looks like Fi.
They’re reading a cryptic note from their mother and the words morph into Fi’s name before becoming a message about not rejecting a gift again.
They’re sitting in class trying to stay awake and Professor Owlan chimes.
They’re staring at the Mirror of Twilight that Midna just shattered, hurt and shocked, and the same chime sounds from the sword on their back.

“Master.”

Fi’s voice. She’s telling them about the next trial. Navi is chirping encouragement. Fi is telling them that the odds of surviving being roasted alive inside of a volcano are very small. Midna is calling them a good boy because she thinks it’s hilarious and Goddess knows she needs a laugh. Fi is singing and dancing. Ezlo is bossing him around. Fi is congratulating them. They’re thankful for her guidance when they’re not annoyed with her and the never ending string of trials. They’re growing fonder of her all the time and they’re heartbroken when she says goodbye.

“Master.”

Navi flies away. Ezlo returns to the minish. Princess Zelda returns to her body. Midna chooses to separate their worlds forever. Fi explains she’ll sleep forever. Their wife dies in her sleep and their son dies in an attack and their husband dies of illness. Their husband dies trying to save someone else, their wife dies to a monster, their daughter dies in an accident. Fi tells them to put the sword within the light so they do and she vanishes, but only for a time.

“Master. You must focus on my voice.”

They try. They don’t know if Fi is in the present, they’re not convinced there’s such a thing as the present, but Fi’s only purpose was always to help and guide them so they trust her and they try to focus. There’s something important they had to do, was it related to the sword? Something had to happen, but it was done, wasn’t it? They had to save the Princess. Or destroy Calamity Ganon. Or was it Vaati? They needed to get the Triforce before Ganondorf did except that went totally wrong so they needed to defeat Ganon and get the Triforce back.

No. That was all in the past. He needed to kill the Unnamed and he did. Now he needs to stop the cycle, he needs to end the curse.

Link blinks. The world stops shifting into an infinity of different moments, the confusion is gone. The memories are still there, every one of them: he remembers every life, and every detail of all of them. Each time his mind catches on one memory, it conjures dozens of related ones and it’s dizzying, it’s painful, his head is killing him, but all those memories are still clearly memories. He knows who he is again, he knows his own lifetime from all the others. He knows his own present, and his own thoughts and feelings. Mostly, that’s hate towards the King, he wants to kill the fucking murdering bastard more than ever, but even more of his fury is now directed towards Demise’s curse, which has been hurting everyone for eons. The faces of the dead are still firmly planted in his mind, and if anything there are more of them, but they’re dimmer, faded out by the sheer number of additional memories he now has.

The world resolves into a place Link recognizes instantly: he is in the Silent Realm. The fortress is gone, but he is still on the South Shore of Lake Hylia, or more precisely, in the Silent Realm version of it. The water shimmers, and everything is in soothing cool shades.

There are no guardians to hunt him down this time. Instead, floating in front of him...

“Fi…?” his voice sounds slightly foreign to his own ears. He’s not sure if it’s because of the Silent Realm or because he remembers so many different voices. “Is that really you? Did you…?” he points to his head, trying to ask whether she was responsible for clearing up the confusion. “I’m just me again.”

“Your mental state when you made your wish prevented that very wish from being granted,” Fi says. “It was necessary to restore your sanity. As for my identity, I am indeed Fi. I am very glad for the chance to see and talk to you again, Master.”

Link frowns and tilts his head, completely confused. He wished for the curse to end, didn’t he? Why would his being completely lost in all of his former lives prevent that?

“You wished to be allowed to end the curse and save Hyrule,” Fi says, apparently correctly interpreting his reaction. Her posture changes slightly. “Let me end this. Let me break the curse and truly save Hyrule!” she says in his voice.

Link’s eyes widen. He hadn’t really thought the phrasing through, but now that he thinks about it, his previous wishes had definitely been more result oriented. He’d wished for Demise’s destruction, for instance, as opposed to something like “I want to destroy Demise”.

He decides that it’s fine: it’s not like he minds destroying the curse himself. The thing is, if he’s been given the power to do that, he can’t tell and he has no idea how to use it.

“Er,” he says. “So… I can end the curse? How?”

“I have been tasked with relaying this information to you,” Fi says. “In response to your wish, you are granted the choice to shed your mortal existence and to become a deity. Nothing less has even a chance of destroying Demise’s curse. Your new self would unite all your lifetimes within the Spirit of the Hero that you all share, due to the wish being expressed simultaneously by all of your various incarnations.”

Link frowns in confusion again. “What, united like just now? Everyone all at once? I couldn’t even think, I’d never be able to do whatever you do to end a curse.”

“No,” Fi says. “Should you choose to become a deity, that deity would be a single entity formed from the merger of all your incarnations. You would not suffer any confusion or difficulty anchoring yourself. I feel that I must clarify that your current self would not be dominant in any way.”

Link said nothing for a moment, trying to process what Fi was saying. He kept hitting the same wall, the same bit he couldn’t figure out.

“I don’t get it,” he finally says. “I already MADE the wish. Why are you going on about choosing? I already did, didn’t I? I made the wish. What else am I supposed to do?”

“You wished for the Triforce to LET you end the curse,” Fi says. “That wish is granted – the means to end the curse are available to you and you will not be prevented from seizing them.”

Link’s eyes widen again. “So if I said ‘give me the power to end the curse’ or something like that, I would have been merged with my past lives and turned into this deity on the spot, but because I said ‘let me end it’ instead, the Triforce will let me choose to go ahead or not?”

“Correct,” Fi says.

"You know I didn’t like... word that carefully or anything, right? Whatever. Fine. What do I do? To get this going?”

“You must embrace this destiny in full awareness of the consequences.”

Link frowns. “You mean what you said about not being me anymore?”

“If you decide to abandon your mortality, you also abandon your life, your humanity and your identity. Your existence would be entirely different from what it is now, and you would be an entirely new being as well. Your current self would just be one of many components of this new self. Your current lifetime would end, and your soul would not join others in the afterlife.”

Link snorts. “It already doesn’t. Some of the memories I have are from those times and I’m just alone. I don’t reunite with anyone, ever, so forget about THAT. And abandoning my current life? Are you fucking kidding? You were there, weren’t you? I met with a fucking terrible fate, haven’t I? There’s nobody left who’s going to miss me. And there’s nobody for me to go back to! When I go back to the normal world, the King is going to have me killed, and my biggest hope is that I’ll somehow manage to kill the asshole first. You think this is a hard choice? Giving up being just me and being all of me instead, and getting to actually save everyone?”

“You would lose yourself,” Fi says. “A young maiden once compared you to a Princess of old, who chose a similar fate. You must understand that the price to save Hyrule is your own self.”

Link’s fists clench.

“I do!” he says. “I do understand! And it’s not the same as the Dragon Princess, it’s not the same as draconification! She DID have people who missed her! I was one of them, remember? And she was transforming into something new, I’m just... expanding! With more of me, of my own lives! And even if it was the same, it doesn’t matter! Don’t you see that it doesn’t fucking matter? Hyrule has been suffering so much, so many times! People keep dying, we keep losing everything! And it’s been SO long, I don’t want to even try to count how many times! And now, all I have to do is agree to stop it? And you think ending this lifetime is a problem? You think it’s like... a sacrifice or something? I’m only hanging on to... wait.” Link paused, eyes wide in sudden apprehension. “The King. The fucking King! He’s not part of the curse, but he’s just as bad. That deity thing... what happens after I end the curse? Do I just vanish? Because there’s bad stuff than can happen even without the curse! There’s bad stuff NOW! Demise happened before the curse too!”

“You wished to be allowed to break the curse, AND to truly save Hyrule,” Fi says. “The deity you would become would not be tied to breaking the curse, it would merely have the ability to do so. The actual nature of this deity would be the same as that of the Spirit of the Hero, a protector for Hyrule. Such was your wish and such is the will of the Triforce.”

“So I could do something about bad stuff that’s not the curse,” Link says. “Now or later.”

“You would be compelled to,” Fi says.

Link nods. “I’m fine with that. What about you?”

“I’m sorry, I do not understand your query.”

“What becomes of you? Will someone else be able to claim the Master Sword?”

“No. The Master Sword belongs to Hylia’s Chosen Hero, and to no one else. I will sleep.”

“Forever. For real this time.”

“Yes.”

Link swallows. He supposes it’s not that surprising that he has to lose yet one more loved one, the very last being that means anything to him and that he hasn’t lost yet, but he doesn’t want to.

“What if... what if we stayed together?” he says.

Fi tilts her head. “Master... are you suggesting merging my consciousness with yours?”

“Yeah,” Link says. “I don’t know if that sounds better than sleeping forever. It’s fine if you don’t want to, I don’t want to force you.”

“I am honored, and I accept,” Fi says.

Link sighs in relief, and steps to close the gap between them. He encircles her in his arms, hugging her. Her wings circle him as well.

He doesn’t have time to wonder if he needs to say something to make it official. The end of his existence as a mortal cursed to infinite rebirths feels like going to sleep in the warmth of a friend’s embrace.

The newly born Deity immediately leaves the Silent Realm: the heart of the curse beckons from deep beneath Hyrule's surface.

Chapter Text

They stand in the familiar depths beneath Hyrule, far under Death Mountain. This was once the Goron Capital, but the Deity is more familiar with its repurposed ruins, the Temple of the Ancient Sage of Fire. The whole place is bathed in a red light due to the lava surrounding it, and were they still mortal, they would doubtless burst into flame merely from standing here. As they are now, the heat is not at all a concern. They’re aware of it in the same way that they are aware of what they see and hear.

The Deity knows they didn’t sense the heart of the curse when they were here before. It was there already, it was there since Demise cast the curse tens of thousands of years before the resurrected hero was here, but that incarnation hadn’t know of the curse, and even if he had, the heart was and is too well hidden to be found by any mortal.

It is not hidden well enough, however, to escape the Deity now.

They beckon it to themself, force it out of the rocks encasing it deep into the lava. It’s soon at their feet, a diamond still pulsing with the force of Demise’s evil.

It’s cracked already. They understand why: the curse was in part on the Spirit of the Hero, to condemn that soul to fight Demise’s hatred in every lifetime they would ever have, so the fact that the Spirit of the Hero will never actually live again already weakens the age old magic.

It’s not nearly enough to undo Demise’s work, however. The blood of Hylia is still subject to the curse - the blood that runs not only in the veins of his last life and within the Royal Family, but to a lesser degree in most Hylian descendants thanks to the natural dispersion of the gene pool over hundreds of generations.

If the Deity was to allow it, the curse would still doom Hyrule. Obviously, they will not allow it. The curse will not hurt Hyrule again, not a single time more. It ends now.

They unsheathe their blade. It’s no longer the Master Sword: the spirit of the Master Sword, Fi, is part of them now, and thanks to their last life, so is the Golden Power. The blade they wield is therefore dual, the two halves crossing and joining together while remaining distinct. It no longer has an independent spirit: this sword’s spirit is the Deity themself.

They grip it with both hands, point downward, and drive it through the diamond that is the heart and physical anchor of Demise’s curse.

The diamond does not shatter: it expands rapidly into a new form instead, that materializes a few steps away from where the diamond was broken. One final defense mechanism for the curse, one last attempt by the evil magic to preserve itself: the Shade of the Demon King.

Demise’s Shade stands before the Deity, and immediately assumes a fighting stance. The Shade’s skull seems to smirk and frown, an illusion no doubt engineered to make itself look more intimidating.

The Deity smiles, the point of their sword still resting on the ground where the diamond had been.

“Return to the realm of the dead, Demon King,” they say. “I will not show you any mercy.”

The Shade laughs. “Foolish hero… what do you think you’ve allowed yourself to become? A being created by mortals who surrendered their souls for power… you are a demon! And I AM the Demon King, and you are therefore mine to command!”

Demise extends his hand in a claw grip, as if to seize the deity by the throat even though the two are not quite within physical reach of each other.

The Deity snorts. “I think not,” they say. “Whether I’m a deity or a demon doesn’t matter. I chose my own bonds.”

They charge. The warning was given and mocked, it’s now time for combat.

The Shade blocks, conjuring its own blade from the burning air surrounding them. The Deity grins.

“My first was enough to defeat you, Demon King. Do you really think you stand a chance against all of me?”

They strike again. The Shade blocks but is pushed back and down to its knees. It snarls.

“I refuse to free you, Hero!” It growls. “I cur…”

The Shade doesn’t get to finish the word: the Deity’s third strike cuts right through the Shade’s sword and jaw, slicing the Shade’s head apart.

“Your dark desires no longer matter, Demon King,” the Deity says.

They drive the sword through the Shade’s chest and will for light to purge the darkness. The Golden Power inherited in their last life explodes and for a few seconds, the whole area is lit gold rather than red. When the light dies, there is no more curse, no more Shade, no more Demise.

The Deity sheathes their sword with the twirl they once enjoyed, once upon a lifetime that also involved the twilight and being a wolf.

***

The King of Hyrule stands on the bridge of Hylia with his guards a few steps behind and the girl he adopted to play the part of Princess Zelda right by his side. They’re all staring at the patch of ground on the lake’s south shore where the Unnamed had restored an ancient fortress.

The fortress is gone, which was NOT part of the script. The King mentally thinks back on the instructions left him by his forbears, trying to remember anything like this being mentioned and addressed, but as far as he knows, the fortress vanishing before the appointed Princess Zelda walked in and used the light spell designed to look like the Golden Power has never happened before.

He can’t imagine the Unnamed would suddenly decide to change their deal: the monster has always been completely satisfied and has not made any new request. It’s not that the King trusts the demon, that would be madness, but he knows that the Unnamed has nothing to gain by changing the playbook without warning. The Royal Family has always agreed to every new demand and the King had made it clear, when he’d summoned the monster, that he would not stray. Backing out on the deal that provided it with as many victims as it wanted and with the Chosen One as a last sacrifice simply wasn’t in the monster’s interest.

He also can’t imagine that Link was victorious. This hero was all spit and rage, acting on every mindless impulse, and above all, utterly exhausted and beaten by the time he got here. And even if he hadn’t been, even if the Hero of Legends himself had been sent into the Unnamed’s Lair, it wouldn’t have mattered: the Master Sword could not pierce the Unnamed’s armor. No hero could defeat this demon. The last eight were proof of that.

What should have happened was the body of the hero being tossed out of the fortress to be found when the King and the Princess arrived to ‘help’ the Chosen One. The Princess would then have gone in with selected knight, to ‘defeat’ the Unnamed using ‘the Golden Power’. In truth, the demon would have already been gone by that point, leaving the fortress behind until the light spell was activated.

The fake Golden Power would have dissolved the fortress for all to see, the Royal Family once more defeating the Unnamed, at the cost of the Knight’s life who would be said to have died protecting the Princess. The Hero’s body would be brought to the castle and news would be sent out that he had miraculously survived and would live in luxury for the rest of his days.

But the fortress is gone and the Hero’s body is missing.

“My King…” the girl says in a voice meant for his ears alone, “you don’t suppose the golden power…”

The King’s eyes widen. He swallows. “It’s… possible,” he whispers back. “But then, where is… AH!”

He nearly jumps out of his skin and jerks back, falling to the ground, when what appears to be some kind of demonic tattooed swordsman appears right in front of him.

The Deity narrows their eyes at one of the remaining evil to be purged from Hyrule. This man has abused his power to hurt his subjects throughout his whole life and more recently, has willingly unleashed the Unnamed and its minions on the population in a bid to stay in power unopposed. The King is responsible for countless deaths and immeasurable suffering.

“UP,” the Deity order the King. They unsheathe their blade and point it, one handed, at the mortal scourge.

The King scowls. “GUARDS!” he barks. “What are you waiting for?!”

Arrows come flying towards the Deity. They ignore them and the fragile wood and metal projectiles turn to dust upon reaching his aura. The King’s eyes widen and his face pales.

“Up, Corrupted King,” the Deity orders again. “Or you will die as you are, sat on the ground.”

The King gets up and glares at the threatening intruder.

“Who do you think you are, demon, to issue orders and threaten the King of this land?”

The Deity points his sword at the monster’s chest, the tip of the dual blade just an arm’s length away from the King’s heart.

“I am the hero chosen by the goddess and that same hero reborn far too many times,” they say. “I am one with the Spirit of the Sword of Evil’s Bane. Through your own repulsive crime, I am the Blood of Hylia. I am the fierce deity sworn to protect Hyrule and I am here to end your reign of terror, Corrupted King.”

The King backs up a step, face paler still and getting shiny with sweat. “L... Link?” he stammers, voice shaking. “Link, you... you survived? G... glad news indeed! Come, come back to your own self! I… I’ve reconsidered! You are a true hero and you’ve served Hyrule well. I would never dream of… of being ungrateful!”

The Deity takes a step forward. The King whimpers and backs away again.

A few guards find the courage to rush forward and attempt to attack. The Fierce Deity moves, the double blade flicking through the air in a motion too fast for mortal eyes to follow, and the few guards who tried to attack them fall to the ground, dead.

“Link, come back to your senses!” the King cries, backing away still. “I... I lied. I admit I lied!” he screams. “You ARE of Royal Blood, you are my own son! Link, I am your FATHER! You’re the future King! What are you thinking? Lay down your weapon! Come back to yourself! Stop this madness!”

The Deity follows the retreating King, catching up with ease.

“Corrupted King,” they say. “Your crimes are completely unforgiveable...”

“No!” the King yells. “No! Listen to me!”

“...and I am compelled to end you,” the Deity says. “For the violence you perpetrated upon your own subjects…”

“No! Wait! I’m sorry!” the King wails. He tries to back away again.

The Deity reaches with their free hand and seizes the front of the King’s garments.

“STAY,” they order. “For the misery you imposed on your Kingdom while you and those who serve you lived in luxury...”

“I abdicate!” the King cries, joining his hands in a supplicating pose just above where the deity is holding him. “I will exile myself! I’ll be your prisoner! Anything! Name your prize, it’s yours!”

“...and most of all for your deal with the Unnamed, which directly caused the death of countless people and unacceptable suffering,” the Deity continues, “your sentence is death.”

The sword moves again, and the King’s head rolls. The body falls sideways to the paved road with a deceptively soft thump.

The Deity turns to their next target. The woman desecrating the name of Princess Zelda is breathing hard, staring at the head of the fallen monarch.

“What is your name, sorceress?” the Deity asks.

The woman turns to face him and starts crying. “Y...yours. I’m yours. Whatever you wish,” she babbles. She falls to the ground on her knees and like the King, joins her hands in prayer. “Please. Please, have mercy.”

“No,” the Deity says.

The sorceress winces, then frowns and attempts to use her magic to hurt him. He feels the torture spell wash over him and registers the fake sensation of being on fire. The sensation is neither pleasant nor unpleasant, a mere fact.

“The King’s abdication was contingent on my mercy, and I refused it to them. You are therefore now Queen, by law,” the Deity says. “You are casually cruel and constantly use any power at your disposal to hurt others. You have been playing along in the King’s game willingly and in full conscience of what he was doing. How can you hope for mercy?”

“Please!” she begs. “I’ll do anything! Go ahead, punish me! You say I played along? He was my King! What choice did I have? As for hurting others, I’m sorry! I’m sorry about everything!”

The Deity’s eyes narrow. “What if I could offer you to suffer the same pain you’ve inflicted on others in expiation? Each second of torture you inflicted, returned to you.”

It’s a bluff: they don’t have the ability to impose such a specific punishment, nor would they want to, because they are not cruel. They don’t expect the offer to be accepted, but if it is, they may re-evaluate whether this one must die.

The sorceress grovels, bowing down until her forehead is on the ground and her joined hands in front of her head. “No... no, please! No! That would just be a more painful death! Please, please! Have mercy! I didn’t summon the Unnamed! None of this was my decision!”

“You have done as much harm as you could for as long as you’ve been able to. You have gleefully and without a second thought followed the King’s lead with no regard for the victims. I cannot possibly allow you to continue. I am compelled to end you,” the Deity replies. “Your evil is just as repulsive as the King’s, and your sentence is the same.”

“I can’t be the only one in Hyrule who sins now and again,” she whimpers. “Are you going...”

She doesn’t finish the question: the Deity moves. Because of her position, decapitation is impractical, so the Deity targets her heart instead, and impales her to the bridge. They retrieve their sword, which flashes briefly and is instantly cleaned of the blood.

The deity then turns to the guards, who after the first few, have wisely stayed out of it.

“I am Hyrule’s Protector,” he declares, amplifying his voice to be heard by everyone present. “I am not a ruler. I will not make rules nor enforce them. I will not hunt down anyone for merely being the flawed mortals you all are. But I offer a warning: I will be compelled to react if evil threatens Hyrule again.”

There is no response. There doesn’t need to be. They leave: their presence in the realm of the living is not meant to outlast their duty.

***

The new deity waits and observes from the Sacred Realm, ready to act again if Hyrule is ever threatened by a new evil. Demise’s curse having been undone simply means that one source of evil can no longer keep cropping up – it doesn’t eliminate new sources. Hyrule may very well have need of a protector again someday.

Time has little meaning here, and the Deity is not capable of impatience or boredom – being called to action would mean Hyrule is suffering. They do not wish for it.

“Link.”

The Deity’s eyes widen – through most of their lifetimes, that has been their name, and it still resonates. More importantly, the voice is one they remember very well. They turn around.

Hylia is smiling at them. She is in her Goddess form: all light and purity, an avatar of love and joy.

Memories come to the forefront in the Deity’s soul: a lifetime with her while they were both mortal, both convinced their souls would find each other in the afterlife because of course they would, neither of them worried at all, both as happy as they could possibly be, their hearts tangled together so closely as to effectively beat as one.

And then they had died, and when the Hylian man they had been back then had followed Hylia in the afterlife, Demise’s curse had taken effect and that man had been ripped away from her, cast alone in a void to wait for their next lifetime, their next fight. Alone, without Hylia, without anyone else they had gotten attached to, without anyone at all.

“Hylia?” They’re not questioning who she is. They don’t understand HOW she is.

She is right there in front of them, and yet it still feels impossible. They chose to save Hyrule with the understanding that the price was themself. None of their lives, not even the last one, would be more than memories, and they would never experience living again. Their entire existence would be limited to their purpose, and they had agreed to that. Their last life had agreed gleefully, but none of them would have refused.

And yet, Hylia is here. Here, right in front of them. Their Hylia, their Zelda, she is RIGHT HERE she has spoken she is smiling she is HERE, with them!

They stare. “How?” they ask, this time phrasing the question more accurately.

She steps closer to them and locks eyes with them.

“I made the same choice you did,” she says. “A long time ago, in my case. I eventually accepted that I had lost you,” she pauses and looks down, her brow slightly furrowed and her lips trembling. Her eyes shine.

They put their right hand on her left cheek, ever so gently. They don’t want her to be sad. She smiles again, rests her own hand on his and slightly leans her head against his palm.

“I realized and accepted that I had lost you in the sense that we would never be together again, but I also realized that you needed me. And so did Hyrule, and so did the Triforce. I couldn’t help as a mortal spirit, so I had to return to my original form. This was thousands and thousands of years ago.”

“So then...”

“My purpose, as always, is to guard the Triforce and to help this Land of the Gods and its people flourish. Your purpose is to protect Hyrule.”

“The Triforce is necessary to Hyrule, just like theirs was necessary to Lorule. You’re saying that we share the same purpose.”

“Yes.”

“I thought... I expected… to remain on my own.”

Hylia smiles. It’s the smile of a young girl from Skyloft, and it has the same effect on the new deity as it did way back in their very first life. They are nearly bowled over by the surge of affection for her and all they can do is smile back. Hylia, Zelda of Skyloft, is but one of many, many people they loved with all their heart. They love all of them still. They love her still, as much as ever.

“Are you saying you want some alone time?” she asks playfully.

The new deity shakes their head. She puts her right hand on his left cheek – her left hand is still holding his right to her own face. He lays his free hand on hers and leans gently into her palm.

And the two protectors of Hyrule stand guard, ready to act as needed, united in waiting and in hoping that the wait will be very long.

Fin