Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ghirahim was no longer a demon. It was hard for him to grapple with that fact when Link was in such bad shape. He had been in a restless sleep for days now, with a fever that just wouldn't break.

With a wound that Ghirahim had given him.

And without Link up and about—he had no one to talk to. The people up in Skyloft didn't understand him at all. Gaepora kept giving him mean looks and Zelda kept giving him a knowing smile.

As if they were in on a secret together—

Which they weren't.

Not at all.

And it didn't help that every movement Zelda made reminded him of Hylia. It didn't help that she had the same eyes, the same hair, the same mouth—

And it didn't help that Link could be dying. It didn't help that everything felt so different, but was still the same.

Ghirahim remembered telling Link that it would never truly be over. But now everything was over, just as Link had promised—but the ending, it was only the beginning, and they still had such a long way to go.

“Hey,” Zelda said. She loomed in the doorway, casting a long shadow into the room. “You don't have to be by Link's side every second; it's alright to go outside and breathe.”

Ghirahim shook his head. “Link would notice if I left; and besides—what if he wakes up and I'm not here?”

Zelda slunked into the room, drawing up a chair and sitting down next to Ghirahim. She was most unwanted—Ghirahim wished he could still flash places. He would take Link far away from here, from the Academy—

But he was only human now.

“You give Link too much credit.” Zelda crossed her legs, smoothing her pink tunic. She was promoted to senior class without even winning the Wing Ceremony, something she'd been going on about for days now.

“I think you give yourself too much credit,” Ghirahim retorted. He kept his eyes glued on Link, on the rise and fall of his chest. As long as he was breathing, there was still a chance. And once he woke up, their lives together would finally begin anew.

Zelda sighed. “When we were in the silent realm together, Link told me he forgave me. I wonder who else was there with him.”

“I wouldn't know.” Ghirahim felt the lie eat away at his heart, but he didn't feel the need to correct it. Zelda just wouldn't understand. “Why did Link have to forgive you, anyway? For leaving him to die?”

“I wouldn't have had to do that if you hadn't threatened to kill him in the first place.” Zelda briefly leaned over to touch Link's forehead, and Ghirahim struggled against the impulse to push her hand away. “You act so innocent, but you're just as guilty as I am.”

Link's eyes flew open at her words. Ghirahim held his breath. His eyes locked onto Ghirahim's for just a moment, then he sighed and closed his eyes again.

“Ghira,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It isn't just a dream; you're alive.”

“I am, darling.” Ghirahim didn't want to pounce on Link in front of Zelda—it would be indecent. But he was rather tempted. Besides, maybe a little show of ownership was in order. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright.” Link fluttered his eyelashes, reaching up to touch Ghirahim's cheek. His touch was weak; Ghirahim could barely feel it before it was already gone. “You have such beautiful green eyes.”

Zelda stood up quickly. She kept her head ducked low. “I told you he would be okay. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way out.”

Link glanced at her as she left the room, as she closed the door behind her. “Does she know that I can see?”

“I think she figured it out with that trick you pulled. Groose told me all about it.” Ghirahim laughed when Link blushed. He trailed his fingers up Link's neck, feeling his rapid-fire pulse. “I missed you. Do you hurt terribly?”

“I feel kind of numb, actually. I thought I would feel a lot, but I don't.”

“Do you need Henya to give you more medicine?”

Link shook his head. His irises were black around the edges, the pupils a little too large. He kept blinking, widening them, but nothing seemed to do the trick.

The guilt. Ghirahim wished it would all go away. But it was deserved—every pang that shot through Ghirahim's heart—he knew it was just and deserved.

“I'm so tired,” Link said. “Demise really did me in.”

“And me,” Ghirahim whispered. “I hurt you, too.”

Link winced as he sat up. Ghirahim moved to help him, but Link shook his head. Once he was sitting, breathing roughly and with his bare feet skimming the hardwood floor, he spoke. “You didn't really do it. The silent realm manipulated you.”

“But I still—” Ghirahim hung his head. It should be him comforting Link, not the other way around. “I will never forgive myself for all that I have done to you.”

“I forgive you.” Link's voice was far calmer than the situation warranted. “Isn't that enough?”

“You've been asleep for nearly a week. We thought you wouldn't make it—how did you?” Ghirahim fought against the tears stinging his eyes, but failed.

Link pressed his hands to Ghirahim's cheeks, forcing him to look at him. His eyes were crossing a little bit, jumping around and skittish. But they were beautiful, and they were Link's, and—

“I forgive you,” Link repeated. “I don't want to think about the bad things any longer. I want to get better, and I want to be normal for once in my life.”

“You'll never be normal with me.” Ghirahim bit his lip, wishing he could take back the words. But they were already said, and there was no way backward—only forward. “I'm a man, remember? You'd be better off with Zelda; you should see the way she looks at you.”

“You're infuriating, don't you know?” Link let go of Ghirahim, leaning back against the wall. “If I wanted to be with Zelda, I would be.”

Ghirahim barked out a laugh. “That makes me feel so much better.”

Link smiled, closing his eyes. He looked so small sitting there, so young. And the candlelight cast shadows where there shouldn't have been, showcasing the hollows of his cheeks and the dark smudges under his eyes. “I don't want Zelda,” he said. “I just want you.”

Ghirahim couldn't help but hate himself for the bandages wrapped around Link's stomach and crossing up his back. He couldn't help but hate how there would be an ugly scar where there shouldn't have been, marring the pretty flowers and vines that decorated Link's skin.

Link patted the spot next to him, and Ghirahim didn't hesitate. He crawled onto the bed beside Link, laying his head on Link's chest and listening to the fluttering of his heart.

“It'll be alright, Ghira,” Link said calmly, petting Ghirahim's hair. “All of my dreams featured you, don't you know? Just you, and all that you are.”

Chapter Text

When Ghirahim was a child, there were always flowers in his room. His mother had loved them, and she had always said a house was not a home without their gentle fragrance.

But now Ghirahim was an adult, and there were flowers in his lover's room that shouldn't be there.

“It's tradition,” Zelda said, holding the vase protectively. “Tell him, Link.”

Link shrugged. Henya was checking his bandages, and Link's face was very red. From pain or embarrassment—Ghirahim didn't know.

“What do you mean by that?” Zelda rotated the vase in her hands; the pink flowers matched the color of her tunic.

“It's tradition,” Link admitted. “She would bring me flowers every day after my parents died.”

Henya helped Link onto his back, the fresh bandages crinkling with the movement. “Zelda has always been a good girl,” she said fondly. “She's always been looking out for you.”

“Not really,” Link muttered. “Not when it mattered most.”

The vase stopped swirling in Zelda's hands. Ghirahim was afraid she would throw it—but she didn't. She gently placed it on Link's desk, rearranging the flowers until they looked just so.

“I'm sorry,” Link said after a moment. “That was wrong of me to say.”

Henya patted Link's shoulder. “It's alright. You're going through a lot right now; of course you'll say some things you don't mean.”

“He meant it,” Zelda said. She looked Ghirahim up and down distastefully, wrinkling her nose. “It appears that Link is better at forgiving some people more than others.”

Ghirahim pressed himself into the wall, wishing he would just disappear. He hadn't meant to start an argument—but once arguments were started, they had a habit of not going away on their own.

“Link doesn't need all of this negativity!” Henya stood up, jabbing her finger at Zelda. “Only because he's awake doesn't mean every thing's okay. He needs all of the support he can get, especially from his girlfriend.”

Link laughed. He gripped his stomach, the laughter cut short with a grunt of pain. Ghirahim ran over to him.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Link laughed again. “Ow. Sorry—it's just—Henya thought—”

Ghirahim looked towards Zelda, wondering what her reaction would be to this turn of events. But Zelda was no longer there.

“Isn't she your girlfriend?” Henya questioned. “I'm sorry if I made an assumption.”

Link reached out, taking Ghirahim's hand and pulling him closer with a playful expression. “It's alright. Ghira is my boyfriend; haven't you wondered why he was always hanging around?”

Henya shook her head. “Sorry to say I didn't think too much about it.”

“We met before,” Ghirahim said softly. “You called me a demon and threatened to kill me.”

“Sorry,” Henya repeated. “This old brain doesn't make connections like it used to.” She hobbled over to the door. “In any event, Zelda is a young woman who is having a lot of conflicting emotions right now. Take it easy on her, why don't you?”

Ghirahim opened his mouth to answer, but Henya was already gone.

“When will they understand,” Link complained. “I swear I've been telling people for years that I only like boys, but they never listened.”

Ghirahim sat down on the bed, leaning down to kiss Link on the mouth. The fever had cooled down now, but Link's skin was still a little too warm.

“Excuse me.”

Begrudgingly, Ghirahim broke the kiss. Gaepora stood in the doorway. There were always so many people in and out these days; they never had any time to be alone.

Ghirahim was beginning to realize that Skyloft was too small for his liking. Everyone knew everyone. Even if he did get Link to move out of the Academy, they would still never truly get away.

Everywhere had someone who was going to judge them. There was no escaping their prying eyes, and no matter how much Ghirahim wanted to, he could never protect Link from other people's opinions.

“Headmaster Gaepora,” Link said. He moved to sit up, wincing as he did so. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about becoming a knight.” Gaepora shifted his eyes over to Ghirahim, then to the pink flowers sitting on the desk. “I know you rejected the idea before, but you've done so much for everyone without asking for a thing. I feel it's the least I can do.”

Link shook his head. “Sorry, but that just isn't something I want.”

Gaepora tugged as his beard. “My daughter tells me you can see again. Is that true?”

“More or less.” Link widened his eyes. The pupils were blown. “I can't really focus them. And they're always jumping around.”

“How did this happen? Does… the demon have anything to do with it?”

“I'm not a demon any longer,” Ghirahim said. He looked to Link for support. Link smiled at him, and that was enough to keep him talking, his voice becoming stronger. “And I didn't give Link his eyesight back; the goddess did.”

Gaepora looked at Link's bandages without reserve. He eyed them critically, causing Ghirahim to feel uncomfortable.

“Zelda told me everything about her journey,” he said, taking another step into the room. “I know she's a reincarnation of Hylia; I know what she's been through. But I know so little about you, Link. I wish you would tell me more.”

“No thanks.” Link pressed his feet to the floor, as if he was going to stand up and walk out of there. But in his condition—there was no way. “I don't want to think about those things anymore.”

“But that's not healthy. Surely Ghirahim agrees with me.”

“Don't bring Ghira into this.” Link frowned. “I'm tired of talking. Why can't we do something fun?”

“Like what?” Ghirahim couldn't think of anything fun at all. Fun things were things other people did—people who weren't directly tied to the fate of the world.

“Let's go dancing. There are always dances held up in Skyloft, especially in the summertime.”

“Link's right. The Wing Ceremony is only a few months away; the largest dance of the year takes place the day after.”

“Dancing?” Ghirahim wasn't extremely opposed to the idea, but he might look silly and embarrass Link in front of all of his friends. But the idea of Link in formal attire… that was a different story.

“Yes!” Link said eagerly. “I should be mostly better by then.”

“You will be, won't you?” Ghirahim looked at the vase of flowers again; maybe he shouldn't have snapped at Zelda. Maybe she deserved forgiveness, too.

“I just want Link to be happy,” Gaepora said. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And if that's with you—then I can't complain, can I?”

Chapter Text

Groose looked up from his book as Zelda entered the room. She was all flushed, her cheeks bright pink.

“Ghirahim doesn't like me,” she announced. She flopped down on Groose's bed, holding his pillow close to her chest. “I don't know what Hylia saw in him; he's a huge jerk.”

“I thought he was alright.” Groose pushed his book away, giving Zelda his full attention. “Maybe you need to give him a chance?”

Zelda groaned. “No way. Ghirahim's doing everything he can to make Link hate me.” She picked feathers out of the pillow angrily, letting them flutter to the ground. “Do you think it was wrong of me? You know, to leave Link behind?”

“Well, he does have quite the scar on his throat, Zelda. What if the knife would have went deeper?”

“But it didn't,” Zelda said softly. “At that moment, I had the world to think about. I didn't want to leave Link behind, but I couldn't exactly give myself up, you know?”

“Give Link some breathing room.” Groose turned back to his book, returning to the page he'd left off on. “He'll come around eventually.”

“I hope so.”

The minutes ticked by. Zelda continued to ravish his pillow, but Groose didn't mind too much. Especially if she was the one doing it.

But Groose couldn't help but feel nervous. He knew what he wanted to ask—he'd been wanting to for some time now. But whether or not that question would be wanted by Zelda, he didn't know.

“Zelda,” he began, clearing his throat. “Are we still… together?”

Zelda looked over to him, her blond hair falling over the edge of the bed. “Aren't we?”

Groose swallowed down whatever he had been clearing. Then he began to cough, his words getting lost amidst all the choking. “Well—before you disappeared—we were—together—remember?”

Zelda looked away, back towards the ceiling. “There's so much in my head. Hylia loved Ghirahim. But I was intended to love Link.” There was a pause, and Zelda threw the pillow at Groose's feet. “And then, of course, there's you.”

Groose recovered from the coughing, seizing the opportunity. “Well, Link obviously wants to be with Ghirahim. And Ghirahim wanted to be with Link. So, that leaves me and you. Doesn't that make the most sense?”

“I suppose it does.” Zelda sighed. “I have so much power. Link has it, too—there was no way he could have been standing up the other day, running around and freeing Ghirahim's spirit. We both have power; we should be together.”

“Maybe you should talk to Link about this. Maybe once he tells you there's no way, you can let go of him.”

“Maybe,” Zelda echoed. “In the meantime, I think we need to go back to the Surface.”

Groose could feel the blood drain from his face. He jumped to his feet. “Now?”

“No, not today.” Zelda laughed. Her smile was a lovely thing to see, no matter the circumstance, and no matter how painful it was for Groose's heart. “But Skyloft is a tiny little island; there's a whole world down there for the Hylians to repopulate.”

“Hylians?” Groose disliked the word, disliked the way it rolled off his tongue. “You want to name a group of people after yourself? That's a little vain; I like the phrase 'Skyloftians' better. You know, the phrase that already exists.”

Zelda tilted her head. “My people shall be called Hylians, and the land shall be called Hyrule. We need to talk to Link about this once he gets better. Or maybe we should wait until he's kinder towards me—in any event, I do want to go back down to the Surface and see what we find there.”

“Link won't be better for quite awhile, though. He was stabbed right through the back—Henya's doing the best she can to heal him, but she's only one person.”

Zelda narrowed her eyes. “Are you against me doing this? Only because I care about you, Groose, doesn't mean I'm going to let you oppose me."

“I'm not opposing you. I'm just being realistic. You can't expect everyone to root up their homes in Skyloft and move down to the Surface. Especially when those people think the Surface is only a legend!”

With that said, Groose turned on his heel and left the room. He didn't want to see Zelda's reaction; he hated conflict, and everyone seemed just full of it these days.

Groose walked down the hallway, past the familiar doors and rooms of the Academy. Link's bedroom was only four doors down. It shamed Groose to know he used to be a bully, especially towards Link. The old Groose would have laughed in the face of conflict, but now he dreaded it more than anything.

He pushed Link's bedroom door open and instantly regretted it. Link was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Groose widened his eyes, stepping away before he was noticed. If he was a decent person, he would step away further—but because he was a decent person, he stayed within earshot, looking at Link's heartbroken face. What if Link was being hurt or something?

“I'm sorry,” Ghirahim said. He was always so patient with Link—words always calm and understanding. Groose felt a pang of jealously, but it quickly faded when Groose realized how wrong that was. Link and Ghirahim obviously had their own fair share of problems.

“I don't want to be the hero anymore,” Link said.

“But you have to be.” Ghirahim glanced over, meeting Groose dead in the eyes. So much for eavesdropping—obviously Groose didn't even know how to do that correctly, considering he was standing stock still in middle of the hallway. “Is there something you need?”

Link looked over, too. He immediately wiped away his tears, composing himself. Groose would have thought he had only imagined the whole thing if the tears weren't still shining on his cheeks.

“Nothing,” Groose said. Nice save! He wished he could melt directly into the floor and disappear, but that had little chance of happening. “Well, there was something—I wanted to know how you were doing, Link.”

Link smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Better. Henya's going to let me walk a little bit tomorrow. There's no sign of infection or anything like that.”

“Good.” Groose took a step into Link's room, but Ghirahim gave him a look that told him he shouldn't do that, so he froze mid-step.

“Ghira, be nice,” Link chastised. “Come in and look at my eyes, Groose. I think they're crossing. Does it make me look stupid?”

“You could never look stupid,” Ghirahim said.

“You have to say that because you're my boyfriend.” Link widened his eyes, tipping his head back. They weren't crossing, but they were definitely jittery. “What do you think, Groose?”

“I think it's a miracle you can see at all.” Groose smiled. “What do I look like to you?”

“From what I can tell…” Link squinted his eyes. “You look like a Loftwing.”

“Because of my hair?” Groose smoothed it upward, causing Link to burst into laughter.

Even Ghirahim laughed, the sound boyish and unfamiliar. He clapped his hand over his mouth, blushing furiously. Link turned to him in shock.

“Ghira! You should laugh like that more often; it's lovely.”

Ghirahim still looked embarrassed, biting his lip. “It was nice to not to laugh like a demon,” he muttered.

“I agree,” Link said. His voice wobbled a little bit, and Groose became afraid that the tears would start all over again. He marched out of the room before they could, leaving the two lovebirds in peace.

Besides, Groose had his own love life to worry about.

Chapter Text

Link didn't realize walking would be such a hard thing to do. He took his first step, gripping onto Ghirahim's shoulder for support.

“You can do it,” Ghirahim encouraged. “Just one step at a time.”

Link nodded, focusing on keeping his knees from giving out and his feet on the floor. Sweat gathered on his brow, and he wasn't sure if he could actually do this in front of everybody.

He didn't want to fall in front of them, didn't want to seem weak. It was different to fall and cry in front of Ghirahim—even Zelda—than to fall and cry in front of other people.

Link had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“It's mostly a mind over matter thing,” Henya reminded him. “Once you get walking, you'll be zipping around Skyloft in no time!”

Slowly, Link let go of Ghirahim's shoulder, taking a shaky step on his own. The pain shot up his back, just as if Demise was slicing into him a second time.

Ghirahim moved behind Link. “You're doing such a good job,” he encouraged, breath ghosting Link's neck.

Without thinking, Link elbowed Ghirahim in the stomach, knocking him backward and onto the floor. His head bumped against the wall, cracking the plaster.

Link crumpled to the ground only a moment later. Groose shot forward to help him up. The fall definitely didn't help much in terms of injury—

“Sorry, Ghira,” Link said. “It just reminded of…”

Ghirahim didn't bother to elaborate on Link's unfinished statement. He brushed the plaster out of his hair, shaking his head when Gaepora offered to help him up.

Groose helped Link back onto the bed, and Henya checked to make sure the wounds hadn't torn open again.

Zelda crossed her arms. “What did it remind you of, Link? Demise?”

“Zelda,” Gaepora warned, but Zelda kept on.

“Or did it remind you of something else?”

Link roamed his eyes over to Ghirahim. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“He doesn't have to talk about anything he doesn't want to.” Henya smoothed down the bandages. “You're no worse for wear. Have Ghirahim walk you around more tomorrow.”

“Alright. Thank you, Henya.”

“You're very welcome.” Henya stood up. “Now we should all allow Link to rest. I'm talking to you, Zelda.”

Zelda flounced away, Groose hot on her heels.

“Link, did somebody else hurt you?” Gaepora shifted his eyes between Link and Ghirahim, furrowing his brow. “We all assumed it to be Demise, but—”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Link repeated. “I would appreciate it if everyone left now.”

Ghirahim frowned. “Everyone?”

“You, too, Ghira. I want to be by myself for awhile.”

Gaepora took Ghirahim's arm, roughly pulling him away. They left the room, Ghirahim looking back at Link, but Link was unyielding.

He sighed, laying his head down on the pillow and closing his eyes. He was tired of this; the people he loved most just couldn't get along.

And he was confined to bed.

With a grunt, Link sat up. He set his feet onto the floor, feeling for purchase. He gripped the wall, forcing himself onto his feet.

Pain shot up his hand, where the Triforce was burning a vivid yellow. He was tired of being burned, but apparently these marks on his body had other plans.

And Link shouldn't be walking like this at all. He knew that. But he was tired of doing nothing and tired of waiting for the eventually, which was a time that would just never come.

Link took his first steps without the aid of anything. No hand ghosting his shoulder, no fear of the darkness holding him back. It was just him and the knowledge that he could do this, that he could take these first steps on his own.

He opened up his wardrobe, pulled out a shirt, and pulled it over his head quickly. Then he slipped out the door, careful to make sure nobody noticed. It was late at the Academy—the lanterns were snuffed out for the night.

Down the hall, Link could hear the voices of Ghirahim and Gaepora. Talking about him, no doubt—but he could deal with that. Anything they said was probably deserved.

Link opened up the door and walked outside, the cool air misting his skin like a promise. Skyloft was undoubtedly beautiful—the grass swaying in the wind, the buildings colorful and bright. Hylia stared down at him from her statue—the statue that didn't look like her, not really, but Link could still feel her there.

And he walked, his eyes taking in as much as they could. It was more difficult to make out everything in the dark, more difficult than it probably had to be—but regardless, Link could tell Skyloft had changed in the years he had lost his vision.

It was by muscle memory alone that he found his way to his childhood home. It was in a cluster of other houses, far on the other side of the island. The roof was a dark blue, the shutters broken and hanging by the hinges.

Link knew the house had been empty for years now. He was the last of his family, after all. Everyone else had a place to live already; rarely did people occupy homes that were outside of their bloodlines up in Skyloft.

Everything and anything was passed down, and Link knew that someday this house would be his. Maybe he and Ghirahim could start a family there, fill up the house with laughter and light once more.

He didn't go inside. He sat down on the path leading to the door. He closed his eyes, laid down on his back.

Tomorrow was the anniversary of their death. It was easy to remember; it was always two months before the Wing Ceremony. Always when the temperature began to warm, the harsh winds began to blow, and the Loftwing began to swoop down from the sky and choose their companions.

The pain spread up Link's back. He should probably be laying on his stomach, but that position wasn't much better. Ghirahim had done this to him—he thought he had accepted that fact.

Maybe he hadn't.

But why would Hylia allow him to be injured? Couldn't she have just cured it, the same as she had his eyes?

Link's eyes jolted around, though. They crossed and they skittered and they never really focused on anything—so she hadn't really cured his eyes at all. They were still bad, he was still disabled—just in a different way.

And maybe she thought she would upset him. Link wanted to speak with her, but when she had promised they could speak again she hadn't actually told him how to go about it.

The longer Link laid on the ground the more he regretted coming here. He should have told Ghirahim what he was doing, because now he didn't have enough energy to get back up, and he was pretty sure he ripped the wounds open again. If the fall hadn't—all of this walking sure did.

“Who's there?”

Link glanced over. It was Pipit, mouth hanging open.

“Link? Is that you?”

“It's me.”

“Oh, good. For a moment there I thought you were a ghost.” Pipit laughed, but Link didn't join in. It would hurt too much. “You know, I was worried about you. I haven't seen you since you had that nasty cold. How are you and your boyfriend?”

“Great.” Link wanted to sit up, but he didn't really think he was capable of that at the moment. And he didn't want Pipit to know he was hurt.

Which led Pipit to be Pipit and lay down beside him, moseying up on the grass. “You know, Link, I've always regretted ending things with you.”

Link blushed. He shot up, suddenly having the energy to do so. The pain crawled up and down his body, and his vision dotted with black for a moment. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Pipit rose up to meet him, a goofy grin on his face. “You sure were the catch. But Karane and I might be starting a thing, and I wanted to let you know about that. In case… you might want to kiss me one last time?”

Link fluttered his eyes, hoping to clear the black spots. But Pipit misconstrued that as an affirmation and didn't waste any time. He burst forward, locking lips with Link. He took Link's grunt of pain as enjoyment, pushing Link onto his back and straddling his hips.

Pipit's mouth tasted like apples. Link tried to push him away, weakly pressing his hands against Pipit's chest. “Did I tell you to do that?” he squeaked.

Pipit looked a little dazed. “Well, no.”

Slowly, Pipit slid off of Link. He plopped on the ground, pouting.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “I guess I got a little carried away.”

Link blinked away tears. The black still swarmed his vision, the pain creeping up his spine. He was probably bleeding again, too—the bandages were practically adhering to his skin, and he wanted them off.

Pipit stood up, just a wisp of a boy in the wind. “I'm sorry,” he repeated.

“Just do me a favor,” Link managed. “Can you at least do that?”

“What is it?”

“Can you get Ghirahim for me?” Link bit his lip, knowing that was probably the last thing Pipit wanted to do. But what other choice did he have? Ghirahim would be worried sick once he went to Link's bedroom and he wasn't there.

“Sure.” Pipit looked towards the Academy; it was quite a walk away. “Do you know where he is?”

“Probably in Gaepora's office. Tell him to come here.”

Pipit slumped over. “Why can't you just do it yourself?”

“Because I was literally stabbed in the back!”

Pipit's eyes widened. “Whoa, really? When did it happen? Who did it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!” Pipit looked at Link in horror before running off towards the Academy, a new energy tricking into his steps.

And Link was alone. Just with the stars above him, their bright lights mocking him, and the lingering taste of apples on his lips.

Chapter Text

Link must have fallen asleep. He opened his eyes, realizing he was in Ghirahim's arms. The ground whirled beneath him, and he became very dizzy.

Ghirahim didn't speak for the entire walk. Link almost felt as though he were in trouble, but that would be silly. He wasn't a child, and even though he had done something he shouldn't have—it wasn't anything too unforgivable.

They entered the Academy, the doors creaking shut behind them. Ghirahim struggled to do everything with Link weighing down his arms, but he managed.

Only once they were in Link's room, and Ghirahim laid him back on his bed, did he speak.

“Why didn't you just let Pipit carry you?”

Link frowned. “Pipit isn't strong enough.”

“He told me he kissed you.” Ghirahim pulled over Link's desk chair, plopping down onto it. Link was thinking they did too much sitting and laying down these days; it was exhausting.

“Why would he tell you that?” Link said offhandedly. “Pipit kissed me but I didn't give him permission to do so.”

“Yeah, he apologized.” Ghirahim brushed back Link's fringe, a sadness in his eyes that wasn't there before. “I hate Pipit; he took advantage of you.”

Link closed his eyes at Ghirahim touch; it was the only one he would ever need, would ever want. “Pipit doesn't mean to be an idiot. And all he did was kiss me; it could have been worse.”

Ghirahim brushed his fingers over Link's cheek, his neck. “If he ever tries anything again, I want you to tell me immediately.”

“I will,” Link promised. “You don't have to worry about him, though. Pipit's usually harmless.”

Ghirahim leaned over, pressing his lips to Link's own. It was soft and gentle, and the fire that burned in Link's body—this one wasn't so unwanted.

Only a second later, Ghirahim pulled away. “I wish I could do more,” he said. “Once you're better, I'll show you what real love feels like.”

Link smiled. “You already have. Now crawl into bed with me; I feel cold and I'm tired.”

Ghirahim obliged. He slipped into the space beside Link, pulling a blanket over them.

“I'm so cold,” Link complained. “When will this pain go away?”

“I don't know,” Ghirahim soothed. He wrapped his arms around Link, pulling him closer. “I wish you'd never had to feel it at all.”

Link wished for sleep, but it didn't come. He traced his fingers through Ghirahim's hair, looking deep into the darkness. It was so comforting to have Ghirahim beside him; so nice to have his body pressed up against him, alive and warm.

But despite all of this comfort, despite knowing he was safe and secure and Ghirahim would protect him from anything—sleep was something that just wouldn't come.

“Tomorrow's the anniversary,” Link said. His words jumped around the dark room, loud and terrifying. “My parents died five years ago tomorrow.”

Ghirahim didn't reply. Link figured it was because he didn't know what to say. There were some things that were too difficult to acknowledge out loud, some things that the word “sorry” just didn't work the way it was supposed to.

Instead, Ghirahim pressed his body closer, burrowing his face into Link's shoulder.

And that was enough.

*

“I'm glad you finally came to see me.” Hylia smiled, playing her harp. It was a floating melody, a quiet strumming that never quite became an actual song. “How did you finally figure out how to do it?”

Link shrugged. They were sitting on the roof of the Academy, staring at the empty expanse of Skyloft before them. There was nothing but the two of them in this silent realm; there were no statues or marks of the goddesses or anything else, and Link was grateful for that.

“I don't know,” Link said. “Just luck, I guess.”

Hylia laughed. “You will find the Triforce on your hand quite useful. You can do all sorts of things with it.”

Link shrugged again. “I can't really think of anything else I want to do.”

“You will in time,” Hylia promised. “But the mark of the Triforce works differently for everyone, so I'm afraid I can't instruct you on how to use yours.”

“Why does it work like that?”

“Good question. The Triforce is separated into three parts—wisdom, courage, and power. I'm wisdom, obviously. What are you?”

“That's easy. I had to go through trials, so I'm obviously courage.” Link sighed. “How did you get your Triforce, though? I'm sure you didn't have to go through all of this.”

Hylia set down the harp, leaning back against the roof. The sun highlighted her high cheekbones, shined in her golden hair. “The three goddesses blessed me with wisdom.”

“Did you have to make my journey so hard?” Link pouted, kicking his feet against the shingles of the roof. “And who has power, anyway?”

“Demise had power. It was later revoked and given to a close friend of mine.”

“How did he get it? The goddesses obviously didn't give it to him.”

Hylia groaned. “You'd be surprised. The three dragons had that responsibility; Faron was the fool who gave it to Demise. She had a soft spot for him.”

Link struggled to think of anybody who would have a soft spot for Demise. Link shivered at his own memory of that monster, but Demise must have been a human once; he was Ghirahim and Fi's father, after all.

“Those days were strange,” Hylia continued. “Looking back, I guess we didn't know much of anything.”

“So the three goddesses were in charge of wisdom. The three dragons were in charge of power.” Link glanced over at Hylia once more, at her long white skirts, her long blond hair. “And you were tasked with courage. You said you searched high and low for a suitable spirit; what made mine suitable?”

Hylia waved her hand in the air. “I didn't come here to be bombarded with questions.”

“Hey!” Link crossed his arms. “I said that once.”

“You did. Now extend common courtesy and don't ask me anything else for awhile.”

“I should probably be getting back anyway.” Link touched his stomach, already dreading the pain he would wake up to. “I know you said no more questions, but why did these wounds switch over to the real world?”

Hylia batted her eyelashes. “Remember when you were struck by those statues in the third silent realm?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, your spirit obviously didn't shatter as my lovely Ghirahim told you. The flowers painted on your skin spread with the burns, remember? And when the swords hit you, it was with the same logic. They didn't mark you because they weren't truly real.”

“So why would Ghirahim's sword hurt me this badly? That was in a silent realm, too.”

“Because they were made with real weapons. Demise and Ghira aren't creations of the silent realm, you know? Lift up your shirt—the wound is still there.”

Link didn't want to lift up his shirt; he believed her. “Well, why can't you just heal them?”

“I can't.”

“Oh.” Link didn't believe her this time, but she was beginning to look annoyed, so maybe he shouldn't say that out loud. “I guess I'll leave, then.”

“So soon? Tell Ghirahim I miss him. And tell Zelda to stop thinking she's me.”

“I'll do my best.” Link slid off the roof, back into the world that was waiting for him.

Leaving Hylia all alone.

Chapter Text

The weeks passed like a dream. Link kept having the feeling that he should be somewhere else, should be chasing after his destiny or something like that.

Instead he was stuck in Skyloft with absolutely nothing to do.

The days grew warmer, the sun brighter. Every night sleep became more distant. If he did fall asleep, nightmares would come, most of them involving Demise's callous words or statues wielding great weapons.

And sometimes, those nightmares involved Ghirahim.

Link supposed the most difficult thing about sleep, besides the bad dreams, were his eyes. When they were closed, he could feel them. It was a strange sensation to explain, but his eyes were always so tired. And even when they rested, they were still jumping around and pressing against his eyelids.

In short, it was insanely uncomfortable.

And Link couldn't stop worrying. He worried about his wounds that never seemed to heal, his eyes that never seemed to work—he worried about his own mind, the shadows that still lurked there. Small things would make him jump and he would become very paranoid, worried that Demise would return and kill him once and for all.

Maybe Gaepora was right. It wasn't healthy to keep all of this inside, but Link didn't think he had much of a choice. He didn't want anyone to worry about him, especially not Ghirahim.

So he contented his days to doing nothing instead. The time passed, the days were lazy, and he should have been happy.

But he wasn't.

It was early summer. One month until the Wing Ceremony. Flowers were blooming, dotting all around Skyloft. Butterflies fluttered around in the grass, children were laughing.

Ghirahim was off somewhere with Groose. They had become quite the friends lately, which made Link feel a little more at ease. At least Ghirahim was adjusting to life up in Skyloft; and it was better to have him off with Groose than to have him hovering, worrying about Link's exhaustion and how thin he'd become lately.

It was better with him gone, away from Link and all of his problems.

Link was just contenting himself to another boring day laying down in the grass, just watching the clouds drifting above him—when he heard a sound.

He was on his feet in seconds, but it was only Zelda. She threw her hands up in surrender.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You didn't,” Link lied.

Zelda smiled. “You can tell me the truth; it won't hurt my feelings. Do you want to go for a ride together? We haven't done that since…”

“You disappeared.” Link rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't know. I don't think Ghira would like it.”

Zelda's smile faltered. She bobbed on her feet. “I understand. But we haven't talked in such a long time. I miss you.”

Link wanted to reach out to comfort her, to touch her—but there was so much distance between them. He didn't know how to cross it anymore. His heart jumped from nerves; it'd been doing that a lot lately.

The entire world went fuzzy at the edges. That'd been happening a lot, too. And now he was breathing too hard and he felt like his heart was going to stop and—

“Just breathe,” Zelda soothed. She helped him sit back down, gripping his hand.

She continued helping him. She counted, patted his back, said sweet nothings until Link calmed down. And now he was shaky and embarrassed.

“I'm sorry.” he said. “I don't know why that happens.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Zelda hung her head. “It only makes sense; I can't imagine what you've been through.”

“Neither can I,” Link muttered. He dug his nails into his palms until it hurt, wishing for the shaking to stop.

“Maybe talking about it will help?”

Link closed his eyes, blocking out the light. Everything was better in the dark. It was easier to understand things, easier to breathe when the light wasn't creeping in.

Nothing was said for a long time. Link focused on his breathing. Zelda just sat beside him, her presence soothing in a way nobody else's was. After all, Zelda had been the one to pick up the pieces five years ago.

And she was the first friend he ever had. That had to count for something, right?

“So much has changed,” he whispered. “I want to be the little blind boy again. I want to be who I used to be.”

“That won't happen.” Zelda squeezed his hand. “This is who we are now. We have to embrace it, and it isn't all bad.”

Link glanced at her, at the smug smile on her face. “Really? Tell me one good thing that has come of this.”

Zelda winked. “You met Ghirahim, didn't you?”

Link shuddered. “Yeah, but even meeting Ghirahim started out awful. And he—”

Zelda's smile fell. “And he did what, Link?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

“I love him. I love him so much, Zelda. Growing up, I never thought I would have anyone—I was blind and an orphan and I had nothing to my name.”

“You could have had me,” Zelda gently reminded him. “Or Peatrice, even. She's still head over heels for you.”

Link shook his head. “Whatever. You know what I mean. I never thought I would have what I truly wanted. Ghira is all that and more—he's beautiful and strong and truly cares about me.”

Now that he started, it was like he couldn't stop. The floodgates were open, and now he was crying, rocking back and forth. Zelda comforted him best she could, patting his shoulder. “Then why are you so upset with him?”

“Because he blinded me!” Link burst. “And he stabbed me through the back. And I'm his second choice.” Link shoved Zelda away, scrambling to his feet. “And when it came down to it, I wasn't enough to save him from Demise. I died, Zelda. If it wasn't for Hylia giving me another chance, I wouldn't be here.”

Zelda stared up at him. She looked shocked, her mouth hanging open.

But Link couldn't stop, not now, not with all of these words in the air. “And then there's you. When Ghirahim threatened to kill me, you left me behind to die. Do you know how that felt?”

“I thought you had forgiven me,” Zelda said softly.

Link crumbled, plopping back down on the ground. He wiped at his eyes angrily, scratching the tears away from his face. “I'm sorry. It's just so awful—everything is so awful. I'm surrounded by people, but I've never felt so alone in my life.”

Zelda didn't say anything for a long time. She could have left, ran back to the Academy, but she didn't.

Link should have looked back up, should have apologized a second time, but he didn't. He wanted to stay in darkness for a little while longer, wanted to feel the weight finally leave his chest.

But it never did. It was still there, pressing down heavier than ever.

“I'm happy you told me all of this,” Zelda said. Her voice was heavy with emotion, cutting through Link's heart. “I'm so sorry. It's been hard for me, too. I feel like Skyloft just isn't home anymore.”

Link nodded miserably. “I wish I could return to the Surface. I wish I could be doing something else, anything else—than just sitting here and thinking about everything.”

Gently, Zelda pulled Link's hands away from his eyes. She stared deep into them, laughing when they crossed. Link had never realized how much she looked like the goddess until she was right there, right in front of him.

But her voice was different. And her eyes—they held a different kind of intelligence. Hylia and Zelda had lived completely different lives, after all.

“I want to bring my people back to the Surface,” Zelda began. “First we'll have to prove the Surface's existence, of course, and I know not everyone will be keen on the idea. But it's time for a new era to begin, in a land called Hyrule.”

“Hyrule?” Link felt a twinge of nostalgia. It was a strange sort of feeling; it was the idea of a future that he had inadvertently destroyed, a future that could no longer exist—a life that he could have lived, with Zelda by his side. “And you, I suppose, will be the leader of Hyrule?”

“I'll be Princess Zelda.” She smiled. “And you will be a prince, if you want to be.”

“I'd rather not.” Link laughed at the idea of wearing a crown, of being paraded around in fancy clothes. “But I'll definitely help you create Hyrule; I would love to go back down to Surface.”

“Good.” Zelda moved away from him, finally giving his poor eyes a break. “Everything will be alright, you know? And if you ever need anybody to talk to, know that I'm here.”

The weight lessened with her words. Not completely—it was still there, weighing down on his chest. But now he had something new to look forward to—a new adventure.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

“I'm so worried about him.”

Groose nodded. Now that Ghirahim had a few drinks in him, he was loosening up. The Lumpy Pumpkin was absolutely filled with people, and Kina was singing the Song of the Hero. There was an excitement to the air; the next Wing Ceremony was approaching, and everybody was making bets about who would win.

Ghirahim, reluctant to drink at first, soon opened up to the idea. And three pumpkin mixes later, he was flushed and more than a little tipsy.

“I don't think he's eating or sleeping at all.” Ghirahim bit his lip. “You knew Link before—has he always been this way?”

Groose tried to remember. He'd always been taunting Link rather than learning to know him. But before all of this, Link had been happy enough, trailing after Zelda like her shadow. “He's more confident, if anything.”

“Oh.” Ghirahim stared blankly. “I suppose you wouldn't know much. Link never really talks about his past.”

“We were never friends. Even when we were younger, even before the accident.” Groose shoved his drink away, suddenly losing all interest in it.

Ghirahim, however, took another drink. “What accident?”

“When our parents disappeared.” Groose tapped his fingers against the table. “It was around this time of year, actually. It was only a month or so before the Wing Ceremony. Levias, our patron spirit, warned us there would be a huge storm and not to go out riding. But there was an accident… I don't Link has ever quite forgiven himself for it.”

“It's not his fault if they went riding. They should have known better. Whenever Faron told us there would be a storm, you wouldn't have seen any of us venturing out to Lake Floria.”

“They had no choice.” Groose wrinkled his brow. “I don't think I should be the one telling you this. It's common knowledge up here, but if Link hasn't told you he probably isn't ready. Give him time.”

Kina asked for requests. Some man in the crowd bellowed out his request: The Hero's Lullaby.

And Kina, of course, began to sing it.

Many times you have heard this tale
Of the hero, who will go through hell
But he was once a child, sweet and pure
Who had never known what he must endure

This tale is endless, this tale is true
This tale could be about me or you

But the child, he will never feel alone
Despite leaving the world he has always known
He will have a friend, sweet and kind
Who will serve him for all of time

And the goddess sent the child a servant
She will protect him; she will be forever faithful

Groose didn't realize the effect the song would have on him until it was already there, the familiar words trailing from Kina's mouth like a bad dream. His own mother had sung this song to him once, but he had never paid attention to the lyrics.

And now he listened to the lyrics all too well, knowing exactly who they were about.

“This is the song Link sang when my sister died,” Ghirahim said.

Groose brushed away his tears. “I didn't know you had a sister. I'm sorry for your loss.”

Ghirahim shrugged. “I'm sure you remember. When Link's sword shattered after fighting the Imprisoned, you told him a song would bring him back to Skyloft. This is the song he chose.”

“I don't remember your sister being there.” Groose picked up his drink again, taking another sip despite the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“That's alright. You don't have to know about her for her to be dead.” Ghirahim stood up from his chair, a little shaky on his feet. “I think I should go back to Skyloft; Link's probably needing me.”

“So soon?” Groose rose up to help him, but Ghirahim was already sauntering ahead. Kina began to sing a more uplifting song, but the mood had already been set.

And it wasn't a very happy one.

Groose chased after him. The sky was darkening outside, casting orange and pink throughout the blanket of clouds. Ghirahim was standing on the diving platform, small and sad and more than a little forlorn.

“I'm sorry.” Groose mentally slapped himself. Everyone was saying sorry these days, and the more it was said the less it meant anything. “Link's been through a lot in his life, and it started long before the goddess sent him on that wild journey.”

When Ghirahim didn't respond, Groose walked over to him, setting his hand on his shoulder. The journey back to Skyloft wouldn't take too long, which was a good thing. And Link probably did need Ghirahim; he absolutely doted on the guy.

“Link will open up to you eventually,” Groose said cheerfully. “Relationships are all about levels; your relationship just isn't there yet.”

Ghirahim shrugged. “I won't blame him if he never tells me anything. It took me forever to open to him, and when I did I don't think it helped the situation any. It probably only made it worse.”

Groose tightened his grip on Ghirahim's shoulder. “Let's jump down and head back now. It'll be okay.”

Ghirahim ripped away from Groose, diving off the platform with reckless abandon. Groose joined him, free falling through the air. He whistled, and the Loftwing caught them without fail.

Groose landed gracefully on its back. Ghirahim, however, hit the back rather hard. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his chin.

“It takes awhile to get used to, doesn't it?”

“I guess.” Ghirahim crossed his arms, staring down at the clouds. “Link has that red Loftwing, but he never rides it. Do you know why?”

Groose found it a little harder to steer the Loftwing with a few drinks in him. He focused on his attention on Skyloft, hoping they would make it there in one piece. “He probably doesn't ride it because it scares him too much,” he said offhandedly. “He was riding it for a while, but it probably brought back too many memories.”

“Memories?”

Groose shot Ghirahim a look. “Forget I said anything. Link should be the one to tell you these things, not me.”

Ghirahim nodded. He brushed his hands over the feathers of the Loftwing, and it squawked out its pleasure.

Skyloft was fast approaching. The Loftwing was a speed demon sometimes, and today was no exception. Groose prepared for the landing, happy when the Loftwing seemed to understand that Groose couldn't exactly jump from its back at high speeds when Ghirahim was there.

The Loftwing skidded to the ground. Groose thanked it for the ride while Ghirahim jumped off.

“Thanks for taking me out,” Ghirahim said. He seemed more sober now, his mouth a sad little line. “Sorry if I got a little emotional at the end.”

Groose laughed, sliding off the Loftwing. It instantly spread its wings and soared back into the sky. Groose watched it until it disappeared. “Everyone has been getting emotional lately; it's understandable.”

Ghirahim stepped forward. “I guess Zelda and Link made up.”

Groose followed his gaze. Sure enough, sitting on the crest of a hill, was Link and Zelda. They were laughing about something. And Link looked happier than he had in a long time.

“I should probably warn you that Zelda fancies herself with Link.” Groose shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing away the jealousy that spread through his chest. “She told me as much.”

“I thought you guys were together?” Ghirahim looked ready to tear up the hill and break them up, but something held them back. Whatever it was, Groose respected him for it—because if it was the other way around, he would have never accepted Zelda laughing that way with somebody else.

“Nah,” Groose said, watching Zelda's head tip back with laughter. Their voices floated down the hill, carefree and happy. “Ever since she found out her destiny and all that, she's forgotten about me.”

Ghirahim sighed. “Hylia's always been so fickle. I'm not surprised her reincarnation is the same.”

Groose was about to retort that statement, but before he had the chance the invisible barrier broke and Ghirahim was running up the hill.

And whatever he was going to say, Groose was happy he wasn't about to hear it.

Chapter Text

Everybody in Skyloft received their Loftwing by their tenth birthday. There were some people who never did, of course, but those people were few and far between.

And for a long time, it seemed that Link would be one of them.

“It's probably because you can't see,” his father would say with a chuckle. “No Loftwing would choose a boy who can't even see a foot in front of him.”

At which point his father would wave his hands in front of Link's face, laughing when his son would get annoyed and march away.

Link didn't like it when people made fun of his blindness, because he could still see a little bit. He could still see the colorful feathers of the Loftwings whenever they came down from the sky to choose their companions. He could still see; it may have been dim and splotchy, but it still counted as something.

And he didn't like it when people made fun of him for not having a Loftwing, because there was no good reason for him not to be chosen. None. Even dumb Groose was chosen on his eleventh birthday; it may have been rather late, but he'd still gotten chosen.

But Link was approaching thirteen, far past the appropriate age.

And still, his Loftwing wouldn't come.

Sometimes he would hear his mother crying about it. On one occasion, shortly before their deaths, he pressed his ear to his father and mother's bedroom door.

Link wished they would say something nice about him, but they never did.

“First he has to be blind and now this?”

“He doesn't even have a chance,” his father responded meekly. There was no laugher, which was unusual. There was always anger or laughter wherever his father was concerned; there was never anything between.

There was nothing but silence for a long time. And, of course, the light he could no longer see. He pressed his finger to the candle he held in his hand, wincing when his skin burned.

“You've heard what Henya said,” his mother said quietly. “Link will go totally blind in a few years, and where will he be then? Without a Loftwing to guide him, he'll be nothing.”

Nothing. The word settled in Link's mind. It wrapped around him, entwined itself with his soul. He pressed his finger back to the flame of the candle, letting it burn and eat away at his skin. It was a reminder that the light still existed even though he could no longer see it.

It was a reminder of a boy who was nothing. A boy without a Loftwing. A boy who could not see.

“I suppose he'll have to live with us forever,” his father said. Looking back, the voice wasn't extremely unkind. Deep down, his father must have loved him.

But it never felt the way. And it still didn't, even after all these years.

“Perhaps we should try for another child?”

Link stood up at that suggestion. He walked down the hallway, tears burning his eyes. His finger throbbed, and Link sucked at it, wishing the pain away.

He opened up his bedroom door, snuffed out the candle, and knelt before his bed. He stared up at where he knew his window was, the stars lighting the way.

“Dear goddess,” he began, clasping his hands together. “Please give me a Loftwing. Especially a red one. Groose said that those were super rare in class yesterday.”

When the darkness didn't subside, and there was no answer, Link sighed.

“Please. Everybody says the goddess can grant miracles, so please give this one to me. Give me a crimson Loftwing, and I'll never ask for anything ever again.”

With that said, Link crawled into bed. He repeated the wish over and over. And eventually, he fell asleep. He dreamed of crimson Loftwings and proud parents, two things he thought he could never achieve.

The next morning began as usual. His father went off to the Lumpy Pumpkin to drink. His mother went off to the Academy, bringing along all of her spreadsheets and plans for the upcoming Wing Ceremony.

“You be a good boy,” she said on her way out the door, patting his head. “And if Groose says anything mean, you tell me right away.”

Link nodded, even though they both knew he never would.

The day continued as usual. Link went outside to sit alone and daydream. Groose didn't bother him for once, boasting about a new trick he and his Loftwing had learned the day before.

“How are you doing, son?” Gaepora walked up to him, sitting down beside him. “You seem more glum today than usual.”

Link shrugged. He stared at Gaepora's cloak. All of the colors were washing away. He knew it should have been red, but it wasn't anymore. He reached out to touch the fabric without thinking, letting it slide through his fingers.

Gaepora laughed. “Zelda did the same thing today. I think she's mad that I switched from red to purple.”

“Purple?” Link's stomach sank. He pulled his hand away, shrinking into himself. “Headmaster, why can't I be like everyone else?”

Gaepora patted Link on the shoulder. “No two people are the same. If everyone was, the world would be a boring place.”

“But I don't have a Loftwing.” Groose whooped in the distance, but Link could no longer see him. He was outside his realm of vision, somewhere far away, somewhere beyond himself. “Why does the goddess hate me so much?”

“She doesn't hate you. And we all have our problems. I never had a Loftwing until I was sixteen years old.”

Link perked up a little. “Really?”

“Really. And it was a gorgeous beast and well worth the wait. When you least expect it, your Loftwing will swoop down from the sky and choose you.”

Link smiled. “Thanks, Headmaster.”

“Anything for you, son. But you better get off home—Levias is predicting a mighty storm today. I better tell the other boys as well.”

Link strained to look up at the clouds; he didn't feel any of the tell-tale signs of a storm. Gaepora stood up, walking over to Groose and his friends.

Link continued staring at the expanse of gray. There was no color at all anymore, and he resented that fact. He decided he would keep that a secret—his father would only laugh more, his mother would only cry.

But right when Link was making that decision, there was color again. A crimson Loftwing, flying down from the sky.

Link could see it clearly. The crimson feathers, the proud tilt of its head. It flew closer to him, landing right in front of him. And Link could barely believe it when it bowed.

Thunder boomed. Rain began to pour. But all Link could focus on was the Loftwing—it was crimson, just what he had asked for.

He reached out to stroke its feathers. Right when he thought it had been hopeless—he was chosen.

Without another thought, Link got onto its back, struggling to keep a firm hold on its slippery feathers. The colors of the Loftwing began to fade away into nothing.

Everything was gray.

And the Loftwing set off into the air, straight through the rain. The Loftwing was young and inexperienced, and Link had never been instructed on how to ride it. The Loftwing was a little uncertain with each spread of its wings, its body a little bit shaky under Link's weight.

And the rain—it was awful. It got in Link's hair and trailed down his skin. The more he flew, the more his eyes stung with the rainwater.

Everything faded to black, and Link realized he couldn't see anything at all. It was freeing in a way, to finally be surrounded in the darkness everyone had fought so hard against.

But then the light filtered back. Brilliantly.

Just enough for Link to see the Loftwing wham into a tree. Link flew from the Loftwing, hitting the ground. He could feel his head crack open from the impact, blood spilling crimson.

The storm became worse. The Loftwing shivered and shook out its feathers, but it recovered quickly. It walked over to Link, offering him comfort.

“I thought the first rides were supposed to be magical,” Link murmured. He felt woozy from all of the blood, the warmth of the wound. “Not like this.”

The Loftwing squawked, wanting Link to hop onto its back again. But Link was too scared. You weren't supposed to ride in storms because Loftwings had bad eyesight. And Link's eyes kept flickering off and on, and—

He was scared. He reached forward, hugging the Loftwing's neck, burying his face into its feathers.

And at some point, he must have lost consciousness.

The next thing he knew it was another day. His eyesight were gone. Everything was only light and shadow, and it was that way for many years after. Sometimes he would see more, sometimes he would see less—

But it mostly only light and shadow. He didn't go completely blind until he was seventeen, when a certain man waltzed his way into his life.

“He's awake!” Zelda hopped on top of Link's chest, smothering his face with kisses. “Father! He's awake!”

“Headmaster?”

Gaepora took Link's hand. “You were in quite the accident. Congratulation, son. A crimson Loftwing!”

Link felt himself grin. There was bandage wrapped around his head, but the pain paled in comparison to his joy. “Do my parents know?”

There was a sharp intake of breath. And Link knew something was terribly wrong. The joy stripped clear of him. Zelda stopped kissing him, sliding off his chest.

“They disappeared while looking for you,” Zelda said. Her voice was small. She took Link's other hand. “Groose's parents also disappeared. If it weren't for Father, you'd probably be dead.”

“We have teams out looking for both your parents and Groose's,” Gaepora said. “It'll be alright Link. You will always have a home with us.”

Link hated himself for not crying. It was painful—of course it was. But he couldn't cry. There was just an terrible, numb feeling that spread over him, weighing down his lungs.

“And the other teachers and I have made a decision,” Gaepora continued. “Because of this incident, you will be prohibited to fly your Loftwing until further notice. It's too dangerous in your condition; we can't have somebody like you disappearing again.”

Link felt as if he'd been slapped. He wrenched his hands away from both of them, squeezing his eyes painfully shut.

There was nothing left. He was nothing. Just a blind boy without a Loftwing.

And now he was a boy without a family.

Chapter Text

There was a moment where Ghirahim didn't say anything, and Link was afraid. Maybe he had told him too much—maybe he should have twisted the truth a little.

And maybe he should have given more warning. But once Zelda was shooed away, and Ghirahim was beside him, and they were all alone, and the question left Ghirahim's lips—

Link just couldn't stop. The dam had already burst with Zelda once today, and there was little he could do to keep the rest of it contained.

“I'm sorry,” he found himself saying. “I should have never ridden the Loftwing to begin with. I should have waited until the storm had passed.”

“There's nothing to apologize for,” Ghirahim said softly. He wrapped his arms around Link, pulling him into a hug. “Don't say sorry ever again.”

Link's eyes filled with tears. Ghirahim kissed each of them away, lips trailing down into a kiss that tasted like salt. Link tangled his fingers in Ghirahim's hair, and Ghirahim continued touching him, his hands wandering down Link's body.

Ghirahim pushed Link down into the grass. It tickled, scraping against his skin. He touched Link's bandages before moving down lower, and Link knew what would happen if he allowed it.

He continued to kiss him, and it was lovely, in a way. It was lovely to be touched by a man he loved so much.

But Link needed to talk more about this. He couldn't just let Ghirahim kiss him, touch him—he needed more than this.

“You smell like alcohol,” Link complained, because he couldn't think of anything else that would make Ghirahim stop. He turned his face away, pulling his shirt back down over his stomach. The bandages were sticky from the heat, the pain reminding him that everything was still all wrong and the world was still a dark and scary place.

“Groose took me drinking,” Ghirahim admitted. “But I'm not drunk.”

“My father used to say the cruelest things to me.” Link didn't know why he said it. Why he continued talking about this. He took Ghirahim's hand as an apology, pressing it to his chest. “And those words would spread through my heart like a fire, reminding me again and again that I was nothing at all.”

Ghirahim laid down on Link's body, painfully pressing against Link's wound. And he would have felt suffocated if it was anybody else—but it wasn't. It was Ghirahim. And the weight on his body was a confirmation of his existence; that no matter what, he would always have this lovely man by his side.

And that had to be enough. It just had to be.

*

“Fathers are strange creatures,” Ghirahim stated. “They never love you like a mother; they're always detached, cold without reason and always cruel.”

Hylia reclined on Ghirahim's bed. She was only in her nightgown, long hair pulled back into twin braids. Big, blue ribbons were tied at the ends of each of them.

Looking back, it was probably the happiest time of Ghirahim's life. The best weekend he could remember before everything changed, and Hylia became a person he could no longer recognize.

“You can't say that about your father,” she said with a firm shake of her head. The braids swayed with the movement, and Ghirahim resisted the urge to pull them like a child. “Not when he's dead; it isn't right to speak ill of anyone when they're dead.”

“But what if they've hurt you?” Ghirahim sat down beside her, feeling the mattress settle. He took her ankles, pulling her feet onto his lap. “What if they've made you feel worse than anybody else in the world?”

Hylia tugged her feet away. “So be it. But I won't stand for you saying all of these things. It isn't right to do so.”

Ghirahim smirked. “Just kiss me, then. If you don't want to hear me speak, that's the only way to shut me up. And if you don't—we both know somebody else will.”

Hylia crossed her arms, turning away from him. “I've heard all about the golden-haired boy down the road; if you would rather have him, go get him.”

Ghirahim's smile faltered. “Who told you about that?”

“Oh, Fi told me all about it. She said he was your first love.” Hylia smiled. “But everyone knows I'm your only true love, Ghira.”

“Prove it, then. Kiss me.”

Hylia darted forward, capturing Ghirahim's lips into a quick kiss and knocking him back onto the bed. “I love you with all my heart,” she said, braids tickling Ghirahim's cheeks. “Nobody will ever be able to love you more, especially not some boy with golden hair.”

Ghirahim kissed her again, letting her words run through his head. Love was such a new feeling, and Ghirahim just couldn't get enough of it.

“I want to get married,” Hylia whispered. “We can start a family together, and you can be the father you've always wished you had.”

“I can't leave Fi alone here.”

“She can be a part of our little family, too,” she said. ”Once the goddesses leave I won't have to be here anymore, and we can move wherever your heart desires.”

Ghirahim smiled. It was a lovely thought. But even then it felt like a dream that could never happen, the words meaning nothing more than what they were.

Once the goddesses leave… that proposed life would never exist. Once the goddesses left, everything changed, and his father came back to reclaim his children.

Everything always changed. And Ghirahim no longer knew why it still bothered him, knowing that Hylia was gone forever.

Because, in the end, he had been the one to fall in love with somebody else, with the boy with the golden hair; and Ghirahim knew that it was Link who loved him more than Hylia ever had.

And Ghirahim would have to be okay with that. He just had to be.

Chapter Text

“We're leaving tonight,” Zelda announced. “Everyone should pack their things and meet me at the diving platform near my statue.”

“Your statue?” Groose crossed his arms. “Use the proper name, Zelda.”

“The Statue of the Goddess. Whatever! Just meet me there. I want to explore the Surface tonight.”

“Link can barely walk across his bedroom floor,” Ghirahim reminded her. “And now you expect him to trapeze across the Surface?”

“I think he's right.” Groose stood beside Ghirahim, setting his shoulders back. The two of them looked like a team, defending Link against whatever dangers could potentially harm him.

“Link's healed quite a bit this past month,” Zelda said. “I think he's more than capable to visit the Surface right now.”

“Link shouldn't go,” Groose said, shaking his head at the mere suggestion. “He's too weak.”

Zelda frowned. “Is he? Ghirahim, how long until Link's bandages are removed?”

“It'll be awhile,” Ghirahim said. “Henya told us there's still a chance of infection, and it's not healing like a regular wound.”

“It isn't?”

Link shrank into himself, tracing the Triforce on his hand. They were talking like he wasn't even there, discussing his fate like he didn't even have a choice in the matter.

“No,” Ghirahim said. “It isn't normal at all.”

“And the public needs a hero to guide them,” Groose continued, “not some teenager who can barely stand up straight.”

“I don't want to be the hero anymore,” Link said. “I want to be somebody else.”

The room hushed. All eyes were on Link, but he didn't care. Was it so wrong of him to want to be normal, to be like everyone else?

“You will always be the hero,” Zelda replied simply. “The sooner you accept that, the better off you will be.”

The Triforce on Link's hand began to glow, burning up his wrist. The vines decorating Link's skin hurt terribly; he could almost feeling them crawling, wrapping around his arms and legs and chest. And it made Link realize he didn't want to be there anymore, didn't want to be in this room with these people.

Link flashed away, cracking out of the room like thunder. And it was raining, he realized. Rain sprinkled out from gray clouds and it was cold and cruel and reminded him of everything he didn't want to be reminded of.

He was below one of the diving platforms, on one of the cliffs that jutted out from the side of Skyloft. He had been here once when he was little. Zelda had helped him crawl onto it, laughing whenever he felt afraid.

The thunder boomed and the lightning struck and it was worse, somehow, than even the sun shining. Link didn't know when the sun became cruel; but while the sun was poking fun at his feelings, the rain only made them worse.

It was freeing to be outside and without anybody knowing he was there. And it was freeing, he realized, to be all alone.

He roamed his eyes over the blanket of clouds below him, the blanket of clouds above him. The rain became worse, and Link was cold and wet and miserable, but at least he didn't have to hear them talking about how his wound wasn't normal, about how he wasn't normal, about how everything would never be normal.

The ending Link wanted so desperately wasn't here, not yet, and he still had such a far way to go.

Link curled into a ball, feeling his stomach twist in pain and his back pull against the stiff bandages as he moved. The rain washed over him, beat against his back and Link groaned in the pain. The vines crawled and the flowers bloomed and everything was just falling apart.

Time passed. His skin was all wrinkled and his clothes were soaked through. The bandage no longer adhered to his skin. Link ripped off his shirt, pulled off the bandage. He threw both of them over the edge of the island, watching as they fell down into the impenetrable clouds.

The rain hurt whenever it hit what was left of the wound. It beat again his new, sensitive skin. It hurt, but Link curled back into a ball, relishing the pain. It reminded him of when he was a little boy and stuck his finger into a candle just to feel the burn. The pain reminded him he was still alive, that he could still overcome this and be something more.

More time passed. And Link felt like he was in a whole other state of existence. The pain numbed, and he could barely keep his body sitting up anymore. A small part of him was afraid of being struck by lightning, but that was incredibly rare, wasn't it?

As was being the hero, he supposed.

And he wondered, why hadn't anybody come for him yet? Was it going to be like his parents? Did they slowly freeze to death on an island while praying for their son to be saved?

Link fell over, but the ground never rose to meet him. He was being held up by a pair of very strong, very warm arms.

Ghirahim just held him, throwing a blanket around the two of them. Link was grateful for the warmth, and he burrowed closer to Ghirahim, shivering more than he ever had in his life.

“It'll be okay,” Ghirahim soothed. “I know I keep saying that, but it's true.”

“I feel so alone,” Link whispered. His voice was ragged. And he was so tired, so cold. “Promise me you'll never leave me behind.”

Ghirahim kissed the top of Link's head. “I'll never leave you. Now let's go home; I think you need some fresh bandages and something to eat.”

Link nodded weakly. Ghirahim tried to help Link stand up.

“It hurts too much to stand,” Link admitted. He pulled his hand out of Ghirahim's, blushing slightly.

“Then why don't I carry you?” Ghirahim hoisted Link up into his arms easily, and Link felt the world whirl away from him. He felt that strange, numb place of existence wrap around him just like the blanket had. “You're light as a feather these days, you know?”

Link didn't have enough energy to respond; he was a dead weight, completely limp in Ghirahim's arms. And he could tell Ghirahim was struggling to carry him—he wasn't as strong as he'd been when he was a demon—but Link couldn't do much about that, not like this.

The sun began to set. And Link realized that it wasn't raining, not anymore It was a magnificent sunset, the oranges and pinks soaking into Link's vision like a dream.

“Are you alright?” Ghirahim asked. “You haven't said anything for awhile.”

Link couldn't even move his mouth to reply. He felt weak—and it was a different sort of weakness than the others. It was strange; he couldn't even move, he could just lay there and watch the colors as they spread across the sky.

Groose rode up on his Loftwing. “There you are!” he cried out, landing roughly beside Ghirahim and Link. The Loftwing scrambled for purchase on the island, its claws tearing through the mud. “Is Link alright?”

“I don't know,” Ghirahim said miserably. “He's still breathing, but look at him—it's like he's not even there.”

Groose helped the two of them onto the back of the Loftwing, the feathers slippery from the rain and so cold that Link was sure he would never be warm again.

“And now he's burning up.” Ghirahim ran his hands down Link's stomach, and Link's body moved involuntarily at the touch. The pain flooded his vision, cast stars around his eyes.

The Loftwing screeched into the air. “Keep him awake,” Groose instructed. “I think his body's going into shock from being out in the rain too long.”

“Everything will be alright, darling,” Ghirahim promised. He continued to touch Link's hot, sensitive skin, and it would have been comforting if it wasn't so painful. “We'll be home soon, and then you'll be alright.”

The Triforce began to burn up Link's arm without warning. He writhed in agony, the vines swirling around his body, their touch like thousand hands brushing against his skin.

Ghirahim smoothed back his hair. The world twisted away, sharp and vivid—and he could feel his energy pulling at each of them, tugging them somewhere else.

The vines constricted. And just like thunder, they cracked away into a new world.

The Surface. Nobody said anything, the change of scenery shocking. It was hard to make sense of it, and Link only continued to moan, scratching at the flowers blooming all over his body like a disease.

Faron slithered over to them like a snake, looming over them like a predator in the night.

“Well, well,” she said. “It looks like the hero has a sense of duty after all.”

Chapter Text

“What's going on?” Groose yelped. The Loftwing kept skittering its talons over the slick stone, and Groose struggled to keep it from throwing all of them off its back. “Where are we?”

Faron picked up Link's lifeless body with one of her claws, lifting him up into the air. “What is wrong with the hero?”

“Answer my questions first!”

“My questions are more important, human,” Faron growled, gills flaring. She was the most impressive and magnificent creature Groose had ever seen, a great trailing mass of beast. Glittering blue scales covered every inch of her body, and a great crown sat upon her head.

Ghirahim scrambled off the Loftwing, running towards Link with a panicked expression. Groose had the sense that something similar to this had happened once before.

“Link is in bad shape,” Ghirahim explained. “He's in recovery.”

Faron regarded Link critically. He looked so small in her claw, so vulnerable. “This is no normal wound,” she remarked.

“We already know that!” Groose complained. “He needs rest.”

“He needs some peace of mind,” Faron retorted. “The poor boy has been through hell and back, and this wound is something that will never heal on its own.”

Ghirahim paled. “That isn't true. I'm the one who stabbed him, so I know that isn't true.”

“You did what?” Groose hopped off the Loftwing, leaving it to skitter across the stone by itself. He jabbed his finger into Ghirahim's chest. “When the hell did you do that?”

“I'll keep the boy in my care,” Faron continued, setting Link into the waters of Lake Floria. It enveloped him, and he sputtered his first watery intake of breath. “It appears he wounded his own spirit when breaking the cycle; his soul has lost its purpose.”

“He broke the cycle?” Groose glared at Ghirahim. “Did you know about this?”

“No, he never told me.”

Faron laughed meanly. “The hero doesn't have to tell you mere mortals anything; he is above you now, a power that can match that of Hylia's.”

“Don't act like you respect him now,” Ghirahim said. “I remember how you treated him the first time.”

“What happened the first time?” Groose brushed his fingers over the Loftwing's feathers; it was going crazy being in such a small space, and Groose didn't know what to do about it.

“The hero will die with this wound. Hylia obviously didn't understand that when she allowed him to live again…”

Ghirahim dived into the water with a tremendous splash.

“That man is a fool,” Faron rumbled. She regarded Groose and the erratic Loftwing, lending an uneasy feeling to Groose's stomach. “Tell me, young man, are you this selfish? Would you allow your own loved one to die?”

Groose didn't answer. He just waited until Ghirahim finally burst back out from the water, Link slung over his back. And Link didn't look very good; his skin was too pale and his lips were too blue.

“Wherever Link goes, it's going to be with me,” Ghirahim said. He laid Link on the ground, pressing his fists onto his bare chest. “You should know by now that I don't give up that easily, Faron.”

“Link needs to be with me so he can heal,” Faron said, voice echoing throughout the cave. “Soon the Hylians will reclaim the Surface and there will be a royalty. Link and Zelda will stand tall at the center, birthing a new kingdom.”

Groose stepped forward, tugging the Loftwing behind him. It squawked, clearly upset, but Groose had no choice. He couldn't have it finding a way out of there and disappearing in the wilds of the Surface, never to be seen again.

“Who told you about Hyrule?” Groose asked.

“Zelda visited a few days ago, telling me all about her grand plans. The cycle must continue for the sake of the world, whether Link wants it to or not.”

Groose hadn't even known Zelda had come to visit. It seemed wrong and untrue, but what reason did the water dragon have to lie?

“The only way to save the hero is for something to be taken away. Should it be his eyes again?”

“Never!” Ghirahim spat. He was bending over Link's body, as if to protect him from Faron's claws, but even Groose knew that was futile. “Link fought too long and hard for everything to be the same again!”

“You are just like your father, Ghirahim. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“When did you become so cruel?” Ghirahim asked. “Why are you doing this to us?”

Faron screeched in frustration. “I have no choice in the matter! That wound will never heal on its own; it crossed too many barriers, and you were the one who did it! Face the consequences of your actions for once in your miserable life!”

Link screamed as he was wrenched away from Ghirahim's grasp. The dragon held him in the air. Vines and flowers swelled up from his skin, wrapping around Link's body like a curse.

The colors were vivid. The flowers were large and bright and filled the room with a sweet fragrance. The vines wrapped around his flesh; and Link was begging, screaming to have them off of him.

And then they was gone. The vines retracted, the flower petals scattered away. Link's screams ceased all at once, and he was set back on the ground. The wound that had been plaguing him for more than a month was gone; it was just a huge, blackened scar that crossed down his back and through to his stomach.

And Groose realized the tattoos of the flowers and vines littering Link's body were broken up by various other scars.

And all of it—it was so unfair.

Link blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was no sound. He looked at Faron in horror, clapping his hand over his mouth.

“Yes, hero, I took your words in exchange for your life. I have given them to my Tadtones for protection; they will keep them well.”

Tears fell from Link's eyes. They stemmed from a deep frustration, and even Groose felt his own heart skip a few beats.

Ghirahim ran to Link, pulling him into an embrace. Link cried soundlessly, and somehow that was worse than crying out loud.

“What the hell is going on?” Groose yelled. He stamped his foot, fear and anger filling him from the inside out. “What right do you have taking people's voices?”

“What choice did I have? The hero isn't stupid; he knew what he was doing when he brought you all here. Do you think I wanted to make him suffer more?”

The waters surrounding the dragon moved with her words, waves slapping against the stone and misting all of them with cold water.

Link pulled himself out of Ghirahim's arms. He bowed to Faron as a sign of thanks.

And he looked miserable, the tears still streaming, but he didn't seem to be fighting against this turn of events at all.

Groose didn't know much about being a hero, but Groose knew a lot about being a knight. And Link's bow of thanks seemed a lot like giving up; it seemed weak.

“Forgive me, hero,” Faron said. “The mortals don't understand. But you do. The hero must continue living, for the sake of all the world.”

Link walked back to Ghirahim, taking his hand and offering him a smile. But everyone could easily see through it; Groose was sure he couldn't be the only one.

But before more could be done, Zelda flashed onto the scene. She had her own Loftwing with her. It didn't seem surprised to be there, calmly carrying Zelda towards the dragon.

“Princess Zelda,” Faron announced. “I'm sure you know what has happened.”

Zelda nodded. She spared a glance at Link, then her eyes met with Groose's. There was a touch of sadness in them, but it only lasted a moment before it was gone. “Yes, I know all about it. What did you take?”

Faron sighed. “Well, how about the hero tells you himself?”

Chapter Text

Link kept touching his neck. There was nothing. No sound, not even the slightest noise.

Even in the silent realm, he could say nothing.

And Hylia, of course, was livid.

“How can Faron do this to you?” She marched around, stomping her feet so hard the room shook. This meeting was taking place in Link's bedroom; vases decorated his shelves, and he was afraid all of them would fall off and shatter if Hylia kept this up.

Link shrugged. She seemed even more furious at his shrugging, her face growing even redder, her stomps louder.

“I should have known this would happen!” She punched the wall, and the vases rained down, shattering across the hardwood floor.

Hylia punched the wall again. And again. Each punch only seemed to make her more and more furious, and Link had the notion to be a little bit afraid. There was no telling what she could do in this state, and Link couldn't exactly talk her down.

After a few more unnecessary punches, Hylia strangely calmed down all at once. She took deep breaths, crunching over the pieces of glass as she walked. She stood above Link, a different entity altogether; something beyond him, no matter what Faron claimed.

“But you knew what would happen when you went to Faron,” she muttered. “And you're the hero, aren't you? You can find your words again. I'm sure of it.”

Link tried to speak again, but there was nothing—just the air as it left his lungs.

“I'm so sorry this happened to you.” She slumped to the ground, taking Link's hands in hers. “And you can't even talk in a silent realm, for crying out loud! Faron never does anything halfway, does she?”

Link shook his head.

“They need you,” Hylia said softly, kissing him on the cheek. “The world will always need you; I'm sorry we were wrong about that.”

Link felt himself fade away, leaving Hylia behind.

He settled back into his body. Groose and Zelda were fighting over the best way to convince the Skyloftians of the Surface's existence. Both were hunched over a table in the center of the room. And Ghirahim just looked sad, staring listlessly down at the map spread over the table.

It was weird to be back on the Surface, within the Sealed Grounds like it was no big deal. This was the room Zelda had taken him directly after the battle with Demise.

After Link felt more sure the silent realm was behind him, he snapped his fingers to get Ghirahim's attention.

Ghirahim smiled faintly at the sound. “I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he whispered. “Are you going to be okay?”

Link shrugged. Because no, of course he wasn't going to be okay. He never would be.

Zelda and Groose continued bickering; their Loftwings were cuddled in the corner of the room, squawking their distress from time to time.

“Would writing help? Maybe I can find you some paper and you can write down your thoughts.”

Link shook his head. He had never learned to read or write; his blindness had obviously kept him from that. And that made him realize there was no way for him to communicate—that was a different frustration altogether.

Link wished he were back on the Skyloft; he had changed his mind—sleepy, lazy days were better after all.

Ghirahim settled himself beside Link on the bed. He pressed his body up to Link's in a way that could only be called uncomfortable. But at this point, physical comfort was the only thing they had left.

And Link could never begrudge him for that.

Suddenly, Groose picked up the map he and Zelda had been pouring over and ripped it in half.

“That was a relic!” Zelda screamed. She slammed her fists on the table, causing the Loftwings to flutter and begin to panic. “How dare you do such a thing!”

Groose threw the pieces away from him, one of them fluttering to Link's feet. He reached down to pick it up, not understanding the swirls and shapes. The real world he could make sense of, but apparently not a map.

“I hate you!” Zelda flipped the table, throwing it at the wall with a mighty crash. “You never understand anything!” She thrust her finger at Link. “Look at him! He's nothing to us right now; he can't even tell us what he thinks!”

Link crumpled up the map in his hand and left the room, Ghirahim trailing behind him. The hallways twisted every which way and Link felt too dizzy to navigate them, so he just stood outside the door.

Silence. That was all he would have now. The severity of all of it—the unfairness—it was bright in his chest.

Ghirahim began to cry. Link didn't know how to help him without words; he touched his own neck, wishing he could say something—but there was nothing there anymore. No matter how he moved his mouth, no matter how he tried to speak—there was no sound, nothing at all.

He wanted to ask why Ghirahim was crying when it should be the other way around. He wanted to ask, but there was no way to, so he just pressed his forehead to the wall instead and prayed for relief.

All Link wanted to do was dance and have fun. He just wanted to participate in a Wing Ceremony and become a knight; he just wanted to be normal.

He wanted so much, but he would never have any of it, would he?

The door behind them opened. “I'm sorry for saying that, Link. I didn't mean to upset you.” Zelda walked up to him, touching his cheek. “Forgive me. I know this will be hard to adjust to—but you've made it through everything else, haven't you?”

Link shrugged as Zelda kissed him on the mouth. And he realized it was okay he didn't have words, because there wasn't anything he really wanted to say to her right now.

“It'll be alright, Link,” Ghirahim promised, a slight edge of jealously to his words. “I love you more than anything in this world; and I need you here with me.”

Link shook his head. He didn't want to be here anymore, he didn't want to be with these people who didn't understand him—he wanted to be alone.

Ghirahim stepped towards him, wiping his tears from his eyes as he did so. And it hurt Link to leave—it did. But he needed this for himself—he needed to be alone.

Link closed his eyes, letting the Triforce burn up his wrist. He wanted out of there—he wanted out.

And he didn't know when he would see any of them again.

Chapter Text

Link wandered around Faron Woods. There was really nothing around him but trees, and he kept his eyes closed most of the time. He felt no pressure to keep them open anymore, and it was nice to wander around the way he was used to.

It was nice to be in the dark.

The night was a little chilly and Link appreciated it. Every step felt freeing, like he was leaving the past behind him. Ghirahim and the others would have to wait; Link needed this night for himself—he needed time for himself.

Link sat down beneath a tree, curling into a ball. He should have been afraid to be out in the open, but he wasn't; he felt safer than he had in a long time.

*

The next morning dawned brightly. Link rubbed his eyes, wishing the light away but knew it would never truly leave him ever again.

There were strange plants crowding around his feet, trembling in the early morning dew. Link reached out to touch them, running his fingers over the small, round leaves.

“Hey!”

Link pulled his hand back as the plant unfurled, revealing itself to be a cute little animal. The other plant unfurled as well, staring up at him with large, unblinking eyes.

Link's mouth ghosted his questions, and the plant-animals cocked their heads in perfect synchronization.

“A human!” one of them squeaked, stepping over to him. “What is your name?”

“Don't be rude!” the another one chided, bobbing it on the head. “Machi, introduce yourself first.”

Machi blushed, rubbing the back of its head. “I'm Machi, and this is Oola. We are called Kikwis.”

Link nodded, letting out a deep breath. They continued staring at him, waiting for him to speak.

“How rude,” Oola muttered when it became apparent that Link wasn't going to say anything at all. They scurried away, and Link decided to follow behind them. The sunlight streamed through the trees, and Link loved the calm beauty of the woods.

Humans would only ruin that serenity; and these Kikwis—they would never survive in the new world Zelda wanted. Link was beginning to understand that now. Hyrule was something that didn't need to happen, not in this lifetime or any other.

“The human is following us,” Oola whispered, shooting Link a look.

Machi turned back to him, and when Link looked it straight in the eye, it trembled and turned back into a plant. The leaves stuck out of the ground, and if Link hadn't known better, he would have never thought it different than any of the other plants in these woods.

“Machi!” Oola complained, rubbing its paws over its face. “How embarrassing.”

“Oh ho ho, what's going on here?”

Link was pretty sure he was still dreaming. Or maybe this was a silent realm—or maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him—but a gigantic Kikwi lumbered out from the trees, its ridiculously small paws rubbing its huge stomach.

“Bucha!” Oola shrank down to match Matchi's plantlike state, leaving the gigantic Kikwi to chuckle all the more.

“Oh?” It turned its eyes on Link, who was still in the process of questioning his sanity. “If it isn't the young hero! What brings you here?”

Link shrugged.

“A man of few words, eh? I can respect that. What are you searching for, young hero?”

The other Kikwis slowly lifted up their heads, eying Link with a renewed interest. Apparently being a hero trumped any and all other character traits.

Link lifted up his left hand, showing Bucha the Triforce branded there. It raised its eyebrows.

(At least, Link thought they were eyebrows. They could have been another set of eyes. Or antennas.)

“Interesting! So the hero has need of the Triforce a second time?”

Link shook his head.

“You are in search of information about it, then? I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you. However, there is a Goron by the name of Gorko who is currently residing in these woods. He may be of some use in your quest.”

Link bowed his head as thanks. Now he would get to see what a Goron looked like, but did he really need information about the Triforce?

Yes and no.

Link was beginning to think he shouldn't have left the others behind. But Zelda was right about him—Link had no use to anybody right now. He couldn't walk in a straight line or speak or even function properly Link was proclaimed a hero, but he didn't really feel like one.

“I can carry you to Gorko's residence,” Bucha offered. “You are such a weak and skinny little thing, after all. And I know exactly where Gorko lives, so it would be no great challenge for me.”

Bucha plopped itself on its stomach, and Link climbed onto its back carefully, afraid to smash its leaves.

“Do not fret, hero. I am the strongest Kikwi of them all; there is no way you can hurt me!”

The other two Kikwis clambered up behind Link, hanging onto Bucha's leaves for support. They didn't seem worried about hurting Bucha at all, so Link allowed himself to relax.

Bucha began to walk. It didn't walk very fast, but it was better than walking on his own, Link supposed.

“We like you now,” Machi said. “You saved us from evil!”

Oola took Link's hand in its paw, pressing it to its cheek. “How soft the hero is; sorry we didn't recognize you before.”

“Here's some food,” Machi offered. It pulled out a handful of berries from some unidentifiable location, but Link was so hungry that he didn't really mind.

Machi and Oola told him stories the whole journey, with Bucha offering bits and pieces now and then. Link laid down on the gigantic Kikwi's back, watching the branches and leaves of trees sway above him.

Eventually, he fell asleep, the sun warming his cheeks. The Kikwis continued telling their pointless stories of where to find the best berries and their squabbles with other Kikwis.

And for the first time in a long time, Link felt at peace.

*

There was no true concept of time, but a long while later Link and the others finally arrived to Gorko's house. It was a small, wooden shack, pressed among the trees forgotten and forlorn.

And it was completely reminiscent of the house Link had visited in the silent realm, the same house where he'd had the Triforce ripped out of him by Fi.

Machi and Oola began to cry. “Please tell us you'll visit us again!”

Link smiled, patting the two of them on their heads. Bucha laughed.

“Do not cry, my children. Just remember the times we shared fondly—those times are never truly gone. They are always there for you to look back on.”

Link hopped off Bucha's back, stretching his legs.

He waited to go into the house until Bucha began walking away, waited until he could no longer see Machi and Oola waving their small little paws.

Slowly, Link began his own long walk up the path. Why Gorko lived here and not amongst the other Gorons, he didn't know. But the memories of his meeting with Fi were incredibly strong, and he had trouble having the courage to go inside and face those memories the second time.

With a quick prayer to Hylia—who was probably wondering what the hell he was doing in the middle of nowhere with nobody knowing where he was—Link knocked on the door.

“Coming!” Heavy footsteps pounded against the floor, and the door suddenly flung open to reveal…

Link opened his mouth to scream, jumping backward and pressing his hand to his heart. It was a huge rock! With a face!

And it was… laughing at him?

“I remember you,” Gorko chuckled. “We met in the desert, and you wouldn't tell me where you were going.”

It was Gorko all right. Link could never forget that gravelly, rock hard voice. Slowly, Link allowed himself to calm down and regard Gorko without fear.

But at least he knew what Gorons looked like now. Even if they were rather terrifying.

“Well, since you came all the way here, go ahead and make yourself at home.”

Link tucked his hands into his pockets, blushing furiously. He followed Gorko inside. The table sitting in the center of the house was the same, and Link could recognize the chipped china laying upon it anywhere—but besides that, everything was different.

The house was crowded with books and papers, and great maps of the Surface covered the walls. Link took it all in, wishing he could say something about it to Gorko.

A house like this—that was something worth talking about.

Gorko sat down on the floor, crisscrossing his legs. He picked up a cup of tea, downing all of the contents in mere seconds. “So,” he said. “What brings a human here?”

Link sat down across from Gorko when he gestured, picking up his own cup of tea. He was sweaty and his clothes were all crumpled—and he realized it was proper embarrassing to show up unannounced like this, but what was he to do?

“Remlit's got your tongue, eh?”

Link nodded. He tapped his lips.

Gorko's eyes widened. He dropped his cup to the floor, and another chip added to the ones that were already there. “You can't talk at all!”

When Link obviously did not respond, Gorko jumped to his feet.

“How terrible! You poor, brave soul! How about you stay here for a couple of days? There is a hot spring near here you can use, and there are some human clothes that the previous inhabitants left behind.”

Link blinked, wanting to recline—but Gorko was already pressing a towel and a bar of soap into Link's hands.

“Old Gorko will keep you well. Take all the time you need; and then I'll help you know what you're truly after—the history of the Triforce.”

*

It was late at night before Gorko considered Link well enough to be spoken to about anything, let alone anything as mystical as the Triforce.

And it was strange, because the clothes Gorko gave him to wear were clearly Ghirahim's once. They were a little too long and loose, but they were made of a comfortable material so Link didn't mind too much. The shirt was purple and white and comprised of diamonds, the patterns littering the whole fabric.

And Link was clean. And Gorko scrambled up some food that wasn't rocks (which he happily informed him was all Gorons needed to survive). And Link was happy and full and contented, and wearing Ghirahim's old clothes gave him a comfort he could never describe.

Hopefully Ghirahim wasn't too worried about him. But Link couldn't think about that too much—it was too painful, and all it did was hurt Link's heart in places it never should be hurt.

“You have a Triforce tattoo on your hand,” Gorko observed. “That's how I knew you were after the Triforce; only die-hard fans of the Skyward Sword know about that!”

Link blinked while Gorko showed his own tattoo of the Triforce, a crudely drawn triangle engraved into his (literally) rock-hard bicep.

“You have flowers as well,” Gorko said. “Do you study plants for a living?”

Link smiled, shaking his head.

“Oh, really? But you're covered in vines and flora. Whatever. Onto the Triforce. Legend says the goddess…”

*

“Thanks for visiting me,” Gorko said, placing his rather heavy hand on Link's head. “It was a joy to have someone finally listen to me for once.”

Link nodded. He scrounged in his wallet, offering Gorko his slim number of rupees.

“Bah! No need to pay for room and board. Onward, traveler! And hopefully you get your voice back someday.”

With that said, Gorko slammed the door, leaving Link alone. Gorko had obviously tired of the novelty of having company.

Only a moment later, Link noticed a plant trembling in the middle of the path. With a sigh, Link gently kicked the side of it. The leaves stopped trembling and it unfurled, revealing Machi.

“The hero!” Machi squeaked. “I've been waiting for you here. Something terrible has happened! Bucha was captured by a human!”

Link set off running, Machi attaching itself to Link's ankle. Machi directed him where to go, and Link could barely process the number of trees he ran past—where exactly he was going.

Link desperately wanted to ask which human it was. Ghirahim and Groose would never do such a thing, but Zelda—

Zelda was a different story.

And then, all at once, he stood before the Sealed Grounds. The Temple he and his friends had been staying in loomed before him, but the woods were deathly quiet.

Link knew they weren't there. He couldn't feel their presence at all. The woods were silent and menacing and there was no life to be felt, only the trembling Kikwi that was still clutching his pant leg.

They must have returned to Skyloft without him. Link almost couldn't believe it—that they would leave him all alone down here.

But it wasn't really Zelda and Groose he was thinking about. It was Ghirahim who dominated his mind, who filled his senses. If Link was going to die out in the woods all alone, hopefully Ghirahim would forgive him. Hopefully he would forgive himself.

And hopefully Ghirahim would eventually find somebody else. Maybe a girl like Hylia, with a laugh that nobody could resist.

Hopefully.

It was while he was thinking all of this that Link saw it, the shadow of something huge and menacing approaching them swiftly. He dived away from the shadow, cowering with Machi behind the massive trunk of one of the trees.

“It's the end!” Machi cried, jumping up Link's leg burrowing underneath his shirt. It pressed its warm head to Link's belly, its fur wet with tears. “The destiny of this land is being fulfilled!”

When Link didn't respond, Machi quickly pulled itself free of Link's shirt. It narrowed its eyes at the shadow.

“Or perhaps it's Bucha that I see?”

“Or perhaps not.”

Link startled as a slender woman materialized out of thin air. She had long, white hair and a tattoo of a weeping eye on her forehead. Machi burrowed its way under Link's shirt again.

“My name is Impa; I'm sure you remember me. It is the hero I am speaking to, correct?”

Link nodded, slowly standing up from his crouching position. He wished he had a sword or some way to protect himself—all he had was a cowering Kikwi, which obviously wouldn't do much to help defend against an enemy.

So all he could do was stand there as Impa walked up to him, appraising his appearance.

“A little thin,” she complained. “You lack in muscle and you seem weak from an illness. Why is the goddess's hero one that is littered with both mental and physical scars?”

“He's the best hero in the world!” Machi shouted, crawling from the top of Link's shirt. It skittered over Link's face, perching on the top of Link's head protectively.

“The leader of the Kikwis is safe,” Impa promised. She was suddenly so close that Link was forced to press his back against the tree, the rough bark pressing against his skin. Her presence was overwhelming—and reminiscent of something else.

Maybe Hylia. But no—that wasn't quite right. But her entire being, the warmth of her skin, gave Link that same strange feeling of the way things might have been. A future he had inadvertently destroyed—a way of life that could never be.

“In any event, there is a place the hero is probably interested in going.” She somehow leaned even closer, her lips ghosting Link's. “Tomorrow is the Wing Ceremony, Link—did you realize you have been gone that long?”

Link tensed as Impa kissed him. Her lips were soft, and it was a kiss in a detached sort of way—it wasn't romantic like Ghirahim's or forceful like Pipit's. It was an apology of sorts.

The kiss went on for a long time. The Triforce burned on his hand and the vines wrapped around his skin. He could feel himself fade, scatter away.

And when Link opened his eyes, Impa was gone. He was looking directly at the Gate of Time. Link set Machi on the ground, but it ran back up to him, grabbing onto his pant leg again.

“Wherever the hero goes, I want to go, too!”

Link sighed his displeasure, but he didn't really have the heart to push Machi away a second time.

Link touched his palm to the Gate of Time, watching the Triforce react violently and the vines on his body swell. They twisted and pulled and bloomed off his skin, flowers trailing away onto the stone floor.

But Link kept on, slowly walking through the Gate of Time and into a different state of existence.

And Link didn't know when—and if ever—he would see the others again. But he was beginning to hope he would see them soon—maybe he didn't want to be alone after all.

Chapter Text

Link pulled the flowers off his body. They stung as they were extracted from his skin; it was painful, and as soon as they were pulled away they sprang back up with a vengeance, even larger and brighter than before.

And the vines had ruined his clothes. They had poked through the fabric and some of them were so deeply embedded in the clothing that there was no way to even attempt at pulling them away. He felt like a walking plant, another sort of Kikwi. But soon, Link realized, the plants growing off his skin were the least of his concerns.

Machi began to tremble. “There's something coming for us,” it said. “And I don't think they're here to be friends.”

Link looked around them, not seeing anything that was particularly concerning.

Machi latched itself to Link's face. “I'll do the talking for you, so there's nothing to worry about. I'll protect you from the children of your enemy!”

Just as Link pulled Machi off, two figures emerged from the trees. Link's heart clenched.

Ghirahim.

“Oh, hello!” Fi ran up to him. She flicked her eyes over the flowers and vines, but didn't say a word about them. “I told you it was nothing to worry about, Ghira.”

Ghirahim laughed. It tore through Link's heart, rearranged his insides—when Ghirahim looked at him but didn't really see him.

When the love of his life didn't recognize him, not at all.

Machi rolled into a plant, trembling all over again. Fi laughed, petting its leaves. “Poor, little Kikwi.” She looked up at Link, and the pain—it was extraordinary.

Fi was so beautiful. She was alive—jubilant. Everything she should have been. Everything she should have continued to be.

“What's your name?” Ghirahim asked. “I've never seen you around here before.”

Belatedly, Link realized that they were speaking in an ancient language, the same language as the songs Link had been forced to play before every trial gate. And Link could somehow understand the soft, lifting words without any trouble at all; somehow these words were as familiar as the ones Link had grown up speaking, maybe even more so.

Link shrugged as Fi lifted Machi from his arms. Machi attempted to hang on to Link and some of his vines snapped in its paws, earning a scowl from Ghirahim.

“Are you a spirit, then?”

“If he is, Hylia would like to speak with him.” Fi petted Machi, cooing as if it were a baby. Machi did not look very thrilled, trembling and reverting to a plant. “Poor little Kikwi. How did you even end up with such an odd person?”

Ghirahim got in Link's face, startling him into taking a few steps backward. “Even his eyes are weird. They're all messed up and crossed.” He took Link's hand—roughly— tugging him behind. “Hylia said strange things would happen now that the goddesses are gone.”

Link struggled to ignore Ghirahim's harsh words. Struggled to ignore the feel of his hand in his, because this wasn't like any of the other times they had held hands. It wasn't timid or romantic or anything really—just rude and forceful.

And it also surprised him to find that beyond the thick covering of trees was a tidy little village, easy to miss if you didn't know to look for it. Little shops lined the plaza, with people selling all sorts of things Link had never seen before. Little toy dragons and weapons that Link could not name.

It was quite a lot to take in.

But then Link saw her—

Hylia.

It definitely wasn't Zelda—neither in form nor in grace. An exquisite beauty. That beauty, Link realized, was lost in the silent realms. It was lost anywhere save these woods.

She was much more beautiful when she was alive, wearing her trailing white skirts and with her hair pulled back in twin braids.

Link picked off more flowers while Hylia appraised him. They dissolved as soon as they were lifted from his skin, but they were quickly replaced by brighter, larger flowers. Shimmering white pollen swirled around him—no wonder they thought he was a spirit.

“Interesting find, Ghira,” Hylia said. “But this boy is harmless, no need to rip his arm off.”

Ghirahim let go, leaving Link with a very sore wrist. The white pollen settled over his clothes, and he tried to dust it off. Most of it disappeared with the movement.

The goddess began to circle Link, plucking a flower off his shoulder. In her hands, it did not dissolve—it stayed whole and beautiful, a piece of the silent realms.

She touched it to her lips. Ghirahim and Fi watched, sharing a look between them.

“Just a human,” she said, “who obviously needs some rest. He can stay in the temple.”

“What's wrong with him?” Ghirahim asked without reserve. It pinched Link's heartstrings, tore its way through Link's body.

Ghirahim would never speak about him in such a way—in such a manner. Not his Ghirahim.

Machi flung itself back to Link's face, forcing him to take a few steps back to accommodate for the added weight. “There is nothing wrong with the hero!” it squeaked.

“The hero?” Hylia laughed. She touched the Triforce on Link's hand, and he felt his senses trail away.

Machi was plucked from his head, back into Fi's arms. Link looked around himself dumbly as Hylia tugged him away, her hand firm over the Triforce.

“I don't know who you are,” Hylia hissed. “If you really are the hero—you are way too early.”

Link didn't even care to give a response. They were beyond the trees, and Link could see Skyview Temple in the distance.

“I haven't even chosen the hero's spirit yet,” she complained. She turned around, and Link noticed one of his flowers was still pressed to her lips, the vines trailing and wrapping around the two of them.

And Link felt himself fade away—he wasn't Link, the Hero of the Skies—

Link's mind turned the golden haired boy down the road. A normal, average boy who was not strange in the slightest. The boy who had won Ghirahim's heart in some respects—

The boy Hylia hated and burned with envy over.

Link's past life.

Hylia sighed. “I've been denying the fact Ghirahim's soul mate was to be the one chosen. Are you really the hero? Such a scrawny and weak little thing.”

Link struggled to be free of the vines—they were pulling him and Hylia way too close for comfort, constricting them towards each other.

“Can't you speak?”

Link couldn't move at all because of the vines, so he just remained still and silent.

“How interesting. I don't really know what to say right now. But I suppose I really do have no choice but to choose than boy with the golden hair. Has everything worked out alright in the future?”

Link smiled, even though he wasn't quite sure what this Hylia's definition of “alright” would be.

“I sense a deep sadness within you, but I also sense a deep love and caring for this world. But the past is not where you belong, young hero.”

The vines somehow pulled them ever closer, their bodies pressed to one another. Link blushed; he wasn't even sure he had been this close to Ghirahim before. The vines wrapped around their bodies like a shell, and Hylia kissed his lips like it was the perfectly appropriate thing to do so in this situation.

The vines fell away. More grew from his body, however, wrapping around his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

“How interesting,” Hylia said again. “The silent realms are not meant for mere mortals; I haven't even been to one yet… I suppose you can stay here for a little while so I can teach you how to use your Triforce. Would you like that?”

The vines wrapped around Link's neck, but Hylia looked unconcerned. She stepped away from him, giving him some breathing room, and showed him her own mark of the Triforce. The mark was brilliant on her hand; she wore it proudly.

“But you'll have to stay in the temple so the others can't see you or our lessons.” Hylia laughed, but whatever she had found funny was beyond Link. “Seeing you again would only complicate the future all the more, and we obviously don't want to do that, do we?”

Chapter Text

Ghirahim missed Link so much. Every single day was spent wishing for him to return—but wherever Link had disappeared off to was out of reach.

Ghirahim had no idea where he could be. The thought of Link being hurt or in trouble haunted his days, ghosted his every movement. The thought that Link was all alone, without his words—that was enough to give him nightmares.

But time, it seemed, would not wait for Link to return. The days turned into weeks. It was strange how time always shifted to accommodate the opposite of what a person really wanted—Ghirahim wanted time to slow down, but it didn't.

Time marched on. Plans were made without Link involved. Excitement buzzed for the Wing Ceremony among the people of Skyloft. And Zelda decided to postpone any future trips to the Surface—without Link, there wasn't really a point.

And Ghirahim was swept to the sidelines. Both without the man he loved and without the hero the entire world so desperately needed.

If anything was Ghirahim's salvation, it was knowing that this wasn't the first time he had been left behind. His heart was hurt so many times now; everybody always turned their backs on him eventually.

All of those promises, all of those exclamations—they were only words, after all. Cruel, false words that meant nothing in the end. Ghirahim could have screamed until the end of time that Link would never be left alone, but it meant nothing.

Nothing.

Ghirahim had always been nothing. A slave to Hylia, to his father—even Link. Ghirahim was nothing but a hopeless romantic; a man who believed love trumped everything despite never having seen any evidence of that being true.

Love was not all. How many times did people have to tell him that until he understood it? Link leaving him behind was more important than fickle feelings of love. If Link needed time alone to understand himself—that was more important than Ghirahim's selfish desires.

Everybody's destiny was more important than the tender and fickle feelings of love.

But the longer Link was gone, the stronger these feelings became. Wasn't love supposed to fade with the passage of time?

Link could have moved on for all Ghirahim knew. He could have met some lovely man down on the Surface and forgotten all about Ghirahim—

“Stop thinking.” Groose gently kicked his shin under the table. “You always get this dreamy-eyed look when you think about Link.”

“Sorry.” Ghirahim sighed, remembering the mission at hand.

Which was the Lumpy Pumpkin, talking about whether or not Kina liked Groose.

“Zelda's obviously not into me, so don't you think I should go for her?”

“Personally, I could never be with anyone else but Link,” Ghirahim said resolutely, stirring more sugar into his pumpkin mix with a spoon. “Don't you still hold out the hope Zelda will come around?”

“Of course I do.” Groose peered mournfully into his own (empty) drink. “But I don't want to push away potential love opportunities, either. Zelda can't expect me to wait forever.”

Ghirahim scowled when Pipit wandered into view, looking as lost and stupid as usual.

And, of course, Pipit walked right up to the two of them.

“Hey! Are you guys excited for the Wing Ceremony tomorrow? Bets on Fledge.”

“Fledge?” Groose shrugged. “Anything could be possible, I suppose.”

Pipit grabbed a chair, dragging it over to the table. Everything about him looked stupid. His stupid yellow tunic (which matched Groose's). Even his stupid voice was stupid.

Ghirahim swallowed down the rest of his ridiculously sugary drink while Groose and Pipit went on about the Wing Ceremony like the good friends they were.

“I wish Link could compete,” Pipit said. “But with his injuries and his eyes and all that, I don't think it's likely.”

“My bet's on Link,” Ghirahim found himself saying. “Don't you know he's competing?”

Groose shot Ghirahim a warning look while Pipit said, “Oh, really? How interesting!”

Ghirahim nodded. “Yeah, and Link's been training like crazy, you know?”

Pipit smiled in a way that wasn't very nice. “Karane's playing the goddess this year, so if Link wins he'll have to kiss her.”

Groose kicked Ghirahim's shin underneath the table. But this time—not so nicely. Ghirahim winced at the pain, but bit his tongue.

“I never see Link around you anymore, so I know he's not actually competing. You're just another heart in his collection, taking your rightful place next to mine.” Pipit smirked. “I wonder who Link has enjoyed kissing more? Was it me or you? You know, considering you're the one who stabbed him, I'm not surprised that he left.”

Ghirahim jumped to his feet, punching Pipit square in the face. Years of being an evil demon made the sensation of breaking bone a little too familiar, and only a moment later, he had Pipit pinned to the ground.

Pipit was already crying for mercy, even though Ghirahim hadn't even moved to touch him again. He just sat there, weighing Pipit to the ground, watching the fear spark in Pipit's eyes.

They were surrounded by people, Ghirahim realized. All sorts of people he hadn't bothered to get to know—just people, surrounding him, judging him despite never knowing him.

Ghirahim's heart pounded, the blood rushed to his cheeks. “You just can't say that,” he said, voice wobbling more than he would care to admit. “You don't know what we've been through. You can't just talk about him like—like—”

“Ghirahim,” Groose whispered, breaking him out of his trance. “I think you should get off of him.”

Ghirahim nodded slowly. He moved off of Pipit, sliding onto the cold stone floor. All of those faces watching him, not one in the world he would care to know.

Would Link still love him, seeing him like this? And was Pipit right? Did Link leave him because—

“Sorry Pipit,” Groose continued, helping the poor guy to his feet. “I'll give you a ride back. I think your nose is broken.”

Pipit began to blubber, blood running down his lips and chin. He clung to Groose's clothing, crying like a baby.

And Ghirahim—he just felt dejected.

Groose easily broke through the sea of people, apologizing for Ghirahim's bad behavior. A few people shared sympathetic looks with Ghirahim, but they didn't really understand.

Nobody did.

They were back outside. Under the peaceful expanse of sky, the sunset streaking through the clouds pink and orange.

“Just leave me here,” Ghirahim found himself saying. “I don't want to go back just yet.”

Groose didn't try to persuade Ghirahim to come with. If Ghirahim didn't know any better, Groose was disappointed in him. Maybe even angry.

“I'll be back for you later,” Groose said without a backward glance. “Don't try going anywhere without me.”

Groose dived off the platform, Pipit clinging to his back, and only a few seconds later they were on a Loftwing and streaking through the sky.

Blood stained Ghirahim's knuckles. He wanted everything with Link. He wanted to marry him and get him a ring and have a family. He wanted to adopt a Remlit and buy groceries at the Bazaar and learn everything about Skyloft.

And most of all—Ghirahim wanted to help Link overcome his past, everything that had happened since this whole stupid story started.

Ghirahim was such a fool. He could see it—their entire lives, every step, every moment. But Link had left him behind without a warning, as if it didn't even matter.

The Wing Ceremony was tomorrow. Link wouldn't be in it, and he wouldn't become a knight. That was something that would be forever stolen from him, something Ghirahim could never give back.

And Ghirahim—he was just alone.

Chapter Text

Pipit didn't love Link, and Link didn't love him. There was never a question of that between them.

They first kissed when they were children. Up in Link's bedroom in the Academy, sitting on the dusty floor in the space between the wardrobe and the wall. Link's eyes did something to Pipit; the way they searched through the darkness for a person that Pipit would never be.

So Pipit had kissed him with some degree of hesitation. As far as he knew, Link loved Zelda, was head over heels for her. As far as he knew, nobody felt the same way he did about boys.

Pipit kissed him with hesitation, but Link didn't hesitate to kiss him back. There was something sure about the press of his lips, the way his hand cupped Pipit's chin.

“I never thought that would happen to me,” Link breathed when it was over. And Pipit didn't know why he thought that would never happen. Link was handsome—gorgeous even.

And after that first kiss, things went from there. Link was best at sneaking around, so he would sneak into Pipit's bedroom at night. They kissed and fooled around but they didn't love each other.

At least, that's what Pipit had led himself to believe.

Because one day Pipit had the bright idea to bring Link home. His parents weren't going to be there, he promised. They had all night, in his big empty house—

But his mother came home because she forgot something so trivial that Pipit couldn't even remember what it was anymore. She found the two of them in bed, cuddled up in a way that definitely wasn't just friendly—and his mother absolutely lost it.

She told Headmaster Gaepora. But he didn't care, asking her what her response would be if Pipit was with a girl.

Which only made her angrier, and only made Pipit's punishment harsher. Link was silent throughout the whole ordeal, never saying a word about any of it.

Until Pipit got him alone. “We can still see each other,” Pipit said. “I'm not afraid of my mother.”

Link shook his head, golden hair swaying over his cheeks. Pipit resisted the urge to brush it behind his ears, to kiss him one last time.

But that would silly. And even though Pipit was usually silly, he didn't want to be like that around Link. Not when Link was brave and beautiful and never told a soul that Pipit maybe-just-maybe liked boys more than girls—

“I don't love you,” Link said. It wasn't cold or cruel; just the truth without any sugarcoating. “And if you don't love me, then this relationship isn't worth getting in trouble over. I'm not worth getting in trouble over.”

Pipit accepted those words. He did. Because he didn't love Link. You can't love somebody through physical connection alone—and they were just children.

Pipit didn't love him. It was easier to accept that than the alternative. The idea of love without reciprocation—that was too painful, too much for Pipit when everything had come so easily for him up to that point.

So they became best friends. Sort of. They ran in the same social circles (which was basically Zelda) and Pipit liked to toss those words around, but they weren't really true.

And now he had a broken nose and black eye from the man who loved the man he didn't love but maybe sort of did.

*

“That was so damn stupid, Ghirahim!” Groose growled. “Pipit is an upstanding knight, and you broke his nose!”

Ghirahim shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

“Of course it does.” Groose kicked a pumpkin over, which probably did more hurt to his foot than the pumpkin. If it did, he didn't show it. “I know that you're upset about Link. Hell, everyone's upset about Link. It's like a requirement for being his friend.”

Ghirahim didn't really feel like explaining his actions. Yeah, it was probably stupid. But without Link, Ghirahim had nothing.

Groose stared at Ghirahim so closely that he could practically feel him scrutinizing his soul.

“I think you need to figure yourself out,” Groose said slowly. “That's what Link is probably doing; that's probably why he's gone. It was smart of him to get away from here, actually. He needed a break.”

Ghirahim shrugged, prompting Groose to kick another pumpkin. Each kick sent a spray of mud into the air, staining Groose's yellow tunic. After a few more kicks, he spoke again.

“Ghirahim, when was the last time you were single?”

Ghirahim almost laughed but decided against it. He decided to join in on the pumpkin-kicking action instead, hoping the mud wouldn't stain his own clothes. He rather liked them, actually. “I've been single for over one thousand years,” he said.

“Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth!” Ghirahim crossed his arms. “I used to be an evil demon, remember? I had roamed the Surface for one thousand years until the hero graced me with his presence. Before the hero, I was absolutely alone.”

Groose picked up one of the pumpkins he had been kicking, weighing it in his hands. “Tell me, then, one thousand year old roaming demon. What made you realize you loved the graceful hero? And don't think I didn't sense the bitterness in your voice, because I did.”

“I hated him at first,” Ghirahim said.

Groose tossed Ghirahim the pumpkin; he caught it easily.

“Alright, I didn't hate him. Not at first. When I found out he was the hero I did. I wanted to kill him, but then he looked so small and pathetic.”

Groose side-eyed him. “Because he was blind?”

Ghirahim tossed the pumpkin back. Groose almost missed it, diving low to retrieve it. “Of course not. Because he was just a child.”

“And?”

“And it didn't seem fair to hurt a child.” Ghirahim winced at how hypocritical he was sounding, but continued talking anyway. “I watched him, you know. I watched him a lot, walking around the Surface so innocent and carefree. I told myself it was to make sure he was alright—but then I realized it was for a different reason.”

Groose let the pumpkin fall out his hands and onto the ground. It didn't break open, just rolled a little bit before stopping. “Answer my original question: what made you realize you loved him?”

“I don't remember.”

“Really?” Groose scoffed. “I remember when I fell in love with Zelda. She set her harp in my hands and taught me how to play a note. The sun was just setting. She looked so pretty, and she spoke in almost a whisper. We were, like, in a dream or something. It was insane.”

Ghirahim walked over to the edge of the island, sitting down and letting his legs dangle down into the sky. “That's a pretty picture,” he said after a moment. “But I don't know when I first fell in love with Link. Sorry.”

Groose plopped down beside him. He sat with the ease only someone who spent his entire life on a floating island could muster. Even though Ghirahim had been up to Skyloft long enough now for the heights not to be completely terrifying, the idea of falling still sent shivers up his spine.

The sky was darkening, a thousand stars sprinkling the sky. Wherever Link was, Ghirahim hoped he could see this beautiful night; Ghirahim had always taken the stars for granted before, but now they were a luxury.

But could Link even see them? How good were his eyes, really? Ghirahim had never really asked him. Maybe he should have—not everything was about their love, after all.

And now Link would never have the words to tell him. Maybe not ever again.

“I fell in love with Link a thousand years ago,” Ghirahim said eventually. It was like somebody else said those words—somebody who actually knew what they were saying. “There was a boy with golden hair in my village. Hylia chose his spirit for the Triforce of Courage because she was jealous of my feelings for him. It all happened shortly before my father returned and Hylia transformed into an enemy.”

“That wasn't Link,” Groose gently reminded him. The night was so peaceful, so quiet. “Just like Zelda isn't Hylia. She tells me a lot of her memories—about you and Demise and all that. But she isn't Hylia, and it would do her best to separate the memories in her mind.”

Ghirahim slipped off his sandal, letting it dangle into the clouds. Maybe he should just let it fall.

Groose shifted closer to Ghirahim, and it made Ghirahim realize how lucky he was to have Groose all of a sudden. How lucky he was to have a friend.

“Link's going to come back, you know,” Groose said, gently nudging Ghirahim's shoulder. “Tomorrow's the Wing Ceremony, and he can't miss that.”

Ghirahim let his sandal fall through the clouds, watching it fall until the dark of the night consumed it.

“I hope you're right,” Ghirahim said. “I don't know how much longer I can go on without him. Link is my other half—without him, I don't know who I am anymore. I don't even know why I love him; I just do.”

Chapter Text

Zelda didn't know what to think. She went to answer the knocks on her door, prepared to chew out Groose for interrupting her studies yet again.

But it wasn't Groose. It was a man. And his hair was long and flowers trailed from his body like some monster and his clothes were littered with diamonds and—

This man was Link. And he was alive. And that was more than Zelda could take. There had been so much going on lately, everyone's emotions had been so high, and now Link was here like it had all been no big deal.

She immediately inspected him for injury. Besides the overwhelming volume of flora, he looked no worse for wear—but some of the darkness pervading his features had faded away, and his grin wasn't exactly forced.

Link offered her a hug and she took it even though his clothes were absolutely filthy and his skin was sweaty and the vines were rough and gross and she had so many questions that were more important than any hug would ever be.

But she took it. Because it was Link. And because she knew he would hold her for a long time before letting go and would never think of pushing her away before she was ready, because that was just the kind of person he was.

“I'm so happy,” Zelda said, voice muffled against his shirt. She breathed in the strangely pleasant mixture of flowers and sweat, of woods and musk.

She pulled away, holding onto his arms. The tears were coming, and she struggled to hold them back. Link, however, didn't pretend not to notice them—he kissed each tear away, lips ghosting over each of her cheeks.

Memories arose in her. Hylia's memories. When she was first acquainted with the memories of her past life, she had immediately known that she and Link were meant for each other.

But the way Link kissed her—it wasn't romantic. And the memory of Hylia kissing him in the same way; that wasn't romantic either.

Link stopped kissing her, looking at her with his bright, ruined eyes. There were questions in them—and why shouldn't there be?

“Have you told the others you've returned?” Zelda asked, working to reign in her emotions—there were so many competing memories in her head that she didn't know how to feel about anything anymore.

Link shook his head.

“Why wouldn't you?” Zelda sighed at her tone—she hadn't meant to sound so angry. “It's been miserable without you. And what about Ghirahim?”

Link winced at Ghirahim's name. He motioned to himself, as if his appearance explained everything.

“Oh? I don't think Ghirahim cares about how you look.” Zelda laughed a little, picking away a white flower. It shimmered away immediately—and the memory of Hylia doing the same thing filled her. But unlike Hylia's hands, the flowers of the silent realm wouldn't stay alive in hers.

It was gone forever, and Zelda had no power to do anything with it. The silent realms were outside of her control, and for once, she was okay with that.

The silence stretched between them the longer Zelda stared down at her empty hands. Zelda didn't know what to say, so she started picking away more flowers instead, and with each disappearance, she felt more like herself. More like the Zelda she used to be.

They were out in the hallway—anybody could have walked out and noticed them, could have noticed the otherworldly flowers being plucked from Link's body—but she didn't really care.

Link was more important than the fear of someone else's judgment. And Link was more important than her own foolish fantasies.

Once the majority of the flowers were gone, only the vines were left trailing from his skin and poking out of his clothing, Zelda took his wrists and pulled him into her bedroom. She closed the door behind them.

And she didn't expect it when Link kissed her. Passionately, with his hands tangling in her hair and his body pushing her up against the door. The doorknob dug into her back, and Link's lips were so soft, so warm—

She pushed him away, and Link blinked at her, surprised. He could have been surprised at her pushing him away or he could have been surprised at himself—Zelda didn't really know and she didn't really care.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, and Link bit his lip in pain as it tugged at the vines. They encircled his entire body; dark green swathes of them. The shirt wouldn't pull up past his ribcage.

Link's skin was very hot, too, and the wound was open again. That was the source of the vines and the flowers; Faron's barter obviously hadn't been enough to keep the hero alive.

Perhaps he had kissed her feverishly. Or perhaps it was because Link had known—whether he only liked boys or not—that they had a destiny together and it had been foretold a thousand years ago. Perhaps he felt it, too, the life he had destroyed.

Or perhaps he knew that she didn't want to kiss him and she didn't want to be with him—not if it meant sacrificing such a large part of what made Link who he was. Not if it meant giving up what he really wanted—and what he wanted wasn't Hyrule and it wasn't Princess Zelda.

There were so many other versions of themselves that were gone. Different lifetimes and events that would never happen; and now the Hyrule she always dreamed of—that wouldn't happen, either.

Link just wanted to have his happy ending. And what right did Zelda have to keep him away from that any longer?

Zelda knew this now. She knew this while her fingers traced the rough, thick vines and soft flowers that were springing up in the place of the ones Zelda had plucked away. She knew this by the heat emanating from the wound Link should have never endured; she knew this by everything.

Link looked at her with such sorrow. He knew what she had to do, and it wouldn't be easy.

She led him over to her bed and laid him down on the mattress. Zelda smoothed down his hair before doing it—

She reached into the wound, where the Triforce had once dwelt. deep within Link, in his very spirit—all of Link's suffering, all of his pain, was it really worth it?

Everything Link had ever been through—it was all so important. All of the sad things, all of the bad things, they were important, too.

Zelda grabbed onto the source of the vines and pulled. Link couldn't have screamed if he wanted to. Zelda pulled and the vines began to fade, the agony on Link's face apparent with every touch Zelda had to force herself to make.

She pulled out of the source of the roots, and all of the vines retracted. All that was leftover were their ghosts, the designs that would litter Link's body forever.

And in her hands was the original white flower, the one Link had picked up in the first silent realm so long ago.

The wound sealed over. All of the flowers and vines were gone, as if they had never existed. Zelda touched the patterns on his skin, the swirling green and white.

Link reached out for the flower, and she allowed him to have it. It was his tie to the silent realm, after all—

The flower shimmered away and died—and Link closed his eyes, exhausted from all of this. He fell asleep, and Zelda kissed both of his cheeks.

The Wing Ceremony was tomorrow. One year ago today, Link had knocked on her bedroom door complaining of nightmares, and she hadn't believed him.

One year later, and she still couldn't believe him. The nightmares he had faced—all that he had been through—it was beyond her realm of understanding.

Zelda walked over to her desk, getting her harp out of the drawer. She played through all of the songs in her repertoire late into the night, singing all of the songs in a language that would soon be lost to time.

One year.

That was all.

And Link still didn't love her, not in that way.

And that was okay.

Chapter Text

“This will be the last time you see me,” Hylia said. “Our time together has ended. Isn't that sad?”

Link tested his words, but he still couldn't speak. They were sitting in Zelda's bedroom, and Hylia slowly stood up. She walked over to Zelda's desk and picked up her diary, flipping through it.

“Faron still has your words,” Hylia said with distaste. “Zelda cured you of the silent realms, which is probably a good thing. Without that connection, the magic of the silent realms can no longer hurt you. Someday, however, you will take my place here.”

Link didn't really know how to respond to that, so he just watched her flip through the diary, wondering what Zelda had written about, what words were about him.

“I wonder when you will choose another hero and who it will be? At least do a better job than I did with Zelda; that girl is a mess.” Hylia closed the diary, holding it close to her chest. “You'll be normal for awhile.”

Link wasn't so sure about that.

“You don't have to give me that look!” Hylia laughed, tossing the diary to him. He didn't catch it, letting it hit the floor. “You'll never be normal. But you'll have the chance to be happy.”

Link knew what was coming next. And sure enough, Hylia walked over to him, pressing her lips to his.

“True happiness is beautiful,” she said when the kiss was over, laughing into his mouth, “and I know you deserve it. And it will be away from me, away from the silent realms. Of course you'll always have reminders of these painful places—the entirety of your body is patterned with the memories of all that you have done for this world.”

The silent realm changed. They were standing in the kitchen of Link's childhood home.

Hylia stepped away, the environment alive and colorful. She began to twirl, white skirts trailing around her ankles and bare feet. “Do you remember when you asked for a crimson Loftwing?”

Link didn't have to respond. The scene changed. They were on the island that Link had split his head open; the rain beat down, just as terrible as in his memory, but Link couldn't feel it. It was all an illusion, after all; these silent realms did not truly exist.

“I didn't realize what would happen when I sent the Loftwing to you.” Hylia twirled to a stop. “I would like to apologize for that, but I know an apology would never do.”

The scene changed. The Wing Ceremony—Loftwings flying all around them, soaring in the sky.

And for the first time, Link didn't care that he would never become a knight. He didn't care that he was different, that he would never be normal.

Hylia kissed him one last time, and Link didn't think he would ever forget the overwhelming feeling of her lips on his own.

*

“Oh, you're awake.” Zelda flicked Link in the forehead. “The Wing Ceremony starts in a few hours, shouldn't you get ready?”

Link barely had his eyes open and Zelda was already piling clothes and soap and a towel on top of his chest. He sat up and it all fell to the floor. Zelda swooped to pick up all of the items yet again, undeterred by Link's exhaustion.

“I'm going to make you so handsome, Ghirahim won't even recognize you!” Zelda said happily. “Nobody's in the Academy—everyone's gathering for the Wing Ceremony already, so don't worry about anybody seeing you until you're ready.”

Link was still yawning when Zelda booted him out of her room and into the bathroom. He spent the next hour, rather bleary-eyed, rubbing off more than his fair share of dirt and sweat.

Once Link was sparkling clean he returned to Zelda's room for inspection. He smelled like flowers (not the sickening kind that grew from his skin) and was wearing the clothes Zelda had picked out for him. They were Skyloftian traditional—the crest of Hylia embroidered around the collar of a sky blue shirt.

Link pushed up his sleeves, earning a raised eyebrow from Zelda.

“I suppose it isn't so bad for everyone to see those tattoos; but do you want to be even more of an outcast than you already are?”

Her words stung a little, but honestly, Link didn't really care what other people thought anymore.

And the longer he stood there, being reviewed by Zelda, the more he wanted to be with Ghirahim.

There was some fear. Ghirahim could have easily found someone else—it had been a month, after all, and Ghirahim wasn't exactly unattractive. Anybody would want to be with him, anybody could have easily stolen him from Link in all this time.

But Link remembered what they've said to each other. He remembered everything.

“Snap out of it!” Zelda flicked him on the forehead—again. Link would have to stop her from doing that someday, but right now it only reminded him of their childhood together, the ridiculous number of times she had to snap him out of a daydream. “You'll see Ghirahim soon. First, you get a haircut. Your hair is way too long to be socially acceptable.”

Link wanted to retort that he hadn't had time to cut his hair in over a year, but he obviously couldn't. And even if he could have said it, it wouldn't have mattered. Zelda already had the scissors out, snipping them in the air.

She sat him down at her desk and he closed his eyes, remembering all of the times she had cut his hair before.

Did Link really want those times back? No, he didn't, not anymore. For the longest time he thought he did; but he was happier like this, happier with all of his accomplishments, even all of the sad things.

Link allowed himself to relax. He thought about Machi mostly, who he'd had to say goodbye to after leaving the past. Hopefully he would see all of the Kikwis again; he had enjoyed their time together.

“Done!” Zelda exclaimed, ruffling his hair. She handed him a hand mirror, and he tried to rub the blurriness out of his eyes but to no avail. His eyes were always blurry. “What do you think?”

Link shrugged.

Zelda snatched the mirror out of his hand. “It's the same as I've always done it. Oddly enough, it looks even more golden when its shorter; so let me just say what you're already thinking—good job, Princess Zelda!”

Link shrugged again, and Zelda whacked his head with the mirror, cracking it down the center.

“Now look what you made me do!” Zelda looked at the crack sadly, setting it down on her desk. “Some people think that's bad luck. Do you?”

Link shook his head, standing up from the desk. He wanted to see Ghirahim so badly—it was more of a need than a want now.

“You're probably ready to see Ghirahim, huh?” Zelda added another crack to the mirror, whacking it against the side of her desk. Link winced; Zelda was always too unpredictable for his liking. “I bet he's off with Groose somewhere. They're two peas in a pod these days.”

Link headed for the door, but Zelda wasn't finished talking.

“Wait,” she said, something in her voice making him do just that. “Please know that my love for you goes beyond what I'm about to say… I know that your plans are different from mine, but there will be a Hyrule someday. Skyloft won't be forever; it was never meant to be.”

Link didn't give her a response.

He was already gone.

*

The Wing Ceremony was so boring. Five young, hopeful children sat in a circle hanging onto Gaepora's every word like he wad the legendary hero himself.

Ghirahim wasn't really sure what was so cool about this. They all have to chase after some golden Loftwing or something like that; it was like an elaborate game of tag. In what way did that prove some kid was worthy of becoming a knight?

“Sure does bring me back,” Groose began grandly. He grinned at the young hopefuls, standing beside Gaepora proudly. The sunlight hitting the bright yellow of his tunic hurt Ghirahim's eyes. “One year ago today I won the Wing Ceremony and was promoted to knighthood. And now, that will happen to one of you.”

The kids cheered, whooped, and hollered. One of them, Fledge, did not cheer; he looked unhappy to be there. Forced, even.

Ghirahim could relate.

But he did feel honored to be so close to the main event—most people were stuck filling the plaza, craning their necks to see the participants. Instead he was right up near the Statue of the Goddess, watching the main action.

Link should be in Groose's place. The bitterness clawed up Ghirahim's throat, and it he knew it was wrong of him to think that way, but he also knew it was true. If he hadn't hurt Link, he would be in Groose's place. He'd be standing proudly by Zelda's side, describing the profound impact becoming a knight had placed on him.

But instead Link wasn't here. And Ghirahim was alone, watching Groose talk about how important being a knight was for him.

A few minutes later, the participants jumped off the diving platform and set off, their colorful Loftwings streaming through the sky like party banners.

Karane was dressed up like Hylia but was a poor imitation. She looked happy enough, standing beside Pipit with a cheap harp in her hands. Poor Pipit had both a nasty black eye and a thick bandage on his broken nose; whether or not Karane knew why he had gotten them was a mystery, but she definitely knew Ghirahim had done it.

The hatred in her eyes was more than enough to attest to that fact.

Ghirahim leaned back so he didn't have to look at anything but the sky. He could no longer see the Loftwings at all, just huge, fluffy clouds and blue sky. Groose and Gaepora laughed about this, that, and everything, and Ghirahim envied Groose's easygoing approach to life.

And Zelda, Ghirahim realized, was noticeably absent. Maybe the memory of Ghirahim ripping her from the sky kept her from enjoying the day.

It was while he was thinking this that a man flopped down beside him, grinning lazily. There was not enough time to process this, not enough time to prepare for Link to be right next to him, smelling like flowers and looking no worse for wear.

The grin didn't last. It faded, turning into a frown.

Link crawled onto Ghirahim's lap, laying his head on his shoulder. And Ghirahim didn't say anything, even though there were so many things to say. He just held Link close, just breathed him in.

Ghirahim didn't say anything, just comforted Link, even though he didn't know what he was comforting him for. He felt fine. He was warm, but not too warm. He was crying, yeah, but that wasn't new. Link had always been a crier—

How could he just return like that? One minute Ghirahim thought Link was gone forever, and the next he was crying on his shoulder, alive and real and more than anything—more than enough.

There was never one moment Ghirahim fell in love with Link. Maybe it was when they first met, Link playing around with his words and convincing him he was somebody other than a blind boy from the sky. Maybe it was the first time they kissed, or maybe it was when Ghirahim told him that every soul needed a temple.

Or maybe it was now, with the blue sky above them and Link returning like he had never left.

Fledge darted down from the sky triumphantly, wielding the golden statue that announced his knighthood. Everyone cheered, Groose enveloping Fledge in a hug and spinning him around and around, and Karane began to play her inexperienced version of the Ballad of the Goddess.

Link began to kiss Ghirahim's cheek, trailing down his neck. And yeah, maybe some good things were happening after all.

Everything seemed better when they were together, side by side and ready to take on the world.

Chapter Text

Lake Floria was beautiful, as always. Zelda spoke of calling it Lake Hylia, but that didn't seem quite right—how could she change the name of something that had already been named for thousands of years?

Lake Floria—a name chosen by the goddesses, thus a name that should be kept intact.

At least, that was what Link thought. But he also thought there shouldn't be a Hyrule; Zelda obviously didn't feel the same way, and whatever that meant for the world was yet to be determined.

Link stood patiently, waiting for Faron to appear. Ghirahim held his hand, a strong pillar of support. They had only left the Wing Ceremony moments ago but it felt like so much longer. The reunion was short lived because Link wanted his voice back already—he wanted to talk to Ghirahim about everything, wanted to tell him about everything he had learned.

Faron rose up from the water with a tremendous splash. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the harsh sunlight and for her to notice Link and Ghirahim standing there. She took particular care to stare at Link, looking at him quizzically. Her blue scales shone brilliantly in the sun, her body glistening with water.

“What does the hero have need of?” she asked. “I have already helped him once.”

“His voice,” Ghirahim said shortly. “You promised him the Tadtones would have it when he was ready.”

“Did I?” She gave Ghirahim a turn at the scrutiny. She obviously didn't like what she saw, for she quickly turned back to Link. “I suppose the poor boy looks better than he did. And now he now realizes the need for a future hero?”

Link nodded, even though he still didn't completely realize that. It seemed so wrong to him; why make more people suffer for the sake of what is good?

“But you're a smart boy,” Faron went on, “and the cycle will be on your own terms. Am I correct?”

Link nodded again, giving Ghirahim a foolish grin. He knew it was foolish because even if the cycle was on his terms, it still wasn't right. But he'd been grinning ever since he'd stopped crying; he still didn't really know why. But the change in emotion wasn't exactly unwelcome.

Maybe it was because he was holding hands with Ghirahim, the man he loved more than anybody or anything in the entire world.

Yeah, that could easily be the reason why.

“It isn't that easy to get your voice back,” Faron said, effectively taking Link's smile away from him. “Your voice won't return all at once; it'll take quite sometime. And my Tadtones themselves are reluctant to give up your lovely voice. They've grown rather attached to it.”

Link stepped away from Ghirahim, bowing to the grand dragon. Maybe a little respect was what she needed; or maybe she never needed anything at all.

Grand deities were difficult to comprehend, and it was even more difficult for Link to understand that someday he would take his place beside them.

“You act as though you are ready,” Faron said, “so I suppose I have no choice.”

Faron picked Link up with her claw, lifting him into the air. She looked at him steadily, face proud and old. Her mouth was a thin line; she obviously wasn't happy about this either. But it had to be done one way or the other.

Link understood that. He always had. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

The Tadtones spread all around him, different colors and shapes. Link could not compare them to anything because he had never seen what he could compare them to.

The Tadtones began to sing with Link's voice, with his words, and they shot into his mouth, one after another. He struggled as their slimy bodies pushed his lips open and squirmed their way over his tongue, slithering down his throat.

There were so many of them that Link had trouble breathing. Each of them continued to sing, his own voice echoing throughout his body without his permission—it was unsettling, a little too strange even for him and all that he had experienced up to this point.

Slime coated his mouth and his insides squirmed with the sheer number of Tadtones within him. He had never felt so full in life, and there was still another round of Tadtones to go. They seemed to be laughing at him, swimming around in the air and hovering close.

The second round entered in much the same way; they were colorful blurs and slimed through his mouth before slipping their way down. But not all of them would fit in his stomach, so quite a few of the Tadtones were left clinging to the walls of his throat, making him want to gag.

“Disgusting, aren't they?” Faron said proudly. She waited until Link didn't look as queasy before setting him back down. Ghirahim immediately rushed over, making sure he was okay. “It'll take them awhile to adjust. You may find that after a month of silence you do not wish to speak as often as you used to; or maybe you will find yourself to be the exact opposite.”

Link began to cough wetly, the Tadtones pushing at his stomach and… everywhere. He could feel them everywhere, singing in his voice and touching every part of his body that could be touched from the inside.

“Will he be in a lot of pain?” Ghirahim asked nervously, patting Link's back as he rocked back and forth. “How long will he be like this?”

“Who knows? Maybe weeks? And he may hurl a few times.” Faron laughed wickedly. “Nobody ever said that Tadtones had to be delicious.”

At the sound of the word “delicious,” Link hurled, colorful slime slipping out of his mouth and onto the stone. He moaned soundlessly, regretting everything that had led him to his point.

“Go home!” Faron splashed down into Lake Floria as the rainbow of slime oozed down into the water, but her voice still echoed up into the air. “Do away from here! I will not have a human contaminating my lake!”

Link grappled for Ghirahim's hand weakly, the Triforce burning up his flesh, the colorful slime still spilling out of his mouth, and in a flash, they were gone, back into the safety of the Academy, where Link could get sick without angering water dragons.

And where maybe, just maybe, he would finally get to have his happy ending.

Chapter Text

Link missed Hylia. The next hero would never know her, not as intimately as he had.

The minutes passed. Link wished he hadn't woken up so early, but at least he had Ghirahim to wake up to. He had missed Ghirahim most of all—through all of this—and just having him so close was more than Link could have ever asked for.

He couldn't fall back asleep, so he was forced to think and become victim to his own thoughts. There really wasn't anything else he could do—he wasn't about to crawl out of Ghirahim's arms and do something else—so he was forced to think about Hylia's apology for his parents. He thought about all of the apologies; what they meant and why they mattered. And he thought about his words.

He probably wouldn't speak as often. It was nice to sit in silence, just listening to other people talk. It was nice, but Link still had so much to say. It hurt not being able to tell Ghirahim he loved him, hurt that he couldn't tell Zelda why he had kissed her.

It all hurt. But if Link had learned anything throughout this journey, it was that pain and love often happen in equal measures.

Link decided to kiss Ghirahim awake; he was tired of waiting, tired of being alone. And Ghirahim had done the same to Link once before, early on in their time together. And wasn't it nice to do that? It was a way to show Ghirahim that he cared, a way to show that he needed him, even after being away from him for so long.

Not to mention, kissing someone awake was lovely. And Ghirahim was not slow to respond, immediately sighing and welcoming each and every kiss.

They kissed for a long time, until the morning finally dawned and sunlight spilled into the room. And there was nobody in the world Link could love like this; he could kiss a thousand people, but it would never feel like this.

And if Link had learned anything throughout this journey, it was that love was everything. Love was all.

Love was the most beautiful thing in the world. Without it, there was nothing but darkness.

*

Ghirahim was no longer a demon. It was hard for him to grapple with that fact when Link was in such bad shape.

But he would always be in bad shape. That was fact. Neither of them would ever be normal, never be anything other than what they had become.

And that was okay.

“Link!” Groose screamed, wrapping his burly arms around Link's middle and twirling him around. Link looked ready to be sick again, and Ghirahim wished they had thought to bring a bucket. “I've missed you so much!”

Once Link was back on solid ground and looked less likely to be sick, Ghirahim allowed himself to enjoy this scene, these people. He allowed himself to enjoy this rare moment of happiness.

Even though it was true that Ghirahim had never been to a dance before, he was absolutely positive this was the best dance that had ever taken place in Skyloft. Kina was singing traditional songs with a live band backing her up, and everyone was just in good spirits, dressed in their finest.

And Link, of course, looked more handsome than anybody else there. He didn't dress up in anything too fancy, just an all black ensemble, because apparently dressing up wasn't his thing, But that was okay—more than okay. It was perfect.

Link was perfect.

After awhile, other people came up to speak to Link and Groose. Karane and Fledge and other names Ghirahim didn't know, names that he probably should know, considering he planned on living in Skyloft for the rest of his life.

Ghirahim just watched. And he was happy to watch the scene unfold, happy to be a part of this, even if he was swept to the sidelines.

But it didn't take long for Link to step away from his friends, returning to where Ghirahim sat alone at one of the tables. Fledge asked who Ghirahim was and Groose explained, but Ghirahim didn't really care to focus on the explanation.

He focused on Link instead. Focused on the glint of his silver earrings and the vines skimming his collarbones. Focused as Link sat down on his lap, closing his eyes and resting his head on Ghirahim's chest.

Ghirahim was happy to hold him, happy to know that he was Link's comfort when everything was too overwhelming and too much.

“Does your stomach still hurt?”

Link shook his head. Ghirahim noticed Pipit staring at them across the room. He had wandered over to Karane, leading her over to the dance floor. But every few seconds, he gave Ghirahim and Link a harsh glare.

“What's wrong, darling?” Ghirahim asked, rubbing his back. “Do you need to go back to the Academy?”

Link shook his head again, and Ghirahim figured that was all he was going to get.

The night was beautiful, dark and with a thousand stars shining down on them. Lanterns lit up the plaza, giving everything a warm glow. Even some Loftwings wandered down, joining in on the festivities.

The Statue of the Goddess smiled down at them. And for once, Ghirahim didn't really mind.

Groose asked Zelda to dance and she complied. Ghirahim was happy for them. Maybe they would find their happy ending, too.

A few songs came and went. Link never lifted his head from Ghirahim's chest. If anything, he snuggled closer, and Ghirahim was so thankful to have Link, so thankful to have him here again.

The next song was the Ballad of the Goddess. The memories were overwhelming. The song was simple, but it meant so much. It was both the beginning and the ending of Link's journey; it comprised its entirety.

Ghirahim began to sing the words of the song in its original language. Link's ears pricked. Ghirahim played with one of Link's earrings, twirling it around carelessly.

When the song ended, and Ghirahim stopped singing, Link finally lifted his face away. His eyes were jittery and he was rapidly blinking away tears.

Ghirahim reached up to touch Link's eyelids, to feel his eyes jump around and skitter. It must have been miserable for him; it must have been terrible.

Ghirahim then moved to touch Link's chest, feeling his heartbeat, then touched the patterns littering Link's wrist, the Triforce marked on his hand.

And then Ghirahim touched Link's neck, ghosting the scar that would always be there. It may fade eventually, but the memory would always be there, burned deep into Link's very being.

“Ghirahim,” Link said softly, barely above a whisper. And Ghirahim would have missed it if his hand wasn't pressed to Link's neck, would have missed it if it had been anyone else saying his name. “I'm ready to give you my everything—both my heart and my soul.”