Chapter Text
A cry splits the otherwise calm night air. It starts as a high shriek, then drops into a wet snarl. Feral and animalistic, it is not a sound anything other than a beast could make. Another call rises to meet the sound, much the same. Then more, and more, echoing between crowded, twisted trees. Dry leaves clinging to wilting branches shudder with the noise. The forest rustles uneasily.
Link jolts from his place high in the gnarled branches of a withering tree. The sound had been much too close for comfort. He stares down at the barren ground below his hiding spot, ears perked for more sound. He doesn’t need to strain to find it. He can hear multitudinous, heavy footsteps carelessly kicking gravel and crushing crisp leaves. A low muttering reaches his ears under the shrieks and cries, starting low, but quickly rising in intensity like an earthquake’s rumble.
Snatches of guttural growling melt together into a calamitous noise. They demand destruction and cry for blood. Link shivers. He cannot stay here. They have found him once again.
Shimmying down from the tree, he is careful not to make noise as his feet hit the earth. Not even dust rises under the worn soles of his boots. Just because the bests are noisy, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t hear him if he were careless. He moves quickly between the trees, keeping his steps light and breaths quiet. He dodges under reaching branches and twisting tree roots, practiced and quick. He has been running like this for years. At least this time he has forewarning. He takes full advantage.
His stealth and speed aren’t enough. He turns around a tree like lightning, hopping over a fallen, mushroom-eaten log, and comes face to face with a creature he has never seen before. It looks like a bipedal lizard dressed in gleaming armor. It is long and lithe with black scales and glowing red eyes like embers. Link freezes, staring at the creature that is easily twice his size. It is like a shadow, an inky blotch among the gnarled twisting trunks, pinning him down with its red stare.
Link’s stomach twists. His hand reaches for the sword swung across his back. The lizard, however, merely tilts its head. Then, the mouth set under its long muzzle stretches into a smile, revealing rows of cluttered, razor-sharp teeth.
It doesn’t speak, but Link can hear its intentions loud and clear. “Found you,” its smile says.
Link pulls his sword, but reels back as the space between himself and the beast bends. Thin air melts and twists into bruised purple and black, dripping to the ground like candle wax. It opens three voids in the center of the forest, blacker than the night around them. Link stares, disbelieving into the endless, warped, empty space dug into thin air. Then he pales when he sees the first clawed footstep out from the either threatening to spill past its bruised borders. Roars and growls flow from the voids, joining the cacophony in the distance. Link sheaths his sword. He cannot fight this many enemies with more on the way.
He turns tail and runs, darting to the left past the portals, but not towards the hoard already following him. At his retreat, the new creatures from the portals charge, letting out terrifying, delighted cries at the prospect of a chase.
Link ignores them, heart pounding in his chest as he vaults another fallen tree and splashes sloppily through a pool of standing water. All attempts at stealth are thrown away in exchange for speed. His feet loudly pound the ground, kicking up clouds of dust and forest detritus. The beasts are louder than him still. He can hear them crowing and laughing with sick joy as they run him down.
He makes a sharp turn, grabbing a low-hanging branch with the intention of hoisting himself into a tree. Then the black lizard appears as if from nowhere. It jumps, kicking him square in the chest. Link coughs as he hits the ground hard. He lays there, stunned. The lizard glares at him for a moment longer, then darts away into the trees.
The beasts are laughing now, jeering. They draw close enough that Link can see drool leaking from their eager grins. He watches as they raise their weapons. He can see them on all sides, staring at him with hungry eyes. Their teeth glint in the dim light of the moon. Link sucks in a breath and rolls to his feet. He takes off at a sprint and barely misses the sharp tips of swords and claws rending the earth where he once laid.
He steadies his panicked gait, pushing himself forward despite the pounding of his heart and the thickness of the air in his lungs. He manages to steal ahead of the hoard as they fight each other for him. He breathes a sigh of relief, still sprinting, as their cries grow distant.
Then an arrow pierces the darkness, burying itself into the meat of his shoulder. It yanks him out of motion and roughly to his knees for a spare moment. He clutches the wound with a hiss. Pain blooms as blood wells around the arrowhead. A triumphant cry sounds from deeper within the trees. It is enough to jar Link into motion again.
With the scent of his blood in the air, the noise from the monsters intensifies. The hoard will be pinpointed on him now. He stumbles, clutching his shoulder, barely fast enough to duck under another arrow sailing through the trees to strike him. The beasts are rapidly gaining on him now. He can tell from the quality of their cries. Their laughter has turned eager and hungry. Panic fills Link’s chest and he forces his legs to pump, weaving in between the trees.
It takes what feels like hours of running, dodging, and weaving, but eventually, the noise of the hoard fades again. As soon as he can no longer hear them, he shoots out of the forest and into a wide, dirt field. It is not the best place to be, open on all sides aside from a tall and crumbling cliff face. It is better than the choking, dizzying maze of the forest.
Link takes another step, but falls to his knees as his legs shake from fatigue or blood loss. He clutches his arm, trying to stop the blood leaking out around the shaft of the arrow. Luckily it is acting as a cork, slowing the flow and keeping him from leaving a trail through the woods. His ears twitch as they catch the sound of the hoard approaching. Even with no trail, he knows they can catch the scent of his blood on the wind. He turns his attention to the cliff face, dotted with cave mouths and holey like a worn sock. If he can just make it there, he can conceal himself in the dark until the bleeding is staunched.
Forcing himself to his feet, he runs for the caves, eyes set on a smaller one slightly higher than ground level. He could easily climb inside ad get himself out of the pleasant, but damning breeze wafting the coppery tang of his blood towards the forest. His run is unsteady, more of a lurching stumble than anything. Exhaustion and pain weigh him down. His heartbeat pounds persistently against his eardrums. He hears the whoosh of his blood, louder than his own breath as his vision narrows down to his destination.
He makes it to the mouth of the cave just as the first few monsters break through the treeline. Breathing in ragged, sawing pants, he scurries quickly into the cave. He is almost certain they have spotted him, but with legs like jelly and blood running liberally down his arm, he hopes desperately for the opposite.
He huddles back against the stone walls, pulling his sword from its sheath and holding it in front of himself. He can hear the sounds of the monsters outside in the field, pounding feet, heavy breathing, snorting, and snarling. Some of them mutter to themselves about his blood in their garbled version of Hylian. Their tongues lash out at the tang of it in the air. He grips his sword tighter, watching as the source of it dribbles down his wrist and spots the ground at his feet. The sounds of monsters only grow closer, echoing into the cave. He swallows. Had he failed? Was this the end?
Tingling spreads across his left hand. As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, the mark of the Triforce begins to glow bright enough to spill out from under his thick, leather glove. It makes the blood on his hands glitter gold and black, and likely illuminates the cave enough to be seen from the outside.
He shuffles further back until the cave is so narrow and low that he has to kneel. He presses his back to the rough cave wall, feeling rocks dig into his skin. In no time, a hulking shadow pauses by the cave opening. It blocks the light of the moon for a split second before it passes. Then it returns with a questioning snort.
It shouts into the cave, deep, gravelly, and elated. The weak light of the moon vanishes as it blocks the cave's mouth with its girth. It gargles something wordless, but clearly excited as it scrambles inside. The cave shudders. Rocks break away against its massive shoulders and pelt the ground in its wake. More exclamations follow, a chorus of “Here! Here! Here!” bouncing off the walls of the cave to the rhythm of Link’s pounding heart.
The Triforce continues to glow, the damning light almost blinding in the complete dark. Link braces himself, certain that not even the gods could reach him in such a remote and dark hole. He meets the yellow, cloudy eyes of his pursuer, the face of his death with its teeth white and flat under a pig’s snout. It grins widely at him. Link steels himself and points his sword resolutely forward. Readying for the last fight of his life, he squeezes his eyes shut.
He sends a prayer of apology to the princesses, and the people of Hyrule for his failure. He can only hope that someone will be strong enough to stand against Ganon resurrected with his blood. He cannot help it as he sags against the wall. The Triforce burns on his hand and Ganon will have it. Link could not have failed more.
Then the wall at his back disappears, and he is dumped into nothingness, dropping his sword with a yelp. The monster roars at him, but the sound is cut off abruptly as the cave lurches. Link snaps his eyes open in time to watch as the world around him darkens to black and then lightens gradually to a soft, indigo blue. A cloudy, nighttime sky pains itself into existence before his eyes. Grass reaches up to catch him as his back hits solid ground. It tickles the bare skin of his neck and pointed ears. Rain patters in light, col droplets on his face. Link lays there and fights or breath through his shock.
The glow on his hand fades. Link swallows and finds the strength to sit up. He has to blink a few times to clear the shimmering spots invading his vision. When they dissipate, he finds himself in another field, this one wide and lush with tall, green grass. The rain that hits his skin is gentle, the air around him moist and heavy with the refreshing scent of wet earth. Thunder rumbles as a cool breeze rustles his hair.
He turns his head to see the rest of the field. In the distance, there is a small house set on a hill. It is surrounded by a multitude of trees heavy with red fruit. Even farther still, a castle stands, proud and tall. The field around him is calm and quiet aside from the patter of rain against the ground. The monsters pursuing him earlier are nowhere to be seen.
Link stares.
He only has a bare moment to puzzle over his location when someone shouts, “Look out!” A strong gust of wind follows them, bowling Link over into the grass again. They land a few paces away, sliding and then falling on their rear with a colorful curse.
Link pops his head out of the grass again. He quickly gathers his sword and jogs a short distance to check on them. He is certain that hitting the ground at such speed had to have hurt. A shaggy blonde head shoots up soon after Link has gotten to his feet. It is a young man with messy bangs, one side dyed a faded pink. His gaze is as sharp as his pointed ears. He turns a positively poisonous glare on Link as he approaches. “What the hell was that?!” he snaps, standing abruptly. He is taller than Link by about half a head. His bare knees under his long tunic are scraped and bleeding. Link winces.
I-I’m sorry,” Link stutters, flinching at the hoarseness in his voice. It has been a week at least since he last spoke to someone.
“I could have kicked your head off and all you have to say for yourself is sorry?!” the other man says, throwing his hands in the air. His fingers are laden with golden bands and jewels, and Link can see at least one fine, gold chain looped around his throat. His under-tunic is made of thick fabric in a deep green with an over-tunic in a contrasting rich red. The red tunic is beautifully embroidered around the edges with gold thread. Link wonders if this is a noble.
The man leans down and pulls a blue cap from the grass, uselessly knocking mud off of it.
“What are you even doing out here at night?!” the man continues to rant. It doesn’t seem like a question he wants to be answered, especially when he continues without waiting for one, “Don’t you know its dangero-”
He pauses, his eyes widening. Link shrinks back, worried about being recognized. However, the man’s eyes aren’t trained on Link’s face, but rather on his right shoulder. “Woah,” he says, “Okay. I get why you were laying in the grass.” His voice is softer now, more concerned than angry.
He tucks his hat into his belt before marching over to Link. Link stumbles away from him. His heart is pounding in his chest again, anxiety churning his gut.
“Hey,” the man says softly. He lifts his hands up to show that he isn’t armed. He is though; Link can see the sword strapped to his belt and the bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to look at your shoulder.”
“I’m fine,” Link says, turning his shoulder away from the man’s gaze. The blood still flows down his arm, soaking into his sleeve and hitting the ground in fat droplets with the rain. Even if he lost the previous monsters, it is only a matter of time until a new set catches up to him.
The frown returns to the man’s face, more severe than before. “Sure. Got an arrow sticking out of you, but you’re fine,” he huffs. He ignores Link’s attempts to escape and grasps his left wrist firmly. Tingles zing up his arm at the contact. The Triforce stirs as if prodded. The man doesn’t notice, eyes trained firmly on Link’s face. “You’re bleeding pretty badly and it's only gonna get worse when you pull the arrow out,” he says, glancing down at Link’s right hand dribbling blood, “I’ve got bandages and red potions at home, and it’s about to start storming. Come on.”
With a rough yank, he pulls Link along. Link follows meekly, if only because getting inside will cut off the sweet smell of his blood from searching monsters. He hopes the rain washes away his trail.
“Did you kill the thing that shot you?” the man asks as they trudge through the mud. He is leading Link towards the quaint little house on the hill. Grass gives way to a dirt path under their feet. Link marvels at the trees laden with enormous red apples lining the path before them.
The man must take Link’s silence less as awe and more confusion as he nods towards the sword on his back. “I can tell you’re not helpless,” he says.
“Ah… no,” Link replies nervously. He wants to pull his hand away, but that seems rude, “I didn’t kill it.”
“Do you remember what it looked like?” the man presses. He sounds impatient.
“I didn’t see it,” Link responds, looking away.
The other man huffs. “Guess I’ll be going out again tomorrow,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes.
Around them, the rain begins to fall harder and the man quickens his pace. His hand is still wrapped around Link’s wrist. “I don’t know if you have to worry about it,” Link says, glancing back at the field disappearing between thick apple tree trunks. It looks nothing like any field in Hyrule with its grass reaching up to mid-calf and tall trees with full foliage clustered together in neat lines at the edges. “It happened… really far away.”
“How far are we talking?” the man asks, giving Link a visible once over, gaze pausing on the arrow still sticking out of his shoulder. Link, again, must resist the urge to pull away.
He isn’t sure how to explain it, since he doesn’t understand what happened himself. One minute he was praying for his life in a dark cave and the next he was flat on his back somewhere seemingly worlds away. “Far,” he decides. He avoids the man’s suspicious stare. “I… I’ve never seen this place before in my life, and I travel a lot.”
The man’s eyes narrow even more and his frown deepens. Link silently begs for an end to the questions he can’t answer.
As if answering his prayers, a streak of lightning splits the sky with a blinding flash. A crash of thunder follows soon after. The man freezes for a split second. His grip on Link’s wrist tightens almost painfully. The rain begins to pour now, falling heavily with an almost deafening pattering. It shakes the man out of his stupor, and he grits his teeth.
“Damn it,” he spits, “Come on. We’re gonna get soaked at this rate.”
With more speed in his step, he leads Link the rest of the way to the small house. He shoulders his way in carelessly, leaving Link at the entrance as he busies himself with lighting a few lanterns around the house. Then he disappears into another room, the light following him. Now illuminated by the golden glow of flickering firelight, Link is struck by all the clutter.
Every available surface is piled high with anything Link could ever think of. There are wooden boxes of all sizes stacked as high as the ceiling, overflowing with sparkling trinkets or cloth in a rainbow of colors. There are age-eaten sheets of parchment spread over the crowded table and two chairs against the wall, weighed down by colorful stones. Another box sits nearby with even more rolled into little tubes and shoved haphazardly inside. Stacks of books from pristine to ancient condition litter the floor from the door to the house’s hearth. There are weapons of all sorts lined against the wall and piled into yet more boxes on the floor. A single bed is pushed against the opposite wall, more boxes bulging with unknown items shoved underneath. Above the hearth hangs yet another sword, this one clearly ceremonial with an ornate, jeweled handle.
Despite the overall clutter, the walls are surprisingly bare. Other than the weapon racks, only an ominous mask and a few paintings decorate them.
“Don’t just stand there. Come in!” the man calls, though it sounds more impatient than inviting, “Take your shoes off first. I don’t want you tracking mud on my rug.”
Link takes a moment to wrestle his boots off his feet. He wipes his newly muddied hands on his tunic once he is finished. He hadn’t honestly noticed there was a rug, but when he looks for it, he finds it. Underneath a stack of aged tomes and the corner of an ornate chest, Link catches a peek of worn, red fabric. He is careful as he steps onto it, but he can’t prevent the water from dripping steadily off his tunic and onto the floor. He looks back and winces at the puddle he left by the door.
He follows the shadow of the man’s wet footprints, grimacing at the droplets of water glistening on the covers of some of the books strewn across the room. The footsteps lead him through another doorway and into what looks a bit like a kitchen with a small sink, counter, and some wooden shelves with a loaf of bread, and some jars of liquid of different colors tucked into them. He sees the man on his hands and knees, dragging a box out of a wooden cabinet. The dishes chaotically stacked on top clatter precariously as he shuts the cabinet door.
He sits up, the box now in his lap. “Go grab a seat,” he says. Then he narrows his eyes again and bites his lip, clearly thinking. “On second thought, stay here. I don’t want to get blood everywhere.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Link agrees, backing away as the man stands. He leaves the box on the ground by the sink and steps around Link and back into the main room, but not before giving Link an odd look.
Link stands there patiently, dripping water onto the polished wood slats of the kitchen floor and feeling intrusive. He hears a crash and hurries to the main room. Peering around the doorway, he sees the man holding a small wooden chair so that the seat slants downward. On the floor is a pile of recently disturbed books and an ornate box, the lid open to let the little beads inside roll across the rug.
The man looks up sharply and Link flinches back into the kitchen. Without a word, the man brings the chair, crowding Link into the center of the kitchen near the sink. “Okay. Sit down. Let’s get this over with,” he says, setting the chair down with a hard thunk.
Link does as he is told. He sits and it feels strange sitting in a single chair in the middle of someone’s very nice kitchen. The little house doesn’t look new, but it isn’t decaying like many of the dwellings around Hyrule. Did this place not suffer as severely as the others? Was Link even still in Hyrule at all? He had never left its borders once he entered them, and where he came from was entirely untamed, uninhabited wilds. His stomach twists uneasily.
“Relax,” the man says, patting his shoulder. Link looks up and the man’s gaze has softened significantly. “I’ll try to make this fast, so it doesn’t hurt so much.” That said, his comforting pat turns into one of restraint, and Link flinches hard, heart racing. The man’s hold only tightens as he wraps his hand around the shaft of the arrow in Link’s opposite shoulder and yanks.
The arrowhead was not barbed, so it comes out without much of a fight. That doesn’t mean the pain is any easier to bear. Link bites down on the leather glove on his right hand to repress a yelp as fire races up his shoulder and down his fingers. Soon after, a cloth is pressed into his shoulder over the wound and it lights up with pain all over again.
“You didn’t even warn me first,” Link says waveringly, a little offended.
The man’s grin is sharp as he replies, “Hurts less when you don’t expect it.”
Link can’t say he believes that. Though he doesn’t have much experience with others performing first aid on him. His attention is drawn away from his thoughts when the man grabs his hand and directs it to the cloth on his shoulder. “Hold this. I’m gonna get a red potion,” he says.
“Ah!” Link is quick to interject, though he obediently presses the already sodden cloth to his wound. The man pauses. Link swallows, catching the sight of crimson on his hands. His heart rate kicks back up. “You… you don’t have to waste something like that. Stitches will do,” he assures, “I can even do them.” He pulls the cloth away, carefully setting it on the floor with the least sodden side down. Then he fishes around in the satchel at his side for his first aid supplies.
The cloth is quickly snatched from the ground and slapped back onto his shoulder. “I told you to hold that,” the man says, irate, “And as funny as it would be to watch you try to stitch yourself up one-handed, you’re going to bleed all over my floor. I have plenty of potions. I won’t even charge you, unlike some people.” The last bit is muttered and seems to be directed away from him, so Link decides to ignore it.
Successfully scolded, Link returns his grip to the rag, heart still pattering. The man had a point; the more time he spent bleeding, the more likely monsters would catch a whiff of it and come knocking. He meekly accepts the potion given to him, swallowing down the bitter brew. Immediately the pain in his shoulder begins to ebb as it stitches itself back together.
He lets the man peel the cloth away to examine the wound. His fingers wiggle through the hole in his tunic and touch only a slight gash. “Okay. It’s not healed completely, but it’s not bleeding anymore,” the man reports, sounding satisfied, “Next step is to get you into something dry and we’ll bandage it. Should heal up fine.”
Link sighs, standing from the seat. He holds the cloth in his hands, soaked through with crimson. He feels light-headed and dizzy, but his shoulder isn’t a stabbing pain anymore. He couldn’t be more grateful if he tried. “Thank you,” he says.
The man nods his acknowledgment, then busies himself with using the sink’s pump to run water into the basin. “Hand me that. I’ll take care of it,” the man says, holding out a blood-speckled hand for the rag.
“We should burn it,” Link says. The rag is most certainly stained at this point. Link doesn’t know what will happen if the man is caught carrying around a rag that still technically has his blood on it.
“What? No. That’s a waste. Give it here,” the man says, tapping his foot impatiently.
Link clutches the rag to his chest, unsure of how to make his case. He guesses he ought to be frank. “My blood is dangerous,” he says, “So we should burn it, just to be safe.”
The man pauses, eying the rag and then Link’s face. “Dangerous,” he echoes, “How? You sick?”
“No, it’s not that,” Link says, “Just… it’s dangerous. It’s best to leave it at that.”
“I’m not just gonna burn my stuff because you said so. Not without a good excuse at least,” the man says, “I’ll wash it with a little water and soap and it’ll be fine.” He reaches impatiently for the rag, fingers waggling for it. Link takes a pointed step back.
The man scoffs. With a roll of his eyes, he stops the water. “By the gods, fine,” he says, “So what, you gonna burn your clothes too?”
“No...” Link says, looking away. The monsters would find him, bloody clothes or not.
The man stares at him for a few more moments, eyes trailing from his socked feet to the ends of his curly hair.
“Fine then. Do what you want with the rag,” he says. He steps impatiently around Link and back into the main room of the house. After a bit of digging, he returns with a green tunic, not unlike the one Link wears now. He glances at Link’s hands, still bloodied, and still clutching the rag, and sighs.
“I’ll leave this on the counter,” the man says, “The bathroom is through that door. You can change in there.”
When Link looks between him and the clean tunic, befuddled, the man runs a hand down his face. “Or don’t, and just stand there and be wet and cold.”
Link is awed, rather than reluctant. “Is it really okay?” he asks. Clothing is a scarcity, especially something as high quality as this tunic, nearly new with sturdy, neat stitches and lovely fabric.
The man huffs. “I wouldn’t offer it if it wasn’t,” he says, “You’re on your own for pants, though. I don’t wear those.” Turning on his heel, he heads back into the main room to dig through his things again.
Link lingers in the kitchen for a moment longer, still stunned. The growing wet puddle under him, soaking into his socks, eventually motivates him to make his way to the bathroom door. He reluctantly leaves the rag in the sink, wiping blood off his hands onto his tunic before he snags the new one off the counter.
He pushes the door open with a quiet creak, stepping into a tiled room with a wooden tub set up against the wall. The door swings shuts behind him and Hyrule jumps. He spins around to see no one there, but a lock gleams against the solid wood of the door. He eagerly takes advantage of the privacy by sliding the lock shut before he examines the rest of the room. There is another spigot with a pump nearby, a wooden bucket set underneath it. There are towels stacked on another cabinet under a tiny window. Link considers them as his hair drips cold rainwater onto his shoulders.
He pulls his sword and shield off first, followed by his tunic, wincing at the slight pull of his wound. His gloves, breeches, and socks are next. He carefully places them on the edge of the tub to keep them from getting wetter. Then he approaches the spigot set in the wall. Nudging the bucket out of the way with his foot, he reveals a drain with a gleaming silver cover underneath. He mimics the man’s movements he saw earlier until water spits from the spout. He shoves his hands under the brisk spray before slowly scrubbing it up his arm still streaked with red. With his blood disappearing down the drain in pink streams, he feels like he can breathe a little easier.
He grabs one of the towels from atop the cabinet, scrubbing it quickly through his hair and down his body before he slips the other tunic over his head. The fabric is soft and sturdy, much less threadbare than his own. It hangs down to his knees, so he doesn’t feel too exposed without his soggy breeches. He hugs the fabric to his chest. It slides against his skin warm and soft, not the least bit scratchy. He basks in the luxury of it for just a moment. After the tunic has coaxed more warmth into his core, he pulls his gloves back on. He grabs his socks and britches as well, but grimaces at the soggy feeling of them. He decides to leave them for now.
Gathering his sword and shield, he returns to the kitchen. He can hear the crackling of a fire and the man shuffling around the living room. The chair is gone from the kitchen, as is the rag. Link’s heart jolts with stress. Swinging into the main room in a rush, he sees the man standing near the fire, warming his hands. He looks up, catches Link’s harried expression, and sighs.
“Calm down. I did as you said,” the man says, rolling his eyes. At this point, it seems almost like a tic. “Let’s wash your tunic before the blood stains it.”
Link nods, a reply caught somewhere behind his voicebox. Together, they collect Link’s clothes from the bathroom and crowd near the sink. Around a half-hour later sees Link helping the man string up a rope near the fire, hanging their soaking clothes to dry in the heat. Then the man flops onto his bed with a tired sigh, leaving Link to sit in the same chair from the kitchen, bare feet near the fire. After a long pause, the man breaks the silence.
“You said you’d never seen this place before,” he says, “So where are you from, exactly?”
Link looks down at his bare knees, picking at the hem of his borrowed tunic. “Hyrule,” he says.
The man shoots up and fixes Link with another narrow-eyed stare. “Hyrule, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Link says slowly, pushing himself back against his chair, “Uh… I ended up here by accident. Where did you say this was?”
“I didn’t,” the man says. His eyes glint dangerously in the firelight as he looks Link over from head to foot again. “You sure you’ve never seen this place before?”
“Never,” Link says, fists tightening in the fabric, “I’ve never seen a place that looked so… so… green, and… peaceful.”
“That’s weird,” the man says, “Because you’re in Hyrule right now.”
Link jumps in his chair, nearly falling out of it. “There has to be a mistake,” he says, “I’ve traveled all over Hyrule and I’ve never seen this place before.” He even drew a map by hand, and checked it against the ancient ones in the castle. His sense of direction couldn’t be that terrible!
“No mistakes. Unless you’re lying,” the man says. Link jerks his gaze up to the man’s, heart-pounding panic flooding his blood at the accusation. However, the man doesn’t seem as sharp as before, more contemplative.
“I don’t see why you would, though,” he continues, rubbing his chin, “It certainly doesn’t do you any favors, and if you were trying to kill me, that kind of mistake would only make me more suspicious.”
“I’m not trying to kill you, I swear,” Link says quickly, but the man shakes his head, waving off the concern.
“I’m not worried about that,” he says easily, “How’d you get here? Something tells me you didn’t walk.”
Link glances down at his hand. Luckily the Triforce had stopped glowing as soon as he fell into the field, so it hasn’t drawn any attention. He looks back up at the man, unarmed aside from the rings on his fingers and the odd bracelet on his heavily scarred left wrist. If he had wanted to kill Link, he could have easily done it outside and without giving Link medical attention and dry clothes. Link decides to be as truthful as he can.
“I… got attacked by a swarm of monsters,” Link says, turning his attention to the flames, “There were a lot of them, more than I’ve ever seen in one place, and some I didn’t recognize. They seemed… I don’t know… smart? They kept finding me, like they knew exactly where I would run. Then I got shot and knew I couldn’t keep running, so I hid in a cave and it spit me out… here.”
“Spit you out?” the man asks, arms and legs crossed as he thinks.
“It was like the back of the cave just disappeared, and it dropped me into the field you found me in,” he says.
“Was there anything else?”
Link glances down at his hand again, remembering the almost blinding light of the Triforce. He swallows. “No,” he says.
The man quirks a brow, but doesn’t pursue it. He waggles his knee as he thinks. “You’re a hero, right?” he asks.
“I-I wouldn’t-” He glances up at the man’s flat look and he flushes. “Y-yes,” Link stutters. Everyone seems insistent on calling him that at least. “I guess so. Why do you ask?”
“Got a name?” the man presses, despite Link’s unease. His stare is hard and dangerous now. His whole body leans forward slightly, pinning Link to his seat. Somehow, Link feels like this man already knows his name. Looking around the man’s house, his cluttered collection of treasures, he thinks he knows why.
“Link,” Link says. The name drops like a stone in the already tense air. No one moves. The fire doesn’t even crackle.
Then the man in front of him, wearing a tunic, not unlike Link’s own, adorned with gold and jewels that exude magical energy, sitting in a dragon’s hoard of valuable and powerful artifacts from ages long passed, leans back and lets out a loud curse.
Link jumps so hard the chair legs clatter against the floor. The man curses again and slams his hands on his face. “Damn the Three!”
Link stands, moving over to the bed to check on him. “Is… is everything okay?”
“Absolutely not!” the man shouts, “This is so beyond not okay! I cannot believe this! That isn’t even subtle!”
Link stares at his feet, grimacing. This is Hyrule, after all, so of course tales of his heroics, and his curse, will have made their way to this man’s ears as well. He moves his gaze reluctantly to the door. Listening to the raging storm pounding against it, he says, “I’m sorry. I can go.”
Though, again, inexplicably. He knows that is not what the man is raging about. Maybe he would want Link gone anyway.
“What?! No!” the man snaps. He slides off the bed and onto socked feet. “What are you apologizing for? And you can’t go outside, it’s storming out there!”
“Yes, but… uh… obviously you’ve heard of me…?” Link says, gripping the hem of his borrowed tunic.
“No, that’s not it,” the man says, shaking his head, “Don’t you get it?”
Link shakes his own head, brow crinkling with confusion. “No?”
“I’m Link too!” the man says.
Link furrows his brow.
Link had to be merely a name. Surely there were others all across Hyrule with that name. It had to be common. It is unreasonable to assume that he is the only person in all of Hyrule with that name. Never mind that this man is the first person he has met with it.
“Think about it,” the man, the other Link, presses, “You’re a hero, your name is Link, you don’t recognize this Hyrule, you were in danger and got transported here. What do you think that all means?”
Link stares at him for a moment, racking his brain. “I’m sure Hyrule is a lot more vast than I originally thought,” he reasons, his brain working overtime to desperately churn out excuses, “The cave… was strange, but if I was in danger, maybe one of the gods took pity on me...” They had never done so before, but even they had to agree that resurrecting Ganon was bad.
The other Link grimaces at the mention of the gods, but nods along nonetheless. “Maybe one of them did, but they didn’t send you to another part of Hyrule,” the other Link says, “They sent you to a different Hyrule entirely.”
Link crosses his arms, thinking. “But why would they do that?” he asks.
“You think I know what any of those people are thinking?” the other Link quips, “In the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”
“But how do I get back?” Link asks. His Hyrule is certainly more run-down and decayed than this one, and perhaps more people knew about him and his affliction, but he still had a duty to the princesses, and the people of Hyrule, his Hyrule.
“Don’t know,” the other Link says, flopping back onto his bed, “But there’s usually a way. Sometimes you’ll need a charm, some kind of spell, or maybe just a prayer will do.”
Link nods along, swallowing his anxiety. The other Link sounds like he knows what he is talking about, so Link feels relatively secure in trusting him. The other Link kicks his feet in the ensuing silence as they both think.
“We should talk to Zelda tomorrow,” the other Link says eventually, rubbing his chin, “She’ll know what to do, or who to ask. We’ll get you back in no time.”
Link nods again, rubbing his right thumb over the leather of his left glove. “I hope you’re right,” he says softly.
The evening passes into the night with a crackling fire and each of the Links telling a bit about themselves. In all honestly, Link feels completely green in comparison to this alternate Link. He has been on so many adventures, helped so many people, and even saved other kingdoms and other worlds. He has also acquired an enormous amount of treasures in the process, as well as a wealth of experience. Link’s own exploits, in comparison, seem so small.
Link flushes under the grave look that overtakes the other’s face when he reveals the secret about his blood. “So that’s why you wanted to burn the rag,” the other Link says thoughtfully, “Are you sure about that, though? The blood of the hero reviving Ganon sounds like some moblin’s bedtime story to me.”
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to test it,” Link replies, staring at his knees.
“That’s fair,” other Link says, so easy and nonchalant, “You don’t have to worry about that here. Ganon is gone for good. I made sure of it.”
That, along with a healthy amount of amazement, helps Link feel at ease.
The next day sees them packing up to trek to Hyrule castle. It stands tall and proud in the distance, almost gleaming in the morning sun behind a sea of rich green grass and trimmed shrubbery. It is a far cry from the crumbling walls and dilapidated halls of the Hyrule castle of his world. Things were getting better with Ganon’s death, but it was still not at this level of majesty.
The other Link finishes locking his door and trots over to stand next to Link. He is dressed in the same ensemble as the day before, his fine red tunic, an undertunic that falls to his knees like a pleated skirt, his winged boots, and a large amount of jewelry, both hidden and visible. In addition, he has a large pack swung over his shoulder, bulging with a mind-boggling amount of items.
Link is dressed in his own more humble tunic, dry and clean, with his sword and shield strapped to his back. The other Link was kind enough to gift him a pair of dry socks and a small pack of supplies, a few potions, and some rations for the trip over. He said it wasn’t far to the castle, but they may get waylaid by monsters or castle guards.
Link grimaces at the comment about guards, and the other Link shrugs. “I’m not very popular with them,” he says in a vague explanation. Link doesn’t push any further than that.
Once they set out, the road is much more peaceful than Link would have expected. There are people, carefree, walking the many worn paths through Hyrule Field. Some of them grin at the other Link, clearly pleased to see him, and others give him a wide berth. It seems opinions on this particular hero are split.
Their conversation is a lot less heavy than it was the previous night, mostly just Link asking questions about what was around them and the other Link answering them. The other Link is generally quiet otherwise. Link is generally the same way, so after two or three awkward attempts at conversation, they fall into silence. Link finds that he likes this better. It gives Link the chance to take in the foreign, yet familiar sounds of bird song and insect cries, the scratch of their boots over worn soil paths, and the whoosh of another’s breath.
As the sun begins to kiss the horizon, setting the rich green of the lush leafy trees and tufts of grass alight in golds and oranges, Link looks up to find Hyrule Castle towering over them. It will probably be another hour of walking yet, but even at such a distance, it looks huge. Stone walls devoid of moss or cracks stand tall against the long shadows cast by the setting sun. The path to the gate transforms from hard-packed dirt to neat, polished bricks lined by beautifully manicured hedges.
Though as Link’s excitement at seeing this new version of Hyrule castle grows, the other Link’s shoulders hunch, and his expression becomes stormy. Once Link picks up on the change, he stiffens. His ears perk, attentive despite how quiet the roads are at this peaceful golden hour. Or so Link thought. His perked hearing alerts him to the crunching of footsteps through the tall grass on their left. He has just enough time to push the other Link down into the dirt as an arrow whizzes over their heads. “Monsters,” he hisses. Then there is a loud, disappointed shriek from beyond the bushes.
The other Link is on his feet in a flash. Sword drawn just as quickly, he falls into a natural fighting stance. A shadow slips through the tall grass, lithe and fast, weaving around their feet. It cages them in and forces the two of them back to back. Link pulls his own sword. The magic thrums readily under his fingers as an army of monsters breaks through the treeline on all sides but the path to the castle. They are in all shapes and sizes, minuscule octoroks and towering moblins side by side, bipedal lizards taller than any man Link has ever seen and broad, pig-nosed brutes with cloudy yellow eyes.
The other Link doesn’t cower, back straight, sword at the ready and gaze sharp as he turns to size up their opponents. “These guys look familiar?” he asks, flexing the fingers on his shield hand. His expression is grim but determined.
“They caught up,” Link swallows. The shadow whirling about their feet rears up. His partner breathes in sharply through his nose, and Link glances behind himself to see the black-scaled, red-eyed lizard standing between them and the castle gates. Anticipation is written in every line of its body.
The other Link points his sword at it. "I bet that's the leader," he says, "We take that out and the rest will scatter."
Link nods. He charges his sword as the hoard draws near, readying a mighty swing. "Be careful,” he cautions, “It’s smarter than it looks.”
With that, he lets a wave of red energy fly from his sword as the hoard advances. It hurtles into the crowd, cutting down the front line of monsters and knocking back those behind them. A viscous, black substance paints the grass in the wake of the strike as the monsters fall and dissolve into dust. While Link looks distractedly at it, a little purple bokoblin ducks in close, only to be quickly dispatched by a less magic-infused swipe of his sword.
Behind him, the other Link charges at the lizard, jabbing at its legs. It easily jumps over his strike, flipping over his head and using his back as a springboard. It leaves him collapsed in a heap and runs at Link. Link is unprepared for it to charge at him. He barely has enough time to lift his shield before it rams into him. Claws rend the metal with a deafening shriek, frightening yet ineffectual. Then the lizard gives Link a hard shove. It sends him sprawling back into the hoard. His sword flies from his hand and disappears under many different shapes of crowding monster feet.
The monsters let out cries of delight as Link falls, already lifting clubs, scimitars, and what looks like a broom to stab at him. Link curls up under his shield, praying for its durability as the first few hits rain down on him.
“Hang on!” he hears the other Link cry, and suddenly a wave of heat washes over him. Link gasps as his shield heats and the handle singes his fingers. It manages to push the monsters back, though. The blows cease and the other Link takes their place. He grabs Link by the shoulder and forces him to stand, shoving his lost sword into his hands.
When the other Link looks at him, his face is pale and his eyes are a little wild. He holds a rod with a gleaming red jewel on one end. Link recognizes it. It looks eerily similar to the magic rod.
“You okay?” the other Link asks sternly.
Link nods, deciding not to mention the stinging burns on his fingers. They likely won’t even blister and are a far better alternative to being skewered.
Other Link swallows, producing an audible click from his dry throat. “Sorry,” he says, “It jumped right over me.”
Link waves him off, turning his attention to the hoard, now stepping around the smoking grass, emboldened once again. “Where’d it go?” Link asks when he can no longer see it among their ranks.
“Coward probably ran off,” the other Link says bitterly, “It only wanted to watch.”
A tiny creature with purplish-black skin and large, pointed ears runs at the other Link with a spear. He does away with it with a grunt and a stab, barely taking his eyes off Link. When he pulls his sword back, the tip of it is painted with black. “Black blood?” he mutters, “That’s creepy.”
Link nods, grimacing. He lets loose another wave of energy at the mob heading their way, taking out much too few. The other Link follows up with another swing of his rod, sending flames roaring at anything that dares to get close.
Even with their combined efforts, hacking, slashing, and burning anything that comes within their carefully protected circle, the hoard does not thin. As soon as some fall, even more take their place. The stream of monsters is endless. To make matters worse, every monster, whether it be a blin or an octorok or one of the many foreign beasts, bleeds black. The viscous liquid sticks to their swords and lands in thick blobs on the grass. It is slick underfoot, and yet also sticky on their skin, somehow more pungent than blood could ever hope to be. In all his years battling monsters, Link has never encountered something like this.
The other Link rubs sweat from his brow, letting loose another wave of fire. It is noticeably weaker this time. He follows it up with a slash from his sword, slipping the rod into a loop on his belt. He bites out a curse, breathless and strained. Link has to agree, feeling fatigue tug at his shoulders and slow his feet. “We can’t… we can’t keep on like this,” he pants.
“Tell them that!” the other Link bites out. He thrusts his sword downward, taking out a pudgy, light purple creature with beady black eyes. Then he redirects the thrust into a slash, cutting into a few unfortunate octoroks and sending a pig creature stumbling back. The hoard moves ever closer, boxing them in, jeering for blood.
When he thrusts his sword forward into the chest of an over-eager red moblin, his shoulders slump with clear, damning exhaustion. “There’s nowhere to go…” he huffs.
“Don’t… Don’t give up!” Link is quick to comfort, though it is hard to follow his own advice. Each slash of his sword, every block with his shield becomes harder, his arms and legs leadened with strain. Still, it brings them no closer to the end of the battle.
“I have an idea,” the other Link announces suddenly. Before Link can protest, the slightly taller man wraps his arm around his waist, hoisting him against his side. Link yelps, feet barely scraping the ground. He squirms, but the other Link keeps a solid hold on him. “Keep your sword pointed forward!” he yells as he does the same.
Then the air around them seems to vibrate, and the other Link bends his knees. “Brace yourself!” he calls. Before the words can fully enter Link's ears, the two of them are rocketing forward at breakneck speed, directly into the hoard. The wind cuts at Link’s face, whips violently through his hair, and steals the scream forced out of him away. When he manages to peel his eyes open against it, the wide-eyed face of a short and stubby moblin fills Link’s vision. He slams them right back shut.
Though, instead of ending up in the arms of the enemy or impaled on a spear, the other Link pushes them through the hoard, slashing wildly with his sword as they go. Link peeks his eyes open as they run a straight line through the endless army until a break in the crowd appears, a flash of grass and inviting green bushes. Then Link watches in horror as the scene warps. It looks like a tapestry being eaten away by white fire from the center, opening a gaping, blinding void. The areas around the void twist and waver as if reflected on the surface of a puddle in the rain.
Other Link lets out a wordless cry of shock, attempting to come to a stop. Link can hear the scrape of his heels through the earth as he pinwheels one arm to try to stop their momentum. It isn’t enough. In a blink, they teeter on the edge of nothingness, staring into endless, formless black. Then the moment breaks and they are careening forward. Other Link clutches him close, squeezing his ribs, and Link lets out a yell.
There is a dizzying whirl of sensations. They are falling down, then shooting skyward, then their backs hit solid ground. Link lets out a cough as the air is forced from his lungs. He can still feel the iron bar of other Link’s grip around his waist, so he knows they are here together. But where is here?
He forces his eyes open to see yet another unfamiliar sky, this one cloudless and bright. He sits up, other Link’s arm sliding off of him. When he stands, he finds an unfamiliar place to match the unfamiliar sky.
He turns a circle, they are again in the middle of a grassy field, though the grass is short and spring green. Dirt paths cross in a multitude of directions through it, and buildings crafted from wood and brick sparsely dot the distance stretching out around them. The sun shines down on them from its position a quarter of the way across a clear, vibrantly blue sky. A line of mountains juts out against it. One with smoke ringing its peak reaches taller than the rest. Close by, perhaps a few hours’ walk away, sits a walled city, the spires of a castle poking out from behind it.
The other Link makes his way to his feet, groaning and clutching his head. “What happened?” he mutters, squinting through the bright mid-morning sun and at their surroundings.
“Mercy from the gods…?” Link asks, eyes glued to the gigantic walled city. Anxiety has eaten his momentary relief away as hungrily as fire does dry wood, writhing and shifting in his uneasy stomach.
“Is that supposed to be Hyrule Castle?” the other Link asks. He spins in a slow circle, eyes combing over every feature. “This can’t be….”
“I think it is,” Link says, “I think we are in another Hyrule.”
“Damn Them!” the other Link spits. Link jumps at the volume. Gritting his teeth, the other Link bites out, “I said no more! I said I’d retired!”
Link is about to ask about that when behind them the grass rustles. He gasps and points his sword in that direction at the same time the other Link groans, “Not again!”
Though what they find when they turn towards the rustling is not another army of black-blooded, blood-thirsty monsters, but two short, blond children, looking just as harried, ruffled, and tired as Link feels.
“Uh...” one says, his voice calm and mature, much too old for how short he is, or young in the face he looks. He has a tunic that looks like it was sewn together from four others, a green hood, and a unique sword on his back. His straight, shoulder-length hair is held back with a headband.
The other is more interested in their surroundings, peaking wide-eyed over their shoulders at the city beyond. He is slightly taller and wearing a long blue tunic with some kind of clawed creature embroidered onto it in white. His blonde hair is in a short, messy mop on the top of his head. His black boots and cropped orange pants make him look like any other kid if Link ignores the blade strapped to his hip.
The one in the multicolored tunic clears his throat, clearly uneasy. “Hi… What kingdom is this? I think my friend and I… er… took a wrong turn somewhere.”