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Chapter Text

Link was fourteen when the demons killed his parents. His father told him to take his mother and run. Without waiting to see his words obeyed, he dodged inside his forge and grabbed a newly finished blade, one from the latest batch he’d made to ship off to the knights in the nearby fort. Link and his mother made it out the front door of their one-room house just in time to see him fall. Before Link could blink, let alone think, his mother tore her hand out of his grip, sprinted the three paces to her husband’s corpse, and threw herself down beside him, drenching her knees in his fresh blood.

When the demon appeared behind her, Link ran faster than he ever had before, a strangled scream caught in his throat. His mother didn’t even look up, lost in the fog of her grief. Link reached her just as the demon’s club smashed into her skull. He hit the ground the same time she did. With a roar to match the demon’s bubbling up out of his mouth, his fingers closed around the blood-slick hilt of the ill-fated blade mere inches from his father’s stilled hand. In a single motion, he propelled himself back up into a crouch, thrusting the blade through the creature’s heart with the full weight of his slim stature behind it.

Blind to the flames consuming his little village, deaf to the screams of his fleeing neighbors, and numb to the cuts, burns, and bruises he accumulated, Link flung himself at demon after demon until a deafening silence rang in his ears. He breathed heavily, his lungs weighed down by the iron tang of blood inundating the smoky air, and watched the first red rays of the sun glint off the bloodstained steel clenched tightly in both his hands.

The villagers had always felt secure, living practically in the shadow of the great fort less than a day’s walk away. But the sun was fully risen by the time the soldiers finally came, warned by the survivors who had fled to their walls during the night. They were too late to find anything but Link.

He was eighteen when he was given command of the fort that his father had once supplied so dutifully, the youngest general in Lord Dagianis’s forces. The blade he could now heft in a single hand was the only one he’d ever wielded, the last of his father’s make. He’d never meant to be a hero. Now, barely an adult, he was expected to lead men into battle. He was expected to take their lives onto his shoulders and answer for their loss. He was expected to help them win. He didn’t think he could do it. But he couldn’t show them that. So, he took his fears to the Spring of Courage. Only Farore herself could help him now.

The last thing he expected was to see a woman wading waist-deep in the sacred pool. He stopped short, staring at the golden hair spilling over her slender back as she raised her arms out to her sides and threw her head back toward the sky. Her pure white dress looked too light for summer, let alone the early morning spring chill that suffused the air, but the woman surely had bigger worries than the weather. It was a wonder she hadn’t been struck down for her disrespect. Perhaps her boldness amused Farore. I mean, talk about courage…

Link had just opened his mouth to demand who had the audacity to splash around in an Elder Goddess’s sacred fountain when he registered the weight of power in the air and the subtle glow around the woman’s preternaturally perfect features. He fell to his knees and, after only a little hesitation, managed to tear his eyes away from the goddess in the Spring and fix them on the ground in front of him. He kept his head bowed as he listened to the swish of her dress dragging behind her in the water as she turned and stepped toward him.

“G-goddess,” he said, needing two tries to get the word out through his constricted throat. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you.”

“No need,” she said airily, as if kindness came as easily as breathing. “If anything, I should apologize. I’m not the one you came here for. I assume you seek Farore’s blessing.”

“Yes, goddess,” Link said before realizing that her words technically hadn’t constituted a question, and maybe he shouldn’t have ventured a response.

“Do you know who I am?”

Link hadn’t thought his body could get any tenser until she asked that question. Would she be offended if he admitted his inability to differentiate her from any other deity? Could he lie? Almost before he’d finished that thought, his blood ran cold as he wondered whether she could hear his thoughts and would strike him down for daring to consider trying to deceive her.

The goddess was silent, and he was still alive, so either she couldn’t read his thoughts or else she was sparing him – whether out of mercy or simply because she wished to drag out his punishment by toying with him, he couldn’t begin to guess. There was nothing for it but to speak.

“Your divinity is obvious,” he said carefully, “but I must beg you to forgive my ignorance.”

“I am Hylia,” the goddess said. Her voice was soft and lilting, and the lack of offense in her tone encouraged Link to take a relieved breath – on which he all but choked as he processed her words.

He hadn’t known what to expect when he approached Farore for her blessing. He’d hoped for something, certainly, some sign or feeling, but not to see her face. Now, rather than the impersonal regard of a goddess who reigned from a safe distance, he had stumbled into the all-too concrete presence of Hylia herself, patron of his land, creator of his race, and emissary of the Elder Goddesses. This was no distant deity he could please with rote devotion but the one who took the keenest interest in the daily affairs of mortals. She would pay far too much attention to him, and he could only hope to prove himself.

He tried to think of something appropriate to say, something to assure his goddess that he was listening and sensible of the blessing it was to hear her introduction. Before he could put the words together in his mind, let alone on his lips, she spoke again.

“You should stand. That can’t be comfortable.”

“It is no hardship to do you reverence,” Link said deferentially.

“Maybe not, compared to all the hardships you’ve already suffered. But it isn’t necessary. And I’d like to have a proper conversation with you, Link.”

Link snapped his head up and stared at the goddess, only barely managing to stop himself from blurting out, You know my name? Of course, Hylia knew every creature in her land. He wasn’t special.

“As you will, goddess,” he said, slowly rising to his feet. She didn’t tower over him, assuming the size of an average woman, though her beauty was indescribably beyond the average. Still, his short stature forced him to look up, just an inch or so, to meet her startling blue eyes. They were as bright and clear as the summer sky, as deep and ancient as the sea. He could have been lost in them forever if her voice hadn’t grounded him.

“Thank you,” she said. “You must be wondering why I’m here.”

“Far be it from me to question the doings of the gods.”

Hylia gave a light, musical giggle that ended far too soon. Link knew immediately that he would do anything to hear it again.

“You need not be so guarded, Link. I’m not going to smite you for a little curiosity.”

Link blushed. “Forgive me,” he said, the first apology he’d offered her out of simple embarrassment rather than abject terror. “I’m not sure how to speak to a goddess, what’s permissible, or…not,” he trailed off lamely.

“We’re not so different from mortals,” Hylia said softly.

“That doesn’t exactly help,” Link muttered dryly, emboldened by her encouragement to speak his mind. He was rewarded with another melodious laugh. But she quickly sobered, looking back up to the sky as if expecting rain.

“Did you wish to tell me why you’re here, goddess?” Link prodded softly.

She returned her eyes to his, and he struggled to breathe under the weight of her gaze as her power, lingering in the air, came alive and crackled against his skin. 

“You could say I came for the same reason you did. At times, even a goddess needs more courage.”

Link blanched. “What could frighten a goddess?” He could have kicked himself for letting the question spill from his lips unchecked. It seemed all he’d done since arriving was speak out of turn.

Impossibly patient, Hylia only favored him with a sad smile. “The demons you’ve seen are only the beginning,” she said, and Link’s blood ran cold. “Things will get much worse. The old gods are bound by old rules. Their domains are too broad to allow them direct interference in this conflict. But me…This is my land, my people. It’s well within my role to protect them. I must protect them. I am the only one who can. But I cannot stand alone. Not against what’s coming.”

The goddess’s words rang with awful familiarity. Link understood the lonely weight of a responsibility to stand above and apart from others, to lead in a fight that felt too big. Was that not exactly what had led him to this Spring to seek Farore’s own courage on his knees?

Abruptly, he realized how blasphemous it was to compare his mortal inadequacies to the concerns of the divine. As kind as she’d turned out to be, he really, really hoped Hylia couldn’t hear his thoughts. 

Showing no indication that she could, she continued, “The demons have a king – Demise. He was supposed to be my equal, my counterpart: Destruction where I am Creation, Chaos where I am Order, Darkness where I am Light, Hatred where I am Love. Our conflict should have maintained balance in the world below. But by his very nature, Demise can never be satisfied with that harmony. He will push harder and harder to destroy all that is good until only he remains. I may be a goddess, but I cannot fight him alone. The other gods are limited in the aid they can offer me. I need a mortal champion. Farore told me I would find you here. You came seeking her blessing in the coming war. But the oldest law of the gods, to which we all are subject without exception, is that no blessing can be given without a price. If you will serve me, I will offer you the blessing that you sought from her, and together we will push back the growing darkness.”

Link couldn’t quite comprehend the suggestion that he was a sufficient tool to give a goddess confidence.

“You- I…Why me?”

“Are you frightened?” Hylia asked with a gentle smile, brimming with compassion.

Dumbly, Link shook his head. It took another moment for him to find the words, “Less so than I was.”

Hylia frowned. “I just told you that the goddess you came here seeking cannot help you, and the one you found instead is frightened herself.”

“Yes. Then, you told me how you plan to combat that fear. You’re a good example, goddess. It’s what I intended to do here. I came for help, and you promised it. That’s far more than I had before.”

“You are a very strange mortal,” Hylia said, not unappreciatively. She tilted her head to the side, regarding him the way a blacksmith might consider a new metal, as if she weren’t yet quite sure what she could make of him but was determined to find out. 

“Strange or not, I’m yours, goddess. I don’t think I have much to offer. But I will serve you however you ask and trust your power to make up the difference.”

“Just do your best, Link. You have more to offer than you know.”

Link didn’t mean to fall in love with his goddess. He didn’t even realize it at first, mistaking his feelings for the devotion and adoration proper for her worship. 

After meeting Hylia at the Spring of Courage, he immediately began to recognize small blessings: A whisper of her wisdom while he planned campaigns, increased speed and strength in battles that dragged on longer than he should have been able to fight without flagging, feeling almost drunk off the charisma oozing from him when he rallied his troops. 

After each noticed boon, he made time to offer thanks in private prayer to his goddess. He quickly grew accustomed to the weight of her power in the air, warm and comforting as a thick blanket. He was caught smiling idly in council meetings, hardly noticing how common her presence had become until he found himself frowning at its sudden withdrawal and realized all at once that he was with her more than he was without her.

Best of all was when she appeared to him, walking together in the woods during a rare afternoon away from prying eyes or sitting in the countryside and watching the clouds paint airy patterns across the sky she had created. He’d all but ceased guarding his tongue around her and was constantly rewarded with smiles, laughter, and the loss of her own filter. She spoke to him as freely as one mortal to another, asking about his days to hear his own words even when he’d felt her watching and confiding in him everything from her appreciation of a simple flower to her fears for the future.

Link was sitting beside her on a rare day of freedom, their legs nearly touching where they dangled in the cool waters of a gentle stream, when he realized his mistake. He smiled as Hylia’s chiming laugh washed over him in response to something he had said. He loved nothing more than that sound, wanted nothing more than to bask in her joy and be the cause of her mirth forever. Praising a goddess was normal, he realized, as was seeking her strength and wisdom. Craving the smooth brush of her fingers against his skin when she took his hand or swiped his hair out of his eyes, treasuring her laugh and seeking to always be the cause of it, feeling entitled to her company on a casual basis…were most decidedly not. He adored her, certainly. But not with the safe distance of worship. He loved her. Link was a presumptuous, blasphemous idiot who loved a goddess as a man loved a woman.

Her laughter quieted, and she eyed him cautiously. “Link?” she asked softly. “Are you alright?”

He couldn’t tell her. She had always been merciful, even when he’d feared he was out of line, but surely this was a bridge too far even for her. He would have to act as though nothing had changed. Really, he reflected, it hadn’t. She was still his goddess, and he was still her servant, and the greatest blessing he could hope for was to be allowed to continue in her service for as long as he lived. Of course, that prompted a new worry, one that he could safely confide in her.

“Fine,” he said. “I just…I was wondering. What happens after we defeat Demise? Will you no longer need a mortal champion?”

The lingering ghost of Hylia’s smile disappeared at his question, and Link hated himself for asking it.

“If you wish to be free of me then, I will hold your oath fulfilled,” she said softly.

“And if I don’t? If I never wish to be free of you?” A small gasp escaped the goddess, and Link hesitated, afraid his desperation had shown his heart too fully. But she still hadn’t smitten him. Perhaps he hadn’t been as plain as he feared, or perhaps she was kindly overlooking his blasphemy at least until he’d served his purpose. Encouraged by her forbearance, he confessed, “You said you’d bless me in exchange for my service. But serving you is the greatest blessing I have ever known. I beg you to find some use for me still, once your enemy is no more.”

A horrible shadow crossed the White Goddess’s face. Her brow wrinkled, and her lip trembled as she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, heaving breath. When she opened her eyes, they were full of tears. Link stared uncomprehendingly as the first spilled down her cheek.

“Hylia?” he breathed, echoing her earlier concern, still hardly able to believe a deity could weep.

She forced a small smile despite her continuing tears. “Your devotion is more than I deserve,” she said.

Link opened his mouth to protest, but she continued before he could, “The worst is yet to come. You may yet change your mind, and you must know, if so, I will let you go when that day comes. B-but if not…Your companionship is service enough.”

“My goddess,” he said, his voice hushed as in a temple, “I am yours and always will be. I know I am only a mortal, but what little I can do for you I will do gladly.”

Before he could blink, Hylia had thrown herself into his arms, which hesitantly closed around her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“You do so much more than you could ever know,” she choked out.

Link gently rubbed her back, wishing desperately that anything but tears had driven her into his embrace.

The accusation came only two days after Link had held the weeping goddess in his arms. He should have expected something of the sort. Everyone who had seen his feats in battle could attest he had been blessed. When he rallied his troops, he did so in Hylia’s name, and he made no secret of the fact that a great evil had been foretold and that her people must rise to the challenge. Of course, rumors of a goddess-blessed general would unnerve a lord who ruled by a mockery of divine right.

Dagianis appeared with an honor guard, heralded by a flourish, in the middle of Link’s words to his soldiers. He accused Link of planning to usurp him by using false claims of being chosen by a goddess to drum up popular support.

Link had never heard so many men fall silent so quickly. “Unlike yours, my claim of divine favor is no sham,” he said, incensed. “But I have no designs on your throne. Perhaps if you suited it better, you wouldn’t fear losing it so.”

“My only fear is of the demonic powers you’ve called upon to counterfeit the divine,” Lord Dagianis said. “But I will prove your perfidy in trial by combat – unless you fear to let the gods decide the outcome.”

“Please,” Link said flatly. “I’d like nothing more.”

Dagianis didn’t even have the decency to fight Link himself, instead appointing a champion to support his claim. As his challenger stepped forward and drew a large, two-handed sword, Link idly wondered what sort of bribe had changed hands to counterbalance the risk of fighting a man with his reputation. It never crossed his mind that he might lose. He felt Hylia’s presence in the air. She’d never let him fall.

He waited for his opponent to strike the first blow, stepping smoothly to the side and launching a counter-strike that should have ended the trial only to find his blade blocked by the larger one. How had the lumbering bastard moved so quickly? Unless…Had Link gotten slower?

They traded blows, Link’s blade growing heavier until, as though he’d only just lifted it from beside his father’s corpse, he needed both hands to support it. Impossibly slowly, Link raised his sluggish sword to block a powerful overhead strike – and felt the shock rattle his bones as it shattered in his hands.

He barely heard the splintered steel sprinkling across the ground or the frenzied shouts not only of Lord Dagianis and his corrupt retainers but of Link’s own men shouting that his blade’s refusal to protect him was a sign. He was too numbed by the knowledge that Hylia’s presence still lingered in the air. She had deliberately withdrawn her strength from him, and when his own had not quite failed him, she had allowed his blade to break. In her eyes, he was guilty. And Link…Who was he to defy his goddess?

He let the useless hilt of his shattered sword fall from his grasp and went completely limp, hanging his head, as he was bound and dragged away. He hardly felt the coarse ropes cutting into his wrists or the jostling of the guards’ shoves as he stumbled along in a haze.

That night, the first of many hanging from manacles deep in the dark bowels of Lord Dagianis’s dungeon, he wished he’d had the clarity of mind to get one last good look at the sky. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see it again.

At first, he prayed for mercy.

“My goddess, if I have displeased you, only tell me how. Please, let me beg your forgiveness on my knees and benefit from your correction. You know I’d never offend you knowingly. You know you have only to say how I can earn your favor back, and I will obey you willingly. There is nothing you can ask of me I won’t do gladly. Please-”

He stuttered to a halt as he felt her presence weigh down the air around him, his heart soaring in hope. It fell at her silence.

“Will you not speak to me?” he pleaded.

Though her presence lingered, she gave no sign that she had heard him. It was the first time that a prayer had gone unanswered since he’d first seen Hylia in the Spring of Courage.

He started counting the days between her visits, which dwindled from near daily to once every week or two. But no matter how many times he felt her presence, he never saw her face or heard her voice. His pleas grew less formal, more fragmented and desperate.

“Please, I don’t understand. If you’re here to comfort me, why won’t you speak to me? I-if to torment me…Why? You’ve always been so merciful, what could I possibly have done to make you find pleasure in my pain?” The tears he’d managed to suppress this long finally poured out of him with the words. Lost in his own wracking sobs, which only added to the ache in his bones from being chained in such an uncomfortable position for so long, he didn’t notice the exact moment she left him.

Link had stopped counting the days since she’d stopped visiting him. He didn’t know why he had been abandoned so completely he could no longer even feel her presence or hear a whisper of her voice in response to his prayers – but that was a lie. He knew what offense he’d given. Though he’d never spoken the blasphemous truth aloud, she surely knew his heart. He’d thought she would ignore his feelings so long as he didn’t overreach by acting on them, that she would overlook his indiscretion so he could serve her in the coming conflict. But she was a goddess. She had no need of him. She would find another hero to stave off Demise with her blessing, and Link…would suffer the consequences of his hubris, of daring to look on a goddess with a tainted, mortal love, so far beneath the distant adoration of a worshiper who truly knew his place before the divine.

She hadn’t seemed angry the last time he had seen her. But perhaps this wasn’t wrath. Perhaps it was simply justice. Hylia was kind, and if Link thought about it, it was more likely than not that she found no pleasure in his punishment. But the gods had laws, she’d made that clear to him. Perhaps her tears the last time he had seen her had been for him – of disappointment that he’d fallen so far short of her expectations, that he’d crossed an unforgivable line and forced her to condemn him when she’d hoped that he would serve her well. Her words echoed in his head with terrible new meaning. The worst is yet to come, she’d said – surely seeing that Link was bringing it on himself. He’d been mystified by her proclamation, Your devotion is more than I deserve. But in retrospect, it seemed an oblique warning, a reminder that she deserved the pure adoration of a proper acolyte, not Link’s tainted love.

It was unlikely she would ever appear to him again if that were the case. He was incapable of changing the heart that had offended her so. But he had one last prayer to offer. He knew she would hear him, even if she never answered.

“Goddess,” he whispered brokenly. “I understand. I-I can’t change how I feel. But I’m sorry for it, for whatever that’s worth. I will endure this punishment as long as you see fit. E-even if it’s forever.” He nearly laughed at himself, both for letting despair break his voice and for making a virtue of necessity, as if he had the power to subvert the goddess’s judgment from his cell. Still, it was the principle that counted. “I don’t expect forgiveness. And I know I am unworthy to serve you. I beg you, someday, to let me try anyway, to offer what little I can in atonement. But if not…As always, I am yours to do with as you will.”

There was no whisper of her voice, no hint of her presence in the dank air of the dungeon. But he wasn’t disappointed. He’d long since stopped expecting her. Perhaps, someday, she would grant his plea. Realistically, it was more likely he’d rot to death in his pathetic little cell. But he’d meant what he’d said. He could accept his fate if it pleased his goddess.

Chapter Text

Hylia didn’t mean to fall in love with her champion. She didn’t even think of him as really hers at first – at least, no more than any of her people were. Farore had told her where to find him and suggested the test that would make him the Hero needed to defeat the Darkness. Hylia had only followed her directions, desperate for a chance to win the war that was destroying everything she had created, scarring the land and people that she loved.

She gave him the first hint of his potential responsibility at the Spring of Courage, and when she thought him quailing at the prospect, he told her he was less afraid – even when he realized how much more than he had feared was now expected of him, even when she failed to hide her own misgivings – and she saw the truth of it in his eyes. That was when she realized he was something special. That was when she began to hope that Farore’s plan might work.

Watching over him was only natural. She’d promised him her blessing, after all. And she needed to see for herself if he really had the mettle to become the Hero she would soon require. He was more perceptive than most mortals. He always seemed to know when she was near, even when she didn’t appear physically, and she came to treasure his secretive little smiles. He didn’t smile often, she realized, too weighed down by the seriousness of his responsibilities, but he always had one for her. He noticed all the little gifts she gave him, thanking her for a nudge in the right direction when he planned a campaign, a burst of speed or strength in battle, a little help finding the right words to stir his soldiers’ hearts. He recognized even the most insignificant blessings, even the things she suspected that he could have managed on his own.

Hylia didn’t intend to appear before him often. But she saw him on a rare day of freedom from his responsibilities and prying eyes, just walking through a field admiring the flowers she’d created as if nothing in the world were more important. How could she resist visiting him then? Besides, shouldn’t he know the goddess he was to serve if she had any hope he would withstand his coming trial?

“Those are my favorite, too,” she said.

“My goddess!” he greeted her, his eyes widening in surprise. “You have favorites?”

His cheeks immediately reddened, as if he hadn’t meant to ask the question, but he didn’t apologize. That was progress.

“I love all my creations,” she said. “But yes. Some are more special to me than others.”

If he suspected she was no longer talking about the flowers, he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he returned his eyes to the field and simply asked, “Which are your second favorite?”

Her eyebrows jumped up in surprise. He wasn’t questioning her appearance or wallowing in his justified surprise that a goddess, who should have been above such things, took time to appreciate the differences between the flowers in a field. He was simply asking about her as…as a person. As if she had a character worth knowing beyond the power she could offer him.

The corner of his lips lifted in amusement at her own surprise, and as if in response to the question she had not yet found the words to ask, he teased, “You did promise not to smite me for a little curiosity.”

Hylia laughed. She noticed his delighted smile and wondered if he’d been planning that joke for her benefit.

It was impossible to stay away after that. He was just so easy to talk to. Though he always greeted her respectfully, he never judged her for falling short of the impossible perfection mortals expected of their gods. He wanted her to drop the gravitas, to laugh and smile and have a favorite flower. And when she was afraid, he simply listened to her fears. Goddess or not, she was allowed to worry in his presence, to sit in the safety of his silence and see no trace of doubt in his concerned blue eyes, only a steadfast confidence in her when her own faith in herself was shaken.

She hardly noticed how much time she spent by his side, unseen or not, nor how the peace and beauty of the heavens when she did return above were dulled for lack of him until she was reminded just how short her time with him would be. It was Nayru who found her lounging listlessly on a cloud and warned her that the time for Link’s real trial was approaching. If Hylia were mortal, she would have thought her lungs collapsed inside her at the words.

She hadn’t forgotten the gods’ design for him, not truly. But she hadn’t dwelt on it. She’d dwelt instead on the way his eyes narrowed in focus and determination while he threw himself recklessly in front of flagging comrades during battle, on the genuine smiles he always had for her no matter how he’d felt before he recognized her presence, on the comfort of his company when she was tired of playing the tireless divine. She finally realized what it all meant when it was far too late to save herself the pain of loving him.

There was pity in Nayru’s expression, but no surprise. “Did you know?” Hylia demanded. “That I would- feel this way?” she broke off awkwardly, unwilling to speak the damning truth aloud.

“It was one possibility,” the Elder Goddess said gently. “You cannot spare him if you hope to defeat the Demon King.”

Hylia was in no mood for her pity. “You think I don’t know that?” she snarled. “You all- You all knew this would happen? And you sent me down to play your sick little game with him anyway?”

Nayru raised an eyebrow, but her tone stayed kind and even as she said, “You know better than any of us that this is no game. And you understood from the beginning why it had to be you.”

Hylia wished Nayru had responded with offense instead of that damned understanding. She was in no mood for patience. She wished she could argue against the truth. But this fight was hers, had always been hers, and none of the Golden Three could take her place in it.

“But did it have to be him?” she whined, despite knowing the answer.

“If you had the chance, would you honestly choose any other to be your champion?” Nayru asked.

Of course not. However he felt about Hylia after his trial, she couldn’t imagine Link turning his back on his responsibility or failing. He was too good and pure, too brave and strong. The very qualities that had made her fall in love with him made it impossible for her to imagine any other champion measuring up to his example. He was irreplaceable, not just as her companion, but as her chosen Hero.

“Could you not have warned me?”

“Would it have made a difference?” Nayru asked.

Hylia wished she could have said yes. But, even forewarned, she couldn’t imagine knowing Link and not loving him.

Defeated, Hylia fell into Nayru’s ready embrace. “I love him,” she wailed pitifully.

“I know,” the Elder Goddess said softly. Her words carried no judgment, only kindness – just like his.

Hylia loved Link. She loved him, and she would betray him anyway. She desperately wanted her companion, but she needed her Hero. Her people needed him. She didn’t have a choice.

She didn’t think she could face him, knowing what she would have to do and how soon she’d have to do it. She wasn’t sure whether the comfort of his presence would outweigh the guilt of looking into his eyes and pretending that all was well, that he could still rely on her. But he was waiting for her, idling by a stream. She owed him at least one last good memory, didn’t she?

If he noticed she was a little more subdued than usual, he didn’t call attention to it. He simply let her be, filling the silence with a silly story about the wild antics of the children in the nearest town. For a moment, she almost forgot to dread the coming days, lost in her helpless giggles. But when she looked back at Link, he wasn’t wearing the satisfied smile that usually graced his features when he made her laugh. Instead, he was staring pensively into the distance. 

“Link? Are you alright?”

Shaking himself, he turned the full weight of his attention back on her. “Fine. I just…” He hesitated before continuing, “I was wondering. What happens after we defeat Demise? Will you no longer need a mortal champion?”

Hylia’s immortal heart seemed to stutter within her breast. How had he happened upon the question she was least prepared to answer? It was as if he could see into the future and knew that he would soon regret binding himself to her. “If you wish to be free of me then, I will hold your oath fulfilled,” she promised. It was nearly physically painful to force the words out, but he deserved at least that much from her.

“And if I don’t? If I never wish to be free of you?” Hylia couldn’t suppress a small gasp at the intensity of his voice. “You said you’d bless me in exchange for my service. But serving you is the greatest blessing I have ever known. I beg you to find some use for me still, once your enemy is no more,” he said, steadfast and immovable as the mountains, as if he truly couldn’t imagine wishing to be parted from her. But Hylia knew better. When all was said and done, he would do his duty. But he would no longer look on her as a friend.

The thought was too painful to bear. Hylia squeezed her eyes shut, but it wasn’t enough to stop her tears from falling.

“Hylia?” Link asked softly.

The care in his wide, blue eyes took her breath away as she recognized the depth of it. He no longer regarded her with the wary reverence that had ruled their first meeting. The softness in his expression wasn’t subservience; it was love. If there was one thing more painful than realizing she loved him, it was suspecting that he loved her back. He would have been better off loving a mortal woman, one who wasn’t bound to betray him, one who could love him as he deserved. Hylia could never prize him above all else, no matter how desperately she wished otherwise.

“Your devotion is more than I deserve,” she choked out honestly. Link opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could express more faith she’d shortly have to shatter. “The worst is yet to come. You may yet change your mind, and you must know, if so, I will let you go when that day comes. B-but if not…Your companionship is service enough.”

“My goddess,” he whispered fervently as a marriage vow, “I am yours and always will be. I know I am only a mortal, but what little I can do for you, I will do gladly.”

As if he were the one lacking! Hylia collapsed into his arms, burying her tearful face in his shoulder. He didn’t waste time marveling that a goddess could weep, didn’t demand an explanation. He simply accepted her sorrow, as wholly he always accepted her, and she loved him all the more for it. 

“You do so much more than you could ever know,” she said.

Link didn’t answer in words, only ran his hand gently up and down her back as the sobs wracked her body, and she ignored her guilt for a moment, allowing herself to pretend that his comfort was given knowingly, as if he’d already forgiven her for what she must do.

Hylia was disgusted by just how little she actually had to do. If his very wickedness weren’t so integral to the gods’ designs, she would have smitten Dagianis long ago. But as it was, she simply had to stay her hand while he unfurled his sordid plot against her Hero. She struggled to keep herself silent and invisible as she raged at the blatant falseness of the smug lord’s accusations. She nearly lost her resolve and struck him down for the boldness of his blasphemy when he invoked the gods to arbitrate a trial he intended to prove a lie.

Despair replaced her rage as Link straightened in confidence, recognizing her presence. He expected her to ensure his victory. That should have been her purpose there. It was all she could do to hold herself back from aiding him. But the longer he fought on, the more it hurt to watch doubt weigh more heavily on him with every stroke of his sword. Though the very thought of acting against him pained her, Hylia realized it was crueler to prolong his inevitable fall. Ending it quickly was the only mercy she could offer him now. She reached out to his essence as she had countless times before, but now she sapped his speed and strength where she had always bolstered them. Even still, the fight dragged on. Finally, when Link raised his blade to block a heavy overhead strike, she magnified the shockwave, shattering the steel with a sickening screech. With that act, the goddess Hylia lied in the eyes of her people, marking the mortal highest in her favor with apparent condemnation.

What pained her most was his silent acceptance. He didn’t cry out in betrayal. He didn’t even whisper, why? He simply bowed his head, as if acknowledging her judgment, as if he’d committed any sin for which he could be judged.

Hylia sat in the Spring of Courage, enduring the torturous memories that seeped into her like the water weighing down her dress, as she waited for Link to break his silence. The dead look in his eyes as he’d been dragged off to his imprisonment haunted her still, and even half-afraid of what he might say, she longed to hear that he was feeling something.

But she was unprepared to hear him beg. 

“My goddess,” he said, his voice already rough from disuse and despair, “if I have displeased you, only tell me how. Please, let me beg your forgiveness on my knees and benefit from your correction. You know I’d never offend you knowingly. You know you have only to say how I can earn your favor back, and I will obey you willingly. There is nothing you can ask of me I won’t do gladly. Please-”

She was by his side before she knew what she was doing. She only knew she couldn’t bear to stay away when he was suffering. His words broke off immediately. He recognized her presence as readily as ever. For a split second, she was stupid enough to hope that it brought him some small measure of comfort, that even though she couldn’t yet explain her betrayal, he at least would know she hadn’t abandoned him entirely. 

Then, his face fell, and his lips parted again to admit the heartrending plea, “Will you not speak to me?”

She couldn’t. If she interfered, if she let slip there was a higher purpose beyond his imprisonment, she would invalidate the Hero’s trial. But he could not know that. All he knew was that she wouldn’t. 

It was almost physically painful to watch him sag in his chains at her continued silence, drained of the motivation even to hold up his head. 

What had she expected? How could she possibly have thought to ease his pain when she couldn’t even show herself or offer a single word of validation? 

Hylia fled, but she couldn’t stay away. Her desperation to see some life return to his eyes dragged her back day after day, week after week. Against her better judgment, she couldn’t stand to leave him alone in the dark, even if her immaterial presence only hurt them both. Perhaps, someday, when she was finally allowed to reveal the reason behind all his suffering, he would remember that she’d never left him, never truly cast him off. Perhaps then it would all be worth it. That was what she told herself, anyway, when she wondered whether she could stand to let his test play out another day.

But then, Link finally reached his breaking point. He didn’t even lift his head when she arrived. She wondered, at first, whether he’d noticed her at all. Then, he spoke. 

“Please, I don’t understand. If you’re here to comfort me, why won’t you speak to me? I-if to torment me…Why? You’ve always been so merciful, what could I possibly have done to make you find pleasure in my pain?”

She’d never seen him weep before. And the tears now running unrestrainedly down his face were her fault - because he thought she wanted him to suffer. 

Clearly, her presence was doing more harm than good to both of them. She couldn’t stand being so near his suffering and doing nothing to ease it. She nearly broke her silence, despite knowing the consequences, but she reminded herself that all his suffering would be in vain then. She needed to withdraw before she ruined everything.

She couldn’t return. She didn’t trust herself to watch him weep again and not immediately free him, the consequences be damned.

She retreated to the heavens, hiding from the fields they’d walked together, hiding from the world she was torturing him to protect. But, after what felt like an eternity, his voice found her huddled in a cove of storm clouds with her head buried in her knees, which she had pulled into her chest.

“Goddess. I understand. I-I can’t change how I feel. But I’m sorry for it, for whatever that’s worth. I will endure this punishment as long as you see fit. E-even if it’s forever.” His voice broke, and he paused. Just when Hylia thought he had given up on continuing a prayer he must have known, by now, would go unanswered, his voice returned, stronger and more even but just as soft and fragile. “I don’t expect forgiveness. And I know I am unworthy to serve you. I beg you, someday, to let me try anyway, to offer what little I can in atonement. But if not…As always, I am yours to do with as you will.”

Hylia’s own tears dripped down to join the moisture in the weeping clouds below. Link had given up on deliverance, and still there was no anger in his tone. Even despair was barely distinguishable in his awful resignation. The worst part was that he thought Hylia was punishing him for the one thing she was most afraid to lose: His love. Alone, with only thunder and the fading echo of his voice ringing in her ears, she sobbed because she couldn’t tell him. Not until his test was over, not until he proved to the Deep Magic of the universe the purity she already saw within his heart. She only hoped that he was right, that he couldn’t change how he felt about her, that, when that day finally came, he’d love her still. She sobbed harder at the horrible selfishness of that wish. She didn’t deserve his love. When he was finally free, she would settle for his fealty.

Four years. That should have been the blink of an eye to Hylia. But it was four years without a glimpse of Link’s smile or a whisper of his voice, four years of knowing she had abandoned him in a living hell, four years of waiting to finally explain why she’d had to do it and beg his understanding. Hylia felt every minute of that time.

But, finally, it ended. The war against the demons took a turn for the worse. The people mutinied. Dagianis was dead, and Link was free. Still, Hylia was bound to wait a little longer, watching Link regain his strength and throw himself into leading and protecting her people, despite their crimes against him, without any interference from her. Finally, he’d proven that he loved them as she did, that he was worthy to wield her power in their defense. Finally, it was time for her to face him. 

Hylia descended from the sky on a scarlet Loftwing while he roused a crowd of soldiers in the courtyard of the palace that had been turned into a field hospital and refuge for displaced civilians. It was fitting, she thought as she broke through the clouds, that she would have an audience as she rectified the lie she’d told so publicly four years prior and finally showed the world where he truly lay in her esteem.

Chapter Text

Link didn’t bother lifting his head at the sound of footsteps. After the novelty of his fall from grace had worn off, he and his guards had settled into a mutual routine of ignoring each other. But he recognized the voice that called his name.

“Link…Link the Hero.”

He hadn’t heard that title unironically since before his imprisonment, but there was no hint of mockery in the nervous voice that called him now. He glanced up to see four of his old captains clustered around him – cautiously keeping as much distance as the small cell would allow, he noted, as if he weren’t restrained – and a vaguely familiar youth peering over their shoulders.

Link nearly laughed as Nosson stuttered out the news of Dagianis’s death, calling him “the man who framed you” as if claiming to finally believe Link’s innocence of the tyrant’s accusations meant anything now. “Please come out into the light of day.”

“The demon king’s army will soon be upon us,” Asher added, and Link understood why they had come.

He did laugh then, hoarse and bitter from his years of silence. “It was you – my own people – who said you had no need of a powerful hero,” he grated out. He remembered the rumors with which the guards had tried to taunt him in the beginning, before they’d realized how useless it was to fish for a reaction that would never come.  He knew how the tide of public opinion had turned, how his prophecies of a coming darkness even Hylia feared had been dismissed as deceitful fearmongering that had brought the gods’ wrath down upon him. “And now that it’s convenient for you, you want me to fight? What’s more, my sword is broken. I can’t even run anymore.” It was true. His chains had never allowed him much slack to move, forcing his muscles to atrophy no matter how restless he’d gotten.

“Our little…misunderstanding has been resolved. Your premonition of danger was correct. We all understand that now,” Etzel said.

“You are the only one who can drive the demon king off and protect Hylia!” Gristan added.

Link barely contained a flinch at the name, even knowing that he’d meant the land and not the goddess. Before he could begin to point out the folly of pinning all their hopes on a disgraced champion, Asher called his attention to the youth who had hovered silently all this while.

“Your weapon,” Asher said, stepping aside and gesturing at the sheathed blade the boy held carefully in his hands. “Orville has tended to it these past four years.”

The name was what finally made sense of that niggling sense of familiarity as the boy stepped forward and knelt, presenting the sword to Link as if it were something precious. Of course those wide brown eyes belonged to Orville, who had not yet lost the rounded cheeks of childhood when Link had seen him last but who now appeared on the cusp of manhood; who had made himself a sort of unofficial squire, always trailing behind Link, pestering him for lessons in the art of war and the scraps of smithing knowledge he’d remembered from his father’s trade; who had become something like a younger brother, helping to heal the wound Link’s fallen family had left in his heart.

Orville must have scavenged the scattered shards of Link’s blade immediately after his failed trial, before they could be lost or tossed away, and reforged the steel himself, keeping it all these years as if it were a sacred relic. Against the current of popular belief, which must have considered the blade a cursed remnant of the damned traitor, and against all seeming evidence, Orville must never have lost faith in Link.

“Link, our hero,” he said, and he meant it in a way the others hadn’t. “It is my honor to present this blade to you.” Peering up through his ruffled, brown fringe as he knelt before Link, his young voice rang with sincerity. While the others shifted nervously, still unsure of Link or, possibly, conscious of how little reason they’d given him to fight for them, Orville’s wide brown eyes were bright with confidence – in Link.

Fuck.

Link looked away, scanning the fidgeting figures of his old captains. He knew, if they weren’t so desperate, they would have left him here to rot. But they were desperate, desperate to protect the world in which pure souls like Orville had to live. And for some reason, they all thought he was their best chance to do it.

“And here I had thought that I would be able to sleep in peace,” Link grumbled to himself. But his decision had been made the moment he’d laid eyes on his reverently reforged sword.

He accepted his freedom and the proffered blade, donning the fresh uniform Orville had brought him before slipping the sheath over his shoulder. It settled heavily on his sore back, but the weight was oddly comforting. The blade he’d inherited from his father, which he’d carried in the goddess’s service until her displeasure had shattered it, was a fitting reminder both of his failure and of his reasons to fight on despite it.

He ignored the groaning of his joints to stand up straight and walk, though it took all his concentration not to stumble on his way out of the cell. How he managed at all was a mystery to him. Once, he would have thought only Hylia’s power could keep him on his feet in such a state. Perhaps his own stubbornness was simply that powerful, or perhaps some last dregs of her former blessings, soaked up over time, lingered in his bones.

When they reached the stairs leading up out of the dungeon, Orville offered him a shoulder to lean on and frowned when he shook his head and continued on his own. But if he noticed the white-knuckled grip Link kept on the banister or how his weight listed toward it the whole way up, he thankfully ignored it. 

The palace itself was a ghost town. Link’s companions informed him, typically, that it was being avoided as “cursed grounds.” He had astonishingly little patience for such superstition for a man who’d seen a goddess face to face. It took him less time than he expected to convince the injured and displaced inhabitants of nearby settlements to make use of the more fortified position and the resources the abandoned castle offered. Desperation was a powerful motivator and, it seemed, enough to overcome any lingering doubts about his credibility. Of course, the raids he soon began to lead again probably helped with that.

Powered by stubbornness and a burning need to live up to the faith he’d somehow regained from his people, he threw himself into fight after fight, spending his strength as fast as he regained it. Orville chided him for pushing himself too hard, but Link couldn’t afford to rest. If the war was going badly enough that he’d been freed, it was going badly enough that even what little strength he’d scraped together was needed on the front lines.

Roughly three months since Link’s return to the light of day, his people stood gathered in the palace courtyard, waiting for direction. For the first time, Link stepped forward to address them without the goddess’s help. Looking down on the sea of ragged survivors arrayed below the balcony on which he stood, he was painfully aware that he was not the symbol of divine protection for which they were hoping. All he could offer was himself. But that he would do freely.

“My dear land of Hylia! Though people’s hearts may change with time, this land’s beauty, pride, and purity never change. If you have need of me…then I will forever fight to defend you.”

The soldiers below him roared in approval, banging swords and spears against their shields. Cutting effortlessly through the clamor, Link felt Hylia’s achingly familiar presence before spotting the shadow that split the skies. Perhaps, attracted by her people’s outpouring of misplaced faith, she was coming down to finally smite him properly; or perhaps she, like them, was desperate enough to win the war that she would suffer his unworthy service, at least temporarily. Either way, he was hers to use as she would.

He rushed to calm the soldiers who, panicked by her large, red mount’s appearance, fired arrows into the sky. In the sudden stillness, Hylia descended with a reassuring smile, introducing herself and the creature of the gods, which she called a loftwing.

Then, the great bird scoffed. “Our search is in vain, Hylia,” it said, each word from its beak dripping with disdain. “They are so fearful that they cannot tell gods from demons! That is how useless these humans are. The one I seek will not be found here in this lower world. Someone able to fight the Demon King with me! Someone worthy to be my rider!”

Link may not be fit to speak of worthiness, but addressing the loftwing was easier than confronting Hylia. So, focusing on his anger at its dismissiveness, he demanded, “Useless?! If you seek souls to fight alongside you, we are here, Loftwing! We will defeat the Demon King!”

Perhaps such boldness was unwise, but he had nothing left to lose. The goddess stood before him. She would either smite him or stay her hand. He didn’t think mouthing off to an overgrown bird, sacred messenger or not, would make much difference in his fate. Surely, it had been decided already.

“Oh? And who might you be?” the loftwing asked.

Link avoided Hylia’s gaze, which bored into him with the full weight of divine judgment, with the excuse of meeting the loftwing’s gaze as he replied, “Link, a knight of the land of Hylia. Humans may look small in the eyes of a god…But there are those among us who have the courage to fight!”

“If this is so, then show me how much a human is worth!” the loftwing commanded before launching itself into the sky. Link had no doubt it would be watching from the heavens. But he had bigger worries as Hylia stepped forward with her glowing sword in hand.

Perplexingly but mercifully, she disregarded him to address her people. “The fearsome Demon King will soon raze the surface world with the fires of destruction. I cannot stand aside while my land and people fall to ruin. My people, you can escape to the sky. The loftwing will show you the way.”

She showed no signs of impatience at the doubtful murmurs rippling through the restless crowd, only kindly answered their concerns. “The Master Sword, a blade that repels evil, will sunder the earth and act as a pillar to support the land as it floats up to the sky. And yet, it was created by the gods, meant for our use alone. In order to exert its power on the surface world, it must be reforged by human hands. The hand of the most honorable hero in the land.”

Link struggled to breathe as she stepped forward and offered the blade to him. How could she imply he had a right to handle it when she herself had judged him unworthy? Was it some sort of test, to see if he was still plagued by the hubris that had made him too comfortable standing by her side? His feelings may not have changed, but he had certainly learned his place since then.

“Goddess, I was imprisoned for a long time, and my honor tarnished,” he said, as if she had forgotten. “I couldn’t possibly lay hands on this sacred sword.”

“Link,” she said, and he closed his eyes at the haunting softness of her voice caressing his name for the first time in four years. “This blade knows whether or not you are tarnished. Do you intend to take revenge on the kingdom that held you in contempt? Or will you save it from doom?”

Link couldn’t help the bitter smile that crossed his face as he opened his eyes. Hylia knew his answer. But she was giving him a chance to say it – and to prove it – in the eyes of all who needed to hear it. And if she herself craved a renewal of his vow, he would give it as freely as he’d first pledged her his service.

“Regardless of whether you are human or gods,” he said, “all of you seek my answer. Truly, you use me whenever it suits you. But, right now, it goes without saying – my spirit will always stand with my friends!”

He took the sword, raising it aloft as he finished his declaration. His people cried out in relief and hope, but their shouts were dull in his ears. The sharpest sensations, cutting through the chaos, were the sight of the soft smile beginning to curve Hylia’s lips and the renewed fire of her grace stoking his heart. Perhaps he had passed her test. Or perhaps, she simply had no other options. In either case, he would serve her as well as he could for as long as she would allow.

Hylia hadn’t exactly expected a warm reunion with Link. She’d braced herself for any manner of heartrending reactions. If he had fallen to his knees, for the first time since she had asked him not to all those years before, and begged for mercy as from a wrathful stranger, she would have done her best to reassure him and earn back his trust. If he had raged at her for her betrayal, she would have endured any number of harsh words, for she deserved them. But she had not been prepared for him to ignore her entirely, barely sparing her a glance before rebuking her loftwing for his dismissive attitude toward humans. Even when she had offered him the Master Sword and he’d been forced to address her directly, he had done so without betraying the slightest hint of familiarity. Goddess, he’d called her – as if she were some distant deity, no longer his. Her heart had clenched as he had spoken of his supposed unworthiness, but he had shown no sign of recognizing her discomfort or the cause of it. He had eventually taken the sword, but then he’d disappeared into the crowd, leaving her to bear their cheers while he hid from her searching gaze.

She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to be near her, she supposed. But she had to at least try to talk to him properly. When she could finally slip away from the plaza without causing a riot or a panic, she found him in a forge, the Master Sword held reverently in his hands while a young man pumped the bellows to prepare the fire for Link’s work.

Hylia recognized the boy’s good heart and smiled, careful not to spook him as she gently asked for a private word with her champion. The boy’s brown fringe flopped endearingly into his eyes as he glanced nervously at Link before bowing to Hylia and stammering out his hurried leave.

As the door closed behind the boy, Link knelt and bowed his head, hiding whatever emotions crossed his face. Hylia bit her tongue as the silence stretching between them grew deafening. She’d been so desperate to explain herself to him; now that she had the chance, she couldn’t find the words with which to do it.

“How may I serve you, goddess?” Link asked finally.

“No,” Hylia said, the spell binding her tongue broken by the urgent need to prove she hadn’t come to take yet more from him. “No, I don’t- that isn’t…The least I owe you is an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, goddess,” Link said, his damned impassivity unshaken by her stuttering assurances, “I know I have offended you-”

“No, that’s just it. I heard your last prayer. I know what you thought offended me, and nothing could be further from the truth.”

Link’s head snapped up in surprise. “Then what? If not…that, what did I do that was so abhorrent to you?” he asked, the slightest hint of bitterness finally coloring his tone along with desperation for an answer that had been too long in coming.

“Nothing! Link, you did nothing wrong. I craved your companionship, even…” Hylia took a deep breath, bracing herself, before she plunged forward, “even your love.” Link’s eyes widened as she confessed a feeling of which no divine should be capable. But he had never judged her for falling short of mortal standards for the divine. “Your love was the most precious gift you ever gave me.”

“Then, why?” he whispered with all the bemused anguish she had first expected in the wake of her betrayal.

“I told you once, no blessing comes without a price,” she said, resting her eyes meaningfully on the sword still in his grasp. “I needed a Hero with an unbreakable spirit.”

An incredulous husk of laughter slipped hoarsely from his throat. “I feel rather broken, goddess,” he said.

“And yet you fight – for the very people who wronged you. You love them as I do. Despite all that you have suffered, your courage and resolve to protect them have not faltered. You are the only mortal who could ever be worthy to wield my power.”

“I am yours, goddess, to use as you will.”

For all that he no longer looked at her in obvious betrayal, his words broke her heart. Even after her explanation, she was no longer his goddess, no longer his friend or partner, but only the distant deity he must propitiate. She sacrificed her dearest companion to forge her hero, and how could she complain? He had every right to hold her at arms’ length, every right to be wary of her divine whims, and she had known what she was doing when she had abandoned him. Though she hated herself for admitting it, she would do it again to save her people.

“I know you’ll do your duty in this fight. I never doubted that,” she said, in case he still needed reassurance that she knew exactly how worthy he was. “And, though I know I’ve lost your trust, I hope you can believe I’ll keep the promise I made you before- before…I did it because I knew what I was about to let you suffer. When this is over, I won’t fault you for wishing to be free of me. You’ve more than earned the right to live whatever life you choose, without my interference.”

“And if my answer hasn’t changed?”

Hylia gasped, just as she had the first time Link had said such things, and Link finally stood, beginning to close the distance between them as he pressed on, “The loss of my freedom wasn’t the worst of what I suffered. The worst was losing you. I never want to be without you again. So, if you truly don’t condemn me…If I have the right to beg a boon of you, all I ask is what I asked for then – that you find some reason to keep me near you, even if you no longer need me after this.”

“How? How can you possibly still love me?”

Link’s lips curved up into a knowing smile. “The first time you made me that promise, you wept,” he reminded her. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t know what you were offering,” Hylia choked out, barely holding back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes once more. “Because I didn’t deserve your love. Because I was going to hurt you, and I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want any of your people to be hurt. If my suffering was necessary for their safety, that’s a small price for a goddess to pay.”

Hylia dropped her gaze, no longer able to bear the lack of accusation in his clear blue eyes as she admitted, “It should have been. But I love you…more than a goddess should. In a way I didn’t know a god could love a mortal.”

“That’s why,” Link said softly, and Hylia raised her head to see a small, tender smile softening the hard lines of his face. “I had the audacity to love a goddess. One who was kind and merciful and determined to protect the least of her creations, even down to the flowers of the field. And somehow, impossibly, she loved me back. How could I ever stop loving you, knowing that?”

The last shreds of her self-control shattered, and Hylia wept.

“My goddess?” Link asked, taking another step forward in obvious concern.

Hylia sobbed harder at that, falling into his arms and burying her tearful face in his shoulder for the second time. “I feared you’d never call me yours again,” she said.

Link gently stroked her hair as he whispered, “You will always be my goddess, as I will always be yours – in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Link held her until her tears ran dry. And then, he reforged the sword of the gods so Hylia could use it to save her people from Demise.

As the land carrying her people to safety rose into the sky, Hylia turned back to the fight on the ground. In the end, she was too late to save Link’s body, but she latched onto his soul with the last dregs of her power.

“I will ensure that your gentle, heroic spirit will live on eternally. And I…I shall shed my divinity. The next time we meet, I wish to stand before you as a simple human. Whenever the land of Hylia is in danger, we shall be reborn,” she promised through her tears, speaking it irrevocably into the fabric of the future.

Perhaps Link would blame her for not letting him rest, for not keeping her promise to let him go. But perhaps he’d stand by his own promises and look on their reunion with as much hope as she did. For a moment, his soul brushed against hers, and she could have sworn she felt a flash of contentment. Then, he was gone to await rebirth.