Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Sealed Grounds were silent on the night the world ended. 

The silence that encompassed the pit was a sacred, evil, all-encompassing thing. It was holy in the worst way possible. It was anticipatory. It was holding its breath. 

The Chosen Hero had stood against Demise in all his dark power, standing up straight despite the raw waves of evil coming off of the god. He had bargained for a duel to the death. Demise had accepted, allowing the Hero to follow after him into a realm beyond reality. And the Chosen Hero had fought through the waves of dark magic pushing against him, entering the portal without a glance behind him. 

That was a moment that would become legend. But there was another hero in the Sealed Grounds that night. 

Violet and black swirled together in a column of pure magic over the unreal hole in the ground. Dark, sinister, stronger hatred pulsed like the heartbeat of some god, over and over again, washing over the walls and then retreating once more. The portal almost glowed with a dark sort of light, but it seemed to suck the life out of everything in the same breath. Colors grew sharper and duller at the same time. Dark splotches on the ground seemed simultaneously crimson and russet, making an unsteady path toward the column. 

And high above the lingering portal, a young man clutched the body of a dear friend. His muscles shook, rebelling at every tiny movement as the dark magic of a god pressed against his back and pounded them both into the ground. His shaking fingers kept pressing harder into her neck, searching fruitlessly for a pulse that didn’t exist. His brilliant shock of red hair, his pride and joy, was matted and unkempt in the face of the end of the world. Groose was finding that he couldn’t care less. 

Maybe he hadn’t been good to the girl in his arms. He hadn’t been good to his best friend. He hadn’t been good to the people who looked up to him. He hadn’t been good to the kind old ladies who used to feed him and every other kid sweets. He hadn’t been good to the knights who saved his life every time he got knocked off of Skyloft. He hadn’t been nice to his teachers, who did everything they could to teach him how to live and love living. And he hadn’t been all that good to Granny, even though he knew that she had always been right. About everything. 

He just hoped he had been good enough to his Loftwing. If there was one person he trusted to save his skin, to stand up for him, to stay by his side, it would be Fast. 

But that wasn’t so true anymore. 

For one, he trusted the goddess-given girl in his arms, despite her constant snipes, because he knew he deserved them all. Looking back on it, he really did. Golden hair spilled across the rocky ground, the only real color in the hellscape of the Sealed Grounds, but the girl the hair belonged to was cold and young and silent and oh so unmoving. He might never get the chance to apologize. 

Because the world was ending. 

But he wasn’t the important one. He wasn’t the one she needed to see, and he wasn’t the one who needed to see her. 

Link was. 

And that was weird, right? The kid that he resented for so long for being so effortlessly good, the kid who stayed on top of everything and slept in class while Groose slaved away into the night to remember math equations and flight maneuvers, was now his best friend. Link had saved his skin over and over again, done things he would never be capable of, and still forgave him even after everything. Even after how terrible Groose had treated him. He trusted Link with every fiber in his being. If Groose thought about it, he thought he might trust Link more than Hylia herself. 

But the Chosen Hero was gone. 

Not dead, but Groose wondered if he was as good as. 

No. Not Link, of all people. 

Another pulsing wave of dark magic crashed over him. Hot sweat ran down his face and seemed to freeze. His entire body was wracked with shivers. 

Since he had first made it down here to the Surface, Groose had never once doubted Link. 

But how could he possibly come back this time? 

How would he survive this? How could he win, battling an enemy who Hylia fled from? If there was anyone in the world who could win against Demise, it was Link. Groose knew that. 

But not a Link running on pure adrenaline, with too many wounds and no sleep. Even with the utter rage that had seemed to permeate from his entire body as he marched nonstop down towards Ghirahim, cutting down anyone foolish enough to get in his way… 

He won’t make it. 

Groose had never realized how scary Link could be. 

But he won’t make it. 

He pressed his fingers harder against Zelda’s neck, begging silently to feel a second pulse besides the one that pounded angrily through his own fingertips. They were going to survive. They had to, right? Everyone would be fine. Zelda would wake up (that wasn’t her life force being taken by Demise, it wasn’t, please-). Link would win his battle (not with the injuries he already had, not with the fatigue that plagued his every motion, not with the fact that he could barely stand up-). Groose would give them all hugs, and Granny might give them a rare smile. Impa would be proud of them. Everything would be alright, because Ghirahim would be gone and Demise would be killed and Groose would get the chance to finally apologize to his two best friends. 

Another raging wave of magic shoved against his back, and he stifled a grunt as he was folded over Zelda’s body (her corpse, you’re holding a corpse, get over yourself and call her what she is —). He could feel all of his organs being crushed, shifting around to find some sort of space as he was folded forcibly down. 

He needed to snap out of it. He needed to get Zelda to safety, that was his first priority. Neither of them could stay here for much longer. 

But Link… 

Link was still down there. 

And Groose couldn’t do anything to help him. Not anymore. This was just up to the Chosen Hero. 

It was all up to the lazy boy he had grown up with, and the exhausted young man that had already felled so many beasts without any help. Without any of Groose’s help. He just had to trust him. 

It was still hard. 

(Link’s unyielding rage had seemed to bubble up from nowhere, keeping his feet planted even as Groose struggled to just sit up. He didn’t think the image would ever leave its permanent place in his mind after being seared into his memory. In time, the entire night would be nothing but a pained blur, but he could never forget the look on his best friend’s face as he faced an unflinching evil, with neither side backing down. The righteous fury seemed to transform Link’s entire face, even from Groose’s hazy vantage point. 

For a moment, he barely recognized his friend. 

But goddessdammit, the all-encompassing anger couldn’t hide the crushing grief. It couldn't hide the raw exhaustion that plagued his friend. 

And Groose wasn't the only one to notice. Demise could see the heavy limbs, the shaking muscles, and the bags under cloudy eyes, too.

And he was smiling.)

Link didn't deserve to die like this. 

He won't. 

He will. What could a seventeen-year-old do against a god? He was even younger than Groose, dammit. 

They wouldn't win. They couldn't. Not against Demise. He would kill Link soon, and then come back through the portal, ready to go after the entire world. They were doomed. 

It was a miracle that Link had held him off for even this long. 

But this was the end. There was no coming back from this. Groose couldn't even hear the tiny birds anymore. 

Link didn't deserve this. Neither did Zelda or Impa or Grannie or Gaepora or Cawlin or Stritch or Gorko or anyone, on Skyloft or the Surface. Hylia damn it, they didn't deserve this. None of them deserved to die like this. 

Groose had never really cried before. He wasn't the type of person to bawl his eyes out. When he was upset he got angry. Fear just made him shaky and erased coherent thought. 

But as another wave of dark magic washed over him and the body of Zelda, Groose's eyes burned. 

No one would know if he let a couple tears fall. They would all die, anyway. 

And he couldn't do anything about it. All he could do was wait, tense and hopeless. One person would be walking out of the center of the Sealed Grounds. And all he could do was see who it was. 

The anticipation was going to kill him before Demise got around to it. 

Groose bit back a grunt, trying to shift closer to the edge of the spiral, but he only managed to drag himself forward a little. Zelda (Zelda’s corpse, accept it) was heavy in his lap, but he tried to keep her head from banging on the hard, bone-dry dirt. 

It wasn't how he wanted to die. But if they were all going to lose like this, Groose figured that he might learn to make peace with the fact that this was his end. Link wasn't there. Zelda was uncon – well, she was already dead. There. He fucking said it. Impa and Granny weren't with him. No one was. 

But no one was with Link either. 

There was something a bit poetic about everyone who he held so dear being alone and in despair, all the same. 

He wasn't satisfied, of course not. But he had helped out with the whole "saving the world" thing. That was probably the biggest thing he would ever do with his life. 

After all, what would his future be if they all survived? 

He's always figured he'd be a knight. But he did like it better down on the ground. Maybe he could have been an explorer. He could've made a map of the Surface. It would put all those years at the academy to use. He might have become a builder. He liked working with his hands, and while the Groosenator was still his magnum opus, he could have helped make…something. 

He really did wish he got to apologize. 

When Demise reappeared — which he would, as much as Groose hated it — he might put Zelda down and stand up, blocking his path for just a second. Momentary defiance. Link had done it. 

But for now, Groose could just watch the silent end of the world. 

There wasn't anything else to do. 

This was it for them. This was the end. 

For everything. 

Groose looked down at the Sealed Grounds, squinting his aching eyes until the pounding in the back of his head numbed to a dull roar. 

A lone goddess statue gleamed at the bottom of the pit, right next to Demise’s dark portal. 

Holy fuck. 

Another wave shoved him back, and Groose snapped to reality. 

His eyes were full of dust. The dirt below him gritted into his palms. His muscles were shaking. The darkness of the portal seemed to leech the life from the air. The sky was dark and his friends were dead but he was still alive and there was just a random goddess statue down there. 

This was where he was. This wasn't a dream. He shouldn't just accept the body in his arms, or the fact that Link went to face down a god and was going to die, or the fact that the world was doomed. 

And he stared at the faintly glowing bird sculpture, completely bemused. Weren’t those holy? Was that even there before? How was it still standing pristine and undamaged among the rubble? What was going on? 

When Hylia’s corpse lay in his arms, how could she even protect them at the end of the world? 

Groose felt his hands begin to shake again, and he balled them into fists. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t shake like this. He couldn’t be this tired, or this weak, or this…this scared. 

He had to protect Zelda. 

Even if she was too pale and too thin and too silent and too unmoving. 

He told Link that he had Zelda. 

He needed to make good on that. 

He could barely sit up, and his vision swam, but he looked back down at the statue. The crystalline pedestal seemed to pulse gently, pushing against the evilness coming from the portal at the center of the pit. He could have sworn there was a small bubble of clean air around it; a little pocket of space where Demise’s power couldn’t reach. 

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

But the statue didn’t look any different from the ones he was used to. It was the same as all the others on the Surface and in the sky. There was a goddess statue right outside his parents’ old house. 

It reminded Groose of home. 

The home that still existed. 

A vain, unwanted adrenaline rush surged through the redhead that he quickly fought to stamp down. Seeing the statue so out–of–place at the bottom of the pit felt like a dream. And in his woozy vision, from so far away, it probably was. It didn’t exist, it was probably a hallucination. He was just going crazy or something. 

It couldn’t exist. Nothing just appeared randomly at the last moments of the universe. Real life wasn’t like the fantasy books in the Skyloft library. It wasn’t like ancient legends. 

But still, that stubborn little spark of hope stayed. 

The ancient legends were true, after all. They were on the Surface. Link had told him about how Hylia had reincarnated into Zelda. Groose had seen the Gate of Time and the Imprisoned with his own eyes. He’d bombed that sucker. And he had been in the presence of Demise.  

The statue was hazy and wavering, but Groose couldn’t help but feel like it was real. 

He didn’t know anymore. 

But maybe it meant something. Groose had never been the greatest at literary analysis, but something about that statue gave him hope. Maybe Link could make it through. Maybe he could run out of the portal and reach that little bubble around the statue and be safe. It was irrational, but an idea nonetheless. 

Maybe Hylia was still looking out for them. She had planned so much beforehand, after all. 

Maybe she could protect them. Maybe she could help Link. 

Then he and Zelda and Groose wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. All Groose wanted to do was prank Pipit with his friends and race through the halls to get to breakfast first. He wanted to explore the Surface and spar with his friends and help Granny and take care of the tree in the temple. 

They were just students. Sure, Link had some “unbreakable spirit” or whatever, but he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to die after doing so much. 

None of them deserved this. 

In one monumental heave, Groose dragged himself and Zelda to the lip of the cliff. He sat there, still cradling his friend’s body, watching as the dark clouds above drifted overhead and the hateful magic of Demise swirled around the chasm. The entire Sealed Grounds were steeped in foreboding and hopelessness. 

Groose just sat there, curling over Zelda and protecting her as best he could from wave after wave of evil. He watched the endlessly twisting, inky portal for any sign of someone coming out. He saw no green tunic, but he saw no fiery hair either. 

The entire world was waiting, as if its fate was hanging by a single, thin green thread that was strained to its breaking point. It was still, as if one twitch would send everything tumbling to the abyss. It was helpless, like its hands were tied as someone else fought a desperate war that no one could see. 

And only Groose was there to witness it.

Maybe the statue was real. Maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t really matter, in the end. 

He wanted to go home. But so did Link. And if his best bud was worried about Zelda, Groose knew he would slip up. 

He couldn’t just sit here and watch as the world caved in around him. Zelda needed somewhere safe to stay. She couldn’t be in harm’s way, not any more than she had been. If he could do one thing, just one more thing to help save the world, then he would. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t stand the force of a god. But he could keep his promise. Link was trusting him. 

And Groose trusted Link. 

He heaved a massive sigh. A wave of hatred surged over Zelda and him once more, but he forced himself to stand on shaking legs. With Zelda in his arms, he began the slow trudge towards the Sealed Temple. At least Impa would be there. At least he wouldn’t be alone. The three of them could wait it out together. 

Because if Link lost, then the world was gone. There would be no stopping that. 

And all Groose could do was wait.