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[sushihoshi]

companies are delusional if they think consumers don't notice shrinkflation. less food in the package, less medicine in the jar, less whatever in the wherever, it doesn't matter where and it's almost always noticeable. like i just finished one box of medicine and we opened another allegedly identical one that we just bought and lo and behold, the four middle medicine segments were gone from the package. they took out four pills from the same sized box and sold it at the same price without any indication on the box other than the small number in the corner. ridiculous

[sushihoshi]

Worthless Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All canon characters, references, and locations are the intellectual property of Nintendo. I gain nothing of monetary value from this work.

Author’s Note: Here we are, finally! Chapter 6. Looks like we’re headed for Chapter 7 after this. As always, enjoy.

               It didn’t take long for Zelda to learn about Link’s outing to the Temple of Time. He silently endured her ensuing lecture about “using his brain” and “taking better care” of himself. When the infirmarian came at the regular time that evening with his draughts, Link steadfastly refused them. Zelda argued with him on this point as well, ultimately pleading with him to concede to treatment. He eventually stated that he would cooperate, but emptied the bottles into a vase of flowers after everyone left the room. Any added hours with the hallucinations would drive him truly mad. As the draughts wore off, his pain resurged, but the spectres evaporated into obscurity.

               Frustrated by Link’s prior movement about the grounds, Zelda had two guards posted at all times outside the doors of the royal bed chambres. Link objected wholly to his imposed invalid status, but bore it nonetheless. He settled into a routine of eating, sleeping, reading, and utter boredom. Four weeks dragged by and his pain gradually ebbed. Finally, on the morning of the fifth week since his accident, the infirmarian cleared Link to move about the castle, but not beyond. As soon as he was alone, Link slid out of bed and set about shaving and washing up. Dressing was still a sore and cumbersome business, but he managed it by himself. Damn the Goddesses if he would ever request assistance again. The last four weeks of being treated like a child were enough to make him swear off of help. The effort from walking a few steps and dressing left him feeling breathless, however. Link rummaged about through the back of his wardrobe and pulled out a hiking stick. He moved with some difficulty over to the chambre doors, leaning heavily against the stick. Was this how it felt to be old, he wondered. All 28 of his years felt as though they weighed thrice over on his frame.

                “Well,” he said to himself, “no point in thinking about that. I’ll get there in another 56 years.”

               Link slowly worked his way through the castle corridors, arriving after some time at the private dining area. He paused outside and listened. He could hear Zelda speaking with a servant. After four uninterrupted weeks of being her captive audience, he had zero desire to spend his first free breakfast with her. He turned and made his way for the back stairs, which he navigated with trepidation. Link breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the bottom of the flight, thankful that he hadn’t fallen and tumbled head over arse into the hall. He paused for a moment, catching his breath, hiking stick clutched in a white-knuckle grip. His gasps reverberated through the narrow space.

               “Let’s not be lazy, Link,” he said to himself, and started down the naked stone hall that lead to the detached castle kitchen.

               Echoes bounded off the walls, servants and cooks buzzing about in a hive of activity. The aroma of frying sausages wafted through the air and Link’s stomach rumbled. He stepped over the threshold and looked about for a place to sit. The head cook usually permitted him to settle at a table when his feet lead him here from time to time. There was always food to be had and Link felt more at ease in the presence of the kitchen staff than with the upstairs servants and courtiers. There was no room for social pretense in a working kitchen.

               “Here, dear. See if this perks you up a bit.” Across the room, the head cook offered a cup of hot tea to a woman seated with her head down. She looked up to accept the cup and inadvertently locked eyes with Link. It was Malon. She furrowed her brow at the sight of him, confused. Link shuffled over and sat next to her, but not too close, making sure to place his hiking stick between them. Malon thanked the cook and rubbed a hand across her face.

               “Hello,” Link said. “Making a delivery?”

               Malon sipped her tea and nodded. “Why are you walking with a stick? What happened?” she asked with some trepidation.

               Link grunted. “Climbing accident. I’ve been in bed for four weeks straight.”

               “Four weeks! Are you alright?”

               Link shrugged. “I’m getting better.”

               Malon rested her face in her hands.

               “And what about you?” he asked. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

               “That’s the trouble,” she answered. “I have slept. I’ve been sleeping more than ever lately and it seems to do me no good. I could sleep right here!”

               Link felt a tug in his navel, an inexplicable unease spreading through him. “Are you unwell?” he asked.

               Malon shook her head. “No, I feel fine. But I have been making all of the milk deliveries, lately. Our ranch hand – you know, Jon? The one who helps make the extra deliveries? He’s visiting his mother who’s taken ill. I’ve had to pick up the excess work and I’m all over the kingdom. Different deliveries every day.”

               Link felt a strong urge to put his arm around her shoulders, but didn’t act on it. He stared at her wordlessly, taken in by the sight of her next to him. He imagined running his fingers through her long, red hair; touching her face. She was as beautiful as always, but different somehow. He couldn’t quite put words to it.

               Malon looked up from her hands and caught his eyes. She blinked, surprised by the depth of his gaze.

               “Sir Greenfield, how, uh, how is Her Majesty?” It felt like her tongue had tripped over itself. Link’s expression crumbled and he stiffened his posture, the moment over. Malon silently chastised herself for her lack of tact.

               “Her Majesty is the same as always -- ” he answered. “steadfast.”

               “And how about you?” Malon asked carefully.

               Link hesitated before answering in a halting manner, his voice low  enough that only she could hear amidst the din about them. “I feel – I feel…” He gripped his walking stick. “I feel like riding my horse towards the ends of the Earth. ”

               Under the table, Malon subtly brushed her hand against his knee. A slight shudder rushed through his body. The sounds of the kitchen faded as he looked down at the spot where she touched him. Everything else ceased to be in the moment. There was no Zelda. There was no past here or otherwise. There was only Malon and him, sitting quietly. He could feel despair welling up from deep within. His side ached. He was embarrassed by the emotions surfacing without warning. All of it was too much. Inside, he could feel it. He was finished. Thoroughly finished with Zelda. He felt like a caged animal. He wanted to take Malon by the hand and dash for the gates. This life in the castle was wrong for him. If only he could go back to an anonymous existence. What business had he, living in a castle? What ego! Link looked up at Malon, the expression on his face intense.

               Malon saw the shadow drawing across his countenance and a feeling of sickness yanked down in her throat without warning. There was no way of holding it in. She sprang up and ran for the back door, sticking her head out over the steps where she immediately vomited. A servant hurried after her and asked if she was alright. Malon tried to say yes, but was sick again. Link felt another pull in his navel as the head cook hurried over to the back door and spoke quietly with Malon. Despite his desire to rush to her, it would be improper to do so. The cook handed Malon a glass of watered wine and helped her to a seat by the doorway. Her face flushed red and a servant fanned her with a spare baking pan.

               “Dear, I think tea isn’t going to fix your fatigue,” said the cook.

               Malon groaned and rubbed her brow. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.

               “Sweet girl, the Goddesses bless you! Do you not know?”

               “Know what?” Malon said, irritated.

               The cook smiled. “I’m not a midwife, dairy girl, but I believe you are with child.”

               Malon choked on her drink. The kitchen servant stopped fanning and clapped her on the back.

               “WHAT? NO! Of course I’m not! It’s not possible!” Malon coughed.

               They were interrupted by the sound of Link’s stick tapping loudly on the kitchen floor. He looked at them calmly from his seat, brow furrowed. Servants always knew, or at the least figured things out quickly. How could they not? He had to do something right away.

               “Let’s not be alarmist.” he said, gesturing at Malon with his stick. “It’s clear that her humours are out of balance.” He pointed to her cup of tea and glared at the head cook. “She’s clearly suffering from an excess of yellow bile. The hot tea must have caused a paroxysm.” He eased himself to his feet, clutching his walking stick.

               “Now,” he said, “surely, the royal household cannot neglect a faithful vassal within its walls. Shall I provide you with an escort back to your home? Perhaps after a night’s stay in a guest chambre? I could not forgive myself if I allowed a lady in need to go without aid.”

               There was a collective release of tension in the room. Of course, Sir Greenfield was correct. A fine young lady such Malon wouldn’t be with child out of wedlock. It was simply a matter of humours.

               Malon took the opportunity without question. “Yes, Sir Greenfield. I think a night’s rest and an escort would be most helpful.”

               Link motioned to the servant fanning her. “Set that pan down and help her up,” he said. “Follow me, please. We’ll get her into suitable quarters.”

               The head cook helped the servant in getting Malon to her feet.

               “I am sorry for suggesting such a thing, dear. Please, rest easy and I’ll make sure to have cold food sent to your chambre. We’ll get your humours back in balance,” she said.

               Malon thanked her, relieved.

               “Dairy girl, do you have any undelivered goods that need attending?” Link asked.

               “No, Sir. This was my sole order for the day.”

               “Good, good,” Link said. “Come with me. We’ll take the rear stairs so as not to disturb anyone.” Link slowly picked his way through the kitchen and back down the barren hallway, Malon and a kitchen servant following. After the stairs, they took a turn down a separate wing reserved for dignitaries and guests. He led them to a small but secluded room with a private hall to attached bathing quarters.

               “This room is usually reserved for members of any visiting dignitary’s retinue, so you have your own facilities to use,” he said to Malon. He motioned to a woven cord hanging next to the bed. “If you need anything – anything at all – don’t hesitate to ring.”

               “Thank-you, Sir Greenfield. I’m overwhelmed. I’ll try not to bother anyone,” Malon answered.

               Link smiled. “It’s the duty of the royal family – consorts included – to look after the welfare of the Kingdom’s subjects. Please, feel at home while you are here. I will return later to see how you are.” He nodded at the kitchen servant assisting them. “Notify one of the hand maids that we have a guest who needs attending.” The servant curtseyed and Link departed from the room. He hurried (as quickly as he could, anyway) down the hall and stopped after going around the nearest bend.

               Absolute panic seeped into his bones, pounded in his veins. This, this was a massive breach of judgment on his part. Oh Goddesses, Malon! He had gotten her pregnant! He tried to think of possible alternative explanations to the one that the cook had so publicly suggested. Nothing else made sense. And the head cook was at least 40 years of age, with grown children. Surely she had better knowledge of these things than he.

               Link clutched at his side, the pain clawing through to his guts with the advent of this crisis. What was he to do? This was his fault; all his fault. He could never tell Zelda. But he couldn’t leave Malon without assistance. He had to accept responsibility for this. His marriage was as good as over to begin with. No. He had one alternative, but it would be difficult to take that route. But then, what choice did he have? He was planning on it anyway. He turned and hurried back toward the royal chambres to think and prepare.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

               The kitchen servant turned to Malon after Link exited the room. “I’ll take my leave now, Ma’am. Is there anything you would like sent up from the kitchens?”

               Malon thought for a second before replying. “More watered wine? Although, wild carrot tea would be nice.” she said.

               “Yes, Ma’am,” the servant answered. “I shall have the wine brought. We’re out of wild carrot anyway, even if it were good for your humours. Although, you’ll probably be wanting to avoid that sort of tea in future, Ma’am.”

               “Why would I avoid it?” asked Malon.

               “My family forages, you see,” the servant answered, “and wild carrot, it’s no good for ladies with child.”

               “Well, seeing as I’m not with child at the moment, I don’t see how that matters.”

               The servant shrugged her shoulders. “Something you might like to know for later, Ma’am.”

               “What do you mean? How is it no good for children?”

               “My uncle, he knew a good deal about herbs and, what did he call it? I think he said it was ay-boar-teh-fah-see-ent,” she sounded out the word.

               Malon had no idea what that meant. But if it would make her sick, perhaps she should avoid it. “Either way, watered wine is all I need,” she said.

               The servant curtseyed and exited, leaving Malon to contemplate whether her humours were really unbalanced or not.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

               The reflection in the mirror stared back at her with hard indifference. There – in the lines around the corners of her eyes and mouth – there was her father. Zelda regarded her image, almost afraid of her own countenance. Of course it was the same face that always looked back at her from the glass. She should be used to it by now. Sometimes all she saw was a disillusioned woman. Someone more akin to a distant, bitter aunt than a reflection of herself. She was by no means old, but she was a youth no more. A mere thirty years of age, yet the crown and all of its responsibilities had imparted to her the curse of stress. With that stress came an accelerated process of decline. Yet, what could she do? This was her lot. Girlhood and its foibles were but a distant memory; like a whispered fairytale from childhood.

               She opened a pot of rouge and rubbed a dab into her cheeks. An outing into the castle town had been scheduled for the afternoon and she wouldn’t look pale in front of her subjects. The people depended on her to smile and appear strong. The Kingdom could not lead itself. She was in the process of brushing and fixing her hair when the bed chambre door creaked open behind her. Link entered, appearing somewhat flustered, a long walking stick in his grasp. He stopped and looked at her with surprise, catching his breath.

               “Good morning, dear,” Zelda said, and returned to her grooming regimen.

               Link wordlessly shuffled toward the doors of his adjoining room.

               “I’m glad to see you up and about. Are you going back to your bed already?” she asked.

               He stopped with his hand upon the door handle and spoke without looking at her. “Moving around takes more effort than I anticipated,” he answered. “I need to rest for a small while.” He turned suddenly and looked her in the eye. “I am uncertain that I will have the strength to make it down for supper tonight. Do you mind if I withdraw this evening?”

               “No, I don’t mind, dear. It’s no trouble. You should rest and focus on healing.”

               “Thank-you,” he said.

               Zelda turned back to her looking glass. “Oh, one more thing, Link.”

               He waited, his back turned, desperate to get away.

               “I will be in the Castle Town for the duration of the afternoon. Don’t worry if I come in at a late hour tonight. You know how these things are.”

               Link relaxed a bit inside. What a stroke of luck. “Yes. Thank-you, Zelda. I’ll rest easy for the evening, then.”

               “You’re welcome, Link,” she said, and set about braiding her hair.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

               Link dropped onto his bed and eased onto his back, waves of fright rushing over him. He could hear Zelda in the other room, completing her lengthy beauty regimen. He waited, listening, frozen in place. A servant entered to help her finish dressing, the sounds of swishing fabric and clinking jewelry stealing through the gap in the door. He could see her in his mind’s eye, the wall and door vanishing. She would be in the light purple gown with the speckled fur collar. A golden crown set with large, blood-red rubies would adorn her fair coif. A diamond necklace gracing her throat, dangling nearly to the wonderful cleavage of her breasts. His beautiful, treacherous wife. His eyes stung and he felt like the embodiment of worthless revenge.

               He wanted to yank the Earth backwards and convince the sun and moon to join him in dragging time into the past. If only he still held the Ocarina of Time and the Master Sword.

               The doors of the adjoining chambre closed with a soft thump as Zelda and her servant exited. Link lied on the bed for minutes longer, hoping that he wasn’t dying of a heart attack; small shocks of pain radiating through his sternum. Nervous energy built in his limbs and he rose from the bed, movement the only salve for his panic. He shuffled over to his writing desk and pulled out a scroll of paper. For a half an hour he wrote with hurried strokes, splotches of ink dotting the blotter. (He never was the neatest scribe.) When he finished, Link left the scroll to dry for a minute and went over to his wardrobe. He dug frantically through the back, tossing boots and clothes onto the floor behind him. He emerged with a large sack of rupees (he had hidden them in a spare quiver over the years) and stuffed them into his tunic. If he hunched forward, the bulge in his shirt was mostly concealed. He swiftly returned everything to his wardrobe and locked it. He gathered his dried scroll, folding it neatly, and placed it in his tunic with the sack of rupees. With that, he left his chambres and headed back toward the guest wing.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

               Malon sat on the stone sill of her guest chambre window, observing the comings and goings of the castle inhabitants outside. Servants moved about, seeing to their daily work. A knight walked about the stable yard calling for his squire, who, as Malon could see from her perch, was hiding in a hay cart, catching an illicit late-morning nap. In the main court the Queen’s white carriage and horses awaited. The royal guard stood at attention as a horn sounded. Malon’s view was somewhat obscured, but she saw a flash of violet as Zelda herself crossed the court and entered the carriage. She watched as the horses trotted forward to the gates, a pale hand resting on the gilded edge of the carriage window. The royal procession exited with some fanfare, then all was quiet again.

               Malon rarely saw her Queen, and only from a distance. How strange to think that the man she had now bedded with twice knew the Queen intimately. The passing thought of Link sleeping with the Queen made her feel jealous and angry. It was irrational, as she was the interloper, but she couldn’t help it. Her ears pounded and she held her breath as envy coursed through her. Down in the stable yard the knight found his squire and set to beating him about the ears for his insolence. A knock at the door roused Malon from her venomous repose.

               “Come in!” she called.

               A hand maid entered carrying a tray of food and drink.

               “I’ve come with cold tea and melon, Ma’am,” she said as she set down the tray.

               Malon stepped over to look at what was on offer. “No watered wine?” she asked.

               The servant shook her head. “Our infirmarian says excess of yellow bile requires cold and dry foods. She had us send cold green tea and melon. It should fix you up before the day’s end.”

               “Please tell her I said thank-you. And thank-you, of course, for your help and hospitality.”

               The servant curtseyed. “My pleasure, Ma’am. Will you be needing anything else for now?”

               “No, this is more than enough. I wish to sleep. If it’s alright, I would much like to be left alone for a good while.”

               “I shall take my leave, then. Ring when you need assistance again.”

               “Thank-you.”

               The hand maid exited and Malon sat on the bed, sipping her tea. It was cold and bitter, but refreshing. Her stomach had settled quickly after her bout of sickness. The day before was also much the same. Lots of exhaustion, nausea, and irritability. She didn’t feel herself as usual, physically or emotionally.

               The melon was sweet and juicy. Summer had peaked and would soon turn to fall, making such seasonal delights a memory of halcyon times departed. She sighed and stared at the door as she ate, willing Link to walk through it. As though the Goddesses heard her thoughts, there was a rapping. Malon entreated the visitor to enter, and Link slipped in, casting a look over his shoulder. He quietly shut the door and put a finger to his lips. He motioned to the private hall that led to the bathing area. He hid his stick behind the wardrobe, just in case anyone should come calling. No one need know he was visiting alone.

               Malon followed him down the small hallway to the bath silently. Link closed the door behind them and visibly relaxed.

               “The only way in or out of here is through that hallway,” he said, motioning to the door. “No one can eavesdrop on us here.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out his sack of rupees. “These are for you,” he said, and handed them to Malon. She took the proffered bag, dumbfounded.

               “Link, I can’t accept these,” she gasped as she looked inside. The bag was filled entirely with gold and platinum rupees. She tried to hand it back to him.

               “No, those are for you and the baby,” he insisted.

               Malon sank down to her knees on the hot stone floor, tears stinging her eyes. She stared at the bag of rupees, seeing nothing and feeling lost.

               “Do you think I’m actually with child?” she whispered.

               Link knelt down next to her and ran his fingers through her hair.

               “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I thought my issue was useless, but perhaps that was incorrect. The Queen has found… other avenues for conception. It seems none of those are working, either.”

They were both silent for a minute before Link spoke again.

               “I’m sorry for doing this to you, Malon. I’m sorry for pulling you into this mess.”

               She clutched the bag in her lap and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “We can’t undo what has been done,” she said. “This is where we are and this is what we have to deal with. I’m not some stupid girl, Link. I didn’t have to get involved, but I did. You didn’t make that choice for me. I made it myself. I can handle this myself.” She again tried to give the rupees back to Link.

               “No, keep the money,” he said. Malon snorted and dashed a hand at the tears building in her eyes.

               “And why should I keep it?” she asked bitterly. “You don’t have to pay me to go away. I can do that on my own.” Link caught her by the wrist and looked her in the eyes.

               “I don’t want you to go away! I’m not paying you! I’m going to leave this castle and take you somewhere safe! You and me, together! I want to go away from Hyrule where we can live our lives together, as we should!”

               “Away from Hyrule? To where? What about my father and the ranch? I can’t just leave!”

               “What’s in that bag is worth 300,000 green rupees. I have more, much more, stashed away, but we can’t carry it all at once.” He fumbled inside his tunic and produced the folded scroll he wrote earlier. He pressed it into her hand. “Take this. It explains a good deal, just in case. I’ve listed where you can find the rest of my money. Am I correct in assuming you can read?”

               Malon nodded. “Yes, I can read.”

               “Good.  That’s a start. Tell your father where you’re going, but don’t tell him too much. We don’t want to put him in danger. He can join you later if he wishes.”

               “Link, I don’t want to leave Hyrule. I’m not sure this is wise.”

               He took her hands in his.

               “You must. If you are pregnant with my child, you are in danger. Already the head cook suggested, in a room full of servants, that you are pregnant. I may have quieted that down for the moment, but if you are pregnant, it will become increasingly clear over the months. Then the questions will start. It takes only one servant, one person in town to make the connection between you and me. Once that happens, the rumours will start and there will be no turning back. The Queen will find out. Your life and the life of our child will both be in great danger. I cannot let that happen. I will not let that happen. I love you, Malon, and I want you to be safe. Please, please, take this money, go home, pack your things, and go south to Ordon Province. I will follow you there, I promise.”

               “Yes… I, I understand. I, uh, did you – did you just say that you love me?” she stammered.

               “Yes, Malon, I love you.”

               Malon dropped the bag of rupees and threw her arms around Link’s neck. Tears cascaded from her eyes and she buried her face in his chest. Never in her life had she felt this overcome with emotion.

               “I’m sorry, did I say too much?” he asked, worried. “I didn’t mean to upset you further.”

               “No, I’m not upset!” She clutched him tighter.

               Link’s arms started to shake. “Malon, please, not so tight. I can’t –” Malon realized she was hurting him and quickly let go. She dried her eyes on her sleeve. Link put a hand to his side and sucked a breath in through his nose, ribs throbbing again. He still couldn’t stand to bear much weight, even indirectly.

               “Do you really mean that?” she asked, skeptical. “You’re not only saying you love me so that I’ll do as you ask?”

               “I wouldn’t say that to you if I didn’t mean it,” he answered. “I wasn’t sure before, but I am now.  Even if you aren’t with child, Malon, I am certain that yes, I do love you.”

               She leaned in and kissed him slowly on the lips, her hand on his cheek.

               When she pulled back he asked, “I don’t want to press you, but do you love me, as well?”

               “Yes! Since the day we met!”

               “Oh! I had no idea. Well, I still feel a fool, but for other reasons, now.” Malon smiled and put a hand over her stomach.

               “I wonder if we are? I hope it’s a girl.”

               “I don’t mind if it’s a girl or a boy. All I mind is whether you’re both safe.” Malon leaned in and kissed Link again, then they sat on the hot stone floor, backs to the wall, holding hands.  

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[sushihoshi]

Worthless: Chapter 5

Author’s Note: Please enjoy chapter 5. If you catch any errors, feel free to inform me, should you feel compelled.

Disclaimer: All canon characters, references, and locations are the intellectual property of Nintendo. I gain nothing of monetary value from this work.

               Link strode through the castle town with his cap once again pulled low. He had to hurry in order to get back in time for a bath and dinner. Guilt settled into his bones with each step. The need for sleep tugged at his eyelids. Was it possible to fall into slumber on foot and keep walking? He shook his head and adjusted his cap. No, it probably wasn’t. The edge of town and embankments beyond loomed into view. Torches burned in the dark atop of the castle’s inner walls, soldiers stationed at regular intervals. There were more men on guard this night than usual. Perhaps getting back in would be more difficult that Link had originally assumed. He stopped at the edge of town in a copse of trees, watching the sentries’ movement. In spite of his need for vigilance, Link’s mind wandered to Malon.

               He thought of what they had done minutes before, a slight thrill passing through his groin at the memory. Once, he had felt a similar excitement about Zelda. Link couldn’t make sense of his own head lately. He loved his wife in spite of everything, but here he was -- having sex with another woman. A woman he cared about, but not the one with whom he should he should be involved. If Zelda’s actions had entirely forfeited his love, perhaps he wouldn’t have such qualms about his own transgressions. As things stood, none of it was right. Neither Zelda’s choices, nor his were morally defensible. Link felt gritty and filthy. Who was he to seek out relations when he had unfinished marital business? What right did he have to pull Malon into this disaster? Of course, Malon could make her own choices. She was an adult, possessed personal agency. But who was he to open that door in the first place?            

               Link’s questions lingered in the air like an invisible haze. Nothing made itself apparent. He didn’t know if he would continue seeing Malon, if it could be called “seeing” her. The only thing he did know was that he needed out of this situation at home.

               The castle sentries moved in fairly predictable patterns. Link waited for an opportune break in their ranks and, timing his advancement to their breaks, stole through the embankments, over the outer wall, and across the killing field. He eventually reached the bottom of the inner wall and glanced upward. As far as he could tell, no one seemed to have noticed his flight back across. He waited in darkness, silent, the soldiers patrolling their assigned sections of the battlements. A gap opened in their movements again and he swiftly climbed upward. As he reached the edge of the parapet, his foot slipped without warning and he swung down, barely hanging on by his fingers. He let out an unintentional grunt as his ribcage smashed into a stone jutting out of the wall.

               “HALT!” a soldier shouted, and he heard the drawing of a bowstring. Link cursed at himself, his side smarting as he hung from the parapet, unprepared to make a thirty-foot drop.

Footsteps moved closer, leather fingertabs creaking against drawn bowstring.

               “Identify yourself!” the soldier ordered.

               “It’s me,” Link answered, hoarsely. “Link Greenfield, the Queen’s Consort.”

               The soldier leaned over the battlement, arrow still knocked and drawn, and peered into the dark. He squinted at Link and studied him for a moment. He stepped back, at the ready.

               “Climb up,” he ordered.

               Link heaved himself up and over the top, arms shaking from hanging too long, great pain throbbing in his ribcage. He removed his cap and straightened his posture. He locked his eyes with those of the soldier, who in turn relaxed his grip on the bowstring. He moved his drawing hand to the hilt of his short-sword.

               “We have orders not to allow you off the grounds, Sir.”

               “I’m aware of that,” Link answered.

               “I need to call my captain. Don’t move.”

A slight panic dug itself into Link’s throat.

               “Wait!” he said. The soldier paused and looked at him, somewhat unsure of himself.

               “You caught me,” Link started, “but, maybe you could understand? I just went into the village for a drink.”

               “I still have to report this and detain you, Sir.” Link wasn’t ready to give up yet. The soldier was young, but not too young. It was worth a try.

               “Are you married?” He asked. The soldier gave him a puzzled look.

               “Yes Sir, why?”

               “Ah, perhaps you can understand, then. I’m sure you know what it’s like, needing some time away? To have a drink with a good friend and relax? I love my wife, but I can’t manage without that. And she can’t give that to me. Do you know what I mean?”

               Link knew it was a weak argument, but it was partly truthful and all that he had. The soldier looked at him for a long moment, his face screwed up in conflict. He sighed and dropped his hand from his sword.

               “Yes, Sir. Yes, I can certainly understand that.” He stood aside for Link to pass to the stairs. The soldier entreated Link as he walked by.

               “Only, please, don’t tell my captain, Sir. I would hang for this.” Link smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

               “No worries. This never happened.” The soldier nodded and returned to his post. Link wasted no time in making haste to the castle.

._._._._._._._._._._._.

               Eamon’s pace was jerky and unpredictable. One moment he moved like a rabbit, the next he paused like an old man lost in thought. Zelda lied on her back, bored.

               “Stop, please,” she said. Eamon, a pained expression on his face, ceased and moved to sit next to her. Zelda sighed.

               “I’m sorry, Eamon, this isn’t working today. Go home and… improve your technique.”

               “My apologies, Majesty. In what way shall I, uh, endeavor to change?”

               “Consistency, Eamon. And stop being so nervous. I’m not going to bite. We’ll meet again at the same time in two days.” Eamon nodded dutifully and set to gathering his clothes. Zelda donned her silk robe and left for her private bath. It was a rule that he would clear out before her return. Eamon knew his place, and it did not include lingering in her rooms. At least he knew his role in things. Link, on the other hand…

               When she reached the bathing chambres, heavy steam already filled the space, water all over the washing area. In a corner, Link’s clothing sat in a messy pile. Zelda raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t the usual time for her husband to bathe. He was a free spirit, but overall he did have a fairly predictable schedule. The last few days he had utterly departed from his usual routines. Zelda found it frustrating. The one person who she needed most to be steady was bounding off the walls.

               She set to scrubbing down, wishing to be free of any trace of Eamon. He was dutiful, yes, but she did not desire him. There was only one person she wanted touching her. Wet and clean, Zelda strode across the heated floor and through the doors to the tiled bath chambre. Link was already there, reclined in the pool, asleep. Such carelessness! Wasn’t he concerned about drowning? Zelda cleared her throat with a tidy, “A-hem!” and Link started awake with a snort. He glanced about, looking somewhat panicked, and met eyes with her. His expression dropped into that of deep disappointment and he moved his hands to cover himself. Zelda furrowed her brow and waded into the heated water.

               “Why do you hide yourself, dear?” she asked, pointedly. Link’s face flushed and he gave no answer. She waded toward him, determined.

               “I wish to sit with you,” Zelda said.

               Link looked away, uncomfortable, but did not protest. She settled next to him, their arms and shoulders touching. Link maintained his gaze in the opposite direction, wordless and rigid. Zelda felt an unanticipated stab of guilt. She knew what her responsibilities were to the realm and the family line. It was up to her to proceed without second thoughts, no matter the required action. She was always prepared to hand out commendations or sentence executions, depending upon what was appropriate. Right action was her duty. Producing an heir was also her duty. She had been raised with that conviction since childhood. Everything else, emotions most of all, must be set aside in service to the realm. Yet, here was Link, her loving husband, who clearly did not understand that. Zelda thought back to their earlier arguments and her shattering of his teacup. The sight of him getting sick at her vanity. His bull-headed anger despite her explanations. Guilt washed through her. Zelda reached out and touched Link’s shoulder. He flinched and continued looking away. She suddenly felt like a monster.

               “Link, I know the last few days have been difficult, but please understand that I do love you and no one else,” she said. Link continued to look away, silent.

               “Please, say something, look at me!” she implored. “I know you’re angry, and you don’t want to contemplate the legitimacy of my actions, but I cannot change anything. Neither can I bear your anger and indignation over this! I still love you and need you, Link. I cannot face a childless life. Please try to understand.”

Link suddenly reached out in the direction he faced and slapped the tile floor. He wheeled about to look at Zelda, tears in his eyes, thunder in his face.

               “Excuses! All excuses!” he spat. “I told you before; I don’t care about your so-called duty! No matter what you were raised to believe, duty never includes betrayal!” His breath came quick and shallow.

               “Link, you don’t understa—”

               “I do understand! You’re always going on about duty to the realm, duty to the family line, duty to all of those people out there,” He gestured towards the outside walls with one hand, the other clutching his side. “I understand that! I was a soldier! Of course I understand! But there is also    duty to your husband and your current family, not just those dearly departed icons of the past. What does it matter, holding to an image, an ideal, if the living, breathing flesh and blood before  you is crushed in service to it? You are crushing me, Zelda! For decades, I have been crushed by this monarchy, this Hyrulean Royal family and it’s never-ending ‘duty’! You do not know, nor will your ever know, what I have lost in the name of ‘duty’! I’m tired, Zelda. I cannot do this. You were what I had left. You were the bright spot in all of my years, on This side of time and the Other. Now you’ve betrayed me. And I am finished.” He rose and turned to leave. Panicked, Zelda reached out and placed a hand on his calf.

               “Can you not forgive this one mistake?” she begged. Link clenched his fists, stepped up out of the pool, then suddenly dropped to his knees.

               “I can’t –” he choked, face flushing red, and fell to the floor. Zelda sprang from the pool and went to his side. It was then that she noticed the large, purple and black bruise on the side of his chest. She frantically ran to the door and called for a healer. She rushed back to Link’s side and cradled his head in her lap.

               “Please, wake up,” she said, “please, I need you!”

._._._._._._._._._._._._.

               An ashen sky loomed overhead. Link stood within a ring of fire, nearly choking on smoke as he faced off with the Gerudo King. Ganondorf doubled over, one knee bent, coughing blood. There was a sharp “clack” as he spat two teeth out onto the stone ground. He glared up at Link, crimson dripping from his lips. A deep, mad laugh echoed through the castle ruins as he got back to his feet. He flicked his long, red hair out of his face and grinned madly, his teeth vermillion with blood. Link stood worn, but resolute.

               Ganondorf drew himself up to his full height and sucked in a long breath. He stood still as a stone. Then, without prelude, he rushed forward at blinding speed. Link dodged backward, but he was not swift enough, and the Gerudo King buried an iron-knuckled fist in his side. Link cried out from the crushing pain, certain that this was his moment of death. Ganondorf cackled, the air growing blacker, Link’s vision failing. He couldn’t breathe; he was drowning in his own lungs.

               “No!” he shouted.

               “Hold him still!” the healer snapped. Servants took Link by the arms and legs, pinning him down. “Give me that mandragora.” The healer took the proffered flask from an assistant and tipped it to Link’s lips, little making it past his clenched teeth. He continued to thrash in delirium.

               “Now hand me the dwale.” Another assistant traded her the flask for a small bottle of wine laced with dwale of pape, and the healer attempted to pour it into Link’s mouth. With a great show of force, Link freed his left arm from one servant’s grasp and knocked the bottle to the floor. He sat up, eyes wide, panting and confused. He coughed and spat blood, looking about in a panic.

               “Where is he?” He turned to and fro, searching. “Where is Ganondorf?! He mustn’t get away!” He moved to leap from the bed, but the servants regained their hold and kept him fast. The healer stood in front of Link and addressed him.

               “You are hallucinating, Sir Greenfield,” she said. Link’s eyes continued to flit back and forth, searching. The healer continued, “You are home, in your bed. You are safe, but you are injured. We are treating you.” Link squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to regain his bearings.

               “I see, I see -- the dead!” he said, worried. He could see them everywhere; throughout the room and behind his eyelids; watching, judging. The healer shook her head.

               “They are not real,” she answered. “It is the mandragora. It will cause you to see things which   are not.”

Link nodded and relaxed a bit but continued panting. She took his hand and felt his forehead.

               “My name is Hildegard,” she continued. “Fortunate for you that I was passing through today. You seem to have taken quite a knock to the side.” She examined his bruise.

               “How great is the pain?” she asked.

               “Cannot, breathe!” he said.

               “Yes, that’s from your broken ribs. Your lung is certainly affected, as well. If you will drink this off, it should ease your difficulty.”

               An assistant handed Hildegard another small bottle of dwale which she offered to Link.  The servants released him from their hold. He took the phial with some trepidation and studied it.

               “It is not strong enough to harm you,” she assured him. “Just enough to dull the pain so you can draw breath and rest. Drink it slowly and try to breathe deep.”

               Link raised the bottle to his lips and did as he was told. He eased back into bed and in minutes the pain melted away. His eyelids grew heavy, the dead watching.

               “Rest,” said Hildegard. “You will be fine.”

               Link spent the next two days in and out of consciousness, his sleep filled with nightmarish memories. Waking hours he spent trying to ignore the ever-present spirits holding gruesome vigil in his room, his breathing labored. The third day, Hildegard departed, leaving detailed instructions with the local infirmarian as to Link’s treatment. They continued giving him mandragora and dwale of pape throughout the week, the combined draughts wreaking havoc on his senses. His ghoulish companions stayed with him without pause, always watching.

               Zelda visited him as often as she could, though Link said little to her. He remained reticent on the subject of his injury, no matter how nicely she inquired about what had caused it. She brought him flowers to liven up the room, but he ignored the gesture. The flowers reminded him of death, as they shriveled quickly, their scent noxious in its sweetness. Zelda attempted light talk with him. He had no interest in discussing the weather, the gardens, what he would like for lunch. The only words he uttered were to ask for water or solitude. Zelda obliged him, though it pained her that he did not welcome her company. In the meantime, she quietly continued her meetings with Eamon.

               After nearly a week in bed, Link could no longer bear his sedentary condition. He still coughed blood with some frequency, but the pain was less pronounced. He rose from bed on Friday morning and trudged to the bath, specters in tow. He washed, wishing for privacy, but could not shake the continued presence of his ghostly audience. It was a difficult business, bathing without assistance, but he preferred to do most things alone, apparitions notwithstanding.

               When he was dry and dressed, Link left the royal apartments via the back stairs and followed the servants’ hallways down to the castle’s rear exit. He opened the door to leave, but two guards blocked him.

               “You are not to leave, Sir.” Link rubbed his brow with one hand and shook his head.

               “I’m going to the Temple. You can escort me if you wish,” he said, exasperated. Where did they expect him to run? He could hardly draw enough breath to walk, let alone dash off. One of the guards signaled for another to come and ordered the respondent to accompany Link.

               “Don’t let him leave your sight,” the first guard said. Link ignored them all and started in the direction of the Temple of Time, the third guard tailing him close. The specters seemed unperturbed by the change in scenery and continued to stare.

               He made slow progress down the cobblestone path. Few people had access to this private road, but here and there Link would pass a servant or a delivery person. The drifting shades about him served as a cruel reminder of another thing he never shared with Zelda, or anyone else. Occasionally, Link would come across people he had seen lying dead on the streets during the tyranny of Ganondorf, in the Other time. Yet here these people were, in This time, alive and well. Of course, he was glad that they were thriving, but it was somewhat unsettling, to see the dead living again. Everywhere he turned in Hyrule, there were reminders. His memories dogged him like the hallucinations did now. Perhaps the mandragora wasn’t making him see that which was not. Perhaps it revealed that which was ever-present.

               Link squeezed his eyes shut and paused at the half point. The path looked like it had split in two. He opened his eyes again, hoping his vision would rectify, but it stayed double. He called to the guard behind him.

               “I’m in difficulty with my sight. Would you mind leading me the rest of the way?” Link asked. The guard moved to walk abreast with him, wary. Link thanked the guard and followed him for the remainder of their route.

               The massive mahogany and iron doors groaned on their hinges as Link and the guard entered. Hundreds of candles threw dim light across the sanctuary. His ghostly companions melted into the shadows that danced along the stone walls. Link breathed relief at their sudden absence. Finally, a moment of respite, though his vision remained a mess. He approached the altar at the far end of the sanctuary, ceremonial candles leaving endless trails of light as he moved. The stone hollows on the altar were empty, massive granite doors carved with the beaming sun, closed fast. Link gazed at the doors, contemplating what lay beyond.

               Now that he was here, he wasn’t certain what he ought to do. He wasn’t religious, really. There certainly was something beyond what existed in the corporeal world; he had experienced it. But he had never come to the temple with the explicit intent of praying to any of the four Goddesses; Din, Nayru, Farore, or Hylia. He reached out and touched the hollow where the Kokiri Emerald should set, the bare altar hard and cold. In that moment, he saw something bright from the corner of his eye and turned his head to look.

               A boy, about the age of ten, looked up at him. His hair sandy blonde. Striking blue eyes. Unfamiliar and strange-looking clothes. Link stretched out his hand, compelled to reach the child. He was horrified to see the naked bones of his hand exposed, interlaced with vines and dead leaves. Before he had a moment to contemplate, a swift movement from the pediment above the sun doors drew his attention. The goddess Hylia, in shimmering raiment, knocked an arrow in her golden bow and drew, aiming directly for the child. She released the bowstring without hesitation and struck the boy through the heart. Link cried out, but neither Hylia nor the child paid him heed. The boy looked up at Hylia, gilded arrow protruding from his breast, and walked forward toward the hidden temple chamber. The stone doors and temple had vanished, a shady green clearing in its place. The Master Sword waited in its pedestal, glowing, beckoning. Link tore himself from where he had stood frozen and ran to stop the boy from touching it. He couldn’t let this happen to another child, not like it had happened to him. He had to draw that sword first, before – he ran straight into the granite doors and fell backward. The guard hurried over and helped Link back to his feet.

“Sir! Are you alright, Sir!” he said. Link looked around in a daze. They were still in the temple. Hylia and the boy were gone.

“Did you see them?” he asked the guard, frantic.

“See who, Sir?”

“The boy! The boy in the clearing!” The guard knitted his brow.

“Sir, there is no one here but you and me.”

“They were just here!” Link said, desperate.

“Meaning no disrespect, Sir, but you ran full speed into a solid stone wall. Perhaps you aren’t seeing things quite right.” The guard helped Link back to his feet.

“Come along, Sir. Let’s get you back home,” the guard said kindly.

               Link nodded weakly in assent. The guard guided him by the arm, leading him out of the Temple and back towards the castle, spirits in tow, again.

[sushihoshi]

Worthless: Chapter 4

Author’s Note: Please enjoy this new chapter. If you catch any errors, feel free to inform me, should you feel compelled.

Dislcaimer: All canon characters, references, and locations are the intellectual property of Nintendo. I gain nothing of monetary value from this work.

               Constellations wheeled overhead as the night did its dance. Link slept as though dead. He woke late, well after the cock crowed, his face sticky with drool. He turned over in bed, a million tiny hammers pounding on the inside of his skull. The mead had done its work and left him depleted. He felt like a dried out husk. With effort, he extracted himself from the covers and shuffled over to the wash basin. He looked into the mirror, a stream of sunlight illuminating motes of dust in the air. Yes, he looked dried out, as well. Washing his face did little to relieve his headache. He dressed and trudged through the doors to the adjoining bedroom. Zelda’s bed was empty and already made-up. The servants had been through to tidy; silent and quick with their work, as usual.

               He glanced around the room taking stock of his present items. There was a small assortment of leather armour, some clothes for every day wear, spare boots. His spare weapons were located in the armory, kept in a locked, private cabinet. Link reasoned that he needed an escape plan in place. Zelda wanted him around now, but that could change without warning. It wouldn’t be difficult to extract his items a few at a time without arousing suspicion. He lived such a Spartan lifestyle that he could probably manage it in two trips.

               “I’ll be damned if I’ll live as a cuckold,” he thought bitterly.

               The inside of his head throbbed. Time to get something to eat.

               Link made his way down to their private dining quarters. He had just sat down to a brunch of eggs, toast, rashers, and elderberry tea when Zelda entered. They regarded each other silently as she moved to sit at the opposite side of the table. Servants immediately set out her late morning tea service.

               “Good morning, dear. How are you feeling?” Zelda asked pointedly. Link chewed his toast and swallowed.

               “Well enough, thank-you,” he grunted. Zelda sniffed her tea and wrinkled her nose. She beckoned for the servant.

               “Yes, Your Majesty?” Zelda motioned towards her cup.

               “The kitchen hasn’t sent up my preferred infusion for three weeks now. What is this one today?” The servant, a young lady, looked frightened for a moment.

               “I do not know, Your Majesty. Shall I enquire with the kitchen?”

               “See that you do.”

               “Yes, Majesty.”

               The servant left in a haste, skirts swishing. Zelda took a sip, grimaced, and shrugged her shoulders. Link frowned and continued to eat in silence. Zelda watched him for a minute or so without comment, then cleared her throat. He did not bother to look up.

               “Do you have any plans for the day?” she asked.

Link sighed and put down his fork. He folded his hands and gave her a wry look.

               “No. I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Perhaps you should tell me what I’m allowed to do,” he said.

               “Don’t be sarcastic, Link. It doesn’t suit you.”

               “I’m not being sarcastic. You summoned me and had my weapons taken off me last night. Your actions leave me with little reference from which to operate. When I say, ‘tell me what I’m allowed to do,’ I’m not being difficult. I’m asking what I’m allowed to do.”

She opened her mouth to answer when the side door creaked and the servant re-entered. Zelda turned her attention away for a moment.

               “Well?” she asked.

               “Majesty, the cook says they have run out of your ptisan of wild carrot. This is ptisan of comfrey.”

               “What happened to the wild carrot? Why did we run out?”

               “Majesty, the wild carrot was provided regularly by a local mushroom forager. He has been ill of late and hasn’t made a delivery for a while. The cook substituted comfrey.”

               “Please inform the cook that I will take elderberry over comfrey as long as wild carrot is not available. The comfrey is not preferable.”

               “Shall I bring your Majesty elderberry now?” the servant asked.

               “Yes, please.”

The servant took away the offending tea and exited again. Zelda focused again on Link.

               “You may conduct yourself as usual, with a caveat,” she said.

               “I’m listening.”

               “You must return for lunch and supper every day. If you leave the grounds, you are to take an  escort. If you intend to be out for the duration of the day, you must inform me.”

               “Is this for my safety or your ego?” he asked. Zelda knitted her brow, irritated.

               “I have given you far too much latitude for years, Link. You could have been waylaid, assassinated, kidnapped! No. I have been naïve in allowing you free range without an escort. This isn’t about ego.”

Link snorted.

               “Well, if it isn’t about your ego, what about your activities? Will I be informed of them?”

               “Not here!” Zelda hissed, motioning slightly toward the doors. She didn’t want the servants to hear. Link doubted that they were uninformed on the matter. Servants often knew their lords better than the lords knew themselves.

               “We will discuss that at a later time,” she said, firm.

Link gulped down the rest of his tea and stood. He looked at her intently.

               “I will consider your terms after we have discussed everything,” he said.

               “This isn’t a negotiation.”

               He turned on his heel without reply and left the room. Zelda watched the door bang shut, anger building in her chest. Unable to master herself, she reached over, grabbed Link’s teacup, and hurled it at the wall. It shattered into thousands of pieces, porcelain raining down to the floor. She huffed, her face throbbing, head spinning. Why couldn’t he try to understand? This wasn’t what she wanted. Why did he have to be this difficult? Couldn’t he see that she hated her actions? That she hated herself for having to take this path? Eamon was fine in bed, but she didn’t prefer him. And at what point did her husband have any ownership over her conduct? She gave affection or withheld it as she saw fit. No one would tell her to do or not to do. Her duty was to the Realm, but her body and her actions were her own.

               Two servants rushed in at the sound of the cup breaking and set to sweeping it up. The young lady returned with the elderberry tea. Zelda accepted the cup with calm dignity, her anger again at bay. She sipped her tea, staring out the window into the garden. The roses were in bloom. A walk would do her good, but she had a meeting with her council within the next half hour.

A queen’s obligations never ended.

--------------------------------------

               Link circled his opponent, noting his tics. Right-side-dominant, high center of gravity, weak left shoulder. He waited for his opponent to make the first move. An overconfident, lanky young soldier, probably about 19, it didn’t take long for him to rush in. He went for an ambitious double neck clinch, though sloppy in his form. Link quickly countered, keeping his neck straight, took the opponent in a body clinch, straightened up his posture, then swept the boy’s leg to take him down into a quick pin. The match finished, Link stood back up and wiped the sweat from his brow. This was the fifteenth soldier he’d taken down in a row. He looked about the training yard, waiting for a new challenger to come forward, but no one volunteered. Link straightened his tunic, thanked his opponent for the match, and took his leave of the yard. The recruits were getting soft, these days. Either that or they didn’t have rage pumping through their blood as he currently did.

               He trudged through the castle grounds, ready for a bath and probably some mead. He didn’t much feel like being sober right now. However, as he walked by the armory, spontaneity grasped him. No one was around and the castle wall beyond the trees was momentarily unwatched. Link hurried into the armory, glancing about, and headed for his private cabinet. He produced a key, which he kept hidden in his boot, and proceeded to pull out as many items as he could carry surreptitiously. He reclosed and locked the cabinet, checking continually for observers, and stole back out. The gathered soldiers had broken up their groups and headed off for dinner, darkness setting in. The tower guards were in the middle of changing their watch, distracted. Link hurried for the wall, not willing to miss this opportunity. It was about 30 feet high, but he scaled it quickly, always the adept climber. An entire childhood’s worth of practice had prepared him for this occasion. He descended the opposite side, sprinted quietly across the killing field, and scaled the outer wall with the same ease. He made his way to the town, climbing over the remaining embankments, casting glances over his shoulder every now and then to be sure he wasn’t noticed or followed.

               Link trotted to the town square. He stopped at a stall that hadn’t closed yet and purchased a cap to cover his hair. From there, he went to an inn, not wishing to stay out in the open. It was crowded inside, the first floor filled with travelers supping and whetting their thirst. Link sat down at one of the tables and ordered a mead from the barmaid when she approached. He reclined in his chair and breathed a heavy sigh. It was good to be out of the castle, at least for a little while. Zelda usually ate a late supper. He guessed he had about three hours to spare before his absence was noticed. The barmaid brought him a large mead and he sipped at it, mulling over where he would stash his weapons within the town. There weren’t many places he could get to quickly that wouldn’t be disturbed. He would probably have to settle for an alley somewhere with overgrown bushes or untended rubbish bins. Link stared into his mead, studying his own reflection, reconsidering the wisdom of his impulsive actions. The mess of his domestic life impaired his sense of logical movement. He silently cursed at himself for his lack of foresight and recent penchant for drunkenness. Why had he ordered this much mead? The grey vision of depression was settling in about Link as he ruminated, when someone unexpectedly sat down across from him. He looked up, startled, and was surprised to see that it was Malon.

               “Oh! It’s you!” he said. Malon smiled and gestured for the barmaid.

               “I had a delivery today,” she answered. “I’m staying here for the night before I go back tomorrow.” She fiddled with her shawl before continuing. “I’m glad to see that you’re alright.”  

               Link shook his head and took a long drink of his mead.

               “ ‘Alright’ is a relative statement. I’m not sure it’s the proper word.”

               “I was worried about you,” she said.

               “Are you actually here for a delivery? Because if you’re here to check up on me – ” Malon waved her hands in avid denial.

               “No, I’m here for a delivery. I caught sight of you when I came down from upstairs. I would recognize the way you carry yourself in any crowd.”

               “Am I that easy to pick out?” he asked. Malon smiled again.

               “Only for someone who knows you well.” She squinted and smirked. “Nice cap, by the way.” Link fingered the hem over his ears and felt self-conscious. It had been years since he had needed to be covert about anything. He was out of practice.

               “Thanks,” he answered.

               The barmaid stopped by their table, set a cup of mead down for Malon, and took her dinner order. Link declined to order food and paid for his drink. After the barmaid walked away, the two drank in silence for a few minutes, caught up in their own private thoughts. Link shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the scabbard of a dagger digging into his ribcage under his tunic. Malon raised an eyebrow.

               “You move like you have rocks in your shirt,” she said. Link grimaced.

               “I’m carrying a few more items than I usually do,” he replied.

               “Making plans?” Link looked around the room and leaned in.

               “Yes,” he said. Malon sipped her mead.

               “Do you need any assistance?” she asked. He looked at her for a moment, contemplating.

               “I don’t think I want to get you involved.”

               “Oh? If you recall the last time we saw each other, it should be clear that I’m already involved.”

               They looked at each other for a long moment. Link felt in an ineffable way that they were somehow unbreakably tied.

               “Fine,” he said. “I could use your help.”

               The barmaid returned with Malon’s dinner, which she ate swiftly. Link finished his mead and they headed up to her room. It was small and sparsely furnished; the most basic of accommodations for the weary traveler. Link pulled his weapons from where he had stashed them about his person and laid them out on the bed. Malon’s eyes grew wide at the sight.

               “How in Goddess’ names did you manage to carry that many weapons without looking like a stuffed sack?” she asked. Link smirked.

               “It’s a skill I’ve honed over the years. Can you keep these at your ranch for me? I’ll pay you a fee.” Malon shook her head.

               “This might be plenty of small weapons, but we have lots of room. It’s no trouble, Link.”

               “Thank-you, Malon. I’m glad to have some help. I’m not used to it, but I’m glad.” Malon, seized by a strong urge, reached out and took Link’s hands.

               “I will always help you when you are in need,” she said. Link was caught off-guard, but didn’t resist, Malon’s hands warm and steady. He studied her for a moment, then leaned in to kiss her. For all he knew, Zelda was off sleeping with Eamon again, so what did it matter if he indulged as well? He flicked his tongue across Malon’s lips and she parted them, deepening their kiss. Link pulled back and pecked along her jaw, then bit her ear gently. Malon’s hands drifted down to his belt, which she unbuckled with ease. She reached under his tunic and pulled down his hose, then cupped her hands on Link’s firm backside.

               Link moved to kiss her throat, his hands working to raised her dress over her hips. He dropped into a kneeling position and looked up.

               “May I?” he asked. Malon bit her lip, excited, and nodded. Link leaned forward, burying his face between her legs, flicking his tongue between her lips. He grazed his fingers inside her thighs and she shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. Link continued licking her in short, quick strokes. He slipped a finger into her and she moaned with his movement.

               Malon’s knees felt weak, electricity and heat building between her legs. His movements were sure, practiced, effective. She was afraid her legs would buckle, could feel herself dripping.

               “Link,” she said in a shaky voice, “I’m going to fall.” Link grunted and licked with more urgency, sucking on her clitoris. Malon panted and gasped, overtaken by her climax, muscles inside clenching, unclenching. He gave her a slow, final lick, pulled back, and turned her around so she faced the wall. Malon leaned forward, hands splayed against the plaster, and watched him from over her shoulder.

               Link removed his tunic and kicked off his hose and boots, stroked himself, and slowly entered her from behind. She was wet, warm, aching to feel him inside of her. This sensation of being wanted again was the greatest aphrodisiac he could find. He gripped Malon by the hips, pulling back and pressing forward again and again. Her heat, her softness, her need, drawing him in and away from his troubles.

               Malon’s face felt hot, her knees shook. She braced against the wall, his thrusts hard and deep.

               “Harder,” she said. “Fuck me harder!” Link bit his lower lip and rocked his hips as hard and fast as he could, entirely caught up. Malon tried not to make too much noise (the walls were thin), and let out a moan.

               Link slowed, thrusting hard, then held his breath, pausing as he released, everything in him rushing over and plummeting down. It was like falling. They stood in that position, halted by the intensity, then parted. Malon slid down to her knees, her skirts messily hiked up to her thighs. Link laid down on the floor, growing flaccid. They rested in silence, catching their breath.

               The fog started to clear from Malon’s head, and she wondered what they were doing, exactly. What was the end goal of all this? Was there a goal at all? She looked over at Link, who was cleaning up with a handkerchief he had pulled out. Perhaps it didn’t matter, what label they put on their relations. This was only the second time they’d done this. And he was still married. It wasn’t like she could very well poach the Queen’s husband. Their actions could get them both exiled, or killed. And yet, Malon found she didn’t care. Unless, she were to get pregnant. The reality of that hit her like a bolt of lightning. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Maybe she did care.

               “Link?” she said.

               “Mm?” Malon sat up straight.

               “This is the second time. What if I get pregnant?” she asked. Link started pulling his hose back on.

               “You won’t,” he answered, grimly.

               “How do you know that?” she asked, unconvinced. Link rested his forearms on his knees and hung his head.

               “Remember how I told you that I found Zelda with another man? Well, there’s a reason for that.” He reached for his tunic and sighed.

               “It looks like my issue is useless,” he said, quietly, his face turned away.

               “You mean, you can’t get a woman with child?” she asked.

               “I don’t know why, but that’s how it is.” He pulled on his tunic and reached to pick up his boots. Malon pursed her lips and dropped the subject. They finished dressing in silence. When they were both decent, Malon took Link’s hands in her own again.

               “Link, I know we’ll never be married, or serious. I don’t know what to call any of this. But if you ever need to talk or someplace to go, come to me. I won’t reject you. I care about you.”

Link smiled sadly and kissed her on the cheek.

               “Again, thank-you, Malon,” he said, and stepped toward the door.

               “I’ll keep your things safe,” she said. Link nodded, his expression sad, conflicted. He turned and left. Malon set to gathering his items and stuffed them into her small rolling trunk. If some comfort and keeping her word was all she could ever give Link, then so be it.

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               Zelda steepled her fingers, reclining in her seat at the head of the council table. She stared at the ceiling, her mind adrift. The tapestries in this room needed cleaning.

               “Majesty?”

She snapped her attention back to the present. Chancellor Okram waited for her reply.

               “Yes, continue,” she answered.

               “As I was saying, Majesty, Calatia has refused the terms of our trade negotiations.”

               “Our terms were more than fair.”

               “To be frank, I do not think they will say yes to any terms we set out, Majesty.” Zelda shifted her position, sitting upright like a sentinel.

               “If they don’t want to trade, then what do they want?” she asked. A wave of unease rippled through the room. Her Surintendant of Foreign Affairs cleared his throat.

               “My Queen, I do not mean to alarm you, but there are rumors that the Calatians seek to move against you.”

               “How?” The Surintendant and Chancellor Okram exchanged a meaningful look.

               “We have it on good authority that they seek to depose you in a covert fashion.”

               “They mean to assassinate me?” No one answered. Zelda looked about the table.

               “Come now, Sirs. If we are being frank, then let’s be frank. You do mean assassination, yes?”

               “Yes, Majesty,” the Surintendant replied. Zelda shook her head.

               “Rumors mean little. Rumors always flow, like a river of poison. The Calatians have always been our allies and friends. What good would it do to depose me?” Chancellor Okram twisted his mustache thoughtfully.

               “Perhaps they seek to sponsor a new figure for the throne. Some of the more powerful families here do have blood relations with Calatia,” he said.

               “Yes, and that is why they must not rule. We must remain apart. Blood ties to the throne by other nations will only weaken our position. No. Let us continue our talks with Calatia. I will not rule under a cloud of paranoia.” She nodded to her Captain of the Castle Guard.

               “Increase your patrols, but don’t disrupt the regular flow of things for the townsfolk.”

               “Yes, Majesty.”

               The Council adjourned shortly after and Zelda exited swiftly for the back hallways. She had no doubt that her advisors were correct in their concerns. Picking off monarchs was an age-old activity. She was no different from any of her predecessors. Anyone in power was always guaranteed to be a target, no matter the time, the place, or circumstances. She had a full complement of guards in the castle around the clock. Outings were always planned and secure. Even when she was in her bed at night, she had Link to rely on. She had, of course, married him for love. There was also the additional advantage of having a decorated soldier sharing quarters with her at night. His night terrors were unsettling, but Link was still conditioned to wake at the slightest out of place sound. Zelda had seen him spar with wooden swords in the inner court. She had seen him practice his archery and his grappling. Link was talented, there was no question of that. It made her feel safe, even somewhat complacent. What a pity that he couldn’t give her a child. A shade of sadness crept over her. Zelda sighed in resignation as she climbed the private stairs to her bed chambers. She pushed open the door to see Eamon lying disrobed on her bed. He beckoned to her and smiled, his grey eyes welcoming. Time for her next meeting of the day.

[sushihoshi]

Worthless: Chapter 3

By Sushihoshi

Author’s Note: Please enjoy this all new chapter! It does contain strong language and references to sex. If you catch any errors, feel free to inform me, should you feel compelled. Ocarina of Time Universe.

Dislcaimer: All canon characters, references, and locations are the intellectual property of Nintendo. I gain nothing of monetary value from this work.

               As Edvard and the guards escorted him down the great halls of Hyrule Castle, Link focused on remaining calm. Despite his prior years of fighting in the war, fear clawed up his throat now. Experience had, however, forced him into learning how to manage his fear. He hadn’t any idea what to expect from this summons. Link concentrated on keeping his breath even and deliberate. He also tried to check surreptitiously for weakness in the retinue. Queen Zelda made certain that each of the guards in Hyrule castle wore a full kit at all times. No intruder would make it into her keep without a hard fight. The men about Link carried short swords for close combat. Backup stilettos of last resort accompanied those. Each also wore a sallet, a cuirass, faulds, vambraces, and demi-greaves. Link had none of those things. He had no real offensive or defensive agency. Even with all of his prior experience in combat, the situation was not encouraging. He was completely unarmed, exhausted, and shaken up. But he wasn’t in irons and that was something to work with. If things turned desperate, at least his hands and feet were free. He would not die without resisting.

               Their footsteps echoed sharply as they walked. Great, woven tapestries adorned the stone walls, illuminated by dull, orange torch light. Works of art, painstakingly created, each tapestry told a different story from the long history of the Realm. Link glanced at one depicting a man torn asunder by lions. A slight shudder ghosted through him at the sight. Edvard strode confidently at the front of the procession, bouncing with vainglory. At length, they came to the doors of the main hall where Queen Zelda received court. The sounds and smells of a large feast drifted from the room, twisting Link’s stomach further into knots. She was to castigate him before a crowd, it seemed. Edvard halted abruptly just before the doors and turned to face Link.

               “Before we go in, I must warn you to remain silent unless spoken to. The Queen does not wish to make a scene.”

               Link stared, unflinching, at Edvard and said nothing. Edvard twisted his mouth into a smug grin and motioned for the guards to enter. The doors to the great hall swung noiselessly on their giant hinges. Glowing light of a thousand candles spilled over the threshold. Link clenched his jaw and held himself straight with the greatest dignity he could muster in his smudged, wrinkled clothing. The chattering of the gathered court died off as Edvard stepped forward and announced Link’s arrival.

               “Your Majesty, the Queen’s Consort, Link Greenfield, arrives now from his travels.”

               Zelda perched high and imposing on her gilt chair at the main table. In the seat to her left was the man Link had found her with the previous day, his right eye blackened and swollen shut. The seat to her right, the Consort’s chair, empty. Zelda fixed Link with a piercing gaze. He felt as though his sins of the previous night would jump from him and dance in an lurid re-enactment for the crowd.

               “Welcome, dear Greenfield. Please, come and join us,” Zelda answered.

               The guards parted in a single, sharp motion. Hesitantly, Link walked to the high table, all eyes in the room following him. Not a word passed through the assemblage. Zelda held a tight court. No one would dare insult the Queen by whispering or tittering about her affairs in her presence. No, that would all follow later at other gatherings where the rumor mills were free to spin without heed. Link sat, stiff, in his customary Consort’s chair after a servant pulled it out for him. Numb from head to toe, he accepted a goblet of mead and a hand towel proffered by another servant. Zelda turned to him slightly and spoke in a low voice.

               “I see you heeded my summons. We couldn’t put off our anniversary fete for another night. Thank-you for coming.”

               Link could not find a reply apart from, “Yes, Your Majesty.” Zelda seemed to find this acceptable and turned her attention back to the feast.

               Link spent the remainder of the fete eating what he could manage with little enthusiasm. The wild boar, though cooked to perfection, tasted like dry wood in his mouth. The bread was like buttered rocks and the root vegetables akin to wax. He found solace only in the bottom of his goblet, which he drained with heedless regularity. After around two hours of eating, drinking, and light conversation, Zelda stood and exited through her private doors. A wave of general relief swept through the room and the level of carousing picked up. As was customary, Link finished his last drink of mead and rose from his spot to follow her. He looked down the table, cockeyed, to stare at Zelda’s lover. Eamon, was that his name? Yes, that was it. Eamon had not followed the Queen. That meant the little bastard hadn’t usurped Link’s position yet. Eamon looked back at Link, matching the intensity of his stare in cyclopean wordlessness, then turned away to continue drinking and chatting.

               “I hope he’s enjoying that black eye,” Link thought bitterly.

               Too weary for a confrontation, Link decided to leave it for the evening and shuffled unsteadily away from the table and to the private doors. Two of the guards from his previous escort sidled up beside to accompany him.

               “Is this really necessary?” Link slurred to one.

               “Yes, sir,” the guard replied, and reached to pull open the door. Link saw this as an easy chance to surprise them and get away, but chose not to take it. Running, then ending up cornered without any defensive means would be a foolish idea. The guards accompanied Link through the twisting, narrow back hallways and staircases. When they arrived at the royal bedchamber, there was no one posted to watch the door. Link’s accompanying guards stood to the side, allowing him to enter unimpeded.     Beyond several doors, soft candle light filled the inner room. Zelda reclined on their bed in her nightclothes, book in hand, her hair gathered in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She looked up, unconcerned, as Link closed the doors behind him. He stood there for a moment, studying her. Zelda returned his gaze in silent expectation.

               “Well?” said Link.

               “Well, what?” she returned.

               “Do you have nothing to say to me?”

               “What would you like me to say?”

               “ ‘I’m sorry,’ would be a nice start. How about that?” he said, exasperated.

               “I don’t think I owe you an apology for anything, dear.”

               “Please, Zelda, don’t call me ‘dear’. Why did you refer to me as ‘Greenfield’ earlier? You have never called me by that name. And, on the tangential subject of alienation, where did this Eamon twat come from? How long have you been fucking him behind my back? How about an explanation for that?”

               His fists clenched and his breath came fast. He steadied himself against Zelda’s vanity chair, the mead wreaking havoc with his balance. She sat there with such nonchalance; Link thought he would explode with anger over it, all of it. Zelda raised a perfect, golden eyebrow and sighed. She calmly set down her book, place carefully marked, and folded her hands in her lap.

               “You would demand an explanation from me? You realize, given our low level of intimacy, that you impose yourself?”

               Link gritted his teeth and mastered himself, despite the urge to throw a chair or break something, anything.

               “Yes. I demand an explanation as your husband of nine years. I demand that my wife, not The Queen, talk to me and explain what in Hell is going on! I had always been faithful to you and deserve as much.”

               “Fine. Have a seat.”

               “I would rather stand, thank-you,” he said.

               “SIT.”

               Link sighed and dropped heavily onto Zelda’s vanity chair. The entire room had a feminine look to it, despite it belonging to them both. Link, a life-long minimalist, was a mere whisper of influence in this space, with only a few bits of clothing and a spare set of boots visible. It was rather more Zelda’s room than his, if he was honest.

               She spoke to him in calm, measured words.

               “How old are you now, Link?”

               “You know how old I am.”

               “Don’t be impudent. Please answer.”

               “I’m 28. I don’t see how this matters.”

               “Yes. You are 28. I am 30. This presents us with a large problem.”

               “You have always been two years older than I am. The likelihood of that ever changing is slim, it seems. I fail to see how this matters,” he returned.

               “Do we have any children?” Zelda asked, her tone sharp.

               The question struck Link unaware. Children? They had never had a serious discussion about children. For nine years (and a while longer, secretly) they’d had sex without heed. Never with precautions or worries, as they had nothing to worry about. Link always assumed children would… happen.

               He was silent, dumbfounded for a moment. He drew a shaky breath and answered,

               “No. No, we don’t have any children.”

               Zelda rested her chin in her hand, studying Link from her place on the bed.

               “Link, I must produce an heir. My advisors have made that absolutely clear. My father, before he died, informed me that I must have a viable heir before the age of 35, or one will be selected from another noble family. This places me and many other noble families in danger of assassination or a coup. It could cause a war. I cannot remain without a successor. I suspect you can understand that.”

               He had never considered any such thing. Assassinations? Coups? Ganondorf of Gerudo Valley had plotted a coup against Zelda’s father. That was what started the War. A conflict in which Link fought, was wounded, and won. Somehow, it had not occurred to him that someone would scheme to do the same thing to his wife. Link was spectacular in a fight, resourceful; but politics were outside of his scope. It was why he never contributed to Zelda’s decisions on matters of state, apart from his mere position as Queen’s Consort. He never attended meetings with her council, though he knew all of the members. She never discussed the specifics of those meetings with him, either. His life was carefree, insulated. Not even the cutting, whispered comments about their childless status had reached him in a meaningful way. At least, until this moment.

               “Is there a plot now?” he asked.

               “Not that I know of yet. But there are mutterings. The political machine of gain and loss ever runs. Unless I am with child soon, something will likely happen.”

               Link shook his head.

               “I understand your point. About coups and danger. But you slept with another man. You didn’t inform me or discuss any of this with me beforehand. You threw me out yesterday. Then, you summoned me back in the most humiliating manner and took my weapons like I was some sort of common thief! This talk of conspiracies doesn’t excuse how you’ve treated me.” Blood pounded in his ears, his stomach turning from all of the stress and too much mead. Link thought he would be sick.

               Zelda rose from her position on the bed and paced, frustrated.

               “What was I to tell you, Link? The mere suggestion of me fucking another man for the kingdom would drive you mad, clearly! Your actions yesterday prove that. Poor Eamon, doing his duty, now he has to walk around with that hideous black eye you gave him! How embarrassing! Do you know the number of times he had to tell court members that he got it at a raucous game of cards? Not to mention, somehow, everyone knew he won that black eye while he was here, in the castle, during what was intended as a secret visit. Then, you had to go riding out of here as though a giant poe was at your heels. You looked like a man gone mad!”

               “It would have been better to tell me, rather than let me find out this way! Of course, you’re right, it does drive me mad that you’re inviting random suitors into our bed! What a poor excuse, producing an heir. How is this -- Eamon, whoever he is, better equipped to produce an heir than I am? What is it, my Queen? Is it his breeding? The size of his cock? The color of his hair? Do you prefer dark hair to blonde, all of a sudden?” he spat.

               “Shut up!” she shouted. Zelda rarely shouted. She jumped from the bed, stormed over, and looked him straight in the eye, nails digging into the back of the vanity chair, her lips curled into an angry sneer, eyes feral.

               “Do you know what it is, Link? Well, since you can’t take the implied answer, here it is: you can’t give me a child!”

               Link huffed, his face throbbed, fists clenching, unclenching. Yes, he was definitely going to be sick. She continued, not so measured, not so calm.

               “We have fucked, unimpeded, for almost ten years now. NOTHING. No result! You think the war left you with only a few scars and some bad dreams? Well, it looks like it left you with faulty equipment, as well! You know, you have a great cock. You always please me in bed, but you don’t have the one thing that your position as Consort requires. Your issue is flat, useless! So now, I, the dignified Queen of Hyrule, have to skulk about like a prostitute, seeking men of distant relation and unimpeachable discretion to solve a problem you cannot fix. You were a great lover and a great soldier, Link. You are brave and faithful. Yet, in this task? You. Have. Failed!”

               He couldn’t stand it a second longer. Link twisted around and got sick in the wash basin on the vanity, shoulders shaking, ears ringing. He panted, hanging over it, the acrid smell in his nose, stomach lurching. He spat and groaned.

               “I can’t do this,” he said.

               “You will,” Zelda answered with finality.

               “I’m not a Goddess-damned cuckold!”

               “You have no choice. This isn’t for me or for you. This is your duty to the Kingdom and the throne. This is what you married into.”

               Link turned back around and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

               “What do you expect me to do? Pretend nothing has happened? Continue in a sham marriage?”

               “That is precisely what you will do, without further argument,” Zelda said.

               He was stupefied. Cut down without dignity. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do. This was it. Link Greenfield, the cuckold.

               “This is below my dignity, Zelda. I thought you loved me.”

               “I do love you, Link. But I understand my place and what I must do to keep peace for the Realm. You have sacrificed for the Kingdom before. Now, you must sacrifice again.”

               Link turned his head and gazed at their bed, numb. He made a slight gesture towards it.

               “Do I have to sleep here? I would rather not.”

               Zelda sighed, irritated.

               “You may sleep in the adjoining room on the condition that you enter and exit through here. I don’t need more rumors flying.”

               “Fine.”

               Link stood, gathered some clothes and left without uttering another word. He walked through the private corridors to the bath, disoriented and in a haze. His stomach felt as though it were turning inside out. (An antique vase halfway to his destination fell victim to another bout of sick.) He arrived in the steamy room, warmed by fire providing radiant heat below the tile floors. The bathroom was elaborate with no expense spared for the royal family. He stripped off his clothes and set to scrubbing off the dirt, the illicit deeds. He poured bucket after bucket of water over his head, his back, but he couldn’t achieve a feeling of cleanliness. When his skin was red and raw, he lowered himself into the massive heated tile pool and tried to relax. He felt alien in this place. The surroundings were too ornate. The water was too warm. The always-present servants and guards throughout the halls, invasive. This was not his home. This was not his bath. What was he, but a lodger -- no, a squatter -- living rent-free in Zelda’s palace?

               He held up his hands and looked at them, wet and calloused. Hands that could fight, even kill, but contributed little else now. Link looked down at the rest of himself and held his breath. Not even his cock was useful. The shame of it crashed onto him. Again, the memory of Eamon fucking Zelda on their bed played itself out in his mind’s eye. He didn’t want to see it or think of it, but the oppressive vision continued. Link dropped his face in his hands and sobbed. He didn’t feel like a man or a hero, much less someone brave. Eleven years ago, in a parallel time, he had fought a great demon and triumphed. Of course, in this reality, none of that had transpired.

               In this time, there had been a war, eventually. Ganondorf’s followers, angered over the disappearance of their leader, initiated a guerilla campaign against the people of Hyrule. There were incursions into villages throughout the kingdom. Kakariko and many other towns had burned. The fighting went on for years with the King’s forces meeting each conflict as it came. The followers of Ganondorf continued their aggression, popping up again and again, like a hydra, to murder and burn.

               When Link was of age, he travelled to Hyrule Castle Town and enlisted. After he had been in the Hyrulean Army for about a year, his regiment fought in the final battle against the followers of Ganondorf. The enemy, dwindling in ranks after years of conflict, amassed in a final show of force in Hyrule Field. The battle was pitched and decisive. Link received several wounds over the course of it, but continued fighting until the Hyrulean standards held firm. They had routed the enemy, but the cost in life numbered high. He was there to bury the dead and burn the enemy. Afterwards, the King awarded Link a medal for bravery with several of his fellow soldiers, but all of it seemed hollow.

               Zelda had known Link since childhood, of course, but knew only this reality. She did not know of his other adventures or struggles. She knew nothing of the loneliness and isolation Link had experienced in a separate, dystopian future. Here, Link was merely another Hyrulean soldier, though slightly more adept than his brothers in arms. He was merely the boy who had sneaked into her garden every now and then during their childhood to play games. Just another soldier admonished for his bravery in the name of  Goddess’ and Glory during the war.

               Always, he had assumed that he and Zelda would be together. He never thought that she would betray him in this way. The Zelda of his other reality stood as a stark counter to the Zelda of this one. Above all, her concern was duty no matter what paradigm. However, in the present, her idea of duty and how to fulfill it was cruel. Logical, but ruthless. Link thought of the Sacred Realm. In this world, it was sealed. In this world, he had never entered. Perhaps, he thought, neither he, nor Zelda, were in possession of their respective fragments of the Triforce. Without the Triforce of Wisdom or a father to guide her, Zelda felt blindly for her own way. He had never considered that before.

               His head pounded and his fingers were starting to wrinkle. Link raised himself from the bath and set to drying off. He donned his dressing gown and made his way back down the corridors to their chambers. Zelda slept peacefully in the middle of their bed when he entered. Now it was solely her bed. She didn’t look lonely. Link crept into the adjoining room and locked his door. He threw aside his dressing gown and slipped naked under the sheets. The stars and moon shone bright through his window. He watched them, unable to sleep for a long while, until exhaustion and nightmares overtook him.

[sushihoshi]

Worthless: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Zelda and/or its characters, place names, etc. All aforementioned items are property of Nintendo and I make no profit from this work.

Author's Note: There is some strong language in this chapter, but nothing overboard. This second chapter I originally wrote eight years ago. Like the first, it was in rough shape. I have given it the same treatment as the first. Changes abound. Chapter three will follow. Yes, I’ve finally written chapter three. Again, I am always keen on error reporting, but, most important, please enjoy. Ocarina of Time Universe

               The red morning sun crept through the window of the guestroom and shone directly on Link’s face. He peeled his eyelids open and looked about with some bleary confusion. For a moment, he forgot where he was, expecting the cold castle walls, not the homey wattle and daub of the ranch house. He sucked in a breath and remembered. Everything came back in a flood, pinning him to the bed. A cold wave rushed through his veins and his heart gave a start. Exhaustion and the covers lay heavy on his limbs. His nocturnal actions had taken their due in the currency of sleep. He regretted the deficit. Link turned on his side and found that he was alone in the bed. Malon must have made her exit while he slept. He guessed she had slipped out in the night to avoid awkward questions from Talon in the morning. Yes, it was better if Talon wasn’t aware.  

               There was no point in lying in bed. Link exhaled and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He reached his arms upward, grasping at emptiness, and stretched. Yes. He was definitely exhausted. He gathered his clothes from the chair where he had left them the night before and dressed quickly. The smell of breakfast drifted in as he pulled on his boots. He trudged into the hallway and down the stairs. Malon stood before the brick stove, frying up last night’s leftover and some eggs. The smell was comforting, though slightly acrid, as she was burning something in one of the pans. Malon glanced over her shoulder and rushed to set a place at the table.

               “Sorry, Link. I didn’t hear you coming down the stairs,” she said, flustered.

               “Please, don’t rush on my account,” he said, and took the plates from her. He gave her a half-smile. “I can set the table for you.”

               Malon smiled back for a moment, then whirled around on her heel.

               “Oh damn, I’ve done it again!” she cried.

                 Black smoke rose from the pan with the eggs. The pan with the dinner scraps spat and hissed violently.

               “Damn damn damn damn!” Malon hurried to move it all off the heat, using her pinafore as a hand-guard on the cast iron, nearly catching it on fire in the process.

               “Well. Shite,” she sighed. “I hope you don’t mind your food crispy.” Link helped her carry the food to the table and dish it onto the plates.

               “I appreciate the effort. I’m sure it’s still good,” he answered.

               They sat down across from one another at the table, its wooden top unfinished, but smooth from years of scrubbing and use. The moment was awkward and their words stalled, the depth of the night’s relations stifling them both. Link looked down and spread his napkin across his lap, unable to look Malon in the eye. Everything whirled inside him, giving him a sense of tunnel vision. Malon cleared her throat and said,

               “Well, let’s tuck in, then.”

               They ate in silence for about five minutes, the blackened eggs crunching unpleasantly, when Talon banged the kitchen door open in his usual enthusiastic fashion.

               "Link, there's some feller in fancy tights here to see you." Momentarily torn, Link looked from his crispy breakfast to Talon in the doorway and back again. Someone in “fancy tights”? That was not encouraging news.

               "Something wrong, son?" Talon asked. Not wanting him to pick up on the awkwardness in the air, Link reluctantly turned to Talon and said, "I'll be right there." Talon went back into the front room and Link could hear him relaying the message to the caller. He stood, folded his napkin neatly, thanked Malon for the food, then turned and headed through the kitchen door.

               As Link entered the front room, his blood went cold. The caller was Duke Edvard of Holodrum; Zelda's favorite cousin (and social attack dog). Edvard was dressed from head to foot in red, crushed-velvet. A large, blue peacock feather protruded from his ridiculously elaborate hat. The duke fixed his gaze on Link, eyes boring deep. Link wondered in a panic if he were transparent. Edvard's cold, grey eyes seemed to pierce right through him, revealing all his sins of the previous night.

               "I have a message for you dear cousin."

               "Get to it, then," Link said curtly. Edvard gave him a toothy sneer.

               "Her Majesty, the Queen of Hyrule, wishes that you present yourself in court before sunset. You are to come with me without resistance." He paused to give Link an appraising stare. "However, if I were you, I would clean myself up first." Blood thundered in Link's ears. There was that snobby attitude he couldn't stand. Most in the court had made it no secret over the years what they thought of him. Edvard was certainly a member of that group. Link’s detractors objected to his "lack of manners and breeding" above all else. Edvard made certain to remind Link of his derision in small, passive-aggressive ways every time they crossed paths. The Duke turned to go outside.

               "I'll be waiting by the ranch entrance. Don't be too long. The smell in this cow farm might start to stick." Edvard sniffed condescendingly in Talon's direction and exited with his nose in the air.

               "Well, he was rude," Talon remarked.

               "Such is life in the royal family," Link muttered. Feeling numb and angry from the top of his head downward, Link made his way back to the guest bedroom to collect his few things.

               Before long he was washed, fully dressed in his gear, and ready. Stubble had risen over the lower half of his face, but he hadn't taken a straight razor with him. Upon looking in the glass, he saw that the circles under his eyes had deepened since earlier. He almost looked as though he had lost a fight. Link knew he appeared rough. His tunic was wrinkled and his hose were smudged with dirt from riding. The court would just have something else to gossip about, he figured. 

               "But since when has it mattered how they perceive me?" he thought sardonically.

               Reluctantly, he made his way back downstairs and into the kitchen where Malon was clearing away. She turned and stopped what she was doing. Link gave her a meaningful look and paused. She watched him, unflinching, waiting.

               “The Duke of Holodrum came to see me,” he said. “I’ve been summoned.”

               "You mean you're going back?" Malon asked, incredulous, awkwardness forgotten for a moment.

               "I am duty-bound. If the Queen summons, I must obey. We ride for the castle immediately.” Malon clutched her dish towel and pursed her lips, brows knitted. Link, feeling conflicted, but moved, strode closer to Malon. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs sweeping gently over her cheeks. He looked intently in her eyes.

               “I don’t know if I’ll be back,” he said in a low voice. Malon nodded quickly, her lips pursed, eyes starting to well up. Link felt tears building in his eyes, too. “Please, you have my thanks. For everything,” he whispered, and kissed her, the moment intense, their lips lingering. It was over almost before it began. Link backed away, their hands grasped for a moment, then he turned and left. Malon watched him go, feeling sad and wishful.

               “What will happen to him?” she worried, as she turned back to her task at hand, tears welling and threatening to break.

               Link solemnly made his way to the stables to retrieve Epona. The previous day he had wanted nothing more than to be back at home, all forgotten. Yet now, the thought of returning made him feel ill. Zelda had given him the boot. Now she had sent him a summons? Vassals were given summons; not jilted husbands. 

               "Am I nothing more than a subject to her now?" he wondered silently. Despite his reticence about returning, guilt weighed on his shoulders about the previous night. What a mess he was making. Epona neighed, nudging him gently in an offer of comfort. His heart raced as he led her to the ranch entrance, nervous sweat on his palms. As promised, the pompous Duke was waiting, retinue of guards in tow. He sneered as Link approached with Epona.

               "I see you're still attached to that willful nag. I'm surprised she hasn't bucked you off and broken your neck yet." Link wished Epona would kick the duke and show him whose neck needed breaking.

               "Are you going to speak cheaply of me and my horse all day, or are we going to the castle?" he returned. Edvard sneered again at Link and mounted his own horse in reply.

               They spent the majority of their journey in silence. Occasionally the duke would try and wheedle gossip-worthy information out of Link without success. As they neared the halfway point, Edvard decided to make another go.

               "What were you doing all the way out at Lon-Lon? Long distance to go on a pleasure ride," he commented.

               "I was visiting friends," Link answered, inscrutable.

               "Who? The ranch owner? As dull as you are, he seems unworthy of you." He glanced slyly in Link's direction. "Or maybe he's not the friend you were visiting?" Link stared ahead, his face a static mask. So, Edvard wanted to play mind games.

               "Yes, that ranch owner's daughter is something, isn't she? I've seen her delivering goods at the castle before. Oh Goddesses I would like a feel under her skirt." Link gripped the reigns hard enough to make his knuckles crack. Edvard smirked, satisfied. "I'm sure you've had a go, yourself, right? Breasts the size of melons that woman. Spending the night there, one couldn't possibly resist taking a good fuck. I mean, what's a little romp on the side?" Link felt murderous, but kept his face indifferent. The duke continued.

               "Of course, a man of your low breeding cannot tamp down such urges. It’s proven. Look at the litters all commoners have in tow. Ill-bred bastard children everywhere around Castle Town. Although, they do make for good labor in the fields and the kitchens.”

               Link decided to take a slightly different tack.

               "Edvard, why have you been relegated the lowly task of fetching the royal laughing stock? Don't you have more important things to do? Like sewing ribbons to that little codpiece of yours?" The duke's cheeks flushed in anger, but he didn’t miss a beat.

               "I wouldn't turn down the chance of seeing gutter trash hung out to dry."

               "From what I understand, Edvard, you’re well acquainted with ‘gutter trash’. What was the rumor I heard about the male prostitutes and a barrel of wine in your apartments?" Edvard scoffed.

               “You must be an idiot if you believe such stories.”

               "Well, if I'm an idiot, then you're a donkey's arse. Although, I must say, you look slightly worse." The duke opened and closed his mouth like a cod.

               "Just you wait until we get back, you weedy upstart!" he snapped. With that, Edvard ran out of biting words and fumed in silence for the rest of the ride. Every now and then he would cast the dirtiest look he could muster in Link's direction.

               Tension rode with the party for the remainder of the trip to the castle. At the cusp of evening, when the walls of the keep loomed into view beyond the ramparts, grey and imposing, Link’s stomach gave a slight lurch. Tension was one thing, but now he wondered if he was passing the town gates for the last time. The party made its way through the narrow streets, which were growing calm in the soft evening light. Travelers made their way to the various inns and taverns. Shutters on dwellings were thrust open as smells of dinner wafted through the alleyways. Link tried to lose himself in the sounds and scents of the evening, only to be jolted back to the present by the duke's nasal voice.

               "You don't look well, cousin. Try not to die on me before you see the Queen." Link glared at Edvard. They were fast approaching the inner gates.

               "Damn it all. Look, it's already after sunset. We're close on a half-hour late. If she's mad, this is your fault," the Duke spat.

               After they passed through, the gates closed behind them in a deafening groan. The sound possessed a certain finality, Link thought. Upon dismounting their horses at the courtyard, Link was immediately encircled by guards girt with swords.

               "Is something the matter?" he asked angrily. Edvard spoke up from outside the ring.

               "The Queen's orders. If you complain, I'm sure one of these gentlemen could be persuaded to quiet you. Please, do try to refrain from whining." Link could feel the blood in his veins boiling. What in the world was going on? Things were headed downhill, fast. He made for the doors when a guard blocked him.

               "If you would please surrender your weapons, Sir," the guard said. Link was taken aback. Perhaps he had heard wrong.

               "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he asked, incredulous.

               "Please remove your weapons. The Queen specifically ordered that you not enter armed." It was the ultimate of insults.

               "What if I refuse?" Link asked, terse.

               "Then we are to disarm you by force."

               "And if I decide to leave instead?"

               "That is not an option," Edvard replied in a sing-song voice.

               Link considered his current situation. Not allowed to enter armed. Not allowed to leave. What other choice did he have? Feeling a knot forming in his gut, he decided to leave the question open and surrender. Every particle in his being felt low and sick as he removed his short sword, bow, quiver, dagger, and hatchet. He felt less of a man, naked, trapped.

               "That's a good boy. What a relief that you aren't arguing for a change," said the Duke. He made his way to the doors and Link followed, swords and armor clinking ominously about him. Even at the edge of battle, Link had never felt less optimistic.

[sushihoshi]

Worthless: Chapter 1

By: Sushihoshi

Disclaimer: I do not own any part or whole of Zelda and/or its characters. Intellectual property rights to Zelda and its characters are owned entirely by Nintendo, and I make no monetary gain in writing or posting this work.

Author's Note: This chapter contains explicit language and descriptions of sex. I have tagged it NSFW. Please proceed as such. Ocarina of Time Universe.

I started this story almost ten years ago. It has lain entirely dormant since early 2007. Several times, I tried to pick it back up, but never liked where it took me. I couldn’t forget this story and could not leave it undone. In hindsight, it was quite rough. I have changed a great deal of the story as a whole to smooth it out. Formatting dialogue always has and still does bedevil me. If you catch any errors, feel free to let me know. Please, enjoy.

               Link sat alone on the banks of Zora’s River. He stared into the cold, loud water, the thoughts in his mind jumbled. He wanted to disappear. Nothing made sense to him now. What he had seen not an hour ago sent shocks through his chest, caught his breath fast in his throat. He didn’t want to think about it. Tried hard not to think about it. Yet, there she was in his mind, her face blocking out the sun and the blue river below. The water gurgled and rushed over the rocks, its sound deafening. Relations had never been perfect between himself and Zelda, but things hadn’t seemed this out of hand. Link clutched his face; shocked, defeated. No matter how hard he worked to suppress it, the events played themselves out relentlessly in his head.

               The day had started out like normal. Link rose early in the morning, the first rays of red light glowing in the sky. Zelda slept sound in the bed as he slipped out from under the covers, careful not to wake her. He set to washing in the basin on his dresser and donned his riding clothes. He always started his day with a morning ride. There was a slight chill in the stone halls of the castle as he made his way down to the stables. Servants went about their usual drudgery, looking surly and tired. Link nodded to them as he passed and was met with half-smiles.

               In the stables, Epona was awake and eager to get going. Link smiled and stroked her soft mane as she gave him a friendly "Good morning" nudge on the shoulder.

               "Good morning to you too, Epona."

               She hoofed at the ground and neighed with anticipation. He strapped the saddle on with ease, mounted smoothly, and they rode out at a quick trot. Epona whisked them through the castle grounds, then into the town. The morning was on the cool side with a slight breeze blowing. What Link loved the most about this time of day was its fresh quality. Every morning was a blank slate, a new start. All of the early risers were out and about. Shops were opening, the baker setting out fresh loaves of bread, vendors erecting their awnings for another day of hawking their wares. His ninth anniversary with Zelda was today. Link planned to buy her something nice later in the day; a necklace perhaps. Maybe a bottle of myrrh. He nudged Epona to the right and they turned out of town for the fields. The sun rose fast now, flowers opening and bees starting their rounds for the day.

               Link loved nature. Perhaps it was innate. Maybe it was due to those first ten years of his life he spent living with the Kokiri. Whatever the reason, being outside, under the sun and out with nature, Link felt vivid. He couldn't stand spending the entire day inside of the castle. When the King had died two years ago, Zelda inherited the crown and all of the duties attached. Link, luckily, had only become her Consort upon marriage and was free from most of it. He was glad for that. He had no way with politics. Hours-long meetings with advisors and staying inside all day looking over piles of documents sounded like torture to him. On the surface, life was good for Link. He was able to do as he pleased. Riding every morning until noon, visiting friends at his leisure, fishing...

               Yet, he and Zelda had drifted apart of late. At the start of their marriage nine years ago, conversation had flown easily between them. Zelda had a mind of unmatched capacity, her look inquisitive and her input thoughtful. Link loved her intellect. Never had he known a wiser or more caring person. He sometimes wondered if she merely humored him. Doubtless, he was not as smart as her and never would be. At the beginning, they had talked all of the time. They discussed everything. Subjects ranged from the innocuous to the taboo. And the sex was great. They had started out by having it about once or twice (sometimes three times) a day, every day. Of course, it tapered off as time went on, but it had always remained frequent -- until the King died. After that, everything had gradually changed.

               Zelda grew distant. No longer did she run to his arms when she was overjoyed or upset. No longer did she talk to him for hours on end. She didn't laugh at his jokes. She didn't seek to sleep with him. In fact, she all but disappeared from his life. Their words became few and terse. Link was not an effusive man. If something bothered him, he was not one to discuss it. Bottling things up was easiest to do. The horrors that he had seen during the war often plagued him during the night, invading his dreams and turning them dark. He would wake up gasping with Zelda trying to calm him down. No amount of words on her part helped. Over time, as her duties increased, Link stopped talking entirely and she stopped bothering to start a conversation. Terrors from his past and worries of the present all converged into a ball of stress in his gut. He swallowed it down. Vain he wasn't, but one day, Link looked in the mirror and noticed bags forming under his eyes and frown lines gathering on his brow. He stared at his reflection, felt as though it stared back, and wondered if his marriage was dead.

               The sun neared the noon hour as Link rode by some trees doing a little target practice with his bow. There wasn't much reason for him to do such things anymore, but he liked to stay in form, just in case. He wouldn't want to turn soft, after all. He glanced at the position of the sun and decided that it was time to go back. Perhaps he could manage to have lunch with Zelda. She could spare an hour or two for him since it was their anniversary, after all. After a twenty-minute ride through the fields, he was back in town and remembered that he needed to buy his wife a gift. Link reined Epona to a stop and tied her to a post in front of a pub. There were various stalls set up in the square, all full of wares ranging from the common to the exotic. He stopped by a vendor who was selling jewelry and his eye fell upon a gold necklace set with large, deep-blue sapphires. 

               “She would love this,” he thought. "How much?" he asked the vendor, examining the bright stones and delicate gold work.

               "600 rupees," the man replied. Link pulled out his coin purse to pay, only to discover that he was forty rupees short.

               "Damn, I was certain I had much more in here," he thought to himself. The vendor watched him, expectant. "Um..." Link started. The man snorted, sardonic.

               "Let me guess; you don't have enough money?"

               "I have more back in the castle." Link replied.

               "Sure you do."

               "No, really. I promise I do. If you'll just hold onto that necklace a while longer, I'll go get the rest and return." The vendor squinted at Link suspiciously with his good eye. (He was wearing a patch over the other.) After a moment of consideration, he sighed and picked up the necklace, placing it in a box on the floor next to his seat.

               "I'll keep it back for one hour," he said, waggling his finger, "but if you don't show up by then, you're out of luck." Link beamed and said his thanks.

               He hurried over to untie Epona and mounted quickly. The crowd was more dense than usual this particular day and he had a bit of difficulty navigating his horse around all of the patrons. Finally gaining the path to the castle, he urged Epona into a quick trot and made hastily for the gates.

               They were shut.

               "How odd," he thought.

               The gates were usually wide open at this time of day. In fact, if he was out of the castle, they usually remained open until he returned (as long as it was daylight). Link approached a turret and called out to the guard. There was the sound of rustling and clanking from within the small stone building and the gatekeeper groggily poked his head out of the door. Apparently, he had been napping on the job.

               "If you don't mind, could you please open the gate?" Link asked. "I'm in rather a hurry." The guard squinted, slightly confused, and looked towards the castle and then back at Link.

               "But I thought you and her Majesty already..." he started, then shook his head and came out to open the gate. Link thanked him and continued into the vast, lush grounds. The look on the gatekeeper's face had been strange. Link could not recall running into a delay getting through the castle gates before. (Well, since he had married Zelda, anyway.) Something about it bothered him, but he brushed it off as nothing. The guard had been sleeping, so he was probably just confused. He made a mental note to have a word with the man's captain.

               A minute or so later, he arrived at the main doors and dismounted swiftly. If he didn't hurry the vendor was likely to sell that necklace, whether he'd promised to save it or not. As Link ran through the halls, the servants gave him pensive looks and muttered amongst themselves, but Link didn’t take notice. Finally, he reached his and Zelda's bed chamber and turned the door handle. He was about to enter when the sound of voices stopped him in his tracks.

               "Oh, Eamon, my God!" a woman cried. Giggling followed. That was Zelda's voice.

               "My dear, you're so pretty all over, did you know that?" a man said.

               "Eamon, you flatterer. Oh! Now that's nice."

               "Only for you, my dear Zelda."

               Link felt his heart stop  as the blood ran to his feet. His hand shook as he held fast to the door handle, his breathing shallow, short. There was more pillow talk and giggling. Link thought he might faint, or kill someone, perhaps both. He eased the door open a bit and almost cried out at what he saw. There was a man, in his bed, wearing one of his tunics, orally servicing his wife. Burning anger choked him, drove him forward. Link flung the door wide and strode over to the bed. Wordless, he grabbed the offender by the collar and jerked him backward off the bed.

               "Bastard!" he growled, and yanked the man upward, then punched him hard across the nose. They stumbled and fell down in a tangled heap. Link held the interloper tight by the collar and gave him a hard, fumbling punch in the eye.

               "Link, stop it!" Zelda bellowed. Link ceased his assault for a moment and rounded on her.

               "How could you!" he shouted, tears burning his eyes, his voice breaking. Zelda glared at him, wrapped in a sheet.

               "I think you should leave," she said, ice in her words.

               "But Zelda --"

               "Please. Leave."

               Panic gripped him and he stumbled towards her, tears threatening to break.

               "Zelda, please, I love you.” He grabbed handfuls of the sheet about her, desperate for purchase.

               "No, Link. Leave, before I summon the guards." Her words were cold, flat. He held tight to her sheet for a moment, shocked, anguish building in his chest. Zelda stepped backwards with some force and he released her.

               “GO!” she shouted.

               Link shot up and darted from the room, flinging doors open as he went, knocking over vases and dodging servants. He burst through the front doors and leapt onto Epona, urging her into a gallop. He rode like a man on fire, clods of turf flying up in their wake. They cleared the castle grounds and the town in three minutes flat before reaching Hyrule Field. He rode Epona at a full gallop until she worked into a lather and they had to slow down. When she couldn’t go farther without a break, they stopped by the river where Link now sat.

               He continued staring into the water from his spot on the bank. Half of him wanted to jump in, give up, and float out to sea with the current, never to return. For Goddess’ sake, he had been blind. No wonder the sex had suddenly stopped. Zelda was getting it somewhere else. Link didn't know whether he should feel angry, or sad, or both. He felt as if he would burst in anguish. Nine years of his life he had given to her. In fact, more than nine. He had given up his heart, pieces of his soul, all because he loved her. He loved her still.

               Pain coursed through his heart. The blood in his veins pulsed with acid. He wanted to die and felt as though he were doing so every time the memory played itself out in his head. What was he to do? Zelda had as much as kicked him out of the castle. He had nowhere to stay.

               "Who would want to help me in this state, anyway?" he thought glumly.

               He wondered about what had driven Zelda away. Perhaps she had never really loved him. Perhaps he was so loathsome in personality and physical appearance that she had to seek out someone better. Or maybe he was awful in bed? Link had always prided himself on his sensitivity and sexual prowess. There were many times he had brought Zelda to climax of such intensity, she had shouted his name out over and over again. And yet, she had taken on another man. Although, at this point, reasons didn’t matter. It was clearly over between them.

               He paused in his thoughts for a moment, staring blankly at the water as it swirled around the rocks lodged in the riverbed. He couldn't sit here forever. Already, his backside protested his extended repose on the hard ground. The sun rode a bit lower in the sky. Link guessed it to be about four o'clock. The way he saw it, he had three options; sleep under a tree for the night, stay at an inn (and blow a good deal of his rupees), or visit a friend when he didn't feel like talking.

               The tree sounded pretty good. However, the wilds of Hyrule weren't exactly safe at night. Link cast his gaze in the direction of Lon-Lon Ranch. It was about a three hour ride away. He had no desire to stay in town and Kakariko was too far to reach by nightfall. Link stood and stretched the kinks out of his muscles. He whistled low and long. Epona trotted up over the embankment, eager to leave. She whinnied happily and swished her tail.

               "At least I can be sure that Epona still likes me," he sighed.

               As he and Epona rode along across the fields, Link couldn't help but rehash all the things he'd ever done to upset Zelda. The time he had gone out to do target practice rather than eat lunch with her. The time he had accidentally broken her favorite antique doll. All fairly minor. Then, there was the time he had proclaimed that he hated her father. It had been years since he’d uttered those words. His outburst about the King had hurt Zelda, deeply. Link had never apologized to her for it. Could that be the reason she had grown distant since her father's death? Of course, Link had needs and feelings, as well. He was a man of few words, but he was still human. He could still feel pain. The King had harbored an intense dislike for him right from the start. Link never wanted to hate his father-in-law. What he had said to Zelda was unfair. She had no way of controlling her father. A well of frustration over the conflict had built up within Link over the years. One day, during an argument, it came flooding out without warning in those venomous words.

               Link was a commoner, a nobody. Not royalty. Not a prince. Certainly not rich and, therefore, not worthy of consideration or respect among the noble classes. No one knew about the sacrifices he had made. Not one person had any inkling of what he had done. The King didn't see the scars on his body every night after he bathed. Zelda did. Yet, not even she knew all the things he had seen and done. She didn’t know he had lived two realities. She couldn’t see the toll his memories took on his heart, his mind. Yes, he had grown quieter over the years. Things were festering inside of him. The late King’s legacy of unyielding disdain was merely one more thing on top of what troubles were already there.

               Lon-Lon Ranch loomed in the near distance. Link hadn’t visited in ages. Talon the ranch owner and his daughter Malon had always been welcoming towards him. It would be nice to see some friendly faces, despite the ugly circumstances prompting his visit. The gates to the ranch were still open. At least he wouldn't have to wake anyone. The sun was already sinking in the west. The smell of manure and hay drifted heavily in the air as he passed the threshold. Talon came around the corner almost immediately with a pail of water as Link entered. His face broke into a wide grin.

               "Well, I’ll be. Look who it is, Malon!" he called out.

               Link gave Talon the best smile he could muster and dismounted. Malon came out of the stables a moment later, her hair mussed slightly with a small smudge of dirt on her left cheek. Link was struck by how beautiful she looked in the setting sun; hair so red it could rival the color of fire. A pang shot through his chest suddenly, thoughts of Zelda crashing down on him again out of the blue. In that instant he saw his wife instead of Malon. Hair of gold, not fire. Anger, pain, and despair welled up within him and tears threatened to come again. Malon smiled at him and waved.

               "What brings you by this late in the day?" Talon asked. Link shifted his weight from one leg to the other, feeling awkward.

               "Well, I was out riding and lost track of the time. I wasn't prepared to camp out over night, and your ranch was nearby..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say next. “Yeah, great job, Link. That was really convincing.” He mentally berated himself for sounding thick. Malon walked up to him, wiping dirt from her hands with an old towel.

               "It’s been a long time, Link," she said. He greeted her in turn, handing Epona's reigns to Talon, who had his large hand outstretched. Talon smiled warmly.

               "Mal, honey, Link is going to be spending the night. Would you fix the guest room up for him?"

               Malon nodded and turned, walking toward the large ranch house. Link thanked Talon and followed. It was as though his body was not his own, moving, talking, acting like nothing was the matter. He felt riled, vulnerable. He couldn't think of a time in his life where he had felt more confused. Once inside, Malon showed him to the guest room and set to turning down the bed.

               "Have you eaten supper yet?" she asked, while fluffing a pillow.

               "Um, no. But, I'm not really hungry tonight. I had a big lunch." His stomach growled as he spoke. She looked upon him with concern, but didn't press him with questions.

               "Well, if you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen cooking."

               Malon made her way out and closed the door with a soft click. Link stood there for a moment, embarrassed by his inability to tell a good white lie. There were so many emotions flying through him that he again felt as though he would burst from overload. He hadn't felt this unsettled since he was a teenager drowning in hormones. Slowly, he sat himself down on the bed and started removing his boots. Perhaps a little sleep would do him some good. He took his tunic, hose, and cap off next, laying them in a neat pile on a chair.

               As he slid down between the cool, soft sheets, his thoughts turned to what he would do with himself. Where would he go? All of his possessions were at the castle, and he doubted that Zelda would allow him back inside to retrieve them. Truthfully, he wasn't sure that he wanted to go back. The idea of returning for any reason made his stomach turn sour. For a while, he lied in bed pondering and feeling wretched, until his thoughts became hazy and disjointed, sleep coming down on him like a thick blanket.

               Someone giggled in the distance. Link stumbled forward in boots that were too large for his feet; he was shrinking as he walked. Trees sprung up around him and the sun shone brightly overhead, the light burning his eyes. The giggling continued, ringing off the blue walls of the world.

               "Zelda?" he called out. Someone darted behind a tree. He ran clumsily forward to catch whoever it was, but when he reached the tree, no one was there. He turned, searching the area with his eyes, when a pair of cold, white hands suddenly covered them from behind.

               "Guess who?" a woman whispered. Link turned about and saw Zelda standing there, naked and beautiful, seductively beckoning to him. He fell into her arms, kissing her soft lips, clutching at her back, desperate to hold her close and not let go. She ran her hands up the insides of his legs, touching him where no woman had previously dared. A deep shudder flew from him as he lowered his head, kissing her breasts.

               "Oh, Link, I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do this," she moaned. There was a sudden, sharp pain below his shoulder before he could answer. He stopped kissing Zelda and looked into her eyes. They were black and empty, soulless. Another pain erupted in his back, followed by another, and another. He saw a dagger in her hands and she laughed, high and cruel, the sound echoing in his ears. Blood filled his mouth, tasting horrid, coppery and thick. All around them were souls of the dead from the war. He was screaming, terror spilling from his eyes, mouth and ears.

               "Link! Link! Please wake up!"

               His eyes flew open and he could hear himself gasping and coughing. Another night terror. He felt like he was going to be sick. Dry heaves wracked his body. Covered in cold sweat, he clutched his head in his hands, blood thundering in his ears. Tears streamed down his cheeks. A pair of strong arms encircled his shoulders and pulled him inward. Link leaned into Malon's chest, sobbing and gasping, uncaring if anyone heard.

               "She hates me," he choked. Malon shushed Link and held him firm, trying her best to calm him. After a minute or so, his sobs quieted and he shivered of cold, sapped of the will to move himself back under the covers.

               "She left me, Malon," he whispered. "I found her with someone else. She doesn't want me anymore. I'm worthless!"

               Malon shushed him again. "No, you're not worthless, Link. Of course you're not. Don't ever think that."

               "But she left me. How could I be anything else? It's all my fault, I shouldn't have said all those things to her. I should have tried harder!"

               "It's okay, Link. You didn't make her go to someone else. She did that, not you. You're a nice person, please don't blame yourself."

               Malon held him for a time, wordless, until Link was again calm. She ran her fingers through his hair, silky and fine strands soft between her fingertips. Link sat up and dragged a hand across his face, searching for relief, some sort of mental clarification, anything. His fingers drifted downward and found their way to Malon’s bare shoulder. He sighed at the softness of her skin. She was smooth, juxtaposed against the harsh dread in his chest. A sigh escaped his throat and he felt as though he was deflating, moving again into her welcoming arms. He leaned on her heavily, his hand roaming upward to her neck, then her face. His thumb brushed over her cheek. He could feel her warm, moist breath as his thumb traversed her lips. Link wanted nothing more than to feel better.

               He brought his face up to meet hers, uncaring that he had long discarded the blankets; unconcerned that he was naked with a woman who was not his wife. Malon saw where things were headed and she started to turn away.

               "Link, I don't think we should."

               “Please, I don’t want to be alone.” he answered.

               Malon turned back and looked in his eyes. Even in the relative dark she could see that they were filled with pain, sadness. By Goddess, she pitied him. She had always longed for him, since the day they’d first met. Now here he was, begging her for warmth. The temptation was too great. She wanted this. It was wrong and regret was certain to follow. Yet, she leaned in, cupped his face in her hands, and they kissed gently.

               Malon was no stranger sex, but the way their lips met now made her shudder, spurred her to feral need. As though shackled to her spot, she couldn’t pull herself away. Damn the consequences; she was unwilling to break this intense moment.

               Link leaned back and, for a moment, Malon expected it to be over. Then, his lips moved downward to her throat and he kissed her lightly there, his thumbs working in circles over her shoulders. Together, they lied down on the bed, his kisses moving lower, to her clavicles, then to her nightgown over her breasts. Link realized that what he was doing would fix nothing. Rejected or not, he was still married. But he needed this as much as he had ever needed anything. He felt emasculated and desperate.

               Malon's breathing grew shallow and quickened. It had been a while since she had gone this far with a man. Link’s hands strayed underneath her nightgown, gliding upwards. She did not protest, but moaned with anticipation. As his hands caressed her, their lips met again, their bodies close against each other. She ran her hands down his back, stopping to rest on his hips. He pressed stiffly into her leg and she again felt nervous at the prospect of what they were doing. Link met her gaze at that moment, and she was transfixed by his eyes, piercing and deep blue. Those unmistakable eyes. The pity and lust welling up inside her was overwhelming. What they were doing was sinful. But for the life of her, she didn’t want to stop.

               Link  tugged at her nightgown. Malon raised her arms and he lifted it over her head and off, swift and deliberate. He studied her in the dark, the moonlight catching her vibrant red hair, green eyes looking up at him. He leaned down and kissed her again, cupping a soft breast in one hand. Downward he moved, kissing her all the way. He stopped to flick his tongue over her left nipple, while lazily rolling the right between his fingers. Malon moaned again, the heat and pleasure building throughout her body. Wordless, he moved his left hand down between her legs and stroked her, his movements sure and practiced.

               Malon touched his face and urged him upwards to kiss her again. Their lips met with fervor. She kissed along his jaw line and gently nibbled on his earlobe, rolling his turquoise-studded piercing against her tongue. Her fingers swept along the firm definition of his muscles. She reveled in how pleasing they were to the touch. Link let out a sharp breath, a deep groan escaping his throat. Malon took that as a cue and moved her hands lower. He was long, hard, smooth. She gripped him gently and began working her hand up and down his shaft. Link panted, another groan issuing from his mouth.

               Malon kissed him again, then whispered in his ear, “I want to taste you.”

               Link nodded his head in assent and lied down on his back. Malon continued stroking the length of him and brought her face down to his hips. She kissed his skin there, moving across with tenderness, then brought her face to his penis. She licked him from base to tip, then took him in her mouth, sucking carefully with deliberation. She swirled her tongue around his head, then moved downward, taking all of him in. Link drew in a harsh breath through his teeth and groaned. He could hardly stand it; the sensation overwhelming. With some difficulty, he fought to keep from losing it prematurely. It had been years since anyone had done this for him. He was nearly in tears with the wave of emotion that broke over him now.

               “Oh, Malon, dear Goddesses,” he uttered.

               Malon continued her movements until she could feel him tensing. She stopped and kissed the base of his shaft. Link reached down and took her face in his hands. He sat up and kissed her, gratefully, for a long moment. Malon scooted herself closer to Link and swung a leg over his hips.

               “Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t you want me to return the favor?”

               Malon shook her head. “No, I want you now,” she answered.

               She eased him back down against the bed, took his girth into her hand, and lowered herself down onto him. It hurt a bit, at first. At least a year had passed since her last encounter. The discomfort didn’t last long as she relaxed and became accustomed to the size of him. Such a deep, wonderful sensation filled her now. They fit perfectly, like a key in a lock. Malon slowly moved up and down, one hand on Link’s well-muscled chest, the other cupping her own breast.

               Rhythmically, she rocked her hips. At first, slowly, then building with speed and intensity. She flung her long, red hair back, tilting her chin up towards the ceiling.  She splayed one hand over Link’s hip, the other working her clitoris in rhythm with their movement. Link reached up and rested his hands on her hips, stomach muscles flexing as he worked to match her pace. Her warm, soft heat engulfed him, vanquished him, drew him up to the pinnacle. Malon felt it building in her. They tensed almost simultaneously, time standing still as they both crested the wave.

               Link clamped his hands over her hips and gave a hard thrust, his head tilted upward, back arched. Then, he sighed, basking in the release washing over him. Malon ran her hands over his chest and leaned forward. They kissed again before she moved to lie next to him. Link scooted close to her and she extended an arm. He rested his head on her shoulder, his arm draped across her middle. They kissed languidly for a while, then drifted off to sleep holding one another. Link’s nightmares held at bay for the remainder of the night, and he did not rouse again until the sun painted the sky in hues of rose.