#I forgot I hadn’t finished it and I spent my free time playing Village instead 😭

[mooseonahunt]

Day 5 - Role Swap AU

The horrors may be great, but they stay silly

[gryffindors-weasley]

Finding A Light // Part Two

Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: A simple afternoon in Hogsmeade leads to the start of a tradition.

Warnings: fluff, mild angst

Part one

Ron found himself struggling to keep his focus on his portion of teaching throughout the week, and it was beginning to become apparent that his mind was elsewhere.

“Mr. Weasley?” A student had asked for what would be the third time now, and she had started to wave her hand in front of his face.

Startled, he looked up from the parchment he scribbled on with his quill that had long since run out of ink. He offered a smile to the confused girl, cheeks burning as Lupin laughed next to him. He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat. “My apologies, Alice. Can I—can I help you with something?”

She looks at the blushing redhead quizzically before offering a polite smile. “Will there be extra credit available?”

The question made him smile, the eager young student always looking for ways to better her grade even though it doesn’t seem like it could get any higher than a perfect score. Such a quality had reminded him very much of Hermione.

“I suppose I’ll have to think of something,” he says, though there couldn’t possibly be anything new to think of without spoiling future lessons.

She accepts his answer with a nod, though her shoulders do slump in a bit of disappointment as she walks back to her seat. Lupin is still grinning knowingly at him when he looks over, a sigh leaving his lips.

“You wouldn’t happen to be so distracted over this girl you’ve met, would you?” He asks, and though Ron hasn’t said anything yet, the pale crimson that colors his cheeks almost immediately in response is enough to know he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Who told you that?” Ron asks, plucking at the quill in his hand as he raises his brow. He still tries to play it off even though he knows his cover has been blown.

“I do have a keen sense of hearing, you know,” he laughs, “I heard you at dinner last week. You’re not very discreet with your emotions, Weasley.”

He nods down at his hands, sighing as he bites back his growing smile. “I’m convinced you and McGonagall love to torment me.”

He laughed again, nodding at Ron’s words. “It’s only our job. And it’s one you make very easy for us.”

“It’s absolutely not,” Ron says, trying to remain stoic but he couldn’t find it in him to stifle his own laughter. “I swear you two are making up for my family’s lack of teasing.”

—

Ron found himself wandering the familiar stone pathway to the very shop he’d spent the better part of a week thinking about, though the whole time he’d wondered if this was ridiculous. Had you really hoped to see him again? Or was he blowing it out of proportion by mistaking a friendly gesture for that of an invitation to return. He wasn’t really sure of himself the more he ran that humiliating scenario through his head.

His feet seemed to have given him no choice in the matter as he continued to navigate the familiar village, brushing by clusters of students who argued about where to go next. It wasn’t that big of a deal, he thought. If you didn’t recognize him then he could just leave and put it all behind him. But if you did, he could just say he was buying chocolates to send home, if only to not make it completely obvious that the reasons for his visit entirely were to see you.

When the dark wood trim and pink sign came into view he wasn’t sure if his arrival came too soon or not soon enough as he shook out his hands. He felt ridiculous with the way his heart beat out of his chest, or the nerves swirling around in his stomach. First impressions had already been made, no matter how foolish and flustered, so there was no reason to be so nervous. But his heart and his brain were not quite on the same page.

The sweet air of the small shop hit him in a wave the moment he opened the door, a handful of third years rushing past him which inevitably caused him to stumble back a step. The excitement seems to have not worn off just yet. His eyes immediately went to the front counter where you’d said your goodbyes the week before, but he was rather disappointed when it wasn’t you who was there. He didn’t let it deter him, though, instead stepping further into the shop to have a look at the candies.

Despite such a small stretch of time having gone by since he was last there, it seemed as though their inventory was completely different. They still had their best sellers on brilliant and eye catching displays, still had large glass jars filled to the brim with colorful candy, but there were far more new things than he had remembered there being. Even with that being said, he was still more focused on the fact that he hadn’t seen you yet and it’d been a whole ten minutes of wandering around aimlessly, surely looking a bit out of place.

Three aisles in and he still hadn’t seen you. He was fighting the urge to ask where you were, feeling as though that’d be a ridiculous thing to do. Because what was he to say if asked for a reason? Surely he couldn’t give them the real one, that would be utterly humiliating. He was beginning to think he misread your words as he weaved between students, regret forming in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he’d have better luck another time, though he didn’t like the idea of waiting for when that would be.

Upon passing the counter again, his brain scrambled for a reason not to, fighting between his own curiosity and the side of him telling himself not to do it and just leave. But he’s quickly made up his mind.

“Excuse me,” he says, clearing his throat when his words came out rather timidly. He takes a step closer when he captures the cashiers attention. “Would you happen to know where Y/n is?”

Any trace of hopefulness had left when he heard the mans response. “I’m afraid not, her shift ended sometime within the last hour. Would you like me to leave her a message?”

Ron was quick to shake his head, masking the clear disappointment he felt with a smile. “No…no that’s okay. Thank you.”

He left the shop empty handed and stuffed them in his pockets, releasing the sigh he’d been holding. It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, really, he’d only met you once. On a busy day at that. But it was something about the way your brief interaction had stopped time for lack of better wording. He knew it was rather silly to feel that way, but it’s what made him come back.

As his mother had always said, if it was meant to happen it would have. With that in mind he tried to brush it off and focus on other matters, like the stack of assignments that needed grading once he returned. It wasn’t something he looked forward to, trying to stall and walk as leisurely as he could through the busy village.

He couldn’t imagine reading dozens of those things being any more fun than it was to write them, and if he gave it any more thought he would completely ruin his mood. He certainly wasn’t as happy as the students around him though he knows he’s probably being a bit dramatic. But this very place wasn’t feeling quite so magical, for lack of a better, less ironic word. Everything seemed to bother him in that moment; the way the wind blew his hair in his eyes, the fact that he kept tripping on the uneven stone streets, the way that—

“Ron?”

He looked up from his gaze at his feet, turning in the direction the voice had come from. His heart skipped a beat upon seeing it belonged to you, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when you joined him and he quickly forgot those things annoying him.

“Hey,” he nearly beams, and suddenly the thought of his mother’s wise words didn’t make him feel quite so bad anymore.

“I’m sorry to have left you hanging, I finished my shift half an hour ago and decided to stick around here in case maybe you did turn up,” you shrug, nonchalant in your explanation as you walk up to him.

His smile widened as he raised a curious brow at you, his nerves beginning to disappear and be replaced with some confidence. “So you waited for me?”

You flushed a soft pink at his words, looking up at him with a laugh. “Perhaps. Only because you decided to come back.”

It was his turn to blush a shade of crimson at your witty remark, smiling down at his feet as you accentuated your teasing with a nudge of your elbow to his arm. It was true, and though he’d never admit it aloud, it seems as though he didn’t have to.

“Would you like to join me for tea? I always stop by Madam Puddifoot’s after my weekend shifts. She’s quite fond of me so I bet I can get you a free pastry if you’d like.” Your words were followed by the warmest of smiles, and he found himself unable to resist such an offer.

“Yeah…yeah that’d be nice,” he says with a soft laugh, a bit stunned and more so when you grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the shop.

As a testament to your words, you were greeted warmly by the older woman who recited what he assumed was your order. When she turned to him he was at a loss for words, cheeks reddening once more before you asked for another of what you’d gotten.

“Thanks,” he smiles, taking a seat across from you at a nearby table. “I’ve never been here before, my friend told me it was a bit…sappy.”

“Oh it very much is, but she can make a very good cup of tea.”

He nods with a laugh, any worry that he may have said something too bold about this place you seemed to love now dissipating.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself immersed in conversation, finding it rather easy to talk to him about anything and everything. Any pause in conversation had been very brief and quickly filled with something else, a dull moment never finding its way between the two of you. Tea cups had long since been empty and several students had filtered in and out of the shop while the two of you remained at the same table, blissfully unaware of the fact that you were quickly becoming the only two residing in the place. It didn’t seem to matter all that much, nor did that stack of essays collecting dust on his desk. Those could wait another day.

4 Months Later

Spending every Saturday afternoon at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was quickly adopted as a tradition between the two of you should your schedules allow it. Over that expanse of time you learned about Ron’s wonderfully large family, and unfortunately the loss of a beloved member of it. You’ve learned he has an affinity for quidditch, well, maybe more than an affinity because he spent a very lengthy amount of time talking about it until he shut himself up. And perhaps your favorite part was experiencing firsthand his ever growing hatred for spiders. It was a memory you never let him forget, the way his voice adopted a higher pitch as he put a good ten feet between himself and the small spider until you had taken care of the problem. You’d made a promise to yourself to never let him live it down.

But in spite of the humor, you found yourself thinking that your time spent with him was quite possibly the most fun you’ve ever had. Not that Ron Weasley had been one to walk on the wild side, but everything that seemed mundane before became much more interesting when he was involved.

Over the course of that time, Ron had learned your hobbies and just as easily the things you don’t like. He learned you can fill up your cup of tea as if it’d never been drank with just a simple motion of your hand which is something you inevitably taught him to do. It lead to him overflowing his mug and spilling his tea on his lap, something you also aim to never let him forget. And he doesn’t know how, but you can change the color of just about anything you please, though you tried it on his hair and it hadn’t quite worked out so well. He felt like Tonks as he stood in the middle of your apartment with purple hair as you laughed hysterically.

However, to get sentimental, he quickly found you to be the one thing to bring out a smile when he finds himself falling back to the memories of his losses. It didn’t take much effort on your end, your presence would always suffice. And above all the countless things he’s learned about you, perhaps this next one was the most prominent. Ron Weasley accepted the fact that he was falling in love with his best friend. It wasn’t unexpected, he felt as though maybe he’d always had some form of feelings since day one. But he found it much more intense than those days, though he’d never admit it, not for a long while.

Currently, you found yourselves tucked away in the cozy little building as the rain poured outside, decorated floor to ceiling in Valentine’s Day related things. Even though it was just about a month before the actual day, there was no stopping Madam Puddifoot from indulging in her favorite holiday. Walls were decorated in enchanted red Cupid’s that shot glitter and confetti from their arrows, frilly heart covered tablecloths and lacy napkins, and even pink and red frosted pastries. Ron was beginning to understand why Harry hadn’t liked this place so much.

But it was weekly tradition, and nothing could deter him from coming here with you, not even the heart shaped cookies or the pink confetti stuck annoyingly in his hair.

“What can I get you today?” Madam asked, her notepad in hand though she really hadn’t used it very much. Not for the two of you at least.

“Peppermint tea with two sugars,” Ron says without hesitation. When he’s met with silence he lifts his head from the dessert menu, finding two sets of eyes on him.

It wasn’t until then that he realized he blurted your order, having known it like the back of his hand by this point. It wasn’t until then that he realized her question was directed at you first. His cheeks redden to what felt like the same shade as the table cloth, and he found himself wishing he could rewind and not have done that very embarrassing thing.

“Sorry,” He says, laughing awkwardly as he gulps. Though he’s only met with your sweet smile and a soft laugh from Madam who shook her head fondly at the two of you.

“And what can I get you, Mr. Weasley?”

“I’ll have a Yorkshire tea with extra sugar, please,” He says, much more timid, “and can I have a slice of cake if you’ve got any left?”

“Of course, my dear,” she smiles warmly. There would always be a slice waiting for him because she always made extra in preparation for the ginger boy’s weekly visit.

“Are you blushing?” You jest, chin in your hand as you squint at him from across the wobbly table when she rushes off.

“It’s just, you know…cold outside,” he defends, doing a terrible job of being convincing.

“We’ve been in here for nearly half an hour, Ronald. I’d hate to say it, but I know you’re lying,” you laugh and he looks to his side with a scoff, biting the inside of his cheek as if to will away any more color attempting to flood his cheeks just at the mere mention of it.

“You’re a pain sometimes, you know that?” He says though he smiles rather fondly at you.

“It happens to be my specialty,” you say, eyes skimming over the various holiday themed drink names on the lavishly printed menu. He steals another glance through his light ginger lashes, not missing the way a soft smile had been gracing your lips at the banter.

He shakes his head, laughing quietly to himself as he picks at his napkin. Was it really that evident how much of a mess you made him? He really hoped not.

Not much was said after that, yet the silence was comfortable. He watched as the rain poured outside, thick droplets trickling down the window panes and puddles forming in the uneven walkway. As much as he didn’t enjoy this kind of weather, it really had added to the ambience of this place. It made it all the more welcoming.

“I think we’ve got to apparate home if it doesn’t slow down out there,” he suggests, turning to you.

A frown immediately worked its way on your face at the thought. You hated apparating and he knew that, you could never quite get used to it’s side effects.

“That might just be your worst idea, Ron,” you say, huffing out at the thought. He laughs though, bringing a smile to your face.

The moment is quickly interrupted when two teas are brought to the table and given to their rightful owners, Ron’s highly anticipated cake set along with his. Triple chocolate cake.

“Will I be using the couples discount for you two?” The jovial woman asks with a smile, tucking her pink pencil behind her ear as she settles her hands on her hips.

“Oh! It’s not a date, well, not like that,” Ron says, cheeks burning as he laughed softly, clearly flustered the more he spoke, “we’re just friends.”

Madam Puddifoot apologizes for her blunder, though she still gives you both the discount regardless because she’s seen the way he looks at you. Over the many weeks she’s served the seemingly inseparable pair, she knew friends don’t look at friends quite the way you two do. It was almost fairytale-like. But neither of you seemed to be privy to the others lingering gazes and she wasn’t one to pry, not too much anyway.

Once she left you turned to him with slightly narrowed eyes and a bit of a frown you tried to conceal, finding yourself feeling the smallest bit of hurt, or something, simmering in your stomach. You didn’t know why it had struck a nerve and you didn’t like it.

“What?” He asks softly.

“I don’t think you could have said that any faster, Ron,” you say, stirring your spoon around in your tea a bit too vigorously, the hot liquid spilling over the meticulously painted edge of the cup and onto the small matching saucer it had been resting on.

He furrows his brows, confused at your change in attitude momentarily before a soft smile began to pull at the corner of his mouth. “You seem a bit upset about that, Y/n.”

He tilts his head in amused curiosity, watching as you rolled your eyes before he took a sip of his drink.

“I don’t believe I seem like anything.”

Your tone was playful as you spoke the words very matter-of-factly, though he didn’t miss the bite lacing around them. He only nods as he laughs quietly down at his own tea, not in mocking but in slight amusement.

Your soft smile shortly returned though Ron wondered if your sudden edge, no matter how subtle, was simply nothing or if it was indicative of something more. Perhaps it really did bother you, more than you let on. But he knows that if he lets his mind go down the road of those possibilities, he will only either get his hopes up or hurt his own feelings with scenarios that haven’t even happened. So, for the time being, he pushes it to the back of his mind and hoped it wouldn’t resurface.

“Have you uh, have you checked if that book store in town is open today? You said you wanted to go,” he says, trying desperately to find his way back to comfortable conversation.

“They’re closed,” you say, and he almost winced at the change in your tone whether you had meant to or not. No smile of yours could’ve hid that. He ignored the fact that you had mentioned earlier that they indeed were open, he knew if he paid it any more mind then he’d ruin his own day with assumptions.

He just nods, internally scolding himself as he regrets what he said moments ago.

Gaps in conversation weren’t easily filled after that, and he found he was the one starting the most of them. They really couldn’t be considered conversations at that point, more so observations and statements that you responded to before he moved on to the next one. You hadn’t particularly been ignoring him, you never would, but he knew your mood had soured even if you wouldn’t admit it.

You still teased him about the chocolate icing on the corners of his mouth because you’d never pass that opportunity up, or the way he dropped some in his lap because he’d been too focused staring, but you hadn’t stolen a bite like you usually had and you politely turned down his offer of some.

Your stay at the shop wasn’t nearly as extensive as it usually was either, your tea barely finished but you were rather joyous as you bid a goodbye to Madam Puddifoot. Of course you did still put up a fuss about apparating as you hooked your arm with Ron’s, and you did still hug him goodbye at your doorstep. It just wasn’t as tight as it usually was.

He wanted to bring it up, and he wanted to tell you he hadn’t meant it because the fact that you weren’t being your usual self was driving him crazy. But if he brought it up he’d have to tell you why exactly he hadn’t meant what he said, and he wasn’t ready for that conversation. He feels he might never be. So he decides against it as he stands just outside your door.

“See you next week?” He asks meekly when you pull away from him, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He was hoping you wouldn’t decide to ditch him after that.

You pretended to ponder the question for a moment, just to get a rise out of him. Maybe you took a few extra seconds because you were still bothered. You still couldn’t pinpoint why it had gotten under your skin so much. “I’ll see you next week, Weasley.”

Despite the bit of relief he had felt from that moment you still weren’t so cheery with him, and he tried to convince himself that maybe you’d just had a headache, you get like that sometimes when you do. Or maybe you just had a bad day to begin with and didn’t feel like hiding it anymore. He was grasping at straws to figure out a proper explanation for it but everything came circling back to his words.

He took your answer with a nod before apparating back to Hogwarts, unsure of how to perceive your tone this time. It left him to stew in his own regret that night and days to come until he saw you again.

—

Tags: @writeroutoftime

[gwydionae]

Visions Softly Creeping

So... I had this idea for a Breath of the Wild one shot revolving around some thoughts my sister and I had as I played through the game, namely, “...ok, what is up with Zelda? Because it’s been 100 years, and she still sounds young. Is she dead and speaking to Link as a spirit or what? I mean, everyone else is a spirit, so...” However, while thoughts like this do end up here, it has taken on a mind of its own and grown to roughly five chapters with the focus now on mostly just Link. Currently chapter 2 is almost finished, but I feel chapter 1 stands on its own well enough to warrant posting it now. I’ve never written for The Legend of Zelda before, but I’ve known the series for a very, very long time, so hopefully I’ve done it justice.

Posted on fanfiction.net >here<.

Teaser: He was a knight. It was not his job to feel. The day for grieving would come, but for now this one night, one day of mourning was the only reprieve he would allow himself. Because it was his duty, and he would keep the princess waiting no longer on account of his weakness. (Spoilers for main story points including, eventually, the end of BotW.)

Disclaimer: I do not own The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. All titles are lyrics borrowed from Simon and Garfunkle's "The Sound of Silence."

Chapter 1: Words Like Silent Raindrops

"Hello, Link."

His breath caught in his throat at the gentle, familiar voice, and his heart began to race as his eyes slowly swept around the room, looking for its owner. Mipha. Maybe Mipha was still...

"Because of your courage, my spirit is now free."

The excitement and optimism that he'd allowed to course through him since he had reached Zora's Domain had propelled him this far, but at the princess' words, his feet seemed as if turned to lead, and a cold pit quietly opened inside of him, sucking his hopes down into its depths. Almost as mechanically as the Divine Beast in which he now stood, he turned to face an ethereal, blue light glowing several feet away. And in the midst of it, as if manifesting from the air itself, was Mipha.

Her grateful yet sad smile would have been more than enough to confirm his dread, but still Link found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her translucent body as her feet gracefully tread upon the surface of the water, her use of the word "spirit" to describe herself echoing throughout the emptiness inside of him. It wasn't as if he could not have predicted this outcome. King Rhoam himself had told him of the other Champions' fate, and the hints had been in Mipha's guidance through the beast all along. But he had foolishly allowed her family's words to lead him to believe otherwise. After all, a Zora could live for hundreds of years; if any Champion were still alive, it would be her.

But as he should have known from the beginning, she was not. She had been dead for a hundred years while he slept and forgot everything. Had his memories stayed buried, perhaps he would not be feeling so hollow as she spoke to him of a healing power that was now useless to her. Perhaps he would be able to see her as a fallen warrior with one last task instead of feeling the stinging loneliness of the loss of a close friend. But as she gifted to him a precious piece of herself, he could feel her warmth and kindness settle inside of him, causing his heart to ache and mourn all the more.

Keeping all traces of his grief hidden, Link returned to King Dorephan to report his daughter's fate only to be met with praise, gratitude, and even elders asking to be pardoned for their earlier harsh treatment of him. The pomp flew by in a blur as the multitude of Zora now crowded into the throne room cheered, and Prince Sidon vigorously shook his hand. Link's mood was slowly lightening, the celebration infectious, until he found himself alone with the king, a beautifully crafted trident resting in his hands.

"It was cherished by Mipha. I would like you to have it."

His grip on the weapon was so tight that his hands began to shake. Quickly putting it away, he steeled his emotions once more and thanked the king for his generous gift, promising to use it to honor Mipha's memory and put an end to Calamity Ganon.

The king's smile mirrored the one his daughter wore only a short time ago, and as the Hylian bowed and turned to leave, King Dorephan's parting words, too, matched that of Mipha.

"Save her, Link. Save Princess Zelda."

The moon hung high in the night sky as Link pushed open the door to his residence in Hateno Village with a long creak. Shuffling one foot in front of the other, he slowly closed the door behind him before depositing his gear on the table until only the Lightscale Trident remained. Tenderly running his fingers along the handle, he stood in the dim light, hazy memories of the beautiful, young Zora replaying in his mind, until he at last closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and carried it to the far wall. Reaching up, he carefully mounted the trident on a weapon display, stepped back, and gave a reverent bow before trudging toward the stairs leading to the loft. His clothes were discarded heartlessly on the way to his bed, and with a tiredness he hadn't felt since first reviving, he flopped onto the soft mattress and buried his face in his pillow.

But as physically and emotionally exhausted as he was, the bliss of sleep fled from him. The events of the day circled over and over in his mind, carrying with them fearful visions of what was likely in store for him during and at the conclusion of his quest.

When he had awoken only a few weeks ago, he had no recollection of what had happened to him, the fate of the kingdom of Hyrule, or even who the mysterious voice that guided him belonged to. But still he had felt an innate sense of duty and honor in carrying out the task put upon him by King Rhoam and who he now knew to be Princess Zelda. Even if he had failed in the past, having no memory of it had assured his confidence in himself remained strong. Perhaps he had not been to blame. Perhaps after one hundred years the opponent had weakened. And so he had taken on the role of Champion with vigor and purpose, ready to do whatever need be done in order to defeat evil and help the princess.

This, however, was before his memories began to return.

Talking with Impa and realizing it might be possible to recover knowledge of at least a bit of his life prior to his hundred year sleep, he had immediately gone in search of the locations in the photos on his Sheikah Slate. It hadn't taken him long before he reached an archway on the road to Mount Lanayru that at last clawed at the cobwebs in the corners of his memory, and suddenly it was as if he were standing right there amongst the other Champions and Zelda herself. Their names were still largely a mystery, but each of their faces and mannerisms felt familiar and not at all like the strangers they currently were to him. It was an unsettling feeling, made all the moreso by the somber mood of the princess and the rise of Calamity Ganon himself in the distance.

But still the memory had affected him little. He could now picture everyone from his past that Impa had talked to him about, but aside from a vague ache in his chest at the thought of Princess Zelda's hopeless gaze and hollow voice, his feelings about his quest had not changed. No, it wasn't until he stumbled upon Zora's Domain and found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the delicately crafted statue of their princess and Champion that his old life began to haunt him. Standing there among a people who recognized him, knew him, in a place he must have visited many times before, it was as if the floodgates were finally creeping open.

Mipha.

Her name was Mipha. And she had not only been his ally, but a close friend, someone he had turned to time and time again when he was wounded in battle or just plain reckless. Various memories of their days spent together washed over him, some as clear as if she were at his side with that shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

And suddenly everything changed. He was not fighting to avenge a nameless fallen warrior, he was desperately hoping to save a companion. Except there had been nothing to save, not in the sense he had allowed himself to hope for, anyway. And as he lay in bed with visions of the deceased princess dancing along his closed eyelids, a few happy memories but most imagined and grotesque scenarios surrounding her demise, at last his forced mask of strength and calm started to crack.

He was a knight. It was not his job to feel. It was his job to protect the kingdom, the princess, and show no trace of hesitation as he swung his sword. Everyone was depending on him, and for that reason he must always outwardly remain strong, a pillar of confidence and control.

But in the late hours of the night in a dimly lit house that he shared with no one but his thoughts, his eyes began to sting as his breathing hitched, and it wasn't long before violent sobs wracked his body.

It was strange. While a part of him was certainly mourning the loss of Mipha, the sadness he felt went deeper than that. Perhaps he could not remember the other Champions now, but he knew, Link knew that as more of his memory returned, these same feelings and events would be repeated in a vicious cycle until he was whole, the spirits trapped for a hundred years were freed, and Ganon was destroyed. Piece by piece he would regain his old self, and as this happened, the scab hiding the wounded heart he wasn't even aware existed until a few days ago would slowly be picked away, leaving behind a gaping hole, sore and bleeding.

He did mourn for Mipha; the two of them had been close long before she had been named a Champion. But he mourned for himself as well, a warrior who could only continue moving forward as quickly as possible as Princess Zelda's hold on Ganon grew ever weaker. This while having to burden these feelings of loss fresh and anew several more times before he could truly rest and try to mend the blood-stained hole in his heart, a hole in the shape of four courageous individuals.

No, not four.

Four would be a hopeful estimate. Four would mean that there was still someone left he had a chance to save. Four would imply that somehow, inexplicably, Princess Zelda, born a Hylian with a lifespan that paled in comparison to the Zora, was still alive after all these years, her voice sounding in his head now exactly as it did in the lone memory of her he had regained so far.

No, it couldn't be only four. After his hopes of returning Mipha to her family were cruelly shattered, he would not allow himself to be so naive again. Princess Zelda's spirit may still be fighting yet, but that was all that was left of her. Just like the other Champions, her body lay dead and rotting in the place she died one hundred years ago. When all was said and done, he would be grieving the loss of not four but five companions.

The morning rays of the sun were peeking through his window before Link's cheeks grew dry, and as his body stilled and his chest stopped heaving, at last the grip of sleep pulled him into its depths. It seemed only mere moments later that he was peeling his eyes open to the sight of the room darkened once again. He had slept the entire day away, and yet his limbs still ached as if he had just crawled into bed. It was so tempting to simply continue to lie there, waiting for morning yet again before continuing his journey.

A long sigh passed his lips. No. He had wasted too much time already. The day for grieving would come, but for now this one night, one day of mourning was the only reprieve he would allow himself. With every new piece of his memory recovered, he would hold it in and squash it down, even if it meant allowing the heartache to fester for weeks on end. Because it was his duty, and he would keep the princess' spirit waiting no longer on account of his weakness.

As he crawled out of his bed and grabbed his clothes, his mind toyed with the idea of ignoring Impa's suggestion of hunting down the locations in the photos. Some memories would still likely return on their own, but perhaps now wasn't the best time to revisit the past. The idea was quickly dismissed, however. As painful as he knew it would be, he refused to free the Champions' spirits and offer up a final goodbye without as much of his former knowledge of who they were as an individual and what they meant to him as possible. Perhaps it would make his journey easier, but it would be cowardly and unfair of him to face them as a stranger.

His mind solemnly made up, he gathered his gear and replaced his knight's mask of stoic confidence. The tightness in his chest refused to be left behind, but he in turn refused to acknowledge it. He had shed all the tears he would allow. There were people waiting for him, counting on him, and he would carry out his duty.

A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who put their playthroughs of this game up online, especially RabidRetrospectGames; while I had finished the game myself, it was very useful for the times I wanted to check exact dialogue without having to replay the entire thing. Also to @veilsofmist whose fic would pop up on my dash and inspire me to get back to work on this thing every time I thought I might give up on it. XD

Thanks for reading, and as always, critics and grammar police are appreciated!

Chapter 2 on tumblr >here<.