#botw whump

[ordon-shield]

Febuwhump Day 10 (Difficulty Breathing): Seeing Through Malice

ao3 link here (2nd in a series)

(content warning for: implied torture, mild body horror)

Link woke up slowly, in bits and starts, his body aching and his eyes bleary. His awareness of the world around him came back just as slowly. He was lying down on something made of coarse cloth that grated painfully across his skin, with hard stone underneath. Everything hurt, his skin, his chest, his throat, and his head. He also felt a dull aching pain in his right eye, but compared to everything else, that was minor.

Finally managing to get up, even as his limbs protested against it, trying to figure out his surroundings. He was in a small stone room, with no visible exit outside of a small hole up in the ceiling that the sun was shining through, projecting a small square of light onto the stone wall behind him. He was missing his clothes and gear, including the Slate, replaced instead with bandages wrapped tightly around much of his body. He could also tell that a salve of some sort had been used on them, so whoever had brought him there didn’t want him dead at the very least. In the centre of the room, he spotted a bowl of cold rice and a mug of water alongside a couple of bananas, still attached by their stems. He chuckled to himself, suddenly realising where he was, before doubling over in a coughing fit.

He tried to breath through the coughs, short gasps as the pain grew in his chest and phlegm found its way up his throat. Rolling over onto his back, he managed to stop, taking deep and slow breaths as his heart races. Carefully trying to sit up again, he felt phlegm gather in his throat, before another fit of coughing engulfed him, sending it out of his mouth and drooping down his face. Wiping it off with his hand, he realised something odd. The substance sticking to his fingers was darker than it had any right to be, a familiar black stained through with that shimmering familiar pink shine. His chest tightened as he realised he’d just coughed up malice.

Link remembered now, what had happened at the ruins, how he’d been trapped in the pool of malice, being eaten away at by it until he’d managed to pull himself free. Bile rose in his throat and somewhere in his mind he wondered if that would be stained by the physical manifestation of hatred as well. He wondered though, why the Yiga who’d held him down, condemning him to a torturous death, had brought him here. He was a prisoner, but a prisoner with treated wounds and meals, which confused him. In his experience, the Yiga tended to attack first, ask questions never, ruthlessly trying to kill him every time they met. This last time had been no different until he’d rolled out of the malice and been met with a blade to the throat, but nothing else.

He managed to eat the food at least, swallowing it down despite the bile that struggled to rise through his throat. He lay down after, watching from where he’d woken up as the light projected onto the wall slowly moved until the sun began to set, sending golden sunbeams into the stone room.

It was then that the blademaster arrived, appearing into the cell with the sound of displaced air and ominous silence. Link had heard of the Yiga blademasters before, rumours floating around the stables and villages, but he’d only fought the one who came for Dorian and the Sheikah heirloom in Kakariko. He glared up at the taller man, knowing that even if he couldn’t fight in his current state, he could still refuse to answer any questions asked of him, no matter what they might do to him. The blademaster simply picked up the remains of his meal.

“Why—,” he was cut off by a cough, “— why am I here?”

“I asked that question myself,” the blademaster responded, “but the scout who brought you in brought up a good argument… after all, Lord Ganon himself has marked you.”

Link flinched back, but the blademaster just chuckled at the fear on his face, unsheathing his blade and tilting it into the light just so, so that Link could see the reflection of his own face staring back at him, his right eye unrecognisable. While his left was the familiar blue he’d known all his life, all of it that he could remember at least, the right burned with hatred like a flame, the darkened sclera surrounding the familiar slit of an eye of malice, like he’d seen all across Hyrule.

@febuwhump

[grooviestsadpapaya]

Revalink sketch YIPPEE 🦅🦅🦅🦅

[amariaarts]

for linktober day 14: fairy

he'll be fine :)

[syosunny]

Very rough sketches for a tloz Au, Link gets killed by Ganon in Gerudo ( in a pretty violent way)but is resurrected by hylia herself, and it's very painful. Then he gets a moral burnout and after trying to unalive himself a few times, he reaches Gerudo highlands. And finds a town there. After saving the town, one of the villagers gifts him a mare. He then gears up and leaves the town to fullfil his duty to save Hyrule. Or maybe not.

The comic focuses on Link's psyche and his journey through -mostly Gerudo- Hyrule. With an emphasis on culture and worldbuilding (And horses)

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Greetings, Villainous Kitty

I've come with an absurd writing request.

How about a hero (who used to be very idealistic) who violently murders the people who supposedly killed their lover, the villain (you said you didn't get enough characters going feral and murdering ppl n stuff so here we are)

Except the catch is, the hero discovers the villain is alive. You choose how they react.

No pressure at all and definitely no rush. I hope this wasn't too unoriginal, and it's completely fine if you don't want to write it. . .

Also you're very very talented and your writing slayssss 💙💙

In all honesty, the hero didn’t know they were this good with swords.

Usually, they didn’t use equipment for close combat and especially not those which were made to cut and tear. Protection was supposed to be their top priority. A commandment they obeyed like none other. After all, training had designed them this way: to protect.

“If you do this,” the superhero said, “you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Their heavy breathing broke their voice in many places. As well as the blood in their throat and the pain brewing in their shattered leg. But the hero had little sympathy, had little compassion to spare. Within hours, their entire world had been destroyed. Now they knew that they could destroy entire worlds within merely seconds.

“That’s what you want? Play god? Kill whatever you want?” The hero hadn’t realised, had never really recognised it but tears were running down their face, together with all their emotions.

“Jealous?” the hero asked. They weren’t ashamed of the tears, weren’t ashamed of the suffering and the sins they were committing. They had nothing to lose and they only killed those who deserved it. They felt like this was the first time in years in which they brought justice to the city.

“I remember when you were a child,” the superhero said. They smiled softly as they held a nasty wound on their side. “So scared but so bright. You always asked if you could give the rest of your food to the guard dogs.”

Yes, they supposed that had happened.

“I never had a kid. To have you was enough.” Ashamed, the hero realised that they’d let their guard down. So, they pressed their blade into one of the superhero’s wounds and watched as their superior twisted in pain, screaming when the hero turned the sword a bit.

“And look at us now,” the hero said. “Look at what you did.”

And the superhero did. They looked at the building the hero had wrecked, the wires hanging from the ceiling and the destroyed furniture. At the dead guards and the glass. A calamity.

“You killed them. You killed the villain,” the hero said as they pulled the sword out of the superhero’s body. “You slaughtered them like an animal.”

“It had to be done—” the superhero wheezed in response. They took in greedy gasps of air but it wasn’t enough. Blood was in their lungs and they would die soon.

“I loved them.”

“And I loved you. I loved you like my own child.” The superhero stretched out their arm, probably so they could touch them. But the hero just looked at them, two lines of tears drawing into the dirt on their cheeks. “I couldn’t let them destroy you.”

For a long time, the hero watched them. How they fought for air and how they tried so desperately to survive their injury. But then, they made up their mind.

“Forgive me, then,” the hero said.

“I always will,” echoed the answer and that was all the hero needed. With a horrible crunch were they able to put the blade through their mentor’s chest as tears dropped down onto their hands. There were little noises of protest but soon enough, they died when the blood came.

They sat there for minutes, watching the lifeless body of the superhero being completely motionless, unresponsive. And the hero cried, couldn’t do anything but cry into their own hands.

They were a failure. Doomed to shatter. They couldn’t believe how many people they had killed and how many of those were close to them. What had they become? What was wrong with them?

After half an hour, they could barely move. Their whole body was shaking and they were too tired to use their muscles. They just sat there, watching the cold body.

But, then.

“My love.” The hero turned around, thinking this was a cruel trick. “Do you want me to take you home?”

They weren’t quite sure if the hand on their shoulder was real. They didn’t know if they only imagined their lover.

[mjrino]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Link/Revali (Legend of Zelda), Link & Revali (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Link (Legend of Zelda), Revali (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: AILESS WHUMPTOBER 2024, Unfortunate Fall, Whump, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, no mcd explicitly but revali /has/ died. he is dead, falling, Realization, Character Study, Ambiguous Relationships, not explicitly revalink, but written with it in mind Series: Part 2 of MJ's ai-less whumptober 2024 Summary:

"The first thing Link did, when he'd found all that clothing that could make him soar through the skies, was dye it blue."

Link has a nasty fall. While the ground is fast approaching, he contemplates Revali.

[fioreofthemarch]

Vicious Sickles

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Relationship: Link & Original Yiga Clan characters Words: 2596 | AO3 link [cw blood and combat violence]

Chest heaving, hands shaking, vision fading. This was meant to be practice.

Link steadies himself on the marshy sand beneath his feet, and winces from the pain. Every muscle cries out, every breath is ragged. A solitary thought keeps him standing: this would be a lousy place to die.

He blinks slowly as he focuses on the problem ahead; a trio of screeching lizalfos, hip-hopping from foot to foot, lizal-blades in hand, their beady eyes rolling. One of the rascals wields a Royal Broadsword that Link went to great lengths to salvage from Hyrule Castle, having used its disgusting tongue to snatch it from his hand.

His only weapon left is the Sheikah Slate. He holds it weakly in his left hand while his right hand is clasped tightly around his shoulder, covering a smiling red gash. It drips blood down to the shallow waters that lap his feet. Some green-eared traveller in Hateno told him that the lizalfos in Faron are sluggish in comparison to their river land brethren and would make for good fighting practice. He’ll kill whoever that was, if he survives.

He’s almost out of grit, so his next action is swift: he thrusts the Sheikah Slate forward and the Royal Broadsword freezes, held in place by a rune of bright yellow radiance. The lizalfos that stole it whips about in confusion, talon clasping the air where the weapon once was. It’s cheating, Link knows, but honest fighters never did live long.

Stumbling forward, Link grabs hold of the Royal Broadsword and wrenches it free. In a single movement he skewers one of the lizalfos through the chest and withdraws his blade to decapitate a second. The third, seeing this sudden flash of violence, turns to flee.

Spent, but alive, Link falls to his knees on the sand. He’ll take a cheap victory over a gruesome death any day. But he can’t stay here. His consciousness is going out from him like the tide. He selects Kakariko Village on the Sheikah Slate map and lets the tendrils of blue and silver energy carry him to safety.

—

Hyah, hyuck, phwor! Dorian of Kakariko Village steps through a well-practised routine of shadow swings, wielding a slender, bone-straight blade.

In a light rain that falls as little more than a mist, Link watches Dorian dance, as he sits on the steps of Impa’s house. Cado has joined him, and they pass a bowl of pickled swift carrots back and forth. Cado occasionally pipes up with criticism of Dorian’s form or posture, but Link says that he admires his discipline.

“I was Yiga!” cries Dorian mid-swing, “Hyurk! Discipline was survival!”

Link wants to apologise, feeling bad for bringing up Dorian’s past, even unintentionally. But when he casts a sideways glance to Cado, he sees the other Sheikah rolling his eyes. Here we go again, Cado mouths, and Link can’t help chuckle.

“Laugh all you want!” Dorian says, never pausing his routine. “There is no humour when you are fighting to the death.”

“Is that what we’re watching now?” Cado teases, and gets no answer.

Link hugs his knees to his chest, embarrassed at what he is about to admit. “I… I was nearly killed by some lizalfos, the other day.”

“Cheeky bastards,” Cado says, clicking his tongue. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Yes, Link, any fight you walk away from is a good one,” Dorian adds.

“I teleported away, actually.”

Cado laughs, carrot nearly spilling from his mouth. “You fled? Is this really our Princess’ own appointed Knight speaking?”

“What happened to not beating himself up?” Dorian cuts in. Offended, Cado takes the bowl of carrots and marches up the stairs to Impa’s house, giving Link a short, parting nod.

“I need to be quicker,” Link continues. “I need better weapons.”

With a sigh, Dorian brings his blade in front of his face, pausing there for a moment, and ends his routine. He sheathes the sword, and then sits down beside Link on the stairs. The rain falls heavier now, so they shift higher up to be sheltered by the pagoda roof. Dorian’s hair and beard are wet from the rain, which to Link makes him seem older, his dark eyes dropping and weary.

“A blade cannot change its wielder,” Dorian says. “You fought bravely, do not doubt that.”

Link feels little comfort in the words, not when his body still aches. He changes the subject, nodding to the blade on Dorian’s back: “Where did you get that one?”

Dorian draws the blade again, laying it across his lap. “Our eightfold blades were originally created by the Sheikah and Yiga’s shared ancestors and were passed down by both tribes. Few remain.”

“Did this one… belong to the Yiga?”

“No. Impa gave it to me as her way of welcoming me to this tribe.”

For a moment Link thinks of asking if he can borrow it - a blade like that would solve a lot of his problems. But he senses Dorian’s connection to it - he could no more ask to borrow the man’s arm, and he knows he has a sword of his own waiting for him in the Korok Forest. If only I was stronger…

Then the Sheikah guard is sheathing the sword again and standing to leave. Before he departs however, he turns back to Link a final time: “You will find the blade of your soul Link, I am sure of it.”

Suddenly anxious, to get moving or to prove some unspoken promise to himself, Link resolves to leave Kakariko as soon as the weather clears. Then, as if the Goddess herself is listening to his thoughts, the rain begins to ease.

—

Link is barely out of Necluda when the first opportunity to test his strength arises. On the riverine path between the Duelling Peaks, a cowering Hylian seems to materialise out of thin air, their hunched stature in stark contrast to the bold and brash travellers he has met on the road.

“I’ll never make it home now!” the traveller whimpers as he approaches.

“Are you alright?” Link asks. “D’you need any help?”

The traveller whips their head around, their whole body shaking. “Help me!?” they shriek, and then suddenly – they arc upwards, standing to attention. “You can help me by dying!”

There is a puff of red smoke, and the traveller is gone. In their place is nothing but the sound of laughter and–

Hyuk! A Yiga bursts into being above Link, a shining blade in hand. Link jerks away just in time and sees that the Yiga wields a strange, curved weapon that Link has never seen before — it’s like a scythe, but smaller and angrier – and quick! The Yiga dashes forward in a slipstream; steel rings as Link barely draws his own blade in time, a run-of-the-mill soldier's broadsword. But the scythe-weapon seems to hook around the hilt of his sword, tearing it from his grip. Link roars as his broadsword is flung across the river and out of sight.

The Yiga flips and spins to face him. They bring their scythe to bear — a deadly challenge. Link has nothing to counter with; no weapons in storage and barely more than a dagger on his belt. He raises his fists.

Across the shore they trade swipes and blows, shuffling one step, two, pebbles crunching underfoot. They are two vipers: red and blue, striking with deadly precision. Although only one of them actually has a weapon.

The Yiga’s curved blade has barely any reach and looks too unbalanced to provide good defence. As the dance continues, Link wonders if he can use this to his advantage. He begins to withdraw, one inch at a time, stepping away from the Yiga with each dodge until they are thrusting wildly forward to keep their blade in range.

This is the moment that he strikes. The Yiga lurches too far forward and skids uncomfortably across the stones. Thwack! Link brings a balled fist across the Yiga’s side, and feels the crack of a rib, and then he strikes their wrist, catching the blade that they drop before it hits the ground. Plan complete, Link juts away, out of the Yiga’s reach, the scythe held close and ready. But the Yiga does not advance; they spring backwards, flipping and hopping as though they don’t have two, maybe three broken bones, and then in a final puff of smoke they are gone.

So ends the dance, and Link revels in the rush it has brought him. He survived. No, he triumphed! Blade or no blade, he can still fight.

Later, he photographs the curved blade with the Sheikah Slate to find out what it truly is: a Yiga Vicious Sickle. The half-moon shape of the blade allows for the rapid delivery of fatal wounds and serves as a symbol of their terror.

In the sickle, Link catches his reflection – an open eye and a determined brow. He takes it in hand, testing it. It’s light, lighter than any blade he’s held. And it feels… powerful. Like an extension of his arm; a single, grasping claw. His soul feels stronger just holding it. Yes – this is a good blade, a true blade, just the one he had sought. He straps the Vicious Sickle to his back and continues on the road.

—

To the monsters of Hyrule, a reign of terror is unfolding.

There is a Hylian, a smaller one of their kind, draped in blue and white cloth, and wielding a weapon that none can defeat. Most of the humans wield simple, blunt blades. Most are weak, whimpering things. This Hylian wields a blade that slices even the toughest of scales and thickest of skin, and he fights with an endless rage and vigour. Once he closes in, there is no chance of survival.

The rampage begins in Necluda, where the waters flow to the Lake Hylia. Chu-chus, bokoblins, even moblins and a handful of Guardians fall to this terrible, curved blade. Eventually, it makes its way down to Faron, a trail of blood and guts in its wake, until it arrives on Aris Beach, on a marshy shore, where the sea dwelling lizalfos make their hovels and nests.

—

Link is sitting on the sand, feasting on whatever fish the lizalfos that lived here had been roasting, when the girl with the Windcleaver arrives. He does not hear her, and so does not turn, but she recognises him regardless.

“Are you Link?” She asks. Link drops his fish, and leaps to his feet with the Vicious Sickle already drawn. He has, by now, a keen ear for the untrustworthy.

The girl has black hair, worn loose, and wears red and black travelling clothes. On her back is a long, thin blade in a burlap sheath.

“I know what you are,” Link says.

“I do not deny it. I am Yiga. But that is not why I am here.”

The girl reaches over her shoulder for the hilt of her blade. Link could strike at her now, end this before it begins, but a curiosity holds him in place. The girl smiles at him, and the expression puts Link strangely off-balance – there is no fear in her eyes, only hunger.

“I know what you want to ask,” she says. “You hurt my friend. You took his blade, which you now clumsily wave in my direction.”

“Your friend attacked me.”

“That makes no difference where I am from. Anyway, outsiders cannot be permitted to wield our sickles.”

The girl draws her blade - a longsword that Link recognises as a bigger sibling to the eightfold blade Dorian wields, and he can’t help but shiver. It has thrice the reach of his sickle and looks just as deadly.

“But I’m not here on official business,” the Yiga girl says as they begin to circle on the sand, weighing each other up. “Our Master would not permit me to kill you just for stealing a sickle. But then my Johta decided to exile himself, for the humiliation of returning to us unarmed. So, I am bound to no one but my own vengeance, Hero. And I will die if it means killing you.”

With that she strikes, heaving the longsword forward, but Link dodges left. He spins, blade raised, leaving a cut on her shoulder. The girl smiles. First blood.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Link says.

The girl is unphased. “Yes, you do.”

Then she raises her fist and plants it firmly on the sand. A stream of air and dirt erupts in front of her, one that homes in on Link and chases him backwards along the shore, until it explodes in a huge pillar of rock. Link cries out as he is thrown to the ground, a blinding pain tearing through his shin. Second blood.

“C’mon then, Hero. You can do better than that!” the Yiga girl laughs.

She is on the offence now; she swings at Link’s head, his ankles, his side, each one barely dodged. One swing catches the curve of his sickle, and the superior weight of the longsword wrenches it from his grip. No time — Link has only one advantage; he grabs the Sheikah Slate and spins around, thrusting his hand forward. A purple beam of light arcs upwards and catches the wayward sickle mid-air. Link pulls the Slate to his chest, and the sickle shoots backwards towards him. He catches it cleanly with his free, left hand, and brings it to bear, ready to continue.

“That’s cheating,” the girl says.

“I know.”

The next time he swipes with the sickle, he catches the longsword across the hilt and with his free hand punches the girl across the face. She reels, dazed, and tries to strike again but Link is quicker; the sickle is quicker. Her blow never lands. All that there is between them is a soft squelch, and a gasp. The Yiga girl drops her longsword. Her hands go to her stomach. They turn red, just like the sand at her feet.

She staggers backwards and, in that moment, Link finally looks down at his sickle. It is slicked with shining red liquid from hilt to tip.

“Well fought, Hero of Hyrule,” the girl murmurs. With muted shock Link realises she is smiling. Then her face drops, pale and bloodless, and she collapses onto the sand.

Link is frozen in place for what feels like hours, faintly aware of a dripping sound until he notices with an anguished cry that it is the blood dripping from his sickle onto his boot. He drops the blade like its hilt is made from hot coals.

Then he finds himself shaking the Yiga girl, whose lips are now white. Get up! You’re bleeding, idiot, get up! But she never stirs. It isn’t until the tide starts coming in and the carrion birds arrive that Link understands fully what he has done. The girl is dead. He all but cut her in two.

And then, his attention turns to the Vicious Sickle, which is still skewered in the sand.

In that moment, he remembers Dorian’s advice, and knows it is wrong. A blade can change its wielder. For the better, or for much, much worse.

Link takes the sickle by its red, wrapped hilt, disgusted by how light it feels. It’s nothing more than a vessel, and held within it is his recklessness and the mark this will forever make on his soul. In the blade’s reflection he catches his eye, round and dark.

Link raises the sickle over his shoulder, and throws it into the sea.

[jinxedruby]

Febuwhump Day Twenty-Six: "Help them"

Featuring Sky and Wind.

Heads up for some violence in this one.

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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

“Someone, help, please!”

Sky’s spine jerked straight at the call as he spun around toward the voice. A woman stumbled through the cliffs, hair whipping about her head as she looked around, eyes wide. She clutched her arm, blood staining her sleeve. Sky exchanged a glance with Wind, who he’d been scouting with, before they ran over to meet the woman.

“Ma’am!” Sky called as they approached.

The woman’s head snapped to them and her eyes somehow grew even wider. She staggered toward them, tripping over loose rocks on the way but managing to catch herself. She ran headlong into Sky, gripping his arm with her free hand and staring up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, you have to help!”

Sky took a step back to better his balance, lifting his hands to her arms to support her. “Okay, just take a deep breath, tell us what happened.”

The woman nodded jerkily, drawing in a shaky breath as Wind dug around in his pouch for a bandage. “I-I was traveling with my- my friends, and- and we were attacked by monsters!” She swallowed hard, took another breath. “N-none of us are very good fighters. I man-managed to get away, but they’re still back there!”

“We can help,” Wind said, pulling out a bandage. “But we should take care of your arm fir-“

“There’s no time!” the woman cried, pushing away from Sky and starting back the way she came. “I-I’ve only been gone a few minutes but my friends could be…”

Wind nodded and tucked the bandages back into his pouch as he and Sky hurried to follow the woman. She wove through the natural paths between the rock formations, occasionally glancing back to make sure Sky and Wind were still behind her. After she did it a few times, Sky noticed she was only looking at him. He frowned on the sailor’s behalf, assuming she thought he wouldn’t be as much help due to being younger. They turned another corner, the rocks rising higher around them, the passage they went through narrowing. The woman slowed to a stop.

“Do you remember where your friends are, ma’am?” Sky asked a bit breathlessly, glancing around. Dragging in air had grown a tad more difficult after the run, but he’d certainly handled worse. The cliffs rose high on either side of them, eroded bits of rock piling at the base and scattering across the path.

“Oh, they’re around,” the woman said. She didn’t sound out of breath at all.

“Sky,” Wind hissed.

Sky glanced at him to see the sailor facing behind them, a hand on his sword, expression shifting into a scowl. Sky turned to see two men behind them, in similar traveling clothes to the woman. He narrowed his eyes, lifting his hand toward the Master Sword.

“That’s a fancy sword you got there.”

He spun back around at the woman’s calm and smooth voice, a stark contrast to all her stuttering earlier. She leaned her weight onto one leg, hand propped on her hip as she watched him with her head cocked. She wasn’t holding her injured arm anymore. A grin crawled onto her features. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if we take a look at it?”

Sky’s hand closed around the hilt. “I do mind, actually.”

The woman’s grin widened. “Shame.”

A puff of red smoke enveloped the woman followed by a flurry of paper slips. She darted through the smoke with a laugh, suddenly dressed in a skin-tight red and black uniform, a white mask with a painted red eye covering her face. Sky pulled out his shield just in time to block her attack, a sickle clanging against the metal. He heard two twin puffs from behind him. Wind swiftly stepped back-to-back with him, pulling out his sword and shield. The woman jumped backwards, crouching low and twirling the sickle in her hand. Sky unsheathed his sword and she darted toward him again, sunlight gleaming off her weapon. He raised his shield to block. She vanished in a plume of white smoke just before making contact. His eyes darted around, straining his ears to listen for her to reappear. A huff of air signaled her reappearance and he spun to his right, blocking the blow aimed for his neck and returning the strike with a slash. She darted out of the way. He thrust the sword toward her and she skipped backwards. Then she crouched low, weapon tensed at her side, and sprinted toward him. His eyes widened, the familiarity of the move startling him out of his wits for a moment. He recovered just as she reached him, snapping his shield out in the same moment she attacked. She yelped and staggered back as the parry knocked her off balance. He struck, cutting a gash across her upper leg. She hissed and vanished again.

Sky took a breath, threw a glance over his shoulder to check on Wind. The sailor fended off the two men, both of them wearing the same outfit and mask as the woman. One held a sickle, the other held a striped bow curved in a unique shape. He couldn’t look for long, the woman reappearing and dashing at him once again. She slashed and he parried, scoring another cut across her middle. She stumbled back, free hand pressed to the wound. She hovered just out of reach of his blade, strafing back and forth. He carefully followed her movements, hand secure around the hilt of the Master Sword.

“Shit!”

Wind’s shout occurred a single moment before two arrows slammed into the back of Sky’s leg, just above his knee. He cried out as his leg buckled beneath him, leaving him struggling to stay standing. In the distraction, the woman darted in and slashed. He tried to lift his shield but she attacked before he could, the point of her sickle ripping through the crook of his right arm. He gritted his teeth and swung his sword. The pain slowed him enough for her to easily dodge out of harm’s way. He wanted to look back and check if Wind was okay, but the woman was already running at him again. Her sickle slammed against his shield and she teleported to his right. He spun and blocked her, pain burning through the arrow wounds. She teleported again immediately, forcing him to whirl around a third time. Then she did it again, and again, not giving him a chance to get an attack in. He let out a slow breath as he blocked yet another blow, narrowing his focus to her movements, trying to find a pattern. She always chose to attack from whatever side he was facing farthest from, making him expend as much energy as possible when turning to defend. When she appeared on his right, he deliberately overextended, turning too far to block. As expected, the hiss of air came from far to his left. He tensed his shield arm and whipped around without looking first. His shield bashed against her weapon with a sharp CLANG. She shouted as the force of the parry ripped the sickle from her hands, sending it clattering against the cliff wall. With a grunt, he lunged forward and swung his sword toward her side. She put her hands together and teleported away just as the blade began digging into her skin. She didn’t reappear.

Sky turned to check on Wind, air dragging through his throat, stinging in his lungs. Two arrows pinged off of Wind’s shield before the sailor twisted to attack the man approaching him from the side. Sky could feel blood soaking into his pants, pain blooming from the two arrows still embedded in his flesh, but the adrenaline did a good job keeping the pain from being crippling. He moved forward to help with the remaining enemies. Red slips of paper fluttered over Wind’s head. Sky dove before he could consciously process what was happening, instinctively recognizing the attack. He shoved Wind out of the way just as the woman appeared above them, plummeting with her sickle pointed down. The curve bit into the flesh between his neck and left shoulder, where his chainmail didn’t cover. Pain seared through the wound as the blade dug in deep, the woman’s feet landing on his back and shoving him to the ground.

His chin knocked painfully against the dirt but he hardly felt it in comparison to the sickle ripping out of his shoulder. He heard himself and Wind shout, his vision whiting for a moment as blood poured from the wound, soaking through his sailcloth, dripping onto the ground. Then the weight on his back shifted and the woman hooked the sickle under his chin, pressing it against his throat.

“Sky!” Wind yelled, moving toward him.

“Stay where you are!” the woman roared, pulling up on the sickle and letting the blade cut into the skin of Sky’s neck. Wind froze, wide eyes darting between Sky and the woman. The woman’s breath came in sharp gasps, the sickle trembling slightly against Sky’s throat. “We just want this one’s sword. Then you boys can be on your way.”

Sky tightened his grip on the Master Sword subconsciously, scowling. One of the men moved around Sky, heading for the sword. Sky jerked it closer to his body as the man reached for it. The woman tugged the sickle tighter around his throat, leaning down to speak in his ear.

“Let it go or you will die,” she hissed. Sky’s scowl deepened.

“Sky,” Wind said, making Sky look up toward him. The sailor’s eyes remained wide, staring at the sky knight. “Sky, do what she says.”

Sky gaped at Wind for a moment. The corner of Wind’s mouth twitched. His gaze darted up before coming back to Sky. Sky blinked. He had no idea what Wind was trying to communicate, but it was clearly something. Did that mean Wind had some sort of plan? Sky glanced at the Master Sword clutched in his hand. He bit his lip. Then, with monumental effort, he uncurled his fingers from around it.

“Good choice,” the woman said and Sky had to stuff down the urge to snatch up the sword again. “How did you manage to steal it, anyway?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Sky hissed, glaring up toward the woman. He couldn’t quite look at her with how she crouched on his back, but he figured it was close enough. The woman snorted at his response, nodding toward the man. He bent down to pick up the Master Sword. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, purple flames erupted from it. He yelped, yanking his hand back. Sky smirked as the man rubbed his hand, looking down at the blade in what was most likely a glare.

“The hell was that?” the man growled, glancing up at the woman.

“It’s not yours to wield!” Wind snapped. He remained on the balls of his feet, phantom sword clutched in hand, looking ready to pounce and tackle the woman off of Sky if it weren’t for the sickle biting against the chosen hero’s throat.

“It didn’t burn him, though!” the man retorted.

“That’s because it’s mine,” Sky said. Tiny black specks had taken up residence in the edges of his vision, the wound in his shoulder filling with needles. He ignored both.

The woman drew her face closer to Sky’s, the unblinking gaze of the mask boring into him. “No, it’s not,” she eventually said. “Your hair’s too dark. And you’re too tall.”

Before Sky could figure out what that meant, the man yelped again. He reeled back from the sword, a cloth clutched in hand.

“Yeah. Hold it with something. That’ll work,” Wind said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe you should try something thicker. Put on another pair of gloves.”

“Shut up, brat!” the man snarled, shaking out his burned hand. He gestured toward Sky. “Why don’t we make the k-“

His words cut off as three arrows buried themselves in his back. The woman cursed as the man crumpled, tensing the sickle around Sky’s throat. Panic spiked in his gut. Then an arrow stabbed through her forearm, forcing her to release her grip on the sickle with a yell. The moment she dropped it, Wind darted forward in a blur of blue, slamming into her and tackling her to the ground. Sky jumped up the moment she was gone. At least, he tried to. Lightheadedness filled him and gravity tipped, sending him to his hands and knees. He blinked as the black specks turned to splotches, encroaching on the center of his vision. Blearily, he looked toward his shoulder as fire filled the wound. His sailcloth had turned a deep red, saturated with blood to the point of dripping. A small puddle of his blood sat on the ground where he’d been lying. He blinked again, brow furrowing.

“Link!” one of the men roared, drawing Sky’s attention away from his wound. He looked up through blurry vision to see a blob of blue and blond at the top of one of the cliffs. He squinted, focusing enough to recognize Wild kneeling with his bow drawn, firing down at the enemies. At the edge of his vision, he spotted the Master Sword. He made his way toward it, trying and failing to stand and settling for crawling the short distance. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and drew the weapon toward his chest, falling back into a seated position and apologizing to Fi under his breath for letting her go. Boots scuffled before him and he looked up to see Wind battling against the man that had tried picking up the Master Sword. The sailor ducked under a swing and lunged forward, whipping his sword around and plunging it into the man’s thigh. The man gave a strangled shout then brought his hands together, vanishing in a puff of red smoke. Wind whirled around, breathing hard, eyes darting around the cliffs. Wild jumped down, landing beside him. He said something that didn’t quite make it to Sky’s ears then suddenly they both crouched in front of him, grabbing at his good shoulder, holding him up. He hadn’t even realized he’d begun tipping over.

“Hold on, Sky, I’ve got an elixir,” Wild said, setting his bow down and digging around in his pouch. His voice sounded muffled and far away. Sky bobbed his head in response, but the time between seconds stretched and he probably nodded longer than he needed to. The rest of his body felt cold in comparison to the burning. Something tapped incessantly against his knee until he looked up into Wind’s worried face. He said something that sounded like ‘arrows’, pointing to Sky’s leg. Sky nodded again, not quite understanding. Then twin bursts of pain tore through his leg as Wind ripped the arrows out and awareness slammed back into him. He yelped through gritted teeth as Wild pried one of his hands away from the Master Sword and pressed cool glass into his palm. The awareness began to fade just as quickly as it came but it lasted long enough for him to clumsily drink the potion, drops spilling from the corners of his mouth. He sighed after finishing it, the pain seeping out of his wounds as they closed. A hand squeezed his uninjured shoulder and he lifted his gaze to see Wild watching him with a worried expression.

“Alright, Sky?” he asked.

Sky nodded slowly, lifting a hand to his head at the dizziness the motion caused. “Yeah, just… just dizzy,” he mumbled.

Wild pursed his lips. “That Yiga did a number on you, huh?”

“Yiga?” Sky thought that sounded familiar but the blood loss made it difficult to put together a coherent train of thought.

“Oh, those are the guys that are after you?” Wind asked Wild. Ah. That’s why it sounded familiar.

Wild nodded. “Yeah. They must’ve seen the Master Sword, and…” He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “Anyway, I’m glad I made it here in time.”

“Me too.” Wind stood up as well then they each took one of Sky’s arms and helped him up. He staggered as a wave of dizziness crashed over him but they were able to keep him on his feet. He distantly realized he held the Master Sword in the hand Wind had grabbed and tugged his arm from the sailor to put it away. Once he did, they began walking. It took a bit for them to adjust to the slightly awkward hold since Sky was taller than both of them. Eventually, they figured out a decent strategy, walking out of the narrow passage and back the way they came.

“We’ll meet up with the others so you can rest,” Wild said while Wind nodded. Sky hummed in response, the world still spinning slightly around him. Rest sounded good.

[artemistorm]

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year @6leafclover! I’m your HF Secret Santa! Here is a (sadly incomplete) multichapter Breath of the Wild fic for you! (Psst @hotcheetohatredwastaken here’s the fic I was talking about.)

Summary:

Teba sat in the archery range brooding over Vah Medoh when a random Hylian kid drops out of the sky and bafflingly offers his help in taming the beast to which Teba reluctantly agrees. _ Little did Teba know that this unexpected wanderer was going to become not only a part of his life, but part of his family.

Or

BotW Link gets adopted by Teba and his family.

[tears-of-the-wild]

Whumpy Link Things (The Legend Of Zelda)

Content: Rescue, failed escape attempt, dehumanisation, missing and presumed dead, wounds/injuries, PTSD/trauma, blood.

Making him lick their shoes clean.

Smearing his own blood across his face.

Grabbing him by his hair and forcing him to make eye contact.

When he reaches a point where he has no fight left in him anymore. He's practically a ragdoll, with so little strength to stop anyone from doing what they like with him.

^^ following this, him becoming loyal to Ganon because he's got no other choice. They've practically beaten any form of defiance out of him and he's lost any hope of being rescued.

Tattooing their name on his body. Any time he writhes in an attempt to get away, it just makes the process last longer.

Him letting out a small, defeated sob upon feeling a hand grasp his leg during one of his many escape attempts. He's so desperate to escape, and yet someone manages to catch him every time. He's not sure he can manage another attempt, though he tries over and over again despite it.

Reminding him that even if he did escape, he's proven he's not strong enough to keep everyone safe. To keep Zelda safe. No one will be able to look at him the same, so why go back?

Either Zelda or Sidon finally finding him after months of nearly being presumed dead. Maybe he's hallucinated this exact scenario before and doesn't believe it's real until he feels them pulling his rigid body close.

Maybe they found him lost somewhere, no clothes or water or anything to keep him alive. He's so limp that they can't tell if he's alive or not.

Setting up a campfire and wrapping him in as many blankets as they can, trying to make sure he's warm. Shielding his face from the chill of the wind, reassuring him that he's safe when he wakes up thinking he's inevitably been caught again.

Link going from being so comfortable in his body to hiding it at any chance he gets. Wearing outfits that have long sleeves to hide his scars, refusing to take them off unless he's absolutely sure no one else is around. Not even Zelda knows the extent of his injuries.

[ordon-shield]

Febuwhump Day 22 (Can’t Scream): Trial of the Blade

ao3 link here

Link was ready to pull the Master Sword. He’d made his way across Hyrule, freed the Divine Beasts, and even recovered some of his lost memories. He’d been getting impatient, wanting to go fight Ganon directly, but he knew the Master Sword would only help. He’d known where it was for some time, so now all he needed was to face the trial the blade offered.

Stepping up to the plinth it had been placed in, he took a single deep breath before wrapping his hand around the hilt.

Pain. All he felt was pain, burning through his hand and up his arm, like he’d just gripped the edge of a fully-powered flameblade, or dipped his hand into the lava of Death Mountain. Pushing through the pain, he began to lift the sword, trying to ignore the burning in his palm.

With each inch of the blade pulled free, the pain increased, and he found himself holding back from screaming in pain, only gritting his teeth with it instead. He refused to cry out in pain. He didn’t know why the Master Sword refused to accept him when he’d wielded it before, but he would wield it again, even if he had to try again and again to draw it once more.

The pain was near-unbearable now, and he could feel his strength sap, his limbs becoming weak. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer, knew that even a moment more could spell his end. He kept pulling anyway, and with a final pull, he drew the sword, raising it high above his head as the pain suddenly stopped.

Slumping to the ground, exhausted from the trial, he let the sword slip from his fingers, their joints barely cooperating after how tight his grip had become. Squinting at his hand, he saw the mark left there by the sword, bright red and painful. He felt a small poke at his back and turned around to see a Korok holding up a fairy tonic it must have found in his pack. Thanking it for its help, he swallow half the small bottle in one gulp, the sweet sugary flavour on his tongue helping him focus. He carefully poured the other half over the wound on his palm, careful to not miss any part, leaving it for a minute before washing the sticky remainders off his hand.

The wound had mostly been healed by the tonic, but he was still left with a thick and rough scar across his palm, and a few marks on his fingers. Flexing his hand, he checked for any damage to movement, but found none. He glared down at the sword. It was lucky there wasn’t. Lifting up the sword once more, he realised that when he held it in his hand, the hilt matched up perfectly with the scar along his palm, like a perfect fit.

[corbytheking]

I have a minecraft world. I am working on the first town. But I want this to be a thing where people can go off and make their own entire towns/villages or help with current ones. Like how Hyrule is. Large open beautiful land but in the far distance is another town with a new look and culture.

I can't get anyone else. If anyone wants to join this world, I can make a discord for us, and pretty much anyone can be on at any time since I'm always free tbh. We can create world, new cultures, religions, roles, etc. For the world.

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 16: Came back wrong

CW: Memory problems

(Loosely) continues Day 13

AO3

---

She'd known it would happen, or at least that it was a serious risk, but it was still different to see the reality and to know that her hopes had once again been dashed. This one had never had much chance, but it still hurt.

She'd known it when he first began to recover shreds of consciousness and the shrine had opened around him. She'd called his name, but when he finally opened his eyes there had been no indication that he recognised her voice. She'd directed him to the Sheikah Slate, he'd stumbled outside in the clothes that Impa and Robbie must have left for him - a century old now, ragged and moth-eaten - and had stood staring uncomprehendingly out at Hyrule spread out before him.

His memory was gone. Completely wiped clean.

In the sunlight, she could see that that wasn't all. The hideous burns that had been seared across his body when he collapsed in her arms on Blatchery Plain had turned into scar tissue. Better than the alternative, but still shocking to see. The wiry muscles of his arms and legs had atrophied to nothing; it was no wonder that there was a tremble in his skinny limbs as he looked around, expression blank and confused. She could see how weak he still was.

What had she done?

She knew the easy answers to that: she'd saved his life. She'd preserved hope for the kingdom and herself.

She'd sentenced her dearest and most loyal friend to be dragged back from death stripped of his memories. Of his home. His family. Everything he had ever known.

His gaze caught on something and she looked with him. An old man stood on the path leading up towards the shrine, a hood drawn down over his face so that only his white beard was visible. As she and Link watched, he turned and walked back to his campfire under an overhang a little way further down.

Link hesitated, then turned and ran in the other direction, stumbling, panting for breath. Zelda wept inside as she watched her brave champion flee the sight of another person. Of course he did. He had no memory of other hylians. Did he even still remember how to speak and understand when he was spoken to?

She'd known that something like this might happen, but somehow she'd not believed that the loss would be this complete.

Link paused in his flight as his eye was caught by something. He snatched up a mushroom from the ground and ate it raw in a couple of bites.

On top of everything else, he was starving.

Zelda tried not to sink into guilt and despair as he found and ate an apple, huddled in a sunny corner in the rocks. This was cruel. He'd come back all wrong. But this was the situation they were facing.

"Link," she called and he looked up, his mouth full of apple. "Link, go to the point marked on your Sheikah Slate."

Maybe she could guide him. Maybe enough of his memory would return in time. She could only hope.

---

(Loosely) continued on day 24

[larkle00]

out of all the champions mipha's death hits me the hardest. so when it came to this prompt i think the choice was obvious.

@febuwhump

[bahbahhh]

@zeldaelmo your fic “Stitches - Prompt 31- Hurt&Comfort” from whumptober 2021 was nominated by @silentprincess17 for fanart!

Gosh, this fic is just beautiful. Zeldaelmo, you have a real gift for making little, everyday moment so significant in your writing. It is really on display in this piece.

"Is that… a horse plushie?"

She nodded.

"Oh, wow. That's the cutest thing I've ever seen. Look!" He pointed at the plushie. "It has a mane and a tail!"

"I know, Link, I made it," she explained and chuckled.

Read the rest of “Stitches - Prompt 31- Hurt&Comfort” on Ao3

Mind the author tags - whump*

[maitaitiu]

recall

read on ao3 | 6672 words

courage need not be remembered; for it is never forgotten not even if you swallow a Stone that tears your memories, your personality, your very soul from your body in exchange for immortality

To become an Immortal Dragon… is to lose oneself.

Her personality, her body, her memories. Gone, in a flash of light.

It was a death, in a sense.

How ironic it was, to die in every way except literally for the sake of gaining immortality.

Zelda didn’t even try to quell the trembling in her hands as she held the Stone out in front of her, its golden hue reminiscent of so much. There was no point in trying to hide her fear anymore; nobody was watching.

There was nobody left to, anyway.

It really wasn’t fair, was it?

She never asked for any of this.

What she wouldn’t give to be home; in the arms of her loved ones, in a world where there was no Calamity, no Upheaval, no Goddesses.

None of this hurt and pain and waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting, how many times did she have to walk into the arms of Death before it would grasp her tight enough to not let go?

The Goddesses were toying with her. And she knew it. And she played along.

Because really, what other choice did she have?

Accept failure? Let everyone die, again, again, again!

After everything that had happened?

No way.

The Goddesses, the stars, the moon and sun, the Dragons and Spirits of anything and everything. They could laugh themselves to death and take the universe with them for all she cared.

It was cruel.

She didn’t want to die. But at least, she’d always thought, on days where she felt especially awful, when she did eventually kick the bucket: there would be people waiting for her. People she missed dearly, so dearly, the gaping wound in her soul was still tender from their untimely loss.

This was different. She couldn’t even have that anymore.

But there was nothing to be done.

Zelda closed her eyes and tipped the Stone into her mouth.

I am going to die.

Pain ripped through her entire body, through the air itself. Glowing, molten gold light spewed from her chest, her hands, her throat, everywhere, everywhere.

And yet; her mind was clear.

She had been moments from death oh, so many times.

Too many times, said a voice in her head, sounding like Urbosa and Sonia and Mineru and Link and Daruk and Teba and Buliara and so many more all at once, I’m sorry this is the world you inherited, Zelda.

At least this time, there was no blood. No rain or dirt or tearstains or one of the thousands of different weapons that had once been aimed at her heart.

It was quite a nice day, actually.

She staggered forward. One goal. She could not dream of anything else except that her repeated sacrifices would finally mean something.

She reached for the Sword, and the cool metal hilt rapidly matched the impossible temperature of the light spilling from her being.

Her hands gripped around the Sword, as though it could save her from the Holy fire that tore her body apart from the inside out, her final plea; her only plea, broke desperately free from her throat as the world vanished in a blaze of blinding, burning white.

I am going to die.

She watched in horror as Mineru fell to the floor like a stone. The other Sages’ frozen bodies betrayed how their expressions matched to hers, though hidden under their intricate masks.

Rauru’s rage, his grief, his pain, flooded the room.

Choking.

First his wife was murdered, and now his sister, too?

A glow of blue from the corner of Zelda’s eye at least allowed her to breathe. Mineru would be gone, intangible and lost behind the impenetrable mist that was death, but, thanks to her abilities, she would still be able to speak with them. At least, for a while.

At Rauru’s unspoken command, the Sages attacked once more. He dodged them easily, and Zelda pulled the arrow, the spear, the trident, the sword- Goddess, she couldn’t remember anything but agony anymore- back, and again, he stepped out of the way, and right into Rauru’s merciless death-grip.

She knew what would happen. She had borne witness to this scene months ago, thousands of years into the future.

Nothing would change. There would be no future past that.

Her father had been more correct than he’d ever have known.

She really was the heir to a throne of nothing.

I am going to die.

She was a fool for thinking this would work; that he would be deterred by a show of cunning and wisdom. That much was clear the second she saw Sonia’s knees buckle.

She raced to her friend- though that word felt far too simple for the way she saw Sonia- and shook her, and cried out over and over, pleading with her to wake up.

The scene felt familiar.

How many times had she stood idly by as a woman she might consider something akin to mother die in a horrid fashion at the hands of someone who was cruel for the sake of it?

She distantly heard Rauru’s furious voice and his cold laughter, but all she could see was Sonia’s blood as it stained her hands, her dress, the castle, and the whole world in a deep, violent red.

I am going to die.

Gloom- no, malice, malice- hurtled towards her, and in a flash of blinding blue, Link was between her and the very essence of evil, the Master Sword in a hand that was swiftly ravaged by the poisonous mire.

He must have been in agony, and yet he still managed a powerful swing into the gloom, and the Sword shattered.

Zelda’s breath caught in her throat; Link’s immediate cease of all movement betrayed his own horror.

He spoke. And Zelda listened, and hardly understood a word, didn’t recognise a single name aside from her own and Link’s, outside of a vague recollection of reading it somewhere once, though she would know them far too well, come time.

The figure laughed a dry, pained laugh, torn from ragged, half-dead lungs, and let himself fall backwards into the abyss as the earth crumbled and the cavern’s ceiling rose and rose and rose in a shower of blood red evil.

“Link!” Zelda cried, suddenly awake to his injury, as he stumbled, grasping at his arm- oh, it was too familiar- and she made to run to him, when the world beneath her feet gave way and she didn’t even have time to scream.

 I am going to die.

She wasn’t. She knew that logically.

But her heart raced all the same.

She paced around the dining room, fretting over her outfit.

“Is this too formal? Perhaps it is. I should change. But… oh… everything else feels so informal…”

Link stared at her, not unsympathetically, but obviously quite bored of the cycle that had repeated since before dawn.

You look fine. You always do. His expression told her.

She believed him.

But would the schoolchildren think the same?

She paused her pacing when Link’s hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

You’ll be fine. They’re going to love you… Miss Zelda. he signed, one handed, a cheeky smile playing on his face at her “new title”.

A laugh bubbled from her throat, and she playfully pushed him away.

Or do you think they’ll call you Miss Princess?

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed, and so did he, nerves from the past month that had lead up to today finally released her from their clutches, “You should really drop by the school sometime. You’re a good example of how not to be an adventurer.”

Link simply stuck his tongue out at her, unfazed by her light-hearted jabbing, secretly glad she could be stressed about something mundane for a change.

I am going to die.

He remembered her. Of course, he did. She should have known that just from the look on his face.

Apprehension, adoration, fear, exhaustion. Relief.

All mixed together.

Despite the horrid amount that it had cost, Zelda felt a weight lift from her shoulders at Link’s unabashed expression of anything and everything that he was thinking or feeling.

And then her whole body seemed to suddenly fall weak and frail; a hundred years of using one’s entire strength to hold down the Embodiment Of All Things Evil would do that to a person, and fear gripped her tightly as she fell.

Perhaps she’d been too optimistic, and there was no future waiting for her specifically after the horrific ordeal of it all.

A hundred years… she was practically running on stolen time.

Of course… of course.

Her knees grazed the grass, and she was prepared to slumber for eternity, when Link caught her.

And the way he carefully lowered her to the ground, rested her head in his lap and brushed his fingers through her golden hair with a gentleness that might be shocking considering his vicious display of sword fighting, archery, and who knows what else he used against that Goddess-forsaken boar just a few minutes prior, but she was not surprised.

She was content to lay here though, at least for a little while.

She’d wake up in a couple of hours, and it felt like there was a future on the horizon after all.

I am going to die.

It didn’t matter.

Everyone else was dead anyway.

She might as well do this.

The Sword was safe, under the watchful gaze of the Deku tree.

Impa and Purah and Robbie… she knew not if they were alive.

If they were, it surely wouldn’t be for long.

Link, too. His heartbeat had been petering out the last she heard. Perhaps the brave Sheikah warriors had not made it to the Shrine of Resurrection in time to save him and had dumped his body somewhere in an effort to save themselves.

She wouldn’t fault them for doing so.

But they were oh, so selfless. She hated it. She didn’t deserve such treatment.

Maybe they hadn’t made it at all.

Maybe they hadn’t even made it past the Dueling Peaks.

Zelda’s fingers curled around one of the bangles on her wrists.

The sky was dark, gloomy, a deep blood red.

There would soon be nothing left to lose anyway.

She stepped into the castle and let herself drown in the golden light.

I am going to die.

Please run, she was begging, both inward and outwardly, please run, save yourself. Please. Please.

He was so exhausted, battered and bruised from every angle. A nasty burn from a Guardian laser had torn through both his Champions’ tunic and several layers of skin and muscle on his back.

They- the Champions- her friends- were all dead. She couldn’t let Link die, too.

Please run.

He stumbled. The vibrant red light of a Guardian’s eye, preparing to strike, lit up the bloody marks on his chest, and Zelda screamed.

“NO!”

Glowing, molten gold ripped itself from her hand, from her heart, from the air and everything around her and inside her, and it smothered the evil glow in the Guardian’s eye.

Horror and awe froze her in place, staring at the triangular mark that had now burned itself into the back of her hand, until she heard Link collapse behind her.

No. No no no no no!

Not him, too.

Please, no…

I am going to die.

She ran and ran, unable to move on her own, only continuing forward in thanks to Link’s incessant dragging.

She wished he’d just leave her to rot in the mud.

It’s all she deserved at this point.

Vah Medoh shrieked far above the trees, and both Hylians looked up.

Zelda tripped over her own feet upon seeing the horrid pink light that plagued the Guardians had infected the Beast as well as it fired onto the Field.

Not in their defence.

But searching for them.

To… to…

A white-hot laser screamed from Medoh’s beak and blasted apart the trees just a few meters behind them.

The heat of the blast stung her bare arms, though the rain doused the fire immediately.

And if Medoh… if Revali, her friend, was unable to control the Beast, then surely, surely, he was… dead.

Then certainly, the others…

Zelda crumbled to the floor, and she heard Link splash back towards her through the mud.

She half expected him to reach and grab for her, to pull her upwards again to continue running toward an impossible goal, but he only knelt down in front of her, and his movements ached with the same resignation that she felt deep in her bones.

Mipha, fiercely protective and patient, Daruk, unreservedly and loudly kind, and Urbosa… Oh, Urbosa, her closest confidant, the closest thing she’d had to a mother ever since her own had been ruthlessly slaughtered…

Dead and gone and lost forever.

What was the point in running anymore…

Zelda flung herself at Link, a flurry of tears and utter, complete anguish, and somehow it did not surprise her when he held her close to his chest with shaking hands.

I am going to die.

It’s awake.

It’s awake.

Not now. Please, not now!

Everything seemed to be crumbling; she held tightly onto the only thing in her immediate vicinity that wasn’t.

Urbosa.

The woman urged Zelda to go with Link, to find somewhere safe; leave the Kingdom behind if necessary, and a flash of anger shocked through Zelda’s core, clearing her mind- even if only temporarily.

“No!” she snapped, “I will not flee!”

All her beloved friends were about to run headfirst into danger, her complete and utter failure to do anything worthy of their protection or care or time should not exempt her from doing the same.

She had to do something.

Anything.

Urbosa’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, in worry and admiration, but knew Zelda’s decision would not waver, and the situation was too dire to even attempt to argue.

“Please, stay safe. Promise me, Zelda.” Urbosa’s voice was steady, but Zelda just barely heard it wobble for a fraction of a second.

Zelda nodded. She could try, at least.

And just like that, Link’s hand was on hers, pulling her away from her friends as they prepared to storm directly into the bloody jaws of Hell.

I am going to die.

Her lungs burned and her legs felt like they were moments away from falling off. How long had she been running?! It felt like forever; only made worse by the uneven, shifting sands of the desert.

How had the Yiga even found her?!

Her whereabouts being kept a secret was probably the only thing she could agree upon with her father at the moment, and yet they still had managed to find her during one of the few times she was alone.

A strangled cry wrested itself from her throat as two more assassins appeared out of nowhere, blocking her route forwards, and she collapsed into the sand, shuffling as fast as she could away from the two new assailants, and only ending up closer to the first.

Cornered against a rock, Zelda thought her heart might explode with how fast it was pounding, and a whimper broke free of her lips when the Yiga who’d been chasing her all this time drew their weapon- a wicked, curved sickle.

Her eyes closed, unable to face her own gruesome demise, her failure, and the Yigas’ footfalls slowed.

She swore she heard them chuckling to themselves, behind their hollow masks. Toying with her.

She felt the presence of one of them too close, heard the rush of air as a blade descended, when-

CLANG!

The sound of metal violently meeting metal, and then tearing fabric and flesh other than her own prompted Zelda to open her eyes and look.

Stood directly in front of her – how had he gotten so close?!- was Link, as his gaze flitted furiously between the three Yiga, one of whom- the one with the sickle- was now cradling a heavily bleeding arm.

Link brandished his sword threateningly, and took a step towards the Yiga, and they all stopped moving, snapped their hands together, and vanished in a poof of red smoke.

Zelda was still frozen, pressed up against the rock as Link picked up the sickle, and she watched as his face wrinkled in disgust, and he hurled it far away into the sand dunes, where it was quickly buried under the shifting, golden waves.

And her lungs still ached, but at least she was free to breathe again.

I am going to die.

Perhaps a sword to the gut would be less painful than her father’s disappointed glare.

Zelda kept her head as high as she could, knowing the second she was out of the forsaken throne room and in the safety of her own quarters, she’d likely burst into tears and cry herself to sleep.

“What I don’t understand,” his voice was grave, and it twisted painfully into her heart, “Is what is wrong with you, Zelda. Do you not grasp the severity of our situation? If you cannot fulfil your duty, everyone- everyone- will die an agonising death. The whole kingdom will be gone.”

She bit down on her lip as hard as she dared to.

Whether to keep from shouting that she was trying, so, so hard, or to keep from bursting into tears, she didn’t know.

“Your brain is too full of dreams of being something you can never be. I understand that this is unfair; were you alive for any other part of our history, you likely would have been able to pursue your passions.” Zelda thought he didn’t sound like he cared much about how fair any of this was, “But you are not. You do not have any option to deviate from your destiny. Failure, straying… none of it is an option. You will be allowed two days to recover from your journey, and then you will resume your training. Do you understand me, Zelda?”

She sucked in a breath slowly, and let it go as steadily as she could.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She said, and at the very least, she could be proud of the fact that her voice did not tremble.

I am going to die.

Her hands hurt, and it took Impa offering her a cautious hand up for her to truly realise it.

“Oh, Princess, you’re bleeding!” her friend exclaimed, and knelt down beside her, a roll of gauze already in hand.

“I’m alright, really,” Zelda responded, distractedly; completely frazzled by what had just happened.

At least her knight had the grace to look guilty at pushing her to the floor, even if it was an accident, and even if it was so that he could block the explosive attack of a rogue guardian with a cooking pot lid of all things.

She let Impa patch up her scratched hands, though her gaze remained on the knight, watched how he glanced around over and over, watching for any further danger.

Shock from the sudden explosion, the surprise at being knocked to the floor; it all swirled together in Zelda’s stomach unpleasantly.

What in the world had happened to that Guardian?

Why did it just fire on them?

It was nothing like any other malfunction she’d seen with the mechanical beasts…

Her stinging hands itched to rip the thing apart to figure it out.

I am going to die.

Fury shot through her veins; her hands trembled as she clenched her fists so tightly that her nails left deep indents in her palms.

Really?! She wanted to scream- and she would, later, in the privacy of her own quarters- a knight appointed to follow me everywhere? And not just some random soldier; it has to be him?! That irritating silent prodigy?

As if she didn’t have enough on her plate at the moment! Trying to stay sane while enduring all the gruelling training to unlock her Sacred power, trying to maintain the very few friendships she had, trying to explore her own passions and research the ancient Sheikah technology as more and more kept being dug up, and even just trying to simply exist, would all now be a million times harder as some glorified babysitter with a sword was now tasked with tailing her everywhere.

It was not fair!

The fact that it was that stupid prodigy boy- who was barely a month older than her! - made it even more insulting.

Look at him, who was able to defeat grown men when he was barely older than a toddler, the order seemed to say, mockingly, look at him, and see just how much you lack in comparison.

Maybe his presence would make her angry enough that her power would awaken just to get rid of him.

I am going to die.

What a pathetic way to go out. Dragged from the world due to a fever.

Zelda scowled as she shivered and shivered under the quilts that Urbosa had wrapped her in. All that time in the Spring of Power, praying and praying and praying, wishing desperately for something to happen.

Perhaps the vague wishes were the problem.

After all, something had happened. She’d passed out.

And now she was here, back at their little campsite- ‘they’ being her, Urbosa, Impa, and a handful of guards- with a wet rag on her forehead and wrapped in Impa’s jacket and the aforementioned quilts.

“You’re awake,” Urbosa’s voice was gentle with concern, “How do you feel, Little Bird?”

Zelda sniffled, and forced herself to sit up, despite the aching and chill that weakened her bones, “Fine. I need to-”

“Rest.” Came a second voice: Impa’s.

She was sitting a little way back under their makeshift canopy tent, and it was clear she’d not moved at all since Zelda had been- presumably- carried back.

“You need to rest, Princess.” She insisted.

“No.” Zelda shrugged off one of the quilts and started on untangling herself from the other, stifling the cough that wanted to escape and reduce her to more shivers, “I must continue my training.”

Urbosa’s hand rested on her shoulder, and Zelda stopped her battle with the quilts.

“I must,” Zelda reiterated, though her voice was very small this time.

“Little Bird…” Urbosa sighed, her hand now moving to caress Zelda’s hair, the other pulling the girl into a hug, “Please rest. Your training can wait until you have recovered.”

“But-”

“Please. Rest.” Urbosa repeated, “If not for yourself, for me, and for your friend, Impa, and for the Royal Guardsmen, all of whom have been worrying ever-so-much about you since you collapsed.”

Guilt washed over Zelda, and evidently that hadn’t been Urbosa’s intention, as the woman spoke again, though this time it fell on unhearing ears.

Why must they worry about someone who keeps disappointing them? Zelda thought, distraught and embarrassed, I don’t deserve their kindness…

A cough wracked her body and she found she had very little energy to fight as Urbosa laid her back down and tucked the quilts back over her.

Perhaps if I do die here, the Goddess will take pity on them all; it’s not their fault that their Princess is such an abject failure, Zelda thought, as she unwillingly fell into the arms of sleep.

I am going to die.

Zelda barely noticed how her knees shook under the water as her fists came down angrily to splash the surface; ripples danced mockingly around her as she just barely held back a scream of anger.

Why won’t you answer me?!

She couldn’t even begin to guess what she was doing wrong; she spent practically every waking moment praying- well, except for when she was studying, and, oh no, what if that was the problem? What if the Goddess was angry that Zelda wasn’t actually devoting every waking moment to Her?

Tears stung at her eyes and her teeth chattered, obstructing her already shallow breaths.

Was the water always this cold?

How long had she been out here now?

A glance upwards revealed stars twinkling above her in an inky sky. Perhaps they were laughing at her.

Perhaps…

Strangely, the stars seemed to disappear bit by bit, and she felt very light all of a sudden.

Oh, well. She’d rather the stars and the Gods laugh at her than face her father’s disappointment and the knowledge that her endless failures were leading to the demise of the entire kingdom.

The final star vanished into the abyss, and Zelda felt it surround her, too.

She let herself float in it.

Distantly, someone called her name.

I am going to die.

Shame made her skin prickle as she strode through the corridors of the castle. She tried her best not to pay attention to the staff’s whispers, but she worried her discomfort was showing plainly on her face, as they only seemed to grow in volume as she walked.

She knew the idea of dying of shame was a ridiculous one, but the way her ears burned, and her heart pounded as she turned a corner- heading toward her study- she wasn’t so sure about its implausibility.

Another failure at another Spring. She was running out of Sacred places to visit. Every day she awoke terrified- that this would be the day the Calamity returned.

And while an absolutely gigantic mechanical Beast had been recently dug up in Hebra, with reports of possibly three others in other regions, she wasn’t sure if a huge weapon would be enough; if it was, what use would there be of her power in the first place?

The Legend of the Calamity had stated that four Champions had “piloted” Beasts (perhaps the ones currently being excavated?), to weaken the Calamity, but that afterward, a Hero with the Sword of Evil’s Bane and a Princess shrouded in Sacred Light had worked together to seal it away.

And then… and then… even if these mechanical Beasts were the ones in the Legend, even if she could unlock her power… they had still not found a person who was able to wield such a Holy sword. Hell- they hadn’t even located the thing!

So, she had to come up with something. She must be missing something about her power. Perhaps she needed the Sword? Perhaps the Beasts must all have pilots?

That was why she needed to get to her study; the one place she could actually think.

Her pace quickened, and she rounded another corner; the sooner she could sit in her study and lock the door, the better.

And finally- finally- the door was in sight.

She hurried across, not hearing the approaching footsteps behind her.

“Ah, Princess Zelda!”

A quick glance back was enough for her to recognise the Court Poet, a light blush painted on his pale cheeks and a scroll in hand. His mouth was open, ready to ask a question.

“Sorry,” Zelda rushed to speak before he could, and managed to get out a brief explanation. “Busy.”

And then she shut the door in his face, hardly sparing the Poet a second thought as she locked the study door and collapsed into the chair by her desk.

She’d allow herself a minute to be upset about her failure; the whispers; everything.

And then she’d get on with everything else.

She had to.

I am going to die.

This was annoying.

Like. Really, really annoying.

She was supposed to be training today- eleventh birthday be damned; there were more important things in the world than presents and cake, and she was grown up enough to know it- but she’d been so sick since last night, even her father had insisted she rest today.

But the thing was, today was supposed to be rest for how sick she had been! Not a day for her to get worse!

Her father was too busy to watch over her, but there were a few handmaidens bobbing in and out of her room to check on her; two knights stationed outside the door and two on the outside of her balcony. The staff were annoying. She didn’t need to be babied!

Only one person had been able to coax an expression other than a scowl from her.

Lady Urbosa, who had travelled all the way from her home in the Desert just to help Zelda get to and from the Spring of Courage.

She was nice, and told Zelda interesting stories while she was confined to bedrest, didn’t say silly things like “oh, you’re so brave” whenever she threw up (wasted) every bit of food she tried to eat, and had been nice enough to move the vase of flowers away from Zelda’s bed because the smell of them was giving her a headache.

Zelda also was very aware, that if she were brave enough to ask, the woman would tell her stories about the late Queen. Zelda missed her mother desperately; even though it had been years and she felt she should be over it by now, she did still ache for her.

But, as much as she’d like to, she wasn’t daring enough to ask that.

And still, as nice as Lady Urbosa was, she couldn’t completely get rid of Zelda’s ire.

Being cooped up, so dreadfully sick that she hadn’t been able to even manage to keep down half a slice of bread, and being under a completely unfair amount of pressure was a simple recipe for an extremely miserable child.

Miserably, Zelda shimmied further under her blankets, despite her rising temperature making her sweat so much she looked as though she could have been out in a rainstorm, and she selfishly, silently, wished that the illness would dispose of her completely so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.

Her father would be dreadfully disappointed in her failure to even conquer a simple illness, though, which would be a shame…

But hey, at least, if this sickness did snuff her out, maybe she could see her mother again.

I am going to die.

“Father, please don’t!” she exclaimed, running after him as fast as her little legs allowed, “Please! I promise I can do better! I can get my power! You don’t have to take Terrako!”

Her father- no, the King- stopped his march down the corridor so suddenly that she almost crashed into his legs.

A flicker of hope ignited in Zelda’s heart as she caught a glimpse of her only friend as it wiggled in her father’s arms, its mechanical chirps warbling out; it sounded as distressed as she felt.

“Princess Zelda. Take this as an order from your King.” His voice was cold, and Zelda stood up straight instinctively, feeling her hopefulness die out immediately, replaced only with the emptiness that had plagued her after her mother had… “You are to focus on your training. Not building… whatever this thing is.”

“Terrako.” She corrected in a whisper, as tears pricked at her eyes, and she raised her voice properly, “Please. I can focus. Don’t take it away, please.”

A smidge of guilt flashed across the King’s face, though in the coming years, Zelda would be sure she’d completely imagined it, as he’d continued speaking as though she hadn’t said anything at all.

“This… it will be confiscated until you can prove you have been putting in the effort required to play your part against the Calamity when it arises,” he said, his voice the same regal, distant one that she would hear when she eavesdropped on court sessions, “Am I clear?”

Zelda felt herself deflate.

“Yes, sir.” She said numbly, and received no response as the King turned back and continued his way down the hall, leaving her to stand there, fists clamped around her skirt as tears sneaked out of her eyes and tumbled down her face.

I’m sorry… This is all my fault. I have to do better.

In a whisper, mostly to herself, she added, “Good-bye, Terrako.”

I am going to die.

One tiny mistake would be enough to make her crumble. A stone in her shoe, tripping up, her plaits being too tight against her head; any one of those, and countless other possibilities, would be enough.

And she couldn’t let it happen. Not now, not ever.

Her mother was gone. She and her father marched behind the casket that held what had once been her mother, but was now just a stone-cold lump of scarred flesh.

Zelda didn’t envy whichever of the castle staff had been the unlucky ones to change her mother’s lifeless and bloodied form into clothes that were clean and befitting a Queen for the funeral.

She was sure that she could still smell the blood.

No. No. Don’t think about it.

She kept her gaze forward, looking toward an unseeable point in the distance. The future, perhaps.

If there was such a thing.

Zelda felt like she’d died alongside her mother that night.

And if she were anyone else, she’d have probably been wailing and beating the ground, begging for anyone, anything, to make everything better and to bring her mother back.

But she wasn’t anyone else. She was the Princess. And she had to act like it.

So onward she marched, stalwart and blank-faced, as people who had never met her mother stood on the sidelines, behind rope fences, openly weeping as though they’d lost a dear friend.

Zelda hated them. What right did they have to cry?

Grief was choking her, responsibilities her mother had been shouldering now placed on her, and they were crushing.

She should be the one crying.

She felt like she was going to burst.

She wanted to run home and run to her room and for her mother to come in and say it was all okay; it was a bad dream.

None of that would happen.

Somehow, a stone had made its way inside her shoe.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she marched onward.

I am going to die.

This was just a continuation of her nightmare. It had to be.

It had to be.

Moonlight was the only thing that dared be in the room; Zelda had frozen in the doorway, her gaze stuck on something that just couldn’t be real.

Please don’t let it be real.

The air reeked of rusted metal, and Zelda’s face was soaked with tears she hadn’t even realised had begun spilling from her eyes.

“Mama?” she breathed, managing a tiny step forward toward the still figure on the floor, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

The woman did not reply from where she lay, entangled in once-pristinely white blankets, now soaked with a dark stain that just kept growing.

With her eyes locked on the terrifyingly still form of her mother, Zelda didn’t notice the thing that was in her path.

She tripped over it- something hard and sharp- and felt a small cut be torn into her foot. She landed on the ground, and her hand, attempting to catch herself, came to rest on the blood-soaked body in the centre of the room, and her head twisted around to search for the offending object.

The entirety of Hyrule had likely been awoken that night by the screams of a little girl as her gaze fell upon a bloodied sickle that glinted dangerously in the moonlight.

I am going to die.

Zelda clung to her mother’s dress, nerves threatening to bubble over into tears, but at least she could hide those in the elegant skirt.

She didn’t fully understand what her parents were talking about, or what the Oracle lady was talking about before, but the word Calamity rung in her ears in a way that was almost painful.

It was bad. Very bad.

She knew that much.

Her parents were talking about sending parties of soldiers to all the villages across Hyrule in search of a person who could wield a Sacred sword, as well as any other strong fighters and strategists who could help.

Plus, they were discussing what role she, Zelda herself, would play against this “Calamity”. Apparently, because she and her mother were descended from the Goddess herself, they had a special type of Holy magic that could stop evil.

It had sounded cool when she’d first been told about it, but now that the idea of actually having to do something really scary and use a magic she hadn’t shown any signs of having… it just sounded horrible.

She didn’t want to have to face down a monster on her own!

Finally, her parents seemed to remember she was there- she doubted they’d actually forgotten about her, but it sure felt like it- and her father scooped her up and into an embrace.

“Don’t worry, my sweet Zelda,” he said, and she hid her face in his coat, “Your mother will tell you all you need to know about your power. We’ll have the strongest fighters the world has to offer by your side.”

She sniffled. She still felt so scared.

Her mother’s hand gently stroked her hair, as the woman hummed Zelda’s favourite lullaby to her.

“You won’t be alone for this, Zelda.” her father reassured her, “We’ll be here as well.”

And it was nice to not be alone.

But it didn’t change the heavy weight that now dragged her shoulders downward, that pressed upon her chest to the point where it was often hard to breathe, that twisted her brain into terrifying nightmares where a faceless monster would raze the whole world and ashes rained from a blood red sky.

I am going to die.

Zelda wailed and wailed, because that was all she could do.

She was (according to the whispers of castle staff when they thought nobody was listening) developmentally behind other children her age, being four and not able to speak as much as she probably should, would have likely gotten her bullied, if she attended a school instead of being educated by scholars in the castle.

She’d tripped in the garden and scraped her knee, and it was bleeding.

Never in her entire life had she felt so much pain… and she didn’t know how to shout for help, so all she could do was cry and cry and cry and hope that someone would hear her.

“Oh, no, darling!”

Zelda turned her tear-streaked face to the sound of her mother’s voice.

And no sooner than had she laid her tearful eyes on the deep, royal blue of a formal dress, Zelda felt herself scooped off the floor and a hundred kisses being pressed onto her face.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” her mother asked, as she carried the tiny girl over to one of the garden benches.

“Fell,” was the only word Zelda knew that would answer. She sniffled, and more tears ran down her cheeks, “Am I gonna die?”

“No, Zelda, you aren’t. Okay?” her mother reassured her, rubbing circles into her back, “We’ll have to go and get some medicine to clean your knee, and then bandage it up, though.”

Zelda winced. She’d had that cut-cleaning-medicine-stuff put on a splinter a little while ago, and it had really stung…

“But then we can go and read a nice story afterwards to feel better. Would you like that?”

Hm… That did sound nice.

She nodded, and touched her face as she realised her tears had dried up.

“Lovely,” her mother said, and pressed another kiss to her forehead, “Shall we go and find the doctor then?”

“Okay…” Zelda mumbled, and clung to her mother’s neck as she was picked back up.

“You’ve already been so brave, my sweet little bird,” her mother soothed as Zelda sniffled again, “Can you try and be brave for me, for just a little bit more while we go and get patched up?”

“Okay, mama.” Zelda agreed quietly, exhausted now after the whole ordeal, and let her head rest on her mother’s shoulder and her eyes droop closed as she was carried inside to safety.

She could be brave for as long as she had to be.