Chapter Text
There is no way to describe the abstract terror that courses through Link’s veins. No words in the Hylian language to describe his visceral reaction. Something in him shrieks, the more sensible, primitive part of him begging to turn back. It's bad. Whatever is in there is something pure evil, and he didn’t have to see it to know.
The air around the castle is thick with malice, even more so near the sanctum. Almost like a cloud, It settles heavy in his lungs. It makes the sword resting on his back glow brighter. The blade purified the air that touched her. And when he took her from her sheath, she would purify him as well, though it was much too late for that.
Link steeled his already trembling nerves, knowing that he had already crossed the point of no return. Zelda was in there, and he had already kept her waiting much too long. With a heavy heart and a healthy amount of terror, he entered the sanctum.
Immediately, he took note of the destruction that had befallen the room. The carpet was torn, long thin shreds that gouged into the floor below. The stonework was shattered, crumbling down in piles on the floor. Even the windows had not survived the calamity’s rage, and he could hear the beast howl.
“Link…” A voice whispered quietly. He stiffened, ears twitching, he already knew whom it belonged to. The faintest hint of Hylia remained in her descendant, through the feeling of sun on skin, the featherlight brush of the breeze, a whisper of pure white snow. Zelda murmured, her voice so quiet in her exhaustion. “I’m sorry… but my power isn’t strong enough.”
His gaze was drawn upwards, and he recoiled at the sight. Like a spider’s cocoon, a ball of malice laid on the roof. Pulsating a deep red as the bright divine power bled through, dowsing the room in a pale light. “I can’t hold him…” Zelda breathed, her voice heart jerking. The light was soon replaced with an all too familiar sound. He braced himself, mentally and physically, as beams of light broke free from the cocoon. Stumbling back to avoid being hit, his heart pounded in his chest.
Link’s dread only mounted as the cocoon wriggled. It was trying to get free from its prison. He stared, wide eyed at the horrific amalgamation of technology and pure evil as it burst from the sac. Malice rained down on the room, and he hissed as it splattered against his pant leg, eating through the material with violent ease.
Shortly after the malice, came Calamity Ganon.
A cloud of dust rose from the impact as the large figure hit the floor. The ground rumbled, and Link bit down a gasp as cracks began spanning the surface. He stumbled, trying to retreat as the floor crumbled beneath his feet. In an instant, he was falling. His panic was diluted by curiosity as he scrambled for his paraglider. There was a deep cavern beneath the floor of the sanctum, lined with what looked like Sheikah tech. He could only wonder what it was used for.
However, the hero had no time to contemplate as he wrenched open his paraglider. His whole body recoiled at the sudden motion, and he winced at the painful sensation in his shoulders. Link looked down towards the darkness he was descending into, and nausea curled in his gut at the sight. The Calamity was a disgusting figure. Oozing and spilling malice, guardian weapons hastily pasted onto its body as if a child had done it. It was awful, nauseating, terrifying.
As he stopped to the floor, he could say that it was even worse up close. A mane of wild hair framed glowing orange eyes. A vaguely Hylian face looked back at him, a facsimile of teeth gnashing formed of malice. Its limbs were awkward and splaying, some large and bulky, whereas others were thin and weak. All the same, he knew he was looking at a monstrosity. Created from the Sheikah Tech that had failed them the first time, repurposed into Link’s own personal nightmare. This monster had plagued Hyrule for too long.
(He allowed it to plague Hyrule. He had doomed many people to suffer for his inadequacies.)
Link had to defeat it… failure wasn’t an option.
___
Later, when it feels like the mere hours he had been fighting had been days, is when it finally ends. Zelda’s voice rang out clear in his mind, commanding him forwards. “Link! Now!”
His tongue was coated in iron. His fingers ached and his palms were scorched. Link couldn’t feel the pain as adrenaline thrummed through his veins. He exhaled harshly, bones creaking as he moved forwards. The Master Sword crooned on his back, a weak, melodic sound that was as much of a comfort as it hurt.
Almost over, he promised both himself and the sword. His eyes flickered towards the towering beast, when it's over, we can rest. The sword flickered weakly, but her glow remained strong. Link pretended that it was her way of agreeing with him. They were both so very tired. Already, it felt like his bones had begun to fail him, as the Master Sword had failed him many times. But, he wondered if he could truly blame her.
Now though, he had no time for rest.
“Revali.” Link rasped. The words sounded like sandpaper—throat aching at the simple three syllables. He crouched, paraglider ready as the familiar surge of magic surrounded him. Ghostly teal flames burst up around him, bringing a gale of wind. The fire licked at his skin, yet he felt nothing more than a slight tickle as it sent him spiraling into the sky. His forearms burned with exertion as he clung to his paraglider.
The creature that Ganon had become is a ghastly figure, though less terrifying than the form it had taken prior. Larger than any creature he’d ever seen, its skin was a coat of pure malice stretched over a faintly boar-like figure. Its large, bulbous eye stared at him, outlined by the two smaller yellow pinpricks. He inhaled deeply, trying to ease the crushing weight in his chest. He had to end this now.
(His arms ached fiercely, the slashes in his sides burned like liquid fire. His lungs were choked with smoke and malice. His mouth was dry, parched, and he was burning up.)
Abruptly, he closed his paraglider and dropped. Warmth pooled against his fingertips, Zelda’s voice echoing in his head once more. “Link, now!” The Bow of Light felt like it was made of air. The divinity it contained made his blood boil in his veins. He wasn't meant to wield something so divine. The Master Sword had been watered down enough overtime, but this was pure.
As he has done many times before, he tugged on an invisible string. A magic that pooled deep in his chest, something that was undoubtedly his, unlike the Champion's abilities. Time slowed to a drizzle, a drip, and he observed. An arrow formed at his fingertips with a burst of scorching warmth. Fletching brushed his knuckles.
He inhaled, eyes sharp. Carefully aiming, he prayed to Hylia that he wouldn't miss. He didn’t know how much longer he could go. He released the arrow. A breath of air, the light arrow hurtling towards the monster, his trembling breaths. As quick as it had stopped, time became a raging waterfall once again.
Link scrambled for his paraglider, clinging to the wooden handles as the arrow sunk deep into the glowing yellow eye. The beast shrieked, a horrible pained noise that penetrated his eardrums.
Still, he felt no pity for it as he slowly drifted to the ground. His feet brushed the floor just in time to see the golden power seep from Zelda. The air tasted electric, and it burned. As he inhaled, it felt as if his lungs had been set ablaze. The ethereal light vanished, and he could see the lone figure of Zelda on the field. Her arm trembled as she held it high above her head.
It's gone. He thinks numbly, almost disbelieving. Something that was curled tight, painfully so, in his chest lightened. It's over.
Blood pooled beneath his tunic as he stumbled towards Zelda. The fabric torn to shreds, pressed deep onto the wound. The Master Sword chimed weakly, comfortingly, and he can’t help the faint traces of fondness and bitterness he feels. Zelda is the same as she was in the last memory. Hair long and golden, dress no longer pure white, now stained with a myriad of different things, and ripped to ribbons. Her green eyes pierced his soul, incomprehensibly old, yet holding the same youth he remembered.
“Link.” Zelda murmured quietly, her eyes imploring; desperate. “May I ask… Do you really remember me?”
And he freezes. Already, they both know the answer. His eyes, unnaturally bright, are those of a stranger’s. While he may have memories of her, limited as they are, he is not the person she knew. He isn’t her Champion. Link’s mouth is dry as he opens his mouth to speak. He tries. Yet he can’t bear to lift his heavy tongue. His throat swells, and his mouth closes with an inaudible click. Slowly, very slowly, he raises his hands.
‘No.’ he signs. ‘I’m sorry.’
Disappointment flitted across her face, and something close to devastation followed. She breathed in and out, smoothing the negative emotions from her expression. She gave him a wobbly smile, and nodded. “It's alright.” She assured him, her voice trembled. Then, quieter, she adds. “I should have expected it.”
Link swallowed thickly, eyes dropping to the scorched grass. ‘Impa will be waiting for us,’ he tells her, unsure of how to lead the conversation. ‘We should head to Kakariko Village.’
“Impa.” Zelda repeated slowly, as if savoring the words as she spoke them. “She’s alive?”
Link nodded. ‘She has a granddaughter. Paya’ He fingerspells Paya’s name carefully, before repeating her sign name, a mix of Papaya and shy. It was a little cruel, he thought wryly, to make that her sign name, but he hadn't chosen it.
“Paya,” Zelda said, her pronunciation slightly off, and she smiled. A small, withered expression; but a smile nonetheless. Her eyes were far away when he looked at them. “I’m glad the people of Hyrule could move past the Calamity’s devastation. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Yes, he thought warmly, his fondness for the people of this land burning through, they are amazing.
“I suppose we should begin moving?” She asked hesitantly.
‘Wait a moment.’ he signed, and she blinked curiously. Then, he whistled. A sharp noise that pierced the air, and they waited. A moment passed, then a responding whinny.
Zelda jolted in alarm as a cream colored mare burst into their line of sight. Link had no such issues, and stepped forwards to stroke her mane. Her braids were no longer neat after their battle with the Calamity. He cooed wordlessly at her, and she mussed up his hair with her snout in return.
He turned his head to look at her as she walked up beside him, brushing her hands across the horse’s pelt softly. “What’s her name?”
‘Radish.’ He admitted, somewhat embarrassed by the juvenile name. Though, she was the first horse he’d caught, fresh off the Plateau.
Zelda giggled awkwardly, and he flushed. “Why Radish?”
He pointed at a patch of white fur, vaguely heart shaped. ‘It looks like a hearty radish.’
“Oh, It does!”
Link gnawed on his lip. How did one lead a conversation with a princess? He didn’t know, he should know. He swung his feet into the stirrups, and pulled himself onto Radish’s back, ignoring the sharp spikes of pain blossoming in his abdomen. He offered the princess a hand. An olive branch.
“I’m not who you expected.” He murmured, voice almost too quiet to hear. Each word was painful, like choking down glass. He was sure it wasn’t a pleasant sound. She jolted though, and stared at him as if he were something strange. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Link…” she breathed, shaking her head softly. Her eyes held a somber light. “You’re not what I expected.” Zelda agreed. “But that may be for the better.”
Link blinked. His hand trembled from where he held it out. For the better? “I’m not the hero. I’m not your Champion.”
“You are.” Zelda disputed easily. “Just without the weight of a kingdom’s expectations pressed on your shoulders.”
She took his hand. All he could process was her smooth skin on his calloused hands. She squeezed his fingers in her weak grasp, her face startlingly open. “You are Link—” She told him, her face an array of shifting emotions. Grief, hope, happiness, sadness, pain. “—and that is all you ever need to be, my knight. I failed you once, and I shall never do so again.”
“Oh.” he breathed, then quieter. “oh.”
Zelda sighed, and smiled up at him. “Will you help me up now?”
Link snapped out of his stupor immediately. Tightening his grasp on her delicate hand. He almost feared he would break her. “Yes. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Her eyes sparkled in concealed amusement as he pulled her up behind him. Her arms tangled around his midsection in a practised motion. The contact set his nerves on fire, and her hands hesitated. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” He lied. “I took a Hearty Elixir.” Her hands still hesitated, but carefully rewound around his abdomen. He hoped the blood didn’t stain her skin.
“Let’s not keep Impa waiting any longer.”
___
They arrive at Kakariko hours later. The sun has long since set, and the cold is settling in. Normally, the trip from Hyrule field to Kakariko Village would take days, going along the official roads at a normal pace. Link had chosen a quick pace, cutting through the wilderness and mostly ignoring the official paths in the name of speed. With the Calamity’s demise, it left a gaping hole for the Yiga to attempt to assassinate him or Princess Zelda while they were vulnerable.
(He wished that the Sheikah Slate was powerful enough to take two people to a separate location, but Purah had advised him against it. Despite its functions being restored, that didn’t mean it was as powerful as it was one hundred years ago. Moving more than him was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.)
Approaching the gates of Kakariko was nerve-wracking, and relieving at the same time. It felt too easy, getting here without any interference. Yet, nothing stopped them as they crossed the threshold. Immediately, Link could feel the magic barrier of Kakariko surrounding them, a mix of the Sheikah arts, and a reinforcement from the Great Fairy Cotera.
Cado and Dorian guarded the entrance of Impa’s home. Their stony faces slackened at the sight of them. Him, the hero, and Zelda, the princess. They stayed at their positions, but bowed their heads in respect.
“Come along, Master Link!” Cado ushered them up into Impa’s abode as soon as they dismounted. Dorian stepped forward to grab Turnip’s reins, and offered him a tired smile. His eyes flickered to his tunic, but he stayed silent. Quiet concern as he took Turnip to be boarded. “Queen Zelda, Impa has been awaiting your arrival since she felt the disappearance of the Calamity.”
Link nodded, and quickly followed behind him. Zelda flushed.
“Queen?” She whispered dizzily.
‘You are the queen now.’ he signed back. ‘Would you still prefer princess?’
“Please,” She responded almost feverishly, something close to distress in her eyes. “I am not a queen. Not yet.”
He nodded. Cado remained at his post at the bottom as they ascended the stairs. He inhaled softly, glancing towards Zelda briefly, before pushing the door open. Impa rested on her pillow as usual, with Paya sat fidgeting at her side. A tray of tea was discarded nearby as they both waited anxiously.
Paya flinched as they entered, but she soon surged forwards, her arms wide as if to embrace them. “M-Master Link! Queen Zelda!” She cried out, “You’re okay!”
‘We’re alright,’ he assured at the sight of her teary eyes.
“Are you sure… y-your tunic?”
‘Fine’ he lied once more, waving her off. ‘Thank you.’
“O-of course.” She mumbled. “Would you like some tea?”
‘Tea sounds nice.’
He glanced towards Zelda, only to find her knelt in front of Impa. The old woman's hands cupped her face, and Zelda’s own were clasped over hers. It was an intimate moment, and vaguely, Link realized that they had been close friends. Or, he thought they were.
Politely, Link averted his gaze and tried his hardest to ignore their murmured conversation. Paya had busied herself with making more tea. His eyes slid to the door, and back to Zelda. Could he? He wondered, but was reassured by the sight of both Paya and Impa. He was silent as he slipped out. Not unseen of course, as Impa is sharp even in her old age and Paya is not someone to be underestimated, even with her shy nature. He’s sure both of them are aware of his departure. He knows they are both strong enough to protect her in his absence.
His side pulsed in pain as he stumbled down the stairs. He walked past Cado, who acknowledged him with a brief nod. He continued towards the little pool that held the goddess statue. He didn’t know why he sought it out, but he did. Perhaps he wanted reassurance that he’d done a good job, but he expected nothing but silence. He pressed his back against the cool stone of Her statue and shut his eyes.
And She watched him.
She felt like a cool breeze on a hot summer’s day. She was the silver light of a pure moon and the brightness of the sun. She was the morning dew and the songs of birds in the morning. She was the pure, undisturbed snow on the peaks of Hebra and the soft sands of Gerudo Desert. She was the clap of thunder in Faron and the lapping of waves on the shore in Lanayru.
She was indescribable. She was familiar. Her presence enveloped him like a cloak of furs. A heavy weight that pressed against him, a minor comfort reminiscent of the wolf whom he had traveled with. A beast of Hers, no doubt, as Her touch lingered on his being.
My Hero, She crooned from her statue. He tilted his head back to rest against the stone. Would you like to exchange your Spirit Orbs?
His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and it took him a moment to respond. He shook his head. “No.” He murmured with a heavy tongue, voice slurring slightly. “I don’t ‘ave enough.”
She was silent for a moment. Her holy presence pressed against him and Her statue glowed brighter. Just this once, She whispered in his ear, a breeze rustling his loose hair. An invisible hand brushed his scarred cheek, unbearably gentle. I shall help you.
He shivered, pressing a hand to his wound as it grew hot. He lifted his tunic, and blinked tiredly at the puckered scar in the place of an injury, crusted with dark blood. He let the fabric fall over his stomach again and yawned. Closing his eyes as Her voice brushed over him once again.
Go, She beckoned him softly, and bring peace to every Hyrule.
“Okay.” he whispered tiredly, too tired to decipher the strange phrasing of her words. “Thank you.”
She didn’t respond. Even if She did, he wouldn’t have been awake to hear it.
___
Zelda didn’t notice when Link vanished. She assumed—hoped—that he would stay. Like how he once did. A silent protector, her knight. Yet he had gone without a trace, no sign of him at all. It made something in her stomach swirl, and she wiped away the gathering tears in her eyes.
“Impa…” Zelda murmured after a few moments of silence. Her tea had gone cold, but it was the best thing she had ever tasted. She savored the flavor—marveled at the fact that she could taste things. “What happened after..?”
Impa sighed heavily, shaking her head. She folded her wrinkled hands in her lap. “The mind is a fickle thing, my friend.” Impa warned. “After the shrine, his injuries… did you really think he’d come out unscathed?”
Zelda frowned. In all honesty, she did. She thought he would be fine. Link, her knight, had always been impervious. Taking down monsters and assassins with an ease she had never been able to possess. The sword was an extension of his arm, whereas her magic was an invisible blockade. Zelda had never been able to decipher him fully, even after she had stopped her ignorant hatred. He was always silent, never a word leaving his lips. He was so strong, so good… So much better than she ever was.
Zelda never thought injuries, even as egregious as they were, would hold him down for long. He was always up and moving. Now, with a moment to reflect, she’d never even seen him asleep. He seemed so much stronger than her. Always a staunch, immovable figure in the corner of her eyes.
And she had been foolish to think of him as someone who was impervious. He was as Hylian as she was. It was sad that it took her one hundred years to realize. Only after the proof flashed in front of her face, in the form of the stranger her knight had become. Not even his face was spared from the tides of time. Scars marred his skin like a morbid portrait. A reminder of his fate.
He spoke now, another change she hadn’t expected. She had no recollection of his voice. Yet the first thing she ever heard him utter is an apology of all things—for not being the same. For not remembering her. Oh, it hurt to be forgotten; but it hurt worse to look at a sincere, familiar stranger as they apologized for it.
Link was a wild looking thing. His hair long and tangled, clothes shredded and stained beyond repair. Even his champion’s tunic... She’s unable to name what she feels at the thought of it. The garment she had made, many years ago, was reduced to tatters. Her last champion…
Zelda remembered the days and nights she agonized over the pieces of fabric. Carefully treating them to be as impervious to damage as she could manage. Soaking them in elixirs, and embroidering what little runes her mother had taught her into the hems. They were created with as much love and care as she, a broken doll, could muster for people like her Champions. Now, she wishes she had been kinder to them—all of them.
She could have connected with them more. Laughed with Daruk, and spoke softly with Mipha. She could have indulged Revali when he wanted to brag, desperate for recognition, and sat more with Urbosa as she told tales of her mother. She could have done an infinite number of things better with Link. She had many regrets—too many.
Zelda would make him another one. Imbued with all the protection and love she now held, for him, for her fallen champions, and for her kingdom. She inhaled, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes. Hard enough that her vision flashes white. Slowly, she exhaled, and let her hands fall into her lap. Impa sat patiently, her eyes like two specs of obsidian from Death Mountain as she observed.
“I wanted… I wanted something that had escaped the calamity. Something time had barely touched.” Zelda confessed quietly, hands clutching at the hem of her ruined prayer dress. “I want someone that knows. That remembers what we lost—who we lost.”
“And without his memories, Link is nothing more than a stranger.” Impa’s gaze was fixed onto the wall. Zelda followed her gaze, and she felt like she had stepped back into the Spring of Wisdom as she laid her eyes on a photo of Fort Hateno. She could recognize it now, even as nature encroached. How could she forget such a terrible place? “He is no longer the solace you thought he’d be.”
“Yes.” Zelda agreed, finding her voice after a few, stiff seconds. “A stranger in the body of my knight. My perfect stranger.”
Impa smiled briefly, shaking her head. Zelda felt strange as she stared at her face, the laugh lines around her mouth and crow's feet in the corners of her eyes. It spoke of decades of hardship and joy and laughter. A whole life that Impa had lived, one that Zelda hadn’t been afforded. If the Calamity hadn’t happened… would she have grown old? Would she have wrinkled and aged? (Would she have withered away, young and beautiful and taken too soon, like her mother?) She can’t help but wonder.
“Zelda.” Impa started sympathetically. “You can’t escape time. Even you are not unscathed by it.”
“I know.” She kneaded the fabric between her fingers. “But I wish we could escape it.”
Impa laughed, a throaty, creaking noise that made a small smile bloom on Zelda’s lips. “Don’t we all?” She gestured at herself. “Purah is the only one to have disobeyed time, but that may be because she’s simply too stubborn for it.”
“Purah?” Zelda repeated, intrigued. “What has she done now?”
“Oh,” Impa shook her head in a mix of amusement and exasperation. Her eyes had come alive, twinkling like stars. “That older sister of mine. What hasn't she done?”
___
Master Link slept peacefully, though Dorian didn’t know how such a position could be comfortable. Back pressed to the Goddess statue, he had curled in on himself tightly. Knees pulled closely to his chest, and his hands pressed between them. His face was peaceful—a stark contrast to the tense, somewhat uncomfortable expression he wore when he and the Princess arrived.
He sighed, a mix of fond and tired. Master Link, despite Dorian’s utmost respect for him, was rather bad at taking care of himself. His eyes lingered on the tangled hair, and blood crusted outfit. Concern burned in his stomach, just as it always did when it came to Master Link or his daughters. It put a bad taste in his mouth knowing that the one they relied on was so young. Though, it was none of their decisions, but rather Her divine judgement that led them along this path.
Dorian signed once more, crouching down to examine the hero. His breathing was even and steady, no wounds seemed to affect it. When he pressed a hand against the boy’s forehead, he found it slightly colder than normal, rather than feverish as he feared. Even summer nights brought a chill, he supposed. And the ripped tunic certainly didn’t help.
“Master Link?” He asked softly, trying to wake the boy without needing to touch him. But Master Link didn’t stir, and Dorian tried again, louder this time. “Master Link?” The boy twitched, and for a moment he thought he’d awoken, but the hero buried his head deeper into his arms, and continued to sleep.
Finally, Dorian made his decision. He slotted his arms beneath Master Link carefully, one beneath his knees and the other at the small of his back, before lifting him into his arms. His weight was nothing compared to Cado, Dorian thought wryly. The amount of times he’d had to drag the man away from his cuckoos was immeasurable. Though, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the mess of a tunic, and the blood crusted on it. Originally, he had noticed it, but had been assured that Master Link wasn’t truly so foolish as to wander around gravely injured.
He shifted Master Link in his arms, pressing him tighter to his chest in order to shift the fabric clinging to his stomach. Dorian breathed a sigh of relief as he found a healed wound, instead of an open one. The blood was old and crusted, nothing fresh clinging to his skin. So, he shifted the boy back into what he hoped was a comfortable position in his arms. Master Link’s head rested against his collarbone, and his hands laid curled in his own lap.
He carried him towards the inn, knowing that waking up in Lady Impa’s would unnerve him. Similarly, waking up in Dorian’s home would do the same. Even if Cottla and Koko would adore having a sleepover with Master Link.
He struggled for a moment with the door, trying not to disturb Master Link as he slept. He had plenty of experience, since his daughters loved to be held when they fell asleep. He pushed the door open, and carefully maneuvered through the doorway to avoid hitting any limbs on the frame. At the desk, Ollie yawned, perking up as Dorian entered.
“Ah- D-Dorian?” Ollie said, voice tinged with his own exhaustion. It was rather late, so he couldn’t blame the man. “Is… Is that Master Link?” His voice softened, quieting as he realized the hero was asleep.
“Yes,” Dorian confirmed, “Could I get a soft bed for him?”
“O-of course. Just put him down on the bed to the—the right.” Ollie stuttered, and Dorian obeyed. He propped Master Link against himself as he peeled the blankets back. He laid the boy down in bed, before pulling the shoes from his feet, and placing them on the floor. Then, he carefully stripped the belts off, taking extra care when it came to the Sheikah Slate. He placed the artifact down on the bedside table. He looked at Master Link, pursing his lips.
He was loath to allow Master Link to sleep in soiled clothes, but he knew his boundaries. Already, he had likely pushed them. So, he pulled the covers up to the boy’s chin, hesitating for a moment before smoothing back his hair. Then, he walked back to the desk to settle the payment.
“Is he alright?” Ollie swallowed thickly, glancing over at Master Link. “That—That was a lot of bl-blood.”
“He’s fine.” Dorian confirmed, already reaching for his rupee pouch. “The soft bed is forty, yes?”
“Yes.” Ollie confirmed, and Dorian easily handed the money over. “When… When should I wake him?”
Dorian paused, before deciding. “Let him get up on his own.”
“Alrighty… have a good night, Dorian.”
“You too.”
He left the inn as soon as he came, assured that their hero was alright, safely inside the inn, and without injury. He nodded to Cado as he passed on his way home. At night, it seemed his heart weighed heavier in his chest. The guilt of all he had said and done became more of a burden. His mind went back to Master Link, and his heart ached.
The front door opened with a soft creak, and he shut it behind him. His daughters were sure to be sleeping already, so he took care to be quiet as usual. He stripped off his sandals, and hung his hat on the hook. He didn’t remove his weapon. He never did.
Silently, Dorian crept through the house, softly illuminated by a single lantern, as Koko, as much as she denied it, hated sleeping in the dark. He paused before sitting down on the edge of the girls’ bed, which was once their mother’s. Koko was clingy in her sleep, gripping Cottla close with a protectiveness he wished she didn’t have to possess. He smoothed back his daughters’ hair, pressing a tender kiss to each of their foreheads.
For a moment, the weight of his guilt seemed to lessen.