Chapter Text
When Link heard the same chiming voice from his dreams call to him through his door after what had been the worst day of his life, his first thought was that he was dreaming again. His second was that after everything else, this might as well happen.
He slipped the training sword over his shoulder. With the events of the day, nobody had thought of take it back from him.
Link left his room to find a ball of gentle violet light hovering by the stairs, waiting for him. He approached it slowly, awed, but the moment he came near it, the light flew up the stairs away from him.
The light darted away out of reach whenever he got close, clearly leading him somewhere. It guided him out of the Academy, up toward the Isle of the Goddess. He was guided around the locked gate through a side path that with its perilous ledges and remlits felt more like an obstacle course. (Not even the twenty rupees he found could make up for the remlits; even when they went feral at night, they were too adorable to not feel bad about hurting them.)
By the time he hauled himself up to the statue, his hands ached from climbing and his arms stung from remlit claws.
The light passed through the front of the statue and vanished; the crest carved there glowed briefly before disappearing to reveal a hidden doorway.
Link only hesitated for a moment before going down the long, dark passage. Whatever all this was, he had a feeling it could lead to Zelda. There were too many strange things happening lately for them not to be connected.
He found himself in a circular room lit by torches. The walls and pillars were carved with intricate images he recognized as depicting the goddess Hylia. In the center was a sword stuck hilt-up in a pedestal that sat atop a hexagonal platform. Golden light shone on the sword from a hidden source. The air itself seemed to hum.
The sword began to glow as he entered the room. He watched in awe as the sword flashed, light springing up from the hilt and transforming into a human figure that landed crouched in front of the pedestal, its feet hovering a few inches off the floor.
The figure straightened, looking at him with a face that felt familiar.
Their appearance was androgynous. Their skin and shoulder-length hair were the same metallic blue as the long tunic they wore. A purple frilled cape gently fluttered behind them in a nonexistent wind, held in place by a large diamond-shaped golden broach inlaid with a blue gem at their chest.
“The one chosen by my creator. I have been waiting for you. You will play a role in a great destiny,” they spoke with the soft chiming voice from his dreams. They weren’t speaking words exactly, or any language Link knew, but the syllables still formed into something he understood.
‘A spirit,’ Link thought, his heart beating in his ears as he had a moment of realizing how large a scale everything had become in the past day.
“I believe it is your social custom to provide you with my personal designation. I cannot follow this custom as I have no name to give you.”
They spoke of destiny and a sword. He didn’t move.
Link didn’t care much about a great destiny. He didn’t care if this spirit knew about his dreams. He didn’t care that they had a purpose or that he was supposed to “play a role in a great destiny.”
As awe-inspiring as it was, he already had other problems to handle. And what proof did he have that the spirit spoke the truth?
“Under the circumstances, it is only logical you would exhibit some apprehension.”
He narrowed his eyes at the spirit. Link didn’t have time for a great destiny. He needed to find Zelda. He turned away, about to leave.
But...
“The one you seek, honorable Zelda, is still alive.”
Link gasped. He looked wide-eyed at the spirit. Could he believe them?
He had to. He couldn’t accept a world where Zelda was dead.
“This spirit maiden, the one you call Zelda, is another chosen one fated to be part of the same great mission. Should you wish to meet with your friend, I highly recommend you take up this sword.”
If this destiny could help him find Zelda, then—
Link darted forward toward the sword. The spirit rose, hovering close above him, and Link froze. He had the feeling the spirit was studying him, looking for something.
If it was a test, he seemed to pass.
“It seems that further persuasive measures will not be required.”
He lifted the Goddess Sword.
Link stood atop a large stone wall, leaning on the parapet. He looked out on sprawling fields of farmland dotted with villages and hamlets. Far in the distance, mountains rose above it all. Land that stretched as far as the sky... it was an incredible sight that he would have said was impossible until recently.
“You’re really telling me you don’t want to go out there?”
Link turned to see who had spoken. Right next to him, leaning in the same pose, was a man who looked almost exactly like the sword spirit, except with pale skin and blond hair instead of a light blue metallic sheen, and wearing an amused expression far warmer and livelier than anything Link could imagine from the stone-faced spirit he met.
Link would have gaped at the man, but his body moved without his control. He scoffed. “Yeah, uh, no, thanks. Recklessly exploring the wilderness is your hobby, keeping all my bones in one piece is mine.”
The man laughed. “And here I thought it was being a nag!”
Link playfully shoved him. “I don’t nag. It’s called self-preservation, you may not have heard of it.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing out there.”
“What? Bug bites, and monsters, and sleeping on the ground, and getting cold, and—”
“Hey! It’s not all that bad. I thought you’d be a bit tougher, as a country boy.”
Link rolled his eyes. “I don’t mind venturing into the forest with you for a camping trip once in a while, but climbing a mountain with no footpaths is where I draw the line.”
“I’ll get you up there one day.”
Link chuckled. “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that, Link.”
What? Was this man also named Link?
His vision blurred as he became aware of a painful weight in his chest. He jolted upward and hunched over himself, pressed his fist over his heart as if the pressure would help. He wondered if he had somehow been injured without noticing, or if this was a heart attack. Could people have heart attacks at seventeen?
“Master, I sense that you are in distress—”
Link looked up to see the sword spirit materialize and flinched as he was hit with a wave of emotion he didn't recognize. He rolled over on his side to avoid looking at the spirit. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. He curled up around his chest and hoped this odd panic-grief would fade soon. He was crying, his breath too fast and uneven.
Link didn’t know how long he sat there. He hadn’t even noticed when he woke up, let alone bothered to make note of the time. A few hours at least, long enough for the sun to start peeking through the trees of Faron Woods, and for the hot sweat he’d woken up in and cool night air to leave him with a deep chill his bedroll couldn’t fix.
A sickly, unsettled feeling still clung to his bones, but he was no longer rendered immobile from... whatever that had been.
He pushed himself up, surprised to find himself exhausted. More exhausted than just missing a few hours of sleep should leave him. There was an aching weight to his limbs.
He glanced at the sky. The sun was high enough that normally the sword spirit would be pushing him to start moving, but they had thankfully left him alone for now.
The sword spirit was still there, hovering a distance away and half-hidden by the trees.
Looking at the spirit still hurt, but far from the debilitating pain from last night. Link was too emotionally drained at the moment to feel much of anything.
The spirit, noticing his gaze, slowly glided toward him. “Hi,” Link croaked out, not sure what to say. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was.”
“Master Link, may I offer a hypothesis based on your reaction to seeing me when you woke?” Link nodded. He hoped he hadn’t hurt their feelings; they didn’t do anything wrong. “It is possible that due to recent events, memories from your past life have been stirred from your subconscious and appeared in your dreams. Emotional transfer from the memories could have triggered the subsequent panic attack.”
“Panic attack,” he mumbled. “Is that what that was?”
“Sweating, rapid heartbeat, hyperventilation, trembling—these are all symptoms I detected last night that are consistent with a panic attack.”
‘Attack’ certainly felt like an accurate description for it.
Memories from a past life…
The dream he had before the attack had been a lighthearted moment between friends. He couldn’t see how it could cause something like what he just went through.
No, it felt like there had been more in the dream than he remembered. And with how he had felt afterwards, he didn’t want to remember.
He rubbed his face. “… I’m really the reincarnation of the hero who fought alongside Hylia?”
“Yes, though he was not meant to.”
“Huh?”
“There was another chosen by the goddess to fight Demise, who was given visions of the destruction Demise would cause in hopes to help him warn the people—but they did not believe him. Many were angered by his perceived blasphemy, and he was killed.”
Link sucked in a sharp breath.
“When Demise finally attacked, another stood up to fulfill the role he had been meant to play, and it’s this hero whose spirit was reborn with you. It’s an odd coincidence that you hold the name of the first hero and the spirit of the second.”
It felt like he had heard this story before. He thought of the man that had been called Link in his dream, who had been killed by his own people. He knew he’d been named for the hero of the goddess, but…
“He looked like you,” he said softly. “The Link I saw in my dream.”
The spirit paused for a long moment before speaking.
“When the goddess created me, I had no form and only resided in the sword. I would take a form that reflected the heart and needs of my first wielder. The second hero was my first wielder, as the first never had a chance to hold me. The original hero was a dear friend of my wielder. His heart was still consumed by grief for the first hero when he wielded me, and so my form took a shape in the likeness of the one he grieved.”
Link wondered what it’s like to feel someone’s loss so deeply it shaped your soul. (He briefly considered what would happen if he couldn’t get to Zelda in time, and thought he had an idea.)
“…What was his name, the second hero?”
“Orville.”
Finding the Sealed Grounds the next morning came with its own terrifying vision of the hulking creature that had haunted his dreams. The sickening aura it gave was intense enough to make his ears pop and his head throb in pain.
After a moment he took a deep breath and leapt off the edge of the spiraling pit, breaking his fall with his sailcloth. There at the bottom, right at the center, was the source of the dark aura. A large black spike, surrounded by a circular pattern that looked to be burned onto the ground.
A warm, gentle voice spoke in his mind, “Raise the sword of the goddess skyward... take aim at the evil aura and unleash its power.”
His stomach twisted at the thought of that thing being after Zelda. He wasted no time in listening to the voice and striking the seal.
The memories didn’t stop after that. It didn’t matter if he was on the Surface or resting at Skyloft. They weren’t always as bad as the first had been. Sometimes he woke up with only a vague impression, and he couldn't be sure if it was really a memory or simply a dream.
He saw burning fields scattered with the bodies of creatures that didn't exist anymore. At first, he woke up screaming from those terrors, but at some point, he got into the habit of clenching his teeth tight in his sleep instead, leaving him with headaches and aching jaws in the morning.
It was always hard to look at the sword spirit afterward. Even so, the spirit never left him alone at these times, always manifesting and hovering just near enough that he wouldn't feel alone.
Link wondered if that had been something learned for Orville’s sake. How to be close enough for support, but far enough away to not make it worse. However bad the aftermath of the visions was for Link, he couldn't imagine how much worse it would have been for the one who was actually being faced with an image of his dead friend all the time.
One night he asked the spirit if there was anything he could call them. “There’s gotta be something I can call you other than ‘The Spirit’.”
“I have no personalized designation.”
Right, they had said something like that when he first found the Goddess Sword, hadn't they? “Is there anything you want to be called?”
“I don't understand, Master.”
“Like a nickname or something. What did Orville call you?”
The spirit hesitated. “Master Orville rarely addressed me at all.”
Oh.
Link paused. “Would you want me to give you a name?”
The spirit tilted their head. “If that is what you wish, Master Link.”
Link grinned. That was as good as a yes as he was likely to get from them.
Except now he had to actually come up with a name. Shit. Maybe an old name, since the spirit had been around for so long? Link tried to think of names from the old myths that Zelda talked about.
“What about Cessair?”
Link thought he could almost see the curve of a smile on their face. “That sounds suitable, Master.”
Orville held the sheathed Master Sword in both hands.
Hylia had explained to him that the first time he wielded the blade, the spirit within would take form based on his heart.
He was alone, sitting on the ground in the large tent he had been given as the hero. Outside, the sun was low in the sky, but he hadn’t lit a lantern.
Drawing the Master Sword was meant to be a triumphant moment. The symbol of the Goddess’ favor, the first step towards victory. Orville wondered what this moment would have looked like had it been Link holding the sword. Would it be in front of a cheering crowd? Would he have chosen to do it with only his close friends present? Would he, too, have chosen to do it privately, alone, unwilling to bare his heart in front of others?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He would never know.
Orville gripped the hilt, ignoring how his hands shook slightly. He would never know what this moment would have been like for Link. He would never know what form the sword spirit would have taken for him.
All he could do was carry Link’s destiny as far as he could.
He pulled the Master Shield from its sheath.
A glowing soft purple orb appeared. It hovered in front of him for a moment. Orville watched it without blinking, hoping for—for what, he didn’t know.
With a flash, the orb shifted and grew into a human form. The glow dimmed, to reveal—
Link.
It was Link, with metallic blue skin and hair, wearing a purple cloak.
Orville’s heart pounded. Link’s soul had come back, to show Orville the way forward, as he always had.
He stood up quickly, Link’s name on his lips—
It curtsied. “Master Orville, chosen to wield the Master Sword. I am your companion and your servant, yours to name and wield as you see fit.”
Orville felt the ground crumble beneath him. He felt static in his limbs.
This wasn’t Link at all, only a sword wearing his face.
“...Master?” The spirit hesitantly rose out of the curtsy to look at him.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
The spirit floated forward.
Orville flinched. “Go away.”
The spirit stopped. “Master—”
“GET OUT!” He flung the empty sheath away from him. “GO BACK TO YOUR DAMN SWORD OR WHEREVER THE FUCK YOU CAME FROM!”
The spirit bowed it’s head in acknowledgment and disappeared in a flash of light.
He was so stupid. He had really thought that—that—
Stupid. It was a stupid thought. Souls only ever come back as poes or other corrupted monsters. They don’t keep their original form, they certainly don’t keep their personality or memories.
And if they did, they wouldn’t appear to someone like him.
Orville dropped the blade to the ground.
Was this his punishment for trying to take Link’s place? For trying to be a hero? He knew who he was, he knew he wasn’t cut out for this.
But there wasn’t anybody else. What choice did he have?
A demon lord was waiting in the last room of Skyview Temple, introducing himself as Lord Ghirahim.
Zelda used to say Link was the gentlest person she knew, often trying to push him to be more assertive and stand up for himself against Groose. Usually, he would have to agree with her. He didn’t think he had it in him to resent anyone, not even Groose after years of his bullying and pranks that went too far.
But being faced with the man who tore Zelda away from him, Link has no reservation saying that Ghirahim had shown him he is capable of true unbridled hatred.
Despite his struggles in more academic subjects, Link was always top of the class when it came to fighting. Eagus had once said it was a shame there wouldn't be a chance to use his full potential. (Thinking about that now, in an endless land covered by monsters constantly pushing him to his limits, he felt like laughing and crying all at once.)
And yet, his skills were completely inadequate when it came time for him to actually need them. Ghirahim was toying with him. Link knew that if the fight had gone on much longer, he wouldn’t have left alive.
As he was now, he wasn’t enough to beat Ghirahim. He wasn’t enough to save Zelda.
Ghirahim had said a servant of the goddess was with her now. He could only hope Hylia was looking out for her.
The spring beyond the sealed door was gorgeous, filled with small birds and plants he’d never seen before. It was also devoid of any other people.
He already knew Zelda wasn’t there, Ghirahim wouldn’t have left otherwise. Still, bitter disappointment fills his chest.
A statue of Hylia, similar to the much larger one in Skyloft, sat there with a serene expression.
Please take care of her a little longer, he prayed at the statue. I’m coming.
Beatrice and Tobias had practically forced him into making dinner to make him stop pacing around the apartment waiting for news about Link, who had been sent on an assignment to the edges of civilization with a company of men all loyal to Dagianis.
Orville was half convinced Link was already dead.
There was a sound of footsteps running up the stairs before the door banged open to reveal Bentley, red-faced and out of breath.
Tobias startled and fumbled with a cup.
Beatrice gasped. “What happened to you?”
Bentley held up a hand as he tried to catch his breath to speak. “Link—Southern Gate—ran here as soon as I heard—”
Orville had barely processed his words before he had dropped the bowl of vegetables he was supposed to be peeling and darted out the door, ignoring his sister calling after him. Orville didn’t let himself stop, refused to let his burning lungs rest until he saw Link for himself—until he knew if Link was dead or alive.
Things had gotten so much worse in the time since Link had left. Dagianis was unofficially in control of the council and the city now. Spreading lies and fear all centered on Link. Heavily punishing anyone who publicly spoke in Link’s favor or had any association with him at all. It was why Orville had temporarily moved in with Beatrice and Tobias, it was well-known Link was his friend and lived with him at the forge, it wasn’t safe to stay there anymore.
Dagianis had gotten what he wanted—half the people believed his lies that Link was a traitor and a murderer, the other half were too scared to stand against him. If Link was alive—goddesses, please be alive—he wasn’t likely to get a warm welcome.
Orville finally reached the Southern Gate. There was already a crowd gathered. Orville fought his way through, his eyes searching until—finally—there he was. Link. His pale hair and bright red scarf were unmistakable.
He was alive. He was alive.
...And already getting into trouble.
Link’s back was to him, but Orville could see the tension in every line of his body. His hand was already at the hilt of his sword as he faced a group of knights lead by a man Orville recognized.
Tollak. Link had spoken well of him.
Orville continued to push forward until he could hear what Tollak was saying.
“—under arrest by order of High Lord Dagianis—”
“What?” Link sputtered. “High Lord? That’s not—”
Tollak remained stone-faced. “—for murder and plotting treason—”
No. No. Link was barely through the gates, they were supposed to have more time—
“Tollak, my friend, you must know these are lies—”
“—your sentence will be decided at a trial two days hence. You can come peacefully, or you will be brought by force.”
Orville didn’t see Link draw his sword, but he certainly felt the surge of the crowd as people scrambled back away from Link, Forcing Orville further away from him.
Tollak’s eyes narrowed as he drew his own sword. The knights behind him moved to draw their blades as well, but Tollak waved them down.
“I thought you an honest and honorable man, Link. Please come peacefully.”
“I know what Dagianis has planned for me,” Link said, “I will not give him the opportunity.”
Orville desperately continued to shove through the crowd. He didn’t know how he could stop this, but he had to. Nothing good could come of this. Even if Link beat Tollak, there were half a dozen knights waiting to swarm him, a crowd of terrified civilians he wouldn’t dare harm, not to mention the city gate that had slammed shut behind him.
The best case scenario was Link somehow got past Tollak, the knights, and the crowd long enough to climb over the wall and out of the city.
But best case scenarios weren’t something that happened to them anymore.
Orville reached the front just in time to see their swords clash and hear the sharp SNAP as Link’s blade broke.
What?
The broken blade landed near Orville’s feet.
He’d forged that blade for Link himself, just before he had left. How could it have broken so easily?
The whole crowd seemed to hold its breath. Even Tollak was frozen where he stood, eyes wide in shock. Link stared at where the broken blade before looking up to meet Orville’s eyes.
Orville couldn’t read his expression before Tollak broke out of his stupor and signaled for three knights to restrain Link and drag him away.
The Earth Temple is terrible in so many ways. The heat is nearly unbearable; he didn’t think it was possible to sweat this much.
Nothing could go well for Link, so of course Ghirahim shows up again. He doesn’t know if he should be relieved or not that Ghirahim sends Scaldera instead of fighting him himself.
Scaldera is terrifying. A hulking, living ball of lava and rock with spindly legs and a single bulging eye. At least the pattern of attack was simple to avoid once he knew what to expect.
And then he finally reaches the Earth Temple.
Zelda was alive. Finally seeing her with his own eyes, something in him healed a little. She was right there, solid and real in front of him, along with a tall woman with a terrifying glare.
And yet...
“It took you far too long to get here.”
The woman’s words cut straight to his heart.
He wasn’t enough. Zelda slipped through his fingers, again.
Link retrieved the Amber Tablet and ran his hand over the weathered surface. “Cessair, how does Hylia choose her heroes?”
“I am not privy to Her Grace’s thoughts on the matter.”
“Ah.” His shoulders slumped.
Cessair paused. “As far as I know, Hylia chose the first hero out of convenience. He had already been blessed by Farore and was in the best position for her plan. I can’t know for sure why she chose Master Orville as his successor.”
Link raised an eyebrow. “That means you have a guess, though, right?”
“If I were to guess, I'd say she was moved by Orville's grief for the first hero. Based on analysis of Her Grace’s past actions, there appears to be a pattern of her being drawn toward mortal sentimentality.”
He frowned and rubbed his finger over the yellow gem embedded in the tablet. “Why me though? Is it only because I happen to have Orville’s soul?”
Cessair floated closer to him. “It's more likely the other way around; you were born with Orville's soul because she chose you.”
Link's forehead creased as he tried to wrap his head around how that would work.
“She chose me before I was born?”
“No. Hylia is, among other things, the guardian of time. She is allowed to see time from all aspects and move among the threads of fate as they grow. She would have been able to see the most likely actions you would choose, as she would have been able to see for any potential candidates for inheriting the role of hero.
“An unbreakable spirit is needed to face the trials ahead. The first hero came to possess it naturally through deeds and courage, the second forged it from grief and determination. You were given it from birth, not because you are incapable of creating it yourself, but in the hopes that any knowledge or instincts it may come with would help you complete your quest without falling to tragedy as your predecessors did. Indeed, I believe that you have earned the hero’s spirit many times over through this journey alone, Master Link.”
He paused, processing everything they had said. “I don’t really understand what all that about time and fate means—” Cessair looked about ready to try and explain in more depth before he quickly continued, “—but I think I get what you’re trying to say. Thank you, Cessair.”
“You’re welcome, Master.”
“You’re a good friend.”
Cessair tilted their head. “Are we friends?”
“Yeah, if you want to be.”
Cessair hesitated. “I would like that, Master.”
Link frowned. “You know, you don’t have to call me—”
“I’m still calling you Master Link, Master Link.”
That startled a laugh out of Link.
He hesitated. “When this is over… after I save Zelda and that thing is gone for good… I think I’ll explore the surface a bit more. It’d be nice to see what’s out there without, well, without all this. Would you… would you want to come with?”
Cessair didn’t respond.
“It’s okay if you don’t! After this is over, I don’t have to be your master, right? You don’t have to go along with everything I do. We’ll just be friends, and friends can say no.”
“After this is over, I will—” Cessair stopped for a moment. “I would like that very much, Master Link.”
“You can tell me all about what it looked like thousands of years ago! Zelda would be interested in that, too.”
“I look forward to it, Master Link.”
Link grinned. Cessair returned a faint smile. He thought it looked a little sad.
Orville hesitated before lightly knocking twice and entering the room.
Link sat at the edge of the bed, staring blankly at his hands.
“I wish you'd tell me what's wrong.”
Link turned his head away from him. “Orville, just leave it—”
“No, Link. Please,” he knelt in front of Link and takes his hands, “let me help you.”
Link stared at him for a long moment. For a moment it looked like Link would refuse again. His shoulders slumped in defeat.
Link's mouth opened soundlessly a few times as he searched for words. “I've been having dreams. Visions. And they're... it's bad. Really bad. The city is in ruins, and people burn, and she stands there, just watching me with sad eyes. I don't know what to do.”
“Who watches you?”
Link hesitated. “Hylia.”
Orville said nothing for a moment. “You're sure it's a vision?”
“Yes.” Link closed his eyes. “I've never had a dream feel like that before, and it's happened every night for weeks now.”
“That long! Link, why didn't you—”
“I wasn't sure what it was at first. And it scared me.” Link trembled in his arms. “I'm still scared. It's not very heroic of me, but I am. What if I can't stop it? If all that comes true?” Link's voice shook.
Orville pulled Link into a hug. “I don't know. But goddesses, Link, you don't have to do this alone. Alright? You're not alone in this.”
He came back to himself abruptly.
Link’s head hurt and his cheeks were wet with tears. He felt unsettled in his skin. Cessair in the Goddess Sword at his back grew warm, almost to the point of being painful, grounding him to his body. He quickly wiped his face.
He blinked out at the bright desert sand in front of him. It wasn't the first time he had one of Orville's memories while awake, but it was the first time there wasn't any clear trigger. There was nothing in Lanayru Desert that Link could connect to the memory at all.
Did that mean it was getting worse?
Would he always be trapped by the grief of another life?
The memories weren't all like that; he would sometimes get mundane or happy ones. But even those came with painfully heightened emotions, and the ones filled with grief or fear were always the strongest.
How much of him was Link from Skyloft and how much of him was Orville?
Link let out a shaky breath and rubbed at his arms to try and calm down. This wasn't the moment to have an identity crisis, he needed to get to the Temple of Time.
Link didn't expect to have his descent to Faron interrupted by an uninvited tag-along falling on top of him. Let alone for that tag-along to be Groose of all people.
(Maybe he should have. Trying to take charge of a mission to save Zelda and sabotaging him in the process sounded like a very Groose thing to do.)
Groose didn’t take it well, being told he can't save Zelda.
“I know you, and you're no hero, shrimp!” Groose said before he ran from the temple.
Link felt like laughing at that, because Groose was right. The old woman spoke of fate, but he wondered why it all felt so much like stumbling around in the dark if he was supposed to literally be born for this. Link couldn't help but feel that he was standing here completely by chance—a last-minute replacement for some other hero, a real hero. (He didn't know how much of that feeling might be the memories rattled loose in his subconscious. Again, he wondered—how much of him is Orville?)
Link couldn't blame Groose for not believing the old woman's talk about destiny. He wasn't sure he believed it, either.
The thing sealed at the bottom of the pit escaped. It's huge, and terrifying, and wrong in a way he felt in his bones. The same hulking, scaled beast from his dreams. And it's after Zelda.
The old woman praised his work, but he feels like he barely managed to seal it before it reached the temple.
Link left the temple with a new set of tasks: find the sacred flames and strengthen Cessair's sword.
Groose ran to a corner, having a crisis of his own. Part of Link wanted to try and comfort him. It couldn't be easy to have it clearly displayed how little you could do. Goddess knows Link would be losing his mind if he was stuck back at Skyloft waiting for news...
Zelda needed him first, though. (And quite honestly, it might have done Groose some good to be knocked down a few pegs.) He left Groose to his own devices.
Link sighed and idly kicked a rock off the edge of the Sealed Grounds. He needed to visit Skyloft, restock, and ask Headmaster Gaepora about any mention of sacred flames.
And if Gaepora had nothing? What then?
He needed to be faster. He was running out—
“You need to be patient, Link.” he said for the umpteenth time.
Link scowled and slumped in his seat. “It just all feels so pointless, trying to convince them of a disaster that's already at our doorstep. Why can't I just—” he cut himself off with a frustrated growl and pulled at his hair.
“I know,” Orville gently pulled Link's hands away, “But ranting about an apocalypse won't convince anyone you're not insane. We need to approach this carefully.”
“I know. You're right. I just feel so useless. I'm doing nothing while those things are coming—”
“You're not doing nothing.” He said firmly. “You're getting people on your side.”
“Do I really need these people?” Link pouted dramatically. “I already have you on my side.”
“I doubt one blacksmith will hold any weight with the High Council,” Orville said dryly. “Ah yes, Lords and Ladies, if you would kindly start preparing for a war? Why? Well, you see, my friend here had a dream—”
Link snorted, “Alright, I get it.”
“We can do this. Hylia wouldn't be warning you if it was completely hopeless, right? It's just gonna take a while.”
—of time.
“Hey, shrimp! What's up with you?” Groose demanded. “You were kinda spacing out there.”
Link must have been out of it for a while, for Groose to let concern show on his face.
“I'll see you later, Groose.” He made a brisk pace to the bird statue at the edge of the Sealing Grounds, ignoring Groose's demands that he not get himself killed before he saves Zelda.
He didn't want to explain this right now.
Or ever.