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The first time he saw her, he’d been wounded. The battle had turned vicious before he could even blink, dark clouds of smoke billowing up from the town behind them, his own men screaming out for someone–anyone–to help them. The grass was red and soaked with blood, turning his footprints bloody; the sun setting in what felt like hours and minutes all the same. He’d taken his sword to the hearts of many, wiped the blood from his eyes and the sweat from his brow and managed to keep his breath steady as he’d trekked onwards. But, he was tired. He wasn’t a hero (he wasn’t trying to be), though as a commander, many looked to him as one. He’d been fighting this war for days on the front lines, making an example of himself for his men, who he found laying in the fields with glassy eyes and cold hearts. It hurt him, plagued his mind and made him weary, but he kept fighting. Kept fighting this foolish war, of which he knew Hyrule would never win. The Gerudo King had struck Hyrule Castle a week ago, slaying the royal family and the Sheikah in his fury, leaving what few soldiers were left to fight. So, he’d left his home in Castle Town and, after helping as many people to evacuate as possible, had come to the castle with nicked armor and his sword in his hand. It was all he had.
It was late in the night, after fighting for three days and two nights, that he’d finally fallen. The Gerudo were vicious warriors, skilled with their scimitars and quick on their feet. He’d been trapped, three of them on him, and they’d stabbed him in the stomach before he’d even had time to realize what was happening. His knees had hit the dirt then, and he’d been left to die in agony. It had been a searing, burning hot pain in his abdomen, the taste of blood and dirt and grass in his mouth, and he had foolishly moaned for help. He was left there, moaning like the others.
Just another dying man on the battlefield. Just another soldier left for dead.
He’d laid there for what felt like days, before the sound of swords clashing and bombs exploding had ceased. The sun was rising by that point, radiant and bright over the castle walls, and he’d wept. Wept for release and for death. He’d considered finishing himself off–getting it over with–but he’d lost his sword at some point in his delirium, and he’d hurt too badly to move.
It was then that he’d heard her voice, soft and warm like sunlight.
Link , she’d called to him, and he hadn’t had the strength to turn and face her. He’d been too ashamed of his failure. Link, I see you. Link, I know you. Look at me.
He had listened, certain that this was it. He was certain that he was truly, finally dying, but she’d knelt beside him, and when he saw her, every fear he’d ever had in his life was vanquished. She was stunningly beautiful, her thick, golden hair braided over her shoulder. Her gold eyes had met his, stared right through his soul, but he’d felt calm. Complete. Whole. Her skin glowed like the sun, radiant and warm and shimmering, and he had reached out for her. To touch her skin with his hands and marvel at how beautiful it was. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the pleasure of looking at.
“Help me,” he’d cried, and she had taken his hand in hers, brushed the hair away from his face with a gentle smile. “Hylia, please . T-Take me with you.”
One day , she’d said in that calming voice without even moving her lips, her words ghosting over him like sunlight. One day, Link, but not today. Not now. The goddesses have other plans for you now.
He’d awoken in a sweat three days later, under the heat of the midday’s sun. The Gerudo soldiers had taken control of Hyrule alongside their king, and the few survivors remaining in Castle Town had gazed down at him, worried. They’d stealthed inside the castle’s walls, searching for survivors, of which he’d been the only one. They’d found him then, passed out at the edge of the castle walls, not a scratch on him or his chainmail armor. They’d taken him in, hurried him into a caravan packed with a few supplies, and together they’d fled south to regroup.
He had prayed then, to Hylia and the rest of the goddesses, nearly every chance he got. He was wholly devoted to her, to the goddess who had come to him and saved his life. There was no other explanation for what he’d experienced. Even if it had been delirium, he’d felt the scimitar press past his armor and slide into his stomach. He’d felt that pain, had wished for death, and there was no logical explanation for why he’d awoken without a scratch. It had been divine intervention, there was no doubt in his mind.
The next time he saw her, he’d been praying in the woods outside Ordon. The Gerudo had control of the capital, but they hadn’t dared to move onward. Skilled as they were, they had still taken injuries–taken casualties–and even they needed time to regroup. The rest of Hyrule had fled the country, seeking refuge elsewhere, but there were a few who joined him and his small coalition of men in Ordon. He’d taken to training them, to finding swords to put on their backs and drying leather for armor. It wasn’t much, but he’d been given a purpose to do so. To keep fighting. He was certain of it. When the Gerudo inevitably moved south, hungry for blood, they would meet them without fear or hesitation. Hylia was on their side.
It had been then, kneeling against the soft forest floor, praying for the strength and courage of his soldiers, that he had felt her presence. He’d been praying for nearly an hour, the full moon guiding him, when her hand had gently rested on his shoulder. It had been warm to the touch, filling his spirit with its radiance. When he’d opened his eyes and looked up, she had stood there before him. He’d met her gaze with a smile, and she’d smiled back, brilliantly.
Hello, Link, she’d murmured, running her fingers through his blonde hair. My loyal knight. Yes, I’ve heard your prayers.
He had blushed and looked away, but she had placed a hand on his cheek, felt the warmth of it with a small laugh. So human. So mortal beneath her hands.
I’m always with you.
“I know,” he had managed to say, still not daring to meet her eyes. His face had burned, and he’d swallowed, embarrassed. “I feel you with me. Beside me, when I pray. It fills me with passion; it gives me strength.”
She had laughed again, shaking her head, and his face had burned hotter.
You are wholly devoted to me. You have not prayed to the others .
“They did not come to me. Only you, Hylia.”
Her head had tilted at that, considering, and he’d felt the heat of her heavy gaze on him. Was it wrong to speak ill of her mothers? He had only said the truth. When he had laid there, bleeding out and dying, it was her who came to him, not them. They had stayed silent, had not healed his wounds or filled his heart with purpose. Only she had. Only Hylia.
The bond between this world and the afterlife grows thin , she’d caressed his cheek, tilted his face up to look at her. He’d felt compelled to meet her gold eyes–had been grateful to be on his knees, because otherwise he might have fallen to them. I must leave you now, but with a gift.
He had wanted to argue. He’d wanted to take her hand and beg her to stay, but she’d leaned down, and her soft lips had graced his forehead, and he’d felt the magic enter his body all at once. It had cradled his soul–the very essence of him–in its embrace, wrapping its golden tendrils around his mind and spirit. He’d felt stronger.
“Thank you,” he’d gasped out, and she had gazed at him with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.
I am always with you.
He’d blinked, and then she’d been gone. The forest had seemed lonelier then, darker without the radiance of her golden glow and the heat of her smile. He had pressed his forehead to the ground then, thanked her a thousand times until he’d heard her quiet laughter echoing in his ear.
He had prayed every day since then, and on each full moon when the connection between their worlds was at its thinnest, she had come to him. He confided in her–his fears, his hopes, his dreams–and she sat there, listening. By the end of the night, when the connection grew thin once more, she had kissed him, sparing more of her power for his cause. Bit by bit, her radiance went to him, and for the first time in his life, he felt complete.
“I love you,” he had breathed one night, when they’d heard word of the Gerudo army marching south. They’d be fighting by dawn, and he hadn’t wanted to wait to tell her. “I love you, Hylia.”
I know. I know everything. Her eyes had turned sad then, and she’d cradled his face, brought his lips to hers. She made him complete; she was everything to him and more, and he feared for what might happen after the battle. Would she leave? Would he be left alone to rebuild Hyrule on his own? Would he die?
“Will you leave me, when the war’s over?” he had asked quietly, watching her expression and praying that she would stay. He lived only for the purpose she’d given him, for these very moments when they were together beneath the trees, and he wasn’t sure what he would do after that.
She had stayed silent at that for a long time, her eyebrows knitted together. He’d held his breath, refused to move until finally her eyes caught his again, and she shook her head slowly.
I’ll always be with you.
He had smiled at that, his own golden magic glowing in tune with hers, and he had found the courage to kiss her himself this time. He’d hesitantly tangled a hand in the back of her golden hair, cradling her warm face with the other, and pressed his gentle mouth to hers. Despite the fact that he was mortal–that he was so undeserving of her graciousness–she’d let him, sighing quietly against his lips. It was perfect: soft and slow and warm. A kiss he hadn’t wanted to end. He’d felt her relax into his arms, felt the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, and didn’t let go. They stayed like that for several minutes, lips brushing and his fingers tangled in her hair. When finally she pulled away, their foreheads resting, he was left to whisper his love for her.
I love you, she’d whispered back. My devoted hero. So kind, so sweet. I love you. You’re mine.
“Yours,” he had agreed, and this time it was she who kissed him. Who pressed closer to him, who took control. “Only yours, Hylia.”
They’d been left to whisper for hours, until it neared dawn and she’d had to leave. Her form had shimmered to nothingness beneath his very hands, and he had still whispered to her–for a long time, until one of his men had come to bring him an update. They’d spotted the Gerudo, who were marching for Ordon now, and finally, it was time to meet them. Link had left the forest, unsheathed the sword from his side, and gone to rally his men.
In their months together, Hylia had given him a piece of her, and he’d intended to use it for good. Her magic had trickled to him slowly, gradually over each month they had spent together, until even his own body began to faintly glow gold. He could heal others in small doses now, motivate his men to train for hours if he pleased. He was stronger, more powerful than he’d ever been. Still mortal, but something else now. Blessed.
So, he’d rallied his men and escorted them to the hill where the Gerudo sat, waiting with their scimitars in hand. Their army was larger, their brute of a king front and center, but he had Hylia. He had her magic, her love, her steady gaze protecting him. He hadn’t hesitated to charge forward, to steady his sword and clash with the Gerudo. She was with him, whispering directions in his ear, protecting him from blows and guiding him to the best course of action, and he was grateful for it. They stood no chance without her.
Even when his men faltered, slain by the hands of the Gerudo King, he remained. He fought his way through, picking off each of the warriors until the only ones remaining were he and the King.
“Impossible,” the King had spat, warm blood drenching his hair and loose desert clothes. It dripped from him, a vicious and terrifying image. Any normal man might have quaked where he stood, but not Link. Link did not falter. He felt the radiance of Hylia in his mind, his spirit. He felt the magic pumping through his veins, steadying his heart. “You should be dead.”
Link had said nothing at that, meeting his scimitar with his own sword, which now glowed gold in the setting sun. They had clashed, the Gerudo’s brute force fighting against Link’s own strength, swords swinging. For hours, they fought, until there was nothing but the darkness of night surrounding the both of them.
Yet, Link’s magic glowed true. When the heat of battle had waned, and they’d grown weary, Link’s magic held strong. He would not falter under the blows of the Gerudo King, even when they both grew sloppy, lungs panting with each breath. He met each blow with renewed vigor, sweat dripping from his brow and muscles aching for relief. After hours of battle, his sword finally plunged into the heart of the King, spilling his blood upon the grass with a triumphant cry.
But it was short-lived.
As the demon king fell to his knees, he plunged his own sword through Link, a terrible moan falling from his lips. He, too, fell in the grass, laying beside his foe.
I’m sorry , he heard her say. I’m sorry. Come home. Come home to me, now.
And he went to her.