...*sigh*

I promised myself I would cut myself off at four thousand words. ~9K words later, I actually get around to wrapping the narrative up. THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THE SOLE ACTIVITY OF TODAY. I WAS GOING TO STUDY FOR THE EXAMS I HAVE TOMORROW okay who am I kidding I was never going to study for those BUT I WAS GOING TO PRETEND TO MYSELF THAT I WAS GOING TO STUDY FOR THE EXAMS I HAVE TOMORROW TO MAKE MYSELF FEEL BETTER.

Speaking of exams, I had the AP Calc exam today, and I couldn't focus because THIS STUPID PROMPT KEPT BUGGING ME INCESSANTLY UNTIL I JUST GAVE IN AND HURRIED THROUGH THE LAST PROBLEM SO I COULD GET BACK TO WRITING THIS. DO YOU SEE WHAT THIS STORY HAS DONE TO ME?!

*ahem* Moving on.

Oh, well. I can at least say for once that I feel satisfied with the ending here. Well, as satisfied as I can be with a fic that wouldn't freaking stop until it got so long that it made my laptop lag whenever I tried to type more, as is the case at the moment. Curse you, unreasonable word count~!

In any case, today's prompt was "Comfort", which should give you some insight as to why, exactly, this is so unbearably lengthy. I mean, that's half of my back up genre! Angst, of course, is my signature genre, but hurt/comfort is my back up. And then you basically do the equivalent of making the prompt hurt/comfort?! Honestly, guys. You can't have actually expected any less than 6K words for this.

I don't own Legend of Zelda, by the way. I do own a copy of Majora's Mask, which I play obsessively for days on end, but I do not own the franchise. Sucks.

Well, might as well get this show on the road before it gets so long my laptop just gives up and shuts itself off.

Comfort

Sometimes, it was a challenge. Sometimes, it was like fighting a losing battle. Sometimes, it was impossible. And the worst part? The challenge changed every day, and he could never for the life of him predict what would be next.

Usually, the hardest part of the day was something seemingly innocuous: something harmless to the naked eye. Harmless enough that, if you'd told him seven years ago (or seven years from now) that it was going to be a problem, he would've laughed. Ever since those three days, everyday things seemed like monumental tasks. Getting out of bed in the morning. Smiling and saying 'hello' to passersby. Looking his friends in the face. Eating more than one bite of a meal without spewing. Sleeping for no less than five minutes and no more than five hours—the standard for someone raised Kokiri. There was always at least one thing he struggled with, and his problems never made any sense.

Why couldn't he just power through it? Wasn't he supposed to be the Hero of Time, savior of Hyrule and (he shuddered to remember it) Termina alike? Wasn't he supposed to be Her Majesty the Queen's right hand man; her most trusted soldier and, dare he say it, her most trusted friend? Hadn't the Triforce of Courage burned itself painfully into his hand, leaving behind a golden mark that stood as a testament to his victory over Ganondorf? Wasn't he supposed to be strong?

Well, apparently not, because he was pretty sure that "a little boy who lays in bed for hours, unable to get up" had never been one of the definitions of "hero".

Growing pains were worse than he had ever imagined, mostly because he had them both ways. First, he had to deal with being an adult, literally growing a full foot and a half over the span of what felt to him like a few seconds. Then, all of that was squished back into his tiny fake-Kokiri frame and he was forced to regain his height the hard way. Although he adjusted quicker than most would've, he nonetheless went through a lot of stumbling and tripping over his own two feet. And now it was happening again for the opposite reason.

But no one seemed to understand. He wasn't too tall now, he was too short. He wasn't lashing out because people were starting to treat him like an adult, he was lashing out because everyone was still treating him like a child. And he wasn't too young for this, he was too old for this, but his body couldn't seem to keep up. Even though he had been forced to relearn how to drive a ten-year-old in Termina, and even though he had long since regained all the muscle mass he had lost in the transition from adult to kid, there was something deeply and intrinsically wrong with being in such a small, meaningless body.

He was currently fourteen years old. Seven years ago, he had been four. Seven years in the future, he would be eleven. And only several mere months ago, he had been ten years old and fresh from the Kokiri forest, naïve but raring to go; full of excess energy.

Time could pass so quickly sometimes.

(He knew from experience.)

Dawn of the Final Day

24 Hours Remaining

In all actuality, as much as he liked to pretend that he couldn't pinpoint what felt so awful about being a child again, but he knew full well why the sight of his own body in the mirror had become one of his worst nightmares. It wasn't just the normal sullenness that came with suddenly being stuck in a body that was distinctly not your own, which was more upfront and faded much quicker. The mind would reject its new body and lash out; there would be nausea and aches and dull, throbbing headaches, and then it would be over.

This was different.

It was because of her.

Because she was one year his senior, but he had a good two years on her, and he still felt like it should be the other way around, with him being years younger than her despite them looking just about the same age.

She was so different than his Zelda, yet almost exactly the same. His Zelda was more dignified, and she no longer so much as flinched as she narrowly dodged attacks from all sides. This flawed facsimile of Zelda was childish and squeamish, shrieking in horror whenever Link drew his sword, or even just put his hand on the hilt. Make no mistake—she had every right to be this way: she was childish because she was a child; squeamish because she hadn't faced bloodshed before, much less been forced to dominate a battlefield like Sheik had. No, he didn't blame Zelda for any of this.

That didn't make it any less wrong.

Very quickly, her personality had shifted, although Link wasn't sure what had affected her the most—his arrival, departure, and subsequent reappearance? Perhaps it was the death of her father, whom she wasn't particularly close to but nonetheless grieved for? Or maybe it was the fact that she had accidentally become best friends with a boy who woke up screaming every night, scrambling for the nearest Clock Tower, frantically thinking Oh Din, I fell asleep, how much time have I wasted, how many people have died?

Whatever it was, this Zelda, strangely enough, matured even quicker than his, who had already grown up far too fast for comfort. Sure there were some differences—this Zelda had never learned the way of the Sheikah, and therefore wasn't as sneaky; his Zelda had forgone her natural curiosity and zeal for adventure in favor of stoicism whenever possible. In some ways, he acknowledged, he liked this Zelda even more.

And wasn't that just his biggest problem?

Because here he was, already almost an adult, having spent a year of his life as one, and, damn him, he was falling for Princess Zelda again.

(Not that he expected those feelings to be returned, of course. Zelda already put up with him enough, trying to calm him after his nightmares and reassuring him that he was safe whenever he had another panic attack or flashback. So that was the personality bit gone. And, even if she based her love off of physical appearance rather than substance, he was out in that category, too, what with the countless scars he'd gained from his three-day-long-but-so-much-longer quest in Termina.)

But it was best that he think about that as little as possible, because he had a hard enough time restraining himself already, reminding himself that this Zelda had never said I love you and kissed his burned knuckles like his Zelda had.

If his biggest issue was dealing with his emotions, his second most common obstacle was getting out of bed. Although he had been offered a royal room, he chose instead to sleep in the soldiers' barracks, but it didn't help matters. Even the simple cot and single blanket he procured was too hard to leave when the first rays of dawn began to peak over the horizon. Often, he would lay still for hours after having already woken up, his eyes closed and his body lax, as he contemplated just whether or not it was worth it to leave bed. The older soldiers would whisper and tiptoe around him, as they, like most, thought he was just too young for everything and that a growing boy like him needed his rest. It was a kind gesture. It infuriated him.

At the best of times, he was wary of touch, stiffening or flinching away at any contact, expected or otherwise. At the worst of times, he would strike blindly with his sword at a mere tap on the shoulder, screaming "Get away from me! Don't touch me!" Every time, he would quickly retreat to some corner to breathe heavily until he could finally calm himself down, where he would then berate himself for making touch his biggest enemy. But there was nothing he could do about it.

Most days, it would take him hours to gather the willpower to throw back the blanket, and at least twenty minutes more to actually sit up, plus an additional fifteen to swing his feet over the side of the bed and stand shakily. These were the lethargic days: the days where he would absently slay wild Wolfos because it was the mission, then collapse against a tree and close his eyes and wish he could just sit there until he rotted away to mere bones.

Those were much preferable to the alternative, however. When he wasn't bone-weary and completely devoid of motivation, he was jumpy, paranoid, and tense, constantly on edge and always looking for the enemy behind him. Those were the days when he curled up under his blanket and stared, heart pumping, at the empty, dark corridors all night, unable to sleep because night of the first day, 60 hours remaining and time time time, he had so little time.

On these days, he would throw back the covers a few hours before dawn, or as soon as the sky went from pitch black to dark blue. Silently, he would gather his sword, bow, quiver, bombs, hookshot, and anything else he had nearby, his mind assuring him frantically that he would need all of it. Taking care not to wake any of the other soldiers, he would creep outside and train for hours and hours on end, not bothering to take a break to breathe, drink, eat, or—Din forbid—sleep.

Those were the especially bad days. The days when his fellow soldiers would find him at dawn, with dark bags under his eyes, training relentlessly, chest heaving and breath coming out in dry wheezes. Invariably, they would be forced to step in and try to get him to take a break. His responses ranged from collapsing in a dead faint, moaning deliriously about how he only had however-many hours left, to screaming at their touch and scrambling away from whomever got too close. Worst case scenario, he would end up seizing on the ground and screaming himself hoarse while someone left to find Zelda to calm him down.

Because Zelda could always calm him down.

When he was squirming and sobbing, fighting the hands of the soldiers and begging frantically for them to stay back, let go, I have to save them, you don't understand, he'll find her, Zelda was the only one who could approach without fear of being harmed. Maybe it was some sort of instinct left over from his stint as the Hero of Time, or maybe it was just because the idea of her getting harmed appalled him. Either way, she was the only one he would never dare lash out at, instead just backing away from her with wide eyes.

"Link," she would say in that voice of hers—her young and scared yet wise and competent voice. With some doing, she would coax him out of hiding, and, with even more doing, she would be able to get him to lower his sword and sometimes even sheathe it. Then, slowly, cautiously, she would inch her way towards him, crawling along the mud and grass and not caring that it ruined her dress. If he cried out, she would stop until he calmed, then resume her slow approach.

Zelda was the only one who could touch him, and then only sometimes. As it was, he would always freeze in her gentle embrace, then have a moment of panic where he would shout in fear and scramble for his weapons. Only her soft shushing and murmurs of "It's okay, you're safe, it's all over now," would finally get him to relax, and then only slightly. Soon enough, she would be forced to pull away or risk working him up again.

Around then, he would finally come back to himself, although it would take him several minutes more to absorb the crowds of guards surrounding them both, looking on with pitying gazes. "Your Highness?" he would ask (because he couldn't call her Zelda; not out loud—not as if she was his Zelda), his voice small and weak and utterly not heroic, and she would smile and nod and give him his space.

And, finally, it would hit him. This wasn't Termina. Majora's Mask was gone. This wasn't his future. Ganondorf was dead. He was safe. And, much more importantly, she was safe. Around then, he would break down into tears, sobbing desolately into the sleeve of his tunic and thanking the goddesses that he wasn't required to wear the standard Hyrulian armor, as the familiar green always reminded him of the peaceful, happy days of Saria and the forest where his biggest problems were being an outcast and his lack of a fairy.

Nowadays, his biggest problems still included being an outcast and his lack of a fairy, but his own mind had long since ascended to the top of the list.

Later, he would be embarrassed about his infantile behavior, and he wouldn't be able to stand looking the other soldiers in the eye for days afterwards. He would apologize profusely to Zelda in particular, and would often clean the mud and grass stains off of her dress himself: after years' worth of three days of experience cleaning blood from his own tunic, simple stains were no problem.

Zelda was always understanding. She handled all of his problems with poise and grace that he didn't know someone her age could have; far more poise and grace than he could ever hope for, despite being a year younger in body but a few years older in spirit. When he had his panic attacks and anxiety attacks and his bouts of depression and even his intense, vivid flashbacks, she knew exactly how to handle it, although how, he wasn't sure.

Only months later would he find the books hidden behind a false board of her shelves: stacks upon stacks of dusty old tomes about dealing with panic attacks and how to help someone with PTSD and the different methods for talking someone down from suicide. By that point, he wouldn't have the energy to be guilty.

As the years went by, the symptoms started lightening, yet worsening at the same time. He had far fewer attacks, and flashbacks had gone from being a daily occurrence to more of a biweekly schedule. His nightmares were no longer as intense, and he hadn't woken up anyone with his screams in months. Yet, at the same time, when he did have attacks, they were somehow even worse, leaving him incoherent and inconsolable for hours on end no matter what Zelda did.

He had asked her, once, why she dealt with him all the time. At that particular moment, she had finally managed to coach him through one of the worst attacks he'd experienced in years after a full twelve hours of screaming and flailing. "Why do you do it?" he had whispered, his voice hoarse and weak. "Why do you still put up with this? Why do you always help me?"

And, his memory was fuzzy on this part, as he was finally drifting away woozily after approximately five days of no sleep, but he could have sworn that she'd leaned over, whispered something in his ear, and then kissed him on the forehead as he floated into the realm of unconsciousness.

Like all problems, his had a resolution. But, like most resolutions, especially those in his life, there first had to be a climax: things would always get far, far worse before they could get better.

And this was no exception.

It had started as a fairly average day. It hadn't even looked like it was going to be one of his panic days: that morning, his problem was rising too late, not rising too early. Even that wasn't as much of a problem as usual, and, about a half hour after his eyes opened, he was walking out the door, feeling much better about this day than he often did.

Of course, there was the usual not-so-healthy routine of seeing the time and having a slight heart attack, then beating back his mind's frantic cries of dawn of the first day 72 hours remaining go go go you have to save them he'll find her. After that, he managed to shove a chunk of bread down his throat and keep it down, which was quite the accomplishment, given how little he was often able to stomach. As she did every morning, Princess Zelda wandered down into the mess hall from her study, where she ate her own breakfast, and they exchanged a few lines of small talk before wishing each other well and heading off to perform their duties, him as soldier and her as soon-to-be-crowned Queen.

(Din, it hurt to see her nowadays, because she looked exactly like his Zelda, right down to the clothing and, somehow, impossibly, even down to the glimmer of wisdom concealed deep within her eyes.)

He was surprised to find himself assigned to simple menial labor around the castle (as the Hero of Time, he was usually sent out into the heat of battle whenever possible), but he wasn't complaining. All that meant was that he was less likely to freak out over something tiny, make skyscrapers out of scrub bushes, and end up having another panic attack or something. Even though he knew logically that he was an invaluable asset on the battlefield, he couldn't help but pity the men who constantly had to deal with him when he had his flashbacks.

At first, everything was going well. He flitted silently about the castle, sweeping and mopping and, at one point, scrubbing relentlessly at the marble floors. Although his fellow soldiers were as surprised as he had been about his assignment, they didn't mention anything, for which Link was grateful; receiving compliments made him uncomfortable at the best of times and downright miserable on particularly bad days, and anything anyone would've had to say would likely be alone the lines of "But you're so useful on the battlefield!"

As odd as it was to admit, the simple household chores were much more engaging than battles, and they therefore kept his mind off of the near-constant buzz of paranoia that always seemed to hover in the back of his head. By this point, he had spent more time in actual combat than most of the soldiers had spent sparring and fighting combined, so swordplay and archery were mindless tasks to him.

On the converse, he had never had to clean a house: indeed, he had never had a house to clean. So, despite the easiness of the tasks, they were quite the nice distraction from what are you doing you're wasting your time you have to fight you have to kill he'll find her save them save them save them

He almost made it the entire day without incident, but, as always, it seemed that nothing could ever go well for him, or at least not for long.

Looking back, it was almost hilarious how contrived the situation really was. Anything else but those very specific events would never have been able to cause such an impact, positive or negative. He supposed he had to be grateful to Lady Luck for that, but he also had the right to hate Lady Luck for consistently screwing him over at every turn, so the two sort of evened out to a begrudging respect.

It had happened while he and some of the other soldiers were tidying up Zelda's personal quarters, which might have been awkward had he not grown accustomed to such things. Link had been straightening the bedding, brushing aside the canopy of her bed-frame, and the other soldiers were partly straightening up and party screwing around. Although he didn't begrudge them their fun, Link didn't join them, content to simply tuck the sheets in tight and work on the duvet next.

Like one bomb setting off several others, the events happened in quick succession, each one a direct result of the previous. One of the soldiers teased the other and elbowed him, receiving an annoyed shove in return. That soldier stumbled backwards into Link, knocking him into the canopy and tearing the gauze down from the curtain rods attached between the bedposts. Link twisted expertly under the older man's weight to stop his armor from bruising them both up. Diving forward in some futile effort to stop the canopy from being torn, the third soldier in the room knocked over the display case carrying the Ocarina of Time, which Link had returned to Zelda immediately after getting back from Termina, and the ocarina slid across the carpet, coming to a stop right in front of the Hero of Time.

The first few seconds were utter chaos. As the soldiers worried over the ruined canopy and shattered glass display box, Link merely sighed to himself and tried to roll over onto his feet. Unfortunately, his midair twisting to minimize the damage from a full-grown man in armor falling atop him had managed to entangle him in the ripped canopy, and he only managed to get out from under the soldier and roll right into the patch of glass shards from the fallen display case.

And then he found himself directly next to the Ocarina of Time, chaos echoing around him, sharp pains littering his side, his limbs pinioned to his sides, and the loud tick-tock, tick-tock of Zelda's old wooden grandfather clock ringing in his ears.

He froze.

The Ocarina of Time was laying in front of him, bits of broken glass scattered about it, practically beckoning for him to use it.

If you can get back your precious instrument, then I can turn you back to normal... This song reminds me of us... Anyone! Goddess of time, help us!... Everything—started over... I am a very busy fellow, and I must leave this place in three days' time... F-O-R-G-I-V-E — Y-O-U-R — F-R-I-E-N-D...

A moan as one of the soldiers sat up from the floor, rubbing his arm. "Aw, man—sorry about that, Link. You alright, kiddo?" (The nickname that some of the bolder guards had given him back when he was eleven-fourteen. Hyrule Castle. Safe. Not past. Not future. Now.)

The chaos around him was fading now, the soldiers all focusing on the fact that the Hero of Time was bleeding all over Princess Zelda's carpet.

The goddess of time is protecting you. Hurry! The Song of Time! The Song of Time! I—must consume—everything. Your true face... what kind of face is it? I wonder... the face under your mask... is that... your true face? I—I don't wanna die! I'll have a fine carnival without you! We will wait out the morning—together.

Then there was the distinct groan of one of his fellow guards. "Her Majesty is going to be pissed! How are we gonna get out of this one?" (Princess Zelda. Hyrule Castle. A disaster while cleaning her quarters. Safe. Alright. No enemies. Just friends. Not real, you're just remembering.)

Glass dug further into his flesh every time he so much as breathed, sending sharp pains up and down his torso.

Are you alright, Deku boy? Then hurry up! Let's get going!; You can't be making stupid mistakes like that; Those pirates will pay for taking my eggs—or were they Mikau's eggs, and what was the different again?; Whatever. Even if they did come, they couldn't handle me now; Please, someone, someone, heal my soul; Ah... Nice weather... isn't it?

The soldier's voice again, breaking him out of his reverie. "That's not what's important right now! Let's just focused on getting this cleaned up." (The mission. The objective. Clean Zelda's room. Zelda's room. Princess Zelda, best friend, and maybe a little more, but not because Her Highness, not Zelda. Safe. Alright. Fine. Just a flashback. Not real. No matter how real it seems. Not. Real.)

The canopy was wrapped firmly around him, further stuck in place by the twisted end, still under the fallen soldier, and the shards of glass that held it still, and he struggled slightly to no avail, and he couldn't move, and the memories were back, but how was he supposed to tell between them when they sounded so damn real?

What have you done to me You've met with a terrible fate haven't you Now that's a good look for you You'll stay here looking that way forever G-U-A-R-D-I-A-N-S No offense but you're pretty helpless in that form Help me Save them Hurry up The clock is ticking Time is short ...Hide-and-seek... Let's play... All right... I'll... hide

"Guys, prioritize a little. Am I the only one who notices the blood, or what?" (Not real not real not real safe with friends alright no masks here)

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock on the clock.

swamp mountains ocean canyon hurry the four who are there bring them here HELP THEM SAVE THEM HURRY UP THE CLOCK IS TICKING if you're gonna fall then fall already TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK please evacuate we are fine here WHY AREN'T YOU SAVING THEM WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING you don't have any masks left let's do something different HELP ME PLEASE I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE the right thing, what is it? i wonder, if you do the right thing, does it make everyone happy? JUST STOP PLEASE I'LL DO ANYTHING I CAN'T TAKE IT PLEASE let's play good guys and bad guys, yes, let's play that NO NO NO NO NO NO

SHUT UP!

...

...

...everyone's gone away... haven't they?

"Hey, Link?" Worry. Care. Concern. It took him a minute to realize that they were worried about him, not themselves. That was a first for any resident of Clock Town, besides possibly the guards and Anju. 'Anju—I have to save her this time,' he thought deliriously. 'It's the least I can do after she let me stay at the Stock Pot for free.' Because where else could he be with carpets to bleed on and bedsheets to get tangled up in? "Hey—you alright there, kiddo?" Footsteps.

Are you ready?

No.

You're the bad guy.

No!

And when you're bad, you just run.

NO PLEASE NOT THIS AGAIN

"C'mon, kiddo, let's get you patched up."

(Hand reaching, reaching to hurt, enemies, ticktock ticktock ticktock, hurry up, they'll kill you, he'll find her, what are you waiting for, HURRY UP, SAVE THEM)

(When you're bad, you just run)

(You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?)

(SAVE THEM SAVE THEM SAVE THEM)

(you can't)

An earsplitting scream erupted from Link's mouth the instant one soldier's hand gripped his shoulder and tried to help him up.

At first, all three soldiers jumped back, shocked at the sudden and extreme reaction. But they didn't have the time to be astonished. Link was already thrashing so wildly he was almost seizing, the twisted canopy keeping his arms trapped, his hands pressed against his waist. "No! No! You're the bad guy, I already played, can't do this anymore, I can't go back there again, please no, please!"

Very quickly, the guards all realized what was going on and exchanged sorrowful glances. No one with a soul would wish this on their worst enemy, and Link was hardly an enemy to anyone who was on the right side. What they hadn't expected was the loud rrrrrip as Link tugged at his arms so desperately that the bundled fabric actually tore away, freeing him and allowing him to surge to his feet, eyes skittering about in a blind panic. "Hey, calm down, kiddo—" One soldier stepped forward bravely and caught the struggling fifteen-year-old around the torso, keeping him from bolting like a spooked horse.

Without hesitation, Link let out a shout of "Not the Tower!", seizing the soldier by his wrist and twisting his arm back, easily maneuvering out of the hold. Using the surprise to his advantage, he quickly tore a large fragment of glass out of his side and stabbed wildly, dealing what might have been a fatal blow had it not been for the soldier's armor. After lodging the glass firmly in the man's chain mail, Link delivered a brutal kick to his chest, sending him flying backwards with force no one would think possible of a short kid like Link.

Immediately, the other two moved to detain him, but it was far too late now that he was out of control. Back-flipping away from them—honestly, how was that kid so fit when he barely ate?—Link frantically grabbed the soldier's sheathed spear and swung the blunt end in a wide arc, fending off one of the soldiers. Leaping over another one's mad grab for him, he executed yet another impressive roundhouse, this time right to the helmet. The entire time, he continued to choke out slight variations of the same phrase—not the Tower, no, please, not the Clock Tower again, anything but that, please!

The third soldier barely had time to bellow, "Requesting backup in the Princess's quarters!" before Link was upon him. Although this particular soldier was by no means an inept fighter, Link was simply too good, and he had an advantage since he was frightened enough to be going all out whereas the soldier was trying his best not to hurt the boy. Soon, he dropped like his companions—speaking of which, the first one to fall was now stirring, and just in time for more guards to burst through the door, looking for a threat.

They certainly hadn't been expecting Link to be the threat, because they blinked at him for a moment, baffled; they only caught on when Link kicked another one of the downed soldier's spears into his free hand and backed against the wall, still rambling, eyes wide and frightened and choked sobs battling their way up his throat. "Don't touch me!" he shrieked. "Stay the hell back!"

At first, the soldiers might have considered obliging, clearly seeing that this boy was not fooling around, and that this was another of his castle-famous panic attacks. That notion of inaction went out the window as soon as Link dropped the spears, screwed his eyes shut, and began to slam his head into the wall, gouging long marks along his own arms with his fingernails. "No no no no no running out of time tick tock tick tock tick tock save them he'll find her—"

Glancing at each other in horror, the guards quickly lunged for him, and he rolled aside, grabbing both the spears mid-roll. Desperate and terrified, Link fought with enough vigor to fell four more men before one of them finally knocked aside the two spears and locked his arms under the boy's armpits, suspending him in midair. A second soldier was forced to cling to the Hero of Time's legs like a stubborn child, keeping him from kicking out, but they both felt their hearts break at the screams Link was letting out as he squirmed in their hold. "No! No! Let go of me! You don't understand—he'll find her!" Sobs began to fill the empty space between shrieks. "Please please please, not there, I can't go back there again, I'll do anything, I'll save them all this time, I swear—"

Frustration quickly began to boil over in the room as his struggles only got stronger as his pleading made less and less sense. In an act that no one would even consider in better circumstances for fear of angering the future monarch, one of the soldiers shouted, "Where is Her Majesty?!"

As if summoned at the mention of her name, Zelda herself swept into the room at that very moment. Having heard the commotion, she had, as always, done the exact opposite of what she was supposed to do when there was a potential threat and had curiously moved toward the ruckus rather than away. For once, it was a good thing she had. In an instant, her eyes fixed on Link—Please, not the Tower again, please please please, goddesses, please!—and softened. "Thank you, Tronus," she said softly, inclining her head to the guard holding him. "Please release him and stand down."

Reluctantly, Tronus did so, and Link wasted no time in hurling himself against the wall, back pressed firmly against the smooth marble. "Don't—come—any—closer!" he warned, voice wavering and rough; this was the most he had used his vocal cords in years. Zelda's footsteps echoed throughout the room, which was suddenly dead silent, all of the castle guards having tucked themselves into corners and gone still. "I said—" Pressing himself closer to the wall, he drew his sword, as if suddenly remembering its presence, and brandished it in her general direction. "—don't—come—any—"

His voice cut out to a strangled wheeze as Zelda only stepped forward more, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. "Shh," she whispered, sounding a whole lot calmer than she felt. Link's head turned rapidly from side to side, as if searching for the cause of the sound. "It's okay, Link. You're safe now."

For a moment, it looked like he was going to snap out of it. His cloudy eyes sharpened ever-so-slightly, although they didn't refocus; his pained expression faded into one of confusion; he lowered his sword halfway. "Your Highness?" he croaked, his voice full of uncertainty.

Zelda bobbed her head in affirmation, although she doubted that Link could see her right now. "Yes, Link. It's me. You're with me." Her need for precaution fading away, Zelda lowered her hands to her sides, palms open and facing towards the Hero of Time so that he could see that she had no weapons. "You're safe. We're at Hyrule Castle in my bedroom." And, seeing his eyes roam about rapidly once again, she added, "There are guards here, but they aren't enemies."

Unfortunately, her words didn't seem to be reaching Link, only her tone of voice. "You can't be here," he gasped, once again raising his sword: his eyes were fixed on some point in the distance, and, every few seconds, they darted anxiously about the room. "You can't be here!" he repeated, panic coloring his voice. Zelda's smile faded as his breaths went from fast but steady to near-hyperventilation status, coming out in quick, strained pants like something was crushing his lungs. "Wh-what if they try to put you in—?!" He cut himself off with a wail of anguish, clutching his bangs tightly in his fists and not seeming to mind the hilt of his sword rubbing against his forehead.

"Link," she soothed, "please calm down." Her voice was smooth and nearly hypnotic; it was just barely enough to comfort him, and his breaths began to even out a bit, although his wide eyes were still sweeping across the room, and he still shrunk away from enemies no one else could see. "Link," she repeated, hoping the continued use of his name would help ground him. Continuing to approach him carefully, like one approaches a frightened animal, she tossed the smile back onto her face. "It's alright."

Without warning, he jerked away from her with a gasp, eyes widening. "This is wrong," he moaned, trying to back away, although his eyes still weren't anywhere near where Zelda actually was. "No no no, this is wrong, you can't be here, I have to play—"

And then a splash of hope entered his eyes.

"—The Song of Time!"

If she had been expecting anything, that certainly wasn't it. "The Song of...?" She trailed off, the rest of her sentence speaking for itself. Why would he want to do that? A few years ago, he had left Hyrule with the Ocarina in tow, then returned after a mere five days with so many new scars, both mental and physical, that some sort of time travel must have been involved. But he refused to talk about it, and all he had to say on the matter was "I was in Termina, and it wasn't three days, Your Highness." That was around the time he had thrown the Ocarina back into her arms, pleading her to take it so that he would never have to look at it again. "Why do you want to play the—?"

"The Song of Time!" In any other situation, she might have been miffed at being interrupted; this time, it only made her eyes sparkle suddenly as a metaphorical lantern flickered on over her head. Link was hyperventilating now, his blue eyes wide and misty, but she hadn't been calmer in days. "The Song of Time! I—I have to—where's the—?!" He began to frantically search his person, presumably for the Ocarina he had willingly yielded years ago.

"Alright, then. The Song of Time it is."

Link didn't react to her words; it was doubtful he had heard them. On the other hand, the various guards about the room, who had been watching silently, hands on their sheathed weapons in case Link lashed out again, shot her incredulous looks, which she dutifully ignored. "Sir Vimus," she addressed one of the soldiers, who stood at attention. "Please hand me the Ocarina of Time." She knew that if she left Link's side now, it would take twice as long to safely approach him again.

Reluctantly, the guard picked up the Ocarina from where it lay among the shard of blood-speckled glass and handed it over. "Link," she said to get his attention, and it didn't bother her this time when he looked straight past her at some unseen foe, still not seeing her, only hearing her. "Don't worry. I have it." As she had hoped, despite being evidently blind in the face of his best friend, Link easily saw the Ocarina and grabbed for it wildly, fingers fumbling on the holes.

He was in such a hurry to get the song out that it took multiple tries for him to get even the first three notes right. Eventually, though, even with his clumsy, hasty movements, and despite the fact that he hadn't played the song in years, Link managed to get the entire song out, albeit a beat faster than usual. The calming notes twisted throughout the room, and, for a moment, everyone but Link held their collective breaths. The last note—Link winced, bracing himself for impact with the ground in front of the Clock Tower—

Nothing happened.

There was only a tense silence, broken only by the quiet tick tock, tick tock of Zelda's grandfather clock.

After a moment of waiting, Link's eyes snapped open, and he looked so afraid that Zelda actually felt guilty for putting this plan into motion, even if she was pretty sure that it would help him in the long run. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he hastily returned the ocarina to his mouth and replayed the song, heart racing. Still, nothing. He remained firmly in place, listening attentively to the clock and his own pulse.

"No," he breathed when it finally hit him. Something between a whimper and a sob tore its way out of his chest. Spiraling, Link felt his legs give out from under him; he crashed to the floor. As soon as the Ocarina fell from his slack fingers and clattered away, he wrapped his arms tightly around his knees and began to rock back and forth, eyes once again closing tight. "No no no no no. Wrong, wrong, everything's wrong, I don't want to play, please, I can't do this anymore—"

"You're not in the Tower anymore, Link," Zelda said quietly. His head shot up, his eyelids snapped open, and, for the first time throughout this whole ordeal, he looked her in the eye and comprehended her her words. Although her plan was a success, she still couldn't help but flinch at the sheer confusion and distress written all over his usually-composed face. "You're in Hyrule Castle with me." And then, lowering her voice, she boldly drew much closer, reaching up to cup his scarred cheeks. Channeling all of her compassion and all of her determination into her words, she told him firmly, leaving no room for argument, "You're safe now. It's all over."

He just gazed vacantly into her eyes, face flushed in panic, chest heaving with every breath, hair in a disarray. "I'm... not in the..." Somewhere between disbelieving and hesitantly hopeful, he looked nervously about the room, although it was hard to tell whether or not he could actually see it. Before long, his eyes returned to hers, and she didn't so much as shift under his sudden intense stare as he scrutinized every inch of her face. "I... I'm..."

He trailed off, lost in her eyes and the way they blazed blue with utter confidence.

"You're in Hyrule Castle with Zelda," she said firmly. The words were so steady and bursting at the seams with honesty that he almost couldn't bear to hear them. "Repeat."

For a long moment, he only gaped. Pushing him and ruining the moment was at the bottom of her to-do list right now, so she waited patiently as he looked her up and down, absorbing her presence centimeter by centimeter. So absorbed he seemed to be with analyzing every last aspect of her skin, clothing, hair, and face that Zelda wondered dully if he planned on counting the stitches in her dress and the follicles of her hair. She honestly wouldn't put it past him.

When he finally moved, it was so slowly that she didn't notice until his hand was halfway to her own. Seconds dragged by. Out of her peripherals, she caught glimpses of steel, and, though they tried to be quiet, the guards couldn't silence their clanking armor as they crept out of the room, giving the two some privacy. Good, she thought faintly. Link would be mortified with even her being there to witness a breakdown of such massive proportions, much less all of the other soldiers.

It took him maybe five minutes to get on with it at the pace he was moving, but Zelda didn't mind; she wanted as much time as possible to soak up the awe that was radiating from his expression. It had been years since she'd seen him this way; that wonder she loved in him had died over the course of those three days in Termina that, evidently, had been far more than three days. When his callused fingertips finally brushed against her knuckles, touch lighter than air, he jerked back as if he had been burned, eyes widening even further. If that was even possible.

"I... I..." Predictably, it wasn't particularly easy for him to find his voice. After a moment, he gave up. Just barely faster than before, he reached up another time, once again lightly touching her knuckles. Then, hands trembling, he pressed his hand closer until his palm was covering her fingers, which were still resting on his face. Eyes not leaving his, she carefully twisted her hand around so that their palms met, then gripped his hand gently, hoping that the squeeze would reassure him.

"You're in Hyrule Castle with Zelda," she said softly, searching in his eyes for any sign that he was finally back in the present. "Repeat."

His irises flickered, his eyebrows turning up, and he bit his lip. For a moment, he visibly weighed his options. Don't speak up and risk losing her, or speak up and risk this being just a hallucination, opening his eyes to find himself back in front of the Clock Tower—

'No.' There was simply no way that he could be imagining this. Didn't he have memories? Hadn't he... hadn't he left the Tower behind? Hadn't he stopped the moon and saved the day and then left those memories as far behind as possible?

No, the moon children whispered in his head. You never left. He knows that they're right and can't help but resent them for that.

"I'm..." Unused to such strenuous tasks all in a row, his throat protested, and he stopped, wincing as a dry hack replaced his words. Quickly, though, he swallowed some saliva and started again, slightly more sure of himself now. "I'm... I'm in Hyrule Castle..."

No, he shouldn't be doing this; he shouldn't be getting his hopes up like this, because even if it was Zelda and not just his own mind, it wasn't Zelda, it was Her Highness. He faltered, fighting the urge to fold in on himself and brood for a while. Why did he have to keep reminding himself that? There wasn't exactly much time to think abou—Dawn of the First Day, 72 Hours Remaining, you've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?

Zelda's hand tightened around his, and he broke free of his stupor, jumping a bit. Opening his eyes (when had he closed them?) he once again locked gazes with her, and she gave him a reassuring nod. Slowly, making sure to telegraph her movements, she brought her other hand around and placed it on the other side of his, holding tight with both hands.

Link swallowed a painful lump in his throat. "...with Her Highness." His voice wavered, and he closed his eyes, ready to be plunged back in to Termina like being dropped into ice water—

Nothing happened. He remained firmly seated on the carpet, hunched against the smooth marble walls, both of Zel—Her Highness's hand's gripping his. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes again, expecting to see the glowing yellow and red of Majora's Mask's eyes staring back at him—but it was only her, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, blue eyes watching him excitedly. She nodded enthusiastically with a barely audible breath of "Yes, good!"

Slowly, his heart beat was returning to normal. "I—I'm in Hyrule Castle..." His voice wavered at first, then strengthened as his resolve began to click into place like pieces of a puzzle finally assembled. "...with Her Highness. I'm in Hyrule Castle with Her Highness."

A laugh bubbled up from her chest as joy—real, actual joy—shone through, and a wide grin spread across her face. Despite himself, he felt the corners of his own mouth separate, baring his teeth in a similar smile. "That's right!" she cried, her grasp on his hand tightening. "You got it right!"

Let's play good guys and bad guys, his mind said, but Link wasn't listening. He was too busy focusing on Zelda as she began to shake with uncontrolled laughter, all of her relief pouring out now that the danger was gone. Are you ready? Link did not respond. Disregarding the moon child, he let out a shaky laugh himself—then covered his mouth with his hand in shock. Zelda stopped laughing herself, gaping at him dumbly with her mouth hanging open.

He hadn't laughed since he was seventeen-eleven, and now he's fourteen-seventeen and he hadn't thought he was still capable of producing that sound.

You're the bad guy. But Link didn't much care at the moment. Now that the dam had burst—coupled up with that ludicrous expression on Her Highness's face—he let out a second bark of laughter, then a third. And then he was gripping Zelda's hands with all his might, because he was doubling over laughing at the top of his lungs, and, honestly, he had forgotten about the glass still in his side, but he really couldn't care less now.

And when you're bad, you just run.

Link did not run.

He sat on the floor, bleeding all over Zelda's pristine carpet, and laughed and laughed and laughed until he felt like his lungs were going to split and he had been smiling so wide for so long that he couldn't tell which hurt worse—the cramps in both cheeks or the multiple places his chapped lips had split, not used to contorting into such an odd shape.

When the laughter finally ceased, they lapsed into a small bout of silence. Then Zelda gave a soft "Hey," the laughter not entirely gone from her tone but mostly suppressed. He turned to look at her. The somber, wise expression he was used to seeing on her was finally back, although she cracked a small smile at him. Giving his hands one last squeeze—Link realized bashfully that he had never let go—she looked him dead in the eye.

"One more time," she ordered quietly, looking unsure of herself for once in her life. That uncertainly vanished as quickly as it had appeared—easy come, easy go, he supposed—and her next words were much firmer. "For good luck." The added just to make sure you're really back went unspoken, but Link heard it crystal clear. She had just spent the last however-long comforting him; she must have been pretty shaken up by the matter. He would be if this had happened to her.

This time, it was his turn to comfort her, no matter how inept he was at it.

Resolutely, he brought his free hand around and it joined the fray, making what had once been a simple hand-holding become a mess of fingers and palms. This time, he was the one who gave a squeeze, and, if she noticed that he didn't seem to mind the physical contact for once, she didn't say anything.

"I am in Hyrule Castle," he said, maintaining eye contact so she could see just how much he believed the words this time, "with Zelda."

And, before he could think to stop himself, he shifted his grip on her hands and gently pulled one up, inclining his head to kiss her gloved knuckles.

Perhaps the Zelda from his timeline would have just given him a weary smile, possibly a nudge on the shoulder to let him know she appreciated it. Maybe that single nudge would have meant more to him than any amount of words, because battling alongside someone in life-or-death situations could do that to a couple. In the end, he supposed it didn't matter what that Zelda would have done. Because his Zelda laughed softly with a slight blush, then sat up straight to land a peck on his forehead in return.

He still missed the first Zelda, of course—goddesses yes; he was missing her a bit right now. But he had finally opened his eyes and realized that this wasn't Her Highness—this was Zelda, sans a few scars and a blue outfit. This was Zelda, and he loved Zelda, and that was about all there was to it.

Because, somehow, Zelda had done for him what he couldn't do for himself.

She had let him out of the Clock Tower.

...But, my, you sure have managed to make a lot of people happy.