Chapter I:

The Last Hunt

Even among his fellow Iron Knuckles, Kluge was impressive in size. His mere presence in battle was a testament to the power of the dark forces, a symbol of the glorious war machine of King Ganondorf. Wherever he walked, the mob cleared a path. Monster and mortal alike feared the ire of his gaze and the fury of his cleaving axe. He commanded respect with every ounce of his being.

Or, rather, he had.

His axe, once sharpened to a razor's edge, now hung chipped and coarse against his armored back. His armor, once shined to a mirrored surface, was now listless and dull in the afternoon sun as he walked the lines of infantry he commanded. They were, every last cursed being among them, veterans of the Seven Years of Terror; seven glorious years when the great Ganondorf had seized the throne of Hyrule by brute force and invited the monstrous kinsmen to return from the exile of society and lay siege to the so-called "civilized" races. Their ranks had swelled and their bellies had fattened. They had grown strong, and subsequently complacent. Their dominion of Hyrule had not lasted.

Ganondorf's defeat had not been anticipated; but even so, his lieutenants had bungled opportunity after opportunity in the aftermath of Ganondorf's banishment. Battles had turned into routs; partisan factions had risen up to become full-blown militias, and little forest boys had grown to become what the monsters themselves feared in the shadows. The world, as it had once a millennium earlier, had turned upside down. Most of Ganondorf's lieutenants were either dead, captured, or had defected at the earliest possible moment to avoid certain execution. His armies, once vast and too numerous to count, had dwindled to a few marauding companies living on scraps and the odd undefended caravan. Most of Ganondorf's soldiers had given up and returned to their lives in exile, reverting back to barbaric living and a raider-like mentality.

The army Kluge commanded, bedraggled and haggard thought it was, was the last of Ganondorf's once-mighty forces. Moblins thinned by days of hunger drug their spears in lackluster formation, while Lizalfos centurions strayed at every possible moment, growing more and more desperate for water. The Wolfos were no better, breaking formation each time they sensed an opportunity to hunt game. The Stalfos, pitiful cursed creatures that they were, had lost their hatred for natural life and sauntered listlessly, if dutifully, forward. Even the ReDead, lacking the basic ability to maintain or lose morale, seemed somehow lessened. Still, they remained an army; commanded by the last of Ganondorf's warlords, the traitorous Hylian Count Gustav von Voltaire. Voltaire, at least, had continued to fight, though Kluge had little doubt that the nobleman's resolve had less to do with loyalty to Ganondorf and more to do with trying to save his own skin. Voltaire's crimes towards the people of Hyrule during the Seven Years were especially cruel, even by a monster's standards, and Voltaire had no hope of surrendering in exchange for his life.

"Look alive!" Kluge roared, kicking a hapless Lizalfos in his tail with the metal toe of his boot. The monster hissed and scrambled forward; disgustedly, Kluge marched on. Seven months earlier, at the height of Ganondorf's reign, Kluge would have skinned the miserable wretch alive without a second thought. In his opinion, Lizalfos were barely a step above Hylians. Only their cursed blood gave him pause to consider them as kinsmen. But times were tough, and getting tougher. Voltaire, and by proxy the cause of darkness throughout Hyrule, needed every soldier available. The last few weeks had been particularly damaging to the cause. Their erstwhile ally, Count Elorius, had met his demise almost a month prior, and though his remaining battalions had bolstered Voltaire's own legion, not even a worthless Lizalfos could be wasted on something as trivial as bad marching. A kick—and a broken tailbone—would have to suffice.

They marched on for a few minutes more, sweeping across the dry sand in the southwestern fields of Hyrule. Further west was Lake Hylia, and the Water Temple dedicated to the new Sage of Water, the Zora bitch Ruto. Her forces, small though they were, had been among the most furious and frenzied pursuers of Voltaire's companies until they'd shifted further inland from Lake Hylia. Kluge understand their fury; if his people had been frozen solid in ice for years just to make a political point, he might have be angry too. Kluge smiled as thoughts of Zora soldiers and dignitaries, posed in unnatural positions of panic and fear as the ice swallowed them whole, flashed through his mind. Thinking of the Zora people trapped, alive and unable to move, for endless years, never failed to brighten his mood.

Behind him, he heard the jostling and jarring of armored bodies being moved out of place. A Moblin commander, standing almost a head taller than Kluge and dressed in varying shades of pelts and leathers, pushed past the lines of formation and came to walk beside Kluge.

"Any sign of Lord Voltaire?" The Moblin asked without preamble.

Kluge continued forward, his eyes sweeping ahead for enemy traps and ambush locations and giving away nothing. He had noticed Voltaire's disappearance, of course, and he had his suspicions as to exactly what Voltaire's strategy was. Telling this feral beast, however, served neither a purpose nor his whims. "I don't see that it's any of your business, commander," he said evenly. His tone, however, suggested that the commander might want to drop the subject before he was dropped himself.

The Moblin, either too brave or too stupid, didn't catch the hint. "I understand it's not my place, sir," he said, scratching at a flea-infested ear. "It's just—"

"Just what?" Kluge grated, in no mood to brook further insolence. The Moblin stopped for a second, caught off guard by the outburst, contemplating whether or not to continue.

"It's just that the troops are beginning to talk," the commander said softly, leaning in, as if confiding a crucial secret. "At least, the ones that can talk," he amended. "Lord Voltaire hasn't been seen in three days, and last night an entire cavalry group of Wolfos disappeared, deserting… or maybe worse."

"Worse?" Kluge repeated, his voice growing icy. "What could be worse than deserting one's brothers and assuring oneself my wrath?"

"Ambushed, maybe," the Moblin said, seeming to be taken aback by Kluge's sudden iciness. Ah, Kluge thought, his helmet hiding a grin. Not brave, then… stupid.

Very stupid.

"The ranks worry that Lord Voltaire has betrayed us, ran away to seek his own salvation, maybe," the Moblin continued. He leaned in towards Kluge, closer still. "Some of them are even speaking of surrender."

That took Kluge by surprise. "Surrender?"

The Moblin nodded. "Aye, surrender."

For a moment, Kluge marched on, anger burning deep in his gut. The notion seemed absurd. Cursed beings, it was said, did not know the concept of peace, nor could they stomach the idea of defeat… and yet, there it was: surrender. Voltaire's disappearance hadn't gone unnoticed by the masses; Kluge had nominally been in charge all along, with Voltaire only making generalized decisions in regards to troop movement and targets. But in the last three days, Kluge had taken total control of the army. His suspicions, and likely the dim-witted Moblin's as well, ran along the general notion that Voltaire had left his forces to take whatever the Hylians dished out at them while he made good on a long-overdue disappearing act. Voltaire wouldn't surrender and wouldn't betray them, of that Kluge was certain, if for no other reason than one of self-preservation. It didn't seem, however, that the traitor's spine extended much further than that. Another conflict was coming, soon; everyone could feel it. Voltaire had simply done, as always, what was best for Voltaire… gathered his personal escorts and fled.

Kluge could understand how that might be in some ways demoralizing. He personally hadn't liked serving the greasy-haired warlock and political scion much, but as far as Ganondorf's lieutenants were concerned, he was by far the most ruthless. Losing him wasn't something that Kluge had rejoiced over. But the very idea that cursed kin might even consider the notion of giving in to the Hylians was… revolting. Kluge's stomach churned at the idea, and his anger began to rise. The last army faithful to the evil designs of King Ganondorf, and they were discussing the possibility of surrender.

Surrender!

Kluge broke stride. "Company, halt!"

The army group, as a single unit, came to a stop. Normally stop-march orders came with a borderline collapse of unit formation: one of the many drawbacks to an army comprised of near-brainless monsters. But their conversation hadn't gone unnoticed, and the forward divisions seemed unusually alert, watching Kluge and the Moblin commander.

Kluge took a deep breath and returned his focus to the commander. The Moblin looked down at him, expectantly. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, commander," Kluge said at last. "Now I need you to carry a message back to these degenerate elements." The Moblin leaned in, careful not to miss a word of Kluge's message.

Before the Moblin had a chance to blink his large, stupid eyes, Kluge reached behind him and pulled his notched axe from the strap on his back. One-handed, he swung the weapon in a high arch, sinking into the bones and tendons of the Moblin's neck. The axe was dull, the blade only sinking in six inches; a spray of red shot from severed arteries as the Moblin howled and fell to his knees. Kluge drew the axe back again, readying another blow; but this blow came from the flat of his axe, crashing down hard on the Moblin's skull and crushing his face. The howl turned into a gurgle, blood flowing copiously from his eyes and nose as he fell unceremoniously onto his side, hands alternately groping for his face and trying to hold pressure on the neck wound. Kluge let fly with another blow, and another, and another, all with the flat side of his axe, hammering again and again into the Moblin's head. His hands feebly attempted to protect his face the first two hits, then fell limp as nerves and muscles ceased to function. Doglike whimpers faded as Kluge pounded the Moblin's skull into pulp, never letting up, never ceasing, until there was no distinguishing marks identifying the lump of flesh and blood as a head.

For a moment Kluge stood there, axe slung once more over his shoulder, absorbing the shocked silence that had fallen over the company. "I'm only going to say this once," Kluge shouted, loud enough for the entire legion to hear. "Anyone contemplating the idea of… surrender"—and he practically spat the word out, pointing an armored finger down at the bloody Moblin carcass—"take a good look at that!" Kluge roared again, stepping on the body as he moved towards the nearest line of troops. Blood was pooling around the scrambled remains of the skull, seeping into the sandy earth and mixing with the dirt to form a goopy red mud. The image wasn't lost on the soldiers. "The Hylians and their allies shoot to kill," Kluge said darkly. "I, on the other hand, swing to maim and punish. Decide now which option of death seems best to you."

He let it sink in for a moment longer, then turned back and stepped over the corpse again. As he began to trudge forward, armor clanking in the dirt and mud, he added: "And if I see anyone trying to sneak a bite of the corpse, you'll be joining it!" He let those words sink in, as well. A few Wolfos would be disappointed at missing such a snack, but the last thing he needed was the entire army slowed by a few mindless beasts who couldn't control their appetite.

Moving forward, he turned and looked over his shoulder at the lines of creatures staring fearfully; some at him, some at the carcass. "Now, let's see if we can't at least move faster than the Hylian dregs on our tails. Company, march!"

Kluge watched as the lines of infantry moved forward, backs noticeably straighter and steps noticeably lighter than they had been moments earlier, even as they marched over—and sometimes on—their fallen commander. Kluge smiled again. They needed every soldier they could get, it was true; but sometimes a little carnage went a long way.

*****

"Ruthless bastard, isn't he?"

Comai Kessler grunted in response, staring through the eyeglass at the carnage that had moments earlier been a Moblin soldier. Beside him, Evar Tarleton gazed through his own makeshift telescope, equally riveted to the scene. The attack had been brutal, even by the enemy's standards. The Iron Knuckle, apparently, wasn't interested in making friends with the other creatures in his command. Still, Kessler had to admit the monsters were surging forward with new life, no longer trudging along at half speed. Tarleton and Kessler had been tracking the last of Ganondorf's holdout forces for the last two days, trying to get a read on the enemy's movements. Now, not only did they know where the enemy was moving, they also knew which of the cursed beasts were in charge. The Iron Knuckle probably reported directly to Voltaire himself. If they could successfully ambush and defeat the enemy forces, they might finally wrap up the Seven Years of Terror.

Tarleton continued to gaze out with his eyeglass, searching the horde of monsters. "I dinna see that mongrel Voltaire anywhere, do ye?"

"No," Comai agreed, lowering his eyeglass as Tarlton continued to search. So the rumors were true; Voltaire was conspicuously absent from the rest of his force. The cretin had probably slipped off in the middle of the night, off to one of his hidden strongholds while the force he commanded was left to fend for itself. But it didn't make any difference to Kessler; Voltaire might be the leader, but the army of creatures itself was the threat.

Kessler stood up and stretched, trying to banish the bloody scene from his mind. Clothed in patchwork armor and Wolfos pelts, Comai Kessler stood at six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested with an unkempt beard and a lifetime of battle etched across his frame. Working as a mercenary came naturally to Kessler, and he'd caused his fair share of blood-spilling with his heavy club and battle ax. Only his eyes betrayed him as anything more than a common barbarian. Icy blue orbs swept across the horde, taking in details of pattern and movement as they departed. His life had been spent in the business of shedding blood, and business had been good since Ganondorf's meteoric rise—and fall—in the Kingdom of Hyrule. Nevertheless, watching such a savage display only served to remind him what separated his troop, the Headhunters, from the monsters they slaughtered: he might fight and kill for profit, but he didn't do so for pleasure. Engaging in a drunken round of fisticuffs was one thing; reveling in base, primal rage was another.

"Makes ye wonder, doesn't it?"

Kessler shook his head, banishing his thoughts. "What makes me wonder?"

"That," Tarleton said, pointing to the now-trampled carcass. "Makes ye wonder how they got ta be so evil, doesn't it?"

Kessler shook his head, bemused. Tarleton, lean and long-limbed where Kessler was broad and muscular, was second-in-command of the Headhunters, and he'd never disappointed Kessler in the heat of battle. Few men could equal Tarleton in the art of swordplay. But when there was no sword to swing, Tarleton had a tendency to wax philosophical, asking the hard questions about before and after the battle itself; an undesirable, if fairly unique, quality in a mercenary's world.

"Wonderin' a thing like that is like wonderin' what makes th' sky blue," Kessler said. "There's no purpose to it. Scholars an' priests have been debatin' an' deliberatin' about what makes a monster an' what makes a man since long before ye was born. It dinna change th' fact that we're hired ta kill 'em, not ta figure 'em out."

Tarleton shrugged, rubbing sheepishly on the back of his neck. "I know," he admitted, his northlands accent less pronounced than Kessler's. "I canna help it, though. Sometimes I just want ta know, that's all; it gets me curiosity piqued."

"Curiosity killed the cuckoo," Kessler reminded him, turning towards his horse. Tarleton shrugged again, and the matter was dropped. "At any rate, we should be headin' out," Kessler added, mounting his horse. "Looks like our friend is headin' ta th' village of Gana. The Hero of Time was right after all."

Tarleton nodded, saddling his own mount. "I think so, too. He probably needs some supplies an' some food fer his troops. Gana's th' only place with supplies that's close."

Gana Village, situated to the southwest of Market Town, had been a thriving town until Ganodorf's rise. Even during the Seven Years, refugees from Market Town and Kakariko Village had steadily increased the town's population. Now, many of its citizens had decided to stay. Gana was a ripe plum of a town, heavily populated with a minimal presence of militia. A perfect target for the remnant of Ganondorf's legions.

"We need ta get back ta camp," Kessler said, tightening his hold on the reins. "We've got an opportunity ta take 'em out, an' ye know he'll want ta know what's goin' on."

*****

Wind blew across the plains, rustling the leaves in the trees. Link suppressed a shiver, noting the cool air as he gazed out over the empty fields of Hyrule. Far, far off in the distance, Link could make out the mountains that bordered Lake Hylia and the neighboring kingdoms. The sun stood high in the sky, shining down on the waters and causing them to sparkle brightly. The effect was something akin to witnessing a faraway star winking in and out of existence. Beyond that were entire new lands full of people, places, opportunities…

All of which might disappear, unless Hyrule came out victorious here.

Link turned back to the soldiers behind him, rustling around quietly in alert readiness. They had been camped out in Hyrule's southwestern fields for nearly two weeks now, engaging in limited hit-and-fade attacks against a haggard—but numerically superior—enemy force led by the last of Ganondorf's loyalists, Count Gustav von Voltaire. Most of Hyrule's various nobility had cooperated with Ganondorf's regime to one degree or another, and almost all of them had returned to the royal banner. Of those returning, every one claimed to have been either manipulated, coerced, or outright forced to serve Ganondorf during the Seven Years; a few, like Baron Ingo of Lon Lon Ranch, had been so bold as to claim magical influences in their betrayal. In the case of Ingo, there could be little doubt of his coercion; a bully and a braggart though he was, his attitude had changed so drastically after confronting Link early in Ganondorf's seventh and final year that Link had felt he had no choice but to vouch for him. Besides, Lon Lon Ranch had changed noticeably after Ingo's return to the fold, and many a resistance fighter and partisan group had found shelter in Lon Lon Ranch's acres. But most of the other nobles had proven to be merely opportunistic, following whoever seemed poised for victory. Nobles like Baron Gaston Bereté, Count Morl, and Viscomte Marceau deMarias had returned and sworn loyalty once more to the royal lineage of Liadoran, bringing various factions of Hylian soldiers with them. Whatever their excuses might have been, the political power in Hyrule now rested firmly in the hands of the crown—that was to say, in the hands of Princess Zelda.

Zelda…

Link sighed, letting the momentary flutter fade from the pit of his stomach. Zelda was in charge, and Voltaire was the last of Ganondorf's lieutenants to roam free. If they could claim a decisive victory here, they might very well break up the last remaining evil force in the land of Hyrule. Whatever cohesion Voltaire's forces had must be weakening in the face of dwindling resources and protracted guerilla warfare. If they could break the back of this one last army of darkness, Hyrule would truly be free.

And I would be free to return to my original time…

Link pursed his lips together, confused by the conflicting emotions that tore at his heart and mind. His journey so far through life had been unusual, even in a Kingdom steeped in legend and magical lore. He had been torn from his childhood among the eternal youth of the Kokiri Kids and thrust brutally forward into adulthood, skipping seven years of his life and subsequently missing most of the vile Ganondorf's rule. Though he'd been successful in fighting the Great King of Evil and banishing him into eternal darkness, the cleaning up process had given him time to adjust to adult life and to learn more about the kingdom he'd almost-singlehandedly saved. Hyrule was a ripe, lush land, even scarred by Ganondorf's recent tyranny. Link had befriended many people from all walks of life; some during his journeys to revive the Sages, and others during the last seven months as they hunted the remnants of Ganondorf's forces. Hard though his wanderings and the inevitable clean-up campaign had become, Link was content with his life.

With the possible end of the campaign in sight, however, Link's thoughts had increasingly turned to the fact that he would soon be returning to his own time. With the fighting done, there was no need for him to continue on the scarred path he had begun. He had traveled through time as a necessity: first as a precaution against Ganondorf as his Seven Years plagued the kingdom, then as a method of repairing the damage Ganondorf had done. Now that things were almost restored in Hyrule, it was Link's job as the fabled Hero of Time to forever seal the Door of Time, protecting the Sacred Realm from further intrusion and allowing the natural flow of time to restore itself.

Whatever the hell that means, Link thought, frowning. The whole idea of time being "corrected" and restoring "natural balance" to the Sacred Realm was well beyond his understanding. A childhood among forest folk and wise words from an ancient sentient tree weren't any kind of preparation for the sort of things he had become accustomed to dealing with on a daily basis. He'd left interpreting prophesies and wielding magic to Zelda, who was fast becoming a skilled sorceress in her own right. But the Princess and her magi had all been clear on one point: when Link's work was completed, he would correct time and return the realms to natural balance. So, no future for me… at least, no future here.

No future with her.

Again, Link pushed the uncomfortable tremor in his gut to the back of his mind. This was not the time to be hashing out personal demons. The knights and soldiers of Hyrule stood ready to fight the last of Ganondorf's legions, though they were outnumbered two to one. For two weeks they had waited, content with the odd skirmish and occasional sortie. Still, the tension that hung in the air spoke of a coming battle, and Link knew that any kind of fight with the odds stacked so unfavorably against you was destined to be a bloody affair. But the longer they waited, the more opportunities they gave the enemy forces to act. They might be on the verge of collapse, but Link knew as well as anyone the danger inherent in a wounded, feral beast. Voltaire's army was made up of a thousand of those wounded, feral beasts. Bloodthirsty Wolfos and carnivorous Lizalfos churning forward to sate their hungers even as unmovable Stalfos and unflinching UnDead surged behind them, leaving cleanup to the Moblin knights and brutal Iron Knuckles… fighting against a war machine like Voltaire's was a certifiable nightmare. Hyrule had lived in that nightmare for seven years. It was on them—Link, and the others blessed and cursed by Din with the power of the sword—to take that burden from the rest of Hyrule and place it onto their own shoulders one last time.

"You've got company, Link."

The voice came from his shoulder, faint but with an edge of veteran authority to it. Link didn't need to turn to see Navi, his guardian fairy, perched there. She stood about five inches high, beautiful in a classic sense, her body nearly engulfed by the ethereal glow her race was so well-known for. Her wings fluttered as she rested her full weight—an unnoticeable pressure, at most—on Link's shoulder, nodding to his left just before disappearing as suddenly as she'd appeared. Navi was prone to winking out of sight whenever others approached, and out of the few whom she allowed to see her, none had been able to hear her words. But she had been right; looking in the direction she'd indicated, Link saw a duo of fighters dismounting from their horses and moving towards him. Both were larger than Link; one was a taller version of Link himself, blond-haired and lean-muscled with only a hint of his strength showing through. The other was broad shouldered and barrel-chested with a medium-length beard covering his face and scarred skin and armor testament to his lifetime of combat work. They were Headhunters; mercenaries, both of them, hated by some of the generals and regular troops of Hyrule for their fight-for-profit motivations and by others for their reputation with the Princess. Nevertheless, they were good fighters and loyal troops, and that made them acceptable in Link's opinion. Link knew and personally enjoyed the company of the broad one, Kessler, who despite being a crass barbarian from the northlands bordering Hyrule and Northrend was quick witted, funny, and highly-reliable. It was Kessler who stepped closest to Link, giving a perfunctory nod before speaking.

"Ye was right ta send us out there, lad," Kessler grunted, a grin playing on his face. "Meself, I was figurin' on them headin' ta th' border, lookin' ta find themselves an easier feedin' trough. But it looks ta me an' Tarleton like th' horde is makin' double-time fer Gana Village. Looks like yer hunch was right again, Hero."

Link grimaced. "Don't call me 'hero,'" Link grumbled. "It's embarrassing."

"I know," Kessler replied. The grin was out in full force now. "I think it's right fetchin' on ye, though," he continued. "An' th' men, ye know how much it inspires 'em knowin' that th' great, wonderful, magnificent—"

"I get it," Link growled.

"—gifted, blessed—"

"Cut it out."

"—incredible, stupendous—"

"I'll tell Zelda not to pay you!"

That caught Kessler off guard. "Ye wouldn't do that ta yer friend, would ye?" Kessler asked at last, searching Link's face for evidence of a joke.

Evidently he didn't find it, as his smile faded. "I wouldn't put it past me," Link said evenly. "I'm the great, wonderful, magnificent Hero of Time, remember? Nothing I do here will change my destiny anyway, right?" Link turned and began walking, careful to hide his own smile from a thoroughly-concerned Kessler. "At any rate, we need to get this information to the council," Link said over his shoulder. "Princess Zelda and the others will want to know what's happening."

Link continued walking; and, after a moment, Kessler and Tarleton followed. As they walked, Link's smile widened as he heard Kessler grumble. "He shouldn't joke about things like that. Rupees are no laughin' matter, ye know…"

*****

Light, Shadow…

Fire, Water…

Forest, Spirit…

Zelda, Princess of Hyrule and daughter of the late King Harkinian, sat cross-legged in her tent, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. In her mind, she could see the elements that governed Hyrule's very existence flashing through her mind, allowing her to dissect and discover the deeper meanings behind each one. Light and Shadow, the forces governing life and death and born from the womb of Nayru the Law-Giver, were not to be confused with good and evil; Light and Shadow were both good and necessary, opposing ends that balanced one another out and allowed the world to exist in harmony with itself. There was no need to balance good and evil, evil being the opposing force of the natural will of the goddesses. Fire and Water, a physical manifestation of totality and born from the womb of Din the World-Shaper, were opposites as well, but not created to achieve balance. Rather, Fire and Water were the shapers and changers, allowing things to grow and shrink, change shape and harden, engorge and diminish. Forest and Spirit, the most challenging to grasp, were born of Farore the Life-Giver's womb and actually two variants of the same idea; Forest was the pure embodiment of physical life, a conjoining of physical creations that unthinkingly, unwittingly pursued life and existence in a real, corporeal sense. Spirit, by contrast, was life unembodied, a purely non-corporeal existence of life without a vessel, untamed by the laws of physical mass and reality. To understand both was to truly understand life and the concept of the six races, since the sentient creatures of the world all stood as a convergence of Forest and Spirit, spiritual presence in a physical manifestation. By understanding the essential roots of the six elements, Zelda could better serve in her function as the Seventh Sage, the bridge between the Sages' plane of existence and the Mortal Realm, where the Kingdom of Hyrule and other lands existed.

Zelda repeated the mantra again, allowing each element to form in her mind's eye, evoking its power to reveal itself, then allowing it to disassemble and become once more a basic elemental foundation, one which she built the next element upon, and repeated the process of contemplation. Meditation was nothing new for Zelda. She had practiced basic relaxation and enhancement techniques ever since, as a young girl, Impa had taught her a simple children's worship mantra. The techniques had served her well in the Seven Years, allowing her to grasp different forms of magic with relative ease and employing them in her resistance against Ganondorf. But the techniques she was employing now, while fascinating on an intellectual level and beneficial to her magical prowess as a budding sorceress, were also more draining than they were relaxing. It was the spiritual equivalent of pulling an all-nighter for an academy test—all in the course of one meditation session.

Zelda banished weakness from her mind. She needed to do it. She needed to grow stronger, to become a capable warrior in her own right so that she could protect her people as her father had done. So that she could stand against the next tyrant, whether that tyrant was home-grown or from across their borders, who threatened her people and her kingdom. So that she could allow Link, at long last, to rest, to let him drop the heavy burden that, for so long, had been his to bear; a burden that, had it not been for her foolishness and girly fantasies, would never have befallen him. Her weakness had stripped seven and a half years from his life… she would be damned if she didn't find a way to at least lessen that burden.

Her concentration was interrupted by a brief noise from the outside of her tent. For a moment she considered sending the visitor away. Her work was important, and there were plenty of generals and faction commanders who were all-too-anxious to make important military decisions. Zelda's understanding of tactics was elementary at best, and her opinion mattered only in the sense that she had final say in all major decisions. No; being a ruler was about more than just making sure that her people were always safe from bodily harm. It also mean ensuring that her people had someone who paid attention to all decisions made, lest her people find themselves fully safe and secure from outside threats but fleeced and ravaged by threats from within.

Zelda cleared her mind, evolving elemental fragments pushed aside for the moment. "You may enter," she said in her best regal-austere tone. Her voice wasn't cruel or cold, but rather one made of naïvete, concern, and cool condescension. After all, no matter how much she might be different from the rest of the world's princesses, decorum dictated that she at least sound like an average princess.

The flap to her tent opened just wide enough for Captain Marr to enter her tent. Kento Marr, the mustached, crew-cut captain of her Praetorian Guard, was the quintessential military commander: born of noble blood, raised from birth to fight in Hyrule's small—but esteemed—Front Guard, and assigned at an early age to her father's Praetorian Guard. His leave of absence following an injury was the only thing that had saved him from slaughter at the hands of Ganondorf and his lackeys when they'd launched their surprise attack on the castle. That same luck had turned on him, however, when he'd found himself abandoned and alone in Hyrule Market Town, where most of the denizens unlucky enough to find themselves trapped there were murdered and transformed into UnDead. True to his oath, however, Marr had remained behind in Market Town and protected others from the UnDead plague haunting the capital city. When Link had made his final push against the evil king's tower, it had been Marr's resistance force that kept Ganondorf's patrols at bay. Now, dutiful as ever, Marr had reformed the Praetorian Guard—with himself as captain—and rarely left her side, determined not to repeat what he saw as the Praetorian Guard's greatest failure… the murder of her father.

"Please forgive my disturbing your meditations, Highness," Kento said, bowing low in apology. Zelda waved away his concerns.

"I was kind of at a plateau anyway," Zelda admitted, allowing the "haughty princess" facade to fade. "I was becoming exhausted, and for nothing more than a wounding of my pride. Besides, I doubt you'd come in unless it was something important."

Kento nodded. "The mercenary scouts"—and Zelda didn't miss the telltale sound of displeasure in the military man's voice—"have returned with news of Voltaire's movements. Master Link believed that the council should be convened as soon as possible."

Zelda smiled. Link's virtual command over Hyrule's army these last seven months had ruffled almost as many feathers as her employment of mercenaries had. Captain Marr, however, seemed almost reverent of "master" Link's martial and tactical abilities. Zelda suspected that, deep down, Kento considered his failure to only be redeemable because of Link's efforts to keep Zelda safe. Had she died or been scarred in any way by Ganondorf, she suspected he would have considered his honor beyond redemption. His gratitude towards Link, however, didn't extend to the mercenaries Link often found a use for. Only his self-imposed militaristic discipline kept him from saying crass and profane things about the "northlands brute Kessler" and his "vulgar Headhunter rabble."

"The council, of course, cannot officially meet without your express command," Marr continued, spine still stiff at attention. "Master Link suggested that time might be of the essence."

Zelda smiled. "He 'suggested,' did he?"

Marr blanched. "I'm sure no disrespect was intended—"

Zelda laughed, something she did all-too-rarely these days. "I'm teasing you, Captain. I know Link would never think to impose on me. Can you imagine, the fairy boy from the forest sitting still long enough to rule Hyrule from the throne?"

Kento Marr permitted himself a tight smile, his mustache bristling. "Capable though he is, I believe Master Link would thoroughly detest the idea of politics and bureaucracy."

Zelda wasn't listening. The joke had forced an image into her mind: Link, seated on the throne of Hyrule, gamely trying to keep up with demands of day-to-day administration, while she sat beside him, their hands locked together, a baby cooing softly in her arms—

"…though as I said, Link is an exceptional young man, capable of anything he sets his mind to, it seems," Marr finished. Zelda let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Where had that come from? She had indulged in momentary flights of fancy, of course: she and Link had grown close over the last seven months, and it was true that there had always been a connection between the two of them, ever since they had first met in her courtyard. Still, nothing like that had ever popped up, unbidden, into her mind before now. Still more alarming had been her reaction to it. Far from being surprised by the image, she had felt… what? Calm? Contented?

Love?

"Are you alright?"

Zelda snapped back to reality, her thoughts once more on the matters at hand. "Yes, of course," Zelda said with another dismissive wave. "Forgive me, Captain. As I said before, my exercises were becoming exhaustive. Of course, if Link says time is of the essence, then it must be." She stood up, stretching muscles that had grown tight with tension. "If you would be so kind as to accompany me to the meeting chambers…?"

"Of course, your majesty," Kento replied, giving another low bow. "After all, it is my duty."

The two of them stepped out of her tent: her in a simple gown of white, pink, and red, he in full Hylian armor and carrying a shield and spear. Without so much as a word, five more soldiers—the other Praetorian Guards—moved into defensive positions, surrounding her as she made her way to the meeting chambers. As she walked, she tried in vain to dismiss the vivid image of marital bliss with Link from her mind. One thing was for sure… things were about to become complicated.

Of that, she had no doubt.

*****

The "meeting chambers," as it turned out, were essentially a trio of tents woven together to form one giant tent capable of holding up to fifty people at one time. Inside, people circled around Commander Kessler as he rattled off his report.

"They number about a thousand strong," Kessler explained, pointing out on the map with a slender dagger where they had spotted Voltaire's forces. With his helmet off and his bald head in sharp contrast against his bushy beard, it was suddenly easy to see the middle age he hid so well on the battlefield. "Their numbers were somewhat depleted until we defeated Count Elorius' forces at Donne. The survivors generally found their way to Voltaire's group, bolsterin' his numbers but puttin' additional strain on his resources. However, near as we can tell, Voltaire himself isn't even there with his troops." He looked around at the members of the council surrounding him. "Simply put, his boys are starvin'. They're on th' run, an' Gana Village is about ta take th' heat fer it." There was a murmur throughout the tent as the members of the council digested the information.

The various members of the Hylian Council were some of Hyrule's brightest and most-powerful leaders, joined together to destroy every last trace of Ganondorf's scourge and restore the Kingdom of Hyrule. Some were nobles, like Lord Quintus Eir and Baron Gaston Bereté, the latter of whom had recently returned to the Hylian fold in the first month following Ganondorf's deposing. Others were generals and commanders: General Maxis Qel, a surviving member of Hyrule's Expeditionary Guard; General Gorn of Donne, a retired commander whose retirement had been cut short when Ganondorf rose to power and leader of a large volunteer force; and Kessler himself, Commander of the Headhunters mercenaries. Still others were representatives of the various races that made up the Hyrule Alliance. Orik, the last of the Gorons' great war-brothers, represented the interests of the Gorons' new Big Brother, Link the First, and the fifty war-brothers he had contributed to the war effort. The Zora had not yet recovered from Ganondorf's terrible onslaught, and with King Zora XIII debilitated by his loss of Ruto (even if only in a spiritual sense), they were in no position to join in the heavy fighting… especially fighting done on land. Nearly twenty leaders milled around Kessler as he explained various troop movements and broke down the tactical information for those without military minds.

"Gana Village will take terrible losses if nothing is done," General Qel said into the murmurings. "We must find a way to spare them. Many of the residents of Gana fled there from other war-ravaged cities, like Market Town and Kakariko Village. They deserve peace, and if we can't deliver that to them, then we're not doing our job."

"But what can we do?" Baron Bereté said. A few members' lips curled in distaste, Link's among them; Bereté was the only member of the council who had openly cooperated with Ganondorf's regime, and though he hadn't been bloodthirsty like Voltaire or others now in chains, he was still seen as a traitor by a few die-hards in the council. Since no one could prove what level of cooperation he'd given, they had only his word that whatever tyrannies he'd participated in had been participated in under coercive threats. Ignoring the looks he received, Bereté went on. "While I long for the fighting to be done for good, we are outnumbered two-to-one by Count Voltaire's divisions. I am sure that I speak for the soldiers under me when I say that they do not hold to such odds in a battle that could determine the outcome of the war."

"Aye, th' odds are bad," Kessler said, "but we canna just sit here an' do nothing!" He gestured to the map with his dagger again. "Th' people of Gana will be killed ta th' last man, woman, an' child unless we get ourselves there an' put a stop ta Voltaire's forces!"

"I agree," Orik said, his voice a gravelly clap of thunder in the tent. "The Goron tribes know better than anyone what cruelties can be inflicted on a captured people. We do not believe abandoning them to destruction and death is an acceptable decision." He pounded his massive furry chest in a Goron gesture, accenting his determination on the point.

"Perhaps we can whittle him down," General Gorn said, pulling on his handlebar mustache. "At any rate, those under my command are volunteers to a man, and they have no experience in open battle. A continued guerilla campaign seems the best course of action."

"Yes, best for us," Lord Quintus Eir said with a snort. Quintus was no military man, but he'd rallied the men under him and successfully routed two expeditionary forces under Ganondorf early in the Seven Years. Even after his eventual defeat, his continued existence had proven one of the more embarrassing mars on Ganondorf's otherwise-impressive list of accomplishments. Though a high-browed noble through and through, his heart seemed to genuinely be for the good of the people. "A continued guerilla war against Voltaire's troops would only serve to spur them on faster," he pointed out, his graying ponytail shifting as he shook his head. "It is our hit-and-fade tactics that have pushed them to move against Gana Village. They are tired, and desperate for supplies. If you think continuing to assault them through rear-guard harassment is the way to go, you're in for a rude awakening!"

"And what would you know of such matters?" Gorn came to his feet, his tone one of offended pride. "Your antics during the Seven Years, noteworthy though they are, have not given you insight into the complicated mechanisms of battle!"

Zelda sighed as the two glared daggers at one another. More often than not, with the war drawing to a close, this was what council meetings devolved into: a shouting match over wounded pride and angry accusations. More than once, the hot-blooded Kessler and normally-disciplined Kento Marr had had to be pried off of one another; both found each other to be repugnant. Eir, one of the few nobles to remain loyal to the throne, held Bereté in contempt beyond compare. Gorn, once a hero of Hyrule, was easily insulted as his honor had grown sensitive with the waning of his influence. War-brother Orik, though a fearsome warrior, had no grasp of even fundamental strategy. Additionally, he had an annoying tendency of reminding everyone exactly how badly the Gorons had suffered at Ganondorf's hands. General Qel, the nominal commander of the Hyrule Alliance, was a decent man; but his feelings towards Link's position of privilege within the army was a hot spot the others generally tried to avoid. This was what she had to work with, the tools she would use to restore Hyrule. Goddesses have mercy, she thought.

A quick motion caught her eye; Link, so far silent during the debate—a debate, she noticed dimly, that was already beginning to boil over—had moved to one corner of the tent, away from the map and the argument surrounding it. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration. He held his right hand in his left, and though Zelda couldn't see it, she knew the telltale glow of the triforce of courage was burning brightly on the back of his palm.

A glance back to the table showed that the debate was quickly spiraling downward. Kessler and Marr, for once not at one another's throats, had joined Quintus and were bellowing at Gorn and Qel, the latter of whom had come to his old friend's defense. Orik, a physical creature by nature, was taking slow steps towards the quivering Bereté, whose earlier words had probably sounded to the Goron like pure cowardice, something he did not tolerate. Zelda cleared her throat, to no avail; everyone was either too involved in the argument to notice or too hot under the collar to care.

Zelda sighed. "If we could all be quiet for a moment," she said, this time with force and a hint of magic behind her words. This time, the effect was almost instantaneous. The debate dwindled to nothing in a heartbeat, the tent silent once again. "Thank you," she said, the graciousness in her voice strained. "I would like to hear what the Hero of Time has to say about this," she added, drawing attention to Link's form in the far corner.

Link looked up as everyone turned to face him; some with looks of reverence and hope, others with looks of scorn and distrust. Some of them wondered if his part in Ganondorf's fall had been hyped by foolish hero-worship and the prattling of priests who insisted he was the fulfillment of prophecy. His efforts to help clear the kingdom of Ganondorf's pestilence had earned him the respect and confidence of the people, but there were still naysayers among the upper echelons of Hylian society. Link cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. The sudden feelings that had overwhelmed him moments earlier were difficult to explain, though blatantly clear to him. That clarity, he feared, might not extend to the others in the room.

"I have fought against Ganondorf since I was ten years old," Link said. "True, most of that time I was in a ritualistic coma, but that's neither here nor there." Link thought he heard Kessler chuckle, but chose to ignore it. "I don't know why we've found ourselves here. I don't know what the future holds. But I know what I was called to do. I was called to protect the people of Hyrule. Quintus—I mean, Lord Eir—is right: it's our harassment of Voltaire's supply lines and our guerilla attacks that have driven them to attack Gana Village like this. We need to stop them before they get there. If we move now, we can intercept them... and defeat them."

For a moment, no one spoke. Then General Qel cleared his throat, a weak attempt at politeness. "I see," he said, rubbing at his goatee as if he had expected just such a response. He looked to Gorn and Bereté, a wry grin on his face as he brushed stray locks of black hair from his face. "The triforce of courage burns hot in his veins," he joked, prompting Gorn to chuckle.

"Yes, it does," Link admitted, countering the laughter. "But that's got nothing to do with it."

"Oh no?" Qel asked, all attempts at politeness abruptly vanishing. "You, the man who singlehandedly—or so they say—stormed the keep of Ganondorf's Tower and cast the Great King into the Evil Realm? You, the boy from the forest who braved the fires of Death Mountain to slay the dragon Volvagia, who melted the ice caps of Zora's Domain, who entered the House of the Dead and mastered the riddles of the spirits within the Desert Colossus? You would try to convince us that the triforce of courage doesn't hold sway over your thoughts, doesn't compel you to actions others would never consider?"

"The triforce of courage came to me because I would do those things, not because I did them," Link replied. "And having the courage to do something dangerous doesn't make me deluded."

"Maybe not," Bereté conceded, his hand raised in a conciliatory gesture between the two of them. "General Qel might have spoken hasty words." He gestured to the others in the tent. "No one here doubts your strength or tenacity, Hero," he continued. "But can you give us good reason—true, good reason—to march now, heavily outnumbered, to Gana Village? Can you show us proof that we would not simply be overrun, slaughtered, leaving Gana in their hands regardless and leaving the rest of Hyrule once again open to conquest by the forces of evil?"

Link looked around at the others, his eyes taking in their expressions. Qel, Gorn, Bereté, Orik, and the other, lesser luminaries, all looked full of doubt. Even Quintus, Kessler, and Captain Marr seemed hesitant to offer support. Sensing his faltering conviction, Bereté made a soothing gesture with his hands and moved closer to Link. "No one doubts that Gana must be helped," he said gently. "We simply have our doubts as to whether or not a direct confrontation is the best way to help them."

Link looked to Zelda, eyes pleading for understanding. The mark of the TriForce burned hot on the back of his hand, and in his heart he knew this was the right thing to do. Zelda stepped to him, concern at both his plan and his conviction to that plan evident on her face. "Link," she said softly, "what is it? Do you know something we don't?" She stepped even closer. "If you do, please tell us."

Link searched for the words, but none came. Desperate, he reached out on impulse and took her right hand in his own. The feeling was like that of a lightning bolt striking the pair of them simultaneously. Link's touch triggered a reaction in Zelda, and a resonating pulse from her own triforce of wisdom seemed to surge into Link in return. Link's courage poured into Zelda, and in her heart she could see, suddenly and with vivid clarity, the certainty that Farore, goddess of courage, had placed in Link's own heart. He knew, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was the right course of action. As her own wisdom joined his courageous feelings, she realized that he was right, that the reason he had been blessed with the triforce of courage was because he wasn't a slave to it, but rather its warden, and that Farore—and Nayru, now—were speaking to them. They must save the people of Gana; they must take the burden of war onto their own shoulders one last time. But more than that, Zelda saw how this was their chance, their one chance, to end the threat of Ganondorf's shadow against Hyrule forever. This was a necessary risk; and, in fact, no risk at all. Soldiers would die on both sides, true, but the goddesses had guided them here, to this time and place, to do what must be done. There was no risk in doing the goddesses' will.

Zelda let out a shuddering breath as Link released her hand. He seemed more composed than her, but Zelda could tell the touch had affected him as well. "Sorry," he said in sheepish acknowledgment of the moment that they had just shared.

"It's alright," she said, and found that she meant it. "It did exactly what it was supposed to do, at any rate," she reminded him. "I felt it, too."

Link nodded, looking down, and Zelda thought she noticed his cheeks flushed. What was that about? Maybe the sensation had been stronger for him...

Zelda turned to the others in the tent, collecting herself. "Link is right," she said, and her tone brooked no room for argument. "We need to get to Gana Village before Voltaire's forces destroy it. This is our chance to end the threat to Hyrule forever. We're going to take that chance."

*****

Nighttime had fallen by the time Kluge allowed the troops to cease their double-time marching. Now they lay, over a thousand bedraggled and exhausted creatures of darkness, slumbering in the black of night. He now walked the grounds on which they rested virtually alone, kept company only by those who had been unfortunate enough to pull guard duty for the night. He stared out into the cloudless sky, gazing on the stars. Even a monster can appreciate the beauty of stars, he mused.

Behind him, a Lizalfos scout came running up out of the darkness, his legs a blur in the dark as he came to give his report.

"Sire," he hissed, his cocked eyes shifting left and right nervously. "Out rear scouts report interesting activity."

Kluge grimaced, the stars forgotten. "Is any of it good news, you worthless serpent?"

If the Lizalfos took offense, he didn't show it. "I would not know, lord," he freely admitted. "We've received word that our actions were monitored by Hylian scouts as we changed direction towards the village of Gana, sire. Surely the Princess and her whelp know where we are headed.

Kluge grimaced. He had expected as much. A thousand monsters lumbering in the fields of Hyrule were sure to draw attention. The only question was, how would they strike? They could not continue to harass them if they wanted to save the village. Their only option, therefore, was to move in for a direct attack and hope that Kluge would flinch. And flinch he very well might: though open warfare, as it had been in the old days, appealed to Kluge's bloodlust, he knew that the average soldier could prove himself worth up to double his number in creatures killed. The Hyrule Alliance numbered less than five hundred, but the odds were close enough to make Kluge hesitate. What to do, what to do…?

The Lizalfos cleared his throat, making a strange choking noise. "There is more, sire."

Kluge turned. "More?"

"Yes, my liege," he hissed. "Our scouts also report an unknown group of soldiers coming from the north, headed this way. They will be here in a day's time, two at most. If we remain where we are, and the Hylians decide to strike, we will be pinned on both sides."

"Unknown, you say?" Kluge asked, his brain working overtime. "Where exactly from the north are they from."

"Difficult to say," the Lizalfos answered. "But we believe them to be at least a six-day journey from their point of origins, possibly further."

"Six days," Kluge mused. "That would put them about where the Underground Citadel is…"

The Underground Citadel of Ellion, where Voltaire holds his base of operations…

Kluge smiled as a deep, grating laugh bubbled up from his stomach and bellowed out of him. His laugh woke up those sleeping nearest him, and certainly put the Lizalfos on edge. "M-my l-l-lord…?"

"Have no fear, bug," Kluge declared, still laughing. "Our Master Voltaire has not abandoned us, after all."

The Lizalfos seemed utterly confused. "He has not?"

"Oh, no," Kluge said. "In fact, he is returning to us right now, even as we speak, with reinforcements."

The Lizalfos' eyes widened in understanding. "The mysterious force…" he breathed.

"…could only be coming from the Underground Citadel," Kluge confirmed. "And the truly tragic thing is… the Hylians have no clue that they're coming."