A/N: I wrote this when I was in a much worse place, several months ago. Looking at it after this amount of time is sobering.

This is for anyone who has suffered or suffers with mental illness.

Brain Damages

by

Diane "Miss Leanne" Taylor

At the time, they only wanted what they thought was best for their country – their mission to rid their Hyrule of the evil that plagued it. Every day and night, they thought and dreamed of little more than the next step of their quest. Their pursuit of freedom for Hyrule slowly ate at them until they could no longer distinguish themselves from their single-minded desire. Soon after their victory was won, they found themselves on top of a mountain, but while the journey to the peak was difficult, the path downward seemed impossible.

They reaped some of the temporary, material rewards that come with being "heroes," but with their victory also came damages, things that could not be seen with the physical eye. Their path down the mountain began innocuously enough, but the burdens they carried up increased as they traveled down. Neither were aware of it. It wasn't long before they lost their footing and fell a long, long ways. They couldn't put the pieces of themselves back together before they stumbled and fell again, breaking apart in different places and worse than before. Rapidly spiraling out of control, they each had someone who wished to save them from their inner demons, but they were too late – there was little to be done.

He is safely sealed for seven years, completely missing most of his teenaged years. She travels to and fro across Hyrule, a restless warrior. She keeps an unspoken dream of her and him going back to simpler times. After he wakes, just before they meet together to cleanse Hyrule, she makes the decision to act on her dream. She does not ask what he wants before she does. She sends him back in time, effectively killing his seventeen-year old body and sending his soul back into his ten-year old body. Her intentions are good.

When she completes the rites, she consoles herself by imagining him playing in the fields of Hyrule, carefree, without the heavy weight of shield and sword. She means for him to never again see the blitzkrieg of war that he had when he came out of his seven-year sleep. The decision to seal him away, to allow him to grow while unconscious was unnatural and reprehensible. She thinks that his being a child again would allow him to not suffer through the sudden jolt of change. Change would take place just as it should – gradually, over time.

She imagines him happy, but the guilt threatens to kill her.

Soon after she sends him back, they meet again; she is delirious with joy. After all she put him through, he returns to her after all. Perhaps he has forgiven her of her sins against him. She is well aware that he had every right not to return – at least, not to her.

For a short while, their days are just as she dreamed they might be – filled with noisy playtimes, exploring the world outside the walls of her home and reenacting their adventures they once had as adult warriors. There is a tremendous peace over Hyrule thanks to their past deeds, so they take long walks without a retinue and even make impromptu camping trips. He loves to rifle through the grass for hidden treasures. She loves to find persimmons in trees and eat as many as she can.

In spite of his close presence, there is a cloud overhanging – there is something odd about his behavior. He blows dandelion seeds around the castle courtyard one moment and speaks of dark evil the next. At first, she doesn't consider too long the disparity in his demeanor. She is simply overjoyed that he came back.

Later, she notices that he's slowly drawn into himself. He has become quieter and not as willing to play with her. Often, he simply stands on the sidelines as she plays her lonely games under their favorite tree in the courtyard.

"I'm being torn," he answers when she asks one lazy afternoon what was wrong. "I feel as though I'm being pulled into two different directions and I can't decide which to follow, so I can only tear apart."

She asks, "Why?" but he can't give an answer. She won't know it until much later – he carries within himself the heart and mind of a seventeen-year old man, but he finds himself at a crossroads between his adult's heart and mind and his child's body. His heart and mind desire to do the great deeds he had once been able to do. His child's body is not capable. Search as much as he might, he cannot find a way to healing.

If he cannot find wholeness here…he'll have to go somewhere he can.

Where did that come from? She asks.

She suddenly feels terror – If he can't find answers here, will he actually leave?

He has a problem that she cannot see, something she cannot help. He has gone beyond to a place where she cannot follow. But she comforts herself with, He can't leave. He just can't. She knows perfectly well that there is no logic behind her mantra. But he's always had such a restless heart. What will happen if he leaves? Fear gnaws at her – she cannot stand being alone.

When he is eleven years old, he leaves her.

"I can't do it anymore, Zelda," he tells her. "I have to get away."

She tries not to cry in front of him – her worst fear is being realized. "Where will you go?" She asks.

"Anywhere but here," he replies.

He turns to leave but before he does, she catches his hand.

"I've wondered when this would happen," she says when he looks askance from her. "You've not been the same ever since we came back."

He doesn't reply.

"Please take this, Link," she says as she slips the Ocarina into his hand. "Maybe it will help you – no matter where you go."

He stares at it for a few moments.

This little Ocarina is the last thing he wanted to see.

Nevertheless, he takes it and turns his back on her without saying a word.

She allows the sobs to burst when he is out of earshot.

She learns that there is too much silence after his departure.

He learns to understand that his problems will not be alleviated by a change in scenery.

She has too much time to think on her actions and his reactions. Evil is no longer an issue in Hyrule; peace reigns, there is no need, there are no refugees hiding in caves in the mountains. Her job as Protector of Hyrule is nullified and his job as Hero of Time is obsolete. Hyrule doesn't need them anymore; the danger is past.

With little to occupy herself except her studies, she sinks lower and lower. She draws into herself, becomes silent when in the company of others, occasionally smiles but seldom laughs. Her guardian and nursemaid notices the change in her daily interactions and wants to help, but doesn't how. Her father, the King, also wants to help, but he knows her less than her guardian does – he is more helpless than she.

She can't seem to feel joy anymore. She could care less about the little things she once took delight in. She cannot seem to motivate herself to do what her brief, light duties require of her. Her temper becomes shorter. She prefers to stay in her room with the door closed than go out and explore her vast, peaceful world. She would rather be isolated than play by herself again.

She sinks further into the mire of despair. She becomes sharp and irritable for no apparent reason; headaches begin to appear. For days at a time, she curls up in the library and reads as many books as she can pour energy into. She stays up until late at night, reading, and she sleeps less. Books become her source of comfort, until she reads one in particular.

It is an older book. Upon reflection of its title, she wonders why it is even there:

Why do we feel we need the Goddesses or the Gods? It says. What do they do for us? They created Hyrule, set it into motion and left. In their stead, they left the Triforce, a supposedly sacred piece that none we know of have seen with their own eyes. Does the Triforce exist? Do the Goddesses and Gods exist? If none of these exist, who created the myth of the Deities and the Triforce?

Why worship and sacrifice for what might not be there? Why beseech aid from something that could be invisible?

She shuts the book and throws it back onto the shelf.

She tries to convince herself that there is no reason to believe this author's point of view – he or she is in the minority when compared to the rest of Hyrule. Surely no one else believes like this author? Regardless, doubts creep into her mind. The foundation of her faith is dealt a blow that creates a hairline crack.

He returns to her four months after he leaves. She enters her room early one evening and there he is, standing with the Ocarina in his hands.

She runs up to him, but does not embrace him, only stares. He meets her stare.

"You're back," she says, not knowing what else to say.

He nods and hands her the Ocarina.

"I think it missed you," he says. "I missed you more than it did, though."

He doesn't have to say anything else. She places her arms around him and holds him. He returns the embrace, his calloused child's hands wrap around her waist.

Briefly, the dark cloud over her mind rises.

For a moment, his heart is not confused. It has found its home.

Four years pass and they celebrate their fifteenth birthdays. He stays constantly in her company – her guardian quickly sees that his presence lifts her charge's mood, so arrangements are made for him to become a permanent resident of the royal household. Her guardian is only happy to see her more lively, so things became permissible which might not have been before. Often, she and he are left alone together. They seem to prefer haunting the library, the basements, the secluded gardens and his quarters.

But the chasm between his adult mind and his child's mind grows wider, not narrower. Added into the gradual tearing are teenaged hormones that are just beginning to awaken. It is not something he encountered during his induced slumber. He feels inadequate and unable to meet these changes and feels embarrassment as he tries to hide the growth. Let her see the child on the outside and the adult inside, he thinks. That's problem enough. But she does not yet completely understand what torments him. He can be an excellent liar when necessary.

His efforts succeed, but not in the way he plans. His hiding widens the gap between his adult's mind, his child's mind and now his teenaged body, which seems to have a mind of its own. As a result, he becomes short-tempered and lashes out at the person closest to him. In the process, he pricks his own heart many more times than he pricks hers, but certainly, he hates the vengeful streak he discovers within himself that screams for retribution against her, against what she did to him after all his sacrifices in her name. What hurts him is that he wants to hurt her at all – after all, he loves her.

At last, his mental disparity becomes clear to her. The realization that she caused such a rift glares into her mind's eye and elicits within her a sudden desire for death. He is the last person on earth she ever wanted to hurt, but she unintentionally punctures his heart more times than anyone else can. She loves him, she wants to help him and she tries, but many of her words causes him further pain in addition to that which he inflicts upon himself.

"I wanted to give you your childhood back," she says late one evening as they sit in the library, reading books such that if her father had seen this questionable material in their hands, he might have been angry – at best, uncomfortable. "I took seven years of your life away from you – what kind of person would I be if I didn't try to rectify my mistake?" She pleads.

"The path to becoming the Hero of Time was a mistake?" He asks, looking at her sharply.

"No," she says quickly. "That wasn't the mistake. I only wish…we…I…hadn't sealed you."

"You also lost seven years of your life in being that man," he reminds her. "I suppose you had to spread the misery."

Her breath hitches at his sharp tone and she blinks back the sudden tears. "Everyone lost those seven years," she said as she tries to reason with him – all she wants to hear is I forgive you from him. She wants to know that he knows she did her best given the time, the place, the situation. She doesn't know if such words will help either one of them. But can we see if it could? She wonders.

He doesn't say anything further. He is angry at himself – he wishes that he could carve out his tongue in punishment, but he can't deny the pain that his heart spews through his mouth. He longs to turn away and smash his head against something in frustration, but he doesn't find enough desire to actually do so. An uncomfortable silence reigns between them for the remainder of the evening and into the next day, though they do not part company at any time.

She slowly descends back to where she was before he returned. She is lethargic and cannot be obliged to do anything in addition to regaining her irritable temper. Her guardian tries to draw her out of her shell, but their conversation degenerates into an argument. In the heat of the moment, she dismisses her guardian, loyal to her since her birth.

The King protests: "She's been your closest friend for so many years," he says, but she is firm.

"I am not a child. I do not need a nursemaid any longer," she says. "We live in a time of peace. I do not need a guardian."

Her guardian leaves the household and returns to her village.

She watches her guardian's retreating back in shock. She cannot believe what she's just done to the woman who loves her like a daughter. She knew her dismissal was a mistake from the moment the words first passed her lips, but her newly accumulated pride prevents her from reneging on the words. She cannot begin to comprehend what entered her mind. Her final words to her guardian are too painful to remember, her mind turns white when they begin to echo. She feels her guardian's absence acutely and is humiliated at her dependence on other people for her stable temperment.

He hears her grief-stricken cries that night and quietly enters her room, curling up with her in her bed and holding her from behind. This isn't the first time they've lain in one another's beds, but the slow creation of another layer, more grown-up in nature, compromises this action of comfort, especially while in their secluded, prone position.

He says nothing – words are meaningless here. She turns over to face him and he kisses her – their first. She returns the kiss and they both are momentarily stunned at the mental rush they feel. His lanky teenaged body immediately craves more. His adult mind tries to halt any progress for fear of ruining his relationship to her. His childlike mind is perfectly indifferent.

His physical ministrations are an analgesic to her pained mind and she wants more. He kisses her again and she returns that kiss as well. She is distracted from the things that torture her mind and heart, even if such distractions are temporary and even ill-timed.

Despite the disapproval of adult mind, they progress. Their breath becomes bated; she begs for more, his teenaged body pushes for more. When he clumsily touches her clothed breast, she does not resist, however, she becomes frightened and guilty when he begins to explore inside her. She stops him and then stares down at the coverlets, utterly embarrassed at her hesitance and naïveté. He senses her guilt and takes the responsibility of the evening's actions upon himself.

"I'm sorry," she says lamely. "I…what would my father say?" He does not answer, but his adult mind is apoplectic and ruthlessly flagellates itself. They wrap themselves in individual blankets and turn their backs on one another.

Another year passes.

Their mental disturbances become steadily worse.

Their damages are apparent now to everyone who comes within their presences, but no one has the power to do or say anything in regards to their demeanors. He and she can no longer hide – indeed, they no longer have the energy.

He is disturbed at how quickly he becomes angry. The smallest annoyances jolt his minds into a boil. His capability to be so easily upset disgusts him. There are, unfortunately, many opportunities for his temper to burst through his carefully tended control. He is an integral part of her life and is respected as such throughout the household; however, he is still a relative newcomer. He is often told what to do by many of the upper courtiers in her father's court and their orders turn him irate.

He despises being told what to do. As a warrior in his previous teenaged years, he was in sole command of himself. Now he must obey or lose favor of the court and her father. He discovers that he would rather seethe in anger and bridle at orders than earn disapproval. He hates himself for it.

He realizes it is more the fear of general disapproval – he had the Triforce of Courage once upon a time, but it doesn't seem to inspire him concerning social situations. He wonders if it was there in the first place or if he falsely believed in that ancient relic.

He hates that he is not the powerful soldier he thinks he remembers being. Even more so, he cannot stand not being able to remember that past lifetime clearly. Each day that passes erodes a little more of his past. His memory is dying quicker than he can try to revive it. Sometimes, he looks back on the memories he thinks he's lost and despairs.

The war between his minds consumes him. The battle to become one person, to be unified with himself, takes much of his time – he often wishes he was not split in three.

Two more years pass. He has celebrated his seventeenth birthday; she will also celebrate hers soon.

The dark cloud over her mind surrounds and permeates her. She occasionally sees the positive sides of matters – more often than not, it is the negative sides. She sometimes speaks to her former guardian but does not ask her back into her service, even though she wants her company desperately. Relations with her father are strained. She disagrees with the way he rules the country but cannot imagine saying such a thing to him. She wonders when she was so weak that she could not address her father in his leadership of Hyrule. She had few hold-ups with such matters when she was younger – where did that bravery go?

Her relationship with Link has taken a new turn. He isn't closeted up with her at all hours of the day anymore – he trains daily with the soldiers and guards in the household. As he becomes more comfortable with them and with a sword and shield back in his hands, he spends less time with her. As a result, she sinks further into her cloud and she can see very little past it. At least he is useful, she thinks. There doesn't seem to be a need for me.

He told her once recently, "I'm flawed from the core of my being outward. I'm covered in cracks. I just have to know which ones to fix and which ones to leave – there are too many to repair all of them." She feels just as he said – she is cracking, falling apart. She doesn't know which ones to patch because they all seem urgent.

She falls back onto her books and pulls out that one:

If such Deities exist, why would they place the Triforce in the Sacred Realm – a place that anyone can access if they have the right keys? Why would they establish something whose balance could be easily disrupted by simply touching the Triforce? Would not this very concept point to either the absence of such Deities or their unintelligence?

What loving Deities must they be to set a world in motion, to create a delicate balance of good and evil that is easily disrupted and to never intervene once when evil becomes dominant? If they exist, why would they create such a world? Do they love or care for us?

It is time to free ourselves of these mythical beings and their mythical relics and their mythical tales. What good is faith that is of no substance?

She shuts the book – she doesn't think she can accept any more punches. Another crack in the foundation of her faith appears and extends into a wall.

The war in his mind between the child's mind, the adult's mind and now his adult body is fully engaged. His child's mind dies a little more each day while his adult's mind does its best to kill it. His daily obsession becomes fusing his adult mind and body together – as long as the child's mind is alive and stands between the two, it cannot happen.

He completes endless training routines with the sword, the bow and arrow and spear. He is better than any other warrior the royal household employs and has been for some time. He does not train because he wants to become better. He trains because he is powerless to do anything else. When he fights imaginary enemies with his body, the battles in his mind do not make him as weary. He dreads nights. He cannot keep his minds from fighting at night.

He will occasionally slip into her room and lie beside her after the whole household is asleep. He never knows exactly which night he'll do it – he has a feeling that he needs her and simply goes in to her. Though she sometimes pushes him away, he holds onto her. She's his only anchor in these stormy, endless oceans.

They do not make love. They're tempted much of the time, but they have found that if they do not kiss, their emotions are less likely to be aroused. They curl up in each others' arms and try to sleep. His adult's mind is torn between desire for her and desire to keep their relationship intact – surely adding a sexual aspect to their relationship would ruin it? His child's mind thinks of her as a sister and tries to treat her as such, but his adult body and his adult mind team up against his child's mind and stifle it. His adult persona wants to make her his.

She feels the conflict inside him but she cannot to help. She wants nothing more than to pull him out of his pain, but every time she tries to mentally approach him, another battle arises before her in her own mind that she must fight. She wonders if his inner war will ever end.

I think there's someone in my head, she thinks. But is that someone me or not?

Late at night, after the household is asleep, he enters her room. She needs him as much as she has before, but this time, she acts on that need. She brings her close to him and kisses him again for the first time in two years. Her act is enough for him and they make love for the first time. They do it not because their inner battles have ended – they do it in spite of themselves.

She feels guilt at what she has done with him though she also feels satisfaction and pleasure. She swears to herself that no one will ever discover their secret.

He is calm afterwards. The child mind inside him which once screamed its demands is silent for the first time in seven years. Perhaps he has killed it? He expected to feel a void after its death, but he does not feel anything of the sort. His heart pounds its delight and his adult mind revels in the off-kilter peace.

As they lie in the complete darkness, she suddenly asks, "What if the Goddesses never existed? What if the Triforce never existed?"

He forces himself to focus. "What do you mean?" He says.

She shakes her head. "All I can see sometimes is darkness. In that darkness, there is nothing more than cold silence, there is no will of my own, and someone or something else leads me by the hand down a path which I cannot see. I do not see that path ending. I do not know who is leading me. And I do not know why I am there."

She turns to him. "I do not have the feeling I had when I bore the Triforce," she says. "It's not there and I do not feel that the Goddesses are there any more. I can't see what they do. That's why I say, 'Did they ever exist?'"

He does not skip a beat. "Of course they exist – they may not be in Hyrule any more, but I can't help but sometimes think that they are watching over us. How would we have brought down evil without their help?"

She cannot answer the question. He said that They may not be in Hyrule after all. But it is true – they could not have defeated Ganondorf without some type of aid. But how could she prove that divine aid pushed them through to victory?

He embraces her closely and she rests her head on his chest. He feels unsure about his answer to her question and does not press the issue. She has so many questions, but she is too weary to wrestle with them. She understands that while he was once the Hero of Time, he is still just a man. He does not have the answer to life's questions and he never will. She hasn't the right to shove him onto such a pedestal.

They eventually fall asleep.

They risked their lives to bring Hyrule's freedom, but they learned a lesson in that freedom is not free, especially not when those who sacrifice themselves remain alive.

Their heartache and mental chasms and wars were their prices to pay. Many years down the road, they understood their recovery was long – perhaps too long – but their love for one another spurred them forward. Their hope for peace within themselves was not hoped for in vain.