Hey. Remember in chapter one when I said I was going to try and finish this story in under 60k words? Hah.

Chapter Twelve: Night Terrors

Pipit paused to pass a hand over his eyes as he rewetted a rag for a little girl abed with a fever. He'd suffered another poor night's rest and today he was feeling it. As much as he'd been hoping the nightmares would be a one-off thing, it seemed now that wasn't to be the case. His dreams the previous night had been every bit as horrible as the night before; full of strange and terrifying monsters that lurked and hunted in dark, damp places. They oozed and crawled and stalked and shrieked and Pipit had spent his second consecutive night of restlessness learning all the unique ways a man could be made to scream. It was a miracle, he thought, that he hadn't woken his houseguests with the number of times he startled awake with a cry stuck in his throat.

He quickly finished with the little girl and mixed some medicines to leave with her father before bidding the small family a polite goodbye and continuing on his way. He still had three more patients to see before noon and he hoped if he got them out of the way quickly enough he'd have time to rest a bit before lunch.

Stepping out of the house, he was surprised to find the morning had become dark. Swollen clouds obscured the sun and the temperature had dropped. A sparse scattering of tiny white flakes were buffeted by an icy wind as they drifted down from the heavens. It was the clear beginnings of what could easily become a bad storm. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and hurried on to the next house. He prayed that the storm passed quickly or it was going to be a long, cold night. That was the last thing he needed right now.

It appeared luck was not to be on Pipit's side. By the time he'd finished with his final patient of the day the clouds had opened up and the town was choked with white. There was already a blanket of snow on the ground several inches deep and the weather didn't look like it would be letting up anytime soon. As he passed through the market, he saw that shops were already beginning to close. Knowing it could be a while before they opened again, Pipit made sure to pick up a large sack of potatoes, a smaller sack of onions, and a bundle of carrots which he hurriedly ferried to his home.

Milda and Agitha were waiting when he returned. Milda helped him by taking the vegetables so that he could shuck his cloak and remove his boots. Agitha took his bag and delivered it to his room for him, all the while chattering about the exciting change in weather. Pipit thanked them and wearily made his way to the hearth to hang up his cloak. He started in surprise when he felt a hand in his hair and he looked behind him to find Milda shaking snow from his head with an amused smile. He chuckled and joined her in batting away the white powder.

"It's really coming down," she remarked, turning to the window. Pipit followed her gaze and saw that the storm was only continuing to worsen.

He nodded. "I was hoping to talk to Renado this afternoon but it's looking like that might have to wait," he agreed.

Milda's smile transformed into a soft frown. She watched the falling snow almost appraisingly and Pipit imagined she was considering how the inclement weather was affecting the progress of the messengers Renado had sent to Death Mountain and Zora's Domain. He knew both routes would become impassible until the storm cleared.

She shook her head and turned away to look at the fire instead. "We're going to need to be more conservative with our firewood," she noted, casting a glance at the pile beside the hearth. "Storms this time of year can last days."

Pipit nodded. He knew this well. He'd learned at an early age to always keep his wood supply well stocked. Living alone in the outskirts of his village meant that the adults of the town couldn't always get to him with extra supplies when the weather turned sour. Wearily, he passed a hand over his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. He really hoped the storm passed before nightfall. Milda and Agitha didn't need to be woken by his night terrors.

Milda noticed the gesture and her head tilted inquisitively, her brow furrowing. "Are you alright? You look somewhat unwell."

He shook his head and swallowed a yawn before it could manifest. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little tired. I was up late mixing potions," he lied. Returning to the kitchen, he picked up the bundle of carrots and tossed smile over his shoulder. "Help me with lunch?"

His houseguest laughed at his hopeful expression and stepped away from the fire to join him.

oO0Oo

The storm did not pass before evening. The falling snow continued to build over the course of the afternoon and by the time the sun began to sink below the horizon it reached nearly to the windowsill. Pipit had his work cut out for him keeping a pathway clear to the outhouse so that they wouldn't suffer any unfortunate accidents.

For Agitha, the novelty of the storm had quickly worn off and she turned her attention to designing an insect village at the kitchen table. Pipit kept an eye on her in between tasks as she drew little houses and shops with a stick of charcoal.

Milda spent the afternoon casting periodic worried glances out the window from the couch as she attempted to read a book about the role of the Gorons in the shifting geography of Death Mountain. Pipit attempted to join her at one point, picking out a book about possible evolutionary links between the Rito and Watarara tribes of the sky, but the more he tried to focus on the words printed in neat lines across the pages the harder it became for him to keep his eyes open. The text swam in his vision and he nearly nodded off before shaking himself back to awareness and setting the book aside in favor of shoveling more snow.

Dinner was simple. The three of them enjoyed a light meal of cheese and bread and dried meat. Pipit was glad for it as cleaning up afterward was a quick affair. When the last of the plates had been cleaned, he and Milda got to work pulling the mattresses off their beds and hauling them into the main room. As Pipit lined them up nicely and neatly he prayed that his exhaustion would keep the nightmares at bay. Surely, he told himself, there came a point when one became too tired to dream.

Some twenty minutes later, Milda was helping Agitha prepare for bed and Pipit was relaxing on the couch when his left hand found the smooth, cobalt clay of the Ocarina of Time sitting innocuously on the table just next to the armrest. He ran the tips of his fingers over it absently before making a decision and picking it up. He turned it over in his hands and thought about what Milda had said before about music having power. He recalled a bard who occasionally travelled through Kakariko saying something similar. The somewhat eccentrically clothed man claimed that there was a song for each aspect of the natural world and he could often be found in the tavern playing for anyone willing to shell out a few rupees to listen.

Pipit lifted the instrument to his lips. He let his fingers move over the notes Milda had taught him. He did not blow, but he could hear the tune in his head as his fingertips floated over the holes. It was a nostalgic melody. He felt like he'd heard it a million times. It was delicate and feminine and somehow it resonated with him.

His eyes fell shut and he let his hands and the instrument drop into his lap. He was so tired, he thought he might pass out right there on the couch. He long ears twitched as they picked up the sounds of Milda and Agitha chatting softly in the washroom. He was vaguely aware that Agitha was telling Milda about her insect town. Pipit smiled. That girl was an odd one. Come spring, perhaps he could procure some materials and help her build her town in the small space at the back of the house. She'd like that.

If they lived that long, he amended as his breathing slowed and his mind swam into unconsciousness.

It didn't take long for the dreams to start.

The first thing he thought as the scene materialized was that perhaps his tiredness had had an effect after all. He was in a dark place but his surroundings didn't seem malevolent. The blackness that cloaked the area was lifeless and quiet. He was aware of standing but his heartrate was slow. His mind was peaceful; untroubled. It was…nice. He let his eyes fall shut and he basked in the serenity. He thought he might be satisfied to stay in this place the whole night when all at once his ears picked up the sound of a bell chiming somewhere in the distance. The chimes were slow and deep and robust. He counted them.

Ding dong

One…

Ding dong

Two…

Ding dong

Three…

The sound grew louder.

Ding dong

Four…

Ding dong

Five...

"Hey!" a sharp, high pitched voice spoke next to him. He heard fingers snapping in his face and he opened his eyes. Before him was a small, devious looking imp with large, red eyes and hair the color of embers. She cocked her head up at him. "The world is ending, you know. Are you just going to stand there?"

Ding dong

Six…

Pipit blinked. The imp rolled her eyes and raised a dark-skinned finger to the sky. He followed the finger and recoiled in shock when his eyes found an enormous, terrifying moon hanging in the sky just meters above them. How he'd ever missed it was beyond him. It had a face like a demon that snarled down at them with hateful red eyes set into two large, black craters.

Ding dong

The tolling of the bell changed, it's quality becoming sinister.

Seven.

Ding dong

Eight.

"What are you, stupid?" the imp barked. "Don't let it see you!"

Pipit looked back at her in panicked confusion. The imp sighed again and pointed behind him. He spun around and saw that the floor was covered in masks. Hollow caricatures of Gorons and Zoras and various odd beasts stared up at him with empty eyes.

Ding dong

Nine.

He hurriedly picked one up and attempted to shove it onto his face but it knocked into something solid and wooden-sounding and fell to the ground with a clatter. He hurriedly picked it up and attempted to don it again but to the same effect. There was some kind of barrier around his face.

Ding dong

Ten.

"Oh, I see. You're already wearing a mask."

Ding dong

Eleven.

He swiveled back around to face the imp. She was hovering at eye level now and had somehow acquired an ornate, circular mirror. She held it up in front of him and the reflection Pipit saw caused him to lift his hands to his face in horror. His reflection did the same, coming into contact with the aged wood of a mask that chilled his blood. It was heart shaped with two horns protruding from the top and eight colorful spikes extending from the sides. Its large, yellow eyes seemed to stare back at him of their own accord. Something deep within him shouted that this mask was a cursed, evil thing. He attempted to rip it off his face but it had fastened hard to his skin. He tried again, his desperation to remove the thing such that his face might rip clean off along with it.

DING DONG

Twelve.

The moon roared. Its cruel eyes focused on him and it began to plummet toward them with intent. Pipit abandoned his effort to remove the mask and attempted instead to flee but he knew already that running was useless. The imp called after him, her voice full of annoyance. "Don't run, fool! Stand and fight! I didn't help you just to watch you muck everything up!"

But it was too late. The moon was already upon them. He could only watch in horror as it ripped the ground apart and tore into the very fabric of the universe. He couldn't even scream as he too was swallowed and his body became dust…

…A tree stood before him, large and imposing. It was so tall that he couldn't see to the top. He stood in a grove lit with fairy lights. He was whole once more.

Pipit exhaled. The sensation of his diaphragm contracting was a relief after the experience of being shredded into particles. He inhaled and exhaled a few more times before turning his neck to have a look at his surroundings.

Music reached his ears. A little girl sat on a stump playing a wooden ocarina. The tune was lighthearted. He knew it right away. It was the song Milda had played in the forest. The girl stopped playing and looked up at him. She smiled.

"Enough is enough, don't you think?" she spoke softly. Her voice was high and clear and sweet. "It's past time now. You need to let it go. You can't keep hanging on like this."

Pipit shook his head, confused. "Hanging on to what?" he asked dumbly. He hadn't the foggiest who this girl was or what she was talking about.

The girl stood from her stump and walked up to him. She was so small compared to him. He couldn't help but feel that their size difference was somehow incorrect. She beckoned with a hand and he knelt before her curiously. She raised her hand and held it to his chest, just below the junction of his collarbones. "This bitterness inside you." Her blue eyes gleamed like precious stones behind her forest fringe. "You've suffered. You've grieved. You've been denied and in turn you've denied. You're still denying, even now. It's time to stop punishing her." She pulled her hand from his chest and used it to brush his hair away from his face the way a mother might. "It's time to stop punishing yourself, too."

Pipit blinked. He didn't think he could be any more confused. He wasn't punishing anyone. He'd never had any desire to punish anyone. And as for himself…was he? Was that in fact what these dreams were? He'd certainly considered as much before. He'd logically tied his nightmares to his irrational guilt at not having saved the princess. But even if that was the case, to inflict these marathon nightmares on himself seemed an excessive punishment. If he were honest with himself, the dreams seemed more like some severe form of PTSD than mere nightmares, but that made no sense because Pipit had never experienced anything nearly traumatic enough to cause such a condition.

Unless, of course, his traitorous mind reminded him, he simply couldn't remember the trauma.

Try to imagine it, Milda's voice echoed in his ears. Imagine living and battling and dying over and over again; your only reward the few, brief moments of happiness you are able to steal for yourself along the way. Could you do it?

Pipit willed the that line of thinking to terminate. There was no point in dwelling on what-ifs because he wasn't Milda's hero. His body didn't bear the mark of the goddess' favor. The hero was someone else.

The girl's eyebrows furrowed sadly. She looked at him knowingly, as if she could read his thoughts. She pulled away and turned from him to face the tree. She raised a hand and pointed to an opening in the trunk that Pipit had somehow missed before. Or perhaps it had only just appeared. "Enter. Her grace awaits."

No less confused, Pipit did as instructed and left the small girl behind to approach the tree. There was nowhere else to go, after all. He hopped up the roots to the opening and ducked inside. He just hoped that whatever lay within was less grisly than the scene with the moon.

The room that appeared around him was colorful and spacious. Barring the back wall was a counter that looked like the kind found in a library. Behind the counter stood a youthful woman with hair that nearly matched the little forest girl's in color. She had large, green eyes and she wore a dress of viridian with a skirt that resembled flower petals. This must be the person the girl had referred to as "her grace".

"Hello," she greeted pleasantly, beckoning him forward with a wave. She leaned over the counter and her eyes sparkled as they met his. "Do you have a secret for me?"

"A secret?" he echoed, taken aback.

"Oh!" The young woman pulled back and rose up on her toes. "It's your first time. Of course. Welcome to the Hall of Secrets. I am Farore, Oracle of Secrets. I am able to unlock truths and unveil deception. And I am, of course, a peddler of secrets."

It must have shown on his face that he was about to repeat her words back to her in question form again because she held up a hand to silence him. "If you don't remember, then don't worry about it. A matter for another time." Continuing again before he could get a word in, she said, "You have sought me out because you desire guidance, but," she held up a finger dramatically, "I can see that you are not yet ready to receive it."

Pipit crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the small woman with a raised brow. He most certainly hadn't sought her out and he was not aware he required guidance, much less desired it. He hadn't an inkling who this woman was or why his mind had invented her.

Although, he allowed, she did share the name of the goddess of courage. Perhaps that was no coincidence. He'd heard of people who claimed to have been visited by the goddesses in their dreams. Hell, with all of the strangeness that surrounded him lately he could almost believe them.

He stepped forward and laid his palms on the counter. He looked her in the eye. "Your grace," he said, echoing the words of the little forest girl, "I am probably out of my mind for trying to talk to you as though you are anything but a figment of my own messed up brain, but my only desire is for these nightmares to stop. If you are some kind of broker of information, then please tell me how to be rid of them."

To Pipit's confusion, Farore's friendly smile fell away and her eyes tightened seriously. The green of them almost seemed to darken. "They won't stop," she said frankly. "The nightmare will never end. Not for you."

Pipit recoiled slightly, taken aback by her sudden shift in demeanor.

"Neither you nor I can undo what has been done," she said, now with a touch of sorrow. "I can help you, but you," she poked her finger into his chest, "are," another prod, "not," she leaned forward onto her toes to press her finger softly to his lips, "ready."

She fell back onto her heels and pulled her hand away to set it on the counter beside his. "There's an ugliness inside you, Pipit. It is a darkness that has been growing for many centuries and only a heart of courage can chase it away. Cast away your doubts and false convictions. Come and see me again once you are prepared to accept the burden of my virtue."

She picked up her hand a placed her index finger on the back of his left hand. A hot, itchy feeling erupted at once from the point where her skin touched his and he abruptly pulled his hand back.

Farore smiled benignly. "You'll know where to find me," she said with a tone of finality, then the room peeled apart into ribbons and finally fell away into nothingness.

Pipit awoke with a start.

The living room was dark; lit only by the fire flickering in the hearth. All of the lanterns had been extinguished. He was still on the couch in the same position he'd been in when he'd dozed off, though a blanket had been tucked around him. A glance at the floor found Milda and Agitha soundly snoozing on their mattresses.

He rubbed his eyes and sat forward, allowing the blanket to crumple into his lap. His head was stuffy and his eyes itched. He felt like he hadn't slept a wink. He made to stand and the ocarina of time fell out of his hand. Luckily it was spared a collision with the hard floor by the blanket. He scooped it up and set it gently on the end table.

Making his way deftly around his slumbering houseguests, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of water. A glance out the window told him that it was the middle of the night. He sighed and pushed his hair back wearily. His hand still itched where the woman from his dreams had touched it and he scratched at it with the rim of his cup.

Come and see me again once you are prepared to accept the burden of my virtue.

He was no fool. He knew what the jade eyed woman was trying to tell him. It seemed that despite his best efforts his subconscious couldn't let go of the idea Milda had planted in him with her story.

He set his cup on the counter and silently made his way back to the living room. As he passed Milda's mattress he paused. Her head was turned away from the firelight and she was breathing deeply and evenly. He exhaled again quietly and knelt down beside her. Softly, he ran the backs of his fingers over her hair just behind her right temple. "What are you going to do if it's me, Milda?" he asked her in a voice so low that it was almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

Milda didn't answer. She slumbered on, completely unaware of his words or his presence at her side.

Pipit smiled tiredly and stood with a low groan. He would try to sleep again. Perhaps his dreams would give him a break for the few remaining hours until dawn.

oO0Oo

Pipit awoke again some hours later to an armful of Agitha. The small girl had migrated to his side in the night and neatly tucked herself against his front. He blinked blearily up at the window and saw that the black of night had been diluted to the deep, dark blue of pre-dawn. Astonishingly, his prayers had been answered and he'd suffered no more nightmares that night. Although, considering how early it still was, he couldn't have slept more than two or three hours.

Another dragging day, then, he thought with an inward groan as he delicately wriggled free of his small charge and stood. The fire had died in the night and Pipit shivered as the cold seeped through his clothes. He made to drop a new log into the hearth but a sudden bout of vertigo caused him to stumble. Definitely need more sleep, he observed as he steadied himself on the wall.

Preparing for the day was a slow process. Pipit's muscles were achy with fatigue and several times he temporarily forgot what he was supposed to be doing and wound up sitting on the nearest flat surface in confusion until his brain kicked back into gear.

The storm appeared to have passed in the night and by the time the sun rose over the horizon the sky was mostly clear and only a small scattering of tiny flakes still fell. Pipit knew, though, that they'd likely just experienced a first wave and more storms would probably follow in its wake. The snow outside the window was piled high enough that he doubted any shops would open today. Unfortunately for him, weather like this often came with a steep spike in injuries and though he wouldn't be making any of his usual patient visits today he would need to be prepared to run out at a moment's notice to tend to any snow-related accidents.

The question at present was how he was going to remain alert with nothing of pressing concern to occupy him. The house was tidy and all the dishes were clean and put away. He couldn't take care of any outside maintenance with snow up to his thighs. His eyes drifted around the room and as if summoned they landed on the hero's sword.

He frowned. It seemed that either fate or his subconscious was very keen indeed to dress him up like the hero.

Careful not to wake the girls, he circumnavigated the mattresses to the hearth and quietly plucked the sword from its place against the wall. The hilt was cool and smooth in his palm. He hefted the blade over his shoulder and picked his way back around to the kitchen. There, he donned his cloak and boots and a thick winter scarf before stepping lightly across the floor to the front door and silently slipping out.

The snow was deep even with his shoveling the day before and his boots left powdery trenches as he trudged around to the side of the house. Living on the outskirts of town meant that he didn't have any neighbors to snoop on his actions and he was grateful for that as he kicked snow around to clear some ground for training.

When he was satisfied that he would be able to move about without tripping, he walked to the center of his manmade clearing and drew the sword off his shoulder. It felt like ages since he'd last wielded a sword. He'd had one when he left his village but he'd ended up selling it after he chose to abandon his quest to become a knight. It had been a fine sword, well-crafted and well-suited to him, but he'd needed rupees for potion ingredients and lodgings during his travels.

The hero's sword was longer and much heavier than his had been. It had clearly been designed for a larger, stronger man—the hero from the first Age of Sages, Milda had said. A man who had commanded Hyrule's military. This blade should by all rights be on display in the Royal Hall of History as an important relic of the past, and yet here it was in Pipit's hands, about to be used as a practice sword. A part of him wondered if it was really okay for him to be wielding it.

"Whaddya say, Link? Mind if I use your sword?" he muttered under his breath as he spread his legs and leveled the point at an invisible foe.

The first thrust was shaky as the weapon's weight and Pipit's own fatigue collaborated to drag the point toward the ground. He gritted his teeth and willed his muscles to hold the blade steady as he moved into a slashing position. His next few strikes were smoother as he grew accustomed to the weight and balance of the sword. He alternated between slicing and thrusting, twirling the blade deftly and fluidly as he transitioned between movements. When he was satisfied with the sword's handling, he switched his focus to his footwork, practicing lunging and feinting and falling back.

His muscles burned with the strain of wielding a weapon so ill-suited to his frame, but it was a good, familiar burn. It brought back memories of training out in front of his house as the children of his village ran about unsupervised. He recalled with fondness how they'd try to distract him by throwing sticks at his legs and then squeal with delight whenever he'd slice one out of the air. His sword master had been so proud of him…always comparing the other boys to him and scolding them for not being as diligent in their own training. He'd been the most supportive when Pipit had announced his intention to go to the castle. "You're going to be great someday," the old man had told him the night before he left. "I can feel it. You've the hand of the goddesses on you."

Pipit lunged one final time and froze, holding the blade perfectly parallel to the ground. His breathing was labored and his muscles screamed and his brow was coated in a sheen of sweat but he didn't allow the sword to tremble. He held it there for a long moment, counting backwards from five in his head before he finally allowed the point to drop into the snow.

"Hand of the goddesses. Hah," he breathed, hefting the sword back onto his shoulder. "What do you think, Princess?" He directed the question West to where Hyrule Castle lay past the river and across a long expanse of plains. "Real splendid job your hero's doing, eh?"

His only answer was muffled fwoosh followed by a thunk as nearby a tree branch gave way and a large pile of snow tumbled to the ground. Pipit watched the spot where it fell apathetically. The chilly air stung his skin where his sweat had cooled and he finally tore his eyes away and started for the door. Milda and Agitha would be waking soon. He needed to start on breakfast.

He didn't see the tall, slender shadow watching silently from the shade of his hut's stone chimney. Nor did he hear when they turned away and, just as silently, leapt from the roof and disappeared.

oO0Oo

Sorry for the wait! (Again.) My work has been busy, busy, busy (as usual) and I may have kind of (just a little) put this off to work on another Breath of the Wild oneshot that I may or may not finish depending on whether or not my dumb muse can try this new thing called not being dumb. Eh.

Anyway, to apologize for the delay, I've included some omakes from this chapter. Enjoy!

OMAKE 1 — Pipit Iglesias

He set his cup on the counter and silently made his way back to the living room. As he passed Milda's mattress he paused. Her head was turned away from the firelight and she was breathing deeply and evenly. He exhaled again quietly and knelt down beside her. Softly, he ran the backs of his fingers over her hair just behind her right temple. "I can be your hero, baby."

OMAKE 2 — An Actual Nightmare

For once, Pipit was having a good dream. His favorite dream, in fact. He was alone in a room full of pots—blue pots, brown pots, white pots, gray pots, big pots, small pots…there was every kind of pot imaginable. His fingers twitched in anticipation.

He grabbed the nearest pot, a small blue one with a lovely round belly, and held it high above his head as if exalting it to the gods. Letting out a giddy giggle, he turned to face the wall and slung his arms forward. His eyes fell shut and he smiled as he delighted in the satisfying crash of shattering porcelain. One down, about a hundred more to—

"Phew! Out at last!"

Pipit started at the unexpected voice and paused in leaning down to lift the next pot to look back at the spot where the first pot had shattered.

"Gracious… Once I got in there, I couldn't squeeze back out! You were a big help… Thanks! I've been looking for something in here, you see. Gracious, yes! You must need something here, too. Shall we try working together for a while, fellow adventurer?"

Pipit's eyes grew wide. His mouth gaped open as the muscles in his jaw seemingly forgot how to work. He stared down at the owner of the voice in abject horror.

"What…is…thaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAT!"

OMAKE FINISH

Aaaaaaanyhoo, thank you so much for your awesome comments on the last chapter. I know some of you are itching for some action and I promise it's coming. Just hang tight a little longer, my dudes. I wanna try and get this story wrapped up sometime in the next century so I'm going to be doing my best to move this beast along.

Seriously, thank you so much for your support. I love you guys.

See you in the next chapter!