Yearning

If anything had ever been apparent about the two of them, it was that they were polar opposites. She was a beautiful, wild sort of woman from the backlands, trained in combat as though she were a son. And he was a scholar. He was entirely not what she wanted, or needed; a reality that refused to reconcile itself with his heart. But he wanted what was best for her, and he had nothing to offer.

He had known Auru first and foremost as Princess Zelda's tutor, who had known his father. It was Auru that introduced him to Telma and Rusl, and a short while later they were to be joined by the respected offspring of a knight from the mountainous region. He bit his tongue when he learned it was a daughter. Could a young woman really be expected to traverse the hazardous cliffs of the mountains and the equally unsafe roads of Hyrule Field alone? When he finally made her acquaintance the answer was apparent. She lacked the kind of education he thought of as proper and kept it no secret that she found him longwinded, but he was taken. Everything about her impressed him and defied what he was told a woman should be. It was not long before he loved her. His heart badgered and prodded him when she sat near him, or when he knew she was travelling back to Snowpeak alone, or when there was no reason at all to think of her and he was trying to sleep. Her elusiveness was haunting.

Telma had told them about a brave swordsman to whom she had written and who would undoubtedly visit them soon. Jealousy welled unexpectedly in him when he heard her say that she had thought "Hyrule was empty of men of Valor." Could this swordsman have been the one who had everything he didn't, who could offer her everything she needed? Would the swordsman love her, cherish her, the way he would have, the way she deserved? But he watched them, and pried through the others when he felt he could do so unobtrusively, and there seemed to be nothing between them. It was Telma who asked her bluntly and he abandoned all gentlemanly morals to eavesdrop.

"I hardly have time for a man," she'd grunted dismissively over a mug of ale, "or need one, yeah?"

"You won't find one that handsome or capable in any province nearby, honey," Telma scoffed. "You should take the opportunity while you have it. You'll have time for him later!"

He felt color rise to his ears and buried his face in his father's book to hide it. But she didn't seem to heed Telma's advice, and, despite all he had convinced himself he would give up for her happiness, he was glad for it. It was selfish of him, he knew, to try to hold onto her when she would never need him, but he was too far-gone to help himself. At the very least, it was easier to be civil to Link when he didn't feel resentful of him.

One day, during a spring rain, Link laid siege to Hyrule Castle and then it was over. The Resistance separated. She gracefully exited his life like the briefest of winters, leaving no evidence she had ever been there but the memory of her. A kind of torture he had no name for set in, lingering like a fire that could not be doused. Nights and days and weeks blurred like a fan of turning pages; he would write Link sometimes, who spent his time traveling between Ordona and the castle where he had taken up a kind of fleeting residence, asking about the Oocca. He filled in the blanks of his father's work based on Link's accommodating replies, piecing together answers and questions that formed the greater picture for which his father had searched so long. Somewhere during the flurry of nights, days, and weeks, he received a reply from Link that simply said, "I've told you all there is to know." Unexpectedly, his heart cried out within him. He hadn't considered what he would do with himself when he had completed his father's research. Now that it had come to an end, he felt lost. He thought of her again – not that he'd ever truly stopped, but now he was dwelling on her in a daze.

His feet moved without his urging one day through the town streets, the first, frothy flakes of winter darkening his hair and clinging to his coat. Women wrapped in heavy shawls bartered in the alleys with butchers and woodsmen selling fresh timber, creating a hum that the cold and the snow dulled. The chill in the air made everyone's brows pucker unconsciously; the white mist that accompanied the snow hugged the town possessively, becoming a cloud through which everyone moved. The world was gray and white and unyielding, a slow-moving and silent stone that he carried in his mind while he secretly lived in the memory of her. An amber glow drew him until he stood in a familiar bar. There were a few patrons who kept to themselves, huddled around tables, unwilling to shed their coats for fear the door would open and let in a gust of cold, but otherwise the tavern was peaceful. He approached the bar absently and found the keeper's eyes; he wore the same pucker between his brows that everyone else was. It was winter, after all.

Her voice was uncharacteristically soft when she greeted him, her smile small. "I didn't expect to see you around here again, not without the others. Can I offer you an ale?"

He grimaced a little, tried to smile through it. "I don't really like ale."

"I know." She put down the mug she was drying and moved around the counter, inviting him to sit at a table with her. It was the same table he used to sit around with the other members of the Resistance; Telma took his usual seat, and he made sure to leave hers open, as though she might arrive. "What brings you this far into town?"

"I'm not really sure," he confessed, resting his mouth on his palm. "I was just trying to clear my head." It occurred to him that they rarely spoke, and never alone, and he found the silence uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and ventured as civilly as he could, "How is Renado?"

"The Shaman needs a more delicate woman than I'll ever be," she smiled kindly, lacing the word 'delicate' with a mild distaste. "How is Ashei?"

"Ashei?" He echoed. He realized he hadn't said her name since she left. It made his throat dry and he tried to swallow the discomfort. "We haven't been in touch."

Telma's mouth twisted and her eyes narrowed, confused. "Aren't you in love with her?"

He wasn't exactly sure how to answer that and kneaded the thumb and finger of his left hand. His kneejerk reaction was to deny it, but why? It seemed a childish thing to do, especially since he thought he'd never heard a statement so true in his life. His eyes widened a little behind his glasses before he looked down. His mouth twitched as something unintelligible tried to make its way out but failed to make it past his parched throat.

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically, "It hadn't occurred to me that you were trying to keep it a secret. But I'm not blind, honey. I saw the way you stared after her the day she left for the mountains. I've never seen a man so crestfallen as you were that day."

"I must've looked pathetic," he mumbled, more to himself than to her. He clenched one fist, staring at the door shielding the tavern from the harsh winds outside and envisioning her walking out of it without looking back. "I'm such a coward."

"She isn't going anywhere," Telma said very quietly, playing with a pleat in her skirt. "The mountains aren't very far. Auru is going up in early spring to see Ashei's father. They're old friends, those two. He doesn't come down from the mountains much, what, with his injury. You could go along."

His heart leapt a moment at the suggestion. She made it sound noble in theory. He pursed his lips, trying to stop himself from injudiciously believing her proposal could work out by some divine miracle. "I'd have no excuse."

"Then tell her the truth."

"And what in Hyrule would motivate her to consider me?" His voice wasn't raised – his voice was almost never raised – but Telma could hear the disgust in his voice. "I have nothing she wants; I can't give her anything she needs. I read books and chase my dead father's dreams; I wouldn't know how to escort her home to see her father when she would miss him; I live above the city library and teach in the college when I'm bored; I have no trade, even. I live alone because that's what I'm good at doing. I've no valor at all, the only thing her father has taught her to value, and she'd think me pitiful for riding all that way only to hear her laugh at me."

Telma let him go on, let it all out of his system, before she replied in that uncharacteristic, mild voice of hers. "Shouldn't you let Ashei decide whether or not you have anything she wants? Do you really think she needs a big, strong man to guide her up the mountainside? And do you think she would fail to see the bravery necessary to take a ride that arduous towards an uncertain end?"

"Stop filling my head with ideas, Telma," he begged softly.

But she had already set wheels turning, set his heart pounding with prospects he hadn't let himself consider in a long time. She complied, sitting in silence with him. No one approached the bar for the rest of the evening, so she never got up. Slowly the tavern emptied, the thrumming murmur of her guests giving way to the hollow wind outside the bar. He stared through the table, aware that Telma was near him but not caring as he should. He played with her idea, like a cat playing with yarn, until he was the yarn, and the idea had become the cruel, agile cat. The candles were burning low when she finally stood.

"Go home," she urged him, smothering the sconces that littered the walls. "You have all winter to think about it. Auru will stop here before he leaves so you don't have to worry about missing him. Teach at your college, honey; read your books, think about it. Think about how much warmer winter would be if she were sleeping beside you at night."

He flushed at the suggestion as he stood, but said nothing. He couldn't deny that he had entertained the idea of her figure formed to his, asleep in his arms, sharing his bed. He strode to the door, tangled in his thoughts again, and then paused as he opened it to turn to his host. "Thank you for sitting with me tonight, Telma."

She only smiled and nodded. Louise, who had been hiding in the loft, jumped onto Telma's shoulder as he closed the door, staring after where he had been with wisdom that belied a cat.

He did think about it. He thought about it all night, and all the next day, and through every moment of winter. He imagined the ride through the damp, unsteady earth, the unrelenting spring rains, and the harsh mountain air that stayed frigid into the late days of the season. He imagined the look on her face when he rode in behind Auru, exhausted and worried, and the uncomfortable grin she would crack while she decided whether or not to laugh at him. He dreamt of her in the nights, sometimes of her reactions to his confession, sometimes of her face pressed into his chest to keep her nose warm on a particularly freezing night, sometimes of her sitting up on the mountain alone, waiting for someone whose face he was afraid to glimpse for fear it was not his. He would sit in the library with a book in his lap on the days when the snow kept him indoors, not reading any of the words that stared up at him. He was too distracted to teach willingly and the college didn't call for him. The wait for spring was long, but he feared its coming despite its lethargy. He thought of writing her instead so he wouldn't have to endure the look on her face when she grasped his intentions, but every letter he began ended up as ashes in his fireplace. No words scribbled on parchment could convey what he wanted to say; words out of his mouth would only be a little less awful.

He folded his glasses, set them on the nightstand, and stripped for bed one night; he tried falling asleep using only half the room he usually did, resting on his shoulder and imagining her in the empty space beside him. He stared into her eyes, followed the wave of her loosed hair over her moon-pale shoulder and then back up her throat to her lips. Could she ever feel anything but pity for him? Was there anything behind his clumsy exterior that she could possibly ever want? What could he offer her that would move her to give him something as exquisite as a chance to touch her pale lips with his own? It was hardly a gentlemanly thought to be entertaining, but he could think of little else that would make him feel so blessed as that would. He blinked her away and pressed his face into his pillow.

What if, beyond all sanity and reason, there was something he had, something she wanted? How would he ever find rest knowing he had never tried? Knowing that, by some miracle, she may have thought of him as more than a useless scholar, but he never even asked? He tried not to hope, he tried desperately not to hope, but it was a tiresome endeavor. He decided that he could not leave unanswered a riddle as powerful and mysterious as that. If she laughed at him, he would be ashamed, and if she felt pity for him, he would feel stupid; if he failed to ask, he didn't know what he would feel, but he feared that emotion. He had spent his life answering his father's questions, and it was time he sought the answer to one of his own.

Gradually the snow melted, leaving muddy puddles everywhere people wanted to move and a little less wetness on the routes they took instead. He found himself stomping through the murk and splashing around with the rest of them, heading for a bar he almost never visited and still trying to explain to himself why. Louise was on the floor, smiling up at him, when he opened the door. She meowed once in greeting and Telma turned.

Telma eyed him and his lack of equipment curiously. "You pack light."

He approached the bar and rested his chin on his hand, looking defeated. "What makes you think I'm even going?"

"I don't; I guess it was just wishful thinking."

He frowned unintentionally. "What makes you think I'm not?"

"Are you?" She didn't mask the excitement in her voice well, if she had even meant to, leaning forward expectantly and cracking an eager smile.

"Maybe. I don't know. Yes. I want to see her."

"There's nothing more alluring to a woman than a man who's in love with her," Telma confided with confidence. She was brimming with smugness. "She'll never be able to resist. I haven't seen anyone pine after a girl like you do."

"Jovani," he recalled to her bluntly, still looking conquered.

"He didn't have your endearing qualities, honey," she explained. She went on, "Auru wrote. He's expecting to get here in three days, and then he'll wait a day or two for good traveling weather. I already told him you're coming, so it would be best if you didn't change your mind before then."

"Telma," he sighed exasperatedly, but didn't reprove her further.

And four days later he was on a packhorse, listening to the dull, repetative suuuck, plop, of eight large hooves trudging through a long winter's mud. Auru hadn't said much about the trip or even mentioned Shad's reason for accompanying him during his stay at the bar, and only made small talk and reminisced for the first leg of the journey. It was nice, he thought, to spend time with someone who enjoyed reading as much as he did for a while. They snaked a route along the border of the Eldin and Lanayru provinces, moving towards the mountain range that stood imperturbably between Snowpeak and Death Mountain.

Evening crept up on the riders slowly and finally, when the ground became sturdier underfoot, Auru, turning in his saddle, said, "We'll stop here. The footing will be too uncertain up ahead in the dark." His dismounted with a bit of a groan and began untacking his gelding. He smiled over his shoulder. "I am not as young as I used to be, it seems. I am tired of being old."

"I would hardly call you old, Auru," he tried to hedge.

"Nonsense, Master Scholar," he said good-naturedly, setting the saddle and bridle on a rock and tying his horse to a tree by halter and lead rope. When he had finished he eased himself on what dry ground he could find and sparked a fire. He reclined on a boulder and rested his eyes; Auru said, very quietly and very suddenly, so that he didn't know how to respond, "I think Ashei will be happy to see you again."

He turned over next to Auru's fire, his brows reclaiming their winter pucker, and eventually dreamt of her.