In Memoriam

Part 1

Part 2

****

****

He wakes and he is cold, lying in wet mud and aching. He blinks, gaze vacant as it sweeps over the world in front of him - he is still in the field, rain drenched grasses only now just beginning to perk back up, and he struggles to rise, limbs protesting. His clothes are singed, the tattered edges of his sleeves blackened. They crumble away when he lifts a hand to touch them.

He was struck by lightning.

Or, rather, if the lack of serious wounds is anything to go by, the ground was struck by lightning, and he just happened to be within its vicinity when it happened. He’s able to lift himself so that he’s bent over on his knees and hacks, coughing up what little food had been in his stomach.

Link, he thinks to himself as he wipes bile from his mouth. Get a grip.

He shakes his head, trying to chase away any of the remaining nausea that’s building and staggers to his feet. He is alone and shaking and he turns around, searching, but there is no trace of his steed.

“Epona!” He calls out, hoping, but only the deafening silence of after-storm greets him. He tries again. “Epona?”

Nothing.

Link swallows, and brings his fingers to his lips, three sharp notes ringing out over the field. He waits, tension rising in his body, but there is nothing. He stands there, heaving breath after breath, eyes darting across the fields.

“No… no no no,” he mutters and spins around, whistling again. Somewhere nearby, hidden in the grass, a bird chirps, but it’s not the response he’s looking for. “Please,” he whispers, desperation threatening to choke his words. “Please please please…”

“Epona!” he cries again and whistles, the notes sharp in his ears. She’s never not come before. Never left him stranded without help.

He yells in frustration, his voice cracking.

“Epona! Epona, please!”

He stands there, the silence suffocating. He is gasping, breath coming in sharp spurts and his hands are shaking so bad he can barely lift them to whistle again.

Epona does not come.

He sinks to his knees.

There is an emptiness he has tried to stave off filling his chest, expanding and pushing everything else out and up, into his throat. He brings his hands to his mouth, bending over so that his forehead rests on the ground in front of him, and tries to hold it back. He bites his cheek, but it is like a flooded river, swelling up and over the levies that line it’s edges and protect the careful facade he has crafted for himself. It pushes against his walls, spilling over in the form of tears that prick at his eyes and soft, muffled noises that escape past his lips and shaking fingers. He grits his teeth, but water is a force of nature that he knows can never truly be tamed.

So he shudders, and gives in.

There are no words - whatever sound he makes is rooted in emotion alone; not language. He lets go and the scream and the blood that fill his mouth, his throat tearing with the intensity that bursts forth, are animalistic and feral. He pounds the ground his fist, voice raw as he screams and rages and sobs over his loss, eyes clenched shut. He claws at the dirt and mud beneath him.

He feels like he is small again, young; young like he was before the death of the Deku Tree, before fate decided to rear her ugly head. Young and scared of what lay beyond the borders of the forest and filled with the frustration of a young child who was different. He is alone; no fairy to guide him, a mark of his own disparity. No companion to stand beside him through the all his hardships, to provide warmth in the cold nights.

He wails, the sound echoing out over the surrounding plains and scaring birds into flight; they rise like the black cloud that hangs heavy over his head and he curses them, screeching profanities at their retreating forms. He has words again, and they spill from him at an alarming rate; never before has he said so much, had so much to say.

“Hylia!” The name flies like spittle from his mouth. “Damn you! You fucking scourge upon me, demon goddess that you are!” He drives his fist into the ground again, cursing her with every punch. “What else will you take?! There is nothing!” He kicks his feet and feels like a child, but there is nothing left so he does’t care. “There is nothing else! I have nothing else!” He sobs, hands coming to clutch and rip at his own hair. “Nothing!”

The last word takes whatever energy he has left with it and then he is left in a puddle of his own despair, cold again. He shudders and collapses forward completely, empty in the wake of his outburst. Maybe he will feel shame later, if later every arrives, but for now the numbness that creeps into his limbs and mind is welcomed. He is still crying, but it is only the remnants of the fading storm, and a fog moves in and sweeps away any remaining emotion. He breathes in through his nose, staring unseeing.

He does not sleep, but by the time the sun starts to set once more on the horizon, disappearing behind distant mountains, he has not moved except to turn his head and bury his face in the dirt.

***

***

When she wakes that morning, warm and tucked snuggly into the thick quilt adorning her bed, she hums and thinks that maybe something new will happen today. The sun has not yet risen and her only greeting is the sound of blue birds. She peeks her head out from under the covers and, in the dim light of dawn, she can see them through her window, singing as they toil away at their nest. She smiles and tries to bury back into the comfort of her bed. Maybe, if she pretends to be asleep, so will the rest of the ranch.

The crow of a cucco puts that thought to rest rather quickly and Malon sighs and rips the covers away. The chill in the air is jolting and she hops from bed and makes her way quickly across the room, the thin material of her nightgown offering little protection from the cold. She slips it off as she walks and stands bare in front her dresser, eyes closed. Her skin prickles, goosebumps rising on its surface, and she counts the seconds as they pass, shifting from one foot to another.

She makes it to 27 before the cold becomes too much and she rushes to dress.

She’s trying to tie her belt, her skirt catching it’s buckle to her frustration, when she hears her father finally stir down the hall. She listens quietly to him pad across the old floorboards and into the kitchen, humming a soft tune. Something clangs and she smiles as she hears him mutter over his morning tea. There’s another clang and a curse and she forgoes the belt for a sash instead, before exiting her room to help her father.

Their breakfast is simple; Malon makes eggs in their old skillet, and then fries griddle cakes in the remaining oil, singing to herself as she does. Her father sits as their little table, nursing his cup of tea and watching her fondly. When she serves him his breakfast he smiles and remarks of her mother. Malon tries to smile, but the faded memories of a woman with red hair do little to stir up any true emotion, so she simply chides her father in not helping, which he jokingly apologizes to, and then calls out the window to Ingo.

The farmhand appears quietly from the barn and she watches him trudge to the farmhouse. He arrives in the kitchen and nods to her, a gruff thanks muttered under his breath when she gives him a plate, and the three of them sit in the still silence of the early morning. When the first light of the sun filters in through the kitchen window, Malon rises, taking their plates and placing them by the washing basin. Her father will do them later; for now she simply kisses his head as he and Ingo talk about the coming harvest, and then slips out the door to begin her chores.

The morning is rather uneventful; she goes about her day as usual, collecting the eggs from the cuccos, milking the cows, feeding the goats. She brings the horses from the stable, opening the gate and watching with fond exasperation as they romp about in the fields. The weather has grown colder in the past months, but the sun still warms the land enough that Malon can spend her free time here in the pasture with the horses. This year’s only foal, born early but alive despite the odds, makes her way over to where Malon sits on the fence. She’s nearly eight months now, weaned and proud, and Malon can’t help but laugh as she watches the little horse prance about.

She reminds Malon of a another foal, long gone by now, off traveling the world if boy’s words were to be believed. She sighs and jumps down from the fence; it had been so long ago, she thinks. Sometimes, in the quiet of twilight, or the stillness of dawn, she wonders if it had been a dream.

But Epona had been real; real enough that Malon had been punished harshly for giving her away so easily and for nothing more than a simple song.

Malon chuckles at the thought as she starts back towards the ranch house; the cuccos will need to be fed again. She makes it about halfway when she hears Ingo calling, loping towards her and waving his arms.

“Storm’s brewing,” he calls and points to where dark clouds have begun to gather to the west. “Best we bring the horses in.”

Together they lead the horses back to the stables, settling them in despite their obvious annoyance at their outing being cut short.

“I’ll stay with ‘em in here,” Malon says as they close the last stall. Ingo nods, eyeing the coming storm with a grimace. Malon rolls her eyes. “Tell Papa to make sure the windows of the ranch are closed, ‘else all the rain’ll come pourin’ in.”

Into seems hesitant to leave, but Malon simply turns back to calming the horses and then finally he’s gone.

The storm hits with a ferocity Malon has not seen since the summer floods had destroyed part of the cattle hold. She shudders, thinking of the bloated bodies of the calves that had been trapped in their stalls, drowned in their own beds, and wraps her cloak around her tighter. She should have told Ingo or her father to bring her a blanket.

“Papa’s probably awful worried ‘bout me,” she says to no one in particular; the horses are all pressed to the walls of their stalls, eyes wide and white as lightning illuminates the world outside. Malon wonders if the horse barn will flood. If she will be one of the bloated bodies that Ingo will drag out in the morning.

Thunder shakes the world and the young foal a few stalls away cries out. Malon hushes her, unlocking the stall and slipping in. She closes the door behind her and turns to see the foal and her mother tucked into the corner. The foal shakes, pressed against her mother’s side, her ears pinned back against her head. She paws at the ground, her eyes blown wide. Malon approaches slowly, careful despite her own fear.

“Easy, easy,” she whispers, a hand coming up to stroke the foal’s nose. She stays there until the foal calms, then returns to her stool in the main breezeway. Outside, the rain comes down in sheet, a steady drumming on the roof of the barn. Malon taps her feet against the ground and debates running to the house; it’s cold here and the horses are calm for now…

She doesn’t admit to herself that she is scared to be here alone. The thought of her father, and even Ingo, warm in front of their fireplace tempts her and a part of her curses her own dedication to the animals.

“They’re just animals,” Ingo had said once, when she’d cried over the loss of a young goat to a coyote. “More worried ‘bout the money it’ll cost us to replace it.”

She’d nearly clocked him, right then and there, but she’d been young and the threat of no dinner or, Hylia, apologizing, had kept her from committing the act.

Lightning flashes again and she swears, for a moment, that she sees something in the downpour, but it disappears with the light. Malon strains her eyes, searching, as thunder follows. Its another minute, where in she almost convinces herself that it had been nothing, when lightning flashes again and she sees it once more.

It’s with horror that she realizes it’s a horse.

It’s not one of hers; she’d been meticulous in making sure all of them had gotten into the safety of the barn, but that doesn’t stop her from sprinting into the downpour, rope in hand. Whosever horse it is, Hylia it could even be Ganon’s, she’s not going to leave it to die cold and alone in a storm.

When she reaches the frantic animal, she can barely make out it’s features in the rain. It rears when she approaches, a high pitched whinny escaping from it as it throws it’s head.

“Yer alright, yer alright!” Malon cries and lunges; it’s wearing a saddled and bridal, though it’s rider is nowhere to be found, and she grasps at its reins with sure hands. The horse calms considerably once Malon has a hold of it and she begins to lead it back, the muffled lights of the ranch house their only guide in the store,. The whole way, Malon speaks to it, and the horse, to its credit, follows her obediently.

“Easy, easy,” she says and thinks of the foal. “Yer gonna be alright. I’ll keep you safe.”

They make it back to the barn, drenched but alive, and Malon ties the horse’s reins to a nearby post. It’s still hard to see, the barn offering only the light of dimming candle, but Malon goes about helping her new charge. She removes its tack and saddle bags, laying them out as best she can to dry, then begins to dry it off, removing the layers of mud and dirt that coat its body. The horse is calm, even going so far as to nibble at Malon’s hair as she wipes its back. Mason chuckles.

“Aw, yer such a sweet, er… girl.” Malon stands back up, smiling, and continues her cleaning. Underneath, the horse’s coat a rich chestnut color and Malon raises an eyebrow.

“Not many like you ‘round here,” she comments and the horse huffs. Malon pats her flank and pauses, her hand warm against the horse. She is reminded, again, for the second time today, of an old friend, and she shakes her head to clear her thoughts. She moves to the horse’s mane and tries not to think about it further when she reveals flaxen strands.

“Hylia,” she mutters and moves to the horse’s face. And pauses.

She has a blaze.

A lot of horses have blazes.

Malon stares at the horse in front her, arm still raised with her cloth in hand, and tries.

“Epona…?”

Epona, graceful as ever, leans forward to nuzzle Malon’s cheek, her breath warm.

Chapter 1: The Hero of Time

A/N: This fic was kinda inspired by reading My Inner Life. There were so many things about it that could be improved, so I decided to give it a shot. This isn't directly a rewriting of MIL, but more a "What would I do if I were to write that kind of story"... thing. 

Chapter 1

Spring had found its way into the land of Hyrule, and brought with it all of the colours and scents the people had been deprived of during the winter months. Waking up in my small room at LonLon Ranch was a joy at this time of year, as the first rays of the rising sun fell through the window and tickled my nose. I got up and put on my dress, apron and shoes before heading out to help Malon feed the animals. As always, my friend was already up, smiling at me as I approached. We had been friends ever since we were children. I grew up in Hyrule City, and she had always stayed to play with me when her father went to the castle to deliver milk, and in turn, I used to visit her a lot. When I was eighteen, she offered me a job as a farmhand at LonLon Ranch since it had been expanded and now there was too much work for her father, their other farmhand Ingo and her. Since it had always been my dream to work on a farm, I had taken her up on her offer, despite protests from my family who had wanted me to marry a rich man and social climb on their behalf. The work was hard, but very satisfying. It always felt good to spend so much time with my friend and all of the animals. This life filled with the kind of peace you can only archieve by doing good, honest work and being properly rewarded for it.

I left the house and greeted Malon, who was currently opening the coop of the cuccos to let them out for the day. „Good morning Rebecca!“, she greeted me cheerfully and grabbed a bucket full of cucco feed. „Did you sleep well?“ „As well as anyone could“, I replied with a smile. „It's always nice when spring arrives. Like everything comes back to life.“ „My, aren't we poetic this morning?“ Malon liked to poke fun at me for being so dramatic, but I knew that it was all in good fun. After all, she had once gotten pretty mad at Ingo for making fun of it in a much less benign way. We went to the stables together to lead the horses onto the pasture. I looked at the empty box where Epona used to stand. Malon had explained to me that she had gifted Epona to a friend of hers. A friend who, appearantly, hadn't had the time to visit for a while. Appearantly, Malon gave horses as gifts to all of her friends. After all, my horse, Morning Glory (Glory for short) had been a gift from her as well. Speaking of which; my dappled grey mare nipped at my shoulder as she trotted past me, following the other horses.

After that, we mucked out the stables, fed the cows and then grabbed some bread, cheese and dried meat to have dinner on the pasture. We watched the horses peacefully eat grass and clovers as we tore off chunks of the bread and cheese and ate that. Suddenly, Glory raised her head as if she had heard something. Then, a loud whinny tore through the air as a familiar rust-red horse came cantering onto the farm. The other horses surrounded her and her rider, a young man in a green tunic with mid-length blonde hair. Malon jumped up. „Fairy boy!“ „Fairy boy?“, I asked. What kind of name was that? The „fairy boy“ came closer, on his face a bright and earnest smile that would have beguiled the most hardened of women. „Hello Malon. And... uh...“ He grew a little pale.  „You're new here, huh? What's your name?“ I smiled bashfully. „I'm Rebecca. I've been working here as a farmhand for about a year now.“ He extended his hand. „I'm Link.“ Link... a strange warmth flooded my stomach. What a lovely name. We shook hands and he turned to Malon again. „I was just in the area and thought you might want to see how Epona is doing.“ „Ah, yes. I can see she's doing great.“ Malon walked over to Epona and patted her on the neck. „Hello Epona. Did you miss me?“ While Malon was talking to Epona, Link turned to me. „So how did you come to work here?“ He was obviously just trying to make smalltalk. I twisted a strand of my hair around my index finger and answered:„Well, Malon and I are childhood-friends. I used to live in Hyrule City, and when I had to decide what I wanted to do for a living, she offered me this work.“ Link grinned. „That sounds like her alright. I don't think I've ever met someone as eager to help others as Malon.“ Our conversation trailed off into silence, until Malon approached us again. „Epona is doing even better than I thought. You sure take excellent care of her, fairy boy.“ „I told you so many times, Malon... my name is Link.“ „Say that as much as you want. To me, you'll always be the fairy boy I met on the marketplace.“ She pointed to the spot where we had been sitting. „We were just having dinner. Would you like to join us? I'll run over to the house and grab some more bread and cheese. Oh, and milk! You still like our LonLon Milk, right?“ „Absolutely“, Link said with a wide grin and sat down in the grass as we watched Malon scurry over to the farmhouse. „She could have just asked me to go get the food, though“, I said quietly. „She is technically my boss, after all.“ „Your boss, but also your friend, as you told me“, Link gently reminded me. I blushed at the sound of that. Call me weird, but the first thing that attracts me is a person's voice. And Link's voice sounded especially nice. Not too high or too deep, but a comfortable middleground. And when he was keeping it gentle like he was at that moment, it felt like the downs of a sweet songbird caressing my ear. Just then, Malon returned with another basket in her hands. Her eyes were shining with mirth as she saw us. „It's good to see the two of you getting along.“ Then she put the basket down between us and sat down on Link's other side. „So, how have you been doing, fairy boy?“ Link grabbed a bottle of milk and, while opening it, told her:„I've been travelling a lot lately, and that's why I haven't been here in few years. You see, I've been trying to find my fairy, Navi. It's been kind of lonely ever since she left.“ Malon hummed in sympathy. „That's right, I remember it. One day, you showed up and she was just... gone. I never dared to ask you why.“ „I guess the Great Deku Tree decided that I didn't need her anymore“, he said glumly, sipping his milk. „That's so sad“, Malon sighed. „And did you find her?“ „Unfortunately not. I travelled all the way to another land, but couldn't find her. I only turned around because I didn't want everyone back home to get worried.“ Link swiveled the bottle around a little, watching the white liquid splash around within its transparent prison. „I lost far too many friends in the last few years. The Sa-...“ He broke off. „Nevermind.“ Malon appearantly knew not to ask, and I followed her example. It was appearant that it was something Link either couldn't or didn't want to talk about. And besides, I barely knew him at that point, so it would have been very rude to ask any further questions on the topic. We ate in silence for a while, until Malon got up. „I have to get back to work. How about you keep Link company for a while, Rebecca?“ „Are you sure?“, I asked. „You two have known each other for so much longer. Maybe I should be the one to-“ „No“, Malon said firmly and grinned at me. „You need a few more friends, Becca. Don't be such a loner.“ I looked at her for a moment longer, and then shrugged in defeat. „If you say so...“ Then I bit my lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. Damn, why did I say that? Link must think I don't want to get to know him! But he smiled at me as if he hadn't heard what I said. „Do you have a horse of your own, Rebecca? If so, we could go for a ride.“ I nodded softly and got up, whistleing for Glory. She came cantering up to me, shoving her muzzle against my face. I turned to Link. „This is Morning Glory. Though I usually call her Glory.“ „A lovely name“, Link complimented and got out his ocarina. It was a lovely instrument with a light brown and green colouring (1). He played a familiar melody on it, the very song Epona loved so much. Upon hearing it, the rust-red mare came up to him, much like Glory had to me. Link looked at Glory again and raised his eyebrow. „No saddle?“, he asked. „I never use a saddle“, I explained and swung myself onto Glory's back. Link mounted Epona and together we left the farm.

The air was warm and filled with the scent of flowers and the sweet sounds of singing birds. Link and I rode along the road leading to Lake Hylia. We didn't intend to ride there all the way, as that was at least half a day's journey. As we passed the side of LonLon Ranch, Link looked up at the massive wall and mumbled with a fond smile:„This is where Epona and I escaped.“ I rode closer to him. „Escaped? Escaped from what?“ His head snapped up, like he was woken from a dream, and he looked at me. „N-nothing. It's nothing.“ We continued, the silence slowly becoming uncomfortable, until he spoke up again:„Has anything happened in Hyrule in the past few years? Anything... unusual?“ I leaned forward. „Not that I'd know of. Everything has been pretty peaceful. Princess Zelda does a fantastic job at governing us.“ Link smiled once more. „I bet she gives it her all. She always did.“ His voice sounded strangely nostalgic when he said that. Almost as if he knew the Princess. After another while of silence, he softly said:„By the way, I really like your necklace.“ My hand wandered to the simple wooden pendant around my neck. My grandfather had carved it for me when I was a kid, and I had worn it ever since. It was a small, round plate of polished wood with a tree carved into it. What an odd thing for Link to point out. „Uhm. Thank you. My grandpa made it for me.“ He looked at the pendant as if it was scaring him. „He had very skillful hands, then.“ After another while, we decided to turn around, riding back to the ranch. The sun was already slowing approaching the horizon, turning the sky into a vibrant shade of orange. Malon was already waiting at the entrance to LonLon Ranch. „There you are!“ Her demeanor was as chipper was ever. „Did you have fun?“ I wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. Link and I had barely found a topic to talk about. And during our little snippets of conversation, he had acted so strange... as if there was something he desperately wanted to talk about, but couldn't. Maybe something happened to him during his travels, I thought as I let myself drop to my feet next to Glory. As a child in the city, I had seen the way war-veterans usually acted, and found a lot of that resembled Link's demeanor. The way he frequently drifted off and seemed to be lost in memories. How he seemed to force himself to appear happy. He dismounted Epona and extended his hand to me. „It was nice talking to you, Rebecca.“ I shook his hand. „The pleasure's all mine. I hope I'll be seeing you again sometime.“ Malon gleefully clapped her hands together. „It's time for supper, you know. Would you like to join us, Link?“ He scratched the back of his head. „I'd really love to, but I want to reach the city before the sun has fully set. Maybe some other time.“ „Oh...“ She seemed a bit disappointed. „Well, okay. It was really nice seeing you and Epona again. Goodbye.“ „Goodbye!“ With that, he walked off, leading Epona by the reigns, waving to us until he was out of sight.

(1) : Link returned the Ocarina of Time to Zelda upon returning to Hyrule. Since then, he's been using the Fairy Ocarina he got from Saria again.