Chapter Text
“Ladies!” Bellowed a deep, almost comically masculine voice, its powerful echoes resonating around the arena, eliciting hundreds of cheers and applause from said ‘ladies’.
“Gentlemen!” The voice continued, earning more yells and whoops. From his seat, Link could barely squint to decipher the burgundy silhouette of the speaker. The figure had a broad build and commanded all attention as he spoke from atop a sandstone podium.
“Those who can no longer be classified as either!” That earned the most noise; at least four thousand shrieks and a suffocatingly thunderous applause. The blond Hylian corrected his posture with nervousness although, to others, he seemed nonchalant. Link was sitting in a makeshift ‘waiting’ area. It had been carved into the northern side of the hundred-foot tall sandstone structure that was the Ri Noka Arena. Decrepit, yellowish walls sported a towering, wrought iron door nestled between two sets of barred windows. The gaps between the bars were large enough for the Hylian to slip through and stood at least twice his height. No light sources were placed in the room making it feel unwelcoming, but sufficient stripes of warm sunlight blazed through the windows to maintain visibility. Above the room lay the cavea where the half-a-dozen thousand criminals watching the arena were sat. However, the rumbling through the walls and ceiling indicated that, once again, they were more stamping and jumping than simply sitting.
“I am certain you all know why we are gathered here on this mighty day!” The crowd silenced itself, “Today marks the fiftieth quinquennial Trial of Courage!”
The blond leant his back against the dispiriting stone wall behind the bench he sat on. It was cheap, but served its purpose decently. He let his gaze scour the room as he attempted to drown out the ovation of the enthusiastic audience. Fifteen other fighters were scattered about, diverse in every way except for their similar uniforms. Some were muscular, brandishing blades that must have taken years to perfect; others were more athletic and slight, gingerly stroking the grip of an old bow. Some clearly had something to prove, while others seemed indifferent to their fate. In the end, only one of the sixteen would leave the arena alive, and Link had a premonition about who it would be.
“For two-hundred and fifty years, we have watched our people battle. Tonight shall be no different: the Trial takes place in four rounds. Eight battles, four battles, two battles, and then the finale. But, foremost, we must welcome our leader,” The speaker waved his arms wildly to gesture towards the nearby balcony, “Master Toshihiro!”
A large man, fully clad in vermillion armour, waved around to his subjects. Despite being nearly seventy, mature for his race, he bled a looming sense of authority. He was seated on a large sculpted chair, made from the same stone as the rest of the structure. To his left sat his stern-faced wife and at his feet were his two grandchildren: a grandson and a granddaughter. Their mother, Master Toshihiro’s daughter, had passed away from sickness many years earlier. Link knew little about the heirs, only that the boy was six years older than him and the girl was seven years younger. Both looked mind-numbingly bored. What a privilege it was to be bored right now. The family were not kind rulers; they were selfish, angry, and treated their subjects more like objects. People wanted to despise them, being tired of living in fear, but it was difficult when the family’s rule was, admittedly, effective. After all, the people had enough money to survive and were fed. Only a fool would complain about that.
Formalities continued, but Link could not force himself to focus on them. Instead, he turned to face a young, feminine figure as she sat on the bench beside him. She was, undoubtedly, the scrawniest person in the room. Her head lined up with the boy’s shoulders, her electric green eyes meeting his, shoals of anxieties swimming through her mind, coupled with a spark of something else.
“How old are you?” A quiet voice asked, although her face showed she expected the blond to scream at her for asking. They were the youngest two in the room, presumably why she approached.
Twenty-three. Signed the Hylian, pulling his straw-coloured hair into a tight bun - it would make putting on his headgear later significantly easier. You?
The girl did not have a reaction to his silence - many members of their group were the same as him, anyway. She attempted to mimic his action of styling his hair but struggled. Her hickory-coloured hair reached down to the small of her back in untamed yet beautiful coils, like an overgrown forest of vines, reaching out everywhere and anywhere. “Fifteen, I know I look younger.” Her words were sombre as she gave up with the hair.
What’s your name? Link began to pick up that this conversation seemed to be soothing her: her shoulders grew slacker when he kept up the smalltalk. A child that, simply, needed this more than he did. His question won him a short-lived smile from the girl.
“Aline. A-L-I-N-E.” Aline spelt it out for him, knowing that is what he would have to do if he was to sign her name. Her tawny skin glowed in the scraps of light that slipped in. The brunette had a round face, a gentle and timid aura radiating off of her, reminding the boy of a deer. Her youth was painfully obvious. Link could not help but consider the fact that she should not be here, about to fight until her death or until she has the freight of four other deaths above her head. She should be outside, singing, laughing, living. Aline was not old enough to get married, yet here she was, preparing for a merciless recreational activity used to satisfy sadistic rulers. “What’s your name, mister?”
L-I-N-K. He used fingerspelling to slowly answer her, though usually he would use the sign name his mother gave him. It was a silly thing, she could have connected her fingers to symbolise a link, it would have made more sense. Instead, she would address him by extending the index finger of her dominant hand and tapping her neck once. Sword.
“Link?” She checked, continuing when he nodded in affirmation, “I like that name, Link. It’s simple. Nothing too frilly. Which round one fight are you in? I’m in fight four.”
I’ll be praying to Hylia for your victory. It was an empty nicety, which they both knew. She shot him an innocent smile, though her eyes betrayed her, showing how doubtful she was of her own success. I’m in the second fight.
For a brief moment, the child sat in silence. “I would wish good luck to you too, but I know that’s unnecessary. I’ve heard the stories. You’re more than capable.” Link was stunned. Of course he knew there were tales told about him - he did not live under a rock and news travelled fast. Everyone knew he did what he did well, but to believe he had the sort of capabilities implied with such conviction seemed absurd. However, he did not want to argue about whether he was truly the warrior the girl thought he was; this was their final moments. This could be their death sentence. Of course it should not be so gloomy.
Want me to help with your hair? He mustered a friendly smile, turning to face the girl. Humming a yes in response, she sat herself cross-legged on the bench, her back facing the blond. He gently raked his fingers through her hair, pulling sections apart. Aline’s mind wandered to her mother back home, how she would do the same thing for her. Link carefully plaited the hair in front of him, calloused fingers soothing her scalp. With the skill of a trained mercenary, he looked around the room again, ensuring no one was watching him this time, before leaning into her ear from behind. Pointed ears twitched at the feeling of hot breath.
“When fighting an archer, aim for their knees and shield your own, it’s a common weakness I see,” He whispered. A smirk formed on his lips, one caused by knowledge and experience, but with a slight hint of defiance, “Use your bow’s range to your advantage. Don’t let them predict your moves. Arrows can be used as knives too - think creatively.” His lips curled further into a wicked smile, acknowledging the subtle nod she gave him. Once satisfied with the braid, he tucked the end into her armour, replacing his expression with a well-practised, innocent look. Although the fighter never spoke, he felt a well-placed whisper was necessary sometimes.
“Thank you, Link.” She stood up, walking to a pail of water that stood like a sentry in the corner of the room. Aline leant forward, admiring her hair in the reflection before securing her penny-coloured leather neck guard to protect her throat and pulling up her crimson hood. “You’re not like the others, are you?”
Link stood, smiling warmly at the child. I’d like to think that.
“And now: the first battle of round one!” The words reverberated through the Hylians, reminding them of what is to come, “Ocas The Great shall battle The Unbeaten Tolam.”
The blond grimaced, unfamiliar with the names he had just heard. As two tall, broad-shouldered swordsmen rose from their seats, a hush fell over the room. All eyes were on the men, and it felt as though the room itself was bidding them a soundless farewell. The duellers exchanged a solemn glance, nodding respectfully to each other before stepping through the metal doors. A brief flash of light illuminated the tomb as the doors opened, followed by a loud slam that sent a shower of sand cascading from the ceiling.
Sighing, Aline rummaged under the bench she was previously sitting at. “Will you promise me something, Link?” Attentive, he looked at her, “If I don’t make it out of here, would you take my bow back to my mother? I... Well, truthfully, I miss her. I’m sure the closure would be good for her.”
Where would I find her? Asked Link, not bothering to question why she would assume he would make it out - winning the last Trial of Courage does not constitute a pass for winning all, but she seemed to think it did. After all, Link reasoned with himself, he may have been paired with weak fighters in the past. It was a matter of luck.
Before answering, the girl hummed in reminiscence, flinching when she heard blades crashing outside, “A small hamlet down in the southeast of Hyrule - a fishing village called Lurelin.”
Sounds... nice.
“It’s lovely. So homely, I hope you get to see it one day.” Link’s mind wandered. He was not sure he would even live to see tomorrow, let alone another village several regions away. “I really wanna go home.”
Link had no reply. How could he comfort a homesick child about to risk her life? He had been in her position, or at least a similar one, many times before, yet he still found himself at a loss for words. The brunette picked up her white mask after searching under the seat. Clumsily, she fastened the leather straps around her head. By instinct, he stepped forward, helping her tighten the buckles and adjust the mask's position. After a moment, he stepped back, his gaze fixed on the red eye painted on the mask - an eye he had seen every day since he was thirteen.
The Eye of the Yiga.
Link was sick of the symbol; it dredged in bad memories more effortlessly than anything else, but it was all he knew. The clan was his home, his work, his livelihood. Over his decade-long membership, he learnt with speed to accept this reality. It barely bothered him colluding with murderers and thieves for there was no difference between them and himself anymore. He infiltrated, he stole, he killed. It was simple.
You look like a warrior. He gave the shorter’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. The uniform suits you, Aline.
“You’re too kind.” He shrugged, pulling his own Yiga mask in front of his face. His uniform, slightly different to hers, was specially designed by Master Toshihiro. They shared similarities in palette and materials, branding them as Yiga clansmen. “Thank you for... I don’t know, really. For comfort? It’s been nice.”
My pleasure.
A scream.
The piercing noise shattered the room's calm aura, jolting Link out of his reverie. Cheers, cries, and the clash of swords abruptly ceased. The battle was over; only one remained standing. As the storm of chaos unfolded, both Hylians rushed to the nearest window. A battered figure, supported by two others, was guided out of the arena as the victor. Another lay sickeningly on the ground, contorted in the way only a corpse could be. Link left the window, reaching under a bench to retrieve two of his most prized possessions: his shield and his scimitar. They were the trophies that rewarded two of his most serpentine heists. When they were in his palms, the Hylian felt an unbridled power surge throughout his body.
“It seems to be your time, Link.” Aline observed sadly.
“Our second fight is, undoubtedly, the reason you’re all here!” The announcer continued, “The Champion Link versus The Conqueror!” The blond stood, checking over his armour once again before heading towards the rusted door. Another figure followed him, easily two feet taller than the Hylian; must be a Sheikah man. A broadsword lay dutifully on his hip as he stood by the blond’s side. “Both of them have won a previous Trial of Courage. Both are skilled assassins. Who will triumph?” The doors swung open.
“Link!” Aline’s voice called but he did not dare turn around to see the child’s teary eyes, “Link, I’ll see you on the other side, okay?”
With steady strides, they entered the arena, enveloped by a cacophony of cheers, whoops, and yells that reverberated off the walls. Link paused, momentarily blinded by the unforgiving sunlight, before adjusting to the dusty expanse painted in hues of red and yellow. Amidst the clamour, announcements floated like distant murmurs, barely registering in the boy's consciousness as he stepped into the arena's centre.
His azure eyes swept over the crimson splatters already staining the sand, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he stretched his aching muscles. Silence fell as the fighters took their positions five metres apart, awaiting the command to prepare themselves.
Link unsheathed his scimitar and brought his shield close to his chest, his fingers instinctively finding solace in the familiar weight of the golden hilt. It was an intimate act, a ritual he had performed countless times in his tumultuous life, each repetition imbuing it with a sense of home. He briefly inspected the serrated silver blade, tracing every nook and cranny of the handmade masterpiece with a practised eye.
As memories of triumphs and mistakes flooded his mind, Link's heart pounded in his ears, his pulse igniting a firestorm of adrenaline throughout his body. Amidst the turmoil, a familiar voice echoed in his mind, whispering the three soothing words he craved to hear whenever fear gripped him:
Have courage, Link.
Determination flooded the Hylian like a dam had been broken. He was pulled from his own mind by a single, tormenting word. Two syllables, pronounced as clearly as possible:
“Begin.”
With resolve fueling his movements, Link sprang into action. Towering over him, his opponent appeared formidable, yet Link noted he lacked the Hylian's agility and stamina. Seizing the initiative, the swordsman leapt forward, aiming to close the distance between them. Swiftly, the blond dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the first thrust of the silver sword.
Capitalising on the Sheikah’s recovery from his miss, the boy took the opportunity to swing his own blade smoothly towards the man’s torso. The edge of his weapon met the edge of another in a block. Sword hit sword again, setting off a series of rapid exchanges. Clangs and clashes echoed at an unbearable pitch as the audience watched captivated.
Sensing a lack of progress, The Conqueror changed his tactic, manoeuvring his weapon around the curved sword in front of him with enough speed to pull the scimitar from Link’s grip. It was thrown, cast aside. This was The Conqueror’s opening. He lunged forwards, sword outstretched. He had deadly intent.
A strike echoed louder than the others: Link barely managed to parry the hit with his shield. Taking the opening, he swiftly scrambled to retrieve his blade as his adversary reeled from the block. With practised agility, Link rolled on the sand and deftly caught the hilt of his scimitar, ready to resume the duel.
Have courage, Link.
He sprinted, slashing angrily at the swordsman. With each strike, deep gashes marred the man’s thigh and left arm, eliciting a retaliatory swing that came too late. By the time the swordsman moved to counter, Link was already midway through leaping backwards, elegantly flipping in the air, and landing perfectly - a testament to his remarkable flexibility.
When Link shifted his weight to avoid being hit, the taller one followed, only to be met with a swift kick that struck the man’s shins: he had been kicked hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground. The smaller took that as a chance to increase the distance between himself and The Conqueror’s blade. Link needed to change his tactics; he was barely getting anywhere.
Turning to assess his opponent, Link was met with a sight he would never be able to forget.
Hilt over blade span the broadsword, thrown by its wielder, hurtling directly towards Link. Time felt like it halted for the blond. He knew he only had seconds, not sufficient time to react, but they felt like eternity. This was it. He was never going home, it seems. He would never see Lurelin with Aline. He would never see his horse again or feel the wind in his hair or immerse himself in the rivers in Faron.
The blade reached him, severing his mask from his head, cracking the ivory thing in two, and plummeting straight into his left eye socket.
He lurched forwards, dust billowing around him as he fell like a discarded puppet on his side. Muscles all over his body went slack as a blood-curdling scream echoed through the stadium. Was it his own scream? Link was unsure, he had not felt the hot air escape his lips. Blood pooled from his face, landing in the sand beneath him. With incredulous effort, he opened his right eye, trying and trying again to focus it, but the sun’s glare was sabotaging him. The blurry form of his foe was far away. Though the audience seemed to erupt in noise at his fall, to Link, it sounded as though he were submerged underwater, disconnected from the world above.
Have courage, Link.
One shaky breath, then another, but, strangely, Link did not die. Numbness enveloped his body, a sensation he welcomed in his current situation. As he drew another deep breath, onlookers noticed his miraculous survival, their murmurs gradually swelling into a chant. It started hushed, just a few people repeating his name, but that snowballed into an avalanche of yells accompanied by stamping. It felt as though all of Hyrule was trembling. Link just wanted to shut his eye, to sleep, but he knew he could not surrender now. He had to have courage; he had to win.
Meanwhile, the Sheikah swordsman, emboldened by the crowd's fervour, confidently crossed the arena to where Link lay in a bloody shadow. With a mocking laugh, he knelt beside the fallen warrior, eager to demonstrate his victory to the watching criminals. Surely, no one could survive a sword through the face, right?
A shove from the Sheikah rolled Link onto his back, his right hand naturally falling onto and grasping the handle of his golden weapon, just inches away. Link felt the coolness of the heavy mental, triggering an instinctual response. In one swift movement, he buried his scimitar into The Conqueror's chest. With a grim determination, he withdrew the blade only to plunge it into his opponent once more, leaving it lodged in the man's chest.
His foe made an agonised gasp, ambushed by Link’s attack. Strangled sounds escaped his throat as he dropped to his knees, desperately clutching his chest to stem the bleeding. As The Conqueror's life ebbed away, his body slumped forward, defeated. He died beside his enemy. An exhausted smile played on Link's lips as he released a shuddering sigh of disbelief, his strength waning as the tempting embrace of sleep beckoned him into unconsciousness.
He won.
*************
“Link? Are... are you awake?” A strained voice whispered, pulling the Hylian's consciousness back from the depths of oblivion. As awareness slowly sponged back into him, he felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down, his body slick with sweat, joints aching, and ears ringing in disorientation. With closed eyes, he sensed the presence of a well-lit room surrounding him, each detail registering through a haze of confusion. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, squinting against the harsh brightness that enveloped him. Was this the afterlife?
“Link?” Carefully and steadily due to a shooting pain that accompanied his initial speed, he tilted his head. There, beside his bed, sat the smeared yet decipherable figure of Aline. A nervous smile held her lips as she observed him. She waved a hand slowly to his face, “Are you with me?”
Sluggishly, Link smiled back, courtesy of whatever medication he was on. His throat felt dry and his arms were stone.
“I should get the healer to check you over now you’re awake,” Aline squeezed his hand then stood, “Do you need anything?”
Stay.
“Link, you need someone to check you over, you were knocked out for two whole days.” The blond winced, memories of his fight crashing down on him. He remembered the blade, spinning tantalisingly slowly, the burn as it burrowed into his flesh like a parasite, the sand under his cheek as he hit the floor.
Want company. Need company. Please. Disjointed, his signing was sloppy, due to his throbbing arms and heavy anaesthetic.
Her gaze softened as she begrudgingly settled back in her seat. Link’s vision finally focused, offering a much clearer view of the girl compared to their first encounter in the dismal vestibule. No longer clad in combat attire, she now wore a simple cream tunic that hung loosely over her petite frame. Dark ribbons of hair cascaded around her shoulders and onto the bed where Link lay, some strands tucked behind her ear to prevent them from obscuring her view. The ear that was on show was bejewelled gorgeously: a gold hoop sat in her helix and a pearl set in the same metal in her lobe. From the pearl attached a thin, golden chain leading to an opal that magically reflected the room’s light. Link could not recall seeing such bespoke jewellery since his missions in Gerudo Town.
I like your... He trailed off, gesturing at his own ear instead. He too had several piercings, but filled them tamely with three golden studs in each ear.
“Oh? Oh! Thank you! My father came back from a fishing trip once, he said where he went ‘wore these sorts of things as a status symbol’. He insisted I should have earrings too because I’m his little princess.”
That’s lovely, Aline... Link pushed himself slightly more upright in the bed, grimacing at his body’s protest. What happened after my fight? Where are we?
“It took a while for anyone to realise you weren’t actually dead, just unconscious. Healers dragged you here, the emergency med-bay. They managed to get the sword out of your, you know, face and stitched the cuts it left on your cheek and forehead. They look bad right now but they’ll heal up nicely apparently. The fights went on.”
Link hesitated, processing the missing pieces in his timeline. You’re still here...?
She beamed childishly, her light voice filled with pride, “Yes! I took your advice and I survived the first round,” A more sincere smile pulled at her lips, “Without you, I’d be dead meat.”
I slept. You won. I’m proud of you.
“Thank you.”
When is round two, then?
She sighed, averting her emerald gaze. “Five days. You’re against that huge swordsman we saw fight. I’m against a foot-soldier with a sickle. Gerudo, I think.”
Something he had not felt in years coursed through Link. Hope. He had hope. He hoped he would survive, he hoped Aline would win the Trial, he hoped they could escape the awful clan they were forced to join as children.
“You lost a lot of blood. I have no idea how you’re alive right now, honestly. ‘A few hearty elixirs and he’ll be back to training in two days’, or so I overheard. Hylia must really want you alive.” The brunette rested her crossed arms on the bed, laying her head heavily on top of them.
The blond’s brows furrowed. In actual fact, this sort of thing was something he had noticed before. Link had more than his fair share of near death experiences, but, somehow, he always miraculously ended up fine. Was it a test of faith? Was Hylia challenging Herself to see how much She could put him through? He did not know.
I suppose so.
Aline shut her eyes, a tired expression on her face, “I should be training…” Although more to herself, she whispered. Link lifted his left hand, gently petting her head, trying his best to be reassuring. On the back of his left palm resided an askew burn. The Eye of Yiga had been branded into his pale flesh when he turned sixteen, officiating his allegiance with the clan. The sight of the scar brought tenseness back into Link’s muscles.
“You don’t have to train constantly to be good. Just train hard and use the time well.” He whispered back, ruffling her hair a little playfully. She opened her eyes to look up at him. Something new pierced Link’s heart: admiration. He was attached to this girl, almost as if she was his sister, and he was determined to keep her safe. Forest eyes twinkled innocently. “Can I ask something personal?” She cocked her head at his raspy question, “How did you end up here?” He continued to whisper.
“Oh, I asked one of the healers where you were. It wasn’t hard.”
“No, no. How did you end up in the Yiga?”
Hesitation enveloped her momentarily, “Back home, we were suffering with bands of Lizalfos stealing our fish and attacking our people. We grew scared to leave our homes. I got really frustrated with being told to stay inside constantly. I grabbed my mother’s bow and ran off. Honestly, I planned to just stay out for a few minutes, really…” A great look of sadness washed over her like a tide destroying a sandcastle, “I was attacked by four of the Lizalfos’ at the same time, cornered and scared. A Yiga woman came on to the scene, killed the Lizalfos’, and brought me to safety. She said I should join her, learn to be a warrior. I accepted, I didn’t realise it was...”
Link recognised this. The clan recruited kids using half-truths and then trained them to be lethal fighters, it was the same thing he had experienced a decade ago. What’ll you do first when you go home?
She let out a breathy chuckle, “Hug my family. Tell them I love them. Swim! You really wouldn’t think desert sand would be that different to beach sand, but it is.”
With a knowing nod, Link expressed his understanding. A sense of camaraderie settled between the two Hylians as they lapsed into a comforting silence. Both were gripped by a deep longing for home, or rather, a longing to escape their current circumstances. Their lives were tarnished by a lack of respect and chronic sleep deprivation, far from the ideal existence they yearned for. Yet, despite their shared discontent, they found themselves trapped, with no alternative refuge. In a world where bearing the mark of the Yiga Clan meant instant condemnation, there was no sanctuary to be found anywhere in Hyrule.
Aline? His movements caught her attention, pulling the younger out of her own train of thought. Aline. He continued. Instead of fingerspelling her name, he assigned her a sign name. Palm pointing downwards, he dragged his other hand up his forearm, symbolising 'green'. Is there a mirror nearby? I want to see the damage.
Aline stopped to think about it, remembering how she had seen a sheet of glossy silver being used as a mirror in the hallway.
“I’ll go fetch one,” A skip was in her step as she left the room momentarily. It took her only a minute to employ her charming wiles on the guardsmen stationed in the hallway, persuading them to lend her the requested item. Returning with a foot-and-a-half-long piece of jagged metal, polished to a threatening sheen, Aline sidestepped through the door with the dish-like shape balanced on her navel, a smile lighting up her face.
“Here we go!” She, albeit a little carelessly, dropped it on Link’s legs as she exclaimed. He returned her smile, fingers tracing the sharp edge of the metal. However, his expression quickly soured as he realised the implications. Never had he dreaded his own appearance more. It did not take long for him to notice the loss of vision in his left eye, his depth perception suffering and his field of vision diminished. His sapphire-like eyes, once his favourite feature, now seemed like a cruel reminder of what he had lost - of goodness, and of his mother.
“Trust me, it’s not that bad.” Aline's voice was soft, soothing, coaxing Link into the bravery he desperately needed. He looked at his reflection.
Oceanic right eye looked normal, albeit a little weary. However, the older’s left eye was covered by a square of white muslin. A scar being bound by multiple stitches stretched from his brow to his cheek bone and peeked from under the bandaging, skin an off-putting cardinal colour. Carefully, the blond reached up, touching part of the scar. A small twinge of pain shot through him, but it was not unbearable. “It’ll be hard to adjust how you fight, but I’m sure you’ll manage it,” Aline reassured him, “I’ve noticed you often shut your left eye to help your aim anyway.”
Link gently put the mirror back down. His eyes were identical to his mother’s: it was his favourite thing about himself as a child. The reality was his physical appearance and some tainted memories were all he had of his parents left.
“Link...” Aline knew nothing she could say would fix how his heart ached. She stood, taking the metal off the bed. “Rest up, I’ll call for someone to check you over. Gotta get back into fighting shape!”
*****