Yes, the cold.  It was so cold.

            Again he tried to open his eyes, but again they would not see.

            “Do not worry, friend.”

            He froze where he was, listening.  Did he just hear a voice?  Or was it his imagination?

            “It is not your imagination.  I am a friend.  I will not let harm come to you.”

            He looked around him, for all the good it did to his blind senses.  Something was not right.  Something was very, very wrong.  His movements were sluggish and his limbs felt like frozen logs, numb to the bone.    When he opened his mouth to speak to the odd voice that spoke to him, he could not speak.  He could not breathe.  His ears heard rushing all around him; sometimes louder, sometimes softer. He was blind to all the world around him.

            “Except me,” said the voice.

            Yes, he thought, except this voice that speaks to me. Well, he thought, it seems to know my thoughts, so perhaps I can talk with it?

            ‘You can try,” teased the voice.

            “Who are you?” he asked of the ethereal.

            “You cannot see me. You cannot feel me. You cannot taste me. You cannot know me.  To you, I do not exist. Yet.”

            “Why can’t I know you?”

            “Because you are dieing.”

            Dieing??  How?  Think!  What was the last thing I can remember?  Fighting.  Fighting against my friend.  No!  He was not my friend!  Not anymore!  Not anymore.  We were fighting in the river and he pushed me over the waterfall!  Yes!  I fell!  But where does that leave me now?  Heaven?  Hell?  Or somewhere else?

            “You are not dead yet.  Heaven can wait.  But not for much longer.”

            That is right!  I am dieing!  Is that why I can’t talk or breathe?  It must be.

            “Voice!” he cried in his mind, “Help me!  Please!”

            He heard what might have been a chuckle and the rushing became louder.  It almost hurt his ears to hear.  Suddenly, something around him changed and he could suddenly breathe.  He could dimly feel his feet and fingers and through them he felt that he was laying on something hard.  He did not move but only breathed.  And breathed.  He breathed like he had never breathed before in his life.  It was the breath of mortality.  He was alive!

            “And safe.”

            That’s right.  Alive and safe.

            Auldric awoke

            It was slowly at first, but it soon picked up speed as he climbed upward from unconsciousness into consciousness.  He could feel his body around him.  He could feel the rocks against his back.  He could hear the water near his feet and he could breathe in the wonderful yet cold air.  Auldric was alive.

            His eyes opened slightly and he saw above him a dimly lit rock ceiling.

            Auldirc tried to move his head so as to see more of his surroundings, but an intense pain engulfed him as he did.

            “You are awake at last.”

            Auldric looked around as best he could with his eyes but could see no one.

            “Where are you?” he croaked, barely more than a whisper.

            “I am here beside you.” 

            ‘Who are you?” the boy asked.

            Again the chuckling.  “You will find out soon enough.  Soon enough. Now sleep.”

            Auldric sighed deeply and welcomed the bliss of sleep.

            When next he awoke, his eyes were greeted by a blindness of a different sort than before.  This as the blindness of sunlight!

            He had shielded his eyes when he realized that he could now move his arms!  He sat up is surprise.  He could sit up!  He quickly lay back down.  He could vomit!

            “Again you are awake.  Better this time?”

            “I think so,” Auldric said trembling, in a slightly less terrible voice than before.  “I can move now.”

            “Good.”

            “How did I survive the fall?  The waterfall should have killed me.”

            “In a way, it did.”

            “In a way?  Either it did or it didn’t!”

            “Then it did, in fact, kill you.”

            “Then how am I here talking with you?”

            “Because I saved you.”

            “Why?  So that you can play games with me?”

            “No.  How else am I going to leave this pit than to have you take me.”

            “Ha!  Don’t be so arrogant.  I don’t need to take you anywhere!”

            “But you have carried me so far already.  Why stop now?  Neither of us wishes to remain here for eternity.”

            ‘Carried me so far already?’  What did that mean?

            “Look around.”

            Auldric did as he was told and slowly moved his head to one side and then another to look for his mysterious saviour.  He saw no one.

            “By your hand.”

            He looked.  There was nothing by his hand but the Master Sword.

            “Yes,” said the voice.  “The Master Sword.”

            Slower than last time, Auldric sat up and peered at the great sword suspiciously. 

            “You are the sword?” he asked, slowly.

            “Yes. For now.”

            Auldric picked up his blade and looked carefully at it.  “For now?”

            “Yes. In your current state, your mind would burst should I show you my true form. So I possessed this weapon. This... marvellous weapon.”

            “What’s so marvellous about it?”

            “You have not felt it? You have not felt the raw energy flowing through the veins of this blade? The sense of timelessness in which it holds itself? You must truly be a fool.” 

            Auldric spat at the blade, but in his weakened state, he only managed a dribble down his chin. “Remember, whatever you are, you need me to get out of here! So mind your tongue.” He paused. “Or whatever it is you have.”

            “You are not this sword’s true owner.”

            The voice said this as a fact, not a question.

            “Of course I am.”

            “You lie,” said the voice quietly. “This weapon belongs to another. It is merely using you to return to it’s former owner.”

            “No one is using me!” cried the young man, his teeth gritted in hate. “I am in control of my own fate, not anyone else!”

            Chuckling rose again within Auldric’s brain. “Not only are you ignorant to the sword, you are ignorant to the world. I must surely have a cursed fate to have one such as you fall into my lap.”

            “There is no fate! I control myself!” The boy was shaking in anger and freeze. With each passing minute, his body was recovering from it’s clash with death, and with each passing minute, his mind was becoming sharper and quicker. No one would control him, not anymore; not again. Trine had tried, Link had tried, the wizard had tried.  Everyone had tried to control him, but no longer would he be a puppet for the strong! He was in control of his own life, not some ethereal thought.

            The humour was gone when the voice replied to Auldric‘s unspoken thoughts. “You constantly deny the existence of fate, and yet you are blind to the fact that everything you have ever done has been written out beforehand by the gods. Your claiming the sword; your fall from the river; your meeting of me. All of it. And that man whom you fought. He, too, is guided by the same force. But I sense that he has accepted this. He is happy to make the best of his destiny and he is a much better person for it.”

            “Link is not better than me!” shouted Auldric, the anger helping to warm him and raise his body from death.  “I will kill him and prove that I am the best in the world!”

            “But you cannot.”

            “I will.”

            “You will not. It has not been foretold. You are destined to fail again and again. What then? Are you still in control of your life? Even though you can never better your position? You are a poor, misguided soul, boy. The poorest of the poor. You are the luckless. The one destined to be trodden upon by the greats. Take Link, your friend. He saved your life, and you his. But you can never compare to him. No matter what you do, he will always be better, and your efforts will only propel him further into infamy. You are trapped in obscurity.”

            Auldric shut his eyes. He would not listen to such things. And from a voice in his head of all things!

            “You cannot ignore me, nor can you ignore Fate.”

            Auldric sat back onto the rocky ground and breathed deeply. He was in control of his own life and no one could ever take that away. Never.

            The voice looked down at the sodden boy and waved it’s hand over his face. Auldric fell into a deep sleep that would give him the energy needed to tackle his monstrous fate. It looked away from its new companion and gazed at the altar near the back wall of the small icy cave. That altar was his own fate, and he had accepted that eons ago. If only the boy could accept his fate, then both of them could continue their lives.  

  Sunlight shone brightly through a crack in the draped window.  The bright beam of light snuck across the floor to creep up onto the bed, up the covers and into the face of Link.

            He sneezed.

            Rubbing his weary eyes, the hero woke, his eyes shut but his mind open. He listened.    

            Around him, there was silence. Mostly. The sunlight he felt upon his face almost made a sound so peaceful that he nearly fell back to sleep, but he searched on.

            Outside the window across from him, he could hear a soft wind rustling tree branches, and birds chirping happily in their warm nests. Inside the small cottage, he heard the sounds of machinations. In the kitchen, a kettle whistled. In the living room, a fire crackled. Talking sounded from nearby. Link listened.

            “Dear, oh dear,” came a woman’s voice, “It’s almost noon and that boy is still not up. Lazy toad. Dear, would you go and wake him up, please?”

            “Yes, granny,” came another voice, this one a girl’s. Feet approached the room.

            The door opened quietly and Link heard small footsteps walk to the window. Suddenly his closed eyes were flooded by a blinding light. His hands went to his face, covering his wounded sense. He cried out in surprise.

            “What the hell?!”

            “Get up, lazy.”

            Opening his eyes slowly, Link looked at the girl. She was standing by the window, her hand resting on one of the drapes, which were now open.

            “Why should I, with such a rude wake-up call?” he asked, a smile streaking across his face.

            Zelda walked to the side of the bed and slapped the back of Link’s head. “It’s already almost noon. You have work to do, now UP!”

            With that, she grabbed the sheets and yanked them away from the bed.

            They both froze. The room was silent. Their mouths hung open in halted speech, and their eyes widened in shock.

            Suddenly the moment was over and their brains came back on track.

            Her hands to her mouth, Zelda cried, “Ohmygods, I’m so sorry!” at the same time that Link shouted, “What the hell to do you think your doing?!”

            Zelda’s face turned bright red and she ran from the room, slamming the door closed behind her. Link jumped out of bed and pulled on a tunic to cover his naked body and followed the girl from the room.

            He found her in the kitchen. When she saw him walk in, she busied herself with the tea, her head bowed in mock concentration with the task.

            Before either of them could speak, a loud and mostly feminine voice piped up from the table.

            “There you are!” Link looked to see Hecuba, his hostess sitting at the table, knitting. “Where have you been? It’s almost noon!”

            “Am I not allowed to sleep?” asked Link defensively, still not quite himself after his rude and embarrassing awakening.

            The old, plump woman pointed a needle at him. “Not when there’s work to be done. Now get some tea and breakfast and get out to help Donalbain.”

            He sat down at the table and sliced some of the still-warm bread. Zelda quietly served him a cup of tea as he buttered it. The kitchen was silent but for the sound of Link’s munching and the knitting needles clicking together. The awkwardness was pervasive.

            As soon as Link finished his breakfast, he went back to his room to get dressed for work in the bitter outdoors with Donalbain.

            For the past few days since he arrived at the home of Donalbain and Hecuba to find Zelda, Link had been recovering from hypothermia and exhaustion. He and his companion, Vincent, had travelled non-stop from Hyrule, through Calatia, and into Forhas just to find the princess Zelda and now that they had, it should have been time to rest.

            But Link had not counted on Hecuba.

            The small, round woman had a short temper with those who did not do their chores and she was determined that all under her roof would work. Of course, now that there were two able young men living in the small cottage, the old woman had designed some grand plans for the place. Most of it involved heavy labour.

            Making sure to close the door firmly, Link walked across the bedroom to the closet and opened it. He pulled from the shelves some thick breeches, his tunic, and a thick cloak; He would need all the clothing he could between himself and the bitter winter weather beyond the cosiness of the cottage walls.

            Without another look to the women in the kitchen, Link left the cottage and stepped out onto the ice covered steps. He looked around.

            The small clearing surrounding the cottage was covered with white snow, as was everything else. The trees were contrasts of white and black, and the surrounding outbuildings were little more than mounds of snow with a little opening in one side. Leading down from the front steps, a path of footsteps –two pairs- led off into the dark forest. They could only have been the steps of Donalbain and Vincent. Link set off in pursuit, clasping his cloak closely about him against the chill winter air. 

            The young hero followed the footsteps through the forest until he heard the sound of an axe and a man talking. Following now both the sounds and the path, Link soon found himself looking at both his host and companion chopping down a large tree.

            “… so that’s why you should talk more, lad,” said Donalbain to the ever-silent Calatian, Vincent. “All you need to do is find a reason to go on living. Find yourself a wife, or family, or anything, as long as you have a new mission in life. You mustn’t go on being silent and dumb all your life. Not healthy.” As the old man was talking, the giant tree fell with a deafening crash and the forest then returned to it’s previous silence. Link walked up to the two.

            “Still no luck with him?” asked the young man, picking up an axe lying beside the unmoving Vincent.

            The old man nodded sadly. “Poor lad. I’ve seen some horrible sights in my time, but what he saw must have been absolutely terrible. And there are few ways for us to help him. Sad.” With one last shake of his head, Donalbain hefted his axe and began chopping the felled tree into logs.

            With one last look to his friend, Link set about helping the frail old man cut up the tree.

            The two of them, with Vincent looking on, spent much of the day chopping the tree into firewood, the coldness of the forest being stayed by their seemingly never-ending work. They stopped occasionally for breaks and once for a quick lunch, but they worked tirelessly for hours and hours making sure that they and the women would stay comfy and warm in the coming nights for winter was in the middle of it’s season and showed no signs of leaving early.

            In the late afternoon, as the sun was beginning to sink over the far-off mountains, the three had collected more than enough wood for the next few weeks and headed back to the cottage for some well deserved rest and food and warmth.

            The trio entered the little cottage and were immediately greeted with the smells of a wonderful dinner awaiting them.

            “We’re back!” called Donalbain, taking off his boots near the doorway and then heading for the kitchen.

            “You’re too early,” came a cry from the kitchen angrily before the old man could make it halfway across the living room. “Go back out!”

            As Link took off his boots and began to help Vincent with his, Hecuba appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on her hips and a sour expression on her face. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour, so go away until then.”

            Donalbain stopped in his tracks before the large frame of his dear wife. “But we just came in, dear. We can wait for dinner in here. Now please move so I can get the brandy.”

            The old woman held up a finger and waved it at her husband. “Oh, no you won’t! You can go back outside and work for the hour, not sit down and get drunk! Not while we are in here cooking our bottoms off to give you three a wonderful meal! Now get!”

            Donalbain looked dismayed and Link could hardly stifle his amusement at the little argument. “Please, pet-” started the old man.

            “Don’t you ‘please pet’ me! OUT!”

            Donalbain sighed and retraced his tracks to the door where Link was still standing. While his body language said defeat, his face was a large grin as his back was turned to his wife. Hecuba returned to the kitchen and the old man chuckled. He leaned close to Link and said in a low voice, “There’s small bottle of dandelion wine waiting for us in the goat shed. Come on.”

            Again putting on their boots, the three men made their way back outside into the cold gathering dusk and to a nearby shed. Holding the small door for his companions, Donalbain closed it behind them and rummaged in the corner of the small shed, behind one of the two goats, who were happily sleeping away on the straw covered floor. Link and Vincent had found seats next to the goats just as their host cried out in delight and pulled from the darkness a small bottle of pale liquid.

            The small lantern between them, Link and Donalbain shared the bottle, offering to Vincent but getting the usual response.

            “More for us, then,” Donalbain said with a wink.

            After a few minutes of quiet drinking, Donalbain asked the question that Link knew was coming eventually.

            “So you do love Zelda, right?” he asked.

            Link took a swig of the bottle and handed it back before replying.

            “I love her more than my own life,” the boy said gloomily.

            “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

            Link shrugged. “I love her enough to search across half the land and nearly kill myself, leaving behind all that I have worked for in the past five years, and yet I know that I can never have her.”

            “And why is that?” asked the old man innocently, though Link thought there was a slight smile on the man’s face. It could have been that the old man knew more than he let on about the world outside the forest, or it could have just been the wine.

            “Our… Her family never approved of me,” the boy said with a sigh.

            “So don’t tell her family. Her life is her own to decide for, not her father’s. They might not be happy about it, but if her family finds out that you two are already married, they won’t have many options.”

            “Except divorce,” Link pointed out as he took another drink.

            Donalbain waved his hand vaguely in the air. “Divorce can be messy, especially for a family like hers. They would probably disown her rather than divorce.”

            “Though now that her family have all died, it might not be such a large problem, but…”

            Donalbain nodded. “Others would surely be looking on and they hold too much power for strangers, eh?”

            Link nodded and sighed deeply.

            The two were silent for a while, doing nothing but passing the steadily emptying bottle back and forth.

            “Does she love you?” asked the old man suddenly.

            Link nodded. “I think so, but she’s never really said so. She was very loyal to her family. She would never do anything against either their wishes or what is for the best of the… family business.” Link chose his words carefully, knowing that his hosts were ignorant of Zelda’s royal past. The girl had chosen not to tell the old couple that she was the princess of Hyrule so that she might be treated just as another anonymous peasant and perhaps live out a simple, quiet life.

            At this, Donalbain chuckled as if Link had said something funny. “Family business…that’s one way to call it.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Link suspiciously as the old man took another long swig of the wine.

            He shook his head and put the bottle back into the corner. “Nothing, nothing at all,” said the man as he tightened his cloak around himself. “Just making talk is all. Nothing more. Now come on, dinner should be ready by now.”

            Without another word, the three exited the small shed and opened the front door of the cottage, closing it quickly once inside to keep the warm air in. Hecuba noticed them and barked, “What have you three been doing?”

            “Feeding the goats,” replied both Link and Donalbain automatically.

            Hecuba waddled over to glare her husband in the face, or as near as she could, and said menacingly, “Your nose looks a bit red. Have you been drinking?”

            Donalbain shook his head fiercely, avoiding the woman’s gaze. “Of course not, pet. It is winter, after all, and for a nose not to get red in winter is just unnatural…”

            He was stared at for several uneasy seconds before Hecuba huffed and walked back to the kitchen. “Dinner is about ready.  You lot had better wash up first.”

            Donalbain glanced to Link and winked. “Come on lad. Let’s get your friend here washed all proper like.” With that, Link and his host guided the brain-dead Vincent to the back room of the small cottage where a basin of warm water lay upon a table. There, the three of them washed themselves of the grime of a day’s work, finishing just in time to hear Hecuba’s voice calling them to the table.

            Once seated and served, the new family began to talk.

            “So, my little ones,” Hecuba began, “Have you given any thought to the Midwinter Festival?”

            Link and Zelda glanced at each other before answering.

            “What is the Midwinter Festival, granny?” the girl asked.

            The old woman looked appalled. “What is it?! Why it is only the most popular thing to do around these parts in winter! All the young people love it just as much as us older folk, isn’t that right dear?”

            “Of course, dear,” came the expected answer from opposite the matron.

            “Quite,” she continued. “At the festival, held on the solstice, all of the families in the area gather for a few days and have a large party with plenty of food and games and stories and everything! Oh, it’s so much fun! You two will be going with each other, of course?”

            Zelda blushed deeply and Link chocked on his food. “Ah, Hecuba,” he started, “Zelda and I are just friends.”

            The old woman smiled slightly and, to his horror, patted Link’s hand in a tenderly way.

            “Of course not, dear. Now stop chattering and finish your dinner.”

            The conversation had clearly been ended and, soon after, so had dinner.

            Later that night, after dinner had been put away and the old couple had retired for the night, Link sat alone in the living room, slouched in the large chair by the diminishing light of the fireplace. He had sat staring off into the mesmerizing glow for what seemed like hours when he heard a floorboard creak beside him. Turning, hand reaching unconsciously for his absent sword, he relaxed at the sight of Zelda staring at him dressed in her nightdress and holding a small candle that cast dim yet eerie shadows around the room.

            “Are you alright?” she asked quietly.

            He nodded. “I’m fine, thank you. Why are you up so late? You should be asleep.”

            She shrugged and sat down on the rug near the fire, knees pulled to her chest and chin resting on them. “I couldn’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”

            It was Link’s turn to shrug. “The same, I suppose.”

            The two were quiet for a moment, both just staring into the red glow.

            “So what have you been telling Hecuba?” Link asked suddenly.

            Zelda shook her head, smiling. “Absolutely nothing. She just has it in for us, I suppose.”

            “She couldn’t be more conspicuous,” Link added, also smiling. “Though that Midwinter Festival sounds like it could be fun.”

            Zelda nodded excitedly. “I know! It’s been ages since we’ve been to a party! The last one was in…” She trailed off as memories of their last moments of fun came back to her. She sniffled softly as she thought about just how close the two of them had been to death.

            “Calatia,” Link finished for her, his voice trembling as he too remembered.

            “It seems so long ago,” said Zelda wistfully. She thought for a moment. “It must be at least two months ago. Maybe more.”

            Link nodded. “That was the start of this mess, wasn’t it?”

            Suddenly, Zelda looked defiantly at her friend and spread her hands wide. “I wouldn’t call this a mess!” She relaxed a bit. “I would call it happiness.”

            Link met the gaze of the girl. “I would call it temporary.”

            Zelda shook her head sadly. “What is it with you that you just can’t let go? Living here has made me happier than I have ever known and I know that you love it here just as much as I do! And you still want to leave it as quickly as you can! Why can’t we just be happy?”

            A grunt came from behind them and the sleeping form of Vincent turned on his sofa bed. Link motioned to Zelda to keep her voice down. He then came down from his chair and sat beside his princess, arm around her shoulders.

            “We’ve had this conversation dozens of times. I would love to stay but we both have a duty to Hyrule. We can’t leave it in the hands of Trine. It belongs to you. Its people belong to you. Its spirit belong to you. And its protectors belong to you.”

            Zelda leaned her head against Link’s shoulder. She knew what he was saying. Someday the two of them would have to return to Hyrule and retake the throne, but until they did, Link would always be alongside her, protecting her and comforting her just by being there. He was hers. They both knew it.

            Idly, Zelda fingered the small necklace that hung around Link’s neck; the ring necklace given to him by a Malon from an ancient age. It was much like the bond shared by the two Hylians- Sometimes there is a large divide in how the two thought and acted, but in the end they would always meet again to become one.

            “You belong to me…” she said softly before lifting her head and looking Link in the eye. “So there would be no problem if we went to this festival together?”

            Link leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, a slight smile on his lips.

            “I suppose not,” he said finally.

            “Of course not,” the girl said haughtily, smiling madly. “Good night then. And get some sleep.”

            With that, Zelda rose quickly, pecked Link on the cheek and walked off to bed leaving Link sitting on the rug washed in the near-gone glow of the fire.

            After the bedroom door had closed, Zelda quietly crept into the bed set up for her by the wall of her host’s bedroom. Her candle quickly extinguished, she pulled the covers over herself and after some time was breathing the heavy, regular breaths of sleep. Not long after, the door to Link’s room opened and then shut quietly. The house was asleep.

            Almost.

            Hecuba, lying in bed, her eyes wide open, smiled. Of course the two children would fall in love, after all, she had planted the seeds and with teenagers it didn’t take long for results to sprout. The world often complied with how she wished it to behave.

            She closed her eyes and was asleep in an instant.

Again, the cold body of Auldric rose slowly from unconsciousness.

            “You are awake,” said the voice softly within the boy’s mind.

            He groaned. “I thought that had all been a dream,” he said aloud.

            “No dream, just hazy reality.”

            “Hazy?”

            The voice ignored his question. “It is time for us to leave this place.”

            Auldric nodded, more to himself than to the voice, and stood up looking around him as he did.

            The ice cave was no bigger than a small hut, and most of it’s space was filled with the frigid waters of the river above. Auldric was standing on a small shelf of dry land hidden away in a corner of the small cave. An altar stood decaying against the wall.

            Looking up, Auldric could see no way to climb from the hole above him where the waterfall was pouring in.

            “How do we get out?” he asked.

            “Through the water, of course,” said the voice patiently.

            Looking down into the pool, the water seemed clear to Auldric’s eyes, and suddenly, as if a ray of light had shown through the cave mouth, he glimpsed a small hole near the bottom of the pool.

            “I have to swim? Through that water?”

            “If you do not,” said the voice, “then we both stay here for eternity.”

            Auldric did not need to be told twice. Taking a large breath, he gripped the Master Sword fiercely and dove into the freezing water.

            Immediately his skin was accosted by the numbness of icy water, but he fought the pain and swam until he was at the hole. Grabbing its sides firmly, he pulled himself through the opening, propelling himself down a narrow tunnel of water, blinded by the now rushing bubbles and liquid.

            He torpedoed along for what seemed like an eternity, all the while his lungs screaming louder and louder for air.

            Then, just as it seemed he would continue forever, the rush of water ended and Auldric was thrown into the air.

            He landed heavily on a patch of earth and lay there gasping for breath for many minutes, suddenly shivering as his adrenaline left his already weak body.

            “Good boy, Auldric. Now we are free for fulfil our destinies,” said the voice softly.

            Auldric’s gasps soon became normal rhythmic breaths and he began to dream…

             “Why are you here?”

            He looked around but could see nothing- the world had gone black.

            “Why are you here?” Repeated the ethereal voice.

            “Who are you! What do you want of me!?” he screamed in reply.

            “You are here.”

            “Yes I’m here! Now answer me!”

            “Why are you here?”

            “I don’t know where here is!” he shouted to the nothingness. “I can’t see anything!”

            There was a pause of silence and the blackness seemed to get even more black.

            More voices this time sang a response in voices that both made his skin crawl and his heart break:

“Your eyes are perfect and there’s no fog, yet you roam wasting time”

            He collapsed to his knees, holding his head in the pain and pleasure the voices created within his mind.

            “That… answers nothing! Where am I?!”

            Again the sirens answered, this time softer, at the edge of hearing.  “You lie in bed fevered and still, yet you are not sick at all.”

            Tears started to flow freely down his cheeks as the voices spoke again, his confusion mounting and his terror at the voices rising.

            “What is happening to me?” he asked the voices in a small voice.

            Again a pause and the pressure on his mind increased. Then, just above a breath, the voices spoke again.

“Why are you dead?”

The pressure continued to increase until, finally, Auldric passed out in the blackness.

He opened his eyes painfully.

“What…?” he croaked hoarsely to the world around him.

Suddenly a hand pressed upon his brow and a cooling sensation spread through his body.

“Shh.” Came voice softly from above. “You must remain quiet and calm. You are safe.”

But he did not listen. Auldric tired to fight the hand and rose his head from the pillow it was resting on and tried to rise.

“I’m not safe! The darkness will find me! The voices will torture me again! I must…”

His words we cut when the hand forcefully pulled him back onto the pillow. “You must rest, sir. I assure you, you are safe here. Do not worry yourself. You have been through a lot. Now is the time to rest.”

Again a feeling spread through his body, but this time he could not fight against its sense of quiescence.

            He quickly fell again into sleep.

            When next he woke, Auldric woke slowly. There was no hand holding him to the bed he slept in, and he rose slowly.

            He was sitting on a very soft bed in a small cottage. In the hearth a small fire was glowing, warming something in a pot. Next to the bed, sitting quietly on a chair, sat a young girl, sleeping.

            Auldric stared at the girl. With her long brown hair and perfect face softened by sleep, she looked much like an angel he saw often on a statue standing in his village. The angel he once believed stood only for him and protected him.           

            The memory brought back unwanted memories of his past, and he quickly pushed them to the back of his mind.

            Throwing the sheets off him, he stood shakily, noticing for the first time how white his completion had become. His veins could be seen clearly on his bones and in the filtering sunlight of a nearby window, his skin seemed to almost glow. If he did not know better, he would say that his skin was dead. 

            While looking himself over for injuries, he noticed that his tunic had been removed and warm towels had been tied onto his chest. Ripping them off, he threw them onto the bed and wandered over to the fire.

            The heat of the fire seemed to burn instead of warm him as he drew near to the hearth. Turning away from the fire, Auldric looked to the table nearby. Upon this table sat a pot similar to the one on the fire. The boy gingerly took the lid off of this pot and peered inside, hoping for some food. Alas, he only found more of the wet rags.      

            As he replaced the lid, he heard a gasp. Turning, he saw that the girl had awakened and was staring fixedly at him.

            He walked over to her and stared at her. She stared back, apprehension in her eyes.

            “Where…?” Auldric started, but found his voice halted in his throat. He coughed painfully and tried again. “Where… am…?” but could get no further.

            The girl stood suddenly and placed a hand upon Auldric’s arm. Reacting swiftly, the warrior grabbed her arm and threw the girl against the wall, then pinned her arms above her head with his hands. He stared her in the eyes, his face close to hers.

            “Where am I!” he screamed at the girl angrily, not caring for the burning in his throat. Just as he yelled, he stopped and relaxed, seeing the look of pure terror in the eyes of the girl, and the tears beginning to well up within them. She released a pitiful sob. She meant him no harm.

            He released his grip on her and sat down heavily on the bed, massaging his battered throat. The girl collapsed into the chair and curled up, not letting her eyes off of him.

            For over an hour they stayed like that, both eying each other, waiting for movement. Finally, it was Auldric who broke the silence.

            “Did you save me?” He croaked to the girl.

            She nodded slowly, eyes still upon him.

            “What happened? How did I get here?”

            She spoke quietly in response. “I found you near the lake.”

            “What…?” Auldric’s words caught in his throat and he suddenly felt light-headed. The world tipped suddenly and he passed out, falling back onto the bed.

            After a minute, the girl rose from her chair and looked at her guest’s eyes. He was definitely out cold, and still suffering from the fever.

            She sighed and picked up the pot of warm rags from the table. He should not have risen from bed so soon.

            She quietly began to apply the rags.

            Yet again, Auldric rose from unconsciousness, but this time lay still, his eyes closed.

            “You are a fool to have done that,” said the voice.

            “What do you mean? Done what?” mumbled the prostrate warrior.

            “You attacked your hostess. She obviously helped you survive our escape from the cave, and you respond to this aid by attacking her. Good job, hero.”

            “Don’t mock me, spirit,” spat Auldric quietly. “She surprised me when she moved suddenly. I reacted as a soldier should.”

            The voice chuckled. “A soldier?? Whoever said that you were a soldier?”

            “Of course I am. I serve the king, I am his guard. That makes me a soldier.”

            “Serving a king does not a soldier make. Peasants serve a king; servants serve a king, but neither are soldiers. You are merely a servant. Or you would be had you not thrown away your duties. You then are now nothing more than a man with no mission.”

            “I am not a servant!” yelled Auldric fiercely to the voice. “I do as I wish and I do have a mission!”

            “You have no master, yet you call yourself a soldier. You have no orders yet you have a mission. You must be wiser than me to see the logic in these.”

            The boy seethed in anger toward the voice but did not respond. He was too weak. “I have no time for phantoms,” he said.

            “I am no phantom,” helped a voice. “I am as real as you.”

            Auldric froze. That was not the voice of the spirit. It was the voice of a girl.

            “Who are you?” He asked slowly, keeping his eyes closed, fearing it was another voice in his head.

            “I helped you survive the fever. You are alive thanks to me.”

            “You are… the girl?”

            “Yes, I am. My name is Helen.”

            “Why did you save me?”

            A pause. “Why should I have not? If you saw a dieing man upon a riverbank in winter, would you not help him?”

            “Not if he were damned.”

            Again a pause. “Are you damned, sir?”

            Auldric smiled slightly. “I think I may be.”

            “Then when you are better, we shall have your curse lifted. But for now just rest. Your fever has broken, but you still must recover you strength.”

            He heard the girl rise from where she must have been sitting beside him, and walk over to the fireplace.

            “Did I speak in my sleep?” He asked.

            She seemed to stop what she was doing and think, from the pause.

            “Yes. But it was feverish mumbling. Nothing to worry about. Just sleep.”

            Auldric sighed and relaxed. He was safe for now and on the mend. Soon he could continue with his mission to kill Link.

            As the warrior drifted off to sleep, the Voice looked down upon him and sighed.

            When he next awoke, Auldric felt like he had just woken from the most peaceful sleep he had ever slept. He slowly sat up and looked around the room. The girl was nowhere to be found, yet a fire blazed happily in the fireplace. She had not gone far.

            Slowly, the boy lifted his legs over the side of the bed and stretched as if he had never stretched before. His arms and legs were stiff from not moving for what must have been days, his back was like a board- rigid and hard to move. Bones cracked and moved, getting used to being awake. It felt good.

            Looking out the window near the bed, Auldric noticed snow covering everything visible. Winter was still in its height.

            Suddenly, the door burst open and a cold draft swam into the room. A hooded figure ran into the warm house and quickly shut the door behind her. She was carrying bundles of twigs and sticks.

            The girl- Helen- put down the bundles and removed her cloak, putting it on a peg on the wall. Turning to pick up her bundles, she noticed Auldric sitting up staring at her.

            She froze in mid reach. “You’re awake.”

            The boy nodded, but did not otherwise move.

            Slowly, Helen picked up the wood and walked over to the fireplace, always keeping an eye on her guest.

            “Are you hungry?” she asked, peering into a pot over the fire.

            “Yes,” Auldric croaked. His voice was still hoarse from the long period of disuse.

            “I hope you like potato soup,” she said, getting out two bowls and a pair of spoons from a cupboard.

            He said nothing, but tried to manage a smile as he was served his food. He did not wish to frighten the girl again. Seeing him grin, Helen returned him with a quick smile but it was gone in an instant. She was still afraid.

            She took a seat in a chair by the table, watching him eat in silence. The silence was uncomfortable to say the least, each of them having questions to ask of the other.

            When the soup had been finished, Auldric again led the conversation.

            “Thank you,” he said simply, shifting position on the bed. “The soup was delicious.”

            Still eying him, Helen responded in a quiet voice, “I’m glad you liked it. It’s the only thing you’ll be eating if you stay here.”

            “Why is that?”

            “Potatoes and herbs are all I have to eat.”

            Auldric nodded. “Are there no animals around here?”

            She shook her head. “None that I can catch.”

            “What about your father or brother… or husband?”

            She paused, her breath catching for a moment. “My father is dead and I have no brother.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that. What about your husband?”

            She seemed to blush slightly. “I have no husband.”

            Suddenly Auldric was hit by a realization: this girl lived alone. She had no family or loved ones. Was that why she had taken him in? For company?

            Deciding to put the issue of family aside, Auldric moved the conversation in a new direction.

            “You found me?” He asked.

            She nodded. “I was collecting herbs near the lake nearby and I found you lying on the shore almost dead. You would have died if I hadn’t helped you.”

            “Then I am in you debt,” he said.

            She waved her hand dismissively, now obviously embarrassed. “I did what anyone would have done.”

            Slowly, Auldric stood up, using the wall as a support. Helen tensed slightly at the movement. Instead of moving toward her, Auldric stood smartly to attention, raising his arm before him in salute.

            “In the name of the Kingdom of Hyrule, I thank you for your aid to a soldier in need.” That said, he collapsed to the bed exhausted with the effort of saluting.

            The girl looked surprised. “You’re a soldier?”

            “Yes, I am,” he replied. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something laughed. He ignored it.

            “How did you get into the middle of the Forhasian Forest from Hyrule?” Her face suddenly lit up in hope. “Are you on a mission for the king?”

            Auldric smiled. It all made sense now: A lonely young girl, living alone in a backwater part of the world, isolated from civilisation, finds a near-dead man to care for and sweep her off of her feet.

            “You could say that, yes,” he said.

            She was nearly bubbling over with excitement as she spoke. “Then I’m so happy to have been of help to you! Will you be staying long?”

            Expectation. Of course.

            “That all depends on how long it takes me to heal. What do you think?”

            She nodded. “Of course. But you’re recovering from a nasty fever and hypothermia. You’ve been asleep for days and you need much more rest before you can be healthy enough the leave the forest,” she paused. “I guess,” she added.

            “Then I’ll stay until I’m strong enough to leave. But I insist on helping you to pay back my debt to you.”

            She again dismissed this thought with a wave of her hand. “No, you don’t have to do that. I can manage. You just rest.”

            Auldric persisted, knowing full well the dangers of winter.

            “I insist. How else will you collect enough food for two people for the winter? I’m guessing you only have enough in your pantry to feed one person- you. You need me.”

            The look of fantasy quickly left her eyes to be replaced with a look of reality hitting hard. Auldric waved his had, dismissively.

            “Don’t worry. Once I get strong enough, I’ll help you with what needs doing. Hunting, logging, whatever.”

            She seemed to perk up at this. “I haven’t had meat in along time. I’m not sure I even remember how to cook it!” She laughed the dainty laugh that all girls her age laugh. Its sound sent Auldric’s head wheeling but he ignored it.

            “Even so, I owe you my life. I don’t know how to repay you.”

            She paused and blushed deeply. Getting up, she sat herself next to her guest and placed a hand on his arm. He tensed. She slowly lifted her head to look him in the eyes and said:

            “Tell me all about Hyrule and your travels!”

            His heart pounding madly, Auldric gasped in relief, but shook his head.

            “I will. But not until my health gets better.”

            Helen nodded vigorously and stood up, helping Auldric into bed again. “Sleep well, Mr Knight.”

            Auldric smiled slightly and closed his eyes to sleep. His last thought of the day was of just how easy it was to get the girl under his control and just how critical she would be.

What is happiness?

            Trine, king of Hyrule, lord of Delabor, and Possessor of Calatia- undeniably the most powerful ruler the Seven Lands had ever seen- sat upon his throne, listless and quiet.

            He was thinking.

            What is happiness? What is it to be happy? If one is happy, would he know it?

            These thought streamed through Trine’s young mind as he pondered his life

What is happiness?

            Trine, king of Hyrule, lord of Delabor, and Possessor of Calatia- undeniably the most powerful ruler the Seven Lands had ever seen- sat upon his throne, listless and quiet.

            He was thinking.

            What is happiness? What is it to be happy? If one is happy, would he know it?

            These thought streamed through Trine’s young mind as he pondered his life and his actions, especially those taken in the past few months.

            Idly, the young king played with a small crystal in his hands. Just on the surface, this object was nothing more than a piece of pretty glass, but it was what was held beneath that surface that made the thing so valuable: there was magic.

            The crystal was actually a communications device, powered by magic and used by great commanders to give orders over long distances to troops and envoys. This simple piece of white rock was possibly the most valuable piece of logistical device in the entire world, and it was useless in its master’s hands.

            Its sibling crystal had been placed in the hands of the servant who, by all reasoning, should have been the most loyal of all servants.

            But something had gone wrong.

            The faithful golem of the king had destroyed his crystal in a rage- so enraged by the demands of his lord, the servant had severed his only link to his master.

            The faithful servant was no longer faithful. He had rebelled.

            This above all other things bothered Trine. The spells woven into young Auldric’s mind should have been strong enough to keep the boy under a firm grip for the rest of his life, yet it had only lasted a few months. This meant either there was something stronger than the magic, or that the magic just was not good enough. Either way, magic was not enough to maintain control, thus the magic-wielder cannot be relied upon too much, despite all of the faithful aid he had given to his liege.

            Which led the boy-king back to his original question: What is happiness?

            By all accounts, Trine should have been ecstatic. He had risen from an obscure prince of a backwater nation to the emperor of the most powerful empire ever in a frighteningly short time; he had disposed of all who had stood in his way, including his father, mother, uncle and aunt, and even his own cousin who may have one day become his wife. But such was the way of great men- they are hailed as great after their deaths, and their lives may be nothing more than one stroke of luck after another during what otherwise was nothing more than a dull and pointless life.

            The great can touch the lives of thousands and change the course of nations, yet they can do nothing to help themselves.

            What was it he wanted? Power? He was ruler of millions. He had power. Riches? The treasuries were full of some of the most beautiful and marvellous treasures in history. He had riches. Company? He could have his pick from any number of the thousands of subjects within the empire. He could have company- should he ever choose it.

            No. Trine wanted none of those- he wanted something more. Perhaps love? Ashir the wizard had suggested this, once. By killing his entire family, Trine had effectively cut himself off from all who had any reason to love him. He had no family, no friends, no love. But was that what he wanted? Would love make him happy?

            If only he had a clear idea of just what it was that was happiness, then he could combat these troubling feeling of emptiness within him.

            After consulting with his many ready aids and philosophers, it was still no clearer.

            Some had said that happiness was just satisfying his own personal pleasures: eat, sleep, and be merry. But Trine was king, surely he could do what he wanted? He had everything at his fingertips and yet he was still unhappy, so that could not be true.

            Others had said that happiness lied in not only satisfying personal pleasure, but also the collective pleasure- that of everyone. Certainly he could do much to achieve this goal, but was it worth it? He had no desire to help others, so was happiness against desire? Are wanting and being happy totally opposite thoughts, neither able to satisfy the other?

            Still others said happiness was through the gods. To do as the gods will and devote one’s life to them is to attain happiness. Again, that did not seem true. If one devoted one’s life solely to the gods and lived for the paradise after death, then what was the point? If living meant nothing but a respite before heaven, then happiness meant nothing and it was happiness that Trine craved for.

            There was something else, there had to be- another factor in the equation, one that was missing thus far. Something was missing from Trine’s life, but he had no idea what it was he needed.

            The wizard had tried everything, but even his skill was lacking and his craft useless. If Trine was to find happiness he needed to do it alone, yet for the past few days he had done nothing but meditate, trying to find this lost puzzle piece to his emotion.

            This the boy had thought over again and again. It was only when his mind had turned to the crystal that he knew how to gain his lost happiness: the Triforce.

            With the very power of the gods, the Triforce would grant him any wish he desired, provided he could get to it. The problem lay there- the Triforce was hidden away in another land, hidden and sealed from mortal eyes. The only entrance to this land lay on Death Mountain to the North of Hyrule, and the key to this closed door was in the hands of the turncoat golem, Auldric- the Master Sword.

            It was only through the use of the Master Sword that the gates could be opened to the Golden Land where the Triforce rested, and right now, that sword was half a continent away in hostile and unsteady hands- possibly cold, dead hands- somewhere in the great forests of Forhas, unreachable by any hands other than those of Fate and luck.

            So it was that Trine had reached his depressing conclusion: happiness lay in the Triforce, accessible only through the Master Sword which was, barring any miracle, lost to him.

And so, then, was happiness. 

The boy-king sighed deeply and dropped the crystal, catching it beneath his boot and promptly grinding it to powder.

So much for being happy, he thought sadly.