Laments of a Hero

Missed Happy Endings

The skeletal figure smiled (when was the last time he'd done that?), and the boy in front of him smiled back, his eyebrows curved upward. "Go, and do not falter, my child!" The boy faded from the ethereal world, and the spirit sighed in contentment, then looked down at the ground.

That was the final skill. Now, that boy, the one he'd been watching grow since his journey began, would be able to face Ganondorf and whatever other challenges lay ahead, and he'd best them; he'd win.

The spirit of the hero looked at the sword in his hand. He'll do what I could not.

What would happen now, he wondered? For over a hundred years, he'd been stuck in the world between the living and the dead. He'd been there, but no one could see him. No, only that boy could, his blood descendant, the boy that was now carrying the knowledge of his past. He wondered still, if anyone truly saw him at all, even when he was still alive. He held a sword, and he used it. But was that all they saw him as? A pawn used in the game written by the Goddesses?

He thought that everything was for nothing, that his death in the war would be the end of his non-existent legacy. He'd been so blind to himself that he'd forgotten what lay right in front of him.

I miss her, he thought. He'd watched her go on without him, but he couldn't interfere. He would sing to her, though, when times were rough. He'd reassure her with his presence since that was all he could do. He watched her grow old without him, wishing he could be there with her, to bicker over small things then laugh, to talk until they couldn't stay awake anymore, to hold her hand as they watched time go on.

Instead, he watched her die from afar.

He was just there; he couldn't do anything. He couldn't hold her hand as she drew her final breath, or hold their son in his arms as they both cried.

If he'd been there, he would have died all over again.

After his beloved's death, he refused to watch over the living realm anymore. He couldn't bear to watch his own son die, as well.

All of this time he'd been waiting for the moment someone, anyone, would appear to slay Ganondorf once and for all. The moment he saw that Ordonian, he knew that he was of his blood.

I miss them. He glanced down at his feet, and noticed that he wasn't wearing those uncomfortable boots anymore (the same he'd been wearing when he died), but was instead wearing those incredible brown ones he always wore at home. He looked at his hands. The sword and shield were gone. What was happening to him? He examined himself, and tears (how?) formed in his eyes. He was himself again.

He was wearing his long sleeve shirt, his trousers, his boots that were always covered in mud no matter how much he cleaned them, and hair flowed down his neck and cheeks. He touched his face, and he had skin. He was crying (how?), and he could smile.

"Link?"

He froze. Even after hundreds of years, there was no way he'd ever forget her voice. She only said his name, yet he heard it as a melody, as one of the many songs she'd sing.

He turned around – in that infinite void – and she was there.

He smiled, and she smiled back. She held out her hand, then said—sang, "come, Link. Let's go home."

He stepped closer, his eyes darting to every part of her face. He'd never forgotten anything. Every detail, every freckle and every curve on her face were just as he remembered.

"I missed you," he whispered, aligning his hand against hers. "Remember...?"

"I found you, my fairy boy... And now we'll be together again."

"Malon..." he reached toward her, hesitating before placing his other palm against her cheek. He missed the feel of her skin. He ran his hand through his hair; he missed that, too. He missed everything. "I—"

Before he could say another word, Malon threw herself into his arms, both of them crying. They were tears of joy. He hadn't cried in so long; he'd forgotten how it felt. He'd forgotten how alive it made him feel, how vulnerable it made him.

"I'm so sorry—"

"No... Don't apologise for anything, love." She brushed his hair behind his ear. "Don't apologise anymore."

He pressed his forehead against hers, and they closed their eyes, holding each other.

It had been an eternity since he'd felt anything. All of those years of guilt and regret, he'd forgotten how much he missed holding his wife, brushing her hair and sharing those delicate kisses with her.

"Did you see him...?" Link asked, a smile dancing on his lips. "That boy was ours."

Malon hummed, fidgeting with his shirt collar. She missed doing that. "I looked out for him." He opened his eyes to look at her. She smiled. "I'd sing to him. Just like you did for me."

He remembered that day; when he first sang to her. He never liked singing, as he thought that his voice insulted hers. He much preferred to play his ocarina instead. But seeing her so broken, he knew that he had to sing. He had to do what she'd always do for him.

He wiped the tears from her eyes. "I love you, Malon."

She grinned, her eyes beaming. "I've been waiting forever to hear you say that again."

"I'll say it as many more times as you'd like."

She couldn't help but chuckle as she threw her arms around his neck. She jumped up onto her toes and kissed him with utter fervour.

He touched her cheek, his eyebrows curving upward. This moment, he'd been waiting for since he died. Every day, he yearned to feel her affection once again.

He held her so tightly. He couldn't lose her again.

When she pulled away, they chuckled and smiled and cried. They held hands, and Malon walked ahead, guiding him behind her in the ghost world.

"Now, let's go home."