Zelink BotW Sequel/ Legend of Zelda and the Last knight- Swords and Roses

Why we failed Pt. 15 Steady hands and a Torn heart

Chapter

Why we failed pt. 15

Steady hands and a Torn Heart

The room was black as pitch but slowly took shape around him. To his relief, Link realized he hadn't died, or so he believed. His head throbbed and his body ached as he lay on some sort of table. The air felt damp, like a cold cellar, and he could smell the stringent odors of strange ointments and tonics. Surely, if he were dead, he wouldn't be able to smell or be in this much pain, right? Or maybe that's what death was—everlasting pain or your last state of being. But what exactly was his last state of being?

Unsure, he realized that most of the darkness was due to the half-helm still covering his face. Fearing the worst, he desperately tried to move his fingers to feel the extent of the damage. The last memory no longer fresh in his mind, he pieced together the order of events that had just transpired. The tournament—that's it, that's where I was. The match, the last duel with that Dragoon. Why did he try to attack? Jun! Where's Jun?

"Lay still," a moody voice instructed. Suddenly, light began to flood the cellar as a door sprung ajar, casting torchlight from the other room. The bright blaring white burned his eyelids nearly blinding him.

"You are in no condition to move. After I give you my medicine, you can do what you want with your life, but for now, you are my patient. I'm under strict orders to see you are cared for in my hands. What you do afterwards with your life is your own affair," the voice said, slamming the door behind him. The room darkened again.

Link blinked in the dim light, trying to focus on the figure now approaching him. The smell of herbs and something akin to burnt wood filled his nostrils. He could taste the bitter tang of some medicinal concoction lingering in the air.

"...Jun," Link moaned.

"Jun? I don't know any Jun," the voice responded.

Link coughed, his vision beginning to clear as a candlelight melted into focus from the slit of his visor. The room, now illuminated, revealed rows of shelves lined with vials, jars, and curious instruments. A robed man sat beside him, looking more like a Sanctuary Cleric than a doctor. From what Link could spy from where he lay, the man had an air of solemn authority.

"Oh, you mean that boy. I had to shoo him out of here. Meddlesome lad, telling me how to do my job," the robed man shook his head, reaching for a thin bottle as he set down the candelabrum. "You know, I've been trained in the arts of mending wounds and learned even a bit of healer craft from the Zora themselves. Yet, that boy says he knows better and has seen better. Well, what I have to say to that is—"

"—I'm sorry...but, I don't care right now," Link mumbled, the man's tirade only adding to the pain. "Just, where is he, please?"

"Who, that boy?"

"Yes," Link moaned, his arm pulsing with throbs at every breath.

"Well, fine, if you insist. But I'll have to go fetch him. He also insisted I keep your helm on and said that it was your wish. How am I to perform my duties if I can't inspect the scope of your wounds? For all I know, there's hardly any head under there to save."

"Oh no, the Trial of the Flame!" Link hollered, ignoring the sagely man. "I'll be disqualified!" He suddenly stirred where he lay, attempting to draw strength to rise, but the old man pressed against him to lie still.

"See what I mean? No brains. What's the matter with you? Didn't you a word I said? You're lucky to be alive. Are you so eager to get yourself killed?"

Link ignored him, trying to muster the strength to rise, but he just couldn't budge a muscle. His entire body screamed in protest, the throbbing pain in his arm syncing with every desperate heartbeat.