One For Sorrow

Chapter 1: Out of Dark

"Oh ho!" The Old Man calles out to you. His voice carried from where you stood, in front of the Shrine of Ressurection, as did the sound of a crackling fire and smell of baking food. "I knew I'd find you out here. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a mid-morning snack?"

You sighed. Right on time, he was. Just like usual. "Where else can I go?" You said to yourself. Looking over the elevated land you were stuck on, to the regions below, you wondered if there was a corner on this Plateau-turned-personal-prison you hadn't explored. Sending one last glance to the castle, you turned to walk over to him.

The Old Man, as you'd taken to mentally calling him, was the only other person on this stupid Plateau. No one else had gotten up since you, and that way up wasn't going to work again. He—the person sitting across the fire and cooking a honeycomb apple to share—never reveled more than he wanted to. Even then, he lied freely.

You used to think him mysterious. There were many things about him you couldn't place, couldn't explain. When you'd first met him, his voice had surprised you. It was like a chilling wind on a warm summers day or the intense heat of being wrapped up in blankets in the winter; something that could of, should have been comforting but was just a hair over the line. Just enough to feel unnatural. Just that little bit off.

And there had been times when he did things you couldn't explain. You'd gone fishing, trekked up to the snowy hills, and climbed to the top of the Temple of Time, every day, at nearly the exact same time, he'd meet you there for your "mid-morning snack." Sometimes, he'd paraglide down to you, despite you not being near anything for him to jump down from. Other times, he'd appear, seemingly out of thin air. It had been very mysterious.

Now, you just thought he was mildly annoying. From the kind-of-friendship that had formed, he'd taken it upon himself to ask "favors" of you. Like that time he sent you up to the snow-covered hills, asking you to find white chuchu jelly. He said he would trade a warm recipe for it. You'd nearly risked your life and limb for the jelly, in your barely warm enough sweater, only to find out what he'd actually wanted it for: ice. Keeping water cold enough to turn into ice so his drinks would stay cool over the coming summer months. Annoying.

You bit into half of the apple he gave you. Cooked to perfection, like always. This odd little companionship you had was one that could only be born from being the only two people around (at least that were currently awake). The oddity made it seem normal that you had no idea his name, but could read him well enough that you knew he was going to try for conversation before he even finished prepping the fire.

"Calamity Ganon grows stronger by the day," he said, in a voice that hinted at being more serious than the tone currently was. He almost sounded like he was talking about the nice weather, but was a breath away from mentioning a devastating storm.

"You say that almost everyday," you grumbled back. The fire held your attention, rather than following where the Old Man looked. The depressing black cloud never really changed from day-to-day. You were perfectly content with watching the embers dance, thank you very much.

"Zelda cannot contain Calamity forever." He was serious now. Sadly, you knew what he was going to say. Another perk of this weird friendship you'd built. "She will need respite, even if that is in the form of a challenger stepping up to fight Ganon momentarily."

Momentarily. Meaning someone who was unfortunate enough not to have the sword that would seal the darkness. Someone with such bad luck that they would die, but give the princess enough time to rest, before fighting Ganon again. Someone who had the unfortunate, terrible luck of sitting here and having to listen to their death plan.

"I want to help Zelda. I do, but..."

You looked to the shrine again. You'd heard stories of Link. Growing up, there were whispers amongst children, bedtime stories of his bravery, sometimes the Old Man had told you about him. You'd even seen him once.

All of those stories was ones of grandeur, of knights and tragic tales that seemed more myth than reality. But most of all, they sounded nothing like you. Even if he did get his heroic butt beat so bad that he had to sleep it off for a hundred years (and currently counting!), that was still more than you could ever see yourself succeeding.

"You chose this life," The Old Man interrupted your thoughts. His voice was as sharp as the knife he had used to cut your apple. An apple that suddenly tasted a lot more bitter in your mouth. "Take solace in that; many aren't as lucky to have that privilege."

You shrinked away. He sounded commanding, but in a way that straddled the line of strict authoritarian and, surprisingly, parental figure. His tone made you feel small, like you were getting scolded. As if you'd choice had ever been a real "choice." It was a choice as much as saving a drowning kitten was a choice; not really one at all.

"Isn't he supposed to wake up?" You tried to counter. Link wasn't dead, that was something everyone had told you. So much so that you wondered if they were just trying to convince themselves. But then you had seen him, and it really did seem like he was just sleeping. He didn't seem hurt, or even particularly troubled in the healing pool. Just looked like he was taking a quick power nap before trekking to Hyrule Castle.

You imagined what would happen if that were the case. Whoops, sorry, Zelda, he'd say. Just forgot to set an alarm. Overslept a bit. You know how it is.

"A week," the Old Man grimly chinned in. "One week more. Then I will give you my paraglider and you will do what must be done."

Heart sinking a good bit, you looked down at your apple. It was cool now, the honey sticky and thick in your hand. A week left before facing the certain death. A week was all the hero had to wake up and save the world, or else you were going to give a valiant effort to do it yourself. And if this week had followed like the past hundred years, it seemed you would have to aquatint yourself with a sword. Suddenly, you didn't seem as hungry.

"You know how to ruin a good mid-morning meal, you know that?"

The Old Man chuckled heartedly. "Perhaps I can remedy that." He was out of honey, but had two more apples. He put one on the cooking pot atop the fire to bake. You watched the apple simmer, the way it turned a nice golden brown. You were just thinking about the cinnamon and sugar apples your mom used to make when a loud rumbling sounded, shaking the ground below you.

Shocked for only a second, you realized it was coming from behind you.

It seemed the hero didn't need a week after all.