Written in Blood

XLII . A long lost hero

Her strong act must've broke, because I can feel her head on my chest, sobbing.

I give up on keeping my eyes open, staring at the back of my eyelids. For whatever reason, my mind drifts back to my past heroics. And my hope hasn't dwindled. You'd think I'd welcome death, but my fight isn't gone yet. An annoying habit I suppose.

Is the Triforce of Courage still inside of me? That must be at least one reason I haven't let myself slip into lunconsciousness. Farore's last ditch gift is once again burning a hole in my pocket- or rather my hand. Even as numbness carries away most of the other pain, I can feel the back of my hand. It's scorching, but it doesn't sting like any other burn I've had in my life. It's warm all right, but I can't feel my skin melt or burn. Is this that darned goddess' way of trying to pump raw courage through me? I had always believed, at least since after my time in Termina, that I was as good as dead to them. My lot in life no longer suited their ordained purpose for me, and the Triforce no longer had any hold on me. But scratch that thought, because the mark of the sacred triangles had found me again. And it hurts.

Either it burns because the fight isn't over yet, because it's still burning within me-literally, or the goddesses are jerks and love to mess with me. ...I'm leaning towards the latter. Whatever the reason, it's the only thread keeping me from conking out, stone cold and dead.

I'm not one to believe in fate anymore- or specifically, enjoy the cards fate hands me - but I have a feeling that I have to get back up. Farore's lighting my hand up and turning it on high. We're cooking with gas now.

I'm terrified and yet I've never felt more fired up. More ready. It's crazy really, I'm knocked to the ground, incapacitated, and yet I'm still stuck fast. Stubborn as ever.

I start to get up, fueled only by a mix of stupidly reckless courage and some mortal terror. Fun stuff. Oh, and stubbornness too.

I'm on my back, and the stones feel completely soaked underneath my shredded tunic.

How has Ganondorf not found us yet? I don't know, the world around me is only the backs of my eyelids and the pain and the sobbing. A little bubble of chock full of nothing good.

I try to break away, coaxing what little concentration I have to get myself up. I grit my teeth and clench my fingers into fists.

Before I can let the stupidness of this idea really sink in, I jerk myself up. Bad idea.

The feeling rip roars through my body, and I dug my teeth into my lip to stop the gasps of pain. I've gotta get used to the feeling. And fast. This absolute goddess darned idiot that is myself is gonna have a lot more to worry about than a stomach ache in seconds.

I hear my name and see her grab my shoulders and start to help me up. There's still a few tears on her face I can see in the almost blackness, but my vision is gritty and granular. It's as if everything is made out of sand.

"You're not fighting. I'm going to protect you."

She looks so beat up and horrible.

The sadness in her eyes isn't as prominent and I know she's putting her guard back up. Her voice is strong although I can sense the weakness. They've just about drained Zelda to nothing a skinny, bruised husk of a person. What did they do to her exactly? One look at her broken face makes me change my mind however, I don't want to know. Maybe it's just exhaustion, cause I doubt she's been able to sleep well- or sleep at all- but the bags under her eyes look like dark purple and black bruises, soft, curved blobs next to the bridge of her nose.

She sounds so sure of herself though, even when her voice wavers.

"T-that pile of bacon is going down with me, or so help me... I swear to the goddesses... he's dead." My voice is weak and shakes, but I manage to get a grip on myself. The anger seeps back into me, and I try to keep my pain on the fringes of my consciousness.