Promises : A Zelink Story

Chapter 9

Dedicated to @11starfish

Link raised his eyebrows at the sight of Impa carrying two wooden swords on her belt and dragging a wooden chair behind her. How in Hyrule was he supposed to best Ganondorf in a month if he trained with a flimsy sword and a . . . chair?

Impa's eyes shone with amusement, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smirk. "I know what you're thinking, Prince of two peoples, but trust me–you'll be the best fighter Hyrule has ever seen by the time we're done."

"Okay, but–"

"I brought wooden swords because although you are an expert at swordplay, you have become quite reliant on that Master Sword of yours," she said. Link looked down at the Master Sword sheathed at his hip and felt his face grow hot with embarrassment as she continued, "You need to be at your full potential in any situation, with or without that holy sword. As for the chair, it will be important for when I teach you Sheikah magic."

Out of all of his training which was to come, link was most excited about this part, learning Sheikah magic. Impa now spun a tiny tornado with her index finger, as though to taunt him, tempt him.

"Right. And how exactly would I go about awakening said magic?"

With a snap of her fingers, Impa disappeared and reappeared seconds later sitting on the chair."It's different for everybody. I personally had to meditate for a week straight–"

Link groaned audibly. He'd rather go fight Ganondorf this instant than even attempt meditation."–but you're not me," Impa finished, a shadow of laughter in her voice. "So go sit in the chair please, and we shall begin."

***

Link gazed at his Master Sword, laying abandoned in the sand, longingly. Impa had bound Link's wrists and ankles to the chair with rope. After two hours, they had begun to chafe, and now, after four hours, the welts stung and bled as though a swarm of angry wasps had attacked him.

Once again, Impa lunged at him, trying (unsuccessfully) to trigger the only form of self-preservation he had–his dormant magic. Although Link had grown lethargic in the desert heat, irritation gave him a second wind, and he managed to kick Impa squarely in the stomach as she flew towards him.

She winced, but only slightly.

"I don't think this is working," Impa sighed at last.

Link slumped in the chair. "Yeah, well it's not like you're actually going to hurt me," he said dryly.

"There's no real threat. Of course it's not working."

Impa hummed to herself before approaching Link.
"I suppose we can take a break. Get some water and meet me back here in an hour. We'll spar instead."

As she untied him, Link glared at her.

"So you won't hold me captive again?"

"No. I'll think of something else."

"Thank Hylia," Link muttered under his breath.

***

In his foreign room, laying on his foreign bed in the desolate, Gerudo fort, Link could not sleep. Impa's words rang through his head like a life sentence: prince of two peoples. The invisible responsibility of it all weighed on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He didn't know how to find his magic, and although he beat Impa during their sparring match, he still worried it wouldn't be enough. And then there was Zelda, miles away, locked up in some dank cell–or perhaps dead–and Rusl, dead, all because of his incompetence. How could he protect his people if he couldn't even save those dear to him? He did not know.