Chapter Text
You sometimes wonder why your father really gave you the name Link.
It was his grandfather’s name, yes. (And the neighbors give him funny looks for giving it to a “girl,” but you aren’t a girl, and you love it.) But it’s also the name of half the heroes in the fairy tales. Link slays the monster, Link saves the princess, Link falls from the sky.
One book of bedtime stories you read says that every Link is really the same Link, reborn again and again. Sometimes when your father looks at you and your wooden sword, you wonder if he hopes that’s true. If by naming you Link he made you be the hero.
You’re good with swords—toy ones, anyway. You win most of your “sword” fights with other children in Castle Town. Your mother says you get it from your father, like you got your love of food from her.
You like being Link, expectations and all. The name feels like you. No other name would fit.
When you are six, a bokoblin sneaks into the town. You are helping your mother get water from the well when it attacks. You throw the jug at it, and hit it with your wooden sword until it runs away, but that doesn’t make you the hero, because… you don’t save anyone.
After, you spend hours practicing fighting with other children in town. Next time, you want to be stronger. You want to save everyone.
Your father doesn’t like the fighting. Mostly because of the bruises. He takes you away from Castle Town on his next mission, a trip to Zora’s Domain.
You wish you were still training, but you like the Domain. It’s pretty, and the Zora all smile at you. They call you cute.
There’s one Zora, a tall girl with red scales, who touches your shoulder when she sees your bruises. “May I fix those?” She asks.
You don’t quite know what she means by fix, but you nod.
She gestures to the river, and a stream of water comes up to her hands. She moves them over your arms, your face, and the bruises disappear.
It’s the first time in weeks you haven’t felt sore. You stare at her.
“Thank you, Princess Mipha,” your father says. He nudges you. You know you should say thank you, too, but you can only nod with wide eyes.
When you return to Castle Town, your father starts taking you into the castle when he goes on shift. He hopes to be a Captain of the Guard in a few years, so you must be on your best behavior. You learn to stand at attention, to kneel when the King passes by, and to bow to the Princess who is just a little older than you.
Her name is Zelda. Another name full of fairy tale expectations. She’s lost her mother, too.
The first time Princess Zelda sees you training with the guards (because it makes your father look pleased, and you’re good at it, and what else are you supposed to do) she asks in a loud voice what you are doing there.
She’s always doing that—asking questions, loud enough for the whole castle to hear. What is that blue lizard? Why must I wear this dress? What are those artifacts? The only time she’s quiet is when she prays to the Goddess statue.
When she asks about you, you respond softly, in as few words as you can, because that is the way you have always spoken, because too often words feel like lead in your mouth, and it’s only gotten worse without your mother. She pouts at that. But her tutor pulls her away, saving you from further questions.
People in the castle talk about a fortune teller a lot. And a Calamity. They change the subject when they see you, but you are small for your age, and good at sneaking. They don’t usually see you.
More monsters are coming. Old artifacts have been unearthed, and are being studied. The Sheikah scholars hope they can use the artifacts to stop the monsters.
Princess Zelda talks to the scholars all the time. They don’t try to leave her out of it. She’s supposed to help them stop it, somehow.
You spend more time with the sword master. You can help, too.
A knight of Hyrule must be strong. Strong of body, so they can defend those who are not. Strong of will, so they can hold to their convictions and keep their word.
A knight must be wise. Wise in tactics, so they can make the best choices in combat. Wise enough that they don’t fight unprepared, that they don’t start fights they don’t have to.
Above all, a knight must be courageous. Not fearless; fear is a necessary feeling, your father says. But brave enough to step into danger despite their fear, to place themself between horrors and the people they’ve sworn to protect, and to stay there, even when it hurts.
Your father is a knight. He’s the best man you know. When the sword master asks if you want to be one, too, you nod.
After that, you don’t just practice with the guards for something to do. You study in earnest. You aren’t the only one; other young trainees join your lessons.
But when your father sees you in your training uniform, his smile is only for you.
You see a strange sparkle near the castle gate. You look at it again, and a little plant-person appears, giggling.
“You can see me?” It asks, and you nod slightly.
“That’s so cool! I didn’t think normal people could see children of the forest!”
But your father doesn’t react to the creature’s voice at all, just keeps striding through the gate, and the gate guards are nodding to him like business as usual, and perhaps you are not normal.
You give the creature a little wave, with just the tips of your fingers, before following after your father. He is Captain of the Guard now, and you have training. You are too old to talk to imaginary friends.
But you go back to it that night, and it jumps in excitement, and follows you away from the castle and the prying eyes. You like the fields and the trees and the sound of the river. The creature does too, and you sneak back into bed late in the night, ribs aching from quiet laughter.
Some of your favorite lessons are in the stables. All it takes is a pat on the neck or a click of the tongue for a horse to know what you want. And to know what a horse wants, you simply have to pay attention. They are much more straightforward than people.
It’s a pleasant surprise when your father buys you a filly of your very own. You name her Epona.
“Like the hero’s horse in the legends,” your father says. You blink; you’d forgotten that detail. It just seemed like the right name for your horse.
Epona comes with you to Zora’s Domain the next time you visit, and Mipha loves her as much as you do.
It’s nice when your friends get along.
You’re the same height as Mipha now, you realize, as you both work to comb Epona’s mane. You’ve always been shorter.
By the end of that summer, you are taller than her.
You shadow a guard on duty, watching the Princess and her tutor in the library. They’re talking about “awakening the goddess power.” The Princess is engaged, is asking questions—but then she glances out the window.
“There it is again! Can’t you see it?”
A dragon is flying across the sky to the east. You’ve seen it before, but no one else seemed bothered by it so you thought it worked like clouds—which, now that you think about it, doesn’t make much sense. Clouds aren’t alive like dragons must be.
“Stop making up stories,” the tutor says. “This is important.”
At twelve, you are excellent at navigating the woods, thanks to wilderness training and secret nights with Koroks.
You don’t expect to get lost, but you do, Epona with you, and the trees have angry faces in their trunks, and it sounds like the very forest is whispering, and your father will be worried when you don’t come home on time.
You draw your sword—a real sword, now, though smaller than an adult’s—and move forward carefully, leading Epona behind you.
The dark trees part for you, and you find yourself in a sunny clearing, with a truly massive tree in the center, big enough for a house to fit inside.
It has a face, too. Much nicer than the ones you passed before.
You still startle when it starts talking.
“Hello, little knight.”
You aren’t a knight yet. You’re barely a squire. You say nothing.
“I told you he could get here!” says another voice, and it’s Hestu, your first Korok friend. The clearing suddenly fills with Koroks, a handful of whom tug you to a stone pedestal with a sword sticking out of it.
“Take the sword! Take the sword!” one says.
You aren’t sure. This feels all too much like a fairy tale, and you don’t know if you can be a hero. But something about that blue hilt, that wing-shaped crossguard, is familiar. You’ve never seen this sword, but you know it, and your hand reaches for it like you’ve lifted it a thousand times.
“Not yet,” says the massive tree. “He’s not quite ready.”
“But he’s the one,” Hestu says.
“He needs more time.”
The massive tree, the Koroks, and the sword all vanish, and you are back in familiar woods.
Twelve is old enough to patrol the areas around the castle with some of the knights every week. It’s supposed to be easy training, but monster attacks happen more and more these days.
When a swarm of monsters comes to a farm on your route, you don’t chase them off with toys. You clean the blood and… other things from your sword and try not to be sick.
“Well done,” your father says, patting your shoulder. He smiles wryly at the twist in your face. “It gets easier.”
It does get easier, when the farmers come to thank you, when their little daughter hugs your leg. Were you ever that small? You must have been, but it doesn’t feel that way.
You let the little girl give Epona a carrot.
You are hungry more often these days. The cooks in the castle kitchens just laugh and hand you food when you turn up between lessons. “Growing boys,” they say, and you wish they were right, but you aren’t exactly a boy, and you aren’t getting as tall as your classmates are.
But you are training harder, since that strange day in the forest. That takes energy.
One of the cooks offers to teach you to cook, and you nod eagerly. Being able to make good food for yourself whenever you want, not just relying on the kitchen not being busy, sounds amazing.
You’ve always known being a soldier is dangerous, and a royal knight even more so. All the knights have scars. Even your training class has them, from safe missions that turned out to not be so safe.
Even so, it’s a shock when your father comes back to the castle on a stretcher. The medics work on him through the night, and he lives. But his left leg is gone. Even if Mipha was here, she couldn’t bring it back.
Your father squeezes your hand when the medics let you visit him. You squeeze it back, and neither of you says anything.
Then you go out into the woods and find a Korok. “Take me to the sword,” you say.
You learn that the massive tree is called the Deku Tree. You call it an annoyance.
“I said you were not ready,” it says.
“There isn’t time to get ready,” you say. “A Calamity is coming. People are getting hurt.”
The massive tree doesn’t nod, because it doesn’t have a neck or a head, but you get the impression of nodding anyway. “Very well.”
You didn’t ask to be the hero of Hyrule. But Hyrule didn’t ask to need saving, either, and someone must, and you are here.
The hilt of the sword fits your hold perfectly as you draw it—no, her. Her blade is undamaged by her time in the stone, her edges keen.
You don’t hear a voice, like some of the legends say. But the sword is warm in your hand, and that feels like the greeting of an old friend.
Things happen rather quickly after that.
Orin, one of your teachers, is guarding the castle gate. He starts saying, “Hey, Li—“ when his eyes catch the sword on your back.
He blinks. Looks at the sword again. “Is that…”
He doesn’t finish the question, but you nod.
And so you are taken to the King.
It is almost physically painful to hold the sword out for King Rhoam to take, but you stay kneeling, eyes on the floor, as he lifts her from your hands.
“This is indeed the Master Sword,” says the King. Even with your eyes to the floor, you can feel him looking at you. “What is your name?”
You open your mouth, but the words stick in your throat.
Orin helps. “He doesn’t talk much, Your Majesty. This is Link, Captain Silas‘s child. He’s top of the knighthood training class.”
“Very good,” says the King. “This will help our fight with the Calamity greatly.” The tip of the sword lands on top of your shoulder. “Rise, Sir Link, knight and hero of Hyrule.”
You rise. The King hands the sword back, and you sheathe her automatically.
This isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re supposed to have four more years of training before the knighthood trials. You’re supposed to have a ceremony with the rest of your class. Being knighted just for finding the sword… It feels like cheating, like you haven’t really earned it. But the King has decided, so you simply bow your thanks.
There is a gasp behind you. You turn just in time to see the Princess run from the throne room.
Your father smiles at the sight of you with the Master Sword, but his eyes are sad. He pulls you into a tight hug.
He is using a wheeled chair now, but hopes to switch to crutches once he’s healed some more. You rearrange the storage in your home so he doesn’t have to bend down or stand up to find anything.
It’s nice to do something ordinary like that. You’ve been knighted, taken up a sword straight out of legend, but you can still tidy up the shelves.
You eat dinner together, and for the first time, you ask out loud why he gave you the name Link.
“Our family chooses names based on our hopes for the child,” he says. “If I could have given you a name that would guarantee you a life of peace, I would have, but that isn’t the world we live in. So I gave you the name of a hero, because I hoped you would be strong enough to face whatever happened.” He laughs a little. “I didn’t think you’d actually grow up to find the sword that seals the darkness!”
Neither did you. But something in you feels this was inevitable. You could never have left the Master Sword in her pedestal, you could never have stayed home while others fought.
You are Link. Whether because of your name or because it’s simply who you are, you cannot stay out of the battles that are coming.