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skyloftian-nutcase · 2 years

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Great Expectations (Breath of the Wild story)

Summary: When the time comes to finally face the Calamity at the castle, Link finds himself faltering. Doubt and old anxieties suddenly drown him. Amidst his spiraling, however, a voice from the past arrives to help him, and he learns a valuable lesson about self-worth.

Link paused in front of the great statue of Hylia in the temple as the wind blew his hair into fairy knots. He’d purified all the divine beasts, he’d reclaimed the Master Sword, and he remembered all the events related to the images in the Sheikah Slate.

He was ready.

Or… that’s what Impa had said.

To be honest, he didn’t feel unprepared. He didn’t feel like he couldn’t do it. He was eager to save the princess, eager to see Zelda in the flesh, eager to have one ounce of familiarity in his life again. Anyone he interacted with was a stranger, whether they knew him or not. Nothing was like how it had been in the few memories he’d recovered. He felt like a foreigner in a strange land. But Zelda… Zelda wasn’t like that. Zelda was the same princess he’d known one hundred years ago, and she’d understand what he was feeling.

At least… to a degree. After all, for as much as he felt a foreigner in this Hyrule, he felt a foreigner to himself as well. He had more memories of this adventure than whatever had come before it.

He enjoyed his journey. He enjoyed meeting so many people and helping them. He enjoyed seeing Hyrule in its natural beauty, despite the ruins and struggles of its people. He enjoyed watching them rebuild. He loved seeing the sunrises paint the sky strawberry gold as it cut into the midnight blue of the night before like a fire arrow melting snow. He felt proud of what he’d accomplished so far. But all of a sudden, he felt so incredibly alone, and perhaps the fact that all that was left was to go to the castle made him pause. His heart and mind screamed go get her, but his body froze.

Some odd sensation, some odd obligation, dragged him back to the Great Plateau. He’d told himself that it was just to get one last look at everything before he headed to the castle, say one last prayer at the temple where it had all started, and get some final sense of what he was fighting for.

He shook his head. As if I don’t understand what I’m fighting for. I’m fighting for the princess. I’m fighting for my friends who I lost. I’m fighting for my country.

A country that had mostly forgotten him, except for the Zora. A country that was broken and gasping. A country that he’d failed one hundred years ago. Friends who were dead, who he had abandoned in their hour of need.

I’ll fail them again if I don’t act. Hyrule will fall. Their deaths will be in vain. Zelda…

Link shook his head. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t know why he was suddenly having this debate. He’d have the occasional doubt during his journey, but it was always quenched by the desire to fulfill his role, the desire to act, the desire to help. He refused to let the king down, he refused to let the champions down. It was almost a blessing that no one else knew who he was, because those thoughts alone were crippling enough, even if they were born from a place of love.

They aren’t your friends.

Link’s breath hitched at the thought, and as if giving his mind permission, the poison continued to seep through him.

They were his friends. A man who was a knight. A man who was a Champion. A man who had a fiancée, who was a protector and confidante and friend to the princess, who had a history and memories.

A man who you are not.

Link tried to shake his head but found his body frozen. He was a prisoner, held there like someone had used the stasis rune on him, his mind turning against him.

That man died one hundred years ago. You are a husk of him. You barely have his strength or his stamina. You barely have his memories, and you only pieced them together through the eyes of others. Are they even really yours to claim, then?

Gasping, Link found himself on his knees all of a sudden. He’d forgotten to breathe, he’d stiffened his body so tightly like a bowstring pulled back that he’d snapped. His mind was spinning, his vision blurring. Reality crashed down around him, the Sheikah slate on the grass peeking through the cobblestone beside him, its eye staring at him accusingly.

Even the Master Sword didn’t recognize you at first. You’re not the Hero. He was. And he failed. He fell.

A desperate gasp turned to a sob. Clear vision turned to tears. Strong shoulders deteriorated into tremors.

You will never live up to their expectations of him because even he couldn’t.

His chest tightened at the thought, and his breath hitched. Things were moving too fast and too slow at once, his thoughts turned into a continuous stream of failure over and over and over and over—

Rustling. Tiptoeing. Cooing.

Focusing on the sounds, Link’s trembling hand cautiously moved to his sword, sluggish beyond belief, and he looked up to see a dove on the floor in front of him.

The dove was elevated slightly as it sat on one of the steps leading to the statue. It stared at him briefly, its black eyes seeming to search into his soul. Link didn’t dare move, not wanting to startle the little feathered creature away. Something in its gaze seemed to call to him, a siren from nature beckoning to a man born of the wilds. The dove took two tentative steps and then flew into the air, landing on the statue’s head.

Link let his gaze fall steadily, tracing down from the dove to the statue’s face. To Hylia’s face.

Hylia. Why had she chosen him? Had she even chosen him? After all, whenever he’d heard her voice at the statues, she’d addressed him as someone who had conquered the shrines and claimed the spirit orbs. She hadn’t called him destined hero or anything of the sort.

But… the monks in the shrines spoke of him as part of prophecy, as a hero rising to save Hyrule. In one of his memories, he distinctly recalled Zelda being unable to access the shrines because they were specifically designed to open for him.

The shrines were made to help the hero train, to hone his skills. They were designed for him.

Hylia had chosen him. She had chosen him in the past and she chose him now, even though he felt like an imposter in his own skin.

But the last accusation still clung to him like ice, chilling him to the bone.

You will never live up to their expectations of him because even he couldn’t.

Maybe Hylia had made a mistake.

The dove cooed again, flapping its wings and taking off through one of the windows to the left. Link’s eyes followed it as it flew in circles outside, almost seeming as if it were waiting for him. Giving one last look to the statue of Hylia, he nodded respectfully and exited through the decaying wall. The dove soared, gliding off to a corner of the plateau, and he quickly pursued it.

After a few minutes, the avian settled on a dilapidated roof, and Link froze.

The house. The house where the king had been pretending to live. The house where Link had learned his first recipe, spent his first night by a warm fire, rested on a long unused bed and wondered why the strange old man wouldn’t sleep there.

Slowly entering the building, Link took in all the details with new eyes and new knowledge. The house was so threadbare in comparison to all other homes he’d seen. Logs were clumsily stacked and tied together, there wasn’t even an attempt at building a floor, and the place was draftier than his own home in Hateno. A bed was in the corner, the only furniture aside from a table and a few tree stumps, though it bore no mattress, sheets, or blanket. It was simply carved wood stacked on stilts, a feeble excuse for a resting place. When Link had first slept on it months ago, he’d figured he would have been more comfortable lying in the dirt.

Had the king really built this place just to ease him back into his responsibilities, his reality? Link had been assisted time and again by the spirits of the champions, but he’d never quiet seen them interact with the living world in such a manner. Would the king be lingering here now?

Link’s gaze drifted to the diary on the table, and he reread the entry discussing the meal and warm doublet. He smiled fondly, remembering the excitement he’d had when he finally got the recipe right, remembering the comfort of having clothing that actually kind of fit him properly and kept him warm.

But there was something that his now experienced eyes realized. Something he had missed before.

The diary was open to this entry, and the two pages before it were blank (the first time he’d read it he’d thought nothing of it, but now that he had a better idea of culture, books, diary keeping in general, he noted it was a very strange thing to do, writing in the middle of the book). But… the pages before that… were a different texture. Older. Crinkly, as if they’d been written on, forever changed and scarred by the pressure of a quill and hand pressing and scratching into them.

Curious, Link flipped back one blank page. And then the next. And then the next.

And finally found another entry.

But this… this was different. The handwriting, the size of the font, the way the paragraphs were divided.

This wasn’t the king’s writing.

Entranced, Link flipped back until he could find some sort of start to this new entry, and as he did so he discovered that the rest of the book was filled to the brim with this penmanship, from the first page up to this point.

The king had used someone else’s diary.

It wasn’t Zelda’s; that much was immediately clear. This writing, though legible and clean, was not the script of royalty. It did not hold the flourishes, the near artwork of letters blending together. It was tight, efficient. Like a soldier.

Like a knight.

Link held his breath. Was this…? Surely not… did he…?

Grabbing the book with trembling hands, he turned to the first entry.

Link,

I’ve discovered that with my lack of foresight this is really the only book in which I can write. I have so much to say, so much to tell you… but with so little space I figure it best to be practical instead.

Lady Impa had forewarned that it was unlikely you would remember me. If that is the case when you awaken, I will accept that. It isn’t your fault, after all.

You see, I had originally gotten this journal and planned on using it to catalogue events that happen while you’re asleep. Meant as a way to catch you up on things and to keep myself sane. Your mother always did say I should try to write my thoughts down to sort them out. I believe she said the same to you.

The book slipped out of his numb grasp as he choked out a panicked, shaky exhale. This wasn’t his diary.

It was his father’s.

His father’s.

“I wondered if you would ever come back here.”

Heart in his throat, panic in his mind, Link whirled, drawing the Master Sword, but all he saw was the entrance to the house.

“Link,” the voice said behind him. He turned again, sword still in hand, and saw nothing.

“Son. Put the sword away.”

Son.

Every other time he’d met a spirit from his past, he’d gazed in wonder, in a strange sense of déjà vu, not quite grasping their history while still somehow sensing it.

Every other time he’d been distinctly himself while also seeing a piece of him.

Here… just hearing that voice, that term—his mind swirled with sensations and glances into another life, the smell of apple pie, the sound of laughter, the weight of a soldier’s sword in his hands, warm arms holding him close—

The Master Sword fell to the ground with a clatter, and Link fell with it.

“P-papa,” he stuttered, his voice thick and wet, his eyes already leaking tears, his lips trembling. “Papa.”

Warmth and rough skin cupped his cheeks, wiping the tears away with little swipes of thumbs. He felt his head tilted upward. He saw his own eyes in a foreign face, his own dirty blonde hair framing a stranger, stubble failing to hide a comforting smile. He saw a tiny scar, barely a scratch, on the man’s chin, and in his mind he gazed into the distant past, remembering a knight getting knocked to the ground while fighting a horde of monsters, remembering that knight shoving him to the ground as arrows flew overhead, remembering his heart hammering so hard it felt like it would burst, remembering indistinct words of accolades and cheers when it was all over. When the memory faded, the stranger’s face was less foreign, and the searing, undeniable feeling of home, comfort, warmth that enveloped him told him everything he needed to know, everything he already knew.

“Papa,” he whispered, barely audible. His body started to tremble, and his breath came in quick rasps.

The face shone with love as the man smiled, his eyes glittering with unshed tears, his brow furrowing together in joy and concern and a concerted effort to not fall apart. “I’m here, little knight.”

Little knight.

“That’s enough training for today, little knight, it’s time for dinner.”

“Is that—where did you get those cuts, little knight? No, no, don’t you dare run off, I already saw it, Link, going to Mipha won’t help!”

Little knight.

“Well, then. If it isn’t my favorite little knight!”

“Little knight, what’s wrong?”

Little knight.

“I’m so proud you, little knight.”

Link broke.

He couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop the sobs. He couldn’t stop the unbearable ache in his heart, the sense of longing. He couldn’t stop the relief that washed over him as his father gathered him into his arms, the sensation to just let go and let it out, the automatic acquiescence to the invitation the hug gave. He couldn’t stop the racing breathing, the way his hands clung to his father’s tunic, the way he buried himself so much into his father’s chest that he couldn’t even see the light from the room around him.

He couldn’t stop the pain that had been tearing into him with each memory he’d gained. The sense of loss, the grieving that he couldn’t quite understand, that he wanted to feel and to run from at the same time. He couldn’t stop the fear that had gnawed at him steadily throughout his adventure whenever he thought about his destiny, whenever he’d truly considered that he was literally Hyrule’s last and only hope. He couldn’t stop the loneliness of being someone displaced by time, someone who had a life that he couldn’t even grasp anymore.

He couldn’t stop the tidal wave of love that he felt, the comfort that sank into his body and made him slump boneless in his father’s embrace, hiccups holding him hostage in a twitching frenzy.

Throughout the entire time, his father gently rocked him and held him so tightly it almost hurt. It felt so good, a reassurance that someone was there, someone who loved him so dearly, someone who he knew even if he didn’t remember all of their interactions, someone who was so intrinsically bound to him by blood and by love that all it took was a single word, a single look, and it unlocked his heart.

After what felt like an eternity, Link almost felt coherent again, pulling away enough to be able to breathe a little, sniffling and flinching when he saw the stains of snot and tears on his father’s shirt. He wiped at his face, embarrassed. He felt his father press a gentle kiss into his hair, and the gesture made him melt back into the embrace once more.

“I missed you,” his father whispered, clearing his throat, and it was only then that Link realized he had been crying too.

Link wished he could say the same, but all he could do was shudder. He’d certainly spent a few nights thinking about what his family might have been like, but other matters and distractions were usually on his mind. He hadn’t had a single inkling of who his family was until now.

But he was here now. He was here.

“Are you real?” Link asked into his father’s tunic.

The man’s chest rumbled as he chuckled. “I already said I was, silly child. Did you really think I’d move on and leave you while you were still in that state?”

Move on and leave you. In that state.

Link shuddered, pulling away. “You’re…”

His father’s warm smile faltered, but then he renewed it and brushed some hair out of Link’s face. “I died many years ago, Link, but that doesn’t mean I gave up on you. I refused to leave until I knew you’d be okay.”

“How are you touching me?”

“Oh, I learned a trick or two from His Majesty.”

Link blanched. “You spoke to the king?”

His father laughed heartily. “Whose house do you think he decided to inhabit after I died? You don’t think His Majesty actually built this place, do you?”

There was such incredulous amusement in his tone that Link supposed it was a silly thought. Still, the king had spent a good amount of time here.

“You wouldn’t believe the conversations we had,” his father continued, rubbing Link’s back and giving him another kiss on his head. “But enough of that. Look at you. You look so healthy.”

His father’s hands moved from his back to his face, and he cupped his cheeks as he brushed more hair out of his face. His fingers traced over the scars on his neck and collarbone, the only ones visible. He hummed, frowning. “Do they hurt?”

“No,” Link answered honestly. “They’re a bit tight, sometimes I can feel the skin pull, but they don’t hurt.”

His father blew out a slow breath. “Sheikah technology is something else, that’s for certain. One hundred years seems a bit excessive, though.”

The statement was said so casually, as if speaking about the weather, that Link had to laugh at it. That was certainly the understatement of the century.

Ha. Ha! Understatement of the century. Link laughed even harder, tickled by his own pun. It probably made him look a little crazy, because his father tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows creasing together in concern.

“Sorry,” Link said between giggles.

His father smiled, shifting from kneeling to sitting on the floor and pulling Link onto his lap. The hero settled into the hold, feeling comfortable and safe beyond any sensation he ever remembered feeling. Even Zora’s Domain hadn’t brought this kind of peace.

“So,” his father started gently. “Where are you in your journey, little knight?”

Reality shoved its way into Link’s peace, and he felt his body tense. His father squeezed his shoulder, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb. He started to sway his torso side to side, shifting his weight from one direction to the other, bringing Link with him.

“I’m… I’m almost done.”

The rocking stopped, and Link looked up to see his father staring at him, surprised. “Almost done?”

Link swallowed. “I freed all the divine beasts and their champions. All that’s left is…”

“Ganon,” his father finished, spitting the word as if it were a curse. He looked away, somewhere beyond Link.

Link’s fears from earlier returned in a heartbeat, seizing his throat. He suddenly remembered all the anxieties he’d felt in the past, recognizing why he hadn’t spoken much back then.

Guess I am more like the hero of the past, then, he thought bitterly.

There was no way he could explain how he felt to his father. There was no way he could tell him that the boy he was holding didn’t feel at all like the son he knew.

“Link.”

His eyes snapped back to his father, who was watching him intently.

“What’s wrong, son?” he asked quietly.

Link swallowed and said nothing. His father sighed.

“Remember, Link,” he said softly. “Remember that it’s not about being fearless. It’s okay to be afraid. But it’s our duty to protect Hyrule, and you are the only one who can do this.”

Link felt his chest clench. He swallowed again. His face grew neutral with unnerving ease, almost like muscle memory.

Because it was muscle memory.

Well, at least I’m feeling less and less like a foreigner in my own body, he supposed. He suddenly missed the days when he barely had any memories and was far more carefree. Though he supposed that was a lie too – when he had remembered nothing at all, wandering on the plateau, he’d been eager to help Zelda but also scared. It was the worst feeling, being completely alone and unsafe without a single reassurance that anything was okay. He at least had better direction and a focus after he’d left the plateau, and perhaps that had been the best point of his journey – a time when he knew what he needed to do but hadn’t really any solid inkling of who he’d been yet.

He heard his father sigh again. “Hylia, I’m not good at this.”

Link once again blanched, slightly, and felt a little bad.

“Link,” his father tried again. “I… I need you to talk to me, okay? I’m not your mother, I can’t read you as well as she could.”

His mother. His mother. He wished so hard he could remember something, anything, about her. He wanted to ask his father about her, but he figured that would make him sad, so he didn’t.

Pushing past the overbearing weight clutching his throat and holding his voice hostage, he choked out, “Wrong.”

“Wrong? What’s wrong?”

“Me. Wrong…” he swallowed hard, trying his darndest to spit the words out. “Wrong hero.”

His father stared at him, his mouth slack, and then he burst out laughing. “You think I wouldn’t know my own son? Link, you may not remember me, but I know you.”

His heart clenched at the words. His father thought he didn’t remember him at all… he knew he didn’t remember him… and yet here was, loving him and comforting him all the same.

“Papa…” he muttered, his eyes stinging with tears once more.

His father’s mirth faded. “Link, what is it? You really don’t think you’re the right person? You’re my son, I promise you. I know that little nose anywhere, and those are my eyes eyes. And those ears are absolutely your mother’s, because she had the cutest ears in all of Hyrule. Look at them!”

His father’s hands slid up his ears, playing with their tips. He smiled, cocking his head to the side. “See? Perfect tips. Her ears.”

The sensation tickled, and the warmth in Link’s chest spread to his belly with a tingling feeling. He giggled, his throat releasing.

“Now,” his father purred, his hands lowering, pulling Link back to his chest. “What’s actually wrong?”

Link mumbled it out before the anxiety stole his voice away again. “I don’t… I don’t feel like him. Not as fast, not as strong. I don’t… even back then he couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

His father stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue, giving him room to breathe. He was grateful for it.

“I couldn’t…” he tried again, gripping his father’s shirt in an attempt to ground himself. “I didn’t win. I f-failed. I failed.”

Once he said it, the words started to spill out unbidden. “Hylia chose wrong. I screwed up. I got everyone killed. And now I’m just a shadow of what I used to be, and everyone expects me to get it right this time. I could never be who I was… and even back then, who I was wasn’t good enough.”

You will never live up to their expectations of him because even he couldn’t.

There was silence for a long while. Link started to fidget in his father’s lap, feeling unwelcome and uncomfortable.

“Link, look at me.”

Feeling himself shrivel under the words, he barely drew up the courage necessary to obey. When he saw his father, the man was watching him seriously but not unkindly.

“Do you really think you’re just a shadow of who you used to be?”

The old anxiety was back, and he couldn’t move.

His father exhaled through his nose, closed his eyes as if steeling himself, and then opened them to send a piercing look his way. Link stiffened at it.

“You are the Hero of Hyrule,” his father said firmly. “You freed the divine beasts from the clutches of Calamity Ganon, something that no one else has accomplished in a hundred years. You reclaimed the Master Sword, which only obeys the Hero chosen by destiny. You are chosen by the goddesses to protect this land from Ganon, and you have been fulfilling that duty.

“Hyrule fell one hundred years ago because of everyone and no one. You didn’t know Calamity Ganon was going to infect the guardians. No one did. No one expected you to fight an army of guardians by yourself. No one expected you to have to rescue the champions when their specific purpose was to support you. You had no one and nothing to help you, and you still fought armies to protect the princess. Link, you didn’t fail, you exceeded expectations.”

Link started to tremble, his breath coming in unsteady rasps.

“And now,” his father pressed on. “Now you had to start out with no support, no friends, no family, and no one to even remember your name and yet you still succeed. You rescued the divine beasts. You got your strength back despite nearly dying. You’ve overcome every obstacle in your way.”

“The p-people of Hyrule s-said—”

“To hell with what what people said,” his father interrupted with a frown. “Prophecies are vague, and everyone’s beliefs on what would happen became more fueled by hearsay than anything else. People’s opinions don’t matter, Link. I… I insisted on protocol back then. Back then I thought it mattered. But when it’s all said and done, Link, people’s opinions of you aren’t what define who you are, and you shouldn’t let that drive you.

“You have a destiny set out for you by the goddesses, it’s true. But we all do. We’re all made for a purpose, and it isn’t whatever the people of Hyrule claim it to be. You are a work of art sewn together by the goddesses, who made you with a specific purpose in mind. Your worth, your dignity are yours and yours alone because of simply being you. Not because you’re a Hero that the people revere, not because others say you are the only hope for Hyrule. Because you’re you.”

Link shuddered with a gasp, feeling buried alive and released at the same time.

“As for your destiny... believe me,” his father insisted with a gentle smile, tipping his head. “The goddesses will never put you in a situation that you can’t handle. You’re stronger than you think. I used to believe I could never be a father. I certainly haven’t been perfect… clearly my teachings messed you up, but—”

Link threw his arms around his father’s neck. “Papa, stop. You’re the best father.”

He really didn’t have much evidence to back his words up, given his lack of memories of the man, but he knew. He knew in his heart he was right.

His father trembled in his arms, slowly hugging him back.

Silence filled the room, occasionally interrupted by the songs of crickets, and it was at that point that Link realized how late it was. He looked around the house as darkness descended, the sun having already dipped under the horizon.

His father shifted, and Link slid off his lap as they both stood. Grabbing the diary off the table, his father held it out to him. “Take this. I want you to have it. I left notes for you in there, they might still be useful.”

Link reverently received the diary, opening it and squinting at the words, and his father laughed.

“Don’t read it now, little knight,” he said breathily. “Later. After it’s all done. Tonight you must rest. You’ve got a very eventful day tomorrow.”

Link felt his heart sink into his stomach, which did somersaults at the thought of it. He didn’t comment, instead holding onto his father’s words like a lifeline.

The goddesses will never put you in a situation that you can’t handle. You’re stronger than you think.

He felt like he used to have that level of confidence, at least in his abilities. If not, he tried to convince himself of it. Maybe. He didn’t know.

He needed to stop lingering on the past. What was done was done. Who he was back then was who he was back then. Times had changed. He had changed. He needed to accept that.

It didn’t matter what others thought of him. It didn’t matter who he used to be or who he was now. His worth was inherent to him, no matter what. The goddesses had thought he was worth making, and that was reason enough.

Link was enough.

His father motioned to the bed. “Get some sleep, little knight.”

Nodding, Link started to head that way and then paused just before he went to lay down, remembering how uncomfortable it was. He glanced at the floor instead.

Behind him, his father chuckled. “Yes, I suppose that would be more comfortable. But I don’t want bugs crawling on you. Come here.”

Turning, he saw his father wrap an arm around him and pull him to the bed frame. His father sat first, letting him settle on his lap once more, and he leaned against his father’s chest, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Papa, I don’t want to squish you,” he mumbled, exhaustion starting to overtake him.

His father laughed outright at that. “Son, I’m a ghost, you can’t hurt me. Get some sleep.”

Link closed his eyes obediently, feeling at peace. “Good night, Papa.”

“Good night, Link.”

The next day, Link woke at the foot of the statue of Hylia in the temple. The sunlight had been dazzling, making the grass sparkle with dew and making the statue glow. He had felt warmth embrace him, and he had said several prayers before running to the edge of the plateau and leaping off, gliding towards the castle.

That day he fought the Calamity. That day he won. That day he freed Hyrule, the champions, and the princess. That day he fulfilled his destiny and his duty, he exceeded the expectations everyone had of him. That day he realized it didn’t matter what their expectations had been in the first place.

That day he freed himself.

His father floated with the other ghosts over Hyrule Castle, smiling as peace finally claimed him, and they all moved on together.

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