Work Text:
“Good night, Link. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night.”
Zelda shut the door gently as she exited the room, leaving Link alone with nothing but his thoughts. Despite himself, he let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
Sweet dreams?
Yeah, right.
Link hadn’t even had a “good night” in months, much less any “sweet dreams.” Such was his curse. They say being the Chosen Hero meant you were the goddesses’ favorite…
Yeah, favorite plaything, maybe.
Months… whole months… and still not one night of rest. He was trapped — imprisoned by the very enemies he foolishly thought he had already destroyed.
Little did he know, they would continue to plague him within his own mind.
Link didn’t go to bed that night; he didn’t need to. He already knew what was going to happen if he did.
It would start normally, as all things do before descending into madness; there is no horror without the expectation of delight. Usually, this would manifest as a green field, a quiet village, or a gentle stream next to a forest. It would always last just long enough to get his hopes up. Just long enough for him to think maybe — just this once — things would be okay.
Then something shifts.
Usually, it was subtle, but not always. Sometimes it was abrupt, like a forest that had spontaneously burst into flames or a cacophony of villagers’ distant screams. Whatever peace he’d had would evaporate, and his chest would begin to tighten. His body would stiffen more in annoyance than concern, though it hadn’t always been that way.
“Not this again.”
People. It always involved people. Sometimes simple civilians or passers by, but more often, they were his people… and they were never smiling.
Link would sigh as he inevitably ran toward the danger any creature with common sense would avoid because darn it all, that burning little golden triangle on the back of his hand just wouldn’t allow it.
How many times…
How many times had he witnessed his loved ones suffer helplessly? How many times had he watched them parish? How many times had he tried with everything in him to save them only to be faced with the cruel irony that the same little triangle that compelled him wasn’t enough to finish the task?
Too many.
It was enough, anyway, to know the next time wouldn’t be any different… but he would still try. Why? Because he had no choice. It was who he was… and it always killed him — figuratively and literally.
At the scene of the disaster, Link would always be met with a familiar face. Well, if he was lucky — which he rarely was — it would have some semblance of a face.
Wallmasters, Floormasters, Redeads, Gibdos, Poes. Gohma, Bongo Bongo, Twinrova, Majora’s Wrath, Ganon himself. The enemy was often different; the outcome was always the same.
Link would fight the terrible foe, even daring to feel confident in his victory. The enemy, however, would only grow stronger by his attempts, and would quickly annihilate him.
First, they’d destroy his friends. Impaling, mutilating, shredding, boiling, and any other kind of agonizing death imaginable — he’d seen them all. The hardest part wasn’t even watching them die; it was knowing that they would never have the chance to be mourned — because any and everyone who cared would soon follow them.
Next, the enemy would engage Link in combat. Their bloodstained hands and psychotic eyes would fuel his rage, but his heart would pound so loudly in his ears that he might as well be deaf. He could never rent off the foes for long; they’d be too strong, or too many, or too clever, or all of the above. It would not be long before Link found himself in his oft-visited but hardly enjoyed vacation spot — death’s doorstep.
Sometimes they had the decency to make his death quick and effortless, but that was a rare treat. No one had ever taught these foul beings not to play with their food.
He started counting himself lucky if he could feel any of his limbs before his life was snuffed out like a flickering candle in a hurricane. If he could even feel his heart pumping all of his blood out of his body in places where there really shouldn’t be holes, he was grateful.
Then again, perhaps death was better than living to die another day.
It was always at this thought that that cursed little mark on his hand would begin to glow. It would glow and burn to the point where it was almost worse than the death grip on his neck or the sword in his gut. It would relinquish a blinding light, evaporating the enemy and transporting the Hero to another plane of existence.
One would think divine intervention had to be a good thing. Well, if that’s the case, one has clearly never met the goddess of Courage. She was the biggest prankster there was.
But she wasn’t funny.
Link would be left alone in this alien domain with no light, no scenery, and no escape. He could call out, but his cries would fall on deaf ears. He could wander, but there would be nowhere worth traveling. The open plane continued forever, yet it would make him claustrophobic. There was always nothing but cold darkness and empty loneliness for company.
And oh, what lovely companions they made.
“You are alone,” a voice would echo in his mind. It would sound strikingly familiar, but he’d never be able to place it.
“You’ve been forgotten,” another familiar voice would chime in.
“You are disposable,” a third often added, a sort of cheery edge to it that made it sound as though it were thoroughly enjoying itself — perhaps a bit too much.
It was never until the fourth voice that Link would recognize who was speaking to him.
“You are a failure,” Malon’s voice would etch itself in his mind, playing on repeat in discordant harmony with the other voices of friends.
“Yes, a failure. To your friends…” Saria would often jive.
“To your family…” Malon would hiss.
“To your kingdom…” Princess Zelda would sneer, often the nastiest of them all.
“To your destiny…” the Great Deku Tree would bellow, disappointment oozing from every word.
“To yourself,” a fifth voice would proclaim, drowning the other by sheer volume. It would always be enough to induce a head-crushing migraine — one only made worse by the light that suddenly would flood the darkened plane.
The mystery voice would manifest itself in front of him then, revealing the truest, ugliest, most repulsive creature he could ever lay eyes on.
Not Ganondorf, not Ganon, not anything skeletal or undead...
Himself.
His dark self.
He always manifested slightly differently. Sometimes his teeth would be pointed like fangs or his fingers would end in claws; sometimes he would carry more weapons or wear different clothes. Whatever the case, three details never changed:
The eyes as red as his blood,
The body and clothes as black as his heart, and
The ferocity that’s more terrifying than anything it could be compared to.
He served as a reminder — a reminder of what Link was capable of, and what he could so easily become. Link knew this, but it would never erase the tremble in his hand or lump in his throat. Knowledge guaranteed nothing. Only through the death of darkness could the light live without fear.
But darkness doesn’t die easily, and light can only go so long before the twilight sets in.
As a mirror, Dark Link would move in perfect sync with his Hylian counterpart. One slashes while the other parries; one parries while the other slashes. The Dark Master Sword would clash violently with its light counterpart, just barely avoiding its wielder's flesh.
Where was that dang goddess now?
It would never matter. Courage is useless without Power, and even that is not efficient without Wisdom. In the same way, Link would be useless in the face of his Dark mirror and helpless without his princess.
Blood. Sweat. Tears. Just about any other bodily fluid one could think of. They would all be poured over the blank ground of the endless plane.
Goddess of Courage? Cowardice seems more like it.
Why does she bring him here just to kill him? Where is she now? What does she want from him?
The battle would drag on as tumultuously and chaotically as his thoughts. A slash here, a stab there, and it’ll look like it’s over — Link will be pinned to the ground with the shadow’s sword at his throat.
Slowly — never quickly, but slowly — Dark Link would press the blade into the Hero, its edge unrelenting. No goddesses, no loved ones, no hope.
Hope… it had always been something he’d held onto, even amidst the worst of circumstances. The world could be crumbling, but Link would always find a way to have hope. Now, though…
Dark Link would push his sword further, to the point of profuse bleeding but still before complete unconscious bliss. His wicked grin would shine brighter than the Triforce itself, and his blood-red eyes would glitter with malicious delight.
There was nothing more to do. Scraped, cut, bruised, beaten, and battered in every other way imaginable, Link would be rendered completely helpless. The pain would blur his vision, and when it finally became too much to bear, he would scream...
Then he woke up.
Panting, sweating, shaking, Link opened his eyes with a start, hands clutching at the soft velvet of the armchair in the corner of his room. He must have unintentionally dozed off. One glance out the window revealed it must have been around three in the morning. He couldn’t help but chuckle humorlessly to himself.
That’s a new one.
Normally, he’d wake up before midnight. Normally, he’d be dead before the wretched grin reached the terrifying eyes… he supposed he should feel honored — grateful, even.
But somehow he wasn’t.
A death was still a death, and a failure a failure. It didn’t matter if it was a dream; it didn’t matter if it was just a twisted compilation of past memories. What mattered was that those realities were as likely to happen as the sun rising in a few hours. There is always the possibility that the next moment could change everything…
And there was only half a chance it was going to be good.
Only when evil died — when the curse is lifted — only then would Link rest easy. Until he lived in a world where there weren’t thieves hiding in the shadows and monsters threatening to destroy, he would never be at peace.
But where there is light, there must be darkness. Where there is good there must be evil. So, consequently, so long as there was Link, there would be monsters… and there would be nightmares.
Such was his curse.
But just to think… a world where such a reality was possible. Imagining a world where there really was no darkness at all… Now that…
That would be, and will probably only be, a sweet dream.