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It gets easier.
That's what surprises Link the most: that the people who picked him up out of the darkness weren't just saying it to be nice, weren't just saying it because it was the sort of thing you were supposed to say to someone who had just tried to kill himself.
It gets easier. No, really. Sure, there are bad days, hard days, days where he's so tempted to believe the part of himself that tries to convince him he's worthlessbrokenemptyunwantedleftbehindabandoned. There are days the pain is too big a burden to bear and the old scars on his wrists wink up at him, not quite begging to be reopened, but if he wanted to they wouldn't mind. There are days he hurts himself and days he doesn't, days he swears his mind and his body are conspiring against him, days he despairs that he'll carry this pain with him always.
Those days happen and they are real, and yet it still gets better. For every bad day there's a good day, and for every good day there are three not-bad-not-good-just-ordinary days. There are days he lies in the sun and sleeps and sleeps, deep and dreamless, and wakes up with the most horrible sunburn. There are days he sits in the shade by the river and lets his feet trail in the cool water until the fish start nibbling at his toes. There are days he gets ambitious and bakes way too much bread using the pumpkins that weren't sold or canned or turned into soup, and when he delivers some to Rusl and Uli's front door Colin answers it and he doesn't flinch or look away.
Colin, who was there that night five years ago. Colin, who wasn't supposed to be there. Colin, who was still just a kid when he found Link lying in the grass waiting for his life to bleed out of his arms.
It took Link so long to learn how to look Colin in the eye after that day. What do you say to the person who thwarted your chance to escape your life and all its horrible burdens? What do you say to the person whose childhood you definitely ruined by adding on to the trauma that already keeps him up most nights? What do you say to the person who's basically your little brother, who loves you and thinks the world of you, after he witnesses the part of you that you so desperately tried to keep hidden from him?
Turns out there's a lot of crying involved. A lot of crying, and a lot of hugs, and it's messy and hard at first but like everything in this life, it gets easier.
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It doesn't get easier.
It's easy to wax poetic about progress and hope on good days. On bad days, Link looks back at his optimism and laughs—part of him is cynical, jaded, and another part of him wonders desperately how to get back into that sweetly naive mindset because anything is better than the hellscape his mind is today.
There's so much he's supposed to do and he just… can't. Can't drag his ass out of bed. Can't feed Epona, much less exercise her. Can't make it to the ranch to help Fado. He knows he'll get chewed out later, because it's nearly kidding season and the pregnant goats are stubborner than ever, and of course Ilia will have something to say about Epona's mistreatment. It's not that he's doing it on purpose. Or maybe he is, because on days like this, everyone finally has a reason to treat him the way he ought to be treated: like dirt. He's so fucking pathetic, so useless. Just a stupid self-destructive asshole. He hasn't eaten today and he stinks , literally. He's still in bed, wearing yesterday's clothes because he was too exhausted to take them off, and his bedsheets are twisted and sweaty from last night's requisite nightmare. His dreams mock him, twisting his memories into grotesque reminders of everything that's wrong with him: he gets his ass handed to him by the skeletal Hero's Shade ( you're such a disappointment ), nearly has his face chewed off by a ReDead Knight ( fucking coward ), watches frozen as an ethereal teardrop drifts toward the Mirror of Twilight ( idiot, how could you ever think she'd want to stay with you when all you ever do is fall apart, you worthless piece of shit ).
Rumor has it, the princess wants to build a statue of him. The thought makes Link laugh so hard he cries. A statue! Of him? If only she could see him now. Is this the hero she wants the people to remember? Sure, send the artists out to get a sketch, let the sculptors render his glorious breakdown in marble, capture his exquisite inadequacy for posterity. Erect him in Castle Town square so the people can see the price of their salvation. This is the cost of a kingdom! he wants to scream. One life for thousands. Sounds like a great deal until you're the one paying the toll. He'll carry this with him for the rest of his life, and a pretty statue is the only compensation he'll get.
He hopes the gods are laughing, wherever they are.
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How do you tell the people who love you that their love isn't enough?
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It gets easier, it doesn't get easier, it gets easier. It swings from one to the other, changing day by day like the ebb and flow of the tide, the phases of the moon.
He never gets the chewing-out he so dearly desired. Colin takes his shift at the ranch. Ilia comes over to get Epona, promises she'll take care of her for him. Uli brings food, patiently insists until he eats it. They'll help him as long as he needs.
What hurts the most is that they're not doing it out of pity. They do it because they love him and they want to see him through this. Kindness spills from their hands so easily, so readily. They forgive every wrong without question, without blame. Link knows they're not deluding themselves, either, not just doing it for an imagined version of him that's better, more worthy. They've seen his hurt, they see it now, and they're not looking away. They look at him, all of him, even the parts he despises, and they decide they love him anyway. They love him, not despite his badness, but because it is a part of him. He has always seen it as a disease, a swath of rotting flesh to be cut off and disposed of, but instead it is like the shadow that naturally exists alongside light. Two sides of the same coin, he remembers. One cannot exist without the other. There are days he wishes so desperately that they could, but that's not how this works. He will carry this with him always but he will never have to carry it alone.
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Link leaves Ordon, pokes his head into the rest of the world. Waves to Coro as he passes through Faron Woods. Dutifully avoids the postman. Rides Epona over the jumps in Hyrule Field that they both used to love so much, the wind cold on his face and wild in his hair. Stops in Kakariko to leave a flower on Rutela's grave, and it looks like Ralis was here not long ago, for there's a delicate shell resting there too, glittering in the sun.
He swings by Goron City to watch a sumo match (and vehemently parries all attempts to get him to participate). Visits Impaz at the Hidden Village and leaves with two kittens, named Starling and Jay for their bird-like cries, and entrusts them to Luda to deliver them to Ordon for him (she'd been meaning to visit Beth again, she says blushingly). Drops by the fishing hole and plays Rollgoal while Hena fills the air with idle chatter (she doesn't ask about his scars, and he appreciates it, and she appreciates his business enough to plant a kiss on his cheek). Fishes for salmon with Ralis, notes amusedly that even mentioning Colin’s name makes the young ruler’s headfin wag. Snowboards with Yeta and drinks his fill of Yeto's soup. Goes swimming at Lake Hylia, avoids the cannon at all costs.
Finally he heads to Castle Town, where he stops by Telma's (gets smothered in a hug), has a tea party with Agitha and her insects, gives his regards to Gengle and the other cats in Jovani's yard, generously tips the musicians in the square, walks past Malo Mart's open door to hear its ceaseless jingle, and at last has an audience with Zelda.
The castle repairs are still far from finished (after all, the place was thoroughly destroyed by Ganondorf) so they talk not in a grand throne room but on a small quiet balcony, voices just as small and quiet, and finally Zelda says what's been in her eyes this whole time, which is that Midna loved him dearly, and always would. Her heart and mine were one, Zelda says. I miss her, Link replies in a voice that's far too wavering for his liking. Zelda says she misses her too, and Link finally meets her eyes to see the ache in his own chest reflected in her gaze. Not all scars are on the outside, he realizes, and he allows the princess to engulf him in a hug, her chin tucked over his shoulder, gloved hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. The frank vulnerability of the gesture just reminds him how young they all were, six years ago when the world nearly ended. Before the twilight descended, they'd just been kids; they'd believed that the future was a far-off place and everything would always stay the same, because how were they supposed to know any better? And now that the future's here neither of them know what to do with it, this new world they've made for themselves.
They'll figure it out, he thinks, watching Zelda wipe her eyes. They've got their whole lives to figure it out, and they'll never have to do it alone.
(A statue? he asks at last. She replies, so the people never forget the battles you fought for them. He quirks a smile, half-sad, and says maybe some things are better left forgotten.)
(Zelda gives him a look of fierce disagreement but has the wisdom not to subject him to a lecture on self-worth. Not today, anyway.)
After all this sentimental talk Link finally goes down to the lot where the STAR tent used to be, now just an old overgrown lot. His old fangirls are still there, gossiping behind their hands, but they don't seem to recognize him. He can't decide how to feel about that— has he really changed that much? —but finally chalks it up to the floppy hat. He really is indistinguishable without it, however much Midna always made fun of it. He throws a bone for the little dog that hangs out there, and then he turns his feet toward home.
As he climbs into Epona's saddle, the dark part of him whispers that this sweet little reunion tour felt awfully, dangerously, like a goodbye—like he was leaving bits of himself all across Hyrule for people to remember him by. But no, that's not it. It's less of a goodbye and more of a hello, a reminder to himself of the kingdom he loves and the people who love him. It's like waking up after a long night and seeing the sun again, rising despite the darkness's whispers that it would never return.
He's still not ready to go back to the desert, to the last place he ever saw Midna. Maybe he'll never be ready—and maybe that's okay. For the first time, it feels like the love he has for her outweighs the missing, or at least soothes the ever-present ache.
It gets easier, but that doesn’t mean it’s never hard.
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Later, he thinks maybe it was about feeling like he had control over his life. From the moment he was born with the Triforce on the back of his hand, he’d been subject to the whims of the gods. His destiny was written in elaborate detail until the moment his sword pierced Ganondorf’s heart, and after that, the story ended. He was left with a life all his own, and no idea what to do with it. He’d thought, since his legend ended, maybe his life should too.
Now, standing in his house in Ordon, watching his new kittens tumble and chase each other around his feet, he comes to the stark realization that he no longer wants to die.
And that comes with its own special kind of grief, as he confronts the fact that he had, even for a moment, preferred death over existing any longer under the burden his life had become—and mourning that his life had ever been a burden, had ever been anything other than an established fact he no longer felt the need to question, had ever been anything but this: a collection of moments good and bad, emotions easy and difficult to bear, people and animals relying on and providing for him in turn. Life is baking bread and smelling like yeast for hours, trying and failing to prevent a stubborn kid goat from eating the hem of his shirt, being suddenly and unexpectedly brought to tears by the falling of rain or the gathering of clouds.
Five years ago, he’d have been unable to fathom the idea of remaining in Ordon forever; he’d been restless, desperate, itching to escape this place, this body, this life. But now, it’s as if his soul has settled into its niche at last. This place, these people, this land: it’s home. The pieces are finally in place for him to heal; there’s a foundation upon which he can build his life anew. He can put down his sword at last.
And for now, that’s all he needs.
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Link’s watching Starling and Jay explore the clearing outside his house when he hears footsteps coming from the direction of the forest path. The cats immediately bound over with their tails in the air, eager to make friends, and the person obligingly stoops to extend a hand for them to rub against. And then she rises, and rises, to stand at her full height—and her hair is tied back in a high ponytail, and she wears simple traveler’s garb under her shadow-dark cloak, and her eyes are perhaps a bit sad when she smiles, but it’s her.
Midna.
Link’s latest batch of pumpkin bread waits on the counter, forgotten.