Chapter Text
"Do all of your scholars write like him?"
The distinct cadence of Midna's voice twinkled from where the setting sun pressed Link’s shadow against Epona's flank.
"Huh?" He offered elegantly in return, tilting his head towards her.
"The guy with the glasses. Shab? Shal?"
"Shad."
"Yeah, him. He's considered a scholar of some sort, right?"
"I think so? He's educated, that I know for sure." Link offered with a shrug.
"…well, do all of your Light World scholars write like him?"
"I honestly don't know Midna, Ordon isn't exactly known for offering high-end education. Why do you ask, anyway?"
There was a pause, one long enough that Link wondered if the imp had decided to fully slink back into his shadow.
"I really don't like the way he writes. It's dry, too blunt, and incredibly boring."
"…alright, but isn't that how that sort of stuff is meant to be written?"
He could almost feel Midna’s eyeroll for how dramatic she was."Oh of course not, scholars can be informative and artistic. I know because I've seen it firsthand."
"Oh, is that a fact?"
"Absolutely! Take, for example, my favorite Twili writer, Scholar Nacht. She'd start every entry with a poem, a tiny little thing, about whatever subject she was discussing before actually going into her findings or opinions about it. She even went so far as to write her journals like that later in life. I loved reading her work."
"Poems? Not to rain on something you like but, what's special about that?
The scoff from Midna almost sounded actually offended. Almost.
"It was the formatting she used that I found so impressive. Three lines, seventeen syllables in total, five in the first and last, seven in the middle."
"Doesn't that just make it harder to say what you want to say?"
"Not for Scholar Nacht, she knew how to make use of every single syllable available to her."
"Huh, sounds like an incredible lady."
"She really wa—”
Link awoke with a start as his head dropped from where it was propped up by his hand, the sharp jerk shaking the table. He blinked several times, hard, trying to clear the fog from his mind, the tendrils of a memory made dream clinging to him like vines. His home was still dark, the beginnings of daybreak not yet even coloring the horizon outside his small windows when he leaned to check.
This was the third time in as many nights that he'd dreamed about what he once thought was a throwaway conversation with the Princess of Twilight. Now, a month After everything was said and done, Link found his mind clinging to memories he hadn't thought important before. There were a lot of things from his time away from Ordon that he found sowed into him in unexpected ways, if he was honest with himself.
He noticed it in habits he was certain weren’t part of him before the Shadow invasion.
Like how his eyes now instinctively found every exit upon entering any given room. Or how even a small spike of adrenaline sent his dominant hand reaching for a sword that was no longer strapped to his back.
Like how some smells, sounds, and even tastes sent waves of fear through his body deep enough to make him nauseous. Or how he found it nearly impossible to tear his attention away from the sky during the time between sunset and total nightfall each day.
Like how he made the people he loved noticeably nervous when around him. Or how it felt like pulling teeth getting himself out of his home to socialize, even when it came to Illia. Just yesterday, he’d snapped at his long time friend, when all she had done was ask if he was doing alright.
It put him off-center, not knowing what to expect out of himself from moment to moment. What felt even worse was knowing people he cared for could be on the wrong end of his shifting moods for simply doing things as they would have done before the Invasion. It wasn't their fault Link came back home like this, yet they would be the ones who would have to shoulder the burden of him and his new, confusing quirks. How fair was that to them?
He sighed loudly, the noise sounding miserable even to his own ears, as he ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it up. He leaned back in his kitchen table’s single chair, doing his best to peer through the windows near the front door. From what he could see, the sky was still a deep dark, not yet touched by the colors of early morning light. Sighing again, less miserably this time, Link crossed his arms and turned his eyes to the ceiling, his right leg bouncing with an uncomfortable energy he couldn't shake.
If he had been honest with Illia, he would have told her that no, he wasn't alright. He wasn’t alright at all.
But what would he even say? How would he explain what wasn't alright about him? He wasn't sure he even had the proper words to describe the cold, distant ache that had planted itself behind his ribcage ever since the Mirror of Twilight shattered. The first hours After everything came to an end, he thought it was some sort of shock, a physical phenomenon over the suddenness of everything just.
Just ending.
When the feeling remained days, weeks, even a full month later, Link found himself further unsure of what to make of the sensation. How was he supposed to describe something he didn’t even fully understand the shape of? Was this normal or more Chosen by the Goddesses nonsense? What was he even meant to do with himself now?
His leg continued to bounce without his say so, uncomfortable energy still coursing through him like a painful itch under his skin.
Slapping his hands against the kitchen table as a sudden, bone deep irritation grabbed him, Link pushed himself up from the chair, having come to a decision. He needed to leave Ordon. He needed to leave Ordon now.
With speed he had garnered from months of fighting, Link quickly pulled together what he thought he might need from his basement. A travel pack, his still mostly filled wallet, a sleep roll, dry provisions, a lantern, two changes of clothes and the small travel journal set he’d won for being Malomart’s 100th customer.
Once he was satisfied that he hadn't missed anything he would need, Link made the climb back up the ladder to the main room of his home. Looking over the dark room one last time, he frowned and silently bemoaned the fact that someone would probably go through the trouble of cleaning up the pile of laundry he had let accumulate along the floor. At least they wouldn't have to worry about his food stores, he hadn't filled them much since his return.
Carefully, as to not damage the small journal, Link tore a page from it, quick to write a note before leaving his home in Ordon once more. What he wrote was short, simple, and read:
10-10-111
I can't stay here in Ordon. I don't have the right words to explain anything, but I need to leave.
I'll be back as soon as I can.
I'm sorry.
-Link
By the time anyone would read the note or even so much as wonder where he was, Link would be long gone from his home.