Part 9
The descent from the ridge was a slow, painful pilgrimage. Each step for Elwin was an agony, a fresh reminder of the ordeal he had survived. For Link, each step was a return to a life he was no longer sure he fit into. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the eastern sky in soft hues of rose and gold, and the familiar, comforting shapes of Ordon Valley emerged from the morning mist below. Home. The word itself was a balm, a promise of safety and peace after a week of shadow and steel.
They were seen before they even reached the pastures. Fado, already out to check the fences, a habit ingrained by years of worry, was the first. He stood frozen for a long moment, a silhouette against the dawn, his hand shielding his eyes. He looked, then looked away, then snapped his gaze back, unable to process the impossible sight: two figures, one large and broken, leaning heavily on one small and steady, limping out of the wilderness.
"Elwin?" Fado's voice was a disbelieving croak across the distance. Then, his eyes focused on the smaller figure. "Link!" The name was a thunderclap in the quiet morning. Fado threw his hat to the ground and let out a shout that was pure, unadulterated joy. "THEY'RE BACK! LINK HAS BROUGHT ELWIN HOME!"
The cry acted as an alarm bell, rousing the village not to danger, but to a miracle. The reaction was a tidal wave. Doors flew open. People poured into the village square, their faces a mixture of sleep-addled confusion that quickly morphed into stunned, joyous disbelief. The sight of Link, their strange, silent boy, was a wonder in itself. But to see him supporting the very man they had all but given up for dead was a sight that bordered on the divine.
The reunion was a maelstrom of emotion that swirled around Link's quiet center. The baker and his wife rushed forward, not to him, but to Elwin, their faces streaming with tears as they helped take the weight of their friend. And then his parents were there, breaking through the crowd like a force of nature.
Elara reached him first. The relief that washed over her was so total it seemed to make her younger, erasing the lines of grief that had been carved into her face for over a week. She didn't crush him in a hug this time. She knelt before him, her hands gently framing his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks as if to assure herself he was real. "Oh, my boy," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "My brave, foolish boy. You came home."
Rohm stood behind her, his great chest heaving with unspoken emotion. His eyes took in everything: the grime and exhaustion on his son's face, the new nicks and scratches on the enchanted shield, the hard, weary wisdom in his eyes that had not been there when he left. His son had departed under the cover of darkness as a determined child; he had returned in the light of dawn as a proven protector. A pride so fierce it was physically painful swelled in my father's heart. He said nothing. He simply knelt beside his wife and placed a heavy, grounding hand on Link's shoulder. The family was whole again.
Elwin was carried gently to Impa's home, the traditional place of healing in the village. As the elder worked on his leg, skillfully cleaning the wound and setting the bone with a practiced hand, the postman, propped up with pillows and fortified with a warm, spiced broth, told his story. The villagers gathered at the door and windows, listening with rapt attention.
He told them of the ambush, describing the red-eyed monsters with a storyteller's flair. He spoke of his capture, of the despair he felt in the cage, of giving up all hope. Then, his voice dropped, becoming hushed with awe. He told them of Link's arrival. He painted a picture not of a small, frightened boy, but of a spirit of vengeance, a "ghost in the firelight" who moved with impossible silence and fought with the ferocity of a cornered lynx. He described, with some dramatic embellishment, the way Link had blinded his foes with a flash of light from his shield, the way he had outwitted the hulking Moblin chieftain, and how he had single-handedly carved a path to freedom.
He spoke for nearly an hour, and in that time, the legend of Link of Ordon was born. He was no longer the strange boy who had gotten lucky in the woods. He was a hero. Their hero. He had faced the darkness that haunted their nightmares and had returned victorious, bringing their friend back from the brink of death.
Link, meanwhile, found the sudden reverence deeply uncomfortable. He had slipped away during the storytelling, the weight of their collective gaze too heavy to bear. He was not the mythic warrior Elwin was describing. He was just a boy who had been terrified, a boy who had done what he had to do to save his friend. He retreated to the familiar, quiet world of his flock, the bleating of the goats a far more comfortable sound than the whispers of awe that now followed him through the village.
That evening, the quiet understanding in his home had deepened. Elara fussed over him, giving him the largest portion of stew, but her touch was different now—more hesitant, tinged with a new respect that felt foreign and unsettling. She was looking at her son and seeing a stranger, a hero she did not quite know how to mother anymore.
Later, I found him in the forge. The sword was already back in its hiding place beneath the stone. I drew it out. The blade was still sharp, but I saw what I had been looking for: a small, fresh nick in the steel near the hilt, a testament to a desperate parry. A long, dark scratch marred the polish of the flat, evidence of a glancing blow. This sword was no longer a symbol of a potential future; it was a veteran of a real battle. It had been tested, and it had held. Just like my son. I cleaned and oiled the blade, my movements methodical, my heart a turbulent sea of pride and fear. I looked at Link, who had been watching me, and placed a hand on his shoulder. My touch was heavy with the weight of all the words I could not say. You did well. You came home. That is all that matters.
The arc of Link's first great journey was complete. In the days that followed, a semblance of normality returned. A formal message, carried by a swift rider, was sent from Ordon to the nearest garrison, recounting Elwin's tale and warning of the organized monster threat. Elwin himself began to heal, his cheerful voice once again a fixture in the village as he held court from his sickbed. The villagers treated Link with a gentle, hands-off reverence, leaving small gifts of fruit or carved trinkets on his doorstep.
But for Link, nothing was the same. The world had irrevocably changed. Ordon, once his entire world, now felt small, its concerns quaint and simple compared to the life-and-death struggle he had endured. His shepherd's staff felt flimsy and light in his hands, a poor substitute for the solid, reassuring weight of his sword. He was home, but he felt like a visitor.
A few days later, he found himself back on the ridge where he and Elwin had first seen the lights of the village. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant streaks of orange and purple. He sat on the cool grass, his enchanted shield beside him. The Royal dispatch and the Sheikah token were a heavy, constant presence in the pouch at his side, a silent reminder of a promise he had yet to fulfill.
He looked west, down at the warm, peaceful valley he had fought so hard to return to. He saw the smoke rising from his own chimney, a sight that filled him with a deep, aching love. This was his home. These were his people. Then, he turned and looked east. He could not see the distant, hazy peaks of the Lanayru province, but he knew they were there. He thought of a hidden princess, of a kingdom threatened by a creeping shadow, of his friend's solemn vow to accompany him. He had answered the first call, the call of a friend in need. He had returned, but he knew, with a certainty that was as clear and as vast as the twilight sky, that this return was only an interlude. The world was larger than his valley, and his duty was larger than his own heart's desire for peace.
His quest was not over. It had just begun. He sat there until the stars came out, his silent, determined gaze fixed on the eastern horizon, a boy preparing to leave home for the second, and final, time.