...Looks like I'm continuing this. Don't expect a regular update schedule because I really am trying to push through BBN, but here's this for now :D

The vast expanse of the desert laid sprawled out and silent, its golden sand turned cool, dusty violet in the burnished light of the fading sun. Perched on the outstretched head of Vah Naboris, Link watched it all pass beneath him in slow, rhythmic arcs as the Divine Beast took one halting step after another, its enormous frame rumbling at each heavy impact. He had long since grown used to the constant, lurching motion, although at first it had thrown him off his balance. The precisely circular burn that had singed him through his Sheikah chest guard was testament to that.

Vah Naboris had proven trickier than the other Divine Beasts to puzzle through, but Link finally had it almost tamed now. All that remained was to activate the main control unit, a feat that previous experience said was easier said than done. Link didn't think he wanted to fight whatever oozing beast had managed to kill Urbosa. The chiseled, confident woman had seemed indestructible in memory… but then, all of the Champions had been that way. It was ludicrous to him that he had so far found success where each of them had failed, and he couldn't help but feel that surely his luck would run out any day now.

Urbosa's last, echoing words throughout the Divine Beast had warned him against overconfidence, but somehow, he didn't think that would be a problem. Not against this enemy, at least. He had already proven his tendency to be overconfident against others.

None of that was the cause of his delay, though. To be honest, Link didn't know why he hadn't triggered that final fight yet. He thought he could sense Urbosa's growing impatience in the cooling air around him, even if it was only his imagination, but still he sat, watching the desert darken beneath him. Off in the distance, he recognized a familiar grouping of broken columns buried in the sand. His finger hurt.

Scowling at that last thought, Link stuck the offending finger in his mouth to suck on irritably. The pain was small compared to what he'd grown used to, but intrusive. It shouldn't have hurt at all, considering that the small bite had healed over long since with only a fading scar to prove its existence, but as the day inched towards night it had steadily begun throbbing once more.

Link feared that he knew all too well what that might mean.

Eyes straying again towards the columns, he found himself making the same absent calculations he'd made almost every night for the past week. If he leapt from Naboris now and glided his way over, he could cover almost half the distance from here to the Arbiter's Grounds in the air. Running through sand would slow him down, but he thought he could make it to the underground room with plenty of time left before the blood moon hit its peak—assuming it even happened tonight. He still had time before the moon came peeking over the highlands to let him know for sure.

If the moon did rise red, then waiting for only a little longer would take him past the tipping point, proving once and for all that Ghirahim's parting command had been nothing more than wishful words. Then he could awaken the blighted beast inside Naboris without fearing that some outside power might draw him away, interrupting their battle and causing untold havoc.

If he was wrong and the moon rose white, so much the better. Maybe he could free Naboris and get out of the desert quickly enough that it wouldn't matter. Either way, for now he intended to sit here and wait. Nothing could make him go where he didn't want to go if he simply didn't move.

His face a steel mask of determination, Link settled back. And shoved himself off the edge.

By the time his mind caught up with the rest of him, Link had already pulled out his paraglider, aiming it like an arrow towards the Arbiter's Grounds.

"No!" he yelped in frustration, craning his neck to look back at the Divine Beast he'd abandoned. His course didn't deviate by an inch, though, and he hit the ground running, cold sand kicking up behind him. The ruby bouncing against his forehead sparked to life the moment the freezing air turned painful, warming him like a small flame from the inside, but even that didn't melt away the icy fear gripping his heart, or the cold fury. He couldn't let this happen.

With an effort, Link forced his entire being to focus on a single command—STOP!—and slowly his traitorous legs came to a shuddering halt, ankle deep in the sand. Panting but triumphant, Link slumped against his knees to catch his breath, glancing up at the sky—and shot forward once more, groaning as he regained momentum. In the sky above the distant highlands, barely visible but rising steadily, Link's eyes had picked out the smallest sliver of red.

Stalizalfos rose from the sand as he ran, bones stacking atop each other to brandish their wickedly forked blades at him, and in trying to run forward and whirl back to face them, Link tripped. No sooner had he hit the ground with a grunt than the closest one was upon him, scuttling across the sand with frightening speed to slash its forked weapon at his thigh.

Even as Link cried out, his hand found his sword's hilt. The skeletal lizards fell easily, a vicious blow to the skull destroying each one, but as soon as they had fallen Link was running again, this time with a limp. Blood flowed freely down his leg, soaking tights that were designed for stealth rather than armor, and Link gritted his teeth as his legs pumped silently through the night. With each throbbing step, his fury grew stronger, finally overwhelming his fear. Maybe Ghirahim could summon him back with little more than a word and a crooked finger, but this time he wouldn't catch Link by surprise. If he tried to wave his hands around again, Link thought he'd feel no remorse in chopping them off—and he would not let go of his sword.

The nauseating stench of rotting Molduga flesh did not improve his mood. Link gagged as he stumbled his way past the enormous corpse, approaching the familiar stone structure with dread. Deciding that he was in no mood for climbing tonight, he instead reached into the hidden strength burning beneath his skin, and felt the wind swirl up around him as the ghostly form of Revali appeared to carry him into the sky. Not for the first time, Link wondered whether the Champions could see him in those brief moments when he called on their power. Did Revali know how hard and fast Link had run to meet his own doom, or was the figure that appeared before him only the ghost of a ghost, offering the gift of flight but nothing more?

Maybe it was Link's imagination, but as the Rito champion vanished into ghostly flames, he thought he saw a spark of pity in those fading green eyes.

Drifting down to land atop the stone, Link tugged at the hidden entrance. The blood moon had pulled free of the distant cliffs now, enormous and blazing as it started its slow ascent across the sky, but Link's view of it was suddenly cut off, his hands and burning leg lowering him rung by rung down the long ladder towards the man—was it only a man?—waiting patiently in the darkness below.

Then his feet hit the ground, and whatever force had pulled at him finally eased its grip, satisfied perhaps that he would make it there now with time to spare. Wiping sweat from his face with a shaky hand, Link limped down the dark row of cells carefully, his dimly lit Sheikah Slate not nearly enough to light his path. The remains of his old fire sat abandoned where he had left it along with the torch, but even if the wood hadn't burned up beyond usefulness, he had no way of lighting a fire now and no time left to do so. It would be a dark journey down to the passage's depths, the only upside being that he would not be able to see Ghirahim's smirking face at the end.

Link clung to his anger as he descended the second ladder, drawing his sword to grope his way blindly down the tunnel and feeling it tremble in his hand. This time, he wouldn't give Ghirahim the chance to control him. As soon as this compulsion left his limbs he would be gone, and no force magical or physical could convince him to return. If the ancient Sheikah had felt it necessary to bind Ghirahim here forever, then he had no reason to disagree with their judgment and every reason not to.

His sword clinked unexpectedly against the stone doorway at the tunnel's end, and he stopped with a start, bending to wrench open the door that had fallen shut again in his absence. Once more, it held above him with a soft click, and Link stepped forward, his heart pounding with furious—and as much as he denied it, fearful—anticipation. For a long, breathless moment he waited in absolute darkness for something to happen, hoping against hope that nothing would. Then the echoing sound of laughter washed over him, and Link gritted his teeth as a red gem burst into glowing life between them, barely illuminating Ghirahim's grinning face. So much for that.

"Ahhh, Link! Welcome back!" The red light shone brighter, taking in the entire circular chamber, and Ghirahim sent it to hover over them with a sweeping gesture as Link squinted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me you ran all the way here? If I had known you were so eager—"

He cut off as Link's sword whipped around to rest against his throat.

"Shut up," Link growled, wishing he could stop his voice from shaking, though the combination of nerves and exertion made that impossible. "If you thought that forcing me back here would accomplish anything, you were wrong. I'm leaving now, and if I even think you're about to twitch a finger on my way out, I'll cut it off!"

Link wrenched his jaw closed, panting hard behind clenched teeth. He hadn't meant to shout.

Ghirahim's dark eye considered him, glittering in the crimson light, though the hair falling across his face hid his expression. His appearance had settled on pale skin and dark arms, with angular cracks forming the border between the two, and though it was a relief for Ghirahim to be still and predictable for once rather than hovering constantly on the brink of change as he had on their last strange encounter, it made him feel disconcertingly solid in a way that he hadn't before. At least the remaining ropes with their thin slips of fabric still held, fluttering with Ghirahim's slightest movements. Maybe the few Link had cut before wouldn't matter as long as these were left to bind him.

"I forget sometimes that you are almost half beast," Ghirahim muttered, before his voice took on a sickly sympathetic tone. "You sound upset. Don't tell me you were in the middle of something important when I pulled you away?"

"You—" Eyes widening, Link pressed his sword harder against Ghirahim's throat, though to Link's frustration he didn't flinch. Fleetingly, he wondered whether a man who was also a sword could even be harmed by steel weapons. "You have no idea—" The Guardian Scouts on Vah Naboris would be back once the blood moon finished its path across the sky, as would the concentrated pools of Malice he'd cleared, all of which he'd need to laboriously clear again. This newest injury to his leg would require his strongest elixir to heal, which meant he'd need to prepare another one of those before battling the blight of Naboris, which meant gathering up all the necessary ingredients. His tights needed mending too, and that meant a visit to the Great Fairy, and—

"I think I have some idea," Ghirahim said, his gaze sliding to Link's sluggishly bleeding leg, and Link tensed further as his inhumanly long tongue snaked slowly across his lips. "Do you feel trapped, my wild beast? Contained? Coerced by forces neither just nor merciful?" His laughter was short and mocking. "In truth, my sympathy for your plight extends only so far. Misery loves company, as they say, and there is no person I would rather share it with than you, Link."

"That's too bad," Link said hoarsely, stepping back and feeling emboldened that he could. The compulsion to remain was gone now. "Because I'm leaving."

"So you've said." Ghirahim's eyes narrowed before he let out a deep, almost forlorn sigh. Shoulders hunched against the dim red light, he looked suddenly small. "Very well. It is almost unpardonably rude to leave so soon after arriving, but nobody ever accused you of having manners. Perhaps in another life we will…" His voice faded away, his gaze focusing sharply on something just over Link's shoulder, and Link made a mistake he would kick himself over for weeks after. He turned his head to look.

The stone door fell shut almost on his heels, and Link stumbled forward with a yelp. His head whipped around just in time to catch Ghirahim snapping his fingers, prompting an ominous click from the closed door.

"Announcing your plans is rarely conducive to achieving them," he remarked casually, his moment of apparent weakness vanishing as he studied his fingernails. "You forced that lesson upon me once, so it is only fitting now that I do the same."

"What did you do?" Link demanded breathlessly, in disbelief that he'd been fooled so easily. He resisted the urge to scrabble his fingers along the door's edge, instead aiming his sword more urgently in Ghirahim's direction. "Open the door! Don't move another finger!"

"I can't do both." Ghirahim's obvious amusement needled Link further. "Now you control my freedom and I control yours… although I may still allow you to leave in the end if I'm feeling particularly—"

"Wait." Link's shoulders shook as he fumbled for his Sheikah Slate one-handed, laughing at his own stupidity. Flicking through the screens until he found the map, Link looked triumphantly up at Ghirahim, still not lowering his sword by an inch. "I guess I'm not as easily trapped here as you are. Have fun rotting here forever."

Freeing Naboris was out of the question tonight and Gerudo Town would never let him in dressed like he was, so Link jabbed his thumb against the symbol inside Zora's Domain, eager to watch Ghirahim's stunned face as Link vanished before his eyes. He might as well escape this dry air for a night, if he had to go somewhere… but instead, the fading symbols painted on the floor beneath him shone a brief, brilliant white, and Link's body twitched as pain shot through him, sending the Sheikah Slate flying from its tenuous grip to clatter across the floor.

Ghirahim sighed, clearly unimpressed.

"As I was saying," he drawled pointedly while Link stumbled forward to retrieve the slate, still blinking back stars, "I may allow you to leave if I'm feeling particularly merciful, though I'm starting to think I might rather—how did you put it?—have fun watching you rot here forever. Oh, come now," he added, his lips twisting maliciously as Link stared at him in dumb confusion. "Don't you think I would have escaped ages ago if it was as simple as that? You're stuck here until I say otherwise, so why not sit down and we'll have a little chat?"

Link stiffened. The realization that he'd been tricked, coerced, and trapped here hit him all at once, and he lashed out unthinkingly. With a roar, Link lunged forward with his sword, not caring if it met hands or neck or heart—and numbness gripped him as Ghirahim caught the blade between his fingers.

"Sit down," Ghirahim repeated softly, and Link's muscles locked up in panic, though there was nothing commanding about his words. "Tend to your wound. You look as if you might collapse at any moment."

"What are you?" Link muttered under his breath in horror, only realizing he had been heard when Ghirahim gave a soft, delighted laugh. Glaring furiously, Link wrenched his sword free, took a step back—and nearly stumbled onto his backside as his leg chose that moment to waver, all of his pain and exhaustion and blood loss striking out at him at once. Ghirahim was right again, the goddess curse him for it.

Link managed to wobble to the room's edge before his strength gave out, and he sank against the wall as far from Ghirahim as he could manage, leaning over his leg to examine it in the dim light. He couldn't make out much, but what he could see made him wince.

The crimson light grew brighter, and Link glanced up quickly, earning himself a raised eyebrow.

"Flighty little bird tonight, aren't you?" Ghirahim murmured, and Link's jaw tightened as he reached into his pack to pull out his saved elixir and a small bottle of water. Stiffly, he peeled out of his tights, hissing through his teeth as the fabric clung to his congealing wound and fresh blood began to leak through. Spikes of pain stabbed at him as he carefully picked out the wisps of blue fabric that his garment had left behind, washing it all with lukewarm water that he paused to take a deep swig out of. The slash had gathered too much dirt to heal now without cleaning it first, not unless he wanted to deal with sand pushing its way through his skin for weeks to come… though with Ghirahim's gaze lingering so uncomfortably, a part of him thought it might be worth it.

"Have you considered my offer?" Ghirahim asked suddenly, and Link glanced up at him sideways. Of course he had. It had been almost the only thing he thought about, when he wasn't occupied with infiltrating the Yiga Clan, or taming Naboris, or worrying over the next blood moon. Still, even if Ghirahim held all the power here, Link didn't have to make things easy on him.

His silence stretched on stubbornly, and Ghirahim's expression slowly darkened.

"I wonder how much air this room can hold?" he asked with a casual tone so false it grated. "Enough to last you through one night, certainly, but through two? What about seven? Until the next blood moon? Who can say?"

…Then again, maybe this wasn't the hill Link wanted to die on.

"I have," he grunted. Satisfied that he'd washed away as much sand as possible, Link popped the cork off his elixir, downing it with a grimace. The fire in his leg rose to an inferno before fading away abruptly, the flesh knitting itself back together to form a shiny red scar as Link stretched experimentally. His leg would be stiff for hours still, but by morning he would walk without a limp.

Ghirahim watched it all silently, his thoughts well hidden behind an enigmatic expression.

"Well?" he said at last when Link didn't elaborate, and Link finally met his gaze.

"No."

One second passed, and then another.

"No?" Ghirahim repeated. Link almost flinched at the dangerous tone, but remained firm.

"No." He thought he succeeded in sounding certain, though inside that same old curiosity that had gotten him into this mess in the first place gnawed at him furiously. Were those old heroes really him in any way that mattered? Even if they were, though, Link didn't want to find out like this. Not from Ghirahim. "The goddess gives us one life to live at a time for a reason, I think. I can accept what I've been given."

"Hmmm… ha!" To Link's surprise, Ghirahim laughed. He was starting to suspect that Ghirahim responded to most situations with laughter, its various tones indicating far more than mere amusement if only Link knew how to read them. "A wise choice, though I did not expect you to see it. Memories have weight, and to bear so many is a heavy, lonely thing. You have no idea how free you are, bearing none at all…" His strangely wistful expression vanished in an instant as he clapped his hands decisively, and Link jumped, though the action had no obvious effect. "But that is for you to discover on your own. I assume you at least wish for your most recent memories returned?"

"I…" The denial died in his throat. It was too great a lie to say otherwise.

The corners of Ghirahim's lips curled upwards.

"As I thought. I have two offers to extend to you, then. The first is by far the greater deal, though I don't think you're smart enough to take it." Link's eyes narrowed, but he nodded for Ghirahim to go on. Refusing to listen would only anger him further. "I will restore to you every missing memory you so desperately pine after, but in exchange you must cut through every rope restraining me."

"No." Link didn't even let himself consider it, pushing the possibility from his mind. The temptation to accept was too strong.

"Of course," Ghirahim sighed, strands of white hair fluttering around his lips. "Just what about my freedom is so repulsive to you?"

"Really?" Link demanded. "You think you can ask that after all… this?" He wiggled his fingers in demonstration, and Ghirahim tossed his head dismissively.

"Have I tried this—" he wiggled his fingers right back, and Link twitched— "even once since you arrived here tonight?" Link scowled. He hadn't, but the fact that he'd forced Link here in the first place made his point less persuasive than it might have been. "That was uncomfortable for you, perhaps, but not harmful. In fact, only one of us has attempted to murder the other—but that might be how you treat everyone who inconveniences you."

"Yeah, or maybe my past lives remember you after all," Link snapped to hide his sudden unease. The threat of Ghirahim had felt so immediate when he swung his sword, but… was it? The bite on his finger was an annoyance at best, and Ghirahim had not controlled the Stalizalfos. Then again, if there was a fate worse than death, being reduced to a human puppet must be up there.

"Oh Link," Ghirahim chortled, his gaze filled with such sudden heat that Link would have backed away further if he hadn't already been up against the wall. "You have no idea how some of your past lives must remember me."

His tongue flicked across his lips suggestively, and Link grasped blindly for his discarded tights, his face heating up.

"What was your other offer?" he asked, forcing himself to dress again slowly, though he knew it was too late for that. Surely there was no past life where he would have even considered… no, definitely not.

"My second offer grants you considerably more wiggle room, I think," Ghirahim said with a smirk, and Link's flush deepened as he tried to inch the rest of the way into his tights without moving his hips, wondering if Ghirahim could really make any word sound like that… but the man's next words swept such concerns from his mind. "A single memory for a single rope severed. There are plenty of them left, you see." His expansive gesture took in the handful of ropes that still held. "It looks like you could claim… oh, about five of them if you wished to take full advantage."

Link licked his lips nervously, almost lightheaded as he considered the prospect. Five memories. Five new points of light to illuminate who he was… but he couldn't accept, for more reasons than one.

"Five would only leave one rope left," he objected, counting them with a frown. "I wouldn't trust that to hold you."

Ghirahim rolled his eyes.

"Four then, or three if you're feeling timid about it. It makes little difference to me in the end. I remain trapped either way."

"So why make the offer?" Link asked, eyes narrowing. "Why help me if you get nothing out of it?"

"Half of my obstacles removed are not 'nothing,'" Ghirahim retorted. "Three slices in the future are easier made than six. It is not a matter of if I am freed, but when, and I would hasten the process along if I could… none of which is any threat to you personally, so I don't see why it bothers you so. Then again," Ghirahim added with a sudden, sharp grin, "a thread of fate has always bound our souls. Who can say what else it has in store for us?"

"It has not," Link mumbled, realizing he sounded petulant but still certain that Ghirahim was wrong. He'd never heard anything like that from the stories, or Kass's songs, or from Impa, or… or anywhere. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I reject that offer, too."

For one wild moment, Link thought Ghirahim might somehow manage to strike him despite the intervening distance, but the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Ghirahim threw back his head and laughed, the black diamond etched into his cheek visible for one brief second.

"Oh, of course!" he said, dark eyes shining in the dim red light. "Silly me! I might have known that you were afraid."

Link responded with a dry laugh of his own.

"Could you be any more obvious?" he demanded scornfully, but Ghirahim shook his head.

"You are that obvious, Link, just as you always were. If you are not yet content with what memories you have, it is because you do not like the man you see in them. You are certain that there must be something more… but the more of your past that you see, the greater the risk that there is nothing more. Perhaps you were only ever the man you saw, the same man you are now."

"You…" Link paused to lick his lips, his voice suddenly hoarse. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder how Ghirahim would restore his memories. Had he been in Link's mind already? The thought made his skin crawl. "You don't know me."

"Neither do you," Ghirahim was quick to point out, his dark gaze as sharp as a blade. "You could, though, if you had the courage. Do you have the courage?"

Link felt his resolve starting to waver, his eyes flicking between the remaining ropes as he calculated how many it might take to hold him. Ghirahim's taunts were obvious for what they were, of course, but in a way it almost didn't matter. Not if he was right.

"You'll find a way to take advantage," he said weakly, because it was true. He didn't believe for a second that Ghirahim would really be content to watch him leave without freeing himself if he could.

"Will I?" Ghirahim shrugged, and though it was impossible to appear truly at ease with his neck suspended between ropes as it was, he made a good impression of it. "Well, take your time deciding. I'm not in a hurry either way."

The strange assertion made Link pause. Shouldn't he be? Even unseen, the red moon would be advancing overhead. Their dwindling time pressed on Link, a constant reminder that he had only so much of it left to make his decision, so why shouldn't it press on him? Ghirahim had to know that once the moon hit its peak, Link would leave and never return… assuming he unlocked the door.

That was something else to consider, Link realized with an unpleasant swoop of his stomach. That smile Ghirahim wore so easily was a painted facade, and he knew it. If Link remained stubbornly unhelpful, would he still be allowed to leave?

"What would the deal be, exactly?" he asked at last, climbing cautiously to his feet and trying not to feel quite so eager. Trapping himself down here would save nobody, after all.

Ghirahim's smooth, sharp-toothed grin did nothing to ease his fears.

"A new rope cut through in exchange for each memory unlocked," he said as Link approached, sheathing his sword reluctantly. It wouldn't do him much good if he actually intended to go through with this. "You will cut the rope all the way through, mind. No skirting around the deal by slicing it halfway."

Link took a deep breath. This was definitely a mistake, but the more he considered it, the more he thought he really had no choice.

"Fine," he said shortly, his heart beating faster. At least he might get something out of it this way. "But the memory comes first. Then I cut the rope."

"That's your condition?" Ghirahim said in amusement, and Link froze. Was there something he'd forgotten? He thought maybe there was, but his mind only spun in useless, nervous circles. "I don't see how it matters, but I accept. This agreement will be binding through each exchange we make, so there's no chance of either of us backing out."

"Just one," Link said sharply, extending his hand with great reluctance. He could close up that loophole, at least, even if the rest came back to haunt him. "I only want one memory."

"Only one, hmm?" Ghirahim repeated in a murmur, his blackened hand encasing Link's like the bars of a cage. "Well… we shall see."

Link grimaced at the now-familiar feeling of wrongness that surged through him at the touch, binding him to their shared promise, but though the foreign presence retreated soon enough, it didn't vanish entirely. Instead it consolidated, centering around his head with a shuffling sensation. He squirmed in Ghirahim's vicelike grip at the unwelcome feeling, already having second thoughts.

"What are you—"

"Interesting," Ghirahim said, ignoring him, and Link found to his horror that he couldn't tell whether the voice came from inside his mind or without. Just what sort of intrusion had he agreed to? "Your memories are all perfectly intact, but… disconnected. Ahh, but this one feels important. I think if I just—"

Link grunted more in shock than in pain as something in his head seemed to snap into place, and he felt himself go rigid, the small, crimson chamber dissolving around him. Though Link's missing memories had never come gently to him before, there had always been some sort of catalyst that triggered their arrival, be it statue or location or picture on his slate—something that hinted at what sort of vision was about to swallow him whole. This felt more like being thrown off a cliff blindfolded, with no way of knowing what awaited him at the bottom. His mouth gaped open soundlessly, eyes wide and unseeing as—

"Please, Link, I promise that the Sheikah keep a very effective watch. I suspect it is not in your nature, but I had hoped for just one night that you might take the chance to… relax?"

Link blinked in surprise to find the princess earnestly watching him from over the top of her ever-present book of notes, and let his hand fall slowly away from the hilt of his sword where it had wandered. The flames of a campfire crackled between them, licking around the skewers of gourmet meat Link had set expertly over the coals and lighting Zelda's face dimly from below as she nodded in satisfaction, turning back to her notes with her tongue stuck out just past the edge of her lips. Other campfires burned nearby with Zelda's small retinue of Sheikah and royal guards occupying them, and their tents had been built in a circle to surround the princess's larger pavilion. Even if some enemy did manage to sneak past the watch, they would have a circle of armed opponents to contend with before reaching the princess, not to mention Link himself… but the recent attack by the Yiga Clan still had him on edge. It was probably in the princess's best interests that he not relax, whatever she wanted, though the motivation behind her sudden interest in his comfort was a mystery in itself. Zelda could rarely be described as predictable, her moods shifting quickly depending on the success of her research, the frustration of her prayers, and her proximity to the castle and her father, but since they'd returned from their most recent survey of Vah Naboris, she'd been acting… different. Not in a bad way, exactly—she snapped at him less now, even if she stared at him more—but still. Different.

"Well now," she said, finishing her sentence with a satisfied flourish and blowing on the ink as it dried. "That really was quite successful. I can hardly believe how quickly Mipha has learned to control her Divine Beast! It's almost as if they've… bonded." Her lips pursed together thoughtfully—maybe even enviously?—but after a moment's pause she waved her hand. "A difficult thing to quantify, but still worth looking into. I wonder if Revali would describe it in similar—Link, please!"

Link didn't quite jump at the princess's exclamation, though he did quickly uncrane his neck, straightening under her admonitory expression. It had just occurred to him how unprecedented it was that they'd gone undisturbed for so long. There should have been some Sheikah researcher or other clamoring for Zelda's attention, but instead they'd been left in relative peace.

Sighing, Zelda snapped her small book shut, reaching for the satchel by her feet.

"Maybe this will help," she muttered, pulling out two tightly wrapped bowls of… food? Link couldn't help it. His interest perked. "I know it's a bit unorthodox, but since we're waiting on dinner anyway, I thought it might be fun to start with dessert tonight? Mipha told me that you were once fond of the sweet rice pudding the Zora make on special occasions, and I managed to procure some before we left. If you would like to…?"

She gestured hesitantly at the seat beside her, and Link nodded slowly, rising. Mipha had been right, though Link didn't think anyone other than the princess of Hyrule herself could have convinced a Zora to prepare the dish outside of a festival. The Zora were strict in their observance of spiritual holidays, with traditions set practically in stone for millennia—but the spiced aroma that wafted towards him as she peeled the waxed fabric from the first shallow bowl matched that of his memories.

His stomach growled loudly and a small smile lit Zelda's face, though she graciously didn't mention it.

"Sit with me," she insisted, pressing the bowl into his hands with a wooden spoon. "That meat still has a few minutes left on the fire, I think."

He sat a bit awkwardly, not quite meeting her gaze. It couldn't be more clear that she'd set this moment up with some sort of purpose in mind, though he hadn't a clue as to what. Then the first bite passed his lips, and for a moment he really did relax. It had been years since he last visited Zora's Domain during a festival, but he was surprised by how well he remembered the sweet, almost smoky flavor bursting across his tongue, carried by sweet, creamy grains of rice.

"Mipha says that you ate five bowls of this the first time she met you," Zelda said, opening her own portion and dipping in her spoon in a much more restrained manner. Too late, Link realized that he was already on his third bite. "She also told me that you were a lively, talkative child then. It's remarkable how much can change with the years, isn't it?"

Link's next bite slowed on its way to his mouth, and he eyed her askance. Was that what she and Mipha had discussed for so long together on Vah Ruta? Him? …What else had Mipha told her? The possibilities ranged from mundane to mortifying, but luckily the warm light of the flames hid the faint blush that rose in his cheeks as he considered it.

"Link, I… I feel I owe you an apology," Zelda admitted softly, fiddling with her spoon. "We ought to be partners in this fight, don't you think? Even if I cannot yet carry my end of—" She cut off, and took a deep breath. "We ought to be partners, yet instead I have treated you as an undeserved outlet for my frustrations, and I'm sorry. I know I have done nothing to earn your confidence in me and perhaps never will… but if you'll allow me to, I can at least try to make amends."

Link's brow furrowed as he set aside the empty bowl, unsure how to respond. Was that why she thought he didn't speak to her? The last thing he'd wanted to convey with his silence was a lack of confidence. Nobody needed the burden of his thoughts and worries weighing them down now, the princess least of all… but then, the very nature of silence made it difficult to clarify his intentions. Was his choice to not speak more damaging than he'd realized? If he tried to say something now, he knew the words would come out wrong.

"I don't expect a response from you tonight, if at all," she assured him as if she'd somehow read his thoughts, and Link took a moment to steady his breathing, staring into the fire. "I just wanted you to know that I—oh!"

She blinked in surprise as Link jumped to his feet, then smiled ruefully as she saw what had distracted him. Their dinner was on the point of burning.

"Forgive me," she laughed as he hurriedly pulled the skewers out of the fire, waving them gently to encourage the meat to cool. "How foolish it would be if my attempt at an apology spoiled your supper."

Link shrugged, handing the princess her portion, which she took thoughtfully.

"I wonder," she murmured, "if perhaps… I don't intend to pressure you, of course! I just thought that, if we wish to become better acquainted, perhaps we should start somewhere simple? For instance," she said with a smile, "my favorite food is the fruitcake prepared in the castle's kitchens. What—if I may ask—is yours?"

Link hesitated, blowing on his food as he glanced surreptitiously around them. Nobody appeared to be watching—or at least, nobody was close enough to listen in. Zelda's eyes on his face were shining and uncertain, ready to take the simple question back at his first sign of discomfort—and it was a simple question, something even Link and his fumbling words couldn't mess up.

His hands shook, but he opened his mouth, his decision made. He could do this much, for her.

The vision began to fade. Link watched it go in silent protest, trying desperately to retain the rest of the memory even as it slipped through his grip like grains of sand, until—

"One memory, as promised," Ghirahim pronounced, sounding unbearably smug as Link gasped and opened his eyes, the red-tinted chamber falling back into place around him.

"You cheated," he said blankly, tearing his hand free and wiping it against his leg as if he'd dipped it in something filthy. He only wished he could so easily cleanse his mind of that dirty feeling, as well. "You—that wasn't—"

He stopped, his thoughts whirling in an attempt to slot what he'd just seen along with everything else. Those smoky spices still rested on his tongue, and he wondered absently if Sidon could get him some, if asked. More importantly, he had spoken—or so it seemed—and Zelda had maybe not altogether hated him. It was more than he'd had before, though he still fixed Ghirahim with a glare.

"That doesn't count," he growled. "You knew you were stopping it before the most important part." Just one word, spoken from his own lips. Was that too much to ask?

"Oh my little wild one, how could I have possiblyknown that?" Ghirahim demurred, though his eye glinted shrewdly. "And it does count, by the way." He snapped his fingers, and a jeweled black dagger appeared suddenly in Link's hand. "You're fortunate that I showed you a memory so pertinent to your desires at all, much less that it lasted as long as it did. Think twice next time you make a deal—or at the very least, think once."

His black finger beckoned, and Link gritted his teeth as he stepped sullenly forward, raising the dagger to one of the six remaining ropes. It didn't help his pride to realize that Ghirahim had a point, and he had thoroughly failed to protect himself from what now felt like obvious pitfalls. The only real mystery was why Ghirahim had not taken advantage more than he had.

"Show me the rest of it, then," Link demanded, flicking his eyes towards the remaining ropes as the one he was cutting snapped and the black dagger vanished into diamond flecks. There were five of them left—more than enough to risk losing another. This was his last chance. "One rope for the rest of that conversation, but you have to show me all of it. No tricks, or… or anything."

"Hmm…" Ghirahim made a show of considering it, rolling his neck languorously as if testing his constraints. Finally, he fixed Link with a grin. "No."

Link blinked, feeling suckerpunched.

"...What?"

"I said, 'no.'" Ghirahim enunciated each word clearly, as if speaking to a child. "And to be honest, I greatly dislike being told what to do."

"But I—will you—please?" Link stammered, angry and flustered all at once. Why wasn't Ghirahim jumping at this?

"Oh, how delightful! You thought I wanted you to beg!" Ghirahim laughed, leaning back as far as the ropes would allow. "But no. We've grown rather short on time I'm afraid, and even if we hadn't, it's just too much fun watching you squirm."

With a start, Link saw the first red motes floating through the air between them, and realized with sinking regret that Ghirahim was right. Time was always hard to gauge down here, and the retrieved memory had thrown him off further, but he'd thought they had more left than that.

"You're disappointed," Ghirahim noted, sounding far too satisfied for Link's liking. "Consider this a teaser, then. You've had a taste of what I have to offer now, enough to know that I can fulfill my end of the bargain." His smirk had the air of a trap slamming shut. "I might even be feeling more generous the next time you come around."

Link could have sworn he felt the air freeze around him as he stared at Ghirahim, processing what he'd said. Then the spell broke, and his sword whirled from its sheath to point straight at Ghirahim's chest, not caring how ineffective steel weapons had already proven to be. He would find a way to fight Ghirahim off, if necessary.

"Don't touch me," he said coldly. "Don't you dare touch me. I won't be back after tonight, and you will not touch me."

Ghirahim eyed the sword with a pitying sort of expression, then sighed.

"Link," he said, the red motes flying more quickly between them. "You wild, stupid child. It's already been done." Link shook his head in horrifying denial, but Ghirahim continued on, his dark eyes almost glowing with anticipation. "When the moon bleeds red, you will return to me once more. That is not a singular event, Link. The blood moon will rise again… and again… and again, and as long as it does, you will return. If I am not free, then neither are you."

Link wanted to keep denying—but could he? This was a pointless thing for Ghirahim to lie about, he realized with sudden, growing dread. If Link was not still bound to the curse, then he would not show up on the next blood moon and that would be that. It was a waste of Ghirahim's breath to insist otherwise—but if Link was still bound...

His finger ached in silent confirmation as the blood moon hit its height once more, and the tip of Link's sword fell dully against the ground. He couldn't bring himself to raise it again, not even when Ghirahim vanished from his restraints as he had the last time, reappearing to lean over Link so closely that their foreheads touched.

"It's not so terrible a fate," he said softly as Link shifted, refusing to meet his dark eyes. "A curse easily remedied, when you think about it. I don't intend to harm you, but I will be free, one way or another."

"And when you are?" Link asked, his voice fainter than he would have liked. "Will I be free of you then?"

Ghirahim's only response was a slow grin, his long tongue slithering out to flick at Link's ear, and Link recoiled from the touch on instinct, clenching his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Ghirahim was gone, the black sword visible in its restraints for only an instant before the red light overhead went out, dropping them both into darkness.

Link couldn't have said how long he stood there, staring stiffly at a sword he couldn't see. Then he threw his own sword against the ground with a wordless shout, the metallic clatter echoing like bells through the small chamber. The click of the stone door's lock releasing behind him was small and mocking in comparison. He could leave for now, it said, but he'd be back.

The throb of his finger and the knot in his chest said that, like it or not, he would be back.