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It was a good afternoon for a nap—as many afternoons tend to be. The sun had begun its slow descent down the sky, having stripped the grass of its morning dew, and Link could stretch himself out on the rooftop lawn of the Knight's Academy with no fear of freezing puddles that might soak through his shirt and chill his back. He closed his eyes, savouring the warm rays on his face and gentle breeze tousling his hair. Yes, he thought. A perfect afternoon for a nap.
"Oh no you don't! You cannot be about to fall asleep again, Link!"
The grasp of slumber fell away, taking all its bliss with it, and Link pushed his lips into a pout. "Well, I'm sure not about to with you yelling at me."
Zelda huffed from somewhere above: half-exasperation, half-laughter. "As if that's ever stopped you before. Honestly,"—a sharp finger poked at his side—"you and your naps have already earned you a tardy notice from one class, today."
"I was dreaming." Another breeze sailed over the roof to buffet his face. Cool, with a peculiar feel to it; a sort of… graininess that was out-of-place.
"Master Eagus isn't going to accept that excuse every morning, Sleepyhead."
"But it was a really, really, nice dream."
"Is that so?" Zelda's voice remained teasing, but her finger, at least, stopped assailing his ribs. "What was it about?"
"Uh…" Link racked his brain. He could remember the feeling of the dream just fine. It felt good. Cheerful, cosy; not unlike the feeling of a warm and full stomach one had upon finishing a helping of Pumm's soup. He could recall being happy—ecstatic, even.
But the events of the dream itself?
"I don't remember."
There was a snort from above, and despite his eyes being closed, Link had the urge to roll them. "Y'see? If I go back to sleep now, maybe I can pick the dream back up—tell you all about it when it's done. Just… you know"—he rolled over to face Zelda, using her shadow to block the light from the sun—"don't tell Master Eagus."
Another breeze ruffled his hair, and in its wake, something else followed. A delicate brush along the top of his head, holding within it both more pressure and more care than the pitiless wind ever could.
Before Link could confirm what it was, though—before he could open his eyes to find out—Zelda was speaking again, and any questions about strange, gentle touches were abandoned.
"Well, one of us might as well have good dreams," she murmured, the playful edge all but gone from her voice. "All I dream about these days is going through the clouds."
"Everyone dreams about flying."
"Not flying. Falling."
Cracking open one eye, Link peered at Zelda through his lashes. The afternoon light made the edges of her hazy, giving him the uncanny sense that if he were to reach out and touch her, his fingers would go right through. There was no ambiguity to the frown on her face, though; the distance in her eyes as she pulled her knees to her chest. The strange, grainy breeze picked up around them, seeming, from all appearances, as if it were trying to snatch Zelda away.
"That wouldn't happen," said Link. "Indigo would catch you."
"And if she couldn't?"
"One of the knights would. Crimson and I would."
Zelda's frown shifted—morphed into something more mournful. "You'll catch me…" The grass, the ground, shuddered underneath them; pebbles jumping up and jabbing at Link's side with a cruelty Zelda's fingers had lacked. The light gusts over the Academy strengthened to a gale, and Zelda's hair whipped around with it.
"But you didn't catch me"—she turned to him, bright tresses obscuring her face—"did you?"
Her hair was tossed aside, clearing the way for the ferocious glare of the woman who had put herself between them in Eldin to take Zelda's place. "You were late," she continued. Zelda's voice clung to hers as an echo, and each word that fell from it was a knife to Link's chest. "You were late, and you failed to protect her."
The Academy roof cracked and crumbled under Link's back. Every instinct told him to get up, to run, to whistle for Crimson to catch him, but his limbs were frozen; eyes stuck on the likeness looming above as it shifted again. Ghirahim grinned down at him, lips twisted—mocking.
"Failed, failed, failed," he sang. "Poor Skychild has failed."
With a snap of the demon's fingers, Skyloft plummeted out from under them. Clouds spun, spiralled around Link; the rushing wind built to a roar. "And you know how else you'll fail?" that roar asked.
The faceless beast from his nightmares emerged from the clouds; darkness building, terror forming. It was growing… growing—Link falling… falling. The darkness reared its head back, and the abyss of its face cracked apart—opened up to a
grinning,
drooling,
maw.
Twang!
Link's chest lurched so violently he thought it might be an attack. He gasped—and immediately spat as sand stuck to his lips and abraded his tongue. It was dark, it was cold, and his hand throbbed with pain; the backs of his fingers pressed up against a cool metal that hummed.
With the tinkle of gentle chimes, Fi sprang out from behind him. Her floating form bathed the immediate area in a soft, blue glow, and through it, the harp by Link's hand took shape.
Oh.
Breathing slowed and din in his ears calmed, Link pushed himself up to sit. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he took in the rest of his surroundings. The scattered and crumbled brick; the shifting, sloping dunes; the cloudless night sky. Lanayru Desert, and what remained there of the strange gate Zelda had gone through.
"A report, Master." Link looked to Fi. "I have detected an aracha nest within the sand dune twenty-three metres to your east, and a collection of technoblin bones twelve metres to your south. Probability of that technoblin resurrecting with the activation of a timeshift stone is at eighty percent. I do not…" Fi froze, further calculations processing behind the blank slate of her face. "I do not detect any other threats, however. I do not detect any source of attack."
"It's okay," Link told her. "I'm not under attack."
She turned her assessment to him, then; those cool, vacant eyes boring through his skin. "Breathing elevated. Heart rate increased. Sweat developed. All of these are indicators of exertion, illness, injury, distre—"
"It was just a dream." Link wiped his brow—there was indeed sweat there, soaking the brim of his hat—and tried, in vain, to rid himself of the sand clinging to his tunic. "I was just…"
The grains he brushed off himself were picked up by the wind. Carried, along with Link's attention, across the stone bridge to the place where Zelda had earlier stood.
"I was just dreaming," he murmured.
"I see," said Fi. "Most instances of dreaming occur as a result of the brain's efforts to process and consolidate information. With the number of new experiences you have encountered in recent days, the probability of dreams afflicting your sleep will have increased."
Link dropped his gaze, from the ruined gate to the blisters on his palm. He rubbed at them, wincing as he asked: "Do you dream?"
"I have no need to," Fi replied. "I am able to consolidate new information without the assistance of sleep."
"Not even to remember?" Link looked up at her. "To picture the face of your creator or… anyone from back then?"
"Such a thing is not necessary to fulfil my purpose."
She did not say, "neither is it necessary for yours", but it wouldn't have been incorrect had she done. No night terrors were needed to remind Link of the task he had yet to complete; his waking mind could handle that all on its own. That said, as terrifying as the dream had been, he couldn't imagine replacing it with a silent, empty, void. Give up the chance to see her face, brighter than the sun with a beaming smile, or hear her voice, filling the sky around them as she sang from Indigo's back.
Link's attention fell to the harp. It was a fine thing—far too fine to be laid on the ground as it was. He picked it up and brushed it off, trying his best to clear away any sand with fingers coated in grains of their own.
Past the harp, the sky was dusky grey, the suggestion of light growing on the horizon.
"How long do you reckon 'til sunrise?" Link asked Fi.
"There is a ninety percent chance of the sun rising within the hour."
Little point in trying to go back to sleep, then. Link settled against the cool stone behind him. It was rare—him being awake to watch the sunrise. Zelda had tried dragging him out of bed for it many a time, but on the few occasions she'd succeeded, Link's brain had been too sluggish to follow. The morning of the Wing Ceremony was probably the only one he'd been alert enough to take the sight in. Worth it, to have been able to see her in that sunrise, glowing as her fingers danced over harp strings.
Link brought the instrument to his chest. Strummed.
"Hm~"
The vocalisation took him by surprise. Link looked to Fi. She didn't return his gaze, face remaining blank, but when he played another chord, she once again hummed along. Her intonations matched those of the harp's—a perfect harmony.
Dreams were not necessary—not according to her. Music, though…
Maybe it would be a comfort to them both.
Link settled his eyes on the lightening horizon and, recalling Zelda's song on the day of the Wing Ceremony, continued to play.