A week has passed since I sent Ingo away and washed the blood from my floorboards. The smears have left a faint stain, as if I need more of a reminder of what happened. My sides still ache from the toe of Ingo's boot; after coming clean to Dad, I took a bath and washed off the stickiness. On either side of my body, there are now crusty scabs in small crescent shapes, randomly scattered from my breasts to my hips. There is also a sole-shaped bruise between my breasts from when Ingo kicked me down, and breathing still hurts slightly. The pain, however, means that I'm still alive, and the more frequent cracking of my right knuckles also serves to represent my triumphant retaliation.

I wake up this morning with a mission. Now that Dad is finally well enough to take care of the necessary chores, I am free to rescue my hero, and to clear the air between us so that he can see all that has happened. I get up slowly, and as I massage the stiffness out of my back, I see a soft whiteness outside of my window. I rise and glance to the meter-stick we've placed against the barn, and even though the numbers and lines are impossible to read from my room, I can see that we've gotten a few inches. The snow flakes ease my nerves enough for me to sigh, neither sadly nor contently.

It's still very early, but I want to be up even if Dad's taking over the work for today. I head downstairs while still in my nightgown and robe, which are new. Dad insisted I go to market this week to buy new clothes to replace all of my clothes that had been ruined in the past couple of months. He also had me take the money that should have been Ingo's monthly wages. "Buy yourself something nice," he had told me as he closed my fingers around the rupees with his hand. And I had.

Soon, a fresh stack of pancakes and a plate of sunny-side-up eggs sit on the table, and I sit down as Dad stumbles in sleepily. I grin at him. "Welcome back to work," I say with a chuckle.

He sits down and smiles at me, and then at the food. "It's good to be back, ladies and gents! Ah, and so nice to have real food for breakfast."

"Are you implying that the soup I made for you wasn't real food?"

The answer I receive is only a wink, but I know he's just kidding around. It's just been so long since he's been up and about, spreading his usual good cheer.

After the meal, Dad sets out into the snow after we have a short disagreement on his outerwear. I win when I remind him that he very well can't afford to get sick again. I watch him until the door of the barn closes after him, and then I clean up the dishes as quickly as I can. I have to hurry so I can take a bath and wait for my hair to dry.

After washing my body carefully, I rewrap all of my bandages, although not as thickly as usual. Besides, the wounds are healing, even if they are healing slowly. I sigh as I reach for my new undergarments, which are not nearly as comfortable or practical as my usual ones. But today isn't an ordinary day, and I'm not going to be out in the barn, milking cows and mucking out stalls. Nor am I wearing a work dress.

I run a brush through my hair every few minutes as it dries; the last thing my resolve needs is a bad hair day. I can't throw my hair up in a ponytail today, nor can I assume that any frizz will soon be slicked down with dirt and sweat. Instead, I have to hope that my hair is heavy enough to weigh itself down, but light enough to dry before the end of the year. I pace my room in my underwear and gauze as the water evaporates, leaving my neck sticky; I blot the area with a dry towel.

Soon, I've already run into a problem, one that I've never faced before. How do other women deal with this? I can't possibly walk in the snow in my new shoes. Stockings and boots would be a great idea for this weather, but there's no way I can leave the ranch in stockings and boots and arrive in the dainty slippers I've just purchased. Even if I could change at any point, my feet would be sweaty and dirty, and they would also look slightly discolored from the pressure of the fabric. No, this isn't going to work. I run my hands through my new skirts and sigh. While I push the shoe problem out of my mind so I can solve it at the last minute, I pull my hair back as best I can, although my bangs still come loose to frame my face. It's hopeless, but it will have to do. My fingers shake as I fasten my new necklace around my throat.

Well, it's not mine, and it's not new either. In fact, I had seen the emerald pendant on its silver chain grace the neck of my mother in her wedding portrait. It had been my grandmother's before that, and my mother had received it as a gift when she announced her engagement to Dad. Dad gave it to me earlier in the week, when I showed him my new dress. He said he never thought he'd see a fabric that matched the gemstone so well, but I also believe that he was giving it to me now as a blessing of sorts. Either way, I feel more like a lady and less like a farm girl as I gaze at my face in the mirror. My green-blue eyes blink; I no longer see my mother there instead of me.

As I fasten my cloak around my shoulders and throw up the hood, Dad presents a solution to my shoe problem. I grab Link's dia—journal and open the door to find that Dad has spent some time digging out the snow and putting down a few planks of wood for me to walk on. Epona trots out of the barn, and I rebel against my impulse to throw my arms around her neck; I have to do my best to keep horsehair off of the satin that rustles around me. Ingo was always paid more than a normal farmhand was, but I was still surprised that I could afford the gown that I picked out. Soon, I'm riding sidesaddle on Epona's back, and we're off through the fresh snow. Our tracks are the only ones.

As we ride through the market, I run the plan through my head. Dad says that when he used to personally deliver milk to the castle, he'd take it to the kitchens and speak with the head chefs. Now, the Royal Family chefs send pages and servants to market to buy supplies, although we are still the ones they buy from. Dad has gone to visit the chefs from time to time, however, to make sure that they are satisfied with our produce. I am going to use that as an excuse to get into the castle.

Epona and I reach the gate to the castle, and my eyes widen slightly at its size; not only do towers touch the sky from every possible corner of the building, but the castle sprawls over the hilltops. My task of finding Link has now become considerably more difficult. And before I can even get to the castle itself, I must face the gatekeeper.

He's a nondescript young man, dressed in the standard issue mail and crest, as well as a heavy cloak for the weather. He has both a sword and a spear, and if I weren't trying to make a good impression, I would snort as he raises an eyebrow at me in approval.

"Now, what is a lovely young lady doing, riding about in such weather?" he asks, and I can tell that this isn't the standard questioning. I'm sure that if my features weren't so regular, I'd be greeted more brusquely.

I simply stare at him, my nose up a little bit. "Kind sir," I begin with a small smile, "to what do you owe the strength that has helped you join the ranks of Hyrule's finest?"

He seems a little flattered at the question. "Oh, just a few things, miss." I want to laugh at the silly grin on his face; he thinks that I'm trying to flirt with him. "I always got fresh air and exercise, I trained real hard, and I always made sure to drink three glasses of Lon Lon milk a day."

I win.

"Really?" I asked, feigning fascination slightly. I feel a little guilty at my desire to embarrass this soldier, but to be fair, he shouldn't be conversing with me like this, especially since I want to get inside before something happens to my shoes, my dress, or my hair. I worked hard to look nice today, and I have the incredible ability to attract bad luck. Please, Goddesses, any day but today.

And so I continue. "Lon Lon milk?" He nods, and I laugh lightly. "What a coincidence! I also drink Lon Lon milk."

"It's the best there is, miss," the soldier says, grinning and winking at me. I almost want to vomit.

"I'm glad you think so," I tell him, a fake smile plastered on my face. "As the owner of Lon Lon Ranch, it always makes me happy to know that our produce is indeed as fine as we advertise. And to think that maybe I bottled the very milk that gave you your strength! I have been milking cows since I was five, after all. What a small world! In fact, I'm on my way to speak with the chefs about their satisfaction with Lon Lon produce right now!"

He lets me through the gate without another word. The best part is that I probably did milk the cows from which he got his strength. But I sigh sadly as Epona walks up the gravel track on her own accord; I wish I had a better reason to be here today. I hate sneaking around.

Epona leads me to the Royal stables, and all the stable hands call out to her; up until this moment, I had completely forgotten that Link would have stabled Epona here several times over the last six years. Everyone seems a little surprised to see a red-haired woman riding the mare instead of the blond hero, but no one accepts the tip that I offer as Epona walks to what appears to be her own stall. "Epona's an old friend," they assure me, and I want to find a place to kneel down and cry; Link has provided the best care for Epona, and it's better than anything I could supply.

A page takes my cloak and directs me to the castle entrance nearest the stables, and he insists on directing me to the kitchens himself. I've run into another problem it seems; if I actually were trying to find the kitchens, I would gladly accept his offer. But how am I supposed to explain that I've lied about my purpose here? I find myself silenced as he begins to walk into the castle, and I have little choice but to follow. He probably won't remain in the kitchens after I get there. Maybe I can have a quick conversation with the chefs before leaving to find Link.

As we make our way to the kitchens, though, I begin to doubt that I will be able to find Link at all. The page has found a torch, and the flame lights the way through the dark corridors. The young man is droning a bit about how these passages make it possible to get from point A to point B in the castle within ten minutes, regardless of where you start and where you're heading. I wonder if the suffocating feeling is worth the trouble; I get the same feeling from the dark and narrow hallways as I did from the walls and fences of the ranch when Ingo was still a ranch hand there. And these ten minutes seem like hours, and as we take another right hand turn at a fork, I realize that once I escape the kitchens, I won't have any idea of how to find Link's rooms or exit the castle.

My eyes blink as I suddenly come into a well-lit room that smells wonderful. We have finally reached the kitchens, and the page bids me farewell and informs me that my cloak will be taken back to the stables; I hardly finish thanking him before he melts back into the darkness. Incredible scents assail me as I take in my new surroundings, and my vision is still spotty from the labyrinth. There is hustle and bustle near the massive sinks as servants wash the dishes from the lunches that have just been eaten all over the castle, and my stomach gurgles to remind me that breakfast was a thousand years in the past. I'm still blinking the lights out of my startled eyes as a very official-looking chef comes up to me with a slightly concerned look on his face.

"Can I help you, my lady?" he asks me kindly. I want to correct him and tell him that I'm not a lady, but I restrain myself.

"Um, sorry," I say. "Just a little dazzled, that's all. Are you the head chef?"

"Yes, my lady, I am."

"Oh, good. I'm from Lon Lon Ranch, actually."

His face lights up, and I want to shield my eyes from the brightness that I've encountered here. "Oh, my goodness, are you Miss Malon? You look just like your mother!"

Oh, goodie. "Thank you, sir, I am Malon. I was just wondering how, um…" I hadn't thought any of this through, even though I had plenty of time to do so during the trek here. "Are you satisfied with the produce we've supplied you with?" Ah, there, I've found the words.

"Oh, most definitely, miss," he replies, and I'm grateful that he's switched from the formal "my lady" to the more casual "miss." I might be all dressed up, but I'm a commoner. "Recently, when you stopped selling at market, we had to try another ranch's produce, and believe me, it wasn't nearly as good." Even though I have another goal here at the castle, I am relieved to know that my absence from market has actually increased our popularity.

"I'm very glad to hear that," I answer sincerely. "My father actually just recovered from a serious illness, and while I was taking care of him, I didn't have time to come to market."

"Oh, well, I'm glad to know that he's gotten better! My son was sick recently, too, and I had to take a couple of weeks off. I never like the feeling of being away from my work like that. Sometimes, I just wanted to rush over here and make sure that everything was being done right. I know, it sounds funny, but—oh!" I hear footsteps behind me, and the chef chuckles. "If you're down here for another snack, His Majesty will have my neck. He'd rather you ate with the family."

He can't possibly be talking to me, and so I move aside so whoever is behind me can enter. I just want to end this conversation so I can get lost in the castle and find myself at Link's door.

"Come on, Maximus," says a familiar voice with an unfamiliar heaviness to it, and I stiffen with apprehension.

"Link, it's not such a chore to show your face, you know." Maximus has moved deeper into the kitchen, and he's searching some cabinets. "I'll make you something easy and quick, but you really need to snap out of this funk. Besides, I'm speaking with a guest."

I can feel Link's eyes on me as he turns to me, and that feeling couldn't have been stronger unless he touched me with his own hands. My heart skips at least three beats, and dizziness assails me as I turn to face him. I have no idea what my face looks like, although I'm trying to look as deeply sorry as I can without throwing myself to his feet and begging for forgiveness. I doubt that I would do such a thing; I want forgiveness, but I also want respect.

His face is blank, and I want to smack him and yell at him. I have never felt as desperate for a display of emotion as I am now. I want to see him sad or angry; I want a sign that there is still a feeling that he experiences when he looks at me. It seems so unfair that he is unaffected by the sight of me when just the thought of him sends emotions bubbling through me. But in a split second, he turns the other way and begins to walk swiftly into the darkness.

"Link, where are you going?" I hear Maximus call out, but the chef's voice sounds as if it's a million miles away. I can barely see Link as he navigates the darkness by memory; I clutch his di—journal and follow him as quickly as I can in my slippers. I won't dare call out his name until I can make sure he won't run away.

I am so thankful that I didn't stick with my original plan; once again, I would never find my way through these passages. Finally, after ten minutes or so, the dank passageway opens into a brightly lit corridor with doors lining the walls. Near the end of the hall, Link turns and opens a door. I'm close enough behind that it's still open as I rush up to it and push myself against it. I have to keep it open; I can't let him lock it.

"Malon, move," he said gruffly.

"Link, no. We need to talk." There are so many things you need to know. "I didn't get all dressed up to talk to the chefs."

"Go home, Malon." His voice is a hoarse whisper. He's about to cry, I think. Part of me feels terrible for pushing him to tears, but part of me feels triumphant that he is not unaffected. But he's still trying to push the door closed.

I'm already crying as the consequences of giving up rise to my mind. This is my last chance; this is what I wanted to do when he first walked away after our kiss. Link never gave up during any of his seemingly hopeless quests and adventures, and I will not give up now. "Link, let me in. Please." I don't want to make him feel guilty, but a sob tears through my throat. I can see and hear and feel all of the times we spent together. The kiss replays another thirty times in the span of a few seconds. The words in his d—journal dance in front of my eyes. "Link, please!"

And the pressure against my back disappears, and I slip a little. I expect to hit the floor, landing on my tailbone, since it would fit the shame I feel. Instead, a pair of arms catches me, lifts me up, and turns me around so I can look into the face of my dearest friend. Oh, Goddesses, he was trying not to cry, and I think that my own tears have freed his own. But he doesn't pull me close, although I think he almost does. He's remembered, though, that he's mad at me, and he merely shuts the door behind me, locks it, and moves to the other side of his apartment.

His apartment is beautiful, to say the least. He has his own library of books along an entire wall, and a desk with papers scattered all over its varnished surface. His sitting area is a little messy, and a tray of unfinished breakfast sits on a coffee table. I remember that he's been taking his meals privately, or at least that's what the tray and the chef lead me to believe. Link also has a corner of the room where weapons and equipment lie haphazardly in cubbies and lean against shelves. He is not the most organized of men, clearly. At the end of the room is a glass door with its curtain pulled aside, and I can see the snow falling on the balcony that lies on the other side. On the right and the left are two doors, and I realize that one must lead to a washroom, and the other must lead to the bedroom. My cheeks feel hot again.

But Link is standing a ways away, trying to hide his un-heroic tears. I wish he would yell at me so I could yell my story at him, but it is I who must start things off. I remember that I'm holding the book.

"Here's your diary," I say, holding it out towards him.

He walks over to me and pulls it from my hands. "Journal," he whispers, and I can't believe he really cares what it's called. It's a book that you write in, for Goddess's sake…

Silence fills the room once again, and the cold silence between us and the cold silence of the snow are two very different things. I don't know how to begin, or where. My brilliant plan that has worked so far didn't include this little technicality. But the…journal is a starting place.

"You're wrong, Link," I say gently. "I am the same Malon as…as you knew before, during the other timeline." He turns to me, silently daring me to show how I could possibly prove my statement. "I wasn't trying to reject you that night. I wanted to tell you, Link…I wanted to tell you why I had to pull away. I was trying to protect you because I do like you, Link." Goddesses, it is much harder to tell someone that you like them when you actually have to say it. "Reading your feelings for me in your journal was like reading my own feelings for you."

"Then why won't you trust me?" He is still convinced that I find him untrustworthy.

I shake my head at him and I scan the room for something that I can use to clean my face of tears. I don't see anything for that purpose, so I look back at him. I know I look terrible when I cry. "Link, I trust you with my life. I trust you with everything. It wasn't about you."

"Why, is there someone else?" His voice is rising, and he's shaking slightly.

I throw my hands up in frustration. "Link, there is only one man whose arms I want around me, and it's you. But there are more complicated things than whether I like you or not!"

I was shouting, and now he's shouting, too. "What, did Ingo threaten to hurt the animals or something if you dated me? Malon, you read my journal! I fixed that! There is no abuse!"

He's given me the perfect opening, and I will take it. I fear his reaction more than I've ever feared anything else before. Will he believe me? Will he still want me? Will it be a guilt trip? But over and over in my head, I can hear my mother asking herself why she never told my father the truth, and I know that there are really no other options for me now. And Link's words are ringing in my head. No abuse?

"There isn't any abuse anymore, Link, because I ended it a week ago!" I'm surprised at the sharpness and pitch of my voice as I shriek at him. But I feel so angry and far away as I tremble in front of Link, who is staring at me with doubt and disbelief all over his handsome face. No more words will fall from my mouth all of a sudden. But then I remember that the door is locked, and Link has already seen all there is to see.

My hands shake as I reach behind me to undo the clasp at the back of my dress. I ignore Link as he starts to say my name softly in confusion. And my face burns as I shrug my arms from my sleeves and push the bodice of my gown off of the yellow and blue bruises of my skin, and Link grows silent. Soon, the emerald gown purchased with Ingo's money lies off to the side, and I stand before Link in only my undergarments. The bottom of the shoe-shaped bruise is showing from under the bandeau around my breasts, and the crescent scabs and the violet splotches tell the story that refuses to go beyond my lips. I could tell Dad, somehow, but I can only show Link.

And now he's beside me, his hands gently caressing my neck as I finish choking back my tears. "I'll kill him," I can hear him mutter. His hands are warm. My awareness of my nakedness changes from shame to a different sort of embarrassment. Although Link may have known me in the most intimate of ways, I am unable to remember it. This is the first time that I've been so naked in front of any man before, but I suppose that I do feel a little more comfortable with the fact that Link has already seen my skin.

"Link, it's over," and once those words are out of my mouth, I realize that he thinks I'm talking about our relationship. "I mean, this," and I gesture to my battle wounds. "He tried to rape or murder me last week, I'm not sure which. And I finally fought back, and then I fired him. He's not coming back." My hands on Link's chest curl into fists as the adrenaline from last week courses through my veins.

"I could make sure he'd never come back," Link says firmly.

"This is why I couldn't tell you," I sternly point out. "Murder is murder, no matter who kills and who dies. And this was my battle to fight, not yours." But I wrap my arms around him. "But thank you for giving me the motivation I needed."

He's unsure of himself as he returns the embrace, and while I figure that it's mostly because of his reluctance to cause me pain, I suspect that he might also be nervous about the fact that I'm only half-dressed. "What motivation?" he asks, and his curiosity is genuine.

I roll my eyes and kiss him quickly, but firmly. "That, you idiot," I say with a small laugh. He's still the naïve Fairy Boy that I've been friends with for so long, no matter what we've been through. Just as he's feared that I am a different Malon, I now realize that I've been afraid of losing the Link that I've been friends with for so long. And now we are reassuring each other that we are the same people; we've simply been through situations that change everything.

One hand strokes my hair, and I find it oddly soothing since my hair cannot feel. Link then frowns. "Malon, why didn't you tell me this before? You could have talked me out of doing anything really…stupid."

He is right; he wouldn't have hurt Ingo if I had told him not to. But then again, he might have insisted on taking care of things himself. This wasn't his job to do. "I couldn't face you unless I could tell you the truth," I tell him. "And I couldn't tell you the truth until I could stop the pain myself." My voice trails off slightly. The pain is still there, although I won't admit to Link that his fingernail is poking a scab a little too much. The scab means that I'm healing, and the discomfort is inconsequential.

He pulls me closer. "Malon, I'm so sorry for how I acted."

I don't want to talk about this anymore. "Link, I want to move on for now," I tell him gently. "I'll give you whatever details you want later, and you can apologize in the most fantastic way you can, but for now…I want to move on."

And so we move on, and for the first time in my six years, or Link's fourteen, we move on together. The details and stories can wait until later; right now, we hold onto what's most important.

---

The end. Thank you all for reading, and thank you if you've reviewed. It's been really difficult to write this story, but very worthwhile, and I hope that you all can enjoy it for both the top layer (plain old plot) and for the various layers I've added underneath. I've done my best to avoid fluff (which makes for great daydreams, but terrible writing), and I hope that this fluffless story still makes Malon-Link shippers happy without losing sight of the purpose.

So once again, thank you, everyone.