Author's Notes: The following was an entry for the Legends and Adventures Summer 2008 Zelda Writing Contest, hosted by Lysia. For those of you familiar with my work, you may recognize characters and themes from my on-going Zelda fic, The Fires of Compromise. This piece serves as a "prequel" to the events detailed in TFoC, and also, as a standalone title.

This is the piece as it was submitted to Legends and Adventures. The original draft was significantly longer; I was forced to "trim" the descriptions in order to keep within the 3,000 word limit, as set forth in the conditions of the contest. Most of what was removed was considerable "filler," and has in no way effected the outcome of the story.

"Between Us Men" ranked Third Place out of a total of 49 eligible entries.

A quick note about character names: A "boniface" is the keeper of an inn, hotel, nightclub, or eating establishment. "The Boniface," as it is used in the story, is a substitute for the character's name, which is never given. This is to emphasize the professional relationship the character shares with Link.

The name of the Boniface's girlfriend, "Clarice," is pronounced "Cluh-reece" (think FBI agent Clarice Starling from The Silence of the Lambs). This is a very common, down-to-earth name, just so you don't think I'm pulling something fancy out of my ass for the sake of "sounding creative."

If you have any other comments or questions, please feel free to leave a review, or contact me via the e-mail provided in my user bio.

Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda © Shigeru Miyamoto and Nintendo.

Between Us Men
By Boggy

Never in his eighth month employment at the bar had he known the Boniface to stir at dawn.

The Boniface worked the nightshift as both bartender and proprietor of the local tavern, the epicenter of Hyrule Market’s bustling afterhours. With the town gate shut to travelers, and the merchant shops closed at dusk, the villagers were left with little alternative to swapping stories and guzzling ale.

But when morning breaks, and the sun rises in the eastern sky, the tavern all but disappears, fading into the backdrop of the city square and paving way for the bakers and blacksmiths and housewives carrying their carts to market. And the day begins again, the foolishness replaced with early hours, toiling in the fields, and good old fashioned hard work—the rustic diligence of the everyman that forged the very backbone of Hylian society.

Only Link, the tavern’s lone day shifter, could be seen meandering through the walkways of the pub, a broom in one hand, a dishrag in the other, sweeping up floors and wiping down tables, all in preparation for the evening rush. He would straighten chairs and mop up booze and toss the empty liquor bottles to curb. And at night, through a crack in the door of the servant’s quarters, he would watch the destruction of the bar’s ruffian clientele. The Boniface would serve drinks and the men would exchange jokes and the stale stench of piss would waft through the air strangling his throat. And Link would at last retire to bed.

It was indeed a historic event to see the Boniface up and running at dawn, but Link kept to his own and went about the daily chores. If the Boniface was in a “slump,” nine times out of ten it had something to do with his high-strung, ill-tempered girlfriend, Clarice. She would swear and sling bottles; he would shout and slam serving trays. And minutes later, with their tempers quelled, the Boniface would pour a round of drinks and Clarice would sit, long legs dangling over the barstool, running a finger through the Boniface’s bangs and smiling in content.

It was rough living for a rougher people, and no one gave thought to the otherwise.

“Hey Link.”

Lifting his gaze from the floor, Link eyed the Boniface as he strolled towards him. He was slender and tall—handsome even, in a disheveled sort of way. Ruffling his hair with one hand, he chugged a swig of his drink with the other, standing proud and somewhat menacingly before Link. Using the sweep broom as a crutch, Link titled his head back, feeling dwarfed by his employer’s superior height.

“Link… You like workin’ here at the tavern, don’tcha son?”

Link nodded.

“We got ourselves a pretty good arrangement here, wouldn’t ya say?”

Link nodded again.

“Well, that’s good. ‘Cause I got a lot a blood invested in this store, and no patience for dillydallyin’ slackers!”

Link nodded a third time, his eyes wide.

“Now, uh, you been workin’ the day shift a while now—couple a months, right?”

It’d been closer to a year, but Link didn’t expect a man who rose with the Stalchild

to have the slightest concept of time.

“I figure any man…” The Boniface paused to look at Link. “…Any boy who dedicates himself to a job for that long’s probly got some sense of duty and responsibility and uh…”

The Boniface stalled, his lips puckered struggling for the words, and his hands circling midriff in an obviously failed attempt to rally morale.

Link cocked an eye and shot the Boniface a pitiful look. He was no more suited for inspirational speeches than Link was farming Cuccos at Lon Lon Ranch.

Acknowledging defeat, the Boniface sighed, his hands already reaching for the discarded ale.

“Okay look. I ain’t gonna waste everybody’s time beatin’ around the bush with pretty words. Truth of it is, I got myself in a bit of a bind and I could use yer help.”

He swallowed another swig of ale.

“They’re hittin’ us where it hurts this season, Link.” He shook his head. “It’s been a bad year for wheat and the harvest is down. The price per barrel a beer has gone through the roof! It’s twice what it was last year, and I can’t be skimpin’ on booze durin’ the fall and winter months. It’d be my bloody ruin!”

He downed the remainder of his drink in one gulp, sighing into the glass.

“Any other time, I’d be fine. But the bar’s had a few extra expenses this year, what with those two broken tables I replaced, and the damages to old man Kelsley’s flat,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of next door, “after I pried those broken bottle shards outta the sides of his house. Not to mention the window repairs from our little ‘bar brawls’—I tell you, this place needs a damn enforcer!”

He smacked the table hard, rattling his bottle of ale.

“We’re both dependent on the survival of this place. You need a roof over yer head and I need money for food and rent. Livin’ in Hyrule ain’t free, ya’ know.”

He didn’t have to tell Link twice.

“Lucky for us, I know a guy. A friend a mine has a uh,” he paused, lowering his voice, “‘private establishment’ for homebrewin’ beer; a little place just up north from Lon Lon Ranch. And he’s willin’ to sell me a bushel real cheap, s’long as I cover the cost of transportation.”

His eyes shifted to the window and back, beckoning Link closer with his hands.

“Problem is, the guards frown on these kinds of uh, business transactions, so my guy does all his deals on the Outer Rim, out near Gerudo Valley. The soldiers don’t patrol that far, and there’s no real danger s’long as you stick to the roads.”

Link leaned in, listening for the catch.

“Thing of it is…” And there it was. “…Loading those barrels is a two-man operation. I can’t load all that booze into a wagon myself; I need a second pair a hands and eyes to help ride the horses and secure the bins.”

Link mused silently to himself. This is where I come into play.

“Loading barrels is a man’s job, and you and me—we’re the only men here. The bar’s nothin’ but servin’ wenches and I’d rather not get the girls involved.” He sighed hard, scratching his head. “I don’t normally do things this way, Link. But this wheat business has got my pocketbooks stretched, and I’m just…” He paused again, his hardass exterior melting under the stress. “…I’m just scared for my bar.”

The Boniface fell silent. Link couldn’t help but notice the dark circles forming in the hollows of his eyes. He wondered when it was last the Boniface had seen a good night’s sleep.

Smiling, Link pushed back his chair, collecting the Boniface’s glass and ale and retiring them to the wooden shelf behind the bar. He stood to full height, hands at his hips and mouth a mile wide with a grin.

“So, when do we leave?”

--

Hyrule Field was connected to every outlet, village and riverway in Hyrule. Any one of its dozens of roadways would lead you to Hyrule Market, the largest and most industrialized of Hyrule’s major cities. The paths were well-marked, and the trail routes favorable to carriages and wagons alike. Soldiers were stationed at checkpoints to monitor illegal trade and protect merchant ships from bandits, horse thieves, and the bothersome—but not particularly dangerous—Guay.

The trail to Gerudo Valley followed the eastern roads past Lake Hylia and Lon Lon Ranch, through the northern canyons into the desert mountains, where the notorious—and universally feared—Gerudo Thieves exercised absolute rule under the guidance of their leader, Nabooru of the Wastelands. As of late, the number of Gerudo attacks had diminished considerably, and whispers spread throughout Hyrule of conflict and possible revolt within the tribe.

The “Outer Rim” the Boniface spoke of referred to a small strip of land at the northernmost point of Hyrule Field. It was “technically” under the protection and jurisdiction of the Hylian guards, but was juxtaposed to the trail leading into Gerudo Valley. Most Hylians were wary of traveling too close to the Outer Rim, for fear of encountering Gerudo thieves—particularly men, who were known to have, in the past, “mysteriously disappeared” from traveling caravans. They would resurface, days sometimes weeks later, babbling on about “sexual servitude” at the hands of the dominatrix Gerudo women.

The “guy” the Boniface had agreed to meet was using the Outer Rim as a rendezvous point for “special buyers,” knowing full-well the Hylian guards wouldn’t dare patrol so close to Gerudo territory. Link wasn’t terribly concerned with Gerudo thieves, but he’d brought along his Kokiri Sword, just to be on the safe side.

With daylight slowly dwindling, the Boniface pointed to a clearing a few yards inland off the road. He steered the horses roadside, whilst Link made preparations for a small cooking fire. Before long, camp was set, dinner served, and the Boniface reveling in his after-dinner smoke.

Link poked at the fire logs with a stick, the light from the flame reflected in his eyes. He sat opposite the Boniface, the next day’s itinerary mulling in his mind.

“Sir?”

The Boniface tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking… I know the guards don’t bother with patrolling the Outer Rim, but what’s to stop them from inspecting our cargo at the Market gates? How do we get past check-in with a wagon full of illegal booze?”

“First off,” the Boniface explained, “it’s not ‘illegal’ booze—it’s ‘homebrew.’ Second of all, we’re not shippin’ our cargo back to Market. We’re droppin’ it off at Lon Lon Ranch. Talon’s gonna deliver it next week with his daily shipment to Hyrule Castle. He’s packin’ the barrels in with his milk crates; the guards’ll never know.”

He snickered, blowing smoke between his teeth.

“I promised a carton of my ‘specialty’ milk for his services.”

He snickered again.

“I’ll help you unload the barrels when they arrive.”

The Boniface stopped and stared at Link, a soft and almost friendly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Ya know Link, I uh,” he lowered his eyes, rubbing his knees with his free hand, “I’ve never told ya what a good job you do at the tavern. I mean, I ain’t never worried ‘bout walkin’ into a mess at night or trippin’ over an empty bottle…” He nodded his head, sheepishly. “…I’m glad you came to work for the bar.”

Link blinked, taken back by the unexpected praise. He’d never known the Boniface to compliment his work—or anything. A silent understanding passed between them and he smiled, nodding his head in wordless appreciation.

The Boniface gave one final smirk, before throwing his pipe to the side and settling into his makeshift bed.

“Get some sleep, kid.” He tossed Link a blanket over the fire. “Yer gonna need it.”

--

The Boniface wasn’t kidding when he said “get some sleep.” Link had traversed dungeons, traveled through time, and battled the most ferocious of villains, yet none of it compared to the backbreaking labor of loading barrels. They were twice Link’s size and heavy as hell, and their awkward shape made for a difficult grip.

The Boniface, however, took it all in stride. His experience with transporting goods was evident in light of Link’s inexperience, and made strapping barrels look like peeling ties off candy wrappers. And when they’d finally finished, he’d brushed his hands, guffawing into the morning sky and readying the horses for immediate departure.

“See there, Link? That’s how it’s done.” The Boniface roared with laughter, slapping Link’s back as he tightened the horses’ reigns, the final preparations in place for returning to Hyrule Market.

“I tell you though,” the Boniface rubbed his hands, hawking phlegm into the dirt. “I’ll be glad to be outta the way a this place.” He shuddered, eyeing a Guay in the distance. “Gives me the creeps.”

Piling into the wagon, the Boniface took hold of the reigns, smoothing the horses’ backsides with a pat. He felt something soft prickling his palm, and quickly realized it was hair from the horse, poking up through a bottlecap-sized hole in his glove. Grumbling to himself, he peered around the side of the seat to find Link knocking clumps of debris from in between the spokes of the wagon wheels.

“Hey Link! Run around back and fetch me a pair a gloves! I dun run right through these!”

Link nodded and circled the cart, using the prairie schooner for leverage to lift himself into the bed. He flattened his body against the bins, checking the bags as he inched along. It took fifteen minutes to locate the gloves, and he nearly tripped climbing out over the ropes.

He pulled the canvas closed, and was about to make his way around front, but stopped when he heard a pair of female voices arguing up ahead.

“I saw him first! Whoever spots first loots first!”

The second voice snorted with contempt. “It’s whoever kills first loots first. And I’m the one who knocked him out.”

“Well, there you go. You didn’t kill him, so it doesn’t count.”

“If we kill him, then we can’t use him.” The woman sighed. “You’ve been soaking in the sun too long.”

Link could hear the women fussing from the opposite end of the cart. Silently, he climbed the side, sliding the Kokiri Blade from his boot.

“Look, just grab that end and pull. I’ll take this end and we’ll haul him out together.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, ladies.”

The Gerudo yelped, an accusatory look bouncing back and forth between them. In all their bickering, they had neglected to search the cart, and had simply assumed the Boniface was traveling alone. The one lost hold of the Boniface’s feet, and the second momentarily froze, her pupils darting frantically from left to right.

“Up here.”

Their heads jerked in the direction of the voice, but the early morning sun stung at their eyes—they raised their arms, shielding their faces from the blinding light.

“This territory is under the jurisdiction of her Majesty Princess Zelda. The Gerudo have no power here.”

The first female sneered. “Well, what do you know? A Hylian guard, here, in the Outer Rim.” She chuckled. “Wonders never cease.”

Suddenly the figure jumped, landing softly on the earth below. The Gerudo leaped backwards, readying their swords and stance for battle.

“Not exactly.”

The Gerudo gasped at the sight of him, their swords falling by the waist side in surprise.

“…Link!?”

The second Gerudo sighed, scratching her head. “…Whoops.”

Link took a step closer, his Kokiri Blade drawn low. “Nabooru of the Wastelands has outlawed Gerudo attacks on merchant ships.” He pointed his sword accusingly. “This is grounds for punishment.”

The first Gerudo stood nervously to the side, but the second folded her arms and laughed, a condescending sneer in her smile.

“I know the Gerudo laws, boy. I know the Hylian laws better still. And your ‘Majesty Princess Zelda’ frowns upon illegal trade, even when it does involve her,” she sweetened her tone, mockingly, “personal little plaything.”

Link narrowed his eyes, but maintained calm. “This man is a bartender in Hyrule Market. He’s stockpiling supplies for the fall and winter months. He’s a businessman, not a criminal.”

She snorted. “Crime is crime. And this,” she waved her hands in emphasis, “is an under-the-table deal, through and through.” She filed her fingernails against her shirt. “You want to rat us out to Nabooru? What’s to stop us from ratting you out to the Hylian guards?”

Link paused in thought, turning to the unconscious body of the Boniface. He recalled the look of fear and desperation in his eyes, the passion for his bar and the determination to do whatever it took to keep it—the willingness to fight for all that he loved, all that he’d ever known.

He withdrew his sword, returning the Kokirin blade to its rightful home in his left boot.

“Nothing.”

The Gerudo raised an eye. “Hmm?”

“There’s nothing to stop you from turning us in. I know the Gerudo laws well. I know the Hylian laws better still. And I have the utmost respect for both. Enough to know to when to obey the rules…” He turned his head once more to his fallen friend. “…and enough to know when to break them.”

The Gerudo regarded Link in silence, not a trace of emotion in her stern and pretty face. She looked once to the Boniface, then to Link, then back to her Gerudo companion, before coming to rest at last on Link, his body a pillar of unbreakable resolve.

And then, without realizing, she extended an arm, the look in her eyes as genuine as Link had ever seen in a Gerudo thief. He wasn’t sure what compelled her to act, and he was even less sure of what compelled him to accept. But for those five seconds in the early autumn dawn, the Gerudo and Hylian shared peace.

--

“Ohhhh,” the Boniface groaned. “What in the bloody hell happened?”

It was mid-afternoon before the Boniface came to. Link had secured him to the wagon seat, and walked the horses past the Outer Rim and onto to the roadways of Hyrule Field. They were making pretty good time, all things considered, and were more than half of the return trip to Lon Lon Ranch.

“You slipped off the side of the cart. Your head collided with the wheel on the way down.”

“I did?” He held a hand against the throbbing in his neck. “It did?”

Link laughed, giving the horses a pat.

The Boniface gurgled, his thoughts a blur. “Where are we headed now?”

“Back home, of course.” There was laughter in Link’s voice. “We’re headed home.”