The last two lines of this fic come straight from the Ocarina of Time Manga, which is a great read if you can find a copy and someone willing to translate it from Japanese into English.
Disclaimer: I own a copy of the game, but not the franchise and/or copyright.
Somewhere in Hyrule Field, a 3000 year old trapped in a nine-year-old's body piddled about with his ocarina. In front of him a russet filly trotted and pranced in obvious horsey glee.
Somewhere in Hyrule Castle a young princess wrung her hands together in her lap worried about a young Gerudo king's sudden desire to offer his fealty to her father.
Somewhere in Kokiri Forest a little boy with brown hair and freckles paused in directing two other boys to pull the rocks out of his yard, glanced towards the wooden portal leading out of the forest, and remembered a little boy who left it and never came back.
Somewhere in Zora's Domain a king tried to recall a dream of the previous night in which he had born an heir in the form of a daughter.
Somewhere in Kakariko Village, a soldier shivered and forgot to rhyme the time as a low keening wail drifted through the town on a wind born from the graveyard.
Somewhere on Death Mountain, a nondescript leader heard the name Darunia echo in the caverns and wondered what it meant.
Somewhere in Hyrule Castle, an ancient evil bowed to a foreign king and noted that a little boy with an ocarina was late.
Somewhere in Gerudo Valley, a bronze-skinned woman gazed into the swirling desert and tried to interpret the brief images that flashed by in the sand.
Somewhere in Hyrule Field, a seemingly young boy put his ocarina away and ambled towards Hyrule Castletown, all the while realizing with some amusement that he was late. He figured that after 3000 years of the same seven year cycle, he could afford to be a little bit late, just this once.
The sages remained awakened, the temples remained untainted. The only real evil that remained was trapped in the same cycle the boy was—they continued their dance with each other just to have something to do. It was amusing, in a way, to do it the exact same way every time. They both knew who would always prevail.
Somewhere in the deepest recesses of Hyrule Castle, a small dark room lays hidden. In it, if one were to light a candle, they would see two paintings hanging on the wall. One, controversial in its time, depicts a young Hylian princess sitting in the grass while an equally young messenger boy stands beside her, playing an ocarina.
The other shows an adult princess standing on air with a pained expression on her weary face. In front of her is the messenger boy, now an adult—a warrior. He kneels before her, fist over his heart, head down, battle-scarred and weary.
Somewhere in the depths of Hyrule Castle, if one were to listen closely, they might hear the damnation of a soul echo from the almost bare walls.
"I am the Hero of Time. No matter when, no matter where, for Hyrule, and for Princess Zelda…"
"I will fight."