Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction ❯ Contemplations on Condescension ❯ Confrontations and an Undesirable Solution ( Chapter 8 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Kacfrog711 
An unexpeted turn of events. Who REALLY won?
Non Anime: Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.07.2005 | Updated On: 08.07.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 334 | Status: Completed
An unexpeted turn of events. Who REALLY won?
Non Anime: Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.07.2005 | Updated On: 08.07.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 334 | Status: Completed
Chapter 8: Confrontations and an Undesirable Solution
I decided it was time to return to the inn, against every innate urge in me to do otherwise. I arrived at the door without incident, and stood there steeling myself for whatever might await me inside. Just as I was pushing open the door, however, Green-hat was pulling it out, and we fairly collided in the process. He muttered an apology and I merely glared, then he was off once more, the sword and shield on his back clanking loudly with every step. I watched him suspiciously from the doorway of the inn as he headed ever-closer to the town’s east exit... and didn’t slow. Dropping my hold on the open door (and abandoning any notions I’d had of returning to the inn), I strode after him. He waved to the guard as he approached, and I spoke over their greetings, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He turned to me with sickeningly innocent blue eyes and asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re leaving the town.” I came to a halt in front of him, leaning over him as menacingly as I could. “Forfeiting the bet.”
Shifting the weight on his shoulders, he said, “I’m just going into the field, by the observatory. I’m not leaving Clock Town...”
I knew it. He was doing it on purpose. He lived only to frustrate me, to push the boundaries of any type of control I had over him. “No,” I said forcefully, “Anything outside these walls, “I gestured upward. “Is outside of Clock Town.”
His eyes narrowed as he considered this, and he began, “But I don’t think–“
“Well, you’re wrong.” I insisted.
Green-hat raised his chin. “Fine,” he said, and he marched past me, towards the arch into South Clock Town.
“Where are you going now?” I called after him, demanding.
He stopped but did not turn. “I’m not going to leave,” he said quietly, viciously.
“Do I have to follow you?” I said, my tone lilting. I could almost feel him tense, see it in his posture, despite the large shield whose screaming face stared at me from his back. I managed to say nothing about leashes and collars, though this restraint on my part didn’t seem to make a difference in Green-hat’s grim demeanor. Wordlessly, he turned, and he stormed towards me, reaching behind him for his sword with one hand, the other coming up to his chest. I felt my heart pound in my ears, but I remained rooted to the spot as he stalked closer with deathly-serious grey eyes.
Something snapped open, and the sword fell from his back and into his left hand, still fully sheathed. Now within arm’s reach, he held the sword up to me and said definitively, “Take it.” Hesitantly, I did, unsure of what exactly he expected me to do with it. (He certainly couldn’t be expecting me to use it. I had never been trained in swordsmanship, never had the need. I was the mayor’s son, not some errant wanderer. I had no need to fight; I’d never even left Clock Town, and I was never expected to. What could he possibly want me to do with such a weapon?) He met my dumfounded gaze, unblinking. “I won’t leave the town without it,” he said, turning again towards the south, “Don’t worry about that.” He walked off again once more, and I didn’t dare ask to where, despite my interest. It was mildly startling; I had never seen the green-hatted boy look so fierce.
I examined the scabbard with a raised eyebrow, then pulled the long sword cleanly out of it with the whisper of metal. The blade was broken at even intervals by a checkered diamond pattern: an alternation of gold and steel that I had never seen before. I wondered where Green-hat had gotten it... a sword big as himself, though lightweight, and so obviously valuable. What a sword like that must’ve cost him... and how much I would get if I sold it. I smiled at the idea. Not that I needed the money, but wouldn’t Green-Hat the Brat be surprised? To find that he had trusted me with his sword, and I had sold it a moment later... To visit the curiosity shop only to find his own weapon for sale beside the other stolen possessions... The idea was delicious. Of course I would never do such a thing, really. But that didn’t make the concept any less amusing. I sheathed the sword and, once again, set my sights on the inn.
Anju was behind the front desk when I arrived inside. She looked up at my entrance and smiled weakly. “There you are,” she said fondly, “I was worried about you.”
“You needn’t be.” The sword heavy in my hand, I walked towards her.
“I know,” she said, her eyes following my approach. “But I–“ The solid thump of metal on wood made her start. She looked from the scabbard I’d put on the desk up to me and back again. After a moment, she asked, “Isn’t that Link’s sword?”
“Yes,” I said, offering no explanation as I continued on, rounding the corner.
Her voice followed me up the stairs, “Why do you have it?”
It took me a moment to decide on what lie was the most truthful without being conspicuous. “He asked me to hold onto it,” I said, and mentally lauded myself for the words. That was good; it would even classify as truth. I find it’s always best to tell lies as close to truths as possible; that way, if you’re ever discovered for them, you can claim innocence much more convincingly. I hadn’t been caught in a lie since childhood, but it was reassuring to be prepared, nonetheless. ...My illustrious record wasn’t because I was particularly trustworthy, mind you, but because I was an astute liar. I assume my wife accepted this one well enough from her lack of response.
I spent the following hour or so lounging in my room, planning the rest of my day and, consequentially, thinking about Green-hat’s whereabouts. Since I hadn’t pulled a shift downstairs in a number of days, I figured I might as well do so later this afternoon. That should put m in my wife’s good graces, if nothing else. Link would most likely return for lunch, and Anju would probably interrogate him for me, asking how his day had been and what he’d done, and other things she couldn’t possibly care about but asked out of politeness. He’d leave again after eating, and I’d accompany him to his next destination, allowing me to ask why he’d gotten so riled over missing a trip to an empty field. Really, what could he possibly do out there? The explanation was undoubtably that he had nothing planned and that he really had just been testing his limits with me, only to becoming contrary when I’d called him for the childishness it was. For all his ill-gotten knowledge, he really was just a stubborn kid.
My plan was delayed when Green-hat did not arrive back at the inn for lunch as was expected of him. I was sure, however, that he would arrive before dinner. My plan was not yet wholly ruined. Anju talked to me as she cooked, excusing the boy’s absence. “He must be busy,” she said, “I think he mentioned that sword shop in West Clock Town yesterday. Do you know the one? With that strange man with the long hair...”
I smiled at the idea. “He won’t be going there.”
“Why--” It took a moment, but my wife caught herself, “Oh, that’s right. You have his sword.” She ladled some of the stew into a bowl and placed in on the tray for her grandmother. “Why do you have that, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I answered with a partial truth, then distracted her with a bit of irrelevant information. “I’m sure he’ll be back for it.”
“Yes,” Anju agreed, carefully sliding the tray off the counter and into her hands. She looked at me in passing on her way and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without it.”
It was true, but hardly worth noting, I thought. I watched Anju’s green-blue skirts swing as she walked. He was never without the hat or the shield, either, but she didn’t seem to deem either of them worth mentioning. I served myself a bowl and leaned back against the counter, blowing on its contents to cool the surface. When I finally did take a sip, I burned my tongue despite the effort. At least the taste wouldn’t bother me, then. I was done with my serving before my wife had returned from her grandmother’s room, so I washed the bowl and returned to my own room, figuring I could relax for another hour or so, then take a shift at the front. Moments after I had lain down, though, the door to the inn opened, and there was a small commotion below.
I meandered down the stairs, fully expecting the green-hatted boy. He was late for lunch, but that was presumably why he had come nevertheless. And if by some minute chance it weren’t him down there, then whatever it was would still be something worth leaving my room for. No one came regularly to the inn in the spring (save those insufferable ranch girls), so if it were anyone, it would be a passer-by or traveler of some kind, and these rare occurrences were always generally interesting in one way or another. And, of course, Link was no exception.
As anticipated, Green-hat was there in the inn’s entranceway, his loaned sword already hitched and being secured on his back. More curious, though, was the large, hunched, rock of a creature beside him. I looked from Link to the goron suspiciously. Where had he found that thing.
My wife was behind the counter, looking worried but pleasant as usual. “Are you sure you won’t stay?” She asked in a tone belying that she already knew the answer. I glared hard into the back of that green head, and I know he felt the weight of my look; he glanced at me sideways before answering Anju.
“I’m sure. I’ll be back this way when I can.” He bowed, then met her worried look with ease and smiled brightly. My wife couldn’t help but smile in return. I glowered. Anju opened the large book in front of her, then began rummaging through the top draw for a pen and ink. I stared ever-harder at that self-assured profile. Green-hat continued to ignore me. No, I wouldn’t let him.
“Anju,” I said, walking around the counter to come beside her. She looked up, startled, and I took the quill from her hand. “Let me.”
Anju gaped for a moment before saying, “I can do it.” She looked down immediately and began flipping through pages of the book, “I mean, you don’t have to...”
I started speaking before she had fully trailed off, “We hardly have anyone check out early.” I looked poignantly at Link who had the gall to watch me with a definite air of vindication. “I need the practice,” I said the words violently, despite their meaning.
Not one to be overly-curious, my wife conceded. “Alright,” she said and hovered beside me with momentary discomfort before fleeing to the kitchen with a mumbled excuse.
“You’re violating our bet,” I said in a low, menacing tone, scratching the pen’s tip deep into the page across Link’s name, striking it out. I began scrawling the necessary details into the book without ever breaking eye-contact, without blinking. I was in a rage, and only he and I existed, and I abhorred him in that moment, and even more the next.
“I forfeit,” he said.
“What?” My mind refused to comprehend the word.
“I forfeit,” he repeated.
“You can’t,” I said, nearly snarling. It was ridiculous to say so: of course he could; why couldn’t he? But he couldn’t. Yet he just had.
With some growing irritation he said, “It’s over. You win.” The words were held between us in our lasting eye-contact. I couldn’t speak. He wasn’t doing this. He couldn’t do this. This wasn’t part of the bet. I wanted to scream at him, “That’s cheating, you arrogant little bastard!” But it wasn’t true. He had every right to quit, and I should be glad for the premature victory. But, oh, glad I was decidedly not. The pressure of the quill on the page was enough to puncture it and snap the tip off the nib, bespeckling my hand and the page.
Green-hat took the opportunity to break our staring. And he strode away, throwing the inn’s door open with a clang. I remained unmoved, save to slam the book shut, the quill still inside, holding the messy page.
The goron (who heretofore had gone completely unnoticed but who now held my scalding attention) looked at the door dumbly before looking at me just as blankly, his slack jaw swinging with the turn of his head. He waved awkwardly, saying “Uh, goodbye-goro,” before shuffling after Link. He left the door wide open in his wake. Mere moments after he had gone, the brute returned, only to stick his head in the empty doorway, look at me with his vacant expression, then pull the door closed.
I stood silent for a full minute before picking up the pot of ink and throwing it forcefully at the door. It hit and fell, then clattered harmlessly around; it was unbroken, being made of solid stone, and had such a small opening that it didn’t even splash on impact with the door, but fell sideways and merely leaked. I leaned over the desk and rummaged through the top drawer, looking for something more satisfying to break. I finally found a cloudy-colored paperweight that had been delicately carved into turtle. I gripped it, and it was cold and solid in my hand. With all the force I could manage, I hurled it at the door, and it shattered completely with a large smack and a tinkling of glass.
In the kitchen, my wife yelped and shouted, “What was that? Kafei?”
“Nothing,” I replied immediately. After a moment, I added for the truth value, “Something broke.”
Yes, it had. And the brat had broken it.
I decided it was time to return to the inn, against every innate urge in me to do otherwise. I arrived at the door without incident, and stood there steeling myself for whatever might await me inside. Just as I was pushing open the door, however, Green-hat was pulling it out, and we fairly collided in the process. He muttered an apology and I merely glared, then he was off once more, the sword and shield on his back clanking loudly with every step. I watched him suspiciously from the doorway of the inn as he headed ever-closer to the town’s east exit... and didn’t slow. Dropping my hold on the open door (and abandoning any notions I’d had of returning to the inn), I strode after him. He waved to the guard as he approached, and I spoke over their greetings, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He turned to me with sickeningly innocent blue eyes and asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re leaving the town.” I came to a halt in front of him, leaning over him as menacingly as I could. “Forfeiting the bet.”
Shifting the weight on his shoulders, he said, “I’m just going into the field, by the observatory. I’m not leaving Clock Town...”
I knew it. He was doing it on purpose. He lived only to frustrate me, to push the boundaries of any type of control I had over him. “No,” I said forcefully, “Anything outside these walls, “I gestured upward. “Is outside of Clock Town.”
His eyes narrowed as he considered this, and he began, “But I don’t think–“
“Well, you’re wrong.” I insisted.
Green-hat raised his chin. “Fine,” he said, and he marched past me, towards the arch into South Clock Town.
“Where are you going now?” I called after him, demanding.
He stopped but did not turn. “I’m not going to leave,” he said quietly, viciously.
“Do I have to follow you?” I said, my tone lilting. I could almost feel him tense, see it in his posture, despite the large shield whose screaming face stared at me from his back. I managed to say nothing about leashes and collars, though this restraint on my part didn’t seem to make a difference in Green-hat’s grim demeanor. Wordlessly, he turned, and he stormed towards me, reaching behind him for his sword with one hand, the other coming up to his chest. I felt my heart pound in my ears, but I remained rooted to the spot as he stalked closer with deathly-serious grey eyes.
Something snapped open, and the sword fell from his back and into his left hand, still fully sheathed. Now within arm’s reach, he held the sword up to me and said definitively, “Take it.” Hesitantly, I did, unsure of what exactly he expected me to do with it. (He certainly couldn’t be expecting me to use it. I had never been trained in swordsmanship, never had the need. I was the mayor’s son, not some errant wanderer. I had no need to fight; I’d never even left Clock Town, and I was never expected to. What could he possibly want me to do with such a weapon?) He met my dumfounded gaze, unblinking. “I won’t leave the town without it,” he said, turning again towards the south, “Don’t worry about that.” He walked off again once more, and I didn’t dare ask to where, despite my interest. It was mildly startling; I had never seen the green-hatted boy look so fierce.
I examined the scabbard with a raised eyebrow, then pulled the long sword cleanly out of it with the whisper of metal. The blade was broken at even intervals by a checkered diamond pattern: an alternation of gold and steel that I had never seen before. I wondered where Green-hat had gotten it... a sword big as himself, though lightweight, and so obviously valuable. What a sword like that must’ve cost him... and how much I would get if I sold it. I smiled at the idea. Not that I needed the money, but wouldn’t Green-Hat the Brat be surprised? To find that he had trusted me with his sword, and I had sold it a moment later... To visit the curiosity shop only to find his own weapon for sale beside the other stolen possessions... The idea was delicious. Of course I would never do such a thing, really. But that didn’t make the concept any less amusing. I sheathed the sword and, once again, set my sights on the inn.
Anju was behind the front desk when I arrived inside. She looked up at my entrance and smiled weakly. “There you are,” she said fondly, “I was worried about you.”
“You needn’t be.” The sword heavy in my hand, I walked towards her.
“I know,” she said, her eyes following my approach. “But I–“ The solid thump of metal on wood made her start. She looked from the scabbard I’d put on the desk up to me and back again. After a moment, she asked, “Isn’t that Link’s sword?”
“Yes,” I said, offering no explanation as I continued on, rounding the corner.
Her voice followed me up the stairs, “Why do you have it?”
It took me a moment to decide on what lie was the most truthful without being conspicuous. “He asked me to hold onto it,” I said, and mentally lauded myself for the words. That was good; it would even classify as truth. I find it’s always best to tell lies as close to truths as possible; that way, if you’re ever discovered for them, you can claim innocence much more convincingly. I hadn’t been caught in a lie since childhood, but it was reassuring to be prepared, nonetheless. ...My illustrious record wasn’t because I was particularly trustworthy, mind you, but because I was an astute liar. I assume my wife accepted this one well enough from her lack of response.
I spent the following hour or so lounging in my room, planning the rest of my day and, consequentially, thinking about Green-hat’s whereabouts. Since I hadn’t pulled a shift downstairs in a number of days, I figured I might as well do so later this afternoon. That should put m in my wife’s good graces, if nothing else. Link would most likely return for lunch, and Anju would probably interrogate him for me, asking how his day had been and what he’d done, and other things she couldn’t possibly care about but asked out of politeness. He’d leave again after eating, and I’d accompany him to his next destination, allowing me to ask why he’d gotten so riled over missing a trip to an empty field. Really, what could he possibly do out there? The explanation was undoubtably that he had nothing planned and that he really had just been testing his limits with me, only to becoming contrary when I’d called him for the childishness it was. For all his ill-gotten knowledge, he really was just a stubborn kid.
My plan was delayed when Green-hat did not arrive back at the inn for lunch as was expected of him. I was sure, however, that he would arrive before dinner. My plan was not yet wholly ruined. Anju talked to me as she cooked, excusing the boy’s absence. “He must be busy,” she said, “I think he mentioned that sword shop in West Clock Town yesterday. Do you know the one? With that strange man with the long hair...”
I smiled at the idea. “He won’t be going there.”
“Why--” It took a moment, but my wife caught herself, “Oh, that’s right. You have his sword.” She ladled some of the stew into a bowl and placed in on the tray for her grandmother. “Why do you have that, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I answered with a partial truth, then distracted her with a bit of irrelevant information. “I’m sure he’ll be back for it.”
“Yes,” Anju agreed, carefully sliding the tray off the counter and into her hands. She looked at me in passing on her way and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without it.”
It was true, but hardly worth noting, I thought. I watched Anju’s green-blue skirts swing as she walked. He was never without the hat or the shield, either, but she didn’t seem to deem either of them worth mentioning. I served myself a bowl and leaned back against the counter, blowing on its contents to cool the surface. When I finally did take a sip, I burned my tongue despite the effort. At least the taste wouldn’t bother me, then. I was done with my serving before my wife had returned from her grandmother’s room, so I washed the bowl and returned to my own room, figuring I could relax for another hour or so, then take a shift at the front. Moments after I had lain down, though, the door to the inn opened, and there was a small commotion below.
I meandered down the stairs, fully expecting the green-hatted boy. He was late for lunch, but that was presumably why he had come nevertheless. And if by some minute chance it weren’t him down there, then whatever it was would still be something worth leaving my room for. No one came regularly to the inn in the spring (save those insufferable ranch girls), so if it were anyone, it would be a passer-by or traveler of some kind, and these rare occurrences were always generally interesting in one way or another. And, of course, Link was no exception.
As anticipated, Green-hat was there in the inn’s entranceway, his loaned sword already hitched and being secured on his back. More curious, though, was the large, hunched, rock of a creature beside him. I looked from Link to the goron suspiciously. Where had he found that thing.
My wife was behind the counter, looking worried but pleasant as usual. “Are you sure you won’t stay?” She asked in a tone belying that she already knew the answer. I glared hard into the back of that green head, and I know he felt the weight of my look; he glanced at me sideways before answering Anju.
“I’m sure. I’ll be back this way when I can.” He bowed, then met her worried look with ease and smiled brightly. My wife couldn’t help but smile in return. I glowered. Anju opened the large book in front of her, then began rummaging through the top draw for a pen and ink. I stared ever-harder at that self-assured profile. Green-hat continued to ignore me. No, I wouldn’t let him.
“Anju,” I said, walking around the counter to come beside her. She looked up, startled, and I took the quill from her hand. “Let me.”
Anju gaped for a moment before saying, “I can do it.” She looked down immediately and began flipping through pages of the book, “I mean, you don’t have to...”
I started speaking before she had fully trailed off, “We hardly have anyone check out early.” I looked poignantly at Link who had the gall to watch me with a definite air of vindication. “I need the practice,” I said the words violently, despite their meaning.
Not one to be overly-curious, my wife conceded. “Alright,” she said and hovered beside me with momentary discomfort before fleeing to the kitchen with a mumbled excuse.
“You’re violating our bet,” I said in a low, menacing tone, scratching the pen’s tip deep into the page across Link’s name, striking it out. I began scrawling the necessary details into the book without ever breaking eye-contact, without blinking. I was in a rage, and only he and I existed, and I abhorred him in that moment, and even more the next.
“I forfeit,” he said.
“What?” My mind refused to comprehend the word.
“I forfeit,” he repeated.
“You can’t,” I said, nearly snarling. It was ridiculous to say so: of course he could; why couldn’t he? But he couldn’t. Yet he just had.
With some growing irritation he said, “It’s over. You win.” The words were held between us in our lasting eye-contact. I couldn’t speak. He wasn’t doing this. He couldn’t do this. This wasn’t part of the bet. I wanted to scream at him, “That’s cheating, you arrogant little bastard!” But it wasn’t true. He had every right to quit, and I should be glad for the premature victory. But, oh, glad I was decidedly not. The pressure of the quill on the page was enough to puncture it and snap the tip off the nib, bespeckling my hand and the page.
Green-hat took the opportunity to break our staring. And he strode away, throwing the inn’s door open with a clang. I remained unmoved, save to slam the book shut, the quill still inside, holding the messy page.
The goron (who heretofore had gone completely unnoticed but who now held my scalding attention) looked at the door dumbly before looking at me just as blankly, his slack jaw swinging with the turn of his head. He waved awkwardly, saying “Uh, goodbye-goro,” before shuffling after Link. He left the door wide open in his wake. Mere moments after he had gone, the brute returned, only to stick his head in the empty doorway, look at me with his vacant expression, then pull the door closed.
I stood silent for a full minute before picking up the pot of ink and throwing it forcefully at the door. It hit and fell, then clattered harmlessly around; it was unbroken, being made of solid stone, and had such a small opening that it didn’t even splash on impact with the door, but fell sideways and merely leaked. I leaned over the desk and rummaged through the top drawer, looking for something more satisfying to break. I finally found a cloudy-colored paperweight that had been delicately carved into turtle. I gripped it, and it was cold and solid in my hand. With all the force I could manage, I hurled it at the door, and it shattered completely with a large smack and a tinkling of glass.
In the kitchen, my wife yelped and shouted, “What was that? Kafei?”
“Nothing,” I replied immediately. After a moment, I added for the truth value, “Something broke.”
Yes, it had. And the brat had broken it.