seikilos

Title: Where Peace Should Dwell
Fandoms:

luceti, Tales of Legendia, Tales of Phantasia, The Legend of Zelda
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Words: 3271
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: Grune watches over her friends, their lives, and their endings. When she discovers one who has not found peaceful rest, she deems it necessary to intervene.
Author's Notes: This was a joint idea that Naomi and I had, which we worked out in the comments to one of my fics. It's something of a spinoff of "White Is For Remembrance" and "Green Is For The Goddess" and was written in a similar vein. Whether this is going to turn into a series is anyone's guess, but signs point to yes. ~~Just like everything else I write.~~

This one required extensive editing, and while I think it could be even tighter, I'm still pleased with how it turned out. So, well, happy reading!

(1)

A long, long time ago, Grune once told a dear friend that her existence and her objective—to defeat Schwartz—were one and the same.

It had been a lie.

But it had not always been. For eons and eons, she had lived only for her purpose. She had accepted her role and had been at peace.

When she had been drawn into Luceti, she had been separated from Schwartz. She had lost her purpose and her memories, and gradually, day by day, she had learned to live for herself. She had learned to be happy and to make others happy in return for the simple reason that she loved them, not because she needed to save a world from Schwartz's desire to return it to nothingness. She had been changed, and she had no desire to change back.

Upon her release from Luceti, when her work on Melfes had concluded, she had come to the decision to guard those she loved. She would no longer leave their fates to chance. She would no longer depart from their world for all time once her task there was complete.

She would watch over their lives . . . and their lives' endings.

*

Dhaos had been the first. When she had learned that, without intervention, he was destined to gradually fade into nothingness, her decision had been simple: So long as he did not endanger her fight against Schwartz, she would bring him with her. He alone, out of all the ones she loved, would be strong enough to survive.

He has accompanied her today as she carries out one of her personal tasks, one unrelated to the world she is attempting to preserve. This time, she has come to Hyrule. But, despite his protests, she leaves him at the inn at Hyrule Castle Town, for this is a visit she wishes to make alone. Perhaps he will eventually explore the area. Perhaps not. Even after so long spent in her company, he is still a solitary man by nature.

She departs the castle town and walks onto the great grassy plain that surrounds it, feeling a hint of crispness to the early fall air. A few monsters attack her at first, but the speed with which she destroys them acts as an extremely effective deterrent. She is not attacked again.

She walks with purpose but not destination. She knows he is here, and close—now she needs only to wait.

After some time, on the crest of a hill, she sees a lone man who had not been there before. He's taller than she recalls, even accounting for their positions. He wears dulled, damaged golden armour that still glints in the sun, and in his hands are a sword and shield.

He doesn't appear to notice her, not until she mounts the hill and stands before him. She looks into the face of a dead man then, and though the eye sockets of a skull cannot widen, a spirit may still gasp.

"G-Grune?"

She only smiles with all the love and pain in her heart and holds out her hand.

The shade sheathes his sword with the speed born of too much practice and bone fingers in a gauntlet close around hers. When the world has faded around her to be replaced by another made of white mist, she uses her grip to pull herself to him and enfolds him in her arms. She ignores the way his armour presses sharply into her, just as she hears but pretends not to notice two more gasps that might be sobs ripped from a throat that has long since rotted away.

After a brief time, she feels muscle, sinew, skin, the semblance of life grow beneath her arms. She shifts position to allow the change, then shifts again when the seemingly whole man pulls back only long enough to remove his helmet and let it fall. He grips her tightly after that, and it is some time before she is at last able to speak.

"Hello, Link," she says, and his response is still more sob than laugh.

His life after Luceti had all too clearly been difficult. Only one bright blue eye drinks in the sight of her; in his living form, there is a large patch covering the lack of its twin. He is taller than when she knew him, and older, but it is clear his life ended painfully young, even for such a short-lived species as Hylians.

It is impossible to guess his age at the time of his death; his face is worn, and beneath every expression is the look of one who has seen and suffered too much. The relentless whiteness of the world to which he has brought them makes his pale face paler still. It drains the colour from the distant landscape and from the empty castle she can see at the edge of her vision—from all but herself. She alone is the life in this world.

"Grune," Link says again, as though the syllable of her name can hold her here with him, "why are you here? A-Aren't you supposed to be fighting Schwartz?"

"I am," she replies. "But I came to be certain your life ended well."

Without relaxing the too-tight grip on her hands he had adopted at the end of their embrace, he lowers his head and shuffles his feet. It is an aching echo of the sweet boy she had known.

"I. . . ." He bites his lip and looks up. ". . . It's all right, Grune."

"It is not," she contradicts without hesitation. "Else you would not be here, in this form."

Her response seems to shame him and he turns his head away.

". . . I can't rest yet," he says quietly, looking off into the white wilderness of the spirit world. "I need to find someone to teach. If I can find someone and share what I've learned, then my life won't have been. . . ."

The word "wasted" lies heavily in the air, for all it is unspoken.

Grune pulls her hands from his unwilling hold and turns away. She takes two steps forward, then stops to stare into the mist—still white, not black. She looks not into the spirit world, but into time. It is long before she turns back to him, not because reading the shape of the countless choices and acts of every living thing on this world is difficult, but because the path she reads is one she wishes she could permit herself to change.

When she speaks again, her voice is full with compassion. "My dear child, you must wait a little longer. You will find your rest, but I cannot give it to you."

"It. . . ." He swallows needlessly, a habit from life intending to wet a now forever dry mouth. "It's all right. If . . .if you're saying I'll find someone to teach someday, I can stand this for a little longer. Just. . . ." He hesitates, and then he continues in a voice too small for the man he's become—too small for the boy he had been. "Will it be soon?"

She retakes those two steps, sweeps her arms around him, presses a hand to the back of his head. Only then, only when she no longer has to face the bare hope in his expression does she say, "Yes, Link. It will be soon."

But, she does not add as they hold each other in that land of death, to a goddess, all times are soon.

-Interlude-

He's been riding hard and now Epona needs a rest. He can feel it in the way her effortless canter is no longer quite so effortless; he can see it in the sweat on her neck. He could push on to the village, but Epona is far too good of a friend for that. Ordon Spring is close; he can water her there and let her cool down before they finish their journey for the day. Twilight is approaching—the sunbeams that make the trees almost too rich in shade are now golden, not yellow-white—but they'll make it.

It's a good thing he dismounted, though, because when he steps into the spring and finds two strangers already there, he probably would have fallen off instead.

Well, maybe not. But he was surprised.

It's hard not to stare at them. Having gone farther out into the world now, he's more used to people who would be out of the ordinary for Ordon, but these two would have been out of the ordinary for anywhere.

For one, they're two of the tallest people he's ever seen. The woman is significantly taller than him (. . . okay, he knows he's not a good person to judge height with), and the man—if he weren't so skinny, he'd be kind of terrifying.

For another . . . the man is pretty handsome, all pale skin and blond curls, but the woman. . . . His mouth goes dry just looking at her. If he's seen more beautiful women in his life, they're slipping his mind, every single one of them. Everything about her, from her skin to her eyes to her blond hair—braided and mostly covered by a veil—to her . . . her . . . well, all of it is perfect.

He is absolutely certain he's never seen her before in his life. So why, then, is she looking at him like that? As if love and sadness got tangled up in her so badly they can't be pulled apart anymore.

. . . And it's at about this point he realizes he should say something.

"Um . . . hi," he manages, which does at least count as "saying something." He tries again. "Are you heading to Ordon Village?"

The woman shakes her head. "We are only stopping to rest." She pauses. Gives him a long look. "We were about to depart."

He frowns at that. "Are you sure? The sun will be down in a few hours, and it's gotten pretty dangerous lately to travel at night. If you come back to the village, you can stay with me until morning."

The man looks to the woman. She smiles slightly and shakes her head again. He can't put a finger on why, exactly, but looking at that smile—hurts.

He doesn't have time to think about it, though. She's walking forward now, towards him, the waters of the spring parting over her green boots with each step she takes. To his shock, before he can say a word, she lays her hands on his shoulders and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Learn well," she says, and he is pinned by her blue-green eyes. "Learn with all your strength and all your heart, and may the blessings of the goddesses be upon you."

His voice is stuck in his throat and his face is alive with heat, and by the time he remembers how to make his tongue work, she's already most of the way out of the spring, the man following in her wake.

"Th-Thanks," he stammers and feels impossibly thick. "I will. I—I promise!"

Neither of them turn or so much as check their movement; in only a short moment, they've rounded the corner of the spring's entrance and are gone from his sight.

". . . Wow," he says softly. Then: "I wonder what just happened."

It's at this point that Midna's shadow slips up in front of his face. "Don't bother figuring it out. Those two gives me the feeling you're not meant to. Now stop gawping like a lovestruck fool—you've got business to look after!"

"Huh?"

He looks past her, and only then does he notice the golden wolf. Its lone red eye fixes up on him—and then it leaps.

(2)

From the perspective of a citizen of Hyrule, it is only a year later that Grune returns to the planet after her brief appearance at Ordon Spring. From her perspective, it has been nearly two centuries of their time. Worlds have been spared, worlds have fallen, and she has cycled through any number of shapes since she last set foot on that planet. Now, finally, her appearance will not cause comment. In fact, it is identical to her last two appearances on the world. It seems even she is capable of learning a new skill.

It is spring this time, not summer's end, and she has not left Dhaos at an inn in but back at the mana tree (their last victory was great enough for him to agree willingly to the separation). But despite these differences and the smell of damp warmth and not crisp coolness in the air, little seems to ahve changed. She is here again, climbing the same hill, approaching the same figure who no more belongs to this world than he did last time they met.

He's far faster to transform himself this time, once he's recovered from his surprise, which at the very least grants her some comfort when she takes him into her arms. But she soon draws back to ask bluntly, "Why are you still here? Weren't you able to pass on your knowledge?"

Once again, the boyish look of . . . yes, it could be called sheepishness pulls at her heart.

"I was—he learned everything. Better than I could, even. It's just. . . ." His voice fades, and his gaze shifts past her to stare into the white world in which they once again stand.

"Yes?" she prompts gently. His new regret is almost tangible in the air.

His head turns back, and he's looking at her again, one eye fixed to her two.

"I could have done so much." He releases her and passes a hand across the patch covering his missing eye. "If I hadn't—messed up, I could've done so much more." He turns away and curls in on himself. "I could have helped so many more people, back—back when I should've been alive, instead of being trapped just watching like this. If I hadn't been so stupid, people wouldn't have died!"

His voice is thick with tears by the end. She waits to be certain he has said all he needs. Then, gently, she responds.

"Link."

"Y-Yeah?" He still will not look at her.

She waits again. Eventually, he turns. The dull light of the spirit world is still bright enough to glint off the tears on his cheek.

She takes his hands. Like everything else, they're larger than she remembers, and his fingers are as rough now as they were in life.

"No one can do everything," she says. "Even had your death been far later, there would have been people you would have wished to help but could not."

"But—"

She shakes her head just once; he stops himself.

"You were not the sole protector of Hyrule," she continues. "There were others. There always are. And many of them were inspired by you. Your courage and steadfastness provided an example to some and gave hope to even more. You saved far more people than you know."

He looks comforted, but not enough. "I still could have done more."

"Everyone could have done more," she counters. "But you are not and were not perfect. No one is. To expect otherwise is to invite regret into your heart where peace should dwell instead." She gives his hands a light squeeze. "Be proud of what you have achieved. Two lands have been saved from a premature end because of you. One has been saved twice. You have done all you can. Now it is time for you to rest."

He looks down silently at their hands for a long moment. When he at last lifts his head, he wears a wavering smile.

"You're right, Grune. It's hard to let go—and there's still a part of me that doesn't want to—but you're right."

His gaze is distant as he looks beyond her and his voice turns wistful. "It would be nice to be able to rest." Then his eye meets hers again. ". . . What's it like, where I'm going? Is it . . . like this place?"

He doesn't gesture about the spirit world, being unwilling to let go of her hands, but she understands his meaning.

"No. It is far better." Now it is her turn to look somewhere else, unseeing. . . . She smiles. "I believe you will like it."

"Are my friends there?" he asks
.

"Those from Hyrule, yes."

". . . And from Luceti?"

She shakes her head. "They have other places of rest."

He still manages another smile. "I'll just figure out a way to visit them, then. I'll . . . heh, I'll have the time." He hesitates. "Will you come see me?"

She can make no promises. "I belong in that world even less than I do in this one." But. . . . "Perhaps once."

"I'll look forward to seeing you, then. How is everyone else from Luceti?"

"Link."

The sheepish look returns, just a hint of it. "I'm stalling, aren't I?"

She smiles. "They are well. I am watching over as many of them as I can."

He shares it, his expression large with relief. "Then I know everyone is going to be fine if you're looking after them." He pulls his hands free and draws her into a hug. "Thanks, Grune." There's just a small hitch in his voice amidst the warmth as he adds, "You're the best big sister anyone could ever have."

She closes her eyes and simply rests against him for a moment. When the embrace ends, she takes up his hands again. "I am honoured to have you as my younger brother." She squeezes his hands one last time. "Go now and find your rest." Her expression is so soft as she adds, "I love you, Link. Farewell."

Once again, tears slip from his good eye, but this time, Link is smiling. It's an expression that speaks of many things—determination and just a little apprehension, but above all, acceptance and happiness.

The spirit world around them fades. Hyrule returns in its place. Link's smile grows, still filled with all these things.

. . . All these things, and love. "Goodbye, Grune. I love you, too. I'll see you again soon."

She speaks no promises. She only lifts her chin.

Link bows his head to receive the kiss she presses to his forehead. Before it ends, he has faded from the world and her fingers grasp nothing but empty air.

She does not return to Derris-Kharlan right away. For a time, she stands on the crest of the hill and lets the wind tug at her veil. Brown grass is growing in green; buds and tiny, shockingly bright leaves fill empty branches. Early wildflowers are scattered about the plains.

Life is returning to this world. The ending of one season is only the beginning of another.

She closes her eyes and smiles.

A moment later, the hilltop is empty.