Madeleine of Horon had been on vacation. She returned to Hyrule laden with half a ton of her mom’s pastries and the predictable reluctance to get back to work, both of which distracted her enough that she almost missed the wanted sign.

I promised Marke to bring him some, she reminded herself for the fifth time as the sweetbread’s allure threatened to wear down her resolve. Then she yawned and thought, Wonder if he could cover my first morning shift for me. I don’t want to work. Why do we even have to work what kind of unjust —

And then she stopped. From the corner of her eye she’d caught a mismatched flare of pink and green, and it was strange enough that she turned her head. It was a poster, badly nailed to a sign post. WANTED! THIS IS THE CRIMINAL WHO KIDNAPPED ZELDA!

Her first reaction was, What the fuck, I was gone for a month, and then she squinted, leaned closer, and noticed, Wait. That’s a child.

Indeed it was. The illustration was surprisingly lifelike, and staring back at her was a kid who could not possibly have hit puberty. Not properly, at least. A preteen or something. He still had the chubby cheeks of her baby niece did. Chubby cheeks, a comically long nose, bright pink hair, and a stupid green cap.

First: Who could possibly be afraid of a baby with pink hair?

Second: How’d the baby even get pink hair?

Third: She recognized that stupid green cap.

“You let the Commander’s brat kidnap Zelda?!” she yelled. Marke’s door hit the wall with a bang, the shock causing his miniature horse collection to rattle dangerously. Marke didn’t even react. He was slumped over his table, a bottle dangling from his hand, his head buried in his arms.

Madeleine marched over and shook his shoulder. “Answer me,” she hissed, “I come back and the princess has been kidnapped? We’re hunting down a toddler for it? What kind of nonsense did this godsforsaken country shit out this time?”

With the inhuman effort of a hero, Marke heaved his head up and pouted. “Madeleine,” he slurred. Madeleine rolled her eyes and snagged the bottle from his hand. He yelped, lunged for it, but Madeleine pushed his face away and held him at arm’s length as she examined the label.

“Stop pretending to be drunk on lemonade,” she snapped, shaking the bottle. It had a bright, smiling illustration of a strawberry on it. Marke groaned. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face.

“I didn’t have wine,” he muttered. “And I really need to be drunk right now.”

“Not before you give me answers you don’t.” Madeleine crossed her arms. “What. Happened.”

Marke groaned again.

“Marke.”

“Ganon attacked.”

Madeleine stared. “What.”

“Ganon attacked,” Marke repeated.

“Ganon,” Madeleine said. “Like. From the fairytales?”

“From the fairytales,” Marke confirmed. “Remember Agahnim?”

“That nice new advisor?”

“He was evil,” Marke deadpanned. “And also working for Ganon. Or Ganon himself. Or something. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Anyway, he killed the king and kidnapped the princess and brainwashed all of us.”

Madeleine stared at him. She sat down. Checked the bottle’s label. Damn. 0% Alcohol.

“Fuck,” she said.

“Yeah,” Marke agreed.

“I can’t believe Agahnim was evil. He seemed so nice. He threw us a pizza party.”

“In hindsight it was maybe a little suspicious that three other advisors died the same day he started work.”

Oh. Oh no. She groaned. “The Commander was right.”

The Commander wasn’t actually their commander. Their actual commander was an incompetent result of nepotism and if there was any justice in the world he’d died painfully while she was gone. The Commander was a fat little man with a large mustache and perhaps the best knight in all of Hyrule. Why he’d decided to come slum it with the foot soldiers, nobody knew. But he’d joined, revised their schedule into something actually workable, lectured their shithead commander about his attitude, taught them how to properly take care of their gear, and generally made their squadron about twice as competent as all the others. Plus, he showed up with the best soup when you were sick. The Commander was great. They all loved the Commander.

In hindsight, it was maybe exceptionally stupid that they hadn’t listened to him when he’d told them Agahnim had obviously murdered the competition and was going to murder them all next.

“The Commander was right,” Marke agreed, with the same resigned embarrassment she felt.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. Checked again to make absolutely sure the lemonade had no alcohol in it. The smiling strawberry remained unchanged.

“Alright,” she said. “Since you are here, apparently not brainwashed,” she waited briefly for his nod, just to be sure, “we must’ve won somehow. Right?”

“Right,” Marke confirmed. She waited. He did not elaborate.

“So,” she prompted, “how?”

Marke said nothing.

“Marke, I’m going back to work tomorrow. I’m finding out anyway.”

He mumbled something under his breath. Madeleine frowned. “What?”

“Commander’s kid,” he muttered.

“What about him?” Madeleine asked. “Wait, he didn’t really kidnap Zelda, right?”

Marke scraped his throat. “The Commander’s kid beat Ganon.”

Madeleine stared at him. He stared back, miserable.

“The Commander’s kid,” she repeated. “The one with the long nose?”

“Yeah.”

“The Commander’s kid with the long nose beat the monster of myth.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wasn’t he like. Twelve?”

“Thirteen, I think.”

“Oh yes, of course. That makes much more sense.”

Mark set his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands.

“Marke,” Madeleine said slowly. “You’re going to tell me how that happened. Now.”

He didn’t know much. He explained vaguely about the Master Sword and how the kid was the world’s specialest boy because he was descended from ancient Hylian knights or something. It didn’t clear up shit. At the end, Madeleine sat back, squeezing her eyes shut, before slowly blinking them open.

“So,” she said, “The Commander’s barely-teenage kid somehow managed to stop a fairytale beast of myth from destroying Hyrule and probably the world.”

Marke nodded.

“And you —” she pointed at him, “— hunted him. The whole time.”

“Well, not me specifically,” Marke said, “but yeah.”

She raked a hand through her hair. Everything was completely fucked. The king was dead, the princess undoubtedly traumatized and also literally eleven and therefore way too young to rule, and they’d narrowly avoided the world’s collapse while Madeleine’d been playing checkers with her dad. But somehow, one horror seemed to loom above it all.

“No wonder you want to get drunk,” she said. Her voice softened. She shook her head. “The mere thought of having my mind twisted, forced into attacking a helpless kid —”

Marke made a distressed noise hid his face in his arms. In Madeleine’s mind, the Commander’s kid morphed with her niece and she imagined raising her sword to them, as they shouted and begged for her to stop. She shivered.

Marke mumbled something.

“What?” she asked.

“He killed me.”

Madeleine stared. “Huh?”

“I said,” Marke repeated, raising his head just a little, enough his mouth was no longer covered, “he killed me.”

Madeleine blinked. “He killed you?”

“Didn’t just kill me. Demolished me,” Marke said. “Absolutely destroyed me. I saw the kid appear on the path I was set to guard, and because I was evil now y’know, I thought ‘Oh goodie, like a bunny in a trap,’ and then he jabbed his sword into my neck and killed me.”

Last time she’d seen the kid, he’d been bringing his uncle lunch. He’d walked on his tiptoes across the courtyard, tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. When she’d asked the Commander why, he’d shrugged, and fondly informed her that Link liked to do that sometimes. Kid’d nearly tripped three times. “Did you somehow get drunk on lemonade?” she asked.

“I wish,” Marke said, “but no.”

Madeleine stared some more. Marke was sitting in front of her, talking to her, and, importantly, breathing. Which perhaps put his account ever so slightly into question. Marke, however, seemed entirely unaware of the inherent contradiction that was recounting his own death, looking instead as if he wished somehow he could’ve died for realsies.

“So he just,” Madeleine mimed stabbing.

Marke nodded miserably. “Didn’t even give me the chance to hit him.”

“Were you not wearing your armor?”

“Oh no. Full plate, all the bells and whistles.”

“Full plate,” Madeleine repeated. “And he stabbed you? In the neck?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t he like,” she put her hand maybe a few inches off the ground, “this tall? How would he even get up there?”

“I don’t know!” Marke wailed. He threw his hands up into the air. “One moment he was there, next there was a sword in my neck! It took like maybe a minute to bleed out. Excuse me for not thinking too hard about it.”

Madeleine pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marke,” she said slowly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re here. Alive.”

“I got better,” he said.

“How, exactly, does one ‘get better’ from dying?”

He made a move as if to take a swig, then realized Madeleine was still holding his bottle. “The Golden Power,” he said.

What.

“The Golden Power.”

“The Golden Power.”

Madeleine sat back. “The Commander’s kid. Got the Golden Power?”

“That’s what the king told us.”

She stared at the ceiling.

“Look,” Marke said. “One moment I was dead, next I had a splitting headache because apparently getting brainwashed gives you a hangover, and I decided I might as well get a real hangover because I couldn’t deal with this shit right now. And then you walked in.”

“The Commander’s kid got the Golden Power and resurrected the dead,” Madeleine repeated.

“And killed me,” Marke added. “The Commander’s kid with the long nose fucking slaughtered me like a chicken. And then raised me from the dead.”

She'd been back in Hyrule for all of three seconds. She hadn’t even gone back to work yet. She did not deserve to deal with this. In fact, she refused to deal with this. She shook her head, and then again, harder. “No,” she said. “No, no, no, no.” She stood up. “Absolutely not. We need alcohol for this. We’re going to the bar.”

“You want to join half the army?” Marke gestured with his thumb. “There’s a line from here all the way to the castle.”

Please. Please, no. She stared at him in horror. He stared back, helpless. “Why did you think I stuck to lemonade?”

She fell back into her chair. Stared at the ceiling. “Always something in this country,” she said, a bit high-pitched, a bit hysterical. “We don’t get this kind of shit in Holodrum.”

“You think they need knights in Holodrum?” Marke asked.

Madeleine rubbed her face. “You know what?” she said. “I’ll ask.”