8. The Spring of Power

Zelda had been standing amongst the cold waters of the Spring of Power for hours now, clutching her hands together, both in a prayer and in an effort to keep her hands warm. Akkala was not particularly cold or warm, especially at this time of year, but the Spring only had a minimal timeframe of sunlight before its cold stone walls surrounding it would suck out all the warmth.

Every few minutes, her attention focused on birds singing or the occasional clanking of armour from Fuga’s movements. Ever since Urbosa had been appointed as a Champion, she rarely could accompany Zelda to the various Springs for her pilgrimage, so Fuga had volunteered to take that place as an unofficial appointed knight. She appreciated their company immensely, as they usually kept a light-hearted mood to even the most seemingly hopeless of situations.

Trying to get herself to focus on her prayer once more, Zelda muttered the words under her breath. She heard Fuga move once more, turning away from the entrance of the Spring and now facing towards the Goddess statue. At least, that’s what Zelda assumed the movements to be, as she was turned away from them.

“Um… it’s been a few hours now… do you… want to take a break?”

Zelda released all the tension she had gathered in her shoulders and her arms fell to her side, her hands splashing slightly in the water. She nodded silently. Fuga joined her in the water and placed a blanket over her shoulders, which she held weakly. They directed her back to the entrance of the Spring where the ground was dry again.

Once she had gotten out of the water, she sat down and sneezed twice.

“Do you ever get sick from these?” Fuga asked, their voice full of concern.

“Sometimes, yeah. Fevers, have to stay in bed for a few days, the usual, you know?” Her voice barely above a whisper.

“And… your father knows about it and is okay with that?”

Zelda nodded.

“I don’t have much of a choice, we don’t really know what else could awaken my power…”

Fuga thought for a moment, putting a hand to their mask.

“Have you… ever tried anything else?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Fuga got up and paced, tapping their mask slightly, making a “toc” sound every few seconds. Zelda observed them come and go.

“Trial by combat?”

They paused their pacing when they spoke, but continued as soon as Zelda answered.

“Heavens, no. Father would never allow that to happen.”

“Prayer obviously hasn’t worked… offerings?”

“It works for fairies, but I don’t know how that would fare for a goddess.”

“Blood offering?”

“We’re not talking about Demise here,” laughed Zelda.


“Oh, you are serious. No, no way.”

“Okay. Trying to save someone? Life or death situation?”

“Hasn’t occurred yet. Maybe faking it could work?”

“But what if the Goddess knows your intent? I don’t think it could be that easy.”

“Hm, you are correct. What if we construct a statue of her likeness?”

“That would count under offering, but we could try multiple types of offerings. Food, Rupees…”

“Oh, you think the great Goddess Hylia would be interested in our meagre Rupees?” Smugly said Zelda.

“Gems, shooting stars,” Fuga put their arms above their head, imitating a monster. “Monster parts!”

“Stop, stop!” Giggled Zelda, putting her arms up to defend herself from a non-existent threat that Fuga had conjured up. “Okay, okay, we’ll try something else next time.”

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