The Lost Wanderers
By star_breakerMore Info / Reviews
Chapter 1: Hours of Darkness
Author’s Note: This is my first try at something action and adventure like, so bear with me if it doesn’t come out as expected… I hope you enjoy this. P.S: In this story, Link is an adult, and it is severel years after the events of OoT. The grave keeper in here is called Dampé, but he is not a relation, I just decided it would be a good tradition for every gravekeeper to be called Dampé.
*****
The times are troubled in Hyrule. It has been three years since the Dark Age in Hyrule, but things are still not right. The Hero of Time has completely dissapeared, anlog with Princess Zelda, and the King of Hyrule. Days are dark, and monsters are beginning to re-appear. The predicted struglle is begining to come true. Now, more thamn ever, thery need a Hero. Now, more than ever...
*****
Darren lifted his head and stared moodily out of his bedroom window as the fiery sun began to sink slowly in the darkening sky. His mood matched the sky perfectly. Scowling at the sun, he turned back from the window and let his head fall back onto the pillow again with a soft thump. It was Sunday. Normally, he wouldn’t dream of being in his bedroom at 8:30 on a Sunday night. He would have been out with the rest of the boys from the village, hanging out by the graveyard. Dampé the grave keeper didn’t care what they did, as long as they didn’t mess up the gravestones. But… scowling again at the humiliating memory of a week previously, Darren clenched his fist and thumped his mattress hard. It was all his parents’ fault. They didn’t want him to have a life. Ever since he had been a child, Darren’s parents had wanted to keep him safe forever. As a baby, the only other people they would let hold him were his grandparents. A soft knock came at his door.
“Darren?” His mothers’ whispered voice pierced Darren’s fug of gloom like an arrow. Darren gritted his teeth and shoved his head on his pillow, smothering it against the soft material. Right at this moment, he hated his parents. He just wasn’t in the mood to hear their pitiful excuses or their sniveling apologies. “Darren, are you asleep?” He didn’t say a word. “Darren, your father said not to disturb you, but if you’re hungry, there’s some stew on the paraffin stove, and some bread in the larder. Your father and I are going out. We’ll see you later.” Silence. “I love you. Goodbye.” Darren wouldn’t say a word. He heard his mother give a deep sigh, and then heard her clop away in her heels.
Darren waited until he heard the front door bang, and then he got up. He swung his legs out of bed and got unsteadily to his feet. His legs were cramped after lying in the same position for hours on end. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Ever since his parents had grounded him, Darren had refused to eat meals with them. He would wake up in the early hours of the dawn, creep into the kitchen and make himself an enormous sandwich. Then, after his parents had gone to bed, he would sneak into the kitchen and make himself an enormous pot of stew, or heat himself a family sized pack of potato nuggets. Silently, he made his way over to the door, and turned the doorknob. The door creaked open. Darren pushed it open on its rusty hinges. He made his way swiftly through the dark house. The tip of the sun burned a fiery red, like pomegranate seeds, but the glow of its heat never reached the windows. When he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around in the drawers for the matches. His hands closed over the small cardboard packet. He pulled them out, struck a match and lit a candle.
The small, warm orange light illuminated Darren’s tired young face. He was small and skinny for his fourteen years, with short, stiff curly brown hair and clouded grey eyes, which seemed to glow with an unnatural mist. He was dressed in tight grey tights, with a white vest, a baggy yellow shirt, and then a purple tunic over it. The tunic has been his father's, and was slightly too big for Darren's skinny frame. it was held in at the waist by a belt of brown leather. Darren reached over to the paraffin stove, and, sure enough, there was a large iron pot on the top filled almost to the brim with a thick, rich smelling stew. Darren picked up a nearby wooden spoon, stirred the stew a bit, then pulled the spoon out and tasted the stew. It was chicken, with vegetables. Darren grimaced. He hated vegetables. His hatred of the small green things battled with Darren’s hunger, but in the end, hunger won out. Darren began rifling around in one of the small wooden cupboards for a bowl, and then stopped. He could have sworn he heard a scuttling noise. He knelt on the dusty wooden floor, frozen for a moment, listening carefully for any sign of abnormality.
Silence.
Shrugging his worries away, Darren continued his search for a few seconds, and then stopped again. This time he was sure of it. There was a small scuttling sound, like claws on the floor, not too far away. Rats? Darren wondered, peering all around for the owner of that strange noise. They had had a rat in the house a few weeks back, and he had helped his dad lay down traps for them, whilst his mother had fled across the street to Martha’s house, where she had not retuned for three hours. Bending forward on his hands and knees, Darren began crawling across the kitchen floor, his hands pressing against the floor like scrabbling spiders, rolling dust into the tips of his long brown fingers. There was a pause, and then the scrabbling sound was heard again. It was closer this time. Much closer. And louder. It scratched against the floor in a strange way, tip-tap-scrabble-scratch. Darren clenched his jaw. He took a deep breath, to try and calm his fluttering heart. Darren wasn’t afraid of rats, but he wasn’t looking forward to reaching out and grabbing what sounded like an enormous one in the dark. Darren took a final breath, closed his eyes, and lunged forwards.
*****
“More tea, Bella?”
“Love some,” Arabella Figg nodded at her neighbour, Doreen Fowler, who smiled and leaned forwards with her china teapot. Arabella and Doreen were the nosiest of nosy neighbours in Kakariko Village. They both lived in semi-detached yellow houses with red roofs just beyond the well, both owned cats, and both adored spying on their neighbours. Arabella and Doreen were always seen rushing over to each other’s houses as fast as their rheumatism would allow, with the latest dirty gossip on their neighbors. Tonight, Arabella had obviously landed a really juicy winner, because she had rushed over at 8:15, which was always, without a doubt, cat-feeding time. Arabella Figg never missed cat-feeding time unless something important came up. And although she was pretending not to be particularly interested, Doreen Fowler was positively ready to tear her wig apart with apprehension. Arabella enjoyed this. She leant back in her armchair and took a sip of her tea, smirking horribly as she did so. Although they were best friends, there was always a sort of nit-picking rivalry thing going on, and Arabella was clearly enjoying her brief moment of power over Doreen. There was a little mewling sound, and Doreen reached down to stroke her grey cat, which was twining her way around the old lady’s legs.
“So, Bella, what brings you here at such short notice?” Doreen asked, straightening up with a groan and a creak from her stiff joints.
“I don’t know if you have heard,” Arabella began, stirring her tea with a silver sugar spoon. “About the brief- ah- incident that occurred at half past eleven on Sunday night last week?”
“Oh, THAT. Darling, of COURSE I heard. The whole VILLAGE heard of that. Poor Benjamin! He was SO embarrassed at that little unfortunate occurrence. Can barely walk through the village now without hanging his head in shame. Mind you, who wouldn’t be ashamed of a son like that Darren Woodsworth?”
“True, true… a little troublemaker if ever I saw one! But no, that’s not why I came. Something else has happened! Something even BIGGER!”
“Bigger? Bigger? How big?” Asked Doreen, forgetting her act of indifference and spilling her tea in her excitement. The cat, resentful at having hot tea spilt over its back, gave an indignant meow and stalked off huffily with its tail in the air.
“I mean, arrest offence big!” Said Arabella, her small blue eyes popping madly in her excitement.
“Arrest offence!” Exclaimed Doreen. “Hoo-hoo! What fun!” The two old ladies cackled like witches, slapping their stiff knees in enthusiasm.
“But, dear, who will be getting the arrest offence?” Asked Doreen, when she had clamed down a bit. Arabella gave a mischievous smile, showing her badly fitting set of false teeth.
“Why, dear… I’d have thought you’d have guessed it by now.”
“Not…” faltered Doreen, her words dying on her thin lips. Arabella nodded.
“Yes,” she chuckled. “Yes, they’ll be arriving for Darren Woodsworth before the end of the night!”
*****
“Brian!” Laughed Darren, sitting back on the floor, his hands splayed over the chest of his enthusiastic dog, trying to push him off his chest. “Down, boy! Down!” But Brian would not sit down. He panted happily as he licked Darren’s face over and over again, his large paws pressed on his chest, his feathery tail a wagging blur.
“Brian! Stop it! I- don’t- want-” Darren couldn’t help himself. Slowly, he fell on his back, roaring with laughter, as Brian continued to lick his face. As the laughter poured out of him like a flood escaping the wreckage of a broken dam, Darren realised how depressed he had been by his parents’ punishment. I’ll never be that moody again, he vowed, pushing his dopey Irish setter off him at last and wiping his face dry. It’s not healthy. A knock at the door startled him. He spun around, silenced. Brian, sensing something, turned on his heels, raised his upper lip revealing, sharp, white teeth, and growled.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Darren whispered, crawling over to his dog. The setter stepped back and growled again. Darren was really confused now. “Brian, what is it?” He whispered. He sat next to him and started stroking him. His fingers gently massaged the dog’s tense neck muscles. Whoever was at the door banged hard on the wood. BANG BANG BANG. Brian growled loudly, a savage rumble from deep in his throat. Darren gulped nervously. A harsh voice spoke loudly, addressing him.
“Darren Woodsworth! This is the Hyrule Castle Private Soldier Force! Come out with your hands up! We have you surrounded!”
*****
The times are troubled in Hyrule. It has been three years since the Dark Age in Hyrule, but things are still not right. The Hero of Time has completely dissapeared, anlog with Princess Zelda, and the King of Hyrule. Days are dark, and monsters are beginning to re-appear. The predicted struglle is begining to come true. Now, more thamn ever, thery need a Hero. Now, more than ever...
*****
Darren lifted his head and stared moodily out of his bedroom window as the fiery sun began to sink slowly in the darkening sky. His mood matched the sky perfectly. Scowling at the sun, he turned back from the window and let his head fall back onto the pillow again with a soft thump. It was Sunday. Normally, he wouldn’t dream of being in his bedroom at 8:30 on a Sunday night. He would have been out with the rest of the boys from the village, hanging out by the graveyard. Dampé the grave keeper didn’t care what they did, as long as they didn’t mess up the gravestones. But… scowling again at the humiliating memory of a week previously, Darren clenched his fist and thumped his mattress hard. It was all his parents’ fault. They didn’t want him to have a life. Ever since he had been a child, Darren’s parents had wanted to keep him safe forever. As a baby, the only other people they would let hold him were his grandparents. A soft knock came at his door.
“Darren?” His mothers’ whispered voice pierced Darren’s fug of gloom like an arrow. Darren gritted his teeth and shoved his head on his pillow, smothering it against the soft material. Right at this moment, he hated his parents. He just wasn’t in the mood to hear their pitiful excuses or their sniveling apologies. “Darren, are you asleep?” He didn’t say a word. “Darren, your father said not to disturb you, but if you’re hungry, there’s some stew on the paraffin stove, and some bread in the larder. Your father and I are going out. We’ll see you later.” Silence. “I love you. Goodbye.” Darren wouldn’t say a word. He heard his mother give a deep sigh, and then heard her clop away in her heels.
Darren waited until he heard the front door bang, and then he got up. He swung his legs out of bed and got unsteadily to his feet. His legs were cramped after lying in the same position for hours on end. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Ever since his parents had grounded him, Darren had refused to eat meals with them. He would wake up in the early hours of the dawn, creep into the kitchen and make himself an enormous sandwich. Then, after his parents had gone to bed, he would sneak into the kitchen and make himself an enormous pot of stew, or heat himself a family sized pack of potato nuggets. Silently, he made his way over to the door, and turned the doorknob. The door creaked open. Darren pushed it open on its rusty hinges. He made his way swiftly through the dark house. The tip of the sun burned a fiery red, like pomegranate seeds, but the glow of its heat never reached the windows. When he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around in the drawers for the matches. His hands closed over the small cardboard packet. He pulled them out, struck a match and lit a candle.
The small, warm orange light illuminated Darren’s tired young face. He was small and skinny for his fourteen years, with short, stiff curly brown hair and clouded grey eyes, which seemed to glow with an unnatural mist. He was dressed in tight grey tights, with a white vest, a baggy yellow shirt, and then a purple tunic over it. The tunic has been his father's, and was slightly too big for Darren's skinny frame. it was held in at the waist by a belt of brown leather. Darren reached over to the paraffin stove, and, sure enough, there was a large iron pot on the top filled almost to the brim with a thick, rich smelling stew. Darren picked up a nearby wooden spoon, stirred the stew a bit, then pulled the spoon out and tasted the stew. It was chicken, with vegetables. Darren grimaced. He hated vegetables. His hatred of the small green things battled with Darren’s hunger, but in the end, hunger won out. Darren began rifling around in one of the small wooden cupboards for a bowl, and then stopped. He could have sworn he heard a scuttling noise. He knelt on the dusty wooden floor, frozen for a moment, listening carefully for any sign of abnormality.
Silence.
Shrugging his worries away, Darren continued his search for a few seconds, and then stopped again. This time he was sure of it. There was a small scuttling sound, like claws on the floor, not too far away. Rats? Darren wondered, peering all around for the owner of that strange noise. They had had a rat in the house a few weeks back, and he had helped his dad lay down traps for them, whilst his mother had fled across the street to Martha’s house, where she had not retuned for three hours. Bending forward on his hands and knees, Darren began crawling across the kitchen floor, his hands pressing against the floor like scrabbling spiders, rolling dust into the tips of his long brown fingers. There was a pause, and then the scrabbling sound was heard again. It was closer this time. Much closer. And louder. It scratched against the floor in a strange way, tip-tap-scrabble-scratch. Darren clenched his jaw. He took a deep breath, to try and calm his fluttering heart. Darren wasn’t afraid of rats, but he wasn’t looking forward to reaching out and grabbing what sounded like an enormous one in the dark. Darren took a final breath, closed his eyes, and lunged forwards.
*****
“More tea, Bella?”
“Love some,” Arabella Figg nodded at her neighbour, Doreen Fowler, who smiled and leaned forwards with her china teapot. Arabella and Doreen were the nosiest of nosy neighbours in Kakariko Village. They both lived in semi-detached yellow houses with red roofs just beyond the well, both owned cats, and both adored spying on their neighbours. Arabella and Doreen were always seen rushing over to each other’s houses as fast as their rheumatism would allow, with the latest dirty gossip on their neighbors. Tonight, Arabella had obviously landed a really juicy winner, because she had rushed over at 8:15, which was always, without a doubt, cat-feeding time. Arabella Figg never missed cat-feeding time unless something important came up. And although she was pretending not to be particularly interested, Doreen Fowler was positively ready to tear her wig apart with apprehension. Arabella enjoyed this. She leant back in her armchair and took a sip of her tea, smirking horribly as she did so. Although they were best friends, there was always a sort of nit-picking rivalry thing going on, and Arabella was clearly enjoying her brief moment of power over Doreen. There was a little mewling sound, and Doreen reached down to stroke her grey cat, which was twining her way around the old lady’s legs.
“So, Bella, what brings you here at such short notice?” Doreen asked, straightening up with a groan and a creak from her stiff joints.
“I don’t know if you have heard,” Arabella began, stirring her tea with a silver sugar spoon. “About the brief- ah- incident that occurred at half past eleven on Sunday night last week?”
“Oh, THAT. Darling, of COURSE I heard. The whole VILLAGE heard of that. Poor Benjamin! He was SO embarrassed at that little unfortunate occurrence. Can barely walk through the village now without hanging his head in shame. Mind you, who wouldn’t be ashamed of a son like that Darren Woodsworth?”
“True, true… a little troublemaker if ever I saw one! But no, that’s not why I came. Something else has happened! Something even BIGGER!”
“Bigger? Bigger? How big?” Asked Doreen, forgetting her act of indifference and spilling her tea in her excitement. The cat, resentful at having hot tea spilt over its back, gave an indignant meow and stalked off huffily with its tail in the air.
“I mean, arrest offence big!” Said Arabella, her small blue eyes popping madly in her excitement.
“Arrest offence!” Exclaimed Doreen. “Hoo-hoo! What fun!” The two old ladies cackled like witches, slapping their stiff knees in enthusiasm.
“But, dear, who will be getting the arrest offence?” Asked Doreen, when she had clamed down a bit. Arabella gave a mischievous smile, showing her badly fitting set of false teeth.
“Why, dear… I’d have thought you’d have guessed it by now.”
“Not…” faltered Doreen, her words dying on her thin lips. Arabella nodded.
“Yes,” she chuckled. “Yes, they’ll be arriving for Darren Woodsworth before the end of the night!”
*****
“Brian!” Laughed Darren, sitting back on the floor, his hands splayed over the chest of his enthusiastic dog, trying to push him off his chest. “Down, boy! Down!” But Brian would not sit down. He panted happily as he licked Darren’s face over and over again, his large paws pressed on his chest, his feathery tail a wagging blur.
“Brian! Stop it! I- don’t- want-” Darren couldn’t help himself. Slowly, he fell on his back, roaring with laughter, as Brian continued to lick his face. As the laughter poured out of him like a flood escaping the wreckage of a broken dam, Darren realised how depressed he had been by his parents’ punishment. I’ll never be that moody again, he vowed, pushing his dopey Irish setter off him at last and wiping his face dry. It’s not healthy. A knock at the door startled him. He spun around, silenced. Brian, sensing something, turned on his heels, raised his upper lip revealing, sharp, white teeth, and growled.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Darren whispered, crawling over to his dog. The setter stepped back and growled again. Darren was really confused now. “Brian, what is it?” He whispered. He sat next to him and started stroking him. His fingers gently massaged the dog’s tense neck muscles. Whoever was at the door banged hard on the wood. BANG BANG BANG. Brian growled loudly, a savage rumble from deep in his throat. Darren gulped nervously. A harsh voice spoke loudly, addressing him.
“Darren Woodsworth! This is the Hyrule Castle Private Soldier Force! Come out with your hands up! We have you surrounded!”
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
- Chapter 1: Hours of Darkness
- Chapter 2: Escape from the Past
- Chapter 3: Paths of Peril.
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