As dreams go, it is a tame one.
    At Wintertide, when the nights are at their shortest, it is the duty of the royal women to lead our people in prayer. Traditionally this falls to the princess, though the queen and the queen-mother are expected to attend. My royal father is up on the royal viewing platform, chatting quietly with advisors.
    The faithful gather half a day's ride east from Hyrule Castle, in the Temple of Hylia. They come from all walks of life. There are soldiers. Farmers. Scholars. Merchants. Sages. I've no doubt there are also pickpockets. Beggars. Thieves. No matter who they are or where they've come from, they crowd around the sacred spring, united in purpose. They watch and and wait for the arrival of their princess.
    A spiral stair descends around the towering statue of Her Grace. Around its blind curve I pad, feeling my way down the slick stone. My bare feet touch the water, breathtakingly hot against the frozen winter air. Every year I forget that.
    From here I can hear the crowd's whispers. In the susurrus of conversation I hear their anticipation and their expectant tension. There is but hushed laughter, afraid to disturb the quiet morning.
    The silence is full complete when I step into view.
    I am, in their eyes, the very image of the Goddess Hylia. I am the spitting image of the statue behind me. That is the point of these rituals; to lend them comfort, and to intercede with Hyrule's gods on their behalf. I wear the ceremonial silk dress and the sandals, the pendant of the sacred bird, the bracelets and the pleated braid.
    I tilt my face up to the statue of the Goddess. The sun warms me, frail as it is. I can smell winter in the wind. Snow, not yet deep; the dampness of dormant trees. Brittle clouds spell rain tomorrow.
    For a day, I am Hylia. I am She who waged war against the demon armies, who beat back the darkness. I am protection. I am love. I am the very light incarnate.
    ...I am a half-sodden and shivering princess, anxious for all the eyes upon me.
    My eyes drift closed. The words, the ritual, come to me without thought.
    I beseech the goddesses for their wisdom, their mercy, and good health. I beseech Hylia, my own ancestor, the much-beloved Goddess of Light, for protection from evil. I beseech the Light Spirits for their continued protection of the provinces. I offer to them my heartfelt thanks.
    In time I no longer feel the crowd's regard. The tension eases from my neck and shoulders, and in that moment, I do what I was born to do. What I was made to do. I forget the crowd as my prayers eclipse my focus. The spring's mineral scent fades away. I even forget the uncomfortable heat of the water.
    Time passes. I do not know how much.
    It's with dull surprise that I notice dusk falling, the crowd long dispersed. The first stars glimmer in the night sky. A chill breeze sets me to shudder.
    I'm too tired to startle when my grandmother's hand falls on my forearm. With a firm push she guides me out of the spring. I stagger against her and trip on the sodden hem of my dress; she catches me before I can fall.
    "Out of the spring. Out with you, or you'll catch your death," she orders crisply. "That's the way, my dear. One foot in front of the other, yes? There you are." She guides me along, clucking her tongue like a mother hen. I lean on her without strength, shivering; for a moment we prop one another up. These ceremonies, while fulfilling, are draining. Being the focus of so many eyes and so much judgement is exhausting. "You've done well," she tells me quietly, and I silently warm to the praise. These ceremonies are difficult for me. To do well in the eyes of the goddesses and my royal forebears is all I can ask for.
    "Dusk falls," my grandmother answers, to my croaked question of the hour. "But the dawn will always come, my dear. Remember that. The dawn will always come."

*

    Although the usurper did not take her from me, my grandmother has been gone for many years. I still see her in dreams, from time to time, and remember her fondly. She was confidant, friend, and mentor to me. When I see her, I know she is telling me to keep faith, and thus do I strive to.
    The time is come to seek out the Blade of Evil's Bane. I have seen in dreams its brilliant purity, haunting me, compelling me.
    I curse the loss of the royal archives. There would have been information about this cursed Twilight in them. Din take the usurper-king in his childish ambition; his lust for power has ruined not only the Twilight Realm, but Hyrule as well. Not only has he brought ruin to my family, he has wiped out Hyrule's meticulous histories. All that knowledge, gone; perhaps forever. I do not know if I can be merciful when the reckoning comes.
    I am certain my pacing and praying, my restless energy, has not gone unnoticed by my companions. "She-tiger," what few workmen are left call me. I care not. They may call me a Lynel for all that I care. They cannot know what the waiting costs me as my faith wars with the Triforce of Wisdom and its impositions on my rulership. I dare not close my eyes and dream, for there are far worse things for me to see in dream than the Master Sword. I dare not invoke them.
    Destiny waits in the tangled boughs of Faron Wood, in the deep wilds. There, we will find the sacred blade. There I will restore Link to his rightful form. In his hands, the blade will liberate my kingdom, and return to me the throne that is mine by birth; that I might begin to right Hyrule's terrible wrongs.
    All in good time, however. I have spoken to Tachibana Yumi and we will begin collecting supplies for the journey.
    And after that...