Chapter Text
A darkened sky promised rain, and soldiers grumbled and left curses in their wake as they set up camp for the evening after another grueling day of marching. Battles had slowed them all down, leaving the hylian men and women tired and irritable, with little progress to show for. The days only ever seemed to get longer, despite the time for sunshine becoming briefer as winter crept up on the traveling army.
Mask did not envy the soldiers and their lack of horses.
Although the air was cold on his exposed skin, he was kept warm by his company and the feeling of peace that he'd cultivated amongst these bitter lands, where not much else grew.
A gentle, comforting melody that never failed to settle his nerves flitted from his ocarina as he breathed life into each note. If he focused hard, he could almost hear the singing that was meant to accompany his playing.
He wondered if Malon ever thought about his playing the way he thought about her singing. Or… or Romani and Cremia, wherever their lives had gone after the festival.
Epona snorted into his hair as the music lulled in time with his drifting thoughts, and he couldn't help but smile. At his back, the cow that he'd been leaning against let out a dismal moo , as if to ask why he'd stopped. Mask patted her side and tilted his head back to stare up into the darkening sky. He hummed in consideration, answering the cow after a moment. “You too, huh? I don't suppose you know that song, do you? All the other cows seem to.” He turned, smiling to his talkative companion. “Which means it's alright if I have some milk? Is that a fair trade?” If he sounded a bit pleading, then so be it. It wasn't as if anyone else was around to hear him making idle chitchat with the cattle the army carted around.
The cow huffed in his direction, causing him to scrunch up his face. She then stood up, taking her warmth with her, and Mask flopped onto the ground, where cold quickly seeped between his shoulder blades. A moment later, the sounds of chewing suggested that the cow had far more interest in the small patch of springy grass that was still remaining in the churned fields of dirt and mud.
He pushed himself back up and patted the cow's spotted flank once more, a grin spreading over his face. “Is that a yes? Does that make us friends?”
Another moo escaped the cow between moments spent chewing, and she looked back to blink at him with her big brown eyes.
Mask gave her a sunny smile. “Thank you!” he said, swapping his ocarina for an empty bottle.
He was fast about it, not that the cow really noticed, and then he parted ways with Epona in tow so that the cow could be left to her usual business. With the night catching on, it wouldn't be long until the soldiers came to deliver the livestock their feed and get them settled for the evening.
Epona followed loyally after him, all the way back to the tent he shared with the captain. Along the way, he sipped on his bottle of fresh milk. The soldiers acted like it was a luxury, when the cows were right there. The captain had told him that they weren't getting much milk right now, but Mask couldn't help thinking that the claim might've been an exaggeration to keep him from asking for things.
The captain made it seem as though he was so much more demanding than he really was. These were just essentials, at the end of the day.
Mask tucked his bottle away, saving the rest for later, and entered through the large tent flap.
Captain was slouched in his little chair. In front of him, a stack of papers sat untouched. In his hands, he put far more urgency into polishing an already spotless shield.
Mask kicked off his boots at the entrance, leaving them muddied and flopped together next to Link's own, which had already been scrubbed of mud. A rather pointless task considering that they'd only be sullied again the next day. But if it was the repetition that kept him sane, then Mask could understand that.
He hummed as he crossed the floor, dropping most of his gear next to the table and plopping down onto the edge of the bed.
The captain spared him a tired glance, if only so that he could still his hands for a moment. “You're looking awfully chipper,” he noted dully, before resuming his mundane task.
“Would you rather I be miserable?” Mask sniffed, falling back onto the nicely arranged layers of blankets.
The young man rubbed tiredly at his brow, massaging his fingers into the crinkles forming there. “No, no. It's just… usually there's not much to look forward to in places like these.”
Mask closed his eyes and breathed in the air around him. He'd already grown used to the strong herbal soaps that permeated the threads of each blanket. It was a new sort of homely, in a sense.
“Well… it's hard to stay downcast when you have good music and good company. There should always be something worth looking forward to. Otherwise, the next day will pass us by, and the motivation to keep up with changing times won't last so long,” Mask mused, thinking back on past hardships.
When he cracked an eye open to gauge the captain's reaction, he caught the hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth.
“Yes… I suppose that's true.” He looked up from his menial chore. “Were you playing music just now? I didn't hear it.”
Mask stretched out on the bed, rolling onto his side and reaching for a pillow to shove beneath his head. “I was, but that was for my other friends. I'm tired now, so I'm done playing for the night.”
Mask watched the way his shoulders drooped in disappointment. His face remained neutral, though, as he feigned disinterest with a noncommittal hum; his movements slowed, the completion of his task growing further away.
Mask eyed the stack of papers. “Did you still have work to do?”
“I figured I'd get to it after dinner.”
“And when were you planning on getting around to that? The papers are in the way of where your plate would be,” Mask pointed out.
Captain let his shield and rag drop into his lap and looked up at the ceiling as if he might find his patience there. “I'm trying to be diligent,” he stressed.
Mask arched a brow at him. “No, you're procrastinating. That's wasted time,” he scolded lightly.
Captain pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He didn't snip back with a response. Instead, the rumble of his stomach answered for him. Slowly, he let the irritation drain from his face and set the shield aside. “Alright. I'll get dinner ready,” he glumly expressed, getting up from his chair and fussing about. “In the meantime, could you wash up? You're getting the bed dirty.”
Mask groaned so that the other man could plainly hear his disdain, but otherwise roused himself without further complaint.
The bed itself was already rather dirty, without a stream to wash the sheets in over the last several days. Mask hadn't been the most considerate of their condition during his first few days in camp, when he'd usurped the place of rest out from under the captain. It was only recently that Mask had grown comfortable enough to have him sleep near him, since neither of them were fond of using the cot. The bed wasn't exactly big – then again, neither was he, and so they made it work.
Mask sat himself down next to a water bucket in the corner of the tent and reached for a wash towel. He started with his face, washing up while Link warmed a kettle over a small oil stove. Above, raindrops began to splatter on the tent's canopy.
When Mask had cleaned off as much mud and grime as he was bothered to get, he pulled his tunic over his head and changed into one of the long, silky pajama shirts from the captain's clothes chest. As always, he made sure to strap his belt and pouches securely around his hip before padding over to where the table was being set.
Mask sat down in his chair and scowled down into a bowl of crushed barley and carrot lumps that were being slowly warmed and thinned by the boiling water that'd been poured on top of it. “Pottage again?” Mask bemoaned. “It's been three days of the same slop. When are we going to get something better?”
When Mask looked up from his sorry meal, it was only to see Link tending to his own. His bowl contained a palm-sized chunk of hardtack submerged in warm water, and he poked listlessly at it while waiting for the tough baked staple to soften. In the meantime, he produced a cap of sugar water from a small waterskin on his belt and set it on the table, where Proxi alighted.
“You're a captain. I would've expected you to ask for nicer meals, given your upgraded accommodations.”
While it was true that his tent was larger and more ornate than others, it mostly only served as a symbol – a means of making him easier to find. Link's brow twitched, and he pursed his lips together while jabbing aimlessly at his lackluster dinner. “I've no intention of taking the lion's share of anything. It's only my rank that's higher than most others – not my hungers or needs. I will accept the same meals that my brothers do.” He flicked a spoon at Mask. “You shouldn't complain so much. Someone your age needs nutrients, and that's the best I can provide at the moment.”
Mask exhaled heavily and planted his head into his open palm. He watched the captain carefully from under his curtain bangs, waiting for his attention to be diverted to his sad supper, before reaching towards his belt. Beneath the table, he uncorked his bottle of milk and brought it above the rim of his bowl to pour into his pottage.
Link looked up sharply. “Did you steal that?” he demanded, his eyes darkening.
Mask froze. “N…no. I did not.”
His fingers clenched tightly around his spoon. “We talked about this. Mask, be honest.”
The small hero pushed himself up out of his chair, feeling his guts churn with a rush of emotion. “I'm not lying – I didn't steal it!” he snarled, feeling his blood boil at the accusation.
“It's a simple question, don't get so mad over it!” he snapped back, his steely facade cracking like ice weakened by flames.
Mask reached for his bowl – he would much rather eat outside with Epona, anyway. Not only was she more reliable company, but she'd probably eat the lumpy carrot chunks in his bland stew.
“Mask, wait!”
Mask halted in his tracks, taking a deep, level breath as Proxi fluttered over and came to rest on his shoulder. He waited.
“I'm sorry, that was the wrong thing for Link to say,” the little blue fairy apologized on his behalf. Behind them, Link crossed his arms and fixed his sights to the earth. “It was just hard to believe that you got that milk on your own – it's not something that's easy to get right now. Could you please tell us how you got it?”
Mask took a few extra seconds to answer, waiting for his frustration to simmer down into something lukewarm and unassuming. Like his meal. Then he placed the bowl back down on the table and seated himself once more.
“My friend lemme have it,” he mumbled, picking at the unlacquered splinters of the aged wooden table with his nails.
Proxi moved back to her little dish of sugar water, and that was encouragement enough to slowly coax Link back to his own seat. “And who's your friend? Are you getting along with the soldiers?”
Mask shook his head. “Uh-uh, I already know that a soldier won't help me much.” The captain huffed at the remark, but it was the truth; soldiers did what they were ordered to do, was all. If he did something that got in the way of their duty, it would not be taken kindly.
“So then who gave you the milk?” Link asked, his prior frustration replaced by a hesitant curiosity.
“Got it straight from the cow!” Mask declared, just a bit proud. “They're a friendly bunch, and I asked nicely for it. You could have some, too, if you asked me nice enough.”
A frown tugged at the corners of Link's mouth as confusion crept across his face. “But… the cows haven't been producing lately.”
“Then maybe your troops need to find better ranch-hands to keep ‘em happy!” Mask scoffed, pointedly adding another splash of milk to his pottage.
Link's eyes drifted away, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I see…” He drifted into silence, and Mask thought he seemed upset. So he offered some milk to him, even though he hadn't asked, only to be politely declined as he mulled over his thoughts.
Halfway through the meal, he finally spoke up again. “Mask, you should be careful… about getting too attached to those cows. I don't want to see your feelings get hurt…”
Mask only stared back at him blankly. “They're good cows, Link. Nothing will happen to her.”
Link only nodded numbly in return, and didn't push the subject further.
It became something of a routine after that. In the evening, Mask would visit the gentle grazers and play Epona's song to the one cow. She was a bit skinnier and older than the others, so it was easy to find her separate from the rest of the small herd. The days of marching were still impossibly slow and dull, but he always had the evening to look forward to. He decided not to let the smaller portions of food being served to him bother him, either. Everyone just kept saying that things would be better once they reached the next village.
The captain still fussed over him, but his worries were unnecessary. Perhaps he just wished that camaraderie could be so easily found. Mask hardly ever saw the young man hanging around others his age. For all the charm and posh words he used to command his soldiers, once night came he turned into much more of a shut-in.
Mask, for one, had no problems enjoying the company of his friends.
The nights passed without monster or incident to make them interesting, and Mask was grateful for it. The soldiers were saying that they'd reach the village by the very next day, and they were clearly excited for it.
Mask went to visit the cattle one more time, as he always did. Epona followed, and he saw many a familiar face. But he did not see his cow friend.
He played Epona's song, and, sure, a few cattle raised their heads. But still his friend did not appear. His ears drooped in dismay, and he wondered if she'd drifted away from the others to find better grass.
But it was nighttime now, and it was dangerous to leave camp. The howling in the distance troubled him, and he wandered the camp perimeter in search of her, playing on his ocarina all the while.
One of the tents he passed had a loud assortment of soldiers inside. They were laughing and singing and clattering their dishes against the table. They must be celebrating the fact that their days of marching were almost at an end.
A strong, mouthwatering aroma drifted from the tent, and Mask felt his stomach rumble in protest. He paused, staring at the silhouettes of the men inside, and felt his chin start to crinkle.
Mask marched through the encampment, abandoning his search for the cow in favor of locating that brightly colored tent. His heavy steps picked up, turning from a measured stride into a sprint, until the captain's tent was in front of him.
Mask tore past the entrance, neglecting to take his boots off as he stomped into the center of their shared space.
“ Where. Is. She.”
Link startled out of his chair, dropping his pen on the ground and floundering with the paperwork he'd been getting an early start to for once.
“Wha— who?” Link dared to ask, rushing to his feet and reaching for his sword. If there was an attack inside camp, he had to be ready now. Judging by Mask's glowering expression, put on full display for anyone to see, he thought this must be an urgent matter. For what else could rattle the young boy so fiercely?
“My friend,” he spat. “What happened to my cow?!”
Warriors felt his heart sink into the pit of his hollow stomach. It happened all the time, really; more so during the ends of longer stretches of travel, as this had been. Even still, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He would never rob a meal from the mouths of hungry soldiers, but perhaps he could've done more to prevent Mask's attachment to the livestock from deepening in the first place.
“Oh, Mask… I'm so sorry, but… sometimes things don't always—”
“It's a simple question,” Mask seethed. “Just tell me.”
Proxi whispered a quiet warning in his ear, begging him to be gentle. But that's not what Mask had asked for, and Link took a deep breath before answering with the full honesty that the self-proclaimed adult deserved. “That cow was probably dinner for the soldiers. We are out of food, and there were mouths to feed.”
Proxi gasped at the bluntness of his words. She would surely chew him out later, after whatever catastrophe came next.
Link expected yelling. He anticipated harsh words and colorful swears that had no right falling from the mouth of one that appeared so young. He was thankful, at least, that there was nothing breakable in the tent, beyond maybe the cheap wooden chairs and ceramic bowls. The temperamental kid hadn't broken things in a fit of anger before, but he didn't doubt that something like this would push him over the edge.
So he was surprised when the yells didn't come, and the tremors of rage housed within the boy shifted to something less restrained – more vulnerable. His bottom lip quivered, and each breath came out choked and uneven.
Link felt the defenses he'd built in anticipation for a fight crumble. “Mask… no, please, I didn't mean…”
The child burst into tears. Fat drops trailed down his round cheeks, meeting at his chin, and the choked breaths evolved into ugly sobs. “You bastard! I had a friend and you took her! I was happy, but that's not allowed in a shitty fucking war!” he wailed, pawing at his eyes to stem the flow of tears.
Link's hands hovered uselessly in the air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Proxi, help!
The fairy hid under his hat.
Fuck! He'd just have to talk the kid down.
“ Sshhh , it'll be okay, nobody meant any harm,” he tried to sooth, choosing whatever words of comfort were likely meant to placate someone in the throes of grief. “I'm sure she was happy, too, but there comes a time when—”
“Don't fucking talk to me!” Mask snapped, stomping past him.
Link raised his hands away and stepped back, giving him plenty of space to reach the bed uncontested.
Mask crumpled onto the mattress, his fingers curling into the blankets, and sobbed without restraint.
Link went quiet. Like a storm, it would pass. But for tonight, the rainclouds spilled their burdens.