Chapter Text
Poor weather continued for the duration of their solemn march through the muddied and windswept hills of Hyrule Field's southernmost reaches. Despite a brisk pace set by soldiers on foot, it still felt slow. And yet there remained to be hope on the horizon, as the dark smudge of a town grew with every passing hour.
It was just as well, since Link could only ride horseback for so long without growing antsy. The same could not be said for Mask, who appeared perfectly content atop his little chestnut filly. When the captain had first shown the little hero his own horse, he'd been gobsmacked. He'd looked between the two horses as if he'd been seeing double, and went through the effort of telling Link all about Epona, from her bridle to her favorite scratch spots.
Link had just listened. He already knew all these things about his horse, but Mask seemed to think their mounts were one and the same. It wasn't… entirely absurd, given how much the young kid lamented about the flow of time. But he thought he'd know if his own Epona was from an entirely different era. The saddle she'd first appeared in was old-fashioned, but the mare herself didn't stand out so much, other than being a good steed. And yet she would leave him in the mud the moment Mask would play that one song.
For now, things were quiet – at least amongst the two of them. He had no words to say, and Mask was no conversationalist. So while the soldiers chattered excitedly behind them on foot and wagon, Link and Mask rode silently in the wake of General Impa and her white stallion.
Reaching the town itself presented its own host of problems for him. They'd only just managed the first hurdle of the guard gate before getting swept up in the responsibilities that came with getting his squadrons situated. Link managed to keep Mask near him until they reached the stables. Once Epona's reins were out of his hands, their horses taken care of for the evening, he'd turned around to find that Mask was already gone.
Link's spirits lowered just then, and he kicked dismally at the hay littering the stone floor. “Do you think he'll be alright?” he fretted, wringing the edge of his scarf for reassurance. There'd been no music and select few words from the child since he'd lost the friend he'd made of that cow. It instilled in him a feeling of loneliness that he hadn't known himself to possess before.
Proxi settled onto his head with an airy little sigh, her wings drooping. “He's going to have to be, since we still have a lot to do before we can run off like that,” she said, to which Link begrudgingly agreed. He didn't want Impa being cross with him by not having everything in order.
The fairy hummed in further consideration. “Unless, that is, you want me to keep an eye out for him myself?”
The thought of Proxi leaving his side sent a jolt of anxiety through him. “No!” he said – a bit too fast, a bit too selfish. Not while there was still so much to do. Not while he was in a new place with new responsibilities that weighed heavier on him than a misplaced hero from another era could. He remembered himself swiftly. “Or rather, it'd be quicker if I had your assistance. Mask won't thank you for hovering, anyway; he's said before that he can handle himself, and I believe him.”
Proxi didn't argue the point he'd made. She dutifully stayed by his side, and the rest of the day was smoother because of it. They met with town officials, paid for the influx of supplies that'd been awaiting their arrival, and secured room and board for their ranks wherever possible. Lodgings were limited for a town that could only hold so many, but they made do. And though that should've meant that Link would be sharing a room with his fellow men, Impa still found a way to secure a private space for him and Mask. Moreover, she took one glance at him by the end of the day and seemed to look straight through him.
“I'm sure you're tired, but I suggest refraining from turning in just yet. Your men will want to celebrate tonight – I'll handle the rest, while you go make your presence known.”
A suggestion framed as an order. He could hardly refuse. “Yes, General Impa.”
That was part of his role as a captain, too: know his soldiers, spend time with them, learn their grievances and desires. It was all part of the process to keep morale up, and yet he couldn't claim to be particularly close to any of them just yet. He knew names and faces and backgrounds. But they did not know much of him, and Link was alright with that.
The town was expectantly busy this evening, as the sun dipped below the shingled buildings and thatched roofs. Lanterns flickered along narrow streets filled with hearty laughter and boisterous shouts. Hylian soldiers who hadn't been in a civilized place since their departure from Castle Town mingled with local drunkards and harlots, pursuing small comforts wherever there were any to be found. Rupees switched hands at every corner, and the air was hazy with smoke from hearths and cigars.
Link buried his nose into his scarf to smother the acrid smell and skirted a pile of horse dung left in the streets. He wasn't much for mingling, but Impa was right when she said that he needed to be. Familiar faces in even more familiar uniform flagged him down, and he only waved back.
At the back of his mind, his worries persisted. This was hardly the kind of place for someone like Mask. It didn't matter how old he thought he was – this was too much.
The door of a tavern was flung open in front of Link, and he quickly backpedaled as two burly men freed themselves from the threshold with cantankerous mirth. His nose crinkled in disgust at the foul odor that pervaded them, but smiled all the same when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“There y'are, Cap'n!” one of the men slurred, an unfocused glaze in his eyes. “E'ryone's talkin’ ‘bout you, won'erin’ where ya at! Yer lil buddy's a'ready waitin’ ‘side fer ya!”
“Thinking he's not as scarce as you are to the scene,” the accompanying man snickered, leading his haggard friend away.
Link stood there, stunned for a moment, as the words sank in. My little buddy?
More howls of delight erupted from the tavern's interior, and he made up his mind just then.
Proxi fluttered nervously next to his ear before quickly seeking shelter under his cap instead. Her voice was hardly loud enough to be heard in a place like this.
The captain stepped inside and was greeted with a wall of warm air and delighted cheers. Men and women from his unit called out to him by name and rank, and the villagers caught on awfully quick. His cheeks warmed at the reception, and he forced himself to slow down and take a breath. He threaded his way carefully through the densely packed establishment, shaking hands and patting backs with a charming smile to mirror the lopsided smirks being cast his way. His skin crawled from all the attention and unwanted touches, but he didn't let that show. It was all so that he could search every table and chair for Mask, anyway.
An off-tilter ocarina note caught his ear, and he swiveled his attention towards a wall of patrons huddled around one section of the bar. A string of incoherent notes was followed by a bout of giggling, and the group laughed along with it.
Link pursed his lips, worry twisting his guts, and carefully stepped around the tangle of people to reach the bar.
Seated atop the counter, legs swinging idly while he held up his ocarina, was Mask. His keaton mask was askew on the side of his head, and his cheeks were flushed. Sitting on the bar next to him were a couple empty glasses of milk.
Link choked out a gasp and swiftly inserted himself into the close-knit circle. “Mask! There you are! What are you doing in a place like this?!” he hissed, commandeering the wooden stool closest to him and shooing away a disgruntled bar patron.
Mask shot him a soured look, not unlike the sorts of milks this place served. But that was dropped quickly as his brow crinkled in concentration. “I'm tryin’... tryin’ to ‘member a song. Ahhh how did it go?” He squeezed his eyes shut, raking a hand through his hair and further displacing his mask, only to perk up. “Oh! Okay, hang on—” He held up his ocarina again – something he'd once explained was a very important magical item and heirloom to the royal family – and busted out a popular bar ditty. His little audience burst into cheers once more, and one began to sing along.
Someone on Link's other side elbowed him in the ribs, and he smothered a wince. “Where'd ya find this guy? You didn't say there were minstrels in your family!”
Link was left speechless.
A tall glass of milk was slid between him and Mask. “On the house for special patrons ,” the barkeeper mumbled out.
Link stared at it dumbly, wondering if that meant him, only to watch as Mask reached for it instead.
His thoughts churned. A warning screamed in his thoughts, and he felt himself sickened. He left this child alone for the afternoon and this was where he'd found him.
“Mask, have you been drinking?” His tone was sharp.
Mask jolted, spilling a drop of milk on the counter. He could see him going over potential responses in his head, trying to settle on the best one. “‘S jus’ some milk,” he muttered, looking away.
Link snatched the glass from his hand, earning a cry of protest, and brought the beverage to his lips. His taste buds recoiled at the harsh burn of rum mixed into the concoction, and he slammed the glass on the bar. “You're drinking milk punch! Mask, are all these glasses yours?”
No response. He tucked his ocarina away and adjusted his mask to cover his face more.
The audience groaned and began to disperse, now that the captain had come around to rob the wind from their sails. Mask stopped swinging his legs and stared down at the ground.
Link massaged his temple. “Can we… can you please come down off the table? I want to talk.”
Mask shook his head sullenly. “Don't wanna.”
Behind them, a pitcher shattered on the ground with a resounding crash, followed by an exchange of colorful swears, and Link flinched. Mask ignored it.
He tried again. “Hey, listen, if this is about trying to make friends—”
“Don't. Want. To.”
Link rested his head in his hands. This was not a place where he wanted to talk to him. Not when he was so tired. Not when Mask was like this.
Oh, you are going to hate me for this.
Firmly grasping the glass of milk that'd been left between them, Link tilted his head and knocked the rest of it back. It was putrid stuff that lay thick on his tongue, making him wonder how the child could stomach it, but he downed the liquid courage and pushed himself to his feet.
“Mask, we're going outside.”
He was slow to respond, confusion stalling his tongue, and Link made his move. Grabbing the small boy beneath the armpits, he hoisted him off the bar and held him in front of him. Mask let out a startled yelp, thrashing in his grasp and kicking some sorry sod in the rear.
“Lemme go!” Mask howled. Laughter followed them as they made a beeline for the exit, and both their ears burned red.
The moment they were out the door and were hit by cold air, Mask went limp. He dangled in his arms like a doll, and for a moment Link thought there was something horribly wrong.
In their wake, a stream of calls and jeers beckoned their return, condemning them for leaving so soon and spoiling the fun on a night worth indulging in.
“Mask…?” He set him down gently but never truly released his grip, feeling the way he wobbled once his boots hit the cobblestone. “Can you stand?”
“I said lemme go,” he mumbled, much quieter this time. There was a waver in his voice that gave him pause. But he relented, shuffling aside as he did so to clear them from the tavern's swinging doors.
Mask pitched forward, and Link made a grab for him. The boy shook him off with a scowl, finding stability in an iron-wrought railing instead. He didn't try to help again. But he did start to pace, fretting all the while.
“Mask, you're drunk. How did this even happen? Who gave you those drinks?”
“I bought one. Played a song. Next one was free.” His words, normally much sharper, were dulled by the alcohol in his blood. He must've realized as much, too. He didn't try to argue or act defensively. This was just how it was.
“How'd you afford it?” he dared to ask.
Mask sighed, the breath hovering in the air as an icy mist, and his head lolled groggily to the side. “...Played a cheater's game. Used my lens to find the right chest. Easy rupees.”
The unasked question about these mysterious lens notwithstanding, it sounded as if he'd been gambling. So that he could go to the bar.
It occurred to the captain just then that perhaps he should never be trusted to look after children. Or whatever in Hylia's good graces Mask was supposed to be, but it most certainly wasn't an adult.
But it was cold out now. And it was late. And the way that people were looking at them unnerved him to no end. Mask was beginning to shiver in spite of the booze in his system, and Link himself was feeling nauseous. Whatever Mask was trying to gain, it couldn't possibly be this.
Ignoring the chill setting in, Link unraveled the scarf from his shoulders and wrapped it snugly around the smaller boy. Hesitant fingers clutched at the cascading blue fabric, careful not to let it drag on the ground.
He bent down, hands on Mask's narrow shoulders, and spoke with calm, quiet words. “Be honest with me – do you think you can walk?”
Mask avoided his eye, looking anywhere else, before offering a tentative nod. His first step resulted in a stumble, and Link stabilized him with careful hands until the encumbered child could get his bearings. Mask's left hand found its way to his belt, where he gripped it for support, and he leaned into his side.
“Do you want me to carry you?”
A spark of annoyance crossed his face. But when he shook his head no, it was just as hesitant as his last response. He supposed that settled it.
“Why don't we turn in for the night? We have a room waiting for us at the inn.”
They walked in relative silence for a good long stretch, and it was comfortable that way. There was virtue to saying nothing, even if it accomplished little in the end. But to continue that way would be to insist that nothing was wrong. He did not want this sort of ignorant quiet to be normal.
“Frankly speaking, a milk bar wasn't the sort of place I expected to find you,” Link began again, careful to clip the accusation from his tone.
He received a noncommittal grunt in return for his troubles.
“Do you… like drinking?” he asked, pressing a bit harder for anything that might justify a proper response.
Mask rubbed wearily at the side of his face, taking his time to pick through his words. “If it makes me feel like this… then no. Prob’ly not.”
“Then why do it?”
He could tell that this was difficult to answer. Whether it was because his thoughts were cloudy or he was resistant to opening up, he couldn't be sure. But Mask did, eventually, relent. “Was familiar. I wanted the chateau special. Didn't taste right. But it felt right, ‘cause no ones was treating me like I didn't belong there.”
Link sighed through his nose. “So you felt like an adult.”
“I felt accepted .”
The admittance hung heavily between the two, and Link resisted the urge to derive more responses from him. In his current state, intoxicated as he was, it wouldn't be fair to question him further. It would only start to get redundant, and he'd be remorseful if Mask opened up about subjects that he'd rather keep private under normal conditions. This wasn't an interrogation, and he prayed it never came to that.
Mask's vision was swimming by the time Captain was leading him up the short flight of steps into the inn. There was a foul taste in the back of his throat that he felt the need to swallow down, and his movements were far heavier and clumsier than they had any right to be.
This was nothing like the surge of magic and feeling of relief that was offered to him by a refreshing Romani Chateau. The premium Clock Town beverage had been an asset to his adventure and a weight off his shoulders, there in the disquieting atmosphere of the mostly empty Milk Bar.
He should've known that such a cheap drink would offer nothing but a distraction from his ongoing ailments. No magic, no clarity, no willingness to keep going into the next day. He just felt miserable. Was this normal? Had he been poisoned?
Mask's thoughts drifted blearily to a memory of Romani and Cremia holding one another as the moon fell – a scene that perhaps he wasn't meant to see. It seemed like alcohol's true purpose was only to dull the pain.
He buried his face into the captain's tunic as he opened the door to the building. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, and it was far too warm for his liking.
This couldn't possibly be the feeling that adults chased in those sorts of places. But it had been fun, at least for a while, to forgo his bitterness and indulge in the same things the others did. It was a loud and tumultuous environment, but it blocked out the thoughts that'd been rattling in his skull. Only a dull throb remained.
When the captain finally came to a stop in the open doorway of a new space, Mask lifted his head to look around. The inn room was small and unassuming. But at least a few familiar possessions had already found their way here, and it came as a swift reassurance.
There were two small beds, their thin mattresses made with fresh linens. One was already piled with old quilts and home-knitted blankets that Mask quickly recognized, and he shuffled over to that bed on instinct. He kept one hand on the bed for support, letting go of the captain and inching his way along until he reached the headboard. Behind him, the captain was grabbing a cup from a shelf and filling it with water from his waterskin.
His voice called out from across the room, halting Mask in his tracks. “That's my bed. There's two – you can sleep in the other one just fine, can't you?”
Mask cringed away from the comfortable blankets with a sharp intake of breath. Somehow, something so obvious felt like a punishment right then. But he nodded to show that he understood and turned towards the other bed.
In the process, he grabbed the top layer from Link's blanket pile and dragged it along with. He ignored the sigh his action prompted and sagged into his designated place of rest.
Link set the cup of water on the nightstand between them as Mask burrowed his way deeper into the sheets. The captain's scarf reeked of the streets, but it'd already become interchangeable with the rest of the blankets. He wouldn't be getting it back tonight.
“Make sure you drink all this water, or else you won't feel so good come morning,” Link briskly instructed.
Mask blinked slowly at him from under the bed covers, his lips curling into a frown.
“ Please, Mask. I'll refill it through the night if need be.”
He gave it a few sips. With the residual taste in his mouth from the bar, it wasn't very good. When the captain turned away to undress, Mask set the half-empty cup back down and rolled over to face the wall.
The residual murmurs of tavern banter filled his thoughts as he closed his eyes. In his dreams, he was someone else – someone older – sitting at that bar and playing music for his peers. And that made it just a bit easier to sink into a heavy slumber.