Chapter Text
Time shifts, adjusting his shirt collar and nodding to a soldier who passes by, trying not to show his discomfort. Big events like this have never suited him and the stiff fabric of his outfit is becoming more unbearable with every second. He spares a glance at Twilight, who looks about as pleasant as a cucoo. His protege is hiding a grimace while greeting an older noblewoman, who sneers a bit at his accent then moves on to greet Time as well. He smiles politely, commenting on the pendent hung around her neck, and the woman thanks him and waves a hand through the air, gesturing to the event around them.
“Oh, but isn’t it just lovely,” she breathes, her words laced with an air of longing. She sighs, delicately exaggerated; her shoulders rise and fall so that the lace adorning them billows out like wings of some exotic bird. She glances at Time from beneath long lashes, eyes roaming across the laces of the borrowed blouse he’s wearing. Time clears his throat, avoiding her eyes as he smiles and nods to the surrounding crowd.
“Yes, lovely,” he swallows thickly and wishes Malon were standing beside him. His gaze drifts. The courtyard is filled with people, mulling about it their finest attire. He can see Sky a ways off, sipping something light and fizzy from a glass, chatting to a young man in uniform.
“Ahem.”
Time’s attention is drawn back to the woman in front of him. She is staring at him intently.
“Don’t you just,” she glances down. “…love coronations…”
Time leans back slightly, and glances at Twilight out of the corner of his eye. His protege is watching him with wide eyes, a mixture of amusement and concern in his face. Time fumbles for words.
“Err, yes. Lovely… um, how do you know the… prince…”
The woman seems unimpressed by his response, but she covers it with another wave of her hand. Time can smell her perfume; a mixture of roses and lavender.
“I’m the sister of one of his advisors,” she says, her chest puffing slightly at the declaration. She smiles, the barest sliver of teeth showing through thin lips. “And how, may I ask, are you acquainted with our dear prince…?”
Twilight, in all his grace, chooses now to break in, hastily explaining their earlier escapade in escorting the prince’s caravan through dangerous territory. The boy (because that’s really all the prince was, a boy) had been more than grateful, and maybe a little star struck, and had insisted they come to his coronation that night. The heroes had tried to refuse, keen on getting back to their quest, but the prince had been so excited and well, as Sky had put it earlier, didn’t they deserve a little bit of a break, if only for a night?
The woman is taken aback by Twilight’s sudden reappearance and Time uses the opportunity to pretend as if he’s seen someone, politely excusing himself from the conversation and leading Twilight away to the other end of the courtyard. He can feel the woman’s stare on his back. They end up next to an ornate fountain depicting a Great Fairy and her followers, letting out simultaneous sighs as the misted spray coming off of it cools their heads. Time looks around, intent on getting himself a glass of whatever Sky had been drinking earlier, when he feels a tap on his arm.
Wind is staring up at him with desperate eyes. He’s dressed to the nines like the rest of them, stuffed into borrowed clothes (probably those of the prince himself), with his usually windswept hair slicked back with some kind of harsh smelling gel. The ruffles around his neck bob up and down as he turns his head, making sure nobody’s watching. He looks absolutely miserable.
“Time, please tell me this is gonna be over soon,” he hisses, playing with the cuffs of his sleeves. Behind him, Time can hear Twilight snort into his hand, but he tries to keep a straight face for Wind’s sake.
“Soon,” he tells him, though it’s a bit of a lie. The young prince hasn’t even made an appearance yet, but Time suspects that they’ll be gone soon after that anyways. Stay long enough so that people know you were there, and then make a hasty retreat.
Wind doesn’t seem too content with his answer regardless, bouncing on his toes as Time sighs and looks around. Sky has been joined by Hyrule and, together, they seem to be telling a wildly animated story to some young soldiers. Warriors is nowhere to be found, but Time is too surprised; he’d seen him earlier surrounded by a flock of young woman, showing off his scarf and sword. Legend and Four have planted themselves next to a table overflowing with lavish bowls of fruit and platters of hors d'oeuvres and Time holds back a groan as he watches Legend stuff some into his bag while Four keeps watch. Time tears his gaze away, reminding himself to confront them on it later, and searches the crowd; as for Wild, he’s…
“By the way, have you seen Wild,” Wind mutters, staring murderously down at his shoes. “I’ve been looking for him everywhere ‘cause I figured he’d understand my plight.”
Time nods in agreement, still searching the crowd, but their local survivalist is nowhere to be found. He turns to Twilight, who he realizes now is also searching.
“You haven’t seen him, have you?”
Twilight shakes his head and Time catches the nervous downturn of his lips.
“Nah, I was just ‘boutta ask ya…”
Wind scowls.
“I swear to Hylia if he ditched and left the rest of us here to-”
He’s interrupted by the shrill laugh of a young woman. The three of them turn; she’s bent backwards, a hand on her chest as she laughs, her pale pink gown glimmering in the surrounding lights. She straightens, fanning herself as she turns back to her conversation. Next to Time, Twilight makes a strangled noise.
Wild is standing in front of the woman, poised and polished, the barest hint of a smile adorning his features; he reaches a hand out in offering to the young lady, as if to steady her, but does not touch her, his other hand resting behind his back. His long hair has been pulled back so that only his bangs frame his face, peeking out from beneath a dark blue cap, with a matching ribbon weaving between the intricate braid that falls down his back. He’s in a uniform that fits too well to be borrowed. He says something, too quiet to hear, but Time winces when the woman laughs again. Wild has no such reaction. Instead, he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side and then he bows, perfectly balanced, before straightening up and excusing himself. The woman lets him go, a soft blush painting her features, and Wild turns on his heels and glides away. He looks, to Time, the epitome of a soldier.
“Hylia,” Wind breathes, followed by an expletive that Time mercifully ignores. “That’s disturbing.”
Time has to agree. Wild weaves through the crowd, the dark blue of his uniform a stark contrast to the mostly pale palette of the crowd; his smile is gone, replaced by something more stoic. He mostly ignores those around him, stopping only when stopped, and then moving on. Yet, at the same time, he makes it so that there is no rush to his pace. He has nowhere to go. Instead, he walks purposefully without purpose, the slightly raised heels of his tall white boots clicking melodically on the stone of the courtyard. And it is disturbing.
This is not the Wild Time knows. Twilight shifts beside him, an unreadable look on his face. The Wild Time knows is a force of nature, a tumultuous mix of turbulent energy and stormy calm, like the eye of a raging storm.
There is no storm in this Wild; no violent passion or unrestrained will. Even the nervous fire that Time has sometimes seen in quiet hours of early morning is gone, replaced by some baleful presence that Time cannot name; it lurks beneath the surface of Wild’s impassive expression, hidden away with every simple smile and bow he makes as he sinks in and out of the crowd, bobbing into view like a boat on the horizon.
He is a walking contradiction, his back stiff but his movements fluid. A sword, its colors paired perfectly with his uniform, hangs at Wild’s side and he keeps a hand on its pommel at all times, taking it off only to shake hands and play the part of refined soldier and guest.
And that’s what it is, Time realizes. An act. A part to be played until the show ends. Wild turns, accepting a glass from a young servant and the capelet around his shoulders flutters lightly. He does not drink from glass; instead it becomes a prop which he uses to gesture lightly to the gardens and fountains as he makes light conversation with the servant, who in turn seems beyond flustered. Wild lets him go after a minute, releasing him back into the crowd with a curt nod, and the boy scurries off as if he’s been given an order, back stiff as he disappears into the crowd. Wild places his glass on a nearby table and, as he straightens up, Time meets his eyes.
Wild holds his gaze with eerie composure and Time can see a flash of whatever’s hiding beneath the surface; Time doesn’t know all that occurred before Wild’s fated sleep, but the flicker of torment tells him enough. There’s a bitterness there. Wild plays this part with a familiarity Time himself doesn’t have; he thinks maybe Warriors could come the closest. But this is more than just a soldier; this is almost royalty, a soldier so close to nobility that the distinction is practically blurred; you might just mistake him for a prince, if not for the uniform. Someone who lived their life solely for the crown under which they served, and gave it away in the end.
The sober distinction that pervades Wild in this moment makes Time lower his gaze without thinking, and he almost misses the sigh Twilight releases as he stalks towards his protege. Time cannot hear what they say, but he sees Wild’s shoulder drop, if only for a second, as he shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. He sees Twilight reach out, grasping Wild’s arm.
Someone sighs and Time realizes Wind is still beside him, watching as well, and Time feels him lean ever so slightly into his side. He places a hand on the younger’s shoulder.
“Soon,” he says.