Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phanna reemerged from the elements with a wicker basket tucked under her vest and a gasp as though breaching for air. The two twin braids were still restraining her hair, but their strength was waning. Fly-aways clung to her skin in a mixture of sweat and rainwater. She greeted Padok and his wife with the obligatory woes of running a stable. Then she singled out Roan.

“Move over a bit?” she asked.

Beneath the floorboards was a crawlspace packed with clay jars, wax cloth, and just about every multi-faceted shape. When she resurfaced, her hands held a metal grill and pink slab that kicked up dirt as it fell by the fire.

Her fiddling with wooden bowls and spatulas, the beige rocks she called eggs, it reminded him of Karla’s kitchen, and upon her third request for, “That thing. Give me it would you?” he scooted closer with the intention of helping. 

But then she abandoned him with a dozen uncooked eggs and pointed to the one currently sizzling on the salt block, “Don’t let that burn okay? I’m going to run out and get Blynne and Straia.”

Roan’s protests went unheard. He scraped the egg off and cracked another. It nearly dripped into the fire as he fought to fish out a stray shard of shell. He tested that it was, in fact, edible, before ceding his loss and allowing the fiend its petty victory.

Four eggs later, both Blynne and Straia arrived with Phanna, looking drier than the puddle they dragged in. They left shoes by the entrance and stayed to chat with Padok and Perosa, their conversation obscured by low tones. 

“I haven’t seen Jini since he left with Tocks this morning,” Straia said.

Roan caught Laroba shifting her weight to get a word in, “Shall I go out looking for your man then?” the breathy nature of her words altered much of its nuance. The Gerudo woman didn’t waste time on their response, going down for another pushup. 

The three men went back and forth, debating, but ultimately Padok decided against a search party. “It’s too early to start worrying. Tocks is likely just throwing a fit.” Roan cocked his head, watching the quiet exchange between him and his wife.

“The man has a bow,” Perosa supported. “If he couldn’t defend himself then he shouldn’t have volunteered.” 

“Save the last one for Mei. She likes hers raw.”

Roan jerked back to the egg at hand, finding another two already plated and waiting to be eaten. But that was interesting, what Phanna said. He hadn’t realized the yolk could be eaten raw. He sniffed it curiously but didn’t see the appeal.

Phanna flipped around, looking for Roan’s distraction. When she found it, he asked after her slump and groan.

“They’re talking about the Yiga again,” she clarified. “They’re always talking about the fucking Yiga.” She threw up her arms and mocked Laroba’s nasally accent, “’Those thieves stole my People’s treasure’, or ‘poor Hino. If only I had acted quicker’.

“You get eight people stuck in the one room and the world quickly revolves around the same topics.” Judging her crass words were Hino’s panting moans and Laroba’s gaze which cut through her bangs. 

Phanna kept going, “Can’t we talk about something else, you know? You guys got here and I seriously considered thanking the gods: something new! So.” Her joy left room for Roan to share stories he didn’t have.

“Hi.”

“Seriously? There’s got to be more to you guys than that. What about that lynel horn? “There’s a story.”

The urge to respond was on his lips but a subtle fear held him back. One word said in ignorance had caused a great deal of trouble for Sheik, and a day later the guilt had yet to leave Roan. He settled for the most basic of facts, “We found it,” and quickly descended into a horribly woven lie, “already dead. In a-ah, a building. Thing. Really big building. Lots of blood.”

Something in his explanation caused Phanna’s mouth to go small and speak with unfathomable disbelief. “What the fuck hunts lynels.” 

He didn’t know, but his head sure nodded and sputtered like it did. 

In an attempt to justify this new reality, Phanna said, “You know my sister and I, we used to do a lot of traveling. And we actually saw one of those things up in Akkala. Big ass motherfucker, you know? Just standing there, sizing you up while you’re there clenching your butt thinking ‘when was the last time I saw my folks?’

“It never occurs to you that there could be something bigger out there.”

She stroked her jaw. “What do you think did it in? Maybe a hoard of moblins?”

His hands twitched with the visceral memory of tearing out the lynel’s jugular while his head bobbed up and down. 

“How old is your sister?” he jerked.

“Uh. I-what? Um. Same as me I guess. Twenty-eight. But I mean I haven’t seen her in a while. Last I heard she was working at Serene Stable.”

And he blinked, letting his twiddling thumbs relax as he unwrapped the bothersome puzzle that was Phanna’s wide face and the way her lips tweaked when she pronounced an “R”. His face grew a small, excited smile. “Your sister, is she tall, brunette, has sort of a-ah mouth...thing?”

“Cleft lip? Yeah—wait, you know Anne?”

“We met by the Breach! Right now she should still be at Mount Satori. They have a big camp set up there, and there are Rito going around looking for people.”

“On Farore’s Mountain? You’re sure? That’s what, a two-three day walk?” her voice was hopeful and far away, but soon fell in vibrancy. “You guys should have mentioned that sooner.

“There’s not been a whole lot of news coming our way. Postal system’s shot. Word of mouth is, well, untrustworthy. There was a while where we were starting to think we were the only ones left.”

Phanna had her eyes on the fire. The mood tensed. It felt like his responsibility to say something reassuring. “You could go there. Once the rain stops. Maybe once things have calmed down.”

She scoffed. “I seriously doubt that’s going to be anytime soon.”

“Why not?” From what he saw, people, while not thriving, were making do. Homes and lifestyles were being renewed with supplies at hand and a comradery that made him jealous. “Nothing is ever the same as yesterday.”

She wore the same face as Sheik whenever he overstepped the obvious. “Until the Calamity is dead, things are only going to get worse.” 

“Then...kill it?”

“Um, yeah. No. How are we supposed to fight the Calamity? If anything, it’s probably what killed that lynel. It’s not even around right now and we’re still getting fucked over.”

She jammed her finger into the black-spotted wood, “The rot. The tar. The malice. All this dark magic shit. Haven’t you noticed it yet?”

“No, I-I have, I just. It’s not as bad over here.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. Three months ago this wasn’t even a problem. It’s spreading ,” she summarized.

“Assuming that we somehow get rid of the Beast. And fat if. That doesn’t guarantee our crops are safe for the winter, that we’ll have arable land in the spring and hay come summer. Magic’s like an eight-year-old with a slingshot. Unpredictable and fucking terrifying. And we’re not monsters. We don’t come back from the dead. Not as people.”

Standing over Maylin’s funeral pyre, Kass had shared similar fears. That upon death, corpses would join the moon’s thrall, becoming a perversion of everything proper. The idea curled his insides and he understood her fear, “but if we don’t do anything, wouldn’t we still die?”

One shoulder lifted, “Do we have a choice?”

“Yes?” he insisted.

“That sounds nice. Was that your guys’s choice then? To wander around Hyrule pretending everything’s fine while you go off on ‘ big adventures ’?”

She took a nail to the dried egg staining her plate, “Or maybe it was your Sheikah friend’s choice. Off on a mission so clandestine only dead royalty knows the exact orders. They’re more secretive than the Zora, I swear.”

Sheik was too deep in sleep to defend himself. But even in a relaxed state with his bulky armor cast aside and narrow shoulders leaning against his bag, Sheik still managed to look pissed off. 

“That’s not—no. He’s,” how would Sheik want him to counter that,” we. Are traveling to Mount Lanayru. S-Grante said he knew the way.” 

She leaned back, “You religious?”

“I—no?” That woman had said she prayed to the gods, so maybe at one point he shared with her that belief. But his understanding of her feelings was vague at best. “Gods” was just a term betwixt swears.

“Your friend then?” Phanna said. “I thought the Sheikah worshiped the Goddess Hylia? Well I guess Nayru’s related. Is that why?”

“No. I don’t know. There’s just,” a waxing fear that everything he did was pointless and he was aimlessly heading towards a giant rock that likely wasn’t home to the blonde woman, and he was going to be devastated once he accepted that. “Reasons.”

Phanna was waiting for more, but he stubbornly stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

She hummed and spoke like she had a point to make, “You know there’s a lot of rumors surrounding the Sheikah. Some even say they caused the Calamity. Think about it. The Divine Beasts? The Guardians? All of it Sheikah tech. Pretty big coincidence that when the Calamity first attacked, those were the first to go.

“If you ask me, whoever had them buried in the first place was on to something. I mean,” she cut off Roan’s rebuttal, “do you know what the Sheikah do up on their mountain? Laroba says the Yiga used to be part of them. Who’s to say they aren’t still involved?”

A dark foot collided with her supporting arm, throwing Phanna off balance. 

“You slander my name, sister. Cease now with your speculations and let the past stay dead. The Yiga are not the Sheikah.” Laroba dropped her dirty plate in a bucket of water. The firelight danced across a thin layer of sweat and accented a build of muscles. Her stomach flexed, but what drew Roan’s attention more was Sheik flirting with trouble.

“You sure about that? If the Yiga were once part of the Sheikah, then doesn’t that mean it was the Sheikah who had the problem to begin with?”

“You’d insult your mother and hers like that?” Laroba said. 

Sheik held his hands up in a lazy surrender. “I’m just saying.” 

Phanna had enough humility to duck her head and stay quiet while Sheik and Laroba fought their wordless battle. Perosa had paused her conversation to watch like a guay in anticipation. Blynne just looked uncomfortable.

Laroba huffed and Sheik took that as his opportunity to scoot on his knees closer to the fire, nodding towards breakfast.

Phanna pulled herself together and shielded the last uncooked egg, “That one’s—”

“Mei’s, right?” Sheik’s smile was an ugly, deliberate thing that erased her resolve without even trying. He slid into place across from her, accepting a plate gone cold. One bite in and Sheik’s face soured, “Why is it burnt? How hard is it to cook a fucking egg?”

Roan suddenly wanted to join Phanna’s pitiful attempt at extracting herself, but she sat back down when Sheik’s tone turned deceptively sweet, “No, stay, stay. Why don’t you tell me about yourself. That’s only fair, right?”

He went through a familiar range of subjects Roan had yet to hear today. Normally Sheik operated like he had somewhere to be, flitting between conversations and trying towards some self-appointed goal. But now, forced to remain while the potion curdled blue, he had redirected that momentum. He constantly checked his bag with a meticulous level of boredom and glared at the rain like it was a personal affront. 

“We’re twins. Ph anna . Anne .” 

Roan took a peak in the hanging pot, regretting his actions as the potion’s vile aroma assaulted his face. It was still a ruddy brown, but he could see a deep purple in its undertones. That was supposed to be good, but it would be another day before Sheik could claim his share and leave.

“And you?” Phanna said. “Roan’s a pretty unique name.”

“Hm?”

“It’s not his real name,” Sheik replied. “We found him walking around butt-ass naked and nameless. I call him Roan because he’s got a dick like a stallion.” 

They laughed in hollowing tones. 

Phanna choked on a withheld snort and hid her mouth while they kept laughing. Sheik didn’t even bother to check with Roan. 

His skin pricked. 

The needlepoint concentration he had on Sheik was laced with betrayal and it tainted his words, “And who the fuck are you supposed to be? Sheik.” There was an immediate regret that clogged the back of his throat. It swelled and threatened to ruin his vindication.

“Sheik of the Sheikah?” Phanna asked.

But sheik spoke with a nonchalance so frustrating to hear, “It’s an old tradition. Means new beginnings. Bit too on the nose if you ask me. You can see why I don’t go by it.” 

It ignited a flare of jealousy amongst the pitiful relief that permanent harm hadn’t been done. But he didn’t want to feel that. He wanted to hate and shout but the moment to interject was fading. And the words for his defense were frighteningly absent.

He found himself with the rain hitting his face. The water a cold wash. Ten steps to nowhere were all he was allotted before Sheik tore past the tent flap and snatched his arm. “What the fuck was that?”

“You the fuck!” he whipped. “Why would you call me Roan?”

Sheik thought he was being ridiculous, didn’t he. “That? That’s what got you spitting under your breath? I told you what it meant actual fucking days ago.”

“What? No you didn’t. When?”

“Mount Satori. By the statue? You know. Really big horse. Lots of stone? Not my fault you were mid boner for your girlfriend.”

“But. But-but you just—just kept using it? On purpose?”

“I’m not your personal journal that reminds you to talk about your problems. You’ve had every chance between now and then to bitch to me in private, Roan . That doesn’t mean you get to get off with calling me out like that. Unless you also managed to forget that I told you not to?” 

The only thing he could whine in response was, “But it’s my name.”

“Then fix it.”

“But it’s my name. You called me it and I went by it because I had no other ‘it’ . How am I supposed to make or know a name when every-single-thing-I-know, holds about as much contextual value as-as-as, chicken fuck-majigers.

“You? Fuck your name. You get to have all the names you want because at the end of the day you’ve got the first one still.”

Roan took a step back, feeling the rain trickling down his neck. “So. I mean. I’m sorry?  For inside. And I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention back when you first told me. But. Still,” he insisted.

Sheik’s words were callous murmurs, “Sometimes I forget you’re a fucking weirdo. ‘Fuck my name’, yeah? Yes, I suppose. Fuck my name. It’s worth about as much as Roan is nowadays. But that’s because it’s the opinions I’ve made. Roan’s a color. Make of it what you will.”

“But that doesn’t change my point,” he raced. 

“And what the fuck is your point?”

“That I don’t know my name. That I don’t know this game— your plan—the subtext? The one where you, you go around and get to say things because I don’t know what they mean.

“My name’s not just supposed to be a word.”

The wait for a response was painful and filled with heavy breathing. Sheik’s head tilted, “And how is any of this my fault? If you’ve got a problem, don’t be going around expecting people to solve it for you.” He turned and made for the tent.

The petulant desire to repeat himself filled Roan, but he only screamed, “I don’t even like the color yellow,” to himself.

By now his toes were cold. Shoes and socks were sealed inside. His foot trailed across the blades of grass, ruining them. They glossed a pale, wet sheen in their submission. 

He sighed and considered the woman poking her head over her shoulder. Up and down. What was her name, Mei? Mei squeaked when she was caught looking. In the light, the pale patches of scars mottled her ocean blue skin. They tore at the bottom of her right cheek in a way similar to the burnt divot in his own shoulder. 

He sidestepped the rows of low stalks and approached. He was caught off guard by her smile and the fearful lilt in his chest. The jagged teeth juxtaposed with round features stirred up memories of rose red between pillars of glassy stone. Feelings of friendship came and went with flashes of yellow eyes. Another someone he had forgotten and allowed to slip away into meaningless fragments.

Resigned, he said, “Hi, Mei. What are you doing?”

“Weeding.” She held up the pitiful thing, bleached roots with veiny leaves eaten by black splotches. “It spreads slower if we’re proactive about removing them. But it’s like no matter how often I come out here, there’s always more. I’m starting to think It’s something in the soil?”

He hummed. It looked like every other rotted thing. “Isn’t it magic? Dark...evil...stuff or something.”

“I suppose it might be. But it’s best not to jump to conclusions. It could very well just be a variant of root rot. We had a lot of that back at the Domain. The soil there’s so damp, most crops won’t grow.”

He didn’t comment on her diversion, just knelt into the dirt when he spotted another sprig of wilted green.

“Pull it up from the roots,” Mei corrected. 

His hand slipped in deeper and out came a mushy slop overrun with wriggly fellows. The weed became another weight in an already heaving basket.

“Roan. Was it?” She tried the name out on her tongue and he hated that she said it at all, “Or did you want to go by something else?” because how was he supposed to respond? His argument felt trivial in hindsight, caught up in emotions no one else acknowledged. He thought that by having a name that mattered meant he mattered. When he inevitably left this place people would remember him; his existence in this world would be solidified. It wouldn’t have been built in stone but. Truly, did his fears not matter?

“I know you and your friend just had a fight, but are you okay being out here?” She tugged at the maroon fabric that clung to his arm. “While I appreciate the company, this can’t be comfortable.”

“You’re naked,” he countered. “Aren’t you colder?”

“I’m doing quite well actually. It’s nowhere near as cold as deep water, and the rain is preferable to indoors. All that smoke dries out my skin.” 

It made sense. The Rito had wings for flying, and the Gorons were explained to him as people born of earth. The thin protrusions lining Mei’s body and between her fingers must serve more purpose in the water. 

But, “Why are you here then? On land.”

She sat back on her heels. “I actually tried to go home once. I was out fishing in Lake Hylia when a sudden wave came and slammed me into the rocks. I broke my arm and crawled back here, waiting for the waters to calm down. But by then the rivers were already polluted.

“Never thought I’d be burned underwater.”

Her story coincided with what he’d heard. “It was one of the Divine Beasts that broke the dam, right?”

“Vah Rudania, yes. Our prince had been trying to calm it, but. I fear it’s too late now.”

All this destruction. And he knew there were more rogue Sheikah constructs wandering Hyrule. He pulled a ruined carrot from the ground. The orange bulb barely had a start at life. He could point fingers like Phanna. Claim to know the answers. But that didn’t matter either. It fixed nothing.

“The Zora who lived in the Domain, do you think they’re still there?” he asked.

“I don’t know. If the pollution stems from Vah Rudania, then they wouldn’t be able to stay. All the fisheries and houses would be ruined. If they had time they might have evacuated to the sea stacks. There’s some old tunnels that cut through the mountains. They could be there,” she said. 

“They could also not be there?” He said for her.* He knew that fear.

Mei was almost eager to leave the conversation when someone called across the field. From atop a tower of crates and tentative scaffolding, Straia cupped his mouth, “Hey Mei, could you grab the coop keys from Phanna?”

“Is Jini back?” 

After an affirmative, Mei held out her hand asking to follow her inside. Roan declined. He didn’t want to speak with Sheik right now.

Straia descended the watch tower’s assortment of steps and Roan caught a glimpse of sandy skin that blended into a similar hairline. He walked the route to the designated hole in the wall and Roan was surprised to see a barrel-bellied creature squeeze its way through. Despite not being as large as the statue, the steel-blue horse still had quite a bit of height on him and was larger than he was comfortable with. 

The canvas wrap on its back caught the edge of the wall and the horse’s long ears swiveled. It honked something offensive.

“Come on, Tocks. You’ve been through this before,” Jini said as he readjusted the package and bagged bow strapped to the front of a cloth saddle. The quiver on his hip jangled with arrows.

“Everything go okay?” Straia had his hands out, already reaching for the dropped reins. The horse went to nibble his hands but when it couldn’t reach settled for Roan’s head. 

Straia was amused by his plight. “You like mules, kid?” He found Roan’s answer even funnier.

“It’s got rabbit ears.” 

Mei arrived with key in hand and the two men led the mule to the other side of the property. A raised shed, just tall enough to walk in, was covered in a hastily woven net. It hung over the side and enclosed a small pen. Mei approached the side door while Straia and Jini heaved. The sack plummeted behind the dancing mule. 

“Do you want to go put Tocks away, I’ll take care of this?” Jini said to Straia, beginning to unwrap the corpse. Its flopping, red arm was the first to slap the grass. The sockets of its eyes stared back as deep and as empty as the carved void of its chest. From breast to pelvis, the cavern was awash with walls of blue meat and marbled fat.

“You didn’t leave the heart?” Straia commented.

“I thought we had enough already? I did take the eyes and horn. Make sure you get them out of the saddlebag.” 

“The coup’s unlocked whenever you're ready,” Mei called.

Roan thought he understood their intentions. Mutilating the bokoblin was a way to harvest ingredients. But Jini and Mei were slipping the corpse beneath the net and standing back as an opened door unleashed thwapping wings and bright bodies that climbed up to his knee. The cuccos descended on the corpse, ravaging its flesh. Ripped muscle dangled from their beaks, and what they couldn’t fit in their mouths was clenched in their talons. So tight was their hold that even cuccos wanting a share couldn’t pry them off.

The last member of their flock had different intentions though, sailing past the ramp and straight for the net with ferocious cawing.

“Shit,” Jini scowled. “it’s still doing that.” 

“Might have to put another one down,” Mei said.

“Let’s give it a bit, see if it calms. I’ll grab the net.” Jini went through the coup and back out wielding a pole-arm net and battle resolve. So determined in its flight, he struggled to pin the cucco and resorted to bagging it with his cloak. He slammed the door after it and locked the bird inside.

“Bloody bugger got my finger,” Jini complained.

Mei looked unconcerned with the loose flap of skin leaking down his hand. “That looks pretty bad. Do you need help getting a potion?”

He waved her off, already leaving, “It’s fine.”

“Wait,” disturbed, concerned, and utterly confused, Roan cried. “Wait, you’re just going to leave the body there? What about when the sun sets?”

Mei smiled, “Don’t worry. I’m going to be out here for a while, so I’ll make sure to throw out the carcass before it gets too late. The cuccos should be done well before then.”

He kept his finger pointed like he was still asking questions but his stance was wilting.

“Stalkoblins are easier to deal with anyway.”

His arm fell, defeated by the dread in his chest. “All of the ones out in the field.” All too scared to approach the wall. “That was you guys?” 

“Ah—well. I mean the cuccos have to eat, but. I’m sorry. Our intentions weren’t to cause you trouble, but we were hardly expecting visitors in the middle of the night.”

Oh, how he wanted to feel mad. It was so easy to overlook his shortcomings and satisfy himself with retribution. But the cuccos and their bloody feathers. They were far more worthy of his attention. 

If bokoblins turned stal in the absence of flesh. The absence of bone meant no oblin. And “no oblin” was a goal worth striving for.