Chapter Text
He stands before the fallen monster, staring at it. Staring at his hands, drenched in blood that could be a Hylian’s.
He doesn’t know where he is. Woke up on the sun-kissed earth, staring up at Hylia’s domain and feeling the wind on his face and the moss beneath his hands. Stood in a forest he’s never seen before, trees young and flexible as the breeze bent them toward him. Saw a monster, killed it, and now stares at its dead body, beginning to decay. Stares at his blood covered hand, stark red splashed over his skin as though it were his own.
Stares at the group of travelers who stepped out of the woods moments later, silently staring at him and the monster.
Link would guess that they’re Yiga if it weren’t for the fact that he accidentally hit an artery in the monster and was in the crossfire of the resulting blood spray. Any traveler would look at him strangely in this state.
One of the travelers, in a red tunic, shakes his head. “You know, I never knew you could get that much blood out of a boko.”
A second traveler scuffs red-tunic’s head, and a small laugh rolls through the group. Link does not join, instead turning back to look at the monster.
A boko. It’s red, imp-like, but too stout to be a bokoblin. To be a bokoblin that he knows.
With a clink, an armor-clad traveler steps forward. Quiets the group with a look before nodding to Link.
“Do you need help?” he asks. “We’ve got some experience with monsters, we can help you clean up or anything else you might need.”
Link shrugs. He’s not interested in discussing his theories or questions with a group of strangers. Instead, he kneels, wiping his hand in the grass and digging a dagger out to slash open the imp’s belly. New monster or not, he isn’t fool enough to let its guts go to waste. Though seeing the red blood makes him hesitate-- without the usual coating of sticky, malice-scented black blood, he won’t be able to sell these without raising suspicion.
He’s decidedly ignoring the existence of something like a new monster. Decidedly ignoring what that could possibly mean for what he just did half a year ago.
Someone from the group coughs, but he ignores them. Mercenaries, or whatever it is that they are, should be experienced enough to know what he’s doing.
“...By the way,” one of the travelers says, “we’re also looking for a certain sword. Blue, pommel engraved with wings, very fancy. Investigating some myths around it. If you’ve got any sort of direction we can go in, it would be appreciated.”
Link, very carefully, does not flinch.
The air sparks around him, cracking where the traveler’s words snapped it. Nobody in their right mind would give an outright lie, not with the way they stick in the air, yet this man gave three.
He looks at the traveler. Taller than average, in brilliant green and blue. Not with the eyes of an idiot, and yet...
Looking for a sword. Investigating myths. Wanting directions. Description says it should be the master sword, context says they should be Yiga. Plenty of Hylians know rumors and speculation but only one knows its true location. Link would hand it out more freely if taking the sword would not mean delivering a pain he’s all too familiar with into the hands of the innocent.
‘Lie,’ he settles on, flicking his hand in the air thrice to ward off what blue-scarf said. A gesture Yiga well know enough, for their efforts to learn those words he’s been creating in order to fit in among the stables.
Blue-scarf blinks. “...I’m sorry, I don’t know that language.”
...Truth, all of it.
Again, Link looks over blue-scarf. At his neat uniform, neat hair, tall presence. Not a stance Link is familiar with, outside of murky, ancient memories, and he has no interest in pursuing them further. But Yiga know that gesture well enough.
Who are these travelers? Why are they looking for the master sword? Possibly mercenaries, but they’ve yet to ask for money. Possibly thieves, but eight against one are good enough odds that he sees no reason why they’d stop and chat. They spoke truth in that they were fighting monsters, but what is their motive?
His eyes inadvertently settle to the traveler farthest to the right. Settle on the sword on that man’s hip-- blue, with a pommel engraved with wings. Very fancy, one might say.
So that is why they don’t care for his directions.
‘Lie for a lie,’ he writes on his slate, ‘and truth for a truth. Pick which one you want. Don’t string me along.’
A flinch rolls through the group. Some of the travelers step forward, some step back, and Link turns away. Ignores the way their eyes rake over him, digging through him like fingers in mud.
He doesn’t care for the guts, he decides. He’d rather leave.
“Which do you want?” Yet another traveler, this one shorter than most of the others, steps forward. Exchanges a glare with tall-armor before stepping forward again, his face settling into something pleasant.
Odd.
‘I thought I made that clear.’
Short-one nods slowly. “Truth, then. We’re looking for black-blooded monsters and their creator. Not a sword.”
Shrugging, Link pulls out a rag to wipe at his face. ‘And Hylia? ’ Surely She’d be able to help them more than him, if they’re looking for any kind of monster. Strange that they’re not looking into the ones with Hylian blood, but he doesn’t care for their business.
“Guiding.”
Short-one picks his words carefully. Link shrugs them off.
‘Look and you’ll find them. I’m more interested in these.’
The words make short-one perk up. “Where can you find more of those?”
Link shrugs, waving a hand. ‘Hylia knows.’
“You’ve not seen them before,” tall-armor says.
‘You have,’ Link counters.
Tall-armor opens his mouth to say something, but red-tunic shoves his way forward.
He feels bright, strangely enough. Link tilts his head as he considers the man, trying and failing to find the source of that light.
“Look,” red-tunic says, “we could go on like this forever. I’ve just got one question for you.”
Link raises an eyebrow. Stands. He’s shorter than red-tunic even when standing, but he’s tired of looking up. ‘How many truths have I given? ’
Red-tunic shrugs. “Dunno. But depending on your answer, we’ll be paying our end of the deal soon.”
‘Fine.’
Grinning, red-tunic holds out his hand. “Name’s Link. What’s yours?”
~~~
Blatchery Plain sat, dull, under the overcast sky. Zelda had not spoken a single time in their trek across its swamp-drenched ruins, and Link found that he could not blame her. He may have lacked a voice regardless, but the remnants always stole his words.
Apple tugged at her reins, and Link let them fall. Let her wander away.
He found her in this field, once. When he accepted a race to find a horse for no more reason than to try, and found that chestnut mare wandering the plain’s grassy fields.
She didn’t wander far. Snorted, flicked her tail, and dipped her head to enjoy the grass of her homeland.
Zelda stopped, in front of him. Let Moon’s reins fall, stood where Link fell many years ago.
“I feel horrible, but...” she sighed. “Some part of me wants to do nothing about this place. Put no grave, clean no mark of our history.”
Link nodded when she turned to look at him. Held his hand out, flat and palm up, and raised it. ‘Okay.’
“You’re not... mad?”
‘Mad why?’
“This is... your grave.” Zelda turned, staring distantly at a moss-covered guardian. “At the very least, I’d put some marker. Some memory.”
Link walked, wandered. Turned in a circle, stared at the clouds, the mountains, the trees. The dead machines. Stopped at an arbitrary point only to look up and see the very view that gave him his final memory.
He almost expected to see it again. Almost expected to be taken to that nighttime downpour when he’d found this spot the first time, terrified of the history that it would give him. Terrified to gain yet another answer to why he had no memory of his past self, and yet needing to know what it would be regardless.
No memory came.
‘Grave means nothing. Only memory. This--’ he waved to the guardians-- ‘is-memory. Is-grave.’
Zelda said nothing. Slowly walked in front of him, to the spot she stood in when she found the answer Hylia never showed her.
“We all died here, in the end,” she said softly, turning to face Link. “I just wish it wasn’t so... violent.”
‘Calamity violent.’
“Yes.”
‘Hylia violent.’
Zelda’s gaze sharpened. Her eyes, as blue as the sky, flickered with a golden light that should not have been possible. Bore into him, through him, as though she wanted to tear him apart, bare open his insides and look him over.
Right when he wanted to move, stumble, anything, she looked away. Stared at her hand, at the triangle pattern burnt into her skin.
“...Yes.”
Link clicked. Waited until Zelda looked at him before gesturing at the guardians. ‘Not my-grave. Grave of Hyrule. Grave of Hylia.’
Zelda paused, before barking out a laugh. Threw her arms out and spun, staring at the sky and laughing with some crazed relief.
“Then we’ll bury Her here,” she said, light as the summer wind, “and leave this grave as a mark of Her brilliance.”
~~~
Link shakes his head.
He believes the story these... Links told him. He has no choice. Infected monsters, portals across time, and a so-called dark lizal heading the black-bloods. He cannot tell belief from truth, but too many of the facts are true to disbelieve them. The rudimentary stories of the Golden Age heroes, confirmed without prompting. The man that they fought, steadily turning into beast as the years drag on. The sword that they can hold without effort, passed around as though it were little more than a trinket.
He refused to hold it.
‘No,’ Link says, when they don’t react to his head shake. Glares at where they all sit on one side of the fire, leaving him alone on the other.
Blue-scarf-- Hero of Warriors-- shifts. “I understand that--”
Link doesn’t wait for the man to finish. Shakes his head.
Hero of Time, tall-armor, sighs. “I wish I could say you have a choice in this matter. If she brought you here, she meant for you to join us.”
Link laughs. ‘She is no man or mortal. You act like She has words.’ He ignores the stone pendant that hangs over his chest. Ignores the god that chose to speak to him and not Her chosen daughter.
“She does,” Hero of Skies hisses.
Truth. Link knows his own words were a partial lie-- writing holds none of the barriers of speech. So he is not the only one able to speak to Her, despite it all.
‘Then She can use them,’ he snaps back.
Several Links-- several heroes-- lean forward to say something, and Link stands.
He’s done here. Earth pulls at his feet and wood creaks at his back and he turns to face it. Leave Hylia’s domain to the ones She chose, and leave him out of it.
“Who gives a shit if she’s got something to say? You’re a hero like the rest of us. There’s a problem out there-- a problem ravaging your era, if you know what the black-bloods are. Why aren’t you concerned? Aren’t you gonna be a hero?”
Link stops. Turns to face red-tunic-- Hero of Legend-- on the other side of the flames. An old anger sparks in his spine, crackling like a rage he wishes he didn’t know the taste of, that left him with nothing but the smell of ozone and an emptiness in his chest that wasn’t there before.
“Hey, let’s not go there,” Hero of the Four Elements says.
Link ignores the child.
‘I killed the thing causing it. Hylia has no right to bring me back and do it again, not after what She’s done.’ He has to march closer to the fire so that Legend can read his words, and he glares over its flicker. Glares at the sun’s dying light bouncing off of the man’s face.
Legend snorts. “So you’re pissed at her. Good lad. Why give her the respect you do?”
Link rolls his eyes, flicks a hand skyward. ‘Would you not respect your mother? ’
“Did she bear you?”
‘Did She not bear you?’
Legend flinches, baring his teeth. “That is none of your fucking business.”
“Hey,” Warriors calls. “Act like adults, you two.”
Link peels his lip up in response, flicks a warding gesture at Warriors. ‘Am I wrong? ’
“Yes! ”
The word cuts and crackles, cracking in the air loud enough it nearly rings in Link’s ears. Yet another lie, as obvious as the last, and he laughs.
‘Lie,’ he says again. He knows they don’t know the gesture, but he doesn’t care. Grins when the other scowls and snaps at him.
A hand grabs the back of his shirt, yanking him back.
Link stumbles, growling when he sees that Time has stood between them, glaring at them both.
“That’s enough. Legend, now is not the time. Link... You’re here now. You might not have experience working in a team, so I won’t begrudge difficulties, but I would appreciate if you would work with us a bit.”
Snorting, Link shakes his head. ‘Offer a reason and I’ll consider it.’
“You’re a bitch,” Legend spits over the fire.
‘And you a bastard.’
“Boys--”
“This ain’t your fuckin’ argument, old man,” Legend hisses.
“Neither should it be yours,” Time replies.
Link doesn’t wait for Legend’s response. Turns to the unfamiliar woods around them, and away from the heroes behind him.
~~~
He only had thirteen memories of Before. He didn’t know it then, but he’d never get another one.
Slowly, Link climbed up the mountain on the plateau. The one which, for a small time, had the highest peak he’d ever known. Had the ghost of a man he grew to love, who he’d stand and watch the world with, sometimes.
Some part of him feels like it’s been carved out, every time he finds the old man’s fires cold and dead. The rotting cabin was no more welcoming than it was when a ghost lived in it, and yet, he couldn’t bear to visit it while it sat as empty as it always did.
The stone, marking Rhoam’s grave, stood at the top of the mountain. Link didn’t know it was a headstone before. Only knew the marks carved into it, on top of the weathered words too worn to read. Tally marks, some nearly as worn as the words and some fresh, and little messages. You’re stinky, met with you’re short. Petty insults written by people he didn’t know yet, and later learned were Purah and Robbie, paying as little respect as they could year after year.
The old man always looked at those marks with a strange expression. Something fond, something sad.
No footprints were left in the snow, but Link stood where they would have been anyway. Stared at the cold, stone grave left behind.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he whispered, the shape of the sounds awkward and stilted from how rarely he did it. “Why didn’t you tell me that this was your fault?”
No response came from the grave.
The snow glittered in the rising sun. The sky was a stark blue, with few clouds, and it made the coming breeze colder, biting into his legs and face, where the doublet didn’t cover. He had Rito clothing by then, but couldn’t bring himself to not wear one of the few things the old man gave him.
A bird flew through the air and landed on the grave. Link hissed, waving it away. Whether to keep it from tarnishing the stone further, or because such a grace shouldn’t have been offered to the long dead king, he didn’t know.
Its talons upset some snow, though. Knocked over a bit of moss to reveal the oldest tally yet-- a single circle, carved haphazardly into the rock, by someone who didn’t care to make it look good.
He knew that once the guardians began to settle and decay, that once it was safe to truly move, Purah began to visit every year on the anniversary of the Calamity’s rise. She’d told him herself-- starting on fifth year of his death, she would trek out to the Shrine and look it over. Make sure everything was going okay. She didn’t tell him about her detour to Rhoam’s grave, not until he’d asked about the markings on it.
Symin told him, later, in little more than a quiet whisper, that Purah would return dejected every time the Shrine proved to be sealed shut. That the few years she couldn’t go and coerced Robbie to go in her stead-- odd occasions that turned more frequent with age-- she wouldn’t sleep until she heard back about the state of the Shrine.
It was why she’d made that de-aging rune. She refused to die before she could see her job through.
The old king died.
Reaching out, Link brushed a hand over the old tallies. Rested it on the stone.
A grave, desecrated, but it looked so much like his own. Looked so much like the guardians at Blatchery Plain-- the guardians that, only four days ago, he learned had killed him. Few traveled within the swamp, feeling a grief they couldn’t explain, and the old man’s grave sat desecrated.
“...Where did you go?” he whispered.
The stone did not respond.
“Did you see me wake and decide your job was done?” Link stumbled forward a half step, grabbing the stone with both hands. “Have you moved on when it isn’t your time? Why won’t you watch a world you helped create?”
And again, the stone did not respond.
A flash of purple caught Link’s eye, and he looked up to stare at the Calamity. To stare at its churning, the center of which stood a girl he didn’t know. A girl he remembered, a girl he could grieve for and even now felt a need to fight for, and yet, a girl he didn’t know. A girl who didn’t know him.
How was he supposed to do this?
Stumbling, he landed on his knees. Felt the cold, frosted dirt dig into his skin, leeching his heat to feed its beating heart below. He wanted to drop his hands, to feel the snow, grass, and frozen mud below him, but he couldn’t. Some part of him couldn’t let go of the grave in his hands.
Old, crumbling stone. Covered in marks and tallies with no care for the man the stone stood for. A man who gave Link an apple and a jacket and showed him not how to fight, but how to live. A man who turned his back on his daughter when she needed the same.
Link had no grave. Yet what he had was cared for by a woman who couldn’t stop the flash of quiet devastation from crossing her face when he told her that he didn’t remember her.
“Why do you always leave?” he asked the stone, his whisper fading into nothing but air.
~~~
He’s loathe to admit but-- he’s curious.
He wants to say it’s the odd black-blood and red-blood discrepancy. He wants to say it’s to learn more about their quest and confirm if it really is true or not. But really... he just wants to know what their deal is. What eight heroes do together. If they even get along.
Which is how Link finds himself lounging in a tree while wearing his Sheikah clothing, quietly listening along to the heroes’ dinner conversation.
“Lolia below, I get it,” Legend hisses to Warriors, the two sitting on a log at the edge of their camp and near Link’s tree.
“Do you? ‘Cause you keep being dismissive of it.”
“Yes! I do!”
“Ledge--”
Legend throws his hands in the air. “Honestly, since you’re so knowledgeable, why don’t you deal with this bullshit next time?”
“You know what? Fine, I will!” Warriors folds his hands in a huff.
Link folds his hands behind his head. He’s not particularly upset about what Legend said to him earlier, but seeing that the man is the type to argue settles him somewhat.
“Hey, y’all done yet?” Four calls, walking up to them.
Link is... unnerved by Four and Wind. Whether due to Hylia picking children or due to those children being part of this group, he doesn’t know.
Some part of him wondered if he was the first to begin so young. He always thought of the Golden Age heroes as being old.
He’s not sure he’s glad to know the answer.
“Fuck off,” Legend snaps in reply.
“Love ya too.” Four jerks a thumb to where the others are seated closer to the fire. “We’re voting on who’s making dinner: Sky’s soup or Twi’s soup.”
Legend perks up. “Sky’s.”
“Hylia above, no.” Warriors waves his hands. “I love the man but we’ve had his soup three times this week. Twi’s, no question.”
“Sweet, we’re still at a perfect tie.” Four turns, cupping his hands to shout to the others-- “Hey, Sky, Twi! Arm wrestling time!”
“Oh, I’ve gotta see this,” Warriors laughs, getting up and following Four to the budding competition.
Link watches as Legend huffs, but remains seated on the log. Watches as Twilight and Sky negotiate extensively with Time before using his back as the table for arm wrestling, rather than the log immediately next to them. Sky’s quick loss is then met by a mixture of cheers and groans, Wind taking Sky’s place at the impromptu table.
They get along. Rather well, all things considered.
Something about that pulls Link’s bones down. Make him want to hide in the trees for an entirely different reason.
“Hey.”
Sky’s soft call nearly makes Link start, but his heart begins to calm down when he realizes it wasn’t meant for him. Rather, Sky’s taking a seat at the log next to Legend.
“Hey,” Legend grunts back.
“All good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
A lie, but Sky seems to catch it. “You sure? You were getting pretty riled up.”
“He just--” Legend waves a hand in the air, makes an annoyed, inconclusive sound. “Whatever.”
Sky digs in his pocket for something. Puts it in his lap to do something with it, though Link can’t see what it is. Some hobby, he thinks, as Sky’s movements are rhythmic and Legend doesn’t pay it much attention besides an initial glance.
“Reminds you of something,” Sky says. “Link did.”
Link-- what?
“It’s whatever.”
“It’s fine to feel conflicted.” Sky holds that something up to the dying light of sun-- a half-carved piece of wood. “You were the most recent to join before him-- you weren’t there for the inevitable crisis we all had when meeting a new hero. After a while it gets a bit silly, to be honest.”
Legend groans, dropping his head into his hands.
“Why are you being so reasonable?” he asks, voice partially muffled.
Sky just laughs. “Constitution or something? I have no idea.”
Another groan from Legend, and the two fall into silence.
It... shouldn’t be a surprise to Link that they didn’t meet all at once. But somehow, it is. Makes him look back at the group as a whole-- now cooking together, several chopping a random assortment of food while Twilight prepares a pot, and the rest beginning a card game-- and wonder how they met.
Wonder if there were any like him, who didn’t want to be here.
“I probably scared him off,” Legend says with a sigh.
“You were being pretty heavy-handed, yes,” Sky lightly replies.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“It’s just--” Legend digs his hands into his hair. “Fuck, I dunno.”
A lie. One that Sky doesn’t notice.
“You don’t need to figure it out right now, you know. Link wasn’t joining any faster for you not being there. Take your time.”
“...Thanks.” Legend sighs again, rubbing his face.
“Of course.”
Link quietly slips down from the tree, slipping away into the forest brush.
He wonders why he reminds Legend of something. Wonders what Legend didn’t say to Sky-- wonders why he didn’t say it.
~~~
Link sits next to his fire, turning over his pendant in his hands.
It was a gift, back when he first arrived in Hateno. Over two years ago, now. He’d met everyone in town for no reason other than curiosity, and the mayor’s wife took a particular liking to him. Showed him the cuccos and the small garden in her backyard and talked him through the process of making a creamy cucco soup. And before he left, she pressed the pendant in his hand. A stone carved into crude wings, like the ones on the backs of Hylia’s statues.
“For safety when traveling,” she said with a smile. “So Hylia can watch over you, even when you’re far from home.”
Sometimes, when he stares up at Hylia’s statues or holds Her pendant, he’ll ask Her a question. Sometimes, She’ll answer in the depths of his dreams.
And now, he’s asking Her why he’s here at all.
He wants Her eyes off him. He can’t bring himself to leave the pendant behind.
In the morning, when he wakes up with the wings in his hand, some part of him isn’t surprised that She didn’t answer.
~~~
Link starts a bit when he hears footsteps on the other side of the stream. Looks up to see Legend, carrying a load of waterskins.
“Uh,” Legend says. “Hi?”
He can’t really respond, not with his hands deep in the river and scrubbing off his kettle, but Link nods. Turns back to what he’s doing. A few moments later, Legend does the same, kneeling to begin filling the waterskins.
It’s... awkward. Link splashes water on his face and decides that he should’ve camped further away from the heroes.
He wonders what Legend didn’t tell Sky. What it is that Link reminds him of.
He doesn’t ask. Stands to leave.
“Wait.”
He should’ve camped further away.
Link stops, and waits.
Sighing, Legend rubs his face. Points into the woods. “There’s... the old man’s-- Time’s-- leading us through the Lost Woods to get to Hyrule Field. If you’re still not coming with us, don’t go there. Go north, over the mountains. It’ll take longer, but the mountains ain’t gonna try to kill ya.”
Link tilts his head. Walks closer to the creek so that Legend is close enough to read what he writes on the slate. ‘I am not one of you.’
“Fuckin’-- This should be Wars’-- Yes, you are. ” Legend caps a waterskin with possibly more force than necessary, holding up a hand to count. “Lemme guess: ya beat some crazy bitch. Ganondorf, Ganon, Vaati, whoever. Someone who was trying to be evil. Ya worked with a princess named Zelda. Ya found some kind of magical sword that helped ya. And now, somehow, you’re here, brought by the great bitch above herself to help us in our quest.”
Shaking his head, Link stumbles back.
“Doesn’t matter what the specifics are.” Legend jabs a hand in the air, pointing accusatorily at Link. “Just that you’re here because you’re one of our number.”
Again, Link shakes his head. Not a single one of Legend’s words crackle in the air, but-- he doesn’t care.
“The real question is why you don’t like it,” the hero hisses. “You don’t have to, but you gotta admit that it’s a bit weird for a hero to fight against their quest.”
‘Not-hero,’ Link snaps back.
“I don’t know what that says,” Legend deadpans.
Throwing his head back in a silent groan-- wondering why he’s here-- Link storms forward. Translates ‘I’m not a hero’ onto the slate and shoves it out for the other to read.
Legend hums; more of a grunt than anything. “And this?” He makes the gesture for lie.
Link bares his teeth in response.
“Right.” Legend rubs his forehead. “Pray tell why you don’t think you’re a hero? Given the whole, oh, I dunno, defeating great evil and being hand-selected by the goddess thing?”
Because he fucking-- Link’s words die on his hands, and he throws them in the air, turning and storming away to glare at a tree.
Because whoever the hero was died a long time ago. Because he doesn’t even believe that who he was Before was a hero, and not just a particularly good soldier. Because he was far from the only one to try helping, and could only do it by the grace of a magical fucking brick hanging at his hip. Because he--
Link turns, storming up to Legend. ‘Not your business,’ he snaps, translating the words on the slate.
“Oh, I can know what that means, but not this?” Legend asks, gesturing lie again.
In return, Link offers a rude gesture, and Legend laughs.
“You know, you’re the only one of those bastards who can properly hold your own in an argument. Too bad you’re being a stubborn bitch about this all.”
Link rolls his eyes. Does not deign to offer a response to that.
Legend snorts. “I’m still curious, you know, why you’re being so weird about this.”
‘Can you claim your own joining was so simple? ’ Link shoots back.
“Absolutely not.” Legend pins him with a glare-- one too calm, too steady to truly be angry. “I was a little bitch about Hylia dragging me through the mud for the seventh time. And you know what convinced me?”
When Legend pauses, waiting for a response, Link dramatically gestures for him to continue.
“I figured out people needed help. ” Legend storms forward, boots sinking in the mud of the creek as he jabs a thumb into his own chest. “And you know what I can’t do? Fuckin’ leave them hangin’.”
Link levels a stare at him. ‘And you wonder why She chose you for so many quests.’
It’s a low blow. Some part of him flinches back at using it because, in Legend’s place, he would do the same. And-- and fuck, he’s tired of being accused of not wanting to help. He’ll help; he simply refuses to let it be on Hylia’s terms.
Some part of him wishes that were true.
Legend stumbles back like he was struck.
“You know what?” he spits, jabbing a finger eastward-- “Go to the Lost Woods and die for all I care.”
Offering a lazy, mock salute, Link turns to the east. He has no real intent of going into these Lost Woods, because he’s not enough of an idiot to ignore Legend’s warnings from earlier, but he’s tired of this conversation.
“Wait!” Legend frantically calls when Link begins to march away.
‘You-care now?’ Link asks, light and mocking.
Though he doesn’t know what the gestures mean, Legend hisses. “Fuckin’-- I don’t need a translation for that. Answer is-- fuck you.”
Laughing, Link turns away again.
“Is it really Hylia?” Legend asks behind him.
Link stops. ‘What?’
“Is it Hylia?” Legend marches forward, feet crunching on the leaves. “You keep talking like it is. Like she’s the one dragging you on this. But that dark lizal we’ve been chasing has his own portals. How d’you know it ain’t him that dragged you here?”
‘Your point? ’ Link snaps back.
“Exactly what you think it is.” Legend points back into the forest, at where the heroes’ camp is. “Would you have this much issue being one of us if it wasn’t Hylia deciding it for you?”
Link hisses in reply. ‘Do you only care whether I join or not? ’
“I care about making sure you know why you’re not joining.” Legend opens his mouth to keep talking, but Link smiles grimly.
‘Lie,’ he says, not offering a translation.
Legend stumbles over his words. Opens and closes his mouth, narrows his eyes at Link.
It’s a chance to leave. The forest is broad and not a single thing keeps Link here.
But he can’t bring himself to pull his feet off the rock he’s perched on. Not when Legend pulls himself back, glaring and thinking. Not when a pounding, infuriating curiosity settles deep in his bones.
He... wants to see where this is going.
He wants to know why Legend was lying to Sky last night.
“...Lie.” Legend’s face settles into some strange, unreadable emotion. “That’s what that means.”
Link nods.
“Maybe you should-- ” Legend begins, half to himself, before catching up to his words and stopping, sighing. “Okay. Fine. Fine. Maybe I’m curious why you aren’t joining. But-- nobody knows how you got here. Not unless you remember the portal you came through. For all we fuckin’ know, Hylia didn’t have anything to do with this.”
It’s delicate. Walking around a truth that Legend doesn’t want to say. Nothing that Link can contest.
‘I-don’t remember,’ he says, translating.
“And if Hylia isn’t involved?”
‘She could bring me back.’ Link waves at the woods, in a direction he doesn’t bother paying attention to. ‘She has portals same as the dark lizal. She’s decided this is my problem.’
Legend laughs. “Has she? Or have you just decided to pin your anger on her?”
‘Is that such a problem? ’
“I dunno, is it?” Legend waves at Link. “Is she the one actually causing issues, or are you just blaming her for your shit?”
‘I’m not blaming her for my shit,’ Link replies. Realizes only after Legend read the words that they’re a lie.
...Shit. But he knows that Legend won’t be able to--
“Ya sure?” Legend crosses his arms. “Or did you figure out that you can lie if you just don’t talk? ”
‘I can’t talk,’ Link immediately snaps.
“Right, but you also sure like to only use those hand signs occasionally.”
Shit.
“Lie.” Legend marches forward, until the water of the creek hits his boots. “Lie in your writing. Prove you can’t.”
Link makes a rude gesture at him.
“So, what? She’s just your scapegoat? What’s the fuckin’ problem then? If it ain’t that there’s damn black-bloods running around to the point that they’re the only monster in your world, and if it ain’t Hylia, what is it?”
‘Not your business,’ Link says, but Legend ignores him.
“What, is it us? Afraid of fucking up in front of your past-and-future heroes? Is it the stupid red-blood? Is it that you killed what you think is the creator of your black-bloods and now you’re fucked up that there’s something new?”
Link freezes. The last sentence shouldn’t mean anything, but it hits him, strikes him at the core with a shard of ice.
Legend grins. “Gotcha.”
His feet unfreeze from the rock their on. The forest air snaps through Link, and he’s suddenly aware that the trees aren’t walls but corridors, all leading away from here.
He turns, and runs.
~~~
Zelda swung her feet through the water of the hot spring, watching the small currents and eddies that the movement made. Link, nearby, floated neck-deep in the water, lazily paddling in circles around the eggs they had cooking.
“It’s... strange.” Zelda tipped her head back, leaning on her hands as she stared up at Death Mountain. “To visit without... you know.”
Link stopped his paddling, leaning on a nearby rock.
‘Champions,’ he gestured when she looked at him.
Zelda sighed. Slipped down into the water, reached out to poke an egg.
“I just wonder... what now?” She waved at the mountain. “We’ve visited the old homes of the Champions. Re-established that I’m... well, alive. That life will actually continue this time. And now what?”
Link shrugged. He never really thought this far ahead, to be honest. Never saw a reason to think about a future when the now still had so much for him to figure out. ‘Impa?’
“Ugh.” Zelda scrunched her nose. “Impa is... well-meaning. But I just... what good is it to bring back the old kingdom? Wouldn’t they have already done it if they needed it?”
Scooping the eggs out of the water, Link set them carefully on the stone. Glanced sideways at Zelda.
‘That not-all.’
“No,” she sighed, floating next to Link as he pulled bread and butter out of the slate. “I just...” she waved at nothing. “What do you want to do? Now that this is all done?”
Link shrugged, buttering their slices of bread. ‘Explore. Meet people. Fight monsters.’ He still had quite a few requests he’d gathered from various people that he needed to fulfill, and now that the Calamity was gone, he had a real chance at being able to eliminate the monster population for good. Maybe one day he’d settle down at his house in Hateno, but for now, he saw no reason to stop traveling.
“I almost envy how simple your wishes are,” Zelda chuckled, cracking one of her eggs against the stone.
‘You not-simple?’ Link asked, bumping his shoulder against hers.
“I don’t know.” She stared at the bread in one of her hands and the egg in the other. “I suppose I just want this. To wake up somewhere new every day. To just go find the answer to any silly question I have. And to be lazy when I want to be.”
Grinning, Link bumped her shoulder again. ‘Then do that.’
Zelda sighed, a soft laugh rolling out, tinged with a bitterness that left a hollow tone behind. “If only I could be so simple.”
~~~
Link crouches at the top of the mountain, staring at the land that lies before him. Tries to map it out in his mind.
It’s nowhere he’s been before.
The realization is not entirely a surprise. It strikes him regardless, leaves him with his feet glued to the ground as he scrapes his eyes over the landscape, trying to figure out what-when-where he is.
There is a familiarity to the scene, one that pools unease in his gut. Death Mountain to his right, Hyrule Castle nestled at its base, and Hyrule Field sprawling before him. The field is enclosed within mountains and he can see the hints of a desert to his left and forest curling around the mountains behind him.
Hylia’s land. That’s where he is-- that much is obvious, even if it is shockingly smaller than his own. But his map remains empty and static-filled.
This is not the land that he knows.
Below him, the heroes trek across the field, headed for an unfamiliar house at its center. Their journey is interrupted when a shard of shadow... appears, for lack of a better term, and monsters begin pouring out of it.
Link watches the events through the eye in his slate. From this distance, it’s almost comical to watch. Almost means nothing.
At least they seem to be holding their own well enough. He would expect as much from a group of eight heroes. Each rallying with his own sword and charging into battle, each one making sure to carve out his own space to avoid accidentally injuring the others. The monsters aren’t particularly remarkable, just bokoblins and moblins familiar to Link, and the heroes have few issues.
Legend had thought that Link could have arrived through a portal such as this. Link only knows that he woke up on the forest floor, with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. But even without the existence of the dark lizal, Hylia is not stupid enough to randomly teleport monsters back and forth across time.
There’s a problem out there-- a problem ravaging your era, if you know what the black-bloods are. Why aren’t you concerned? Aren’t you gonna be a hero?
Legend, despite any qualms he may have had, insisted that he always would fight for those who needed it. Insisted that Link would not do the same.
Pinching his lips, Link lowers the slate and watches the fight without its aid.
A hinox stumbles out of the portal. He can’t hear the heroes, but they visibly recoil, regrouping. A few break off to handle the hinox together, the rest returning to the swarm.
He would fight if they needed him. He knows that much. They simply... don’t.
A lynel drops out of the portal. Silver-skinned.
Without regrouping, a few heroes break off from fighting the swarm to tackle the lynel. And as ridiculous as this fight is getting, Link remains where he is on the mountain. Watches, the slate dangling from his fingertips.
They don’t need his help.
A second lynel, silver-skinned, drops out of the portal. And, finally, the portal closes. But with a hinox, two lynels, and enough bokoblins and moblins to cause a nuisance, the heroes seem to be properly outnumbered.
I figured out people needed help. And you know what I can’t do? Fuckin’ leave them hangin’.
Standing, Link brushes off his pants. Mentally recites through a list of curses aimed at Legend before jumping off the mountainside, snapping out his paraglider to soar over to the heroes.
As expected, the battle is nothing short of a hot mess. Link knows that he has no idea how to really fight with anyone else nearby, but he also doesn’t need to. Instead, he aims for the second lynel, which has yet to be contested by any of the heroes.
The lynel spots him before he lands, turning away from the heroes and drawing its bow. Link, never having meant to reach the ground, drops his paraglider and dips into his focus. Lets time slow to a crawl around him.
Aims for the lynel’s chin.
Lands five arrows in its throat before his feet hit the ground.
Groaning, the thing falls to a knee. Its stupidly thick skin means that the arrows haven’t managed to even breach its throat, but Link ignores that. Sprints and vaults onto the lynel’s back, snatching a claymore from his slate to hack at the thing’s neck.
Roaring, the lynel shakes him off. Link lands in the dirt hard, grunting and barely rolling out of the way before hooves thunder into the ground behind him. Jumps to his feet only to immediately dive out of the way of a fireball-- damn lynels-- before the thing stops to breathe.
Someone shouts behind him-- “Link?!”-- but he doesn’t know the heroes well enough to know who it is. Runs as the lynel scrapes a hoof against the ground and raises its sword in preparation for a charge. He’s too slow to make it to his target before the lynel starts-- the ground shakes as it runs-- but only moments later, he reaches the rock he was aiming for.
Backflipping off the rock, Link takes the single moment he has to knock an arrow and let out his breath.
He’s at a completely shit angle. Halfway through a backflip, with the lynel racing away from him. But it’s looking at him, and if he aims perfectly, he can hit its stun point.
He aims. Releases the arrow.
The lynel stumbles, falls. Link runs, jumps on its back, and resumes his claymore hacking. Moments later, with a roar, he’s thrown off. The usual, really.
“Watch out!” someone shouts. Link freezes at the sound-- shit, are they nearby-- did he get too close--
A lynel hoof slams down on his arm.
Hot pain flashes through his bone, accompanied by a truly disgusting crunch! sound. Link writhes for a moment, body automatically flinching to cover his arm, before his brain catches up to realize that that was a stupid fucking move. He plants his good hand in the dirt and shoves, barely rolling out of the way of the next set of hooves, and still far too close for comfort.
Too many voices are shouting behind him, as though that wasn’t what got him fucking stomped, and Link growls, gritting his teeth and tuning them out. Stumbles to his feet and downs a healing elixir at the same time, throwing the bottle at the lynel’s head with extreme prejudice.
The bottle shatters on impact, a few glass shards digging into the lynel’s face and eye. Link momentarily celebrates the thought that he’s able to annoy the thing as much as it’s annoying him.
Thoroughly put out by what just happened, the lynel ducks its head for a charge. Link ignores the apparently-now-obligatory shouts behind him, standing his ground and flexing his newly healed hand. Glares down the lynel as it begins its race.
At the last moment, when it’s close enough he thinks he really will get skewered, he dodges out of the way.
Around him, time slows, settles.
Link knocks an arrow.
Aims.
Fires.
This time, the arrow rips through the weakened skin of the lynel’s throat. It roars, stumbling, and Link breaks into a truly graceless sprint. Launches himself on the thing’s back-- pulls out a sword-- shit, a broadsword, not a claymore!-- and stabs through the lynel’s throat, ripping to the side with all the strength he can muster. If he could speak, he’d probably shout. Instead, he just huffs aggressively.
It’s not quite a beheading, but it’s enough that the lynel finally collapses onto its side. Not quite dead yet, but far too injured to really do much other than bleed out.
And Link is, again, covered in blood.
He doesn’t get a chance to celebrate his victory. Instead, he finds himself knocked off his feet as the nearby hinox slams itself butt-first into the ground, a shockwave shuddering through the dirt below Link’s hands.
Great.
Lunging for the lynel’s bow, Link huffs a grunt as he manages to draw five arrows. Lynel bows are heavy, with a slow and sometimes insurmountable draw weight, but it just means that they’re powerful. And this hinox is, for some reason, only a blue-pelt. Far too weak to resist a silver-skinned lynel’s bow.
Link whistles, sharp and loud. It draws the attention of every remaining monster in the region, hinox included. And moments later, the lynel bow’s draw weight proves useful, as the five arrows rip clean through the hinox’s head.
With the hinox down, Link swivels his head, looking for the third lynel. The remaining bokoblins and moblins aren’t proving to be a problem, with most of the remaining heroes finishing off the last of them. As for the lynel--
A beam of light, brighter than the sun, hurtles through the air and splits the lynel in two.
Right. Hylia’s chosen heroes. Of course they can do shit like that.
“Link!” Hyrule races forward, delicately grabbing Link’s previously-injured arm. “Are you-- oh.”
He turns Link’s arm around, frowning when it proves to have intact bones. “Huh. That’s a pretty fast-acting potion you’ve got there. Do you have any other injuries?”
Link shrugs. Probably a few scrapes and bruises from how many times the lynel threw him off, probably a deep-seated ache in the healed arm that’ll set in tonight. Nothing really unusual.
“That was impressive!” Warriors laughs, picking his way over while cleaning his sword. “Mind if I see that bow?”
Link hands it over, turning to the now-steadily-disintegrating lynel remains. He’d like to harvest what he can while he’s here, up to and including the monster’s weapons.
“Oh, that’s--” Warriors’ face pales as he tries, and partially fails, to draw the bow. “Far heavier than I... anticipated.”
Twilight swipes the bow, successfully drawing it and sticking his tongue out at Warriors.
“Yeah, so the bastard who can decapitate a fuckin’ lynel can draw a heavy-ass bow.” Legend stalks forward, stepping around half-dissolved monster corpses. “What a surprise.”
“Ledge--” Warriors begins.
“What are you doing here.” Legend stops in front of Link, arms crossed.
For all of the bravado in Legend’s stance, the hero is calm, steady. Watches Link with a gaze that demands an answer, but not out of anger or distrust. More out of... curiosity, if Link had to give it a name.
“Sorry about him,” Hyrule awkwardly laughs, throwing an arm around Legend’s shoulder. “He’s a bit... intense.”
‘I’ve decided to join,’ Link says, making sure to aim his slate’s screen at Legend specifically.
Legend’s eyebrows raise. He says nothing.
“Well then.” Time pushes forward into the loose ring around Link. “Welcome to what we’ve been calling the chain, Link.”
The chain? Why would it-- oh, their names are all Link-- Hylia above, that’s awful.
A couple laughs roll through the group at whatever face Link must be making.
“Yeah, it’s... something else.” Time shrugs unapologetically. “With that being said, we’ll need to find a nickname for you, similar to our own. Whether that be your hero title or something else is up to you.”
Link tilts his head. ‘You are aware of your hero titles? ’
“It’s just what we’ve been called,” Sky says. “Though she’s mostly asleep, Fi-- the spirit of the master sword-- can recognize what those titles should be. And I can... translate, I guess, though it’s more of a feeling than anything else.”
An odd sort of curiosity settles on Link.
Frankly speaking, he’d rather avoid touching the sword. Could live happy if he never had to see it again. But he’s never been called a hero, not by any but the select few who knew a hero was supposed to exist. Most in Hylia’s land just know him as traveler, hunter, brother, horse guy, sledder boy... Link.
Does he even have a hero title?
Half out of impulse, he gestures for the sword. Accepts it from Sky. Raises his eyebrows as the pristine, near-flawless sword seems to age in his grip until it becomes the ancient, chipped blade that he knows. Most of the group around him step forward or back with a small gasp at the sight, but Link just tilts his head.
Interesting.
He hands the sword back to Sky, where it returns to its brighter, newer form.
“You must be from a distant age.” Sky smiles, holds out a hand. “It’s good to meet you, Hero of the Wild.”
Link takes Sky’s hand, tries to smile in reply. His hero title feels odd, feels strange, but he doesn’t let them know. Just follows as they turn to march further into Hyrule Field, rubbing at the burn beginning to layer itself over the others on his palm.