Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“No, no, no, no, no… oh sweet Hylia, no. No!” came the hushed, panicked voice of Wild whispering to himself. “Holy crap, holy crap this can’t be happening, something’s wrong, no, no, no, they’re–they’re gone, why can’t I hear…”

Warrior groaned, blinking open an eye. Around the darkened castle guest room, a few of the other heroes made similar muted sounds of displeasure, dragging pillows over their heads and curling into their blankets to escape his voice. No one moved.

Just that morning—night—evening—a few hours ago, whatever—they’d arrived via portal to Warrior’s era. And this portal had been a particularly unkind one. Just as they’d been settling down to sleep in Twilight’s treehouse in Ordon after a hard day of monster hunting, they’d found themselves blinking in the morning sun of Warrior’s era. Soldiers recognized him, swarmed them all excitedly, and just as soon as they’d extricated themselves from sleeping bags and blankets, they were marched, yawning, with an escort towards Castle Town.

Warrior’s Zelda, though familiar with portals herself, had been less than understanding of the heroes’ need for rest. She’d called them all to her throne room, and then declared before all that a celebratory ball would immediately be thrown to announce their arrival. Warrior had barely managed to negotiate her into pushing it back to that night just to allow the younger heroes to rest. He’d only just been able to negotiate himself into that number. He’d get the stack of paperwork they’d left for him on his desk that night, he promised. At the thought, he groaned again, dragging his pillow over his head.

“Warrior? Warrior?” That was Wild’s voice, right? It… something sounded like Wild there, to Warrior’s left in the corner of the borrowed room. But his accent was stranger than Warrior remembered, and his voice just a fraction higher. It sounded like he was attempting to do a rather bad imitation of Four’s usual tones. “S-something’s wrong with me. They’re—they’re all gone. I can’t hear them. Something’s—”

And that really woke Warrior up. Wild was no stranger to night terrors or panic attacks, and the rest of the Chain had learned to turn a blind eye when they arose and afford him his dignity. They’d all check up on him in their own way later, of course, but crowding a panicking hero was never a good idea—especially when that hero was Wild. Even approaching him too closely, especially after a night terror, could earn one a punch in the nose at best. Twilight was usually left to handle such things. 

That thought made Warrior pause—Twilight. Wild usually called for Twilight, in moments like these. Twilight was usually already up and at Wild’s side before he had to. Calling for Warrior after a nightmare, memory, whatever was going on was… strange. 

Warrior rubbed at an eye blearily, then threw his threadbare blanket off of his lap and pushed himself up to sitting. Phew, he didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch—that spot had gone to Wind, while most everyone else had taken the floor. Time alone had taken the bed, citing his “bad back after years of adventuring.” Warrior rolled his eyes at the thought. “Just hold on Wild,” he grumbled, “I’m coming.” 

Warrior swung his legs off the couch. The drop to the floor surprised him a bit—yeesh, he hadn’t remembered the couch being this high—but he regained his balance and shuffled his way over to Wild’s spot, tiptoeing around slumbering bodies. Warrior paused mid step and counted. One, two, three, four, five, six—there was Twilight, his mouth hanging open in a very un-Twilight manner as he snored—seven, himself eight, Wild nine. Everyone here. The latter hero had been curled up in the corner of the room on a nest-like bed of blankets and pillows the night before—now, he clutched them to his chest, looking around with wide, wild eyes.

Warrior slowly, carefully crouched down beside him. “Nightmare?” he asked as softly as he could manage. His voice, rough with sleep, went high and pitchy around the word. He cleared his throat to little effect. “Wild, look at me, you’re okay. I’m here, what do you need?” 

Wild’s eyes locked onto him. “Wind,” Wild croaked at Warrior, clearly trying to keep his voice as even as he could in his panic. It didn’t work—he still sounded like he was trying and failing to imitate a particularly frightened Four. “Wind, g-go get Warrior, please. I need him to get a medic.” 

Warrior wondered if Wild had, at last, experienced a real stroke. That was what Warrior had thought his “memories” were, the first time he caught sight of Wild frozen in the middle of battle, his eyes distant, his sword and shield held lax at his side. Warrior had sprinted across the field and only just, in the nick of time, managed to save him from the swing of a bokoblin’s club. Even once the battle was over, Wild had refused to respond to any words spoken to him, and he resisted any attempts to move him, too, almost as if his limbs were locked in place. When he’d awoken—the light had come back into his eyes a little, but not all the way, it wouldn’t for hours yet—he’d been confused, irritable, unsteady, and worst of all unable to sit and follow directions still despite Warrior’s numerous requests.

According to Warrior’s medical studies, they were classic signs of something gone wrong in his brain. A concussion, some sort of poisoning, a stroke. Something that could be dangerous, to Wild himself and to the others, if it happened again. Twilight assured him otherwise, and Wild had, too, once he came back to himself. They were nothing more than "memories of his past life," Wild called them, ones that he just had to sit through and watch until they were over. Wild promised they were rare, and that it was rarer still for them to hit him in battle. Twilight promised that he’d keep a close eye out for them, and protect Wild if they did occur again. Warrior had relented at the time—they were fellow heroes, and he was never one to doubt another’s abilities—but he had never been entirely secure in the knowledge that it was just “a funk” Wild would eventually snap out of. Now, those worries again arose.

“I’m right here, Wild,” Warrior repeated more firmly. “Wind’s still asleep, he’s fine. Everyone’s safe. We still have a few more hours before the ball. Why do you think you need a medic?” 

Still, Warrior’s throat wouldn’t clear—it was stuck in a high, boyish register that he was sure the rest would make fun of him for, especially during their planned audience with his Queen and all her noble subjects that would surely be in attendance. Maybe he’d done too much yelling and strained his voice while clearing out that monster camp in Twilight’s era yesterday. Warrior shook his head, then focused on what was important—Wild, who was currently growing more and more distressed rather than less. 

“Because… because they’re… they’re all gone.” Wild’s breathing was harsh and panicked, and his chest visibly rose and fell in the darkness. He brushed his hands back through his hair harshly, and that seemed to distress him more, too, as he jerked them away from his own head like he’d accidentally touched a spider. His eyes fell away from Warrior’s and down to his own Champion blue shirt. 

Warrior bit his lip, thinking. He was pale and sweaty, but not in a way that suggested poisoning, and Warrior didn’t see any visible injuries on him. “Wild, you need to breathe,” Warrior reminded him. “Look at me. Tell me who is gone.”

Wild’s head jerked up again. His mouth twisted in a very un-Wild-like way. “Stop talking to me like that,” he snapped, “and stop calling me—! Calling me…” 

Wild’s panicked behavior stuttered, flipped on a dime, and faded at once into an eerie, pondering calm. The hair on the back of Warrior’s neck rose as Wild tilted his head one way, then the other, his gaze never leaving Warrior’s own. 

“Wind?” Wild asked at last, like he was looking for a confirmation of what he already knew. His expression turned shrewd and calculated. It occurred to Warrior, then, that the look on his face looked just like the one Four wore when he was faced with a difficult problem he was determined to solve. The similarity unnerved him deeply

This is weird. Hylia, what had happened to Wild, that he was imitating Four? Warrior scrambled for an answer in his head. Had something happened between the two of them yesterday? Was this something to do with Wild’s memory gaps? Was he mistaken, and it was a poisoning that might be causing him to hallucinate? Something? 

“No, I am Warrior, ” Warrior repeated for him again, growing more and more concerned. Wild’s memories and night terrors were normal, all things considered. The heroes were used to them, at least. This episode, Warrior was sure now, definitely did not fit one of those categories. Warrior wondered if it was time to wake someone else up to help him to deal with this. Maybe someone to run and grab that medic, like Wild requested. “You have to tell me what is wrong, if I’m going to help you. Are you feeling okay? Should I grab Twilight for you?” 

“Why would you grab—? You’re the—” Wild looked down at himself again. His hands—one scarred, with crooked, angled fingers—caught in his Champion’s tunic, and the last bit of color drained from his already-pale face. “Oh Hylia, I’m Wild,” he whispered to himself.

“Uh…” Warrior stammered. “Who else would you be?”

“Four, I’m Four,” Wild said softly, still in almost-Four’s voice. Wild—Four—looked up at Warrior. And then Warrior noticed, with a certainty that struck him to his soul, Wild was definitely not the one behind his familiar blue eyes. “And… and who are you?”

“Warrior,” he repeated for the fourth time. But this time, he wasn’t so sure. Warrior looked down at himself, and he was surprised to find himself in Wind’s blue lobster tunic and belted orange pants. He reached up, and found hair too curly. He pulled his hands away from his head, and found them too small.

“No, you’re Wind,” Wild—no, Four, Four from Wild’s mouth—confirmed. Warrior gaped wordlessly down at his own hands, his ears ringing. Before he could force a rational thought into his mind, Wild’s lungs had already visibly filled themselves with air, and then Four shouted into the dark, slumbering room: 

“Everybody up, we've been cursed!”

Chapter Text

The following pandemonium was more than expected, in Warrior’s opinion. 

The heroes awoke with a start at Four’s shout. They tumbled out of their beds, demanding to know what was going on, whether they were being attacked, if someone was hurt. And when they noticed, one by one, that they were dressed in clothes that weren’t theirs, looking at themselves across the room, very, very strange things began to happen. Some of them—Legend, Time—descended into uncharacteristic panic. Others—Sky, Twilight—burst forth into anger. Whoever was in Four’s body sank to the floor in what seemed to be a meditative state, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands planted firmly over his ears.

And whoever was inside of Warrior began running his hands through his hair frantically, turning his already messy bed head into a true rat’s nest. Warrior—the true Warrior—frowned in displeasure. That would be a pain to brush back into shape before the ball tonight.

Hylia, Warrior thought to himself faintly. The ball!

Hyrule jumped up onto the guest bedroom’s bed. He raised his hands to his mouth—just like Time did, when he wanted the group’s attention—and out came a very silly raspberry that Warrior doubted any of them heard over the ruckus. He repositioned his fingers and tried again. This time, he managed a small, shrill whistle. 

“Everyone quiet!” Hyrule—Time, it had to be Time in there, Warrior thought—barked. “Is everyone affected by this—” Hyrule pinched at the bridge of his nose—yup, no doubt about it, that was Time through and through—and waved a hand aimlessly “—this curse?”

Shouting erupted once more. With it came more panic, more accusations. Time clapped loudly, and everyone went silent.

Wincing and shaking out his hands, Time called out from Hyrule’s lips: “Sounds like it. Alright, sound off, right now. Call out your name—your own name—and who you’ve swapped with. I’m Time, but I look like—” he glanced down at himself “—Hyrule.”

“Twilight, here!” called Sky, in Twilight’s rough southern drawl. It sounded ridiculous coming out of sweet Sky’s mouth. “Lookin’ like I’m Sky.”

“Oh good golly. Sweet Hylia above,” murmured Legend, gazing at him in clear dismay. Warrior found it hard to hold back a laugh—Legend usually had the dirtiest mouth of them all. “I—I have tests coming up. Twi… you… do you know how to do calculus?”

“What in tarnation is that?” Twilight returned, Sky’s normally soft brow furrowed. “Is that like some—fuckin’, I dunno—bird thing?"

Sky—because that had to be Sky—buried his face into Legend’s bejeweled hands with what sounded suspiciously like a sob.

“Sky, we haven’t been in your era in months, I think a math test is the least of your worries,” Hyrule— Time, in there— grumbled. “C’mon, keep going, let’s get everyone.”

“Wind over here!” called Time’s actual voice. The old man was bouncing on his feet, the grin plastered to his face so wide that it made his nose scrunch up. Most startlingly, both of his eyes were open, and the scarred left one was a shocking milky white, but there. Warrior had assumed it was lost to whatever had left the ugly scar down Time’s cheek. “Oh Hylia, guys listen , my voice is so low.” Wind began to sing the word over and over again in alternating tones. “Low. Low. Low. Low. Looooooow—”  

“Quit that, Tim—Wind, whoever, you’re making my head hurt. Legend, down here,” Four mumbled. He had settled into a cross-legged position on the carpet, his hands still held up by his ears. A dry chuckle left his lips. “I see you’ve been holding some things out on us, Four.”

“I’m here, I’m right here.” Wild— the real Four, actually— flew to his side. He hovered and wrung his hands, fidgeting as if he were afraid he was about to watch himself fall to a million pieces before him. “Are you okay? Can you hear them? Are they—?”

“They’re mine, not yours. Yours went with you, I bet,” Legend answered from Four’s mouth. He breathed in a huge gulp of air, then blew it out long and slow. “Just have to… sync up… one moment, I’m out of practice…” 

“You’re—?” Four gaped at him. Wild’s scars pulled to one side at the movement. “You’re… okay? You’re not… freaking out? They’re not—”

“Yes, I’ve experienced this before, on one of my adventures.” Legend’s all too recognizable self satisfied smirk graced Four’s features, though his eyes remained closed. “This what your magic sword for?” he asked. Then he, before Four could begin to answer, shook his head as if negating something that someone had said to him. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. Your secret. I’ll be okay… just… give me a moment.” 

“We can exchange info later, let’s just figure out who everyone is right now.” Hyrule’s soft voice was laced with Time’s characteristic impatience. “Who’s left?”

“Hyrule,” called Twilight timidly. He hunched with his newfound height. “Hyrule over here. I'm...I'm Twilight.”

“Warrior, right here!” Warrior himself called, raising Wind's his too-small hand. His voice was still too high. He was coming to terms that it would continue to stay that way until they figured out whatever had done this to them and fixed it. “I’m Wind, right now.”

Warrior’s own body stared at him from across the room, wide eyed. Oh yeah, that was where he’d fallen asleep, in the armchair next to the bed. He’d expected a crick in his neck. At least his neck wasn’t his to worry about anymore. “No way... you and me switched, Captain!” he laughed, and it was disconcerting for Warrior to hear such a familiar sound come from a mouth other than his own—but it was, in fact, his own. “Wild here!”

And that was everyone accounted for. Four was Wild. Wind was Time. Time was Hyrule. Hyrule was Twilight. Twilight was Sky. Sky was Legend. Legend was Four. 

Warrior was Wind.

And Wild… Wild was Warrior.

And they all had a royal ball, in less than a couple of hours now. 

One that they were all expected to attend.

The same thought seemed to strike all of the heroes at the same time. All eyes turned to Warrior expectantly. A few yawned—they really should have gotten more sleep, before the ball. But that was water under the bridge, now.

“Your world, Warrior,” said Time from Hyrule’s mouth at last. “What’s the plan?” 

Warrior’s eyes blinked rapidly, then Wild raised his hands and backed up. “Woah, woah, I'm Wild in here, remember? I have no clue about anything.” 

Warrior—the real Warrior—cleared his throat primly. It still sounded high and boyish from Wind’s vocal chords. And when all the heroes looked down at him, he resisted the urge to shudder. This is going to be a long, long day, he thought to himself faintly. 

“Okay,” he said. “First thing’s first—we’re still going to the royal reception. And in the meantime, we tell not a single soul about this.”

Chapter Text

Warrior’s reasoning to hide the curse made sense at the time, he thought. Whoever had done this, they’d done it to put the heroes onto their backfoot. Maybe it was to cancel the ball and disrupt Zelda’s schedule, to drive her into the grasp of some nefarious plot in the wake of the lowered security a cancellation of plans could cause. Maybe it was to change their location—maybe to the medical wing like Four had originally requested, maybe somewhere else that would have revealed itself in time—so that they could be ambushed by assassins or monsters. Maybe it was to cause a big enough scene that they could access some other part of the castle undetected.

It had to be some plot, it had to be. So if, instead, the heroes pretended that nothing was wrong, nothing would, in fact, be wrong. At least for tonight.

That was Warrior’s train of thought. Logical, thought out, reasonable. A few of the others had protested and complained, insisting they'd be caught, but eventually all of them relented. They’d go to the ball as one another, and, outside of a few key players, they just had to play themselves in another’s body. It wasn’t like anyone knew them, anyways—so Legend could be Four, and Four could be Wild, and so on and so on. They were Heroes of Courage --- they'd managed much worse. 

They were rather fortunate in their switches, too. Warrior was Wind, which meant he could recite the history of the war if needed: something that might be expected of him, if he ran into generals that knew him during the War of Eras. Wild was Warrior, which meant he theoretically knew how to behave as a distinguished knight in polite company, even holding his own at the side of a princess. A queen wasn’t that much of a change, for him. Time posed the most issue, given that there was no way Wind could begin to imitate his calm, demanding persona as their leader; but it had been decades since anyone had seen him, and a severe change in personality wasn’t that far off with so much time in between. And young Wind behaved quite like young Time, when it came down to it; he might be even more believable than Time would have been. Everything would be fine as long as those three key players did their part, and the rest just kept up the ruse.

But now, standing at a mirror and staring into Wind’s young, frowning face while attendants dressed him for a ball? Warrior was not so sure of his reasoning anymore. The fancy vest—made just for Wind’s small frame—was fitted so tightly he felt that he couldn’t take a full breath. The cuffs of his sleeves cinched far too tight around his wrists; his toes pinched in his thick-soled, borrowed boots. The attendants around him roughly combed his hair with harsh, snagging brushes, slicking down every curl flat onto his head, and his scalp stung and itched with fragrant product. A particularly sharp throb radiated from his hairline—a caught hair—and he reached up to unsnag—

A firm hand caught his wrist and, not very gently, forced his arm back down to his side. “Ach! No touching,” the attendant scolded him. “You know you shouldn’t mess up your hair before we’re even done, you ought to have been raised better than that.”

Warrior whipped around to glare at them. Excuse me? He opened his mouth to fire back, but then another attendant flicked him on the ear, hard . 

“Face forwards,” they snapped at him. It wasn’t even a mean snap, per se, just harsh and thin on patience, like Warrior had done something wrong over and over. It made Warrior feel even smaller than he already was, in Wind’s body. “We’re not done. You can sit still 15 minutes longer.”

“I was just—” Warrior rallied in an attempt to defend himself, his hand cradling his ear. He was still unused to how small and childish his voice sounded. Still, he reached for some sort of diplomacy; swiping his hands down his vest, he said, “You know what, enough. Thank you ladies, but I can take this on my own from here—”

His protests were duly ignored. They bodily turned him to face forwards, and outside of pitching an unholy fit that he wasn't quite willing to commit to, there was nothing he could do but let them. They pulled his hand down from his ear again harshly. 

“Stand still! And close your eyes,” one scolded. They leaned in close and aggressively with a brush loaded with some sort of powder. In that moment, he could either close his eyes and let them put it on him, or he could have Wind's eye poked out. Wind surely didn't want that, so he chose the former, scrunching his nose at the tickling feeling.

“You are going to be in the presence of the Queen,” the other sneered down at him, “I hope we needn’t remind you that you can’t behave like a ruffian before her.” 

Warrior, grumbled to himself, gave into their poking and prodding. Wind and Time—Mask, at the time, had always complained and complained how they were treated like children, during the War of Eras. Warrior wasn’t of noble blood, so as a child he hadn’t been forced to sit through the pomp and bore of being dressed like he were nothing more than a fidgety, over-opinionated doll; now, he was beginning to see what they meant.

But finally, the attendants made their finishing touches, and he was allowed to hop down from his stool before the mirror. He would have thanked them, if he were his normal size, for their help—because in his own body, they didn’t pinch and prod and pull him like a misbehaving child. As it was, he found their scoffs very satisfying as he put his nose in the air and, not speaking another word in their direction, marched out of the dressing room. He made his way to his—Wild’s, now—dressing room.

Inside, Wild was alone, gazing into Warrior’s face in the little circular mirror before him with apprehension. He raised his hand carefully to his own left—unscarred—cheek, as if doubting what he saw. He didn’t seem to notice Warrior standing in the door.

So, Warrior carefully cleared his throat. Wild jerked his head up and blushed—Hylia, Warrior hoped that his blush wasn’t always that bright red, or he’d have to start wearing something under his regular makeup for the sake of diplomacy—and put the mirror down quickly. 

“How you feeling?” Warrior asked. “You know what to do?”

They’d been over it twice already; he’d introduce their party to the Queen, make rounds shaking some hands—the owners of which Warrior likely wouldn’t even know himself, so he just had to be polite and nod his head—and then fade into the background as best as he could, in the hopes that the attention the other heroes garnered allowed him to fade into obscurity. 

“I…” Wild slid the mirror back into the cabinet beneath the boudoir. “Yeah,” he said softly, almost wistfully, “as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. I don’t have a lot of practice at these things.”

Warrior noted that he looked sharp, in his Captain uniform, almost regal. Warrior’s royal blue scarf was fastened snugly around his shoulders, and his hair sat a perfect mix of straightened and carefully wind tossed—his stylists must have visited him earlier. He was noble enough for the diplomats, approachable enough for the common folk, young enough to be the future of the nation, old enough to have begun to garner respect in the eyes of his peers.

His make-up was a little crooked, though. He’d gotten Warrior’s eye-shadow right, if a little lighter than he preferred, but the eyeliner was uneven and thin. His own attendants must have left Wild to do it himself. And though he’d done well, for his first attempt at such a thing—he just didn’t have the muscle memory to make it look as polished as the Queen’s company required.

“Your make-up is wrong,” Warrior declared. “I’m going to fix it, hold on.”

“Oh…” Wild cringed in on himself in a very un-Warrior-like way, hunching his shoulders. He rubbed the back of his hand over an eye, smudging his make-up further. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it myself, guess…” 

“No, no, don’t apologize, you did great, it just needs a touch up. Stop touching your face,” Warrior said briskly. He found a stool—Hylia, he hated needing these stools, Wind wasn’t a baby so why did he feel like he was so close to the floor—and dragged it over to where Wild sat before the mirror. On top of the vanity, he found his own customary tubs and brushes of color. “You said you haven’t done this a lot before? I thought your Zelda was princess again.”

“Oh, she is! Queen now, too. I guess I just…” Wild wistfully leaned his face onto one hand. Warrior for a moment found it strange to hear his own voice talking back to him, to be dressing up his own face stuck onto another only a few feet away. He pushed the feeling down—the time to freak out about the absurdity of this situation was later, not now. “Things aren’t the same, like it was before the Calamity. What if I mess up now? I don’t want to get everyone in trouble because I couldn’t play my part.”

“You won’t.” His make-up was fixed with a face wipe and few confident strokes of color. Warrior leaned back, satisfied. “I believe in you. You’ve done this before, even if you don’t remember it, and whatever else you don’t know I believe you can make up on the spot. And remember, I’ll be at your side the whole time. We’ve got this.”

Warrior stepped back. Then, because he forgot he was standing on a stool to get to this current height, he nearly fell off the back of it. He caught himself on the vanity and leaned into it casually, pretending he’d meant to do that the whole time. By the way Wild was snickering at him—oh wow, Legend was right, Warrior did sound like a pompous prick when he did that—it didn’t quite work. 

“Alright, alright, shut it,” Warrior groused, waving him away. Then he repeated the question he’d asked Wild at the beginning: “You ready now? You know what to do?”

This time, Wild nodded and flashed a smile--not quite as wide or as confident as Warrior's normal one, but it would do. He joined him in walking out the door, towards where the others waited in the hall. They milled nervously, picking at each others hair and clothes as they got a look at themselves from another angle. When they saw Wild and Warrior approaching, they straightened.

“What took you so long!” Wild—that was most definitely Four in there, he was even clutching at his long hair in the way that Wild always did—fretted. “We’ve been waiting forever, the guards have been saying—”

“Everybody breathe,” Hyrule’s voice commanded in the way Time always did. It didn’t have quite the same effect on the group as before, but they still quieted. “Everyone’s here, and we’re already. Wa—Wild, I mean. Wild, lead the way.” 

Wild visibly swallowed. But Warrior gave him a thumbs up, and he seemed to muster up the courage to push open the doors to the ballroom. 

–o–

It was surprising how well it all began, Warrior thought. 

They were announced like they should have been. At the Queen’s behest, they bowed like they should have. Wild’s voice barely shook as he, playing as Warrior, announced the rest of the heroes—and that was the greatest marvel, Warrior thought, that he had managed to memorize who was who in the short hour they had before they were presented—as who they’d been swapped with. Sweet, gentle Sky was “The Hero of Twilight,” scarred Wild was “The Hero of the Four Sword,” short Four was “The Hero of Legend,” and so on and so on. To further sell the ruse, they’d even swapped items, where they could—Four’s earrings dangled from Wild’s ears, Twilight’s wolf pelt hung over Sky’s shoulders, Legend’s rings adorned Four’s fingers.

The only exceptions, of course, were himself, Wild, and Wind, because the people knew their faces. But that went surprisingly smoothly, too. “Mask” was beset by generals reminiscing about working with him in the war, and catching up on how his life had turned out—details of which, as far as Warrior could tell, Wind was pulling directly out of his own ass. Wild’s silent withdrawal was accepted as one of Warrior’s usual quirks and, aside from a couple judgmental glances and awkward, forced conversations from nobles looking for a political edge, he was allowed to rejoin the rest of the heroes. Warrior, as Wind, was ignored as a child with no political power. He was a bit surprised by this, but considered it an unexpected perk—he was able to dip through the crowd without interference, keeping an eye on the others.

They were doing well, too. Legend—in Four’s body—was beset by historians asking about how it was that he managed so many adventures. Twilight—Sky—was swamped by the nobility, who talked his ear off about how they were related, by this relative or another, to the royal family. Wild was called by the Queen for the first dance for the night, and Warrior was glad to find that he didn’t miss a single step. Maybe the dances of his own era were similar. Warrior found himself relaxing with a few of the other heroes by the dessert table. He would have never been allowed to eat this many sweets as himself, but as Wind, it was more than expected.

It was surprising how fast it went wrong.

“This man is an imposter!” His Queen’s voice declared. The ballroom went dead silent at the shing of a sword being drawn. Warrior struggled to find a break in the crowd to see them up on the dais above the crowd. “I knew it, I knew it from the beginning. You’ve taken his visage, but you can’t fool me, imposter. Where is my Hero of Courage?”

The tip of her rapier hovered mere centimeters from Wild’s throat. From Warrior’s throat. Wild swallowed nervously, and he raised his hands to either side to show that he wasn’t a threat. He frantically sought Warrior’s—Wind’s—eyes in the crowd. 

But of course, he couldn’t find him, because Warrior was too Hylia damned short to see in the press of people. So, in a stroke of genius, he threw Warrior’s scarf in the queen’s face. “RUN!” he screamed to the others as he jumped off the dais and into the now-panicking rabble.

Four—in Wild’s body—shot away from Warrior’s side and off into the crowd after him. He seemed to underestimate his height, though, because he tried to duck under the arm of a servant carrying a plate stacked high with champagne glasses, and instead hit it with his forehead at full force. It all came crashing down with a brilliant crashing of glass; Four slipped in the alcohol, but managed to scramble back up and keep running. Beside him, Wind, as Time, downed another flute of alcohol himself. He must have exhausted himself of telling the party-goers that Time’s third wife’s name was Bartholamewa, and gone for the alcohol instead. The face Wind made to himself was twisted and ghastly, but the unpleasant taste didn't seem deter him; before Warrior’s eyes, he was already reaching for another.

“Alright, I’m cutting you off!” Warrior declared. He seized his hand in his own—his hands were too small, Hylia he hoped they would switch back soon—and dragged him in the direction that Wild and Four had disappeared off to. The guards moved, futilely, to intercept them through the panicking crowd. Warrior would have notes for them later, on their technique; at least a few tips so they weren't trampled. 

The heroes, somehow, made it out into the hallway, and they slammed the door behind them and pressed their backs against it. Either side of the hallway was blessedly guard free at the moment, but that could change at any second. The heroes panicked. Warrior was internally facepalming—this was a stupid plan, he should have gone to Zelda immediately and told her what had happened, now he’d never be able to convince her of the truth—

“She found me out!” Wild cried above the rest of the heroes’ panicked chatter. His hands were running through Warrior’s perfectly styled hair, ruining it beyond saving. “I don’t know what I did wrong! I don’t—”

“Wild, breathe, everyone, breathe, ” Warrior commanded. It came out high and squeaky and ineffectual in Wind’s voice. Behind them, the door shuddered under the force of the soldiers’ blows. At either side of the hallway, running footsteps sounded and angry voices called. “We’ll figure something out, we can still explain…” 

A pressure shift in the air raised the hair on their arms. They all went silent, their eyes wide: each of them knew intimately what was coming, with that shift. Some of them protested to the sky; a few reached out for each other's hands and braced themselves. Legend cursed about leaving some of his rings back in their room. 

But there was no stopping it. In an instant, a portal opened beneath their feet, and they all fell through.