Chapter Text
The gentle pattering of raindrops on a dark and sleeping Hyrule drifted through the open shutters of Telma's Bar, bringing along with it the serenade of damn-near every frog and toad between the Regencia and Hylia Rivers. If Telma listened real hard, she might catch the inquisitive call of a hoot owl below the choir of amphibians, hiding somewhere out there in the oaks.
She didn't mind the frogs all that much, really, loud as the little bastards were. They drowned out the occasional cough or drunken babbling from the poor sod who'd barely made it to the dirt out back before taking a very abrupt nap. He'd been the last of her customers this evening, and had not taken too kindly to being cut off and sent away. The simple act of placing her revolver on the countertop, chambers alight with the tell-tale blue glow of bullets, was enough to convince him to take his leave.
Most didn't know Telma kept the old thing for show more than anything else. She'd only fired it twice in her life, and never at another person - just her own ceiling, and only to make a point to a downright rowdy bunch that'd overstayed their welcome. Her tavern was at the southern edge of New Castle City, but still benefitted well from the presence of the city guard. A few rupees slipped between silent hands guaranteed that the forty-eight year old bar maid would never have to lower herself to rough-housing with an unpleasant guest.
A new sound cut through the peace of the night, one that made Telma spin on her heels and reach for that old revolver once more. She kept it for show, and show it often, she did. The front doors swung open, hinges squealing. Telma and her gun stared down the unexpected guest.
"Shouldn't point that unless you intend to fire it," the visitor's low, gravelly voice came with a humorless chuckle, punctuated by his steel-toed boots scuffing against the wooden floor. Telma's arm dropped in sync with her slow exhale, though her racing heart was far less eager to settle.
He was quite the imposing figure in her door, not so much by height but by more by presence alone. His clothes covered much of his features and were sewn of dark cloth, meant to blend in with the shadows of the night. The man preferred long-tailed overcoats that not only allowed him anonymity in silhouette, but hid well his side-arms from those who might seek to disarm him first. Just about the only thing the clothes didn't hide - couldn't hide - were those piercing blue eyes that carried the weight of a thousand sins and twice as many sorrows.
Sins and sorrows aside, Telma felt the least he could have done was enter a bit quieter, if he was going to be coming in so long after last call. The man did, at least, have the manners to shed his dripping wet coat and hat and hang them on the nearby rack before trudging mud, grass, and horse shit all over her fresh-swept floors.
"One of these days, I just might fire it at you, if you can't figure out how to open a door like a civilized gentleman," Telma scoffed, returning to drying the last of her dishes with a colorful curse. "Din's nails! Four years of life on the road and you've already forgotten how to behave!"
"Never was much of a gentlemanly type," the man mumbled, grabbing a bar stool from the stack by the wall and hauling it over to the counter. "Malon had manners enough for the both of us," he added in a whisper after taking his seat.
Telma shook her head, not that the drifter noticed her reaction. His gaze was already on a locket cradled in his hands, his mind lost in memories. She turned to the shelf of spirits along the back and reached for a bottle of whiskey that was nearing its end, anyways. It had more than enough for a glass, at least.
"Things going about as well as always?" Telma ventured cautiously while she sat the drink in front of him.
The man grunted in response, returning his precious keepsake to his pocket and taking a long swig. He drank near half the glass before stopping to breathe.
"I see," Telma mumbled. She brandished the rag tucked into her belt and stepped to the other side of the counter. She moved slowly, playing the part of the tired barkeep just looking to close up already. Each swipe of the rag was calculated, each step carefully chosen. This song and dance was becoming quite familiar.
Rarely did this poor widower jump into speaking his mind, she'd come to know. He was something of a regular, though he wasn't from the city. He'd wander in whenever it was convenient for him, and he would speak when he deemed it convenient. He might have once been quite a sociable man, Telma thought. He certainly seemed to crave connection, reluctant as he was to actually seek it out. The few times he'd shown her any sort of personality, though, she might have almost been fooled into finding him charming.
Such a shame, what this era of lawlessness was doing to them all.
"Feels like I'm chasin' my own tail, most days," he finally mumbled, still slouched over the bar. He'd spoken earlier than she expected; Telma had only made it about halfway down the counter before he took his breath to speak! Either she was getting shoddy - unlikely - or the years of an unsatisfied lust for revenge were finally wearing down this gunslinger's hardened heart.
"Every time I think I'm gettin' close, it… it all falls apart, whether by act of gods or man." He spoke slowly, as if still fighting himself for the information. Telma kept wiping on, her eyes on her work and not on the man, giving him his time. "Word was a gang matching what I'm looking for had taken hold of Maritta, that little settlement at the edge of Tanagar Canyon. Called themselves the Red Lynels, supposedly working under the Boars and made up of former members. From what all I heard, it was certain that red-eyed man was spotted with them. Most promising lead I've had in months."
The disgruntled man slammed his fist upon the countertop, voice rising as he continued. "Barely got into the damn Salari Plains before a freak windstorm kicked up! Cyclone threw all kinds of timber and shit around the roads, added days to my trip and cost me another horse. By the time Maritta was in sight, it was all gone. Burnt to ash, just like the rest! Not a soul in sight!" He threw up his hands in exasperation.
"I understand you are going through a hell of a time, but I will remind you that I have tenants next door," Telma frowned. "At least try to keep it down. And don't hit my counter! You're liable to splinter the old thing."
The man glared daggers at her, but his hands slowly dropped to his lap. "Another little settlement, just like all the rest. Sprung up twenty years ago, left unguarded, wiped out in a blink. They're getting bigger, Telma, these towns that they're targeting. And there ain't nobody left who can do a damn thing about it!"
"You and I both know that ain't true," she chided. "The Crown is doing all it can to put defensive arms in the hands of good people while recruiting all willing and able into the guard. There's only so many people in the world fit for protecting folk, you know."
"Yeah, and most of 'em seem to favor life outside the law," the man spat and drained the last of his drink. He reached into his pocket and threw a few greens on the counter.
Telma eyed them with suspicion. "Do I want to know how you got these?"
"Got lucky with a good deer hide sold to the right vendor out in New Serenne," he replied with a dismissive wave. "Even if I did take 'em off some bandit, what does it matter? They're out there robbing good, innocent folk day-in and day-out. Least I have the decency to stick to robbing thieves and murderers."
Telma decided not to bring up the confessions he'd made during his last visit, when he'd drank himself into a stupor in the wee hours of the morning. It'd been the anniversary of his wife's death, and with it came the reminder of the rampage he went on for those first few months after it all went down. All that guilt piled on top of the tragedy had to be one hell of a weight to carry.
Imposing as the man was, Telma had a soft spot for him from the moment he'd staggered into her bar four years ago. Fresh out of the hospital and, arguably, in little shape to be wandering about the city, he'd stormed in looking for any information he could find about the destruction of Lon Lon Stables, hunting those responsible. Even in his anger, he'd treated her with respect. Not just the shell of respect most Hylians had for the Gerudo - real respect.
She didn't consider herself in much a believer of the supernatural or divine, but there was something about this traveler that drew her in that went beyond mundane explanation. Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze, which burned with anger and pain, yet still betrayed the loving heart that bled within him. Perhaps it was that modicum of decency afforded to a woman who was used to receiving anything but, despite her success as an innkeeper and the popularity of her tavern.
Whatever it was, this man had ingratiated himself to the barkeep over the years, and she'd come to know just enough about him and his past to understand the grouchy, standoffish brute that now sat before her. She put up with quite a lot of his archaic behaviors, including those that probably deserved a night or two in a cell.
Telma was no lawman, though, nor was she a warden. Instead of a night or two in a cell, she offered him a night at her inn, built adjacent to the tavern, at a discounted rate. Any time he passed through town, it was her inn he sought solace in.
She snagged a key off its hook on the wall and set it on the counter, but kept it covered with her hand. "Cost of everything keeps rising. Regular rate on a room is 20 a night, now. For you, I'll do 15."
The widower met her gaze for a moment, as if he were going to refuse to pay. Fearsome he may have appeared, but the man knew better than to fight with a woman who had decades of experience dealing with unruly patrons. He made a show of rolling his eyes before whipping out the appropriate amount and tossing it onto the counter.
"Now those might have a bit of blood on 'em," he said as Telma scooped up the blue and yellow gems. "Fella tried to steal that hide off me, and wasn't interested in listening to reason. Like I said, it was a good one."
Telma shook her head and slid the key his way. "Well, I'm certain you had no qualms about showing him the error of his ways."
The man flashed a fanged smile, if it could be called as such. Telma had never seen a real smile out of him, not in all these years. His attempts at such just looked… sad. Sadder than the image of this rugged vigilante hunched over her bar, cradling a small locket in his calloused hands and staring down the tiny remnants of a love long lost.
"Always do appreciate ya, Telma," the man said, rising from the stool. "You're a good woman."
"I get the feeling you're in need of a few good people in your life," the barkeep remarked sadly, twirling a strand of crimson hair about her finger as she watched him cross the room and done his coat and hat once more. "Anything I should be on lookout for? Aside from the red-eyed man."
Her late-night patron shrugged. "Won't be staying long enough to hear about it. Just the usual."
"Got another lead?"
"Not a clue. Back to square one." He pushed aside the door and cast a final glance over his shoulder. "Only place I can go is back to where it all began."
Telma shook her head sadly and waved him off. "Best of luck, then, Link."
Sunrise always came early to the plains. The morning songbirds had just begun warming up their vocals when the first rays of sunlight unfurled over the land and lit up the dew-soaked fields.
Link squinted as those rays found his eyes, making it quite difficult to finish the little wooden carving he'd been slowly whittling away at for the last hour or so. He rose with a groan from the bench and moved to another, one facing south rather than east. With the sunrise, he'd finally have enough light to finish carving the details of the little wooden horse.
He had little reason to hang around Telma's. Folk who looked like him hardly did establishments like hers any favors, and he hated sitting around, anyway. As soon as he'd woken from his light slumber, Link packed up his meager belongings and headed to the train station on the south end of the city.
The man normally preferred to take these journeys at his own pace on horseback, where he could scan every horizon for clues that might lead him to his prey. But poor Lady had met her fate at the business end of a trunk thrown by Mother Nature's violent gales, and New Castle City's livestock prices had grown exponentially in the months since his last visit. Robbery was the new trend everywhere, Link supposed.
He'd tame a new one, once he was well outside of civilization. Hyrule had no shortage of wild horses, and Link knew every tip and trick when it came to tracking and taming them. He'd only spent most of his adult life doing just that.
It would be good for him, the man knew. The old Link was a horse wrangler and stable manager. He would never again be that man, but sometimes he could pretend for a few hours. Recalling happier times was painful, but at least he had them to recall at all.
"Pony!"
A small voice pulled Link back to the here-and-now. His eyes flicked up to find the source of the voice, a little boy who couldn't be more than two, pointing at the little wooden figure in Link's hand. An exhausted-looking woman was standing just beyond them at the ticket counter, locked in conversation and not yet realizing that her young child was wandering.
"It is a pony," Link said softly, adding another few strokes to the mane. "You like horses?"
"Love horses!" the child spoke with such vigor that his entire body lifted a bit with the energy.
Link hummed and held the little figure up in the light to better inspect it. Not his best work, far from his worst. He looked from the horse to the boy, then held it out to him. "You want it?"
The child's dark eyes lit up as if he'd been handed the keys to the kingdom. Link had little trouble parting with the figurine. He'd carved many like it, and he would carve many more. The boy held out his cupped hands, and Link placed the figure with care.
"Gotta take good care of her, ya hear? Give her a name, put her somewhere she can watch over you." His lip twitched in the imitation of a smile.
The young boy looked up at Link and beamed from ear to ear, then turned on his heel. "Thank you! Mama! I got a horse!"
He ran back to his mother's side just in time for her to notice his absence. Link leaned back on the bench and listened with half an ear as the child excitedly shared his gift from the strange man. He didn't need to turn his head to know the woman glanced his way with unbridled concern. He didn't exactly look like a well-to-do citizen.
The mother took her child to a bench at the far end of the platform to wait, and Link felt that was just as well. She felt she was protecting her child, and he certainly couldn't fault her for that.
He didn't mind kids all that much, but they brought out a lot of difficult feelings, especially these days. Link and Malon had no children of their own, though it wasn't for lack of trying. It had been a tough pill to swallow, to realize that one part of their dream would never come true.
In hindsight, perhaps the fates were sparing Link in the long run. Losing Malon was enough pain for ten lifetimes.
A shrill whistle cut through the calm morning, signaling the approach of the train. Link stood at the back of the small crowd that had gathered upon the boarding platform. He kept his eyes on the dark steam locomotive as it pulled in, and made a point not to scan the crowd. Seeing the number of young couples heading out to test their luck on the open frontier was quite a burden, especially this early in the day.
He settled into a seat at the back of the train, and nobody made any effort to fill in the seat beside or across from him. Link was quite used to that, and it suited him just fine.
Years ago, when his journey first began, Link had tried to make himself appear as any other civilian. Harmless, well-dressed, just a man passing through who posed no threat to any. While that made the regular folk comfortable with his presence, it also seemed to work as a beacon to the less-favorable of society and mark him as an easy target for a robbery.
Once he started wearing the clothes stolen from those who tried to steal from him, Link had noticed a significant decline in the number of times he was accosted on the open road. It was worth a few dirty looks from those who'd never killed more than a fly.
It only took a small part of forever, but the train did finally get moving. Link's eyes watched the landscape slip by with half a mind. He'd been this route many a time now, and though he still found beauty in the untamed wilderness of Hyrule that spanned the long distance between settlements, it was hardly still interesting at this point.
The train thundered on, its course taking it alongside the Hylia River. Folk in town often said it was good luck, building that rail along the natural path carved by the Goddess' river. Link and Malon had taken this very ride out of the city fourteen years ago, just because she liked the sound of that rumor and deemed it a worthy venture.
And, perhaps, it was. Ten years of prosperity wasn't nothing. Maybe they should have taken that journey more than once, kept that good luck flowing. Maybe things would have never come to such a bloody end, and he would have never set out on this never-ending quest for revenge.
Most might have given up after four years with no results. Hell, most folk likely wouldn't have set out on a journey like this to begin with. They'd thank their lucky stars that they'd survived, praise the gods that some wealthy stranger covered their recovery costs, and start rebuilding their life.
Link had never wanted for much in his life. Just a good home and a loving family, and he'd been blessed with that in spades. He and Malon may have never had children, but they had the beginnings of a village full of adopted family members. Brothers and sisters by love. He'd stopped "wanting" many years ago, and was happy to enjoy what he'd gained in life.
Now, all he wanted for was revenge. The life he lost could not be replaced, nor could he begin a new one as long as those loose ends were still out there. He had little to go off of, since the cowards struck in the dead of night, but he did catch a glimpse of someone, just before his memories of that tragic night cut short. Blonde hair, red eyes, dark suit. Hardly narrowed it down much, but it was better than nothing. Link would chase down every damn man on the continent who matched that description, if it meant he'd finally avenge Malon's death.
The train lurched and the brakes squealed, and Link's head snapped up. He'd dozed off and on, sure, but they were nowhere near Whistling Hill Station. The locomotive rolled to a stop in the midst of a forest, and the hair on the back of Link's neck rose.
After four years of hunting outlaws, he'd become quite familiar with their tactics. There was nothing between New Castle City and Whistling Hill, not for miles. The woods would hide what the hills did not.
Shouts and scuffling came from the front end of the train. They'd target the engineers and anyone else vital to the trains operations, pull them off the train and hold them at gunpoint. Any moment now, some thug would come busting down one of the doors of car and demand valuables.
His fingers twitched over the grip of his pistols, still tucked away from view. Link hadn't been successfully robbed in over three years. He wasn't all that interested in breaking that streak today.
"Psst."
Link's attention snapped to a seat across the aisle and one row up, where a balding man with a thick beard had turned to look over his shoulder. Link immediately recognized the fiery look in the man's eyes. He was far from the only one to have a personal vendetta against these robbers and thieves, one that went beyond common morality.
The man held up two fingers and pointed further up the aisle. Two others who'd instinctively reached for their sidearms and were just waiting for an excuse to take a stand. Four against goddess-knows-how-many. I've survived worse odds, I suppose.
Link nodded to the man and brushed aside his coat briefly, just enough for that tell-tale blue glow to be seen from the shadows. He was loaded and ready for a quickdraw, if need be.
No sooner did his coat settle back than did the door just behind them slide open and three towering figures filed into the car. The one in front removed his hat, revealing a head of silver hair, and turned his blood-red eyes upon the passengers. The Sheikah will be the biggest threat, Link thought. He only hoped the others would have the same instinct.
"No funny business, no heroes, and you all get to leave here with your most valuable possession: your lives. Mighty generous of us, if you ask me." The man strode forward, his steps silent. Behind him, a Rito with silver plumage made a point to cock his gun, the inside of the double-barrel glowing like a pair of demonic, cyan eyes.
The Sheikah looked to Link first, and was likely planning to try his hand at intimidation. The words never did see the light of day. Link painted the far window red, and the Shiekah collapsed without another word. The resulting flash stunned the other two just long enough to keep them from opening fire on the innocent. The three would-be robbers died without pulling the trigger once.
The two armed citizens further up the aisle immediately made their way to the next car, and gunshots flew all around, shattering windows and denting steel-sided cars. Civilians screamed and cowered in their seats. Best place for them, really.
"Keep moving up the cars, see if they need back up," Link instructed the balding man who'd shot down the Rito. "I'll help the engineer."
The man nodded. "When the law fails, we stand."
Oh, great. Link recognized the motto of the Free Riders well. To say they were extremists would be an understatement. They basically wanted to found their own kingdom on Hyrule's doorstep, and took vigilantism to an extreme. In many ways, the organization was hardly better than any other gang that hid out in the wild.
But, well, a good shot was a good shot. At least Link didn’t have to deal with things by himself. It'd be great if no innocents lost their lives this time.
Link stepped out of the train car and peered around the corner. Two bodies lay on the ground near the train, and the balding man stood with three others, their guns trained on the two holding the train's workers captive. Link hopped to the ground and added his own gun to the standoff.
"Got it from here, fella, thanks," the bald man said to Link as he drew near. "You just go take your seat, now."
Link frowned, but kept his eyes on the bandits who looked to be sizing up their enemies, trying to determine who needed to be shot first. "You're turning down an extra gun?"
"We got it from here," the man said again.
"You killed Von! That wasn't part of the deal!" one of the bandits cried, and Link bit back a groan. It was too good to be true, having so many armed citizens together on this train.
The bald man growled and lowered his firearm. "Gods dammit, you shithead. We didn't kill him, this asshole did!" He pointed his gun to Link. The others standing with him followed suit. "Now we're gonna have innocent blood on our hands, thanks to you."
If I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all…