Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The mailman stood helplessly breathless, steepled over his knees as he held up the thick envelope with a quivering arm.

“Here— huff— here ya’ go…” He panted. With his free hand, he swiped at the shiny layer of sweat on his forehead. “’s addressed to Link.”

They exchanged knowing glances, before Wild stepped forward and graciously accepted the letter with a tentative word of thanks. Not that the mailman heard it, anyways; as mysteriously and abruptly he’d appeared, he was gone again in the plume of dust left behind by his rapidly pumping legs. No doubt dashing back through some unseen and mysterious, swirling portal to yet another era of Hyrule.

Wild scrutinized the delivery: a single envelope, substantially girthier than the average letter. But it was indeed addressed to Link. Its backside was sealed with a crisp, thick wax, stamped with a delicate carving of the Hyrulean Royal Crest. The wax itself was a deep midnight blue, sparkling from the faint dusting of glitter sprinkled within the solidified material.

And on the front? Well, the brothers would recognize that ornate handwriting anywhere: long, sweeping strokes made by only the finest loftwing quill dipped in only the most luxuriously rich octorok ink.

“It’s from Wars!” Wild cried. His voice resonated with joy at the unexpected correspondence from their brother. Titters of anticipation broke out immediately as the chain scrambled to get a look. Wind barreled into the champion first; the rest were upon him within moments as well.

They’d been waiting what felt like an eternity for news from Skyloft. The last time they were on the island, just a few weeks ago, Peatrice was about ready to pop. The poor shopkeeper was so swollen and tired: ankles the size of tree trunks, and a belly that made it look like she had a gigantic hydromelon beneath her dress. Wars doted upon her literally hand and foot, giving her loving massages and painting her fingernails without so much as a peep. The newlyweds (if they could even be called that, a year into their marriage) were as in love as they had been on the day they met under, er, false pretenses in the bazaar. If not even more in love. It was so treacly sweet it gave Hyrule (even more) cavities and Legend heartburn.

Back then, when the next portal had materialized after scarcely a few days in the clouds, an unspoken agreement was reached with the captain and the chain. It would take a horde of charging bullbos to drag him away from his wife and their soon-to-arrive firstborn. And, although they feigned many tears as they disappeared into the murky curtain of the latest portal without him, the heroes were more than happy to leave Warriors behind. Call it… paternity leave.

The letter itself was five whole handwritten pages of parchment. Wild shuffled through them rapidly, scanning the pages for the word “baby.” Upon closer inspection, four of the sheets were filled with just exclamation points. But the champion didn’t have to look very far.

On the first page:

BABY GIRL!!!

On the second through fourth pages:
!!!!!!!

And on the final page:

Love,

(B)Link, Peatrice, & ???

Wild couldn’t help the delighted squeal that tore from his throat.

“PEATRICE HAD THE BABY!”

And in that moment, every monster in a 50 mile radius knew their exact location; but not a single one of the boys cared. The joy they felt in that moment obliterated their ever-present and overbearing anxiety. Jubilant whoops rang out like fireworks, equally as explosive. If this wasn’t cause for overwhelming celebration, the chain didn’t know what was.

They were all… uncles?

The sailor clamored up to piggyback Wild and see the proof for himself. In his overzealous thrashing, he nearly toppled the champion to the ground.

“BOY OR GIRL?! BOY OR GIRL?!” Wind babbled, hopping up and down with eyes afire. Secretly, he hoped for a little girl: one with a cute button nose, vibrant yellow hair in matching pigtails, feisty spirit, and a heart of pure gold… To have such a presence in his life again would ease all his homesickness indefinitely.

The conversation roared to life as the heroes suggested names (“Blink Jr.” was the frontrunner), argued about who would get to hold the baby first, that sort of thing. Legend gave a horribly shrill whistle to grab their scattered attention. Ears ringing at the high-pitched interruption, they scowled at the veteran.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Legend interjected. “First, who said ‘boy’ in the betting pool?” Legend interjected. Those who’d put rupees on a male heir to the Hero of Warriors made themselves known. He carefully counted the hands of Time, Twilight, Legend, and Sky.

Wild swept his finger across those four. “You all…” He began, purposefully drawing it out so the suspense would render them despondent with anticipation. Broad smiles were already dawning on those faces as they prepared to receive the news that they would all be 20 rupees richer.

“ARE WRONG! It’s a girl!” Wild crowed.

But those smiles didn’t fade, not even as they all plucked red gems from their wallets and handed them to the remaining brothers. No, they didn’t care one bit. Wars and Peatrice had a darling little daughter! And the chain had a… niece? Stepdaughter? Regardless of whatever she was to them legally, that itty bitty baby girl was everything to them emotionally.

Wind jumped up and down with such fervor that Time worried the sailor would cause an eruption on Death Mountain halfway across Hyrule. The kid continued to parrot “babygirlbabygirlbabygirl” over and over. His unbridled, juvenile overjoy was endearing, and Time found his thoughts drifting back to Malon at the ranch…

“Do you think she looks like Wars? Or Peatrice? Or both?” Hyrule mused.

“Can you even imagine what Wars looked like as a baby?” Sky replied, furrowing his brow in contemplation.

“Gee, thanks for that mental image, Feathers,” Legend sniped. “I’ll never get that outta my head.”

“M’self, I’m wund’rin if she gon’ have that funny lil’ beauty mark on ‘er face like ‘er mama,” Twilight said in an affectionate drawl. He was always the mushiest around children, be they Hylian kids or goat kids.  The mere thought of her chubby, babbling cheeks and massive eyes made him melt.

Wind’s vivacious vibrations came to an abrupt end. He stood still for a moment, then began to groan and slump forward, totally despondent.

“Sailor?” Four prompted, pupils maroon and eyes wet with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s gonna be foreverrr before we get lucky enough to have a portal drop us on Skyloft!” He moaned. The beaming smile that had lit up his face minutes ago was now a fallen mask of disappointment. If Four wasn’t mistaken, there were a few teardrops perched on the kid’s lower lashes. “When are we ever going to get a chance to see her?!” Those last words grew into an all-consuming wail. Having been so rapidly bloodletted of all his elation, Wind deflated like an octo balloon.

And then, just then… so suddenly and conveniently that it was suspicious…

zuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmm

The inky oblivion arch opened mere meters away. From its gaping maw droned a low hum and emanated an otherworldly power. The vantablack within undulated as magic rose and fell within like waves of a molasses sea. They couldn’t see what lay beyond that dark curtain, but they all knew.

Four’s blood ran cold, sweat and saliva both flowing like whitewater rapids at the thought of stepping through that thing.

Time turned to Wind, saw the sailor’s pupils blow into wide discs with wonder.

“Looks like you got your answer.”

Chapter Text

Despite the literary convenience of it all, a whiff of unease still blew around the chain as they padded through the portal. For all they knew, a horde of Ganon’s foulest monsters stood in a phalanx formation on the other side of that dimensional threshold. One could never be too careful…

Wind, however, seemed to blow off every last swirl of anxiety. The sailor bunched up his muscles before sprinting forward into oblivion headfirst, arms pumping madly. The chain could hear his footfalls recede up ahead, mere steps away as the portal gobbled up the sound. In seconds he was gone. Swallowed up by nothingness. Time sighed and waved them all forward.

The group’s collective heartbeat quickened, as did their pace, as they hurried to catch up with their youngest. The otherworldly hallway seemed to go on forever. They hoped that was a good sign, but shuddered to think what was about to transpire if it wasn’t. The older seven all shuffled ahead with haste for what felt like hours (in reality less than 10 seconds) until the blackness of the portal receded into impenetrable light.

Four spat out a vicious curse as he stumbled headfirst into the new era. The smith visibly deflated, weighed down by a swirling nausea and rapping headache. His knees turned to gelatin and he sank down to all fours in the town square of Skyloft. More than a few residents sent him concerned glances as the portal cinched shut behind them. He dribbled strings of drool from parted, panting lips.

“Holy Hylia,” he moaned, voice garbled with nauseous spit. He chanced a glance up at the Goddess Statue, squeezing one eye open before wincing at the stab of light through his vision. “Why me? Why every time?”

“GET UP, FOUR!” Wind squealed, prompting Four to lurch with a retch. “LAST ONE TO THEIR HOUSE IS A ROTTEN CUCCO EGG!” Wind bellowed. Without even waiting for the acknowledgement of his brothers, the sailor took off sprinting across Skyloft. He ran at such a breakneck speed that he was in danger of shooting right over the far edge of the island. They once again lost sight of him over the bridge in the distance.

Time’s shoulders rolled with a good-natured sigh. He offered one arm to help the smithy up, and with the other, plucked a glass phial from his pouch. Four groped blindly for the potion; when his fingers brushed the glass, he clung on for dear life and sucked the fluid down so fast he almost swallowed the cork. The pain etched on his features melted into a mere discomfort as the healing solution pulsed into his system.

“We best not let him get too far ahead,” Time murmured. He let his eye sweep around the others; although they had marginally more restraint than the sailor, their expressions betrayed the excitement they all felt. Several pairs of feet were already shuffling in place with impatience. “Shall we?” The old man prompted. He wore a smile despite himself.

Time didn’t even need to wait for a response.

Wind had shown remarkable restraint by not knocking on the door before his brothers arrived; still, he stood beside it, tapping his foot with arms crossed. “Took you long enough!” He crowed. Four sent up a rude gesture as he padded up last, still shaking away the remnants of his portal sickness.

“Go ahead,” Time motioned towards the door. “Don’t you want to see your, uh…” He paused to parse out the right relationship. “Your niece, I guess?”

The sailor nodded and whipped around so fast that a wave of vertigo slammed against his inner ears. Nevertheless, Wind gave the door a rapid series of knocks, practically chipping away at the paint like a woodpecker. A tense few seconds followed. There was the faintest sound of shuffling behind the door. Twilight leaned forward, cupping a hand around his pinna and calling upon his impeccable wolf senses…

“Who is it?” Came Wars’s voice, with a sing-song lilt suggesting he knew damn well who it was.

“LINK!” All eight other heroes belted in unison. The door rattled in its frame from the sonic boom they were able to generate. Then, it rattled a little harder, the knob turned, and it began to recede along its hinges.

The door swept open in an agonizingly slow arc; mere millimeters at a time the great wood plank revealed a figure in the doorway. A short figure…

There stood Warriors: dressed in his green tunic and devoid of armor, haughty and put-together as always. And yet, beneath his sparkling eyes hung two faint, gray bags. And that head of hair he kept so impeccably coiffed now resembled the traveler’s mangy mop: disheveled and teased from no doubt a long string of sleepless nights.

But all of that didn’t darken the beaming smile he wore, strung across his face like festive garland. The soldier was positively glowing from happiness, exuding pure brilliance as he gazed downwards: down towards the mass he was cradling close to his chest. The chain lowered their gaze to meet it.

In his arms, bundled up and breathtaking in its magnificence, he held…

His scarf.

But swaddled up in the thick, luxurious folds of the woven material… was his daughter.

With two big, round, curious eyes as green as rupees. She had bulging pink cheeks and a beautiful thick tuft of wispy blonde hair atop her head. Her ears were massive, splaying out like wings on either side of her temples. She was painfully adorable. But perhaps the most endearing feature of all was her itty bitty beauty mark just above her lip. Or the way she gazed up at her father with a toothless, drooling grin.

“This,” Warriors began, not even bothering to fight off the tears of pride that pricked the corners of his eyes. “This is Rory. Short for Farore.” Warriors shrugged his shoulders a bit to readjust his hold on her; when lifted ever so slightly, she cooed and swept those enchanting, bright eyes around each one of her uncles. The infant’s grin broadened when she heard them all ‘Aww’.

The door swung open even wider so Peatrice could join her husband in greeting their guests (and reveling in Rory’s adorableness, of course). The boys offered the pair their sincerest congrats, prompting the happy couple to plant affectionate kisses on each other’s cheeks. She, too, looked quite tired, but every bit as proud as her husband.

“Please, come in!” Peatrice begged. She welcomed them all into their humble abode with grace. All the boys stopped to give her warm hugs on their way in. “Make yourselves at home! I’ll go ahead and get the kettle on, what would you boys like to dr—”

Sky shook his head emphatically. “Nonsense,” he insisted. “You must be absolutely exhausted. Peatrice, please sit. I’ll take care of all that, okay?”

She gave him a warm smile and mouthed a thank you. Then, in an instant, sunk down into the nearest chair. The shopkeeper tried to bite back a groan of relief at the weight off her overtaxed body, with only moderate success. The old man chuckled at the sight.

“How are you doing, dear?” Time beamed when he stepped forward, planting a paternal kiss on both of Peatrice’s cheeks. She accepted them, blushing a bit.

“Oh goddess, so tired!” She gushed, throwing herself over the table. Still, she hummed a bit to emphasize that yes, it was all worth it. “But Link has been so amazing helping to take care of her,” she added. “Seriously, he’s done way more than his fair share. He’s, like, the Diaper King.”

“Sweet Pea, you gestated and gave birth to her,” he added from across the room where he stood, bouncing Rory. “I could see to her every need until she leaves the nest, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to what you’ve done.”

Four and Wild exchanged glances.

“Sweet Pea?”

“Diaper King?”

Who was this man and what had he done with the Hero of Warriors?

Rest assured they were filing this all away. For blackmail.

“So, how has the adventure been?” Peatrice prompted as the chain all settled in. Warriors had plopped down on the couch and, as he was still holding Rory, had drawn a substantial crowd around him. They stared wide-eyed at the babe, waving fingers and making nonsense noises that made her gurgle with glee. “This is quite the surprise. Wars and I were just wondering when we’d get to introduce her to you all. We thought she might be taking her first steps by then, but here you are, and she’s only a week old! Clearly the goddesses wanted you to meet her just as bad as we did.”

“Indeed,” Warriors chimed in. “Did you just get lucky with the next portal that popped up? Oh, and did you get our letter? I swear, no sooner had I signed the birth certificate than I was re-dipping my quill to spread the news.” The new father broke into a hearty chuckle, then redirected his attention back to Rory. She was letting out tiny coughs that sounded like they were building up to a full-on cry.

Hyrule answered for the group. “The postman came sprinting over and gave us the letter. We opened it and not even a minute later, the portal opened that dumped us here.” He shrugged, exchanging a similarly puzzled look with the veteran. “It was… well, almost too convenient. But hey, who’s to say fate can’t throw us a bone every now and then? ‘Specially when it means meeting this lil’ rupee.” The traveler leaned in to plant a gentle boop on Rory’s belly, but she wriggled out of the way. The captain held her steady, despite her impressive strength.

“She’s getting hungry for a bottle,” Warriors remarked as his daughter gave another uncomfortable squirm. Rory seemed to understand his proposition and offered a cranky wail. He shushed her, ever so gently, just to delay the waterworks that were on the horizon. Unfortunately, it seemed that none of Peatrice’s bottomless reserves of patience had passed into their firstborn. “Would you like to watch while I feed her?” He suggested.

While they all expressed their enthusiasm, it was Twilight and Wind who couldn’t help but gasp in anticipation.

“Can we?!” They squealed in awe.

Warriors grinned ear to pointed ear. “Of course! Just give me a few minutes to get it all set up.” He stood, giving an “old man”-esque grunt as he did (“Yup, he’s definitely a dad now,” Four mused). The brothers watched as the soldier prepared his daughter’s meal. It had only taken a single week of parenthood for the ritual to become second nature; his moves blended together into a well-rehearsed dance with the way he heated the formula, checked its temperature, assembled a clean bottle… All while holding a squirming, fussy Rory steady in one arm. Even Twilight couldn’t manage that, no matter how good he fancied himself with kids. That was the kind of expertise that came with parenthood: instincts. The man was a natural! It had taken mere minutes for Wars to literally singlehandedly prepare a warm bottle for his baby; and by the sound of her grumbles, not a moment too soon.

Wind scooched over on the couch to make room for the pair. Wars gave a nod of thanks before settling in for the feed. Rory’s complaints ceased the second she saw the drink being brought to her mouth. Wind swore he saw a little smirk bloom on her puffy, pink lips.

“Oh my goddess,” Warriors cooed as she sucked greedily at the bottle. “You’s hungwy tonight, aren’t you?” Her response was a wet and muffled gurgle that made Peatrice shake with an affectionate giggle. Wind didn’t take his eyes off the baby for the duration of her drink, too caught up in the memories of Aryll that came rushing back and wrenched his heart into bittersweet waters.

Rory certainly had the appetite of a descendent of the Hero of Courage, the Chain noted. She sucked down the entire bottle like an octorok in record time. A few drops of milk escaped her gluttony, instead dripping in thick rivulets down her blubbery chin. Warriors was careful to hold the bottle at the correct angle, keeping a watchful eye on the quantity of the meal so he could track her intake. Her pace only slowed at the last ounce or so, cheeks puffing comically as she lazily took in the final few drops.

When the bottle was bone dry, Warriors slid it from his daughter’s lips. Peatrice swooped by to grab it and put in the sink for washing later (stopping to plant loving kisses on the crowns of her husband’s and their child’s head). The captain unwrapped the infant from the scarf and draped it over his own neck before propping her up on his shoulder. She lifted both thick, blubbery arms up to grab ahold of the fabric. The chain found themselves watching this maneuver with great interest.

“M’kay, lil’ pumpkin butt,” he chirped as he started to thump gently against her back. “Can you give Daddy a good one?” He expertly alternated between firm pats and calming elliptical rubs with his palm. Every so often he paused to kiss her cheek. What could he say? The captain simply couldn’t help himself.

Scarcely a minute into the ministrations, she brought up a tiny puff of air… and a veritable flood of gooey predigested milk across Wars’s scarf.

The pale slop dripped all the way down the fabric, leaving mucoid stains across its entire length, and finally landed on the floor with a sickening splat. The room fell deathly silent as the chain stared (Sky trying his best not to gag). The tension bloomed like poison fog.

The brothers waited for the screams, the fainting, the five stages of grief… His beloved scarf. Befouled with baby barf. That was more than enough to put the man in his grave. One time in Zora’s Domain, the captain snagged one of the garment’s precious stitches on a thorn and he was inconsolable for the next one and a half portals.

Wars did finally break the silence.

“Aww, did you spit up a widdle?” He giggled. He giggled. Hylia above, the war-hardened soldier snickered like a schoolgirl. Legend had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t in the dreamworld of another passing Windfish. Nope; the flesh between his fingers brought no wakefulness, only smarting pain. This was very real. And very disturbing.

“Dat’s okay, it happens.” The captain continued in baby-talk. He repositioned Rory in just one arm, using the other to scoop up a hem of the scarf and dab with it at the spittle coating her chin. Four watched in abject horror. Sky himself was that much closer to spitting up.

“Hey Sweet Pea?” Warriors called out sing-songily to his wife, who was still chatting with Time. “She did another ‘scarf barf,’ can you throw it in the wash, please and thank you?”

Peatrice sat up from her position flumped over in the chair, wincing a bit despite herself, and scurried over without a word.  Meanwhile, Time whipped around to assess the scene he was sure was quite amusing. The Skyloftian carefully and dutifully unwound the garment from her husband’s upper body. She balled it up and tossed it right into the laundry basket in the corner. Which was piled high with similarly soiled garments.

“Ooh, she’s got a little something on her onesie,” Peatrice noted with a grimace. Indeed, there was a small patch of moisture at the neckline from where the thinnest spittle had dribbled down. Rory wore a thick pout at the unpleasant feeling on her skin. “Not very befitting of a refined lady such as herself!” Peatrice laughed, pinching one cherry-red baby cheek. “How about I go change her real quick? You’ve been hogging her all evening, it’s my time now!”

He gasped in theatrical mock offense. “Oh, you steal my baby away from me, the horror!” He and Peatrice broke into snorting giggles, before pressing their foreheads together in affection. “No worries, hon. Actually, how about I take this chance to show everybody the birds out back? Are you good to stay here with Time?”

She gave a wry, knowing smile: like “the birds” was some kind of an inside joke in their marriage. That made Legend’s guts curdle with fear at what was awaiting them in the backyard. He gulped. Could they mean… loftwings? Surely Peatrice had one, as a born-and-raised Skyloftian. But I’m pretty sure she just said “birdS”, plural. Does Wars have one too, now?

What in the name of Hylia would that look like?

“Go right ahead,” the shopkeeper hummed, snapping Legend from the mental pictures of warbirds, bedecked in polished armor and preened like show animals. Oh, and wearing scarves, too.

“I’m sure your brothers can’t wait to meet them.”