Chapter Text
Alfon is there when everything goes wrong.
He’s there when the castle halls go silent, the laughter that usually lingers in the old hallways dying away into stunned, grieving silence. He’s there when the King’s smile fades, when his eyes turn sad and the joy his eyes once held dwindles to nothing. He’s there when the evil wizard Agahnim banishes―kills―the Princess and her Crown Prince.
Alfon is there the day their empty caskets are paraded through the streets, standing tall and proud like a guard ought to as he follows the procession through Castle Town and then through Kakariko. He’s there when the King and Agahnim stand on the balcony of the castle to address the people of Hyrule, their backs straight and their faces grim as they speak in memory of the late Princess and Prince. Princess Zelda the Younger―now the only Princess Zelda this kingdom has―stands beside the King the whole day, tears staining her cheeks. She’s just barely old enough to understand the situation, and she knows she’ll never see her parents again.
Alfon will sneak her some sweets later and talk with her about it. She’s lost a second father―the first, she lost only when she was a few days old―and now her mother as well. And Alfon knows that the King will be too busy grieving his daughter to think about his granddaughter. Nevermind that Alfon has also lost his brother.
But Alfon is inconsequential and small compared to the might of the King and Aghanim on that balcony. He is faceless and silent, as any good guard should be. The people don’t care about a nobody like him, and nor do the esteemed guests from Holodrum, Labrynna, and Hytopia. They do not care that he will go home to his orchard tonight and mourn the loss of a brother and a sister-in-law tonight. They do not care that his mother and sisters are draped in black, mourning the loss of their son. They do not care about Crown Prince Talo’s humble origins. All the people know is that the Princess and Prince died.
Alfon thinks it’s both insensitive and honorable to be guarding what remains of Talo’s family today. The mourning father left behind, the mourning daughter too young for all of this, the mourning Uncle who’s usually so full of smiles and life, and―
Now that Alfon thinks of it, they’re missing someone on this balcony.
His nephew. A small child of only three years old, with smiles that could light up the world and a laugh that could make a heart sing. Alfon understands that Talo never wanted Link to grow up to be a spoiled prince, but Alfon isn’t inclined to think that Agahnim or the king would respect the commoner Prince’s wishes in the slightest. The King was dismissive of Talo. Aghanim outright hated the man who liked to poke his sharp nose into where it didn’t belong and cared twice as much about the kingdom as any ever crown prince of the past. Neither of them would have respected Talo’s wishes today or any other day.
Alfon glances toward a nearby guard, but that guard is new and straight-faced and focused in a way the new guards often are. They haven’t figured out how to gossip amongst each other yet. Then again, many of these new guards loathe gossiping.
The King’s speech ends while Alfon is still puzzling over his missing nephew and Aghanim steps forward. Alfon would roll his eyes if he were bolder, and he can almost hear Talo in the back of his mind laughing that Alfon was being too judgemental about the old wizard. Talo often trusted the wizard, even if the wizard hated him, though he, too, grew to nod along with a serious expression near the end.
“―and perhaps the worst loss, the death of young Prince Link―” Aghanim says and Alfon’s heart freezes.
Link wasn’t anywhere near the incident. Alfon knows this. Alfon had been with the children when the ‘accident’ happened, when Link and Zelda’s parents somehow fell into the Dark World, never to return. Alfon remembers the moment the servant came barging in on a room full of laughter, shattering the joy that had hung over the castle forever.
“―who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. A devastating loss of a child who had barely begun to live―” Agahnim proceeds.
Alfon can feel his skin crawling.
“―he will forever be missed,” Aghanim finishes, then moves on to talking about all the good things Zelda and Talo (but mostly Zelda, as it always is) did for the kingdom, and how they would always be missed.
Alfon breathes in deeply, trying not to shudder at the lie. He has been in the castle since Talo’s death, regretfully neglecting his mother and sisters who had all rushed to the castle when hearing their brother had died. Instead, he focused his attention on the two orphan children running its halls. He kept the brunt of the funeral preparations out of the childrens’ sights and listened to their grievances and cries. Alfon was with them both on and off the clock, and he can’t decide if it was his own goodwill or the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that had kept him at the castle and away from his home.
He knows―as Talo had, near the very end―that things have been changing in the castle. The people cannot feel it yet, but he has seen it. The new faces that wandered the halls as guards and staff. The old ones that had vanished without warning, some of whom had served the castle since before Princess Zelda the Elder married her first husband. The castle blacksmith who had left without warning, leaving their fine tools to be made by less skilled workers. The removal of Link’s nursemaid and transferral of his care to Impa, overwhelming the poor woman who had to care for a rowdy six-year-old princess already and suddenly also had to care for a sickly three-year-old prince as well.
It takes all of Alfon’s self-control not to speak out, not to tell the world the truth that Link’s alive and well within the castle walls. It takes all of Alfon’s willpower to stay still, silent, invisible as every good guard should be.
Agahnim’s speech ends. The King of Holodrum―a distant uncle to Princess Zelda the Elder―steps up to speak. As does King Tuft of Hytopia, the distant cousin of Princess Zelda the Elder who Alfon fondly remembers Talo huffing and puffing about after each and every one of his visits to Hyrule. A few other nobles, all related to the royal family in one way or another, speak. None of them mention Talo except for in passing. No one invites Alfon or his mother or his sisters to speak. No one invited his mother or sisters to stand up here at all.
Alfon longs to return to his orchard and spirit Link and Zelda out there as well, just to get them away from the castle. Let them be kids. Let them process their grief away from the watching eyes of high and mighty family members. But that won’t be able to happen. Alfon would be arrested and tried for treason immediately. He is a Lon, after all, and no one can trust a descendant of the fallen hero.
Alfon grinds his teeth, but forces himself to take a deep breath and keep standing, invisible, through the rest of the speeches before the royal family strides back into the castle. The King leads the procession inside alongside young Zelda, and they’re followed by the King of Holodrum, King Tuft and his four-year-old daughter Styla, and then by the miscellaneous noblemen and women. Agahnim strides in after them all, and Alfon and the other guards follow at an acceptable distance, movements precise and trained from years working as a guard.
The King goes one way with Zelda. The other guard goes with them. The guests are led elsewhere by some servants. Alfon is stuck staying as Agahnim loiters near the balcony, just inside the castle. From here, Alfon can see the mourning crowd beginning to disperse en masse.
“I know you noticed a discrepancy in my speech,” Agahnim states.
Alfon lifts his head, focusing on the man in his entirety now.
Agahnim strides toward the portrait of the royal family hanging on the wall, barely looking at it. From Alfon’s vantage, it looks as if the late Princess and Prince are staring down at the man judgmentally. Zelda, just two years old, looks delighted. Link, a newborn, is small and nestled in his mother’s arms. Where he ought to still be nestled now at three years old.
“Of course we need to take care of said discrepancy,” Agahnim states like he’s simply talking about altering the kingdom’s taxes.
Alfon doesn’t want to speak, but he’s being addressed. He must. “What do you―”
Before he can finish, a dagger is thrust into his hands.
“Prove your loyalty, Alfon Lon, or face my wrath,” Agahnim hisses into Alfon’s ear. “Kill the Prince.”
Alfon sucks in a breath. “But―”
Agahnim’s eyes are sinister, dark, and a shudder runs up Alfon’s spine.
He can’t just kill his nephew. He won’t allow it! Link is only three, so young, with so much life ahead of him.
But Alfon sees the look in Agahnim’s eyes and swallows thickly. “Yes, sir.”
He bows, the movement practiced and even despite the racing of his heart. The dagger in his hand burns as he turns his back to Agahnim, striding with practiced, even steps down the hall. His mind is ablaze, his heart thudding at the impossibility of it all.
As he turns the corner, Alfon makes his decision.
Link’s eyes fall closed when his pretty white sheets are stained red with blood.
Alfon cries when he writes his final goodbye to the guard.
Both of them are silent when they steal away into the hidden hallways of the castle, bound for the tunnels hidden deep below the castle.
Alfon has never run so fast in his life.
He runs without thought, legs carrying him through the tunnels, mind carrying him through memories he will never have a chance to relive. Of himself and Talo stealing through these same tunnels, sweaty and cursing each other out after their training regiments, teasing each other as Talo tries his hardest to get a glimpse of the Princess. Alfon can almost feel Talo running beside him, leading him through the halls. You remember the way, don’t you, Alfie? Talo’s ghost chatters in his ear, unperturbed and as excited for adventure as the man so often was in life.
The run through the tunnels has never felt so long before. Even the first time, begrudgingly following his new recruit younger brother through the tunnels because the boy wanted to explore the weird tunnel he found, hadn’t felt nearly as long, daunting, or dreadful. Even when Alfon was helping steal the Princess and his brother away to the orchard to give them a break at the start of their honeymoon hadn’t felt so dangerous and treason had never lingered so heavily on his brain, though he’d known he’d be fired, maybe imprisoned, in an instant if they were found.
This time, neither he nor Link will survive if they are found.
The sleeping tonic he’d found in the kitchens has kept Link quiet thus far, though now the boy is beginning to stir. Alfon mutters a curse under his breath. They haven’t even left the tunnels yet, but Alfon hadn’t wanted to accidentally kill the boy. Having to slice the boy's palm open was bad enough. Watching the blood flow onto the boy’s pristine white sheets until it looked like enough blood from a stab wound had been torture.
“...cle?” Link murmurs sleepily.
“Shh,” Alfon whispers, wishing he’d brought the tonic with him as the boy slowly grows more alert. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got you. Everything will be okay. I won’t let you go.”
Link does lay his head back down, though Alfon is painfully aware that the boy is not asleep.
The exit appears suddenly, and Alfon climbs the ladder slower than he’d like, Link clinging to him tightly.
“Zelda?” Link asks curiously.
“She’s safe,” Alfon assures him. His mouth feels as though it’s full of dust when he lies, “You’ll see her soon.”
Link’s pacified for now, settling his head back down against Alfon’s shoulder. Alfon slowly makes his way down the walkway leading to the front of the castle, pausing at the corner to watch the main gates. There are no more guards than usual, and the ones that are there must be situated closer to the doors because Alfon can’t see them from here. He breathes a sigh of relief, feeling sick at how easy this all was to accomplish. How easy it was to injure and then steal away with the Prince.
He tries not to think about that, about how neglected his little nephew has always been by Agahnim and the guards especially, and turns left, walking down the land bridge leading to the Eastern Palace. He drops Agahnim’s still-clean dagger into the water, though his own soiled dagger remains in his pocket, a stark reminder of their escape.
Once Alfon’s across the bridge and walking among old stone pillars, he breathes a heavy sigh of relief. He glances once more back at the castle then hurries away into the wilderness. He doubts anyone will go after him, but he doesn’t want to risk the chance nonetheless.
Link peers around curiously, watching the castle grow further and further away. He doesn’t ask questions now, but Alfon knows he will eventually. For all Link knows, this is an adventure and Link will be safely tucked into his own bed come nightfall.
But what Link does not know is that not all adventures are kind. Alfon hopes, dearly, that Link may never know that hard truth.
The kid does not realize it today. It’s an easy journey south, not even the monsters daring to challenge Alfon. Alfon slows his pace eventually, letting Link truly look around in wonder at the world he really only ever saw from his window. Picnics were rare for the royal family, too many dangers lying in wait in the wild to let them enjoy a fun day away from royal life. Even taking them to the orchard had been a problem, let alone the family ranch in the south of Hyrule. Nevermind that the Princess could easily defend herself and that her second husband was the rising star of the guard.
“Is Zelda comin’?” Link asks, walking alongside Alfon in that cloak that’s far too big for him.
“No, Link,” Alfon answers.
“But you said—” Link begins.
Alfon sighs heavily. “Perhaps someday, Link. Perhaps someday.”
Link frowns, eyebrows creasing in thought. He’s still thinking when they cross the bridge leading home, and then they’re walking down the path, oh, so close to home. Link runs his fingers across the fence posts, watching the water as it lazily flows down the river. Link lets out a huge gasp as a fish jumps out of the water, and insists they take a break so he can see it again.
Alfon looks ahead. He can just begin to see his house on the hill, but when he looks down at his young, wide-eyed charge, he heaves a heavy sigh and bends down beside Link so the boy can tell him all about the fish. Link chatters on and on, mind moving too fast for his mouth—with its little lisp and high pitch—to keep up.
Link sucks in a breath. “D’ya think Mama and Papa woulda liked explorin’ today?” he asks, ready to turn back the way they came.
Alfon smiles sadly. “Yes, I think they would have.”
He tugs on Link’s arm, leading the curious boy down the path to the orchard instead. Link hums, happily walking alongside Alfon and inspecting everything he can. The little boy's eyes go wide as saucers when he sees the orchard ahead of them, and he begins urging Alfon onwards. Alfon complies, hurrying with Link up the hill and to the door.
Alfon is fishing in his pocket for his keys when his red-haired sister, Romani, pries open the door. “Alfie!” she gasps, wrapping her arms around him. She’s crying, he realizes a fraction of the second later. “You never told me Link also—”
Link tugs on her skirt, smiling brightly up at her. “Hi Aunt Romani! Where’s Aunt Cremia?”
Romani stares down at the child like she’s seen a ghost. She looks at Alfon, then the child, then Alfon again.
“Alfie…” she begins.
Alfon pats her shoulder. “I’ll tell you later, Roma.”
Roma swallows thickly and nods, finally unbarring the way to let Alfon and Link inside. The house greets Alfon like an old friend, familiar old wooden floorboards and nice fireplace homely in a way the castle barracks never will be, regardless of the good memories Alfon has of there. Memories of Talo and Alfon’s old friends drinking together after their shifts. Memories of long hours into the night spent listening to Talo dopily think of the Princess, then worry about her when her first husband tragically passed to an illness that not even Agahnim could fix.
Somehow it’s all clouded over with grief now. Even the good parts have lost their shine.
But his orchard? The good things are hopefully just starting.
Link tugs on his arm. “Uncle?” he asks.
“Yes, Link?”
“When ‘m I goin’ home?”
Alfon draws in a shuddering breath. He doesn’t want to tell him. Doesn’t want to hurt the boy just yet. But Alfon looks at the handkerchief which has staunched the blood from the wound on the child’s palm and the little boy’s worried face, and Alfon sighs. He kneels down in front of Link, settling both hands on his shoulders.
“Link, I—there’s no easy way to say this but…” Alfon draws in a breath. “But you’re going to be staying with me from now on.”
“Why?”
Alfon breathes in shakily. “Because… because it’s not safe anymore, Link.”
“Why?”
There is no easy way to explain to a child that his parents are dead. There is no easy way to explain to a child that the only reason he was kept around was because of his mother, that his father was scorned from birth until his untimely death due to the blood running through his veins. There is no easy way to explain to a child that they cannot go home because home is where the wolves are.
Alfon looks down at his little rabbit of a nephew who bears the blood of the goddess and the fallen, and wants to weep.
But he does not weep. He takes a deep breath and explains, “Things have… changed at the castle,” he begins slowly.
“Because Mama and Papa are gone?” Link guesses.
The boy really is too smart for his own good.
Alfon nods slowly. “Yes. They…. Aren’t around to protect you anymore, but I am.” He squeezes the boy’s shoulder. “I will protect you, Link. I promise.”
“What ‘bout Zellie?” Link asks.
Alfon takes a deep breath. “She… she’s being protected too,” he says slowly. “By… By Impa.”
It’s a thought that comes to him that he’ll never know the truth to. For all he knows, Zelda could be the next child on Agahnim’s chopping block. Oh, how Alfon wishes he could have brought her here too, let her grow up with her brother, but time was of the essence and now Alfon can only hope that Zelda’s grandfather is taking care of her.
“Okay,” Link says slowly, digesting the news with an expression too old for a child to wear. It looks almost like Link has lived a thousand lives before, and bad news is nothing new to him.
Alfon knows he’s being ridiculous, of course. Link has barely lived three years in this world that already hates him.
For Link’s sake, Alfon hopes the world learns to love him.
“What happened?” Roma demands later, shortly after Link has been tucked into Alfon’s own bed. Asleep, safe, none-the-wiser of the escapade Alfon had needed to make.
Alfon breathes out deeply. He wants to tell her, confide in his baby sister this secret that lingers over his head, tell her about the poisoned dagger he’d let drift down the river. But he sees her face and sees her as a child. Roma is the youngest, a good ten years younger than Talo and twelve years younger than Alfon himself. A young spirited woman still, on the move everywhere she goes. It’s a wonder she hadn’t somehow spirited Talo and his wife away on some adventure herself.
The three of them, cut from the same cloth and giving Alfon heart attacks. He prays Link won’t be the same way.
Yet, he does not see the young woman who refuses to put down roots. He sees his little, red-haired freckle-faced sister trying to keep up with him and Talo as they ran through the corn fields of Lon Lon Ranch. Carefree, laughing, and safe.
If he tells Roma, she will not be safe anymore.
She will be privy to a secret, to a usurpation of a crown, to the truth of their brave brother and sister-in-law’s deaths. If Agahnim gets his way―whenever he makes his move―then she will be in mortal danger.
Alfon can’t let that happen. So instead, he says, “I had to.”
“But why?” she asks.
Alfon does not answer.
Roma stares at him, but he is twelve years her senior and she hasn’t yet outgrown the Older Brother Stare, and she breaks down, huffing like a child as she falls back onto her seat. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“It’s for your safety, Roma,” Alfon assures her. “I would if I could.”
Roma’s eyes flit to the floor, to the old mud stains that cake the worn, old hardwood. “Is Link safe, at least?”
Alfon takes a deep breath. His hands tighten around his mug. “If I have anything to say about it, then yes.”
Roma sighs. “This world is bigger than us, so much bigger,” she says mournfully. “I don’t think you can guarantee that.” She shakes her head. “Gonna need a hero real soon, if things keep goin’ like they are. I heard rumors of a hero, you know. Said that one would come. I like to think it’s true. That one day another hero will come ‘n undo all the harm that beast’s gone and done. One as mighty as the Hero of Men.”
Alfon snorts. “Last time we relied on a hero, look where it got us.” He looks in the direction that he knows the castle is in. What was once a symbol of hope now looms over him like a threat. “A Sacred Realm destroyed, a wizard on the throne. All thanks to Great-Grandpa Time, huh?”
Roma snorts, a smile finally
Roma chuckles, shaking her head as she spoons more sugar into her tea. Alfon tries not to make a face. Roma has, evidently, not outgrown her sweet tooth either.
“I remember when he said that,” Roma says, smiling. “We were in the barn, Cremia was milking the cows and the rest of us were giving her a headache as usual. Forgot how it came up, but I remember how bold he was―Great Granpa Time couldn’ta turned back time if he wanted ta, he’d said―and I remember Cremia throwing her milking bucket at him. Don’t know why. I thought it was hilarious.”
Alfon laughs, even at the memory of a gap-toothed Talo proudly exclaiming his statement in an old, worn-down barn that smelled of hay and livestock, only to be met by the fierce throw of a milk bucket and to be drenched in cow milk for his boldness.
“Oh, Mother hadn’t been happy when we came parading inside after,” Alfon chuckles. “The three of us were circus clowns.”
Roma grins impishly. “Who ever said we stopped being clowns?”
Alfon really does laugh now, head thrown back and chortling into the air. “I’ll tell you one thing―Talo never did!” Alfon sighs, shaking his head. “He was always a trickster, Roma. Always had something he wanted to do or see. You know, he convinced me to help get him and Zelda out of the castle for a few hours. Don’t know how we managed to pull it off without the guard or the King knowing.” Alfon waves his hand. “I’ll tell you, Roma―Zelda was twice as bad as Talo sometimes.”
Roma laughs too. “Well, at least you were there to keep an eye on them.”
Alfon breathes out heavily. At once, the memories have faded, reminding both of them of the dim situation they’ve found themselves trapped in. Roma’s ears droop, and she rubs her arms up and down with her hands.
“I feel bad, Alfie,” Roma admits. “I’m never around. I didn’t even come when Link was born and here I am, somehow feeling worried for a kid I barely know.” She shakes her head. “The last time I saw Talo was last year and―and it was like seein’ a whole different person, Alfie. He didn’t even talk the same. He dressed like a king, talked like a king, acted like a king. He was nothin’ like my older brother who refused to wear shoes when we were kids.”
“Trust me, Talo was in there somewhere,” Alfon assures her. “The court was… they were hard on him and I bet if things went differently, they would be hard on Link too. We’re descended from the failed hero, random southern bumpkins who make their living selling milk and vegetables. I remember once when Talo was courting Zelda, he stormed into my barracks proclaiming heresy.” Alfon shakes his head. “I’m lucky my bunkmates weren’t in. They would have head heart attackings hearing the royal consort swearing like he did that night.”
“What happened?” Roma asks.
“The King and Agahnim conspired to get Talo a tutor to get rid of the accent. No prince can sound like that, they said.” Alfon leans in toward Roma. “Just between you and me, though, Zelda loved his accent.”
Roma shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Made for each other.” She glances at Alfon’s bedroom. “You’re going to have a rough one on your hands here.”
Alfon laughs. “Hopefully, Link will have been cut from the same cloth as Crema and I.”
“Oh?” Roma raises an eyebrow. “You mean being a stick in the mud?”
“No. Being cautious, smart―”
“Are you implying I’m dumb, big brother?”
“―handsome…”
Roma rolls her eyes with a heavy sigh, lifting her tea to her lips and taking a long swig of it. Alfon chuckles too, lifting his cup to his lips. The flavor of the tea is rich, exotic and different. He knows Roma has become something of a connoisseur of tea in the past few years.
“Where’s this blend from?” Alfon asks.
“Hedra,” Roma answers. “It’s the country off to the…” She thinks hard for a moment. “West of Hyrule.”
Alfon nods with a hum. “Well, the tea is delicious.”
Roma smiles softly, ears tipping backwards under the compliment. “... thank you.”
For a long time, they sit in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Aflon can’t help but think that, as a child, he would have hated such long stretches of silence, but as an adult, Alfon has come to appreciate them, the breaks between the action.
This break is not nearly long enough as the door suddenly slams open, a very wet Cremia coming stomping in as the rain pours outside. The door slams against the wall so hard, Alfon winces, and Cremia makes it a point to throw her shoes on the floor.
She has always been an angry one, Cremia. Grown up too fast and almost five years older than Alfon himself, Cremia had traded her childhood to give her younger siblings their childhood. Alfon appreciates it now more than ever, though he knows he, Talo, and Roma were all bastards to her as children.
As it is, Cremia has always found herself being more of a homebody, more out of necessity than choice, and by the time Roma had left, Cremia had fully resigned herself to ranch life, taking a nice husband who lived in the nearby town and having children who drove Alfon up the wall whenever he visited. Thankfully, they all have stayed home at the ranch with Tussah, too much work needing done and not enough hands with Cremia and Mother both coming up to Hyrule Castle for the funeral.
Alfon loves his nieces and nephews, truly, but they have always been as rowdy as he himself was as a child. Multiply himself by five and he’s found Cremia’s flock of children.
Cremia fixes Alfon with a dangerous look. Roma shifts uncomfortably, Cremia being the only one of them truly able to wrangle the wild girl, and Alfon’s ears droop.
“You shoulda told us,” Cremia snaps, stomping over to the table and making a lot of noise for someone who’s just removed their shoes.
“I―” Alfon begins.
“What, were we just s’posed ta be okay with ya not tellin’ us ‘bout Link? It was bad enough learnin’ from some courier that Talo went an’ died, but I gotta hear from that bastard old wizard that my nephew’s gone too, you rat’s―”
“Uncle?”
Cremia pauses. Alfon, whose face has been closed in on by Cremia’s own face, her long, pointed nose like a hook waiting to snatch Alfon like a helpless fish on a wire, looks toward the source of the sound and sees Link standing, holding one of the blankets Alfon had given him and rubbing his eyes.
“Why’s everyone fightin’?” Link asks tiredly.
Cremia’s eyes go wide, zeroing in on Alfon with a look that could spell disaster.
“I can’t tell you everything,” Alfon begins slowly to Cremia, who jumps at his tone. It takes a lot to scare his older sister anymore, but he has in this moment put some sort of fear or respect into her heart. “But I can promise you that Link is safe. He’s staying with me and that is final.”
“Why…” Cremia begins, but Alfon has already walked away and gathered his nephew into his arms.
Link curls into Alfon’s shoulder, clearly tired from so much action today, and in the background, Alfon’s sisters gather together near the door trading their worries and theories amongst each other in hushed tones. Alfon doesn’t bother acknowledging their whispers and parades into his room, settling the three-year-old onto the bed again and tucking him in. He tries to remember what the boy’s parents told him. He remembers Talo fretting because Link was an awful sleeper, and he remembers Zelda’s assurances that Link was fine.
Alfon hums that lullaby he once heard Zelda humming to her children, and it seems to let Link rest. The boy’s eyes begin sliding closed, the boy all bundled beneath Alfon’s blankets. Alfon will find somewhere else to sleep tonight, with his mother and sister taking over the guest bedroom.
“Uncle?” Link asks sleepily.
“Yes, Link?” Alfon asks, rubbing the boy’s hand.
“I miss Mama and Papa,” Link whines, his eyes growing wet. “Why’d they haveta go?”
Alfon purses his lips. “I don’t know, but I miss them too.”
Link sniffles, rubbing his face, and drifts to sleep not even a minute later.
The only relief Alfon feels is that Link won’t remember his parents at all in a few years.