Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your first impression of the Legendary Hero was, at best, underwhelming.

Upon his arrival in Kakariko, he stumbled into the village like an ungroomed child, sporting an uncombed mop of hair and mismatched clothes. A rusty axe half his size hung from the belt around his waist, and there was no hint of his elusive Master Sword or famous, blue tunic. Honestly, you doubt you’d have recognised him in the first place had it not been for Paya, who embezzled you out of the better half of an afternoon just to prattle about him like a love-struck teenager.

What’s worse, his deficiencies in appearance were the least of his shortcomings. Little of what you overheard from his conversations with the townsfolk suggested a personality past a robotic need to fulfil his heroic duty, like he was talking to people not with the intention of making friends or having fun, but to make sure not one person in the village was, in any way, dissatisfied.

And what kind of bottom-line hero was that, really? Completely uncompelling. A barrel-scraped shaving. So much for the storybook; the only interesting thing about this guy was that he could get a job done. After that, the impression he left on you ran dry, and like trying to read a book of nothing but blank pages, you couldn’t pin down any other facets of his personality.

Eventually, your turn to be assisted came too.

Caked in mud from the tips of your toes to the collar of your shirt, you squatted at Kakariko’s running stream with a rag and a pail of water, furiously scrubbing yourself down. The Legendary Hero (closer in image to a slipshod village bumpkin) rounded up the hill, focused on the horizon ahead with undeterred resolve that nevertheless crumbled when he noticed you. He took a sharp corner and legged it in your direction, as though he decided you were in such dire need of intervention that every other, greater evil could wait.

“Do you need help?” were his first words to you.

“Oh, the Legendary Hero. It’s nice to meet you,” you offered some feigned notion of nonchalance, but your clothes were laced with mud so thick you couldn't tell what they were made from. ‘Who was the fashion disaster now?’ you had to ask, and after a prompt once-over his overstretched clothes, you decided that, yes, it was still, in fact, him. “You’ve made a real stir with how helpful you’ve been.”

You tended to a pile of dirty clothes at your feet while the anticipation of his reply came and went.

“I’m surprised you’ve got the time for rounding up cucoos. I imagined being the Legendary Hero keeps you busy.”

Still, he said nothing. You looked up at him from your washboard to find him utterly stone-faced.

“I guess now that you’re here, I might have a little job for you," you said, concluding it might be in your best interest to avoid further small talk.

Instead, you described the disaster of your last hunt, where somewhere in-between your unfastened quiver and an intense chase with a wounded (but very stubborn) boar, all nine of your hunting arrows fell into a pool of mud and were never seen again. Sure, you could fashion some more out of Bokoblin horns, but without arrows you’d have a hard time fighting them off, and this guy conveniently wanted to play charity.

“If you get me thirty monster horns, I’ll think of some worthy award to whip up for you,” was the last thing you said to him before he nodded and continued his undeterred walk to the horizon; ready to play a missing jigsaw piece for whatever prophesied, divine quest your mundane existence became a stopgap for.

You scouted him from a tree upon his return. The last few days of eating nothing but Olkin’s pumpkin soup had starved you enough to try an extremely experimental (and extremely ineffective) hunting technique of climbing trees and throwing rocks at hares. It was understandable then, that seeing your saviour return with the promise of fresh arrows was such a relief you scrambled down the tree in a mad dash and jumped to the ground about three branches too early, nearly twisting your ankle.

“I’ve brought some Bokoblin horns,” Link said with a straight face as you cradled your leg and mumbled a string of curses. 

“Right,” you returned, correcting your posture and trying to retain some semblance of dignity. He tipped out the horns from a sack tied around his waist—bigger on the inside than outside apparently—because the final pile of mismatched monster horns dwarfed it in size. 

“Thank you," you said, and leafed through it awkwardly, admiring its sheer mass. Now, the question of reward. Without arrows, your main source of income was gone and most of your luxuries had petered out. You doubted the Legendary Hero would be happy with old clay pots, and clearly he had no interest in fashion, so clothes were a no-go. Nervously looking around for something you could pilfer from the forest floor, your eye caught the quiver slung around his back.

“You use a bow, right? How about I make a few arrows for myself and give you the rest?”

His nod surprised you, but you were happy to see it all the same.

“Great,” you said. Over the hill, nestled in a little clearing that overlooked the village, your house (a small hut, really; barely good enough to keep the elements out on a rainy day) crouched over a hill—just visible from where the two of you were standing. You pointed at it. “I have a pile of sticks and bird feathers at my house. Give me until the sun hits that mountain and then meet me up there, alright?”

Another curt nod from him and he was gone like the wind.

Almost true to your word, you came to your porch after the sun had dipped below the mountain with a pile of arrows wrapped like a bushel of flowers. He was already waiting at your doorstep when you got there, so the hurried briskness with which you handed them to him was a substitute for an apology.

With a blankness that was proving itself customary, he put them into his quiver and turned back on the path to Kakariko.

For a second, it looked as though that might be it. This would be where your claim to fame of 'assisting the famous hero’ would end, and you'd have to tuck your future children into bed at night and tell them the stories were over. 

Some form of madness struck you in that moment; leftovers of the same eagerness to help that had you stuffing your mouth with bird feathers to make fletchings a little faster, that said, in these words exactly: 'maybe you should, you know, do more to help considering he's Hyrule's last get-out-of-jail-free-card.'

“Hold on!" you exclaimed.

He looked back at you—suspended in a half-turn—and it caught you off guard. You hadn't anticipated he would actually stop.

"Maybe I could offer this as some sort of… service to you? You probably smite more monsters before breakfast than I’ve done in my entire life, so you must run through arrows pretty quickly.”

You hadn’t intended your proposal to be rhetorical, but after a few moments of silence, you supposed that’s what it would have to be. Not quite used to carrying a conversation by yourself, you stuttered your way through a follow-up.

“So— So, uh, if you’re ever in need of any arrows, I could make them for you. You’d just have to bring me sharps. Bokoblin horns, flint, anything like that.”

He considered it, maybe did some quick maths in his head, before he turned back to you and nodded again, equally as systematic in his delivery as he was with everything else.

Nex time, he caught you completely off-guard. Decked out in Sheikah gear from head to toe, his approach was silent until he scattered a pile of sharps onto the porch where you were turning over a roasting boar.

“Could you turn these into arrows?” he asked, startling you.

“Where did you come from?” You frantically brushed grease and seasoning off your clothes. He looked much better in the Sheikah gear than he did with his threadbare shirt and pants: the darker colours enunciated his toned, lithe body, and the material was tight-fitting enough to reveal the dips in his abs at the base of his stomach. Even the updo suited him. 

He pointed out towards the summit surrounding the valley. You gawped at him.

“From the mountain peak?” you asked again, and he gave a firm nod. “How did you get up there in the first place?”

“I climbed.”

“Sure.” Apparently the Legendary Hero likes bouldering. Fun fact. “And how did you get down?”

“I used a paraglider.” He gestured to a bit of cloth strapped to his back.

"You did what ?”

“I used my—”

“I heard you. I’m just— What’s wrong with walking? "

Link shrugs. “Gliding is faster."

Never before had you considered whether scaling a steep, mountainous overhang with no equipment (just to glide from it with a cheap bedsheet) could function as a shortcut, and yet, here you were, feeling like you’d missed a memo.

“Alright. I can’t say I had you pegged for an adrenaline junkie, but I suppose people can surprise you." Still a little dumbfounded (and maybe a little worried for him) you took another look at the pile of sharps.

“I’ll get started on those. You can sit down while you’re waiting,” you waved your hand towards the stump you got up from.

He made no move to stray from his spot.

“Probably should sit down, actually." You took hold of his wrist and gently pulled him towards the stump. “If shock kicks in and you feel like passing out, lie down on the ground. I’ll be back soon.” Still half-heartedly attempting to parse the information, you let go of his wrist and turned the roast one, last time before walking into your house for supplies. When you glanced back, he was focused on his hand, gently brushing his thumb across where you touched his wrist.

You expected a couple things when you returned. A passed-out Legendary Hero on your front lawn. A very bored-looking Legendary Hero. No Legendary Hero at all. What you hadn’t expected was to see him poking and sniffing the boar like a wild animal.

“Hungry?” you asked.

Link gasped and drew back, shaking his head.

You put the feathers and sticks beside the pile of sharps. “Are you sure?” 

He shook his head more insistently. He'd been so deadpan this entire time that it was hard not to be fascinated with that reaction. You wanted to tease him more, poke some extra holes in that facade, but you didn’t even get the chance. He sabotaged himself with a perfectly timed stomach rumble—loud enough to scare a sparrow from its nest on your roof.

You knew you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from laughing so you didn’t even try. Instead, you made it up to him by prying away a slice of the boar and passing it over, stabbed onto the end of a stick.

“Here.”

Wary, he looked you up and down.

“Come on, it doesn’t bite,” you urged.

Still unsure, he took it from you demurely, like he wanted to give you the chance to change your mind. 

“Thank you,” was his gentle response. With leftovers of his embarrassment flushing the tips of his sharp ears, he pulled his mask down and took a shy bite out of the meat, then another, and another, and… Hylia, was he starving? There wasn't enough time to cut yourself a piece before he handed the stick back, desolate of anything edible.

“I think that's the fastest I've seen food disappear," you said. “Did you like it? Here, take some more.”

He nodded at you with his cheeks puffed full of food. You gave him an encouraging smile and knelt down beside him to start threading arrows. With every bite, his enthusiasm displaced his shyness more and more. Eventually, the food was gone almost as soon as he picked it up.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” you asked, because it seemed like the politest way of asking if he’d ever seen food before. 

“Yesterday,” he replied, resting a slice onto his lap. “I had an apple in the afternoon.”

That in itself raised red flags, considering it was nearly evening.

“And what did you have before that?”

“Nothing that day,” he replied simply. It wasn't until he noticed the look you gave him that he had the grace to look sheepish about it.

“You have to be joking.” With an indisputable stubbornness, you lifted the roast off the cooker and pushed it into his hands. “Just have the rest of this. I think you need it more than I do.”

He seemed so hesitant that if your tone left any room for discussion, he might have tried to give it back to you. Instead, you settled into a tense silence while you went back to making arrows—with admittedly sloppy and frustrated attempts.

So much for all that grandiose heroism. Wasn’t it kind of pitiful for the Legendary Hero not to know how to feed himself? Enough that you felt obliged to give him your entire meal, which was no small feat. Four arrows in, one of the sticks snapped, and whatever threads of tension had sewn your lips shut went with it.

“I don't get that. You play tag with kids if they ask you nicely, so why can’t you spare a few minutes to roast a rabbit over a campfire?” With an exaggerated motion, you threw the broken stick into the charcoal pit. 

“A lot of people are relying on me,” was his unexpected response, with his face as vague and unclear as it had been behind the mask.

Even then, couldn't he pop into someone's house after a favour and ask to be spared a bowl of broth? At the rate he helped people, he should have come across a few decent cooks. Or at least people who knew how to use a pot. Sure, the calamity had been hard on everyone, and even your nicest neighbours were known to be stingy with their crops, but now that you were thinking about it, even you were—

'Oh no,' the more sensible part of you interjected, knowing too well where that throughline was heading.

Did you have to do this? Did you want to do this? Was it really on your bucket list to baby someone who was ‘too busy’ to eat food?

“In that case, you should come back here if you're ever hungry." This sounded underplayed even to you, considering you were offering him an open-ended contract with yourself as a cook and no strings attached.

He gave you that weird look again, perhaps justified this time. Your house was small. You weren’t well off. Most days, you could barely scrape enough ingredients to feed yourself. What were you doing? 

“Really, I mean it. I always have something in the pantry.” Distracting yourself, you threaded cucoo feathers through an arrow and wondered why your niceness was sending him into such a lengthy introspection. Maybe he just saw right through you: through the holes in your clothes and the poorly thatched roof which leaked during heavy, Summer storms. He might not have looked like much, but Link had a prophecy to his name. You had nothing but a roasted boar.

“Thank you. I’ll do that,” he said, taking another bite, and you let go of the breath you were holding.

Chapter Text

Four nights and three days of waiting brought him back, carrying a net of two, skinned ostriches. There was a woozy tread in his steps, and he rocked to and fro as you appraised the meat with an impressed glean to your eye.

“I've got just the seasoning for this,” you said enthusiastically, instructing him to sit on your bed while you fumbled through pots of herbs and spices. He watched you explain every step with unbroken attention, (though he never offered comment) and eventually, you became so concentrated on the process of cooking that he hazed away into the background.

“I've finished prepping it,” you mused about excitedly, not a whole fifteen-minutes later. “Sorry it's taking so long; you’re probably starving.” With a wide plastered on your cheeks, you turned around to look at Link, but what you saw surprised you.

Sprawled out on your bed, he lay with his legs spread and one arm resting on top of his stomach. The only motion came from the slow deflation of his chest, and the stillness settled your excited nerves into a smooth ebb of gentle surprise.

He’d fallen asleep facing you.

Some halfway instinct between parental and curious took your attention off the food. You walked up to him and inspected him closely, making sure he was well and truly asleep. A little prod at his cheeks caused no sign of stirring, but now that you were so close you could see his face more closely: the swollen and pale spread of grey under his eyes protruded from underneath them, and the veil of white flushing his skin hollowed out his cheeks. He almost looked like a corpse. 

Feeling a little bad that you hadn’t noticed his tiredness immediately, you grabbed a thick blanket and lay it over his body, stopping yourself short of tucking him in. For a second, you considered chewing him out for falling asleep on your bed (just before dinner, no less) but you figured it was more important to let him rest. Instead, you returned to your seat at the oven and watched the ostrich cook.

His woke with a yawn. Stretching his body out like an unveiling flower and feeling the duvet he was under fall off his chest, Link felt the sun on his face most clearly. He noticed you only a little while later, and it only took a few more seconds after that for him to get his post-nap bearings.

Graces coming back full force, he stood up abruptly and stumbled to undo the creasing in the bedsheets. You hadn’t looked very impressed with his efforts, so he stopped fiddling about with the covers and curled into himself in a way that was probably meant to be apologetic.

“You're quite bad at taking care of yourself, aren't you?” you said.

“Sorry. I won’t sleep in your bed again.”

You shook your head. "That’s not the point.”

“I’m just.." you started, "I'm concerned you don’t know anything about keeping yourself alive past what you can do with a sword. You realise you can’t help anybody if you’re dead, right?” You put a chunk of ostrich meat on a clean plate next to you.

“Yes, I know,” Link said.

“Then how come you're so bad at taking care of yourself?” Admittedly, he looked much better after a nap, but the deathly paleness in his features still stuck with you in a way that his embarrassed blush would not so easily wipe away. “I understand you have to save Princess Zelda. But do you really think you’ll be in any condition to fight whatever is waiting for you inside that castle when you’re running on nothing but a couple of baked apples?”

“I’ve never lived out in the wilderness by myself before,” he said. It might have sounded like an excuse had it not been for the sorry tone in his voice. “So it's hard to know when to take breaks. And because I’m usually fighting monsters, the adrenaline keeps me awake and I never get tired.”

“You never feel tired,” you corrected. “But you definitely get tired. And if you keep going like you are now, your body will give up on you and collapse before you can even set foot in the castle.” You handed him the plate and he took it from you, demurely bringing it into his chest.

“Even so, it’s not safe to sleep out in the wilderness alone,” he rebutted.

“Do you not have anywhere indoors to sleep?”

He shook his head. "I travel a lot, so I don’t have time to regularly make it to an inn.”

Briefly, you wondered what made him think sleep was a luxury he could afford to relegate to lower priorities. “You really can’t spare an hour and a half to walk one way?”

Link fiddled with his fork awkwardly, circling it about his untouched food.

“It’s usually longer than that. Sometimes I stray hours from the path,” he said, eyes cast downwards with a grimace. “And I wouldn't be able to afford weapons and armour if I spent rupees on a bed every night.”

You took a deep breath in and held it for so long that it hitched in your throat when it came back out again. Honestly, you'd never seen someone with such a lamentable idea of what took priority; like he was born on an upside-down spectrum of needs: filling out the base with prestige and all the little extras with rest and food.

“Just eat the ostrich for now,” you said. It could all be explained when he was finished.

His attention was drawn back to his plate of food, but he still waited in a couple more seconds before deeming it safe to take the first bite. After the fork made it past his lips, a happy pink veined his cheeks, and he looked so immediately better that you decided to not say anything else until he was done.

When his plate was clear, he put it down at your feet.

“Finished already?” you asked and he nodded.

Honestly, it felt good to have him polish off your meal like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. You doubted it was that good, really, and you suspected his hunger did most of the work, but it was on rare occasions that anyone even visited your home, let alone stayed for long enough to eat your cooking. Paya was once a frequent visitor, but ever since she became and adult and started taking care of Impa, she rarely had the energy for the trek up the hill to your house. To make matters worse, you were out hunting more often than not, so you missed each other even on the days she chanced a visit. The most common indication of her presence was the occasional bag of money she left on your table in exchange for the game you left on your porch, a service many villagers were grateful for.

As much as this whole situation felt strange and awkward, it was still the first formidable conversation you'd had for about two weeks.

“So your main problem is that you’ve got no-one to scout for enemies while you sleep?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

When he confirmed your suspicions, you sat back and cupped your face in your hands.

This was the last thing you needed. You'd already offered this guy more far more than anyone else seemed inclined to. Let someone else take the torch and accompany him to the ends of Hyrule. You had enough to deal with keeping yourself alive.

That's what you'd have liked to think, anyway. 

Once upon a time, you lay with a foliage of leaves and moss at your back and stared at the sky. The dusk was pretty, but you’d scarcely seen the sky bare enough to accommodate it. (Usually, the endless row upon row of trees was such a constant.) It was only now, with the middle of winter having stripped the trees of their leaves, your back aching on the forest floor, and your leg twisted at an awkward angle (broken, certainly broken) that you really had the chance to see the infinite expanse of navy overhead. The bird’s nest you tried to reach a day and a half ago lay untouched on a branch some light-years above, a black silhouette against the sky.

It was getting so cold you could barely feel the pain of your fall past a dull thud anymore. The hot tears on your cheeks were too, just a memory, traced with remnants of a numb itch. The chill was as an alright way to go, you couldn’t help but think (while the snow-covered earth sapped your warmth in little bites), although you’d have preferred it without the messy screaming at the beginning (when you fell off the tree and couldn't get up again). Would have been nice if it happened later, too, when you were a bit older. Or at least with someone to hold your hand.

Somewhere in the back of your head you heard a voice, but you were so far gone that all you could make out from its mumbling was a soft hum, like the flutter of a bee far away. The sky scattered snowflakes onto your body one-by-one, from the empty skin on your collarbone to the tip of your nose. It buried even your old, weathered bow, (still where you left it, propped up against the tree you tried to climb). With every single extra snowflake on your skin, you heard the voice get louder.

“You’ve grown so much,” it said, like you heard your father tell you once. "You looked after yourself all this time. I’ve been watching you from up there.” The dark sky threatened to swallow you alive; you felt your head swim. “I don’t know know any adults that can shoot an arrow at a rabbit from nine and a half trees away.”

“How about other kids?” you asked.

“Definitely not other kids,” it said, and instead of smiling about it you just nodded numbly.

“It’s because I’ve been in the forest for so long." Your short, pudgy fingers felt for the limb of a bow, but were only met with the coldness of the earth.

“You’ve been out there all alone,” it said, and repeated it over and over. With each cycle you felt your head get further from your body, stretching—not like a bowstring, but with something of no elasticity, just getting longer and longer.

“All alone," you mumbled after it, and felt your eyes close as you gave into its cyclical rhythm.

It was then that another pair of voices, more definitive and real, encroached on the repetition. The discord cleared the fog in your head and threw your drifting body back to the earth, opening your eyes and kick-starting the beat of your heart, because—oh—those were real voices.

“Impa, could you tell me the story of how you rescued Master Link again?”

There was a soft rustle through the trees, at a pace so distantly familiar that you could only attribute it to the sound of two feet. Not an animal, or boar, or bird, but a person.

“In a little while. We’ve walked out quite far into the forest today and we need to hurry home.”

The adrenaline rush was immediate, and your eyes filled with tears as soon as the pain came back full force. Your cry for help came out as a whittled rasp, and after it, the voices stopped abruptly, as though scared into silence.

“What was that?” You heard the voice of the little girl again, very frightened. You tried again, and it was a little better, but not by much. You were hungry, thirsty, and your throat had almost all given out, but instead of sitting about and letting the cold claim you once again, you started crying, because now that you weren’t alone death suddenly seemed scary again.

The footsteps continued, getting closer and closer (to your great relief), and then the bright light of a lantern illuminated the cluster of trees that circled your body.

“Oh my,” the woman said.

Link saw you flinch when his hand met your shoulder. He looked concerned, and you gave him a reassuring smile that didn't seem to reassure him all that much.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, quietly. “Just thinking.”

He drew back cautiously and squat down on the floor beside you. It was a viscerally unpleasant visual, but your imagination still filled your head with images of cracked bones peeking through the darkness of a Sheikah suit at the base of a mountain, where no-one would find him. Because, really, all it would take is one accident—one poorly timed jump from the top of a ledge and he'd be dead in the same way that you, very nearly, were.

You looked about you for any of your more significant belongings, but at this point nothing could convince you to stay. There was a resolute determination in the way you met his eyes, and it was the first time you noticed the pretty sky-blue filling out his irises.

“I think you should take me with you,” you said.

Chapter Text

“When did he say he’d be here again?” Paya asked, impatiently twiddling her foot on the stairs leading up to Impa’s house. On your lap was a bag stuffed full of necessities and freshly washed travel clothes—of which at least half were the gracious courtesy of Paya’s wardrobe.

“Not sure. He just said he’d come by in the morning.”

You looked where the shadow cast by Impa’s house cut off into a bright flare of sunlight, reaching out to a field of grass that met up with it in a splash of vibrant green. The greenery followed the path on both sides and flared out to where the road disappeared behind a cliff, to a spot that focused your vacant stare in preparation for any sign of movement that would indicate Link’s arrival.

It was quiet now; a couple of minutes ago there was still the song of the wrens about the village, but it’d since eased off into silence. Now the early morning stillness was only broken up by the rustle of the wind pushing through branches and the sound of shifting as Paya turned towards you.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said.

You showed up on her doorstep yesterday early evening, bags full of unpackable bric-a-brac hanging from your arms and news of your departure swirling on your tongue. When you handed her the bags under the pretext you couldn’t take them with you, she thought it an elaborate joke at first—until the apologetic grimace on your face convinced her otherwise.

“Oh my, you’re being serious!” she exclaimed, and dropped the rag she was holding in favour of hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Is this—is it because I’ve been neglectful of our friendship? You haven’t been lonely up in that hill, have you?”

It was a misunderstanding that you were quick to correct, but the sincerity in the way she admonished herself stuck with you. “I can’t believe that I knew what you were like with being stuck in silence on your own,” she said, “and yet I still left you to fend for yourself up there.” And just what did she mean by that? You were fine with silence. Just fine. There was nothing wrong with talking to yourself during cooking once in a while (or all the time). Nothing wrong with getting goosebumps on your arms during nights that were quiet for too long, because it felt like you were back there, back to lying on the forest floor, literally feeling the strength seep out from the tips of your fingers—like it was something physical that could be lost.

“Don’t worry; I was fine,” you said, because you really thought you were. “The silence was nothing to be afraid of.” (But only because it was easy to break.)

You found there was no way you could refuse her earnestness when she asked you to sleepover at Impa’s house for your last night in Kakariko (“like we used to do when we were kids,”) so the entire night was dedicated to sombre and heartfelt apologies that eventually trickled down to petty gossip. It was one in the morning when the two of you fell asleep, topsy-turvy in her bed.

“I’ll miss you too," you said sincerely.

Paya looked at you with a faraway focus; a soft jitter in her jaw tightened her lips. She gripped her bead necklace in her hands self-consciously.

“Will you be safe?” She asked; there was genuine concern in her voice. “I’ve heard nasty stories on things that happen outside of Kakariko. I’m not just referring to the threat of Guardians. Impa has told me tales of attempted assassinations on the royal family by masked figures who call themselves the Yiga, and there’s goblins making camps on every other field. I’m aware you’ve got your bow and arrow, but…” she trailed off, hands still nervously fiddling about with her necklace.

“To be honest, I can’t promise it’ll be safe out there,” you said. It was blunt, but it’d do you good to rip the bandage off now. After all, you’d spent a big part of your childhood out in the wilderness; you knew better than anyone else that it was unpredictable. “But that’s exactly why I have to go. Link’s got enough problems trying to fight off monsters and immediate dangers, I don’t think basic needs like sleep even come to mind anymore. I told you last night didn’t I? I took my eyes off him for barely five minutes and he fell asleep waiting for food to cook.”

“He’s such a hard worker," she said with a soft, introspective voice.

“He’s an idiot who doesn’t know better. I swear he’s gonna get himself killed if he doesn’t have someone to filter out all his stupid ideas. Did you know he got to my house one time by paragliding off the edge of a mountain? Unbelievable.”

Paya surprised you out of your exasperation with a small laugh that she covered with her hand. “You make it sound like you’re his mother.”

This stopped you in your tracks a little. Sure, maybe you were taking this whole thing a little personally, but this guy shouldered the responsibility of saving Hyrule. You couldn't pretend that wasn't kind of personal.

“Alright. You let me know what it feels like when he collapses on your lawn and then we can talk,” you said, with half a mind to burst into another rant about it.

“Oh, I can’t imagine I’d mind that at all."

You snapped to look at her in shock, but a subtle smile gave her away, and you shook your head knowingly.

“You’re impossible,” you said, and both of you laughed together. When it eased off, she looked at you strangely, with eyes that were oddly analytical for a face as soft as hers.

“Honestly though, I think you’ll be good for him.”

You wanted to ask her what she meant, but her attention was off you before you could even open your mouth. She lifted her hand in the direction of the hills and her eyes lit up with an immediacy that could only mean one thing.

“Oh! There he comes!” she exclaimed, standing up to brush herself off.

You turned to where she looked, but it took you a second to even recognise the dressed-up character as someone you’d ever met before, let alone as the ramshackle of a hero who once set foot in your town.

Link had a horse, it turned out. A graceful white stallion dressed in purple and gold accents and a mane threaded with red and yellow flowers like something from a fairy tale. He himself, wore the clothes of a knight, padded in iron pauldrons and the red, blazoned mark of the Hylian emblem on his chest. After he looked around briefly, meeting his eyes was a lot more daunting than you remembered it being; everything about him was a far cry from the bumpkin with misfit clothes you were expecting to see. He got off his horse walk to Impa’s house, and it patiently waited for him at the entrance to Kakariko where he left it (not even tacked to the fence) and two heavy rucksacks hanging from its embroidered saddle.

You picked up your packed bags and walked down the stairs while Paya trailed behind with all the grace of a shy child.

“Speak of the devil,” you said, when he came within earshot.

“Welcome, Master Link,” Paya said, after you.

Link acknowledged Paya’s greeting by nodding briefly in her direction. When he turned to you and saw the packed bag hoisted over your shoulder, the rigidness in his posture softened a little. “You haven’t changed your mind?” he asked, like he expected otherwise.

“Of course not. Everything necessary has been packed. Everything else has been handed out.” You took the bag from your back and held it out in front of him. It felt meager compared to the entirety of your home, an empty building now devoid of any value or sentiment. “So there’s no going back.”

Understanding flashed across Link’s face; an expression of dread and worry settled over Paya's.

“Very well,” Link said and took the bag off you with a semblance of respect that made the whole thing feel a little more official.

“I’ll come by to visit sometime,” you told Paya, who looked like she wanted to speak up.

“Please do,” she said, and leant forward shyly to embrace you. As you withdrew, she held onto your hand, and there was a clear nervousness to her jitters going beyond what she’d normally feel in Link’s presence. In an effort to steel herself for whatever she wanted to say, she took a breath so deep her chest visibly puffed out before turning to Link with a determination you’d never seen her use.

“M—Master Link, if I may," she begun, and brought the hand not in yours up to her necklace again. The both of you turned to her, and she almost wilted under the collective power of your attention. “I am sure my friend will be of great use to you on your journey,” she continued, and you felt her palms getting hot and sweaty. “Their skill with a bow is considered a local treasure,  and I—um, I believe their advice will also prove beneficial, especially with providing structure and a voice of reason to the life of someone as busy as yourself.”

She gripped your hand harder, though the tremors enfeebling her fingers prevented it from actually being forceful. “But... they are very dear to me, and the outside world is dangerous. So I must ask you take good care of them. Please ensure they’re safe, happy, and that no harm comes their way. Protect them with whatever means are necessary. I will not be able to forgive myself for letting them go otherwise.”

"I'll do what I can," Link said, with a seriousness that was trademark of his hero title.

You grinned at her wholeheartedly before lurching at her, and the force with which you embraced her surprised her so much she jumped up with a squeal. “Thanks, Paya,” you said, and she replied that it was no problem at all, that you should be careful, and that she would always be waiting with a warm meal and an even warmer bed if you ever got tired of the journey and wanted to sleep someplace that felt like home.

When you broke apart, it felt bitter-sweet.

Paya waved you off with glassy eyes when you and Link turned around to start walking. It was clear to you this would be the last time the wooden shacks of Kakariko would feel this familiar, and you said a mental farewell to each house you passed in turn: from the inn and the stores to each residential home, hoping they'd manage without their village hunter.

A whistle startled you out of your thoughts, and you barely got as far as figuring out it came from Link before his horse ran towards him in a brisk canter.

“Oh wow, it comes on command,” you said, when it eased off to stand in front of you. It lifted its head upwards as Link walked over to its side, and you ran your fingers through its thick mane, tracing your outstretched palm down to it's pale, pink nuzzle. “Where did you get it? It's beautiful.”

Link looked to the side sheepishly. “I caught it,” he said and put your packed bag onto the horse’s back.

“From the wild?”

He nodded, readjusting the weight of the bags attached to its on the saddle. “I’ll catch you one too, when we get to a herd."

Giving the village a last, cursory glance, you waved back to Paya, who was watching you from the terrace of Impa’s house. A bright smile was on her face, although her eyes were still a little sad from when you exchanged your farewells. Flat faces of mountain to your left and right dipped into the valley you walked through. Finally, Impa’s house disappeared behind them.

“So we've got food,” you mumbled (doing your best to distract yourself from her heartfelt goodbye, because the last thing you wanted to do was get homesick first thing after stepping out of Kakariko), “blankets, bows, arrows, matches, spare clothes, a water flask, and a leather tarpaulin. We can pick up firewood at any time, and making a hut is just pulling enough tree branches together and putting the tarp on top. Should be waterproof, too.”

Another wooden gate passed you by. Hung from each pole was a string decorated in a familiar banners of blue that hung downwards like branches from a willow—the last gate before leaving Kakariko officially. It was daunting, but if you weren’t ready now, you never would be. “I think it sounds like we’re all set,” you said to convince yourself, before walking through it.

The two of you walked up a gentle sweep of incline up a grassy hill, and the mountains to your side gave way to a swathe of blue that curved around the entire sky. It felt big, too big almost; you hadn’t strayed far out from Kakariko ever since Impa had taken you in, so you’d grown unaccustomed to this sort of emptiness. When the hill steepled off, Hyrule castle came into view as a swirl of black far, far away, surrounded on all sides by hills of green. Around it were spots of trees, ponds, lakes, boulders, and mountains, and suddenly the big felt even bigger—reaching out to places even your imagination could not follow.

“Can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” you said nervously but grinned in his direction. There wasn’t much to his expression but a shade of confusion, and even that disappeared before you had the chance to pick it apart.

“Do you regret it?”

“Of course not.”

Link began leading the horse down the hill slowly overlooking Hyrule castle, supporting the bags on its saddle with one hand.

“Someone needs to watch your back as you're getting a good night's rest," you continued, "and that’s never going to change. I’m risking literally having the world end otherwise. Besides, I think it’s going to turn out to be a good adventure." The smile you gave him was a little lop-sided, because the staving nervousness and doubt mulling inside of you still had half a mind to ditch this whole thing and go home. "Just the two of us, out hiking and climbing mountains and whatever else you do.”

“There’s a lot of fighting,” he said, like he was trying to put you off.

If that was actually his intention, you were confident he wouldn't be successful. Someone had to do this, you told yourself. Someone had to be there to give him a sense of schedule and normality. To tell him when was a good time to eat, to work, and to rest.

“That's fine. I’m good with a bow." You jostled the weapon at your back to prove your point. “Been the best hunter in the village for as long as I can remember.”

There wasn’t an immediate reply, and you realised again how slow he was in terms of carrying a conversation. (That was fine for now; you were sure he'd get into the habit of small talk with practice.)

“I don't know how well that’ll hold up against a pure-blood Hylian, mind,” you continued, giving the silver bow around his back a once-over. “I’ve heard you guys are like combat machines. Probably why you’re chosen as guards for the Royal family.”

A soft wind blew in your direction and with it came the exhilaration of leaving your home to go on an adventure. Impa’s tales on the hero’s prowess started coming back in bits and pieces and (although you couldn’t really correlate them to the man next to you and keep a straight face) they filled your head with curious wonder.

“Is it true you can see things in slow motion when your adrenaline kicks in?” you asked.

Link gave it some thought, and the subtle way his thumb rubbed against his chin made you feel better about how much attention he was paying to your rambling; it seemed he was listening to you, even if there wasn’t always a verbal response to show for it.

“Sometimes when I jump in the air while I’m aiming with a bow, it feels like I’ve got more time to land the shot.”

“Ah, that’ll be it then,” you said, feeling a kind of childish satisfaction from knowing the stories Impa told you as a child were at least partially true. “How about super strength? Or was that an exaggeration?”

"Somewhat."

“Bet you're just being humble. I’ve heard Impa talk about you felling trees in minutes with only a rusty sword.” You stretched out to feel the sun be closer to your skin and it felt fresh, like a breath of adventure altogether new. “I couldn’t guess where you carry all that muscle to save my life, though. You’ve got to be as dense as lead not look like a beefed-up bodybuilder.”

He said nothing still. You found yourself relax with the warmth of the sun, inclusive of your tongue.

“Speaking of muscles, that Sheikah suit looked really good on you. You should wear it more often."

You looked towards him with the intention of sending a jokey wink his way, but found his line of sight was no-where near your direction. Instead, there was a tight tension in his knuckles around the horse reins and a flush that coursed the tips of his pointed ears like a wildfire.

You laughed at him, choosing to savour the moment by remaining silent until you decided he'd brewed in his embarrassment long enough.

Eventually, the steady thump of horse hooves against the earth numbed you into rhythm. You stopped feeling the sun on your arms in favour of focusing on the walk. A couple of hours came and went with only passing comments (most of them your courtesy, of course), and it was only until you saw Link take out a device around his belt that anything of note happened.

You'd never stopped to think about what it was despite seeing it around his waist before, but now, with nothing else to look at bar the infinite expanse of the sky, it piqued your interest. It was flat, with a surface of of shifting symbols, pictures, and colours, something that made little sense for the fact it was made out of stone. Before you could ask about it however, he put it back into his pocket and ushered his horse in a slightly different direction.

“Where are we going?” you asked instead, choosing to put off your curiosity in favour of following him down the incline.

“There's a herd of horses down here. I'll be catching one for you."

True to his word, when the two of you turned a corner around the hill after reaching the bottom, you saw a marsh home to a herd of horses not too far in the distance. There, he told you to wait behind a rock (next to his stallion), and you absentmindedly pet its muzzle with half an eye trained on him as he snuck up to hide behind a tree.

You didn’t think the way he grasped at the collar of his clothes was suspicious at first, but had you known he would slowly start pulling them over his back, and the cloth picturing the Hylian banner would fall to the floor along with his chainmail and pants until he was left in nothing but dark, tight shorts, you might have thought otherwise.

He’d just stripped. Out in the field. In the middle of nowhere. In front of you.

Your hand stilled mid-air in embarrassment, and the horse whinnied to let you know you’d stopped petting it’s muzzle. You realised he was probably getting changed into something else, but couldn’t he have done it somewhere out of sight? Did he just assume you wouldn’t be watching? The whole thing felt about as surreal as you’d expect it to, and it wasn’t made any better by how he never once acknowledged you might have been looking in his direction.

You instinctively wanted to avoid all forms of eye contact when he finally put on his Sheikah suit and caught you staring, but when you realised he was nonchalantly pointing at the herd of horses (like stripping in front of someone didn’t even phase him) you decided against it.

‘What?’ you mouthed (trying to act like it didn’t phase you either).

He pointed to each of the animals in turn: first to one colored in grey, then black, and then finally at two with a deep bay coat. In all honesty, you were yet to get the image of Link’s near-naked body out of your head, so it surprised you when the horse at your side snorted by your ear. Still half-dazed, you gave it some attention by letting your fingers trail through it’s mane. It looked like Link wanted you to pick the one you liked the look of, which was a nice sentiment really, when he could have just picked the closest one and had it over and done with.

As you were thinking it over, Link’s horse craned its muzzle into your hand and the sheer brightness of its white face in your periphery caught you off guard. 

Perhaps, you thought, giving it another few strokes, it'd be nice for yours to provide contrast. 

“Have you got a name for it?” Link asked.

You looked ahead, hands firm on the purple bridle of Link's steed.

“Name? Oh, for the horse? No, not yet.”

The road took you northward, where Link mentioned the nearest stable would be. He was sat on the newly acquired and yet-nameless black horse, because what little he managed to teach you about horse riding on the fly was not enough to stop you from getting scared of its frequent bucking, lack of saddle, and constant steering away from the road.

“I'll ride him until we register him at the stable,” he'd said, “and he'll warm up to us by then.”

You were inclined to believe him. Even after three and a half hours, he rode with skill and practice; firmly, his hands would resist the horse’s rebellious veering, and then gently, his voice would bring reassurance when its route was corrected. A part of you wondered whether this was part of his training as a knight, or if he was just good with animals. You kind of hoped it was the latter. (He seemed more personable that way.)

“Does yours have a name?” you asked, looking up, distracted by the vastness of the sky above you for the umpeenth time that day. It was past noon now, drawing closer to evening.

He hesitated briefly, like he wasn't sure whether to tell you.

“Mipha,” he eventually replied.

“Mipha,” you repeated, feeling it on your tongue. Something in the word tugged at your memory. You could have sworn you’d heard it before, but any attempt to bring a description to the name proved unsuccessful, buried amidst the exhaustive list of Impa's stories you'd long since forgotten about. Paya was always better about remembering them; probably half the reason she ended up with such a thing for the Legendary Hero.

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” you asked, phrasing it like the punchline to a joke. Link rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Two hours before dusk was the first time you saw other people.

At first, they appeared as vague shapes sat around a flickering campfire. A semi-circle of trees surrounded them, their shadows long on the horizon. You immediately pointed them out to Link, eager to have a conversation that wasn’t one-sided or full awkward pauses.

“We should introduce ourselves,” you said. You expected him to nod blankly and start leading his horse in that direction, but he narrowed his eyes at them a way that unnerved you. Still, when you went ahead he dragged along without protest, shifting his foot about restlessly on the stirrups of the black horse.

One of them sat up when you came close enough. You waved at them.

“Ah, are the two of you also travellers?” the asked the one who sat up: a girl dressed in a leather corset and white, cotton dress. Beside her was an unassuming boy with a head of straight, black hair and a leather journal on his lap.

You nodded your head emphatically. “Yep, it's nice to meet you!”

She smiled up towards you and pat the ground beside her. “Sit down, please. It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to talk to other people.”

You made a move like you were going to get over your horse, but Link looked at you like it wasn’t a good idea, and you changed your mind.

“I’m afraid we probably shouldn’t,” you said apologetically. “We’re kind of in a hurry.”

This time it was the boy that spoke. “No pressure. If you have the time though, we’d appreciate if you could stay long enough to have something to eat.” He held up his journal. “I write traveler accounts in here, so I always welcome any conversation that comes our way.”

You looked towards Link for permission again. This time, he just shrugged.

“Alright then, just for a minute."

The boy instructed the girl to fetch some fruit from the rucksack they'd propped up behind the oak. Eager to settle down and rest, you leant forward in the saddle and placed your head against Mipha's neck.

“Have the two of you been traveling for long?” the boy asked, tapping a pencil on the cover of the journal.

“Funny you ask, actually. Believe it or not, I just set out this morning.”

He looked surprised. His dark hair fell over his face as he jot some things into his journal. “Him too?”

“Link? No, he’s been at this for much longer."

Some flash of recognition crossed his face at the mention of Link's name, but it disappeared equally as fast. He muttered something noncommittal and licked his fingers to get turn to a clean page. “Well that's curious. Would you mind telling me what relationship the two of you have? You seem a bit young to be married, if you pardon the assumption.”

“Oh no, it's nothing like that at all." Your next sentence was broken up by a mixture of fillers, of ems and ums and half-finished words. Honestly, you weren't sure what to say here. You hadn't even begun ascribing a name to your relationship with the hero in your head, let alone into words. “We’re just acquaintances,” you concluded. “But it’s kind of a long story.”

At this point, Link realised the conversation might drag so he slumped forward in his saddle to rest against the black horse's neck. He didn't find the process of talking to travelers nearly as captivating, so his eyes trailed away, to the sky, the mountains, the trees, and the bundle of crumpled clothes peeking from behind an oak tree nearby.

Crumpled clothes?

He did a double-take and sure enough, he was right. A messy pile of clothes lay behind the tree: most distinctly a white, cotton dress and a leather corset. The girl from before, meanwhile, was no-where to be found. Link sat up, unnerved. His eyes scanned up and down until just barely, behind a foliage of thick, green, oak leaves, he saw the colour of deep red.

“Down!”

His voice was so sudden you ducked on reflex, just in time to avoid an arrow that skimmed over your head and hit the ground beside you. He yelled at you again to stay back, and you tugged backwards on the reins of the horse out of sheer panic. Quickly, Link jumped off his horse and aimed upwards, but the arrow he shot landed somewhere in the leaves of the oak tree without hitting anything.

It took a couple of seconds for your breath to return, but when it did, you reached behind your back for your weapon. You’d never before shot an arrow while mounted, but your bow and three arrows from your quiver were at the ready, nestled in between your middle fingers. You aimed them at the boy, but he was nowhere to be found, the only evidence of his existence: a leather journal that lay in the grass, tossed on the ground.

Suddenly, you heard a bang and a whoosh. Everything filled with smoke. Vaguely, you saw figures, like puppets in a shadow-play, and then the clash of metal some distance from you. Before you could get your bearings, something grabbed you from behind and tried to drag you off your horse. You kicked against it but it didn’t let go. It tugged your hands behind your back in an effort to immobilise you.

“Get off!” you yelled, trying to worm out of its grasp. When you elbowed its chest, he grunted (it was a man's voice, you could tell) and his knee curled into you, smashing you in the ribs. You gasped; your entire body keeled into itself to nurse the pain, but you forcefully willed yourself into fighting back. This time, your other elbow met its mark with a sickly pound, and the man holding you fell backwards and cradled his face.

You coughed and grappled for your bow before aiming it at the assailant (despite the smoke still hazing your peripherals). Before you could shoot, another shadow jumped at the figure and stabbed something into its chest. Through shock, your feet stumbled backwards in a tangle, and you felt your back hitting the horse behind you. After a few shallow breaths, the thick smoke in the air thinned out.

It was Link who emerged victorious, crouched on top of the body on the ground, broadsword plunged into its chest.

With a deep breath, he used the sword to support his weight as he stood up. “Are you—” he started, but paused to get his breath back. “Are you alright?”

You nodded.

“They were Yiga. They dress up as travellers and ambush people who stop to—”

“I—I’m aware.” You cut him off. The irregular thrum of your heartbeat rang in your throat. “I’ve heard the stories.”

Link sighed and unsheathed his sword from the man’s body. It came out of his chest with a nauseating, wet slosh, bottom half almost entirely drenched in blood. Link looked at you, completely unbothered by it.

“You should put that back,” he said, and gestured to your bow. The adrenaline rushing out of your body left tremors in your fingers that ran all the way up to your shoulders. You probably wouldn't have shot anything with your bow shaking so aimlessly (even at point blank range), so the less stubborn part of you was grateful Link took it upon himself to make the finishing blow. A little embarrassed, but grateful nevertheless.

Off to the side was another body, again dressed in a deep, red costume that covered even its face.

(Probably the girl. So she was taken care of, too.)

You heaved a sigh of relief and the tremor in your fingers stilled with it. “That was tense.”

Link took no notice of the bodies. He walked to the oak without so much as a waver in his steps and started rummaging about in their rucksacks. From where you were standing, you could just about make out a pile of red and green rupees (which he stuffed quite quickly into a satchel around his waist). After this, he stared at the rucksack and grimaced, as though unsure of what to do with whatever else was in there.

“What have you found?” you asked. The question casual but your voice still jittery, cracking at the edges with a fear that had yet to dissipate. A puddle of blood pooled around the closest body, sinking into the earth.

He reached into the bag, held up a bushel of bananas, and you laughed nervously.

The two of you began mounting your horses when you turned back around, a bag packed full to the brim of bananas hanging from the saddle of Link’s horse. The bodies lay strewn over the field. Although they did not fill you with fear or dread, there was still something sad about how unceremoniously they lay. Their masks covered their faces, and the one who you assumed to be the girl still limply held her weapon in her fingers.

“Shouldn’t we bury them?” you asked, looking them over with a downcast expression. Link followed your gaze but didn't seem too repulsed by what he saw. His eyes ran over the grass like he was inspecting the view.

“Why?” he asked.

You blinked at him. “You mean you haven’t been?”

He looked at you vacantly and shook his head. You stopped to think about it, and the bodies waited, as still as ever.

“I mean—I kind of understand. They did try to kill us. But shouldn't we at least do it for the sake of the next person that has to stumble upon them?”

Link considered it in silence for a while longer, clearly trying to decide if it was worth his time. Even when he finally gave in and gestured for you to get off your horse, the systematic way he did everything made it seem like he was only doing it because you told him to. After he dismounted, he grabbed a shield roped to his horse’s saddle, handed you another one, and started using it to scoop out earth from under the oak tree.

With you working overtime to catch up, you finished digging holes big enough to hold the bodies just before dusk; filling them back up only took another couple of minutes.

After the bodies had been buried, Link's self-assurance disappeared into thin air. He kept looking in your direction, like he was waiting to be told what else to do.

“Have you ever been to a burial, Link?” you asked, trying to make yourself sound as non-judgmental as possible.

He shook his head. Something tugged at your chest. You realised with a disheartening lurch in your throat that he probably never had time to grieve over the deaths of the other Champions. It was during the tragedy that he collapsed, after all (still laden with layers of adrenaline) and Impa had to carry him away to the Shrine of Resurrection.

When Paya told you that the boy had woken up with memory loss so severe he could not remember his past, you felt bad for him at first. However, now that you looked over at his blank face and thought about it properly, perhaps his memory loss was a blessing. Otherwise, he'd be grieving over a tragedy long-since forgotten to everyone else.

“That’s no problem,” you said with a soft, small voice. “I’ll walk you through it”.

You told him to kneel, to place a flower on top of the graves as a marker, to pray to Hylia, and to entertain a moment of silence, reassuring him at almost every step.

It kind of looked like he didn’t get it, what with the blank way he kept looking up at you, completely out of his depth like a fish out of water. But maybe, in time, he would.

“Hey, Link,” you called out to him.

He looked over his shoulder back at you. The darkness of his Sheikah suit faded into the dusk behind him—mixed into a pretty wash of purple and blue. A while ago, you mentioned that the two of you should probably start easing off to find a place to rest for the night, but he insisted a stable was nearby. You could see it on the horizon now, the light of a campfire in front of it spewing plumes of smoke into the sky.

You plucked another banana from the bushel in your hands and threw it towards him. There had not been a dinner break for either of you as of yet (if you were honest, the Yiga incident put you off suggesting it) but you tried to keep the two of you fed with fruits and snacks nevertheless. The whole thing felt a bit overbearing, but Link seemed happy enough with it, taking whatever food you had to offer when you threw it over.

“I can’t wait to get to a proper bed,” you drawled, in between a yawn and a stretch. A sharp pain from your rib after the stretch caused you to keel over and clutch at your chest, breath hitching and locking before it even left your throat. Link looked over at you, concerned.

“I’m fine, just a sore muscle,” you muttered, and were quite happy to hear that your voice didn’t sound nearly as chopped up as it felt. It was no broken rib (fortunately, although it sure felt like it at the Yiga soldier's initial kick) but there was no way your skin wouldn’t flare up in clouds of purple and yellow the next morning. You ran your fingers over where you imagined the bruise coming into existence, stretching over your skin. 'Like the dawn on the horizon,’ you thought, with no absence of humour.

Link was still inspecting you when you looked up at him. It felt a little too concerned for your liking, so you tried to change the subject.

“You don’t think they’d have a restaurant on hand, do you? I’m feeling kind of peckish.”

He shook his head.

“How about cooking utensils? Do they have any food on site? Breakfast in bed?”

“There’s a cooking pot and a campfire."

You looked ahead, and the stable was still too far to make out anything as small as a cooking pot, but you could certainly see the campfire, still flickering in a distant spark of orange light.

So, you’d have to cook the food yourself, in other words.

What things did you have on hand?

It was pretty easy to scrap a meal up out of anything, but you wanted something special for your first night in the woods, if only to prove that it was possible to have nice meals out in the middle of nowhere. For the rest of the way there, you rummaged about in Link’s food bags, some filled to the brim with ingredients you hadn’t seen in years. It was out of familiarity that you settled for a bushel of Tabantha wheat and rock salt, and then your eyes trailed over to the bag of bananas peeking out of the bag roped to Mipha’s saddle.

“Link?” you called out to him, for the second time that evening.

He looked back towards you.

“Have you ever had banana bread?”

Clouds covered the night sky. It coloured the expanse above your with a dim grey, a colour so washed out that it was lighter than even the black silhouettes of fir trees lining the horizon. You’d never thought of stars much while in Kakariko, but there was something sad about their absence now, out in the open. Even the moon struggled against the thickness of clouds, disappearing and reappearing at their mercy.

“The bread will have finished baking in a bit,” you said, taking the pot lid off for just long enough to gauge the colour of the crust on the surface. With a concentrated attentiveness, you put the lid back on and spread some hot charcoal onto the top of it with a rusty fork.

Link sat a couple of feet away from you with his back turned to the campfire. Upon closer inspection, you realised he was crouching over the device you’d seen him take out before.

“What is that?” you asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Immediately, the muscles in his arms tightened, like he forgot you were there. It was only when he looked into your eyes and recognised you as not a beast or monster that he relaxed.

“A Sheikah slate,” he replied, tilting it in your direction.

Some of the shapes took on forms that made more sense. It was easier to see the whole thing as vaguely map like. You were happy with it for a few seconds, but Link fiddled with it to change the picture and it stopped making sense again.

“How does it work? It looks like it’s moving.”

“It’s uncovered ancient technology.” He put his finger down at a section on the screen and it went to an ordered to-do lists of tasks you assumed to be quests. “I’ve been told it was created by the Sheikah.”

You looked at it, equally (if not more) confused than you had been before. He held it out to you a bit sheepishly, and you took into your hands, conscious of the possibility you would damage it by using it incorrectly. Rotating it did not make the screen change, so you tried to push and pull at little elevated buttons sticking out from the side.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how this thing works,” you said. Pressing the buttons flipped through a series of menus, one of them holding neatly organised reconstructions of environments in little boxes. You selected one, and it expanded, filling the whole screen with a picture of a flowering field. "Wow," you exclaimed, tracing your finger over it. "That’s such a beautiful painting."

Link, who was prior concentrated on scouting the area for any wild animals, looked over your shoulder to see what you meant.

“That’s a photograph,” he said.

“What’s the difference?”

It took him a second to give you an answer. "It takes less time to take a photo than it does to paint something.”

If you were completely honest, his lacklustre explanation shrouded the thing further into mystery. You fiddled about with the device for long enough to get the camera up however, and with enough struggling, managed to take a impression of your feet.

“Oh, look!” You said, scrolling through the gallery of images to expand it. “I’ve just took one, I think.”

Link couldn’t help but think there was something a little familiar in your fascination with the device; some vague spot in the back of his mind enjoyed seeing it. He returned to solemnity soon however, and narrowed his eyes at the horizon to make sure the sound he heard from the bushes was nothing more alarming than another bird.

“You’ve been to all these places?” you asked, and he noticed you were back to fiddling with the gallery.

“I’ve been to a few. Some were already on the device.”

You fiddled with the album some more, opening a couple of images in turn until you got to one at the bottom right of the menu, to which the screen filled with the vivid green of a forest.

“I think I recognise this place,” you muttered.

Link glanced over at the picture and then expectantly turned to you.

“Yeah,” you continued, and looked over your shoulder to where you could hear the running water of the river. “These are the little woods just over that steam.” You pointed in said direction, somewhere into the darkness.

Link could make out the bank a little more clearly than you, courtesy of his sharper, Hylian eyes.

“I used to go heron hunting over there when I was still—” you trailed off and put your hand on your arm. “When I was younger.” Somewhat absentmindedly, you handed Link the Sheikah slate.

“We’ll go there in the morning,” he said, looking at the picture.

“Why?”

He met your eyes, but there was nothing you could sensibly read from them.

“Whenever I go to places shown in the pictures, I regain bits of my memory. I think they were all pictures princess Zelda took when I was still her escort.”

“I see. That does sound important.”

There was quiet for a moment, so you stared up at the clouds in the sky, and Link went back to fiddling with the Sheikah slate.

You used a branch to pick up the hot pot lid, and a delectable smell of fresh bread and bananas filled the air. Just to make sure it was done, you plucked it with a finger, and the crust pushed in and upwards like well-baked cake.

“I think it’s finished, you said, and tipped it out onto a slate of wood.

Link took the first bite, and the two of you ate in silence—enjoying the warmth of the bread against the cold chill of the night. It was only as you were half-way through summarising the day in your head that something started bugging you.

“Link, what happened earlier? With the horses?”

He looked at you like had no idea what you were on about.

“I mean before you caught one. Do you usually get changed right in the middle of a field?” you asked, hoping that would clarify things for him.

He thought about it in silence for quite a while, so you were all the more surprised when he responded with nothing more profound than a simple nod.

“Really? That’s… somehow not the answer I was expecting," you said, though when you thought about it properly, you supposed it made sense. If you spend most of your life travelling alone, it's not unlikely your sense of privacy can be a little skewed.

“Why is that?” he asked.

You cut yourself another slice of the bread with the sharp edge of a clean sword you dug out of Link’s rucksack. “Well, It’s just..." you started, "your body is private, isn’t it? It’s something that’s yours, and no one else’s; you shouldn’t want any random person being able to see it.”

Link didn’t look at you when he answered. “My body isn’t mine,” he said, like it was obvious. “It’s there for the benefit of other lives—and has been ever since I was given the honour of being Princess Zelda’s Knight.”

Your face turned sour. “But your body isn’t just a tool."

When he looked at you, there was no expression on his face aside from cold, analytical distance, like he couldn't decipher your intentions.

The loaf of bread was half-eaten when the two of you were finished. You wrapped the remains into a cloth and tied them with a string into a bag before putting it away for the night and mentioning that the rest could be finished with butter for breakfast tomorrow. Putting out the fire with dirt brought a chill to the air, and you were quick to remark that it was best to rent a room for the night as soon as possible.

“I’ll just go and get changed into something more comfortable,” you said. Link nodded in acknowledgement and you scouted for places where you could get changed without having anyone see. You went into the dark a little (albeit not too far; you didn’t fancy being ambushed by anything that might have been hiding further out), feeling safe that it would be a sufficient curtain for you to strip off your clothes and fumble about into something looser.

A normal human being wouldn’t see anything in almost pitch darkness (which is why it took you an extra couple of minutes of groping about to make sure your clothes weren’t on backwards) but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. When you turned around to face the stable however, there was no beast or monster in your peripherals, nor was there a Yiga footsoldier watching you from the roof of the stable. There was just Link—and the back of his head after you caught its half-turn from your direction to somewhere else.

Did he—?

No way.

You picked your day clothes from the ground and (eager to get out of the darkness) jogged back to the stable.

Link said nothing when you stood beside him, but there was a skittishness to his gaze that seemed more suspicious than anything he could have said. Still, you decided not to mention it. With an approach to personal privacy as lamentable as the one he entertained, you figured it might take some time for him to adjust to the idea of having someone else around. Besides, it seemed ten times more likely to you that that he was looking out for anything that might jump you in the dark rather than actually looking at your naked body.

“Are you not going to get changed, Link?” you asked instead.

He shook his head.

“Are you sure? Your clothes look comfortable enough to sleep in, but it might be a good idea to wash them in the river so they’re fresh for tomorrow.”

He thought about it for a little while before finally asking, “would they be dry by then?”

You cringed on the inside (because had this guy ever done his laundry?) but nodded and mentioned that the sun would dry them out in no time.

“Alright,” he said, and started stripping almost immediately. You sighed and looked away. As much as Link didn’t seem to mind when you saw him in his shorts, you did not share his sentiment. When you stuck your arm out for them, he didn’t seem to understand what you were trying to do.

“I’ll wash them for you,” you explained, tilting your head towards the river. “I imagine you should probably be getting on with other stuff.”

It took a second for him to process what you meant before he nodded and handed the pile over.

“You can ask me to help you out with chores, you know. That’s more or less what I’m here for.”

Again, he didn’t respond.

If you could be completely honest, you were starting to get a little sick of his empty stares by the time you noticed he was looking at you. It was always difficult to know what to think of them: whether you should elaborate because he was confused, hold your tongue because he was sick of your voice, or launch into a staring contest until he realised how awkward it felt to be under someone's scrutiny for almost every reply.

(You decided to elaborate this time.)

“Don’t be afraid to get a little greedy. You can freely ask me to scavenge or hunt while you’re sleeping.” You peered over at his rucksacks and remembered digging about in them earlier in the evening to find food, only to come across several glass bottles of coloured liquid. “I saw you carrying around elixirs, too. Pretty sure making them is just cooking with gross stuff, so I reckon I could pull it off with a few tries. Not that I'd be able to use them, being a human and all, but..."

"A human?" he asked.

"You mean you haven't noticed?"

He shook his head.

You tilted the side of your head towards him and pointed to your round ears. "Sheikah and Hylians have long, sharp ears like you. Humans have ones like this. It's no big deal, it just means we're a little bit different from each other."

"How so?"

"Well, like I said, elixirs don't work on us at all; they're only compatible with magical beings. But it's probably worth having some spare if you can make use of them as a Hylian, right?”

Again, he stared at you with that same blankness—completely devoid of intelligible feeling—and you only wished there was a casual way of ripping your hair out. What was he so unsure about? Your good intentions?

"Thank you,” he said eventually.

"It's fine. Like I said, it’s what I’m here for."

He didn't respond for the umpteenth time, but at least you could find some modicum of grace in that he finally settled his pointed stare someplace that wasn't you.

(You decided not to elaborate this time, but maybe just because you wanted to get started on washing the clothes before the night was over.)

When it was time to retire for the night, you dragged Link along to buy two beds in the stable, and the rupees for it came out of your own pocket.

“You probably need the money for equipment, right?” you asked, when he looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to think of it. After all, it had been one of his bigger complaints when you first brought up the sleeping in a stable, even though it made little sense to you at the time.

The beds were barely soft enough to sleep on, but you couldn't have cared less. It felt surreal to finally rest on something with more substance than the hard leather surface of a saddle, and you wouldn’t be caught taking it for granted. It’d been a rough day, all in all.

“We’ll register the horses in the morning,” Link said,  getting under the covers himself. He was still in his boxers last time you looked, so it was somewhat of a relief to see him covered with the quilts.

“Alright,” you mumbled back at him. The night was a little chilly, but it was nothing that pulling your covers further up your body wouldn't fix.

"Do you think you might have a name for your horse by then?"

You looked out of the tent, past the swamp and the grass, upwards of the hills and trees, and up to the mountains—where you were sure that nestled in them was a small village who waited for your return.

“How about Papaya?” you suggested.

You couldn’t see Link’s face, but the nature of his sentence played with an amused edge that seemed out of place coming from him, especially against the contrast of his impassive tone.

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” he asked.

You smiled into your pillow.

Oddly, even though the night was silent, you found the goosebumps never came. You didn’t feel unsafe or abandoned, like you could get lost among the trees and never be found again. (Even though physically, you were closer to danger than you had been for years.)

It was definitely because of him, that much was certain. But you wondered why that was: he never said anything; never offered words of comfort; never went out of his way to to start a conversation or reply with anything of more value than the boring, predictable minimum; in fact, talking with yourself usually proved to be livelier, without long spans of tight-lipped quiet wherein nothing was said.

The silence was still there. You knew that. So it mustn't have been the silence you were so afraid of.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the two of you got dressed without chatter.

When you realised your penchant for conversation had almost completely disappeared within the span of a single night, it caught you by surprise. Most unpredictable however was that it wasn’t just a case of being put off by Link’s aversion to small talk. If anything, he seemed restless compared to you, as though there was something on his mind that he couldn’t bring himself to articulate. During breakfast, he took every opportunity wherein you were distracted to let his eyes skim over you—enough that turning around to find him staring became somewhat of a constant.

“Link, is anything bothering you?” you asked, but he only shook his head in response, so you did your best to ignore it.

Without the distraction of chatter, leftovers from last night’s banana bread were finished quickly. Within half an hour of waking up, the two of you set out to the forest over the river in search of a new memory. You were seated on your respective horses this time around, Link on Mipha, and you on the newly christened Papaya, who must have been offended with the gender discrepancy in his name enough to take it out on you by straying constantly. You spent most of the journey sheepishly trailing behind Link, thoroughly embarrassed by how obediently Mipha kept to the road in comparison.

Within an hour, you’d built up quite an animosity for Link’s horsemanship. Admittedly, you may have never ridden a horse before, but there was definitely something unnatural in the practised fluidity of his tugs and kicks, an assuredness that suggested he’d be capable of directing most wild animals in Hyrule, let alone just the horses.

“You’re a real animal whisperer, aren’t you?” you quipped offhandedly, as the horses were making their way over Rebonae Bridge. It was the most pointless thing you’d said all morning, but the uneventful trip to the other side of the stream was beginning to bore you.

“Animal whisperer?” He glanced back at you, clearly confused.

'Right,' you thought. 'Probably should have figured he’d be no good with idioms.'

“It’s just a name for someone who’s really, really good with animals,” you clarified and he nodded before turning back around. Your eyes stayed on his face for a while after, if only to figure out what was on his mind. If the gentle creases in his eyebrows were anything to go by, he was still hung up on the expression, putting more effort than should have been reasonable into understanding it.

Link was becoming easier to read, you noticed.

Whether it was due to his growing familiarity around you, or thanks to your new-found experience with picking up his tells, you couldn’t quite say, but you were beginning to recognise little inflections in his voice and tells in his expression that gave way to a more reactive personality than you thought him capable of at first.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” you said and literally hand-waved it—something you regretted as soon as Papaya snorted against you tugging on the reins and shook his head with enough force to pull them out of your hands. You scrambled to pick them up so frantically your hands missed the mark by a few inches at least, and the stallion already looked like he had half a mind to take off when you finally pulled them back to your saddle. “I was—" you started, and flopped back into your saddle with a relieved sigh, "I was just joking, anyway."

Link was, quite predictably, staring at you openly when you looked. Judging from the amused glint in his eyes, you figured he probably saw your horse almost go rogue at your clumsiness. You tried not to show it, but you got a little embarrassed.

“In that case, I think you’re a food whisperer,” he said, and the little dimples at the base of his cheeks almost suggested a smile.

The grove you arrived at was fresh with the smell of mushrooms.

“I think the picture I saw was taken somewhere around here,” you said, slowing Papaya down to a halt. The stallion reared defiantly, tugging the reins inwards, and you were almost too afraid to attempt dismounting until Link paved the way by jumping off Mipha and landing neatly on the forest floor.

“I’ll look around,” he said.

You got down with a wobble, and preoccupied with a cluster of mushrooms, jogged to the root of a tree.

“Alright. I’ll be trailing behind you.” You inspected the mushrooms before pulling them up, turning their orange caps to face the sun. “I’m gonna be looking for ingredients.”

There was an affirmative grunt from his direction, and then a soft thump of footsteps as he went his own way, systematically comparing the picture on his Sheikah Slate to his surroundings.

All in all, the mushrooms were kind of disappointing. Nothing remarkable in terms of texture, and a little on the old side to play around with, but you could still probably steam them with meat for something to fill your stomach.  It wouldn’t be a complex meal, but you could hardly play gourmet chef for the entirety of your journey with Link when all you had at your disposal were wild ingredients.

You went back to the horse to retrieve a sack full of fruit tied to the saddle and swung it over your shoulder, ready to fill it with whatever you found lying around.

There were a couple more on the way, so you dotted around, picking up three bushels of Hylian herbs and folding your top into a basket at the waist to hold whatever wouldn’t fit in the sack. When you finally caught sight of Link again (stood with his back to you some distance away), twenty minutes had passed at least, and you were carrying enough herbs to season today’s meal and the next three that came after.

“Oh, there you are!” You called out, adjusting the sack of food at your back so you could jog towards him. He gave no indication that he heard you, so you called out to him once again before coming close, not keen to scare him and find yourself impaled on a sword. “Have you found the place on the photo?”

Still no answer. Although going by without a verbal response was nothing new, Link would normally at least substitute his words for nods or gestures, so a mild sense of discomfort overcame you.

“Um, hello?” You stepped to his side, but found that even his expression was rigid, locked into unsettling blankness. “Link? Is everything alright?”

You reached over to touch his shoulder gently. His arm twitched in response, but he was still frozen in time - face steeled into an unmoving expression so wooden it bordered on catatonic. You looked down at his arms, and as a jilted breath got stuck in your throat along with the thump of your rising heartrate, found that they were shaking.

You took a step forward and tried to shake him awake, but he remained unresponsive. His hands tightly gripped the Sheikah slate at arm’s length in front of him, and with some level of concern, you noticed that the image displayed on it was a photo of the place his eyes were so blankly focused on.

“Link?”

His face contorted.

An ugly, concerned expression, still subtle with its delivery, but much too oversaturated in emotion for something you’d ascribe to him. Not of disgust, and not of anger, but of a deep sadness and pity.

The ingredients you were holding fell to the floor as you tugged him into yourself , letting go of your shirt’s hem and the sack tied around your back in favour of wrapping your arms around him. Tenderly, your hands drew circles into his spine, and if the way the shiver in his arms eased and he grabbed at your shirt to pull you inwards was anything to go by, he was grateful for it.

“Hey, it’s fine,” you said, because you didn’t know enough about the situation to say anything else; he must have been reliving something you couldn’t understand, something you were never really meant to be a part of.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered; a soft mumble, hushed enough that you felt it most through the vibrations of his voice against your collar. “I failed." Again, the warmth of his breath trailed across your skin.

“It’s okay.” It came out instinctively—directed entirely by an almost visceral need to settle him down. “Look, I’m here. We’re safe. Everything’s alright," you whispered and softly rubbed his back.

Link settled against you. Over time, his breath returned to a slow rhythm and his hands lost their iron grip on your shirt. Eventually, when his senses returned to him, he pushed away from you almost frantically, eyes glazed with remnants of whatever numbness had hit him so forcefully before.

“Are you okay?” Anyone would recognise the sweeping current of concern in your voice.

“Yes,” he said, a little too quickly, and looked around himself to reconfirm his surroundings. “I’m sorry.” There was a real guilt in his voice that wasn’t just a result of awkwardness or politeness.

“What happened?” you asked, although the glimpse you caught of Link’s Sheikah slate answered the question before he did.

“It happens with every new memory.”

It felt like a half-truth, what with the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes and his face set into marble-like rigidity, like he was desperately grasping at a neutral expression. You wanted to prod, ask him what the memory was, because finding him so severely unresponsive was enough of a shock for your adrenaline to throb through your body even now. But he didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and you supposed that whatever closeness came about from the little time you’d spent together wasn’t enough to get him to open up to you.

You were worried for him; a feeling that stayed even as he insisted that it was nothing at all, as he apologised for making you concerned, and as the two of you returned to your horses. He led the way, and you trailed behind, never taking your eyes off him.

If he looked slightly caught up on something before, he was extremely distressed over it now, on the way to the Zora Kingdom. There wasn’t a single time that he wasn’t either deeply troubled, lost in thought, or staring at you with immeasurable concern, a look that ran shivers down your back regardless of how much it mirrored yours.

“Link, are you sure everything’s alright?” you couldn’t help but ask when the rocky face of Crenel peak loomed over your right and grey clouds swirled above your heads as thick blankets of premonition. The only emotion you could reliably read from him bordered around embarrassment, because the rest was buried in a nondescript haze of vagueness, of something that looked equally like concern as it did fear. Part of you was concerned you’d offended him with the question by pestering him when he had already told you otherwise, but the apprehension was lost in confusion when he finally responded.

“You should be more careful.”

“What?”

Honestly, it was so out of the blue that you couldn’t even tell if it was supposed to be a response. Furthermore, Link seemed to be even more confused than you were, as though attempting to put his thoughts into words was a mysterious process of putting his feelings into a machine and standing at the other end until something came out; like he was trying to create a picture with broken, blunt tools that he’d never learnt how to use.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You wanted to say that it was a sweet sentiment, that you appreciated he was watching over you and showing concern for your well-being, but to be perfectly honest, it came out of nowhere and only managed to perplex you.

“What do you mean?”

His hands fiddled with the bridle, an odd, almost nervous gesture you struggled to make sense of. “I can’t put you in danger. I have to protect you,” he justified, though it was hardly a justification. It seemed to you like he was the one in need of protection, thanks to things like his little memory incident earlier, his inability to settle into a normal routine, and the general clumsiness of his approach to social interaction, like a child being forced out from behind his parent’s leg to say hello to strangers. “You should let me handle everything,” he finished. You were surprised he could say it with a straight face.

Despite what he seemed to think, you hadn't set out on this whole journey to be protected. Link was someone who, according to you, needed help, so you made a promise to help him to the best of your ability; it was never the other way around. When you told him as such, however, he seemed to disagree.

“I don’t need help with anything.”

You huffed and pulled Papaya’s reins inwards, abruptly stopping yourself short of pulling them taut in case it riled up the stallion enough to throw a hissy fit. You couldn’t help but take Link’s stubbornness personally. Whatever utility you had was being hand-waved as though you were just another one of his damsels-in-distress, and frankly, it was hard to take lying down.

“So, what’s the point of me being here? Am I just supposed to pretend I’ve forgotten how to use a bow while you’re out fighting monsters?” you asked, giving him a glare that came at as such despite your attempts to soften it. The question was not rhetorical, that much was clear. “I’m serious. There’s not much point in having me trail behind you all the time if I’m just going to be another thing for you to worry over. I’m trying to prevent putting any more stress onto you; this is exactly the opposite.”

To his credit, he did seem averse to the idea of you leaving, if the unsure expression on his face was any indication. He had agreed to accepting your assistance when you asked him if you could tag along, after all. There must have been some part of him that realised he’d be better off for it.

(It just wasn’t in the way you wanted it to.)

“Your food was good.”

A drawn-out length of silence. Had you been on foot, you’d probably have stopped dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“The boar you cooked was good. I wanted more of it,” he clarified sheepishly.

You laughed but it was more an attempt not to get offended than it was out of actual good humour. So that’s what he thought of you. Not that you could find it in yourself to blame him. The only time he’d seen you with your weapon drawn was in the kerfuffle with Yiga soldiers the day before, and neither the tremor in your fingers or the bruise that was still lining your chest displayed much combat prowess.

“So, you don’t think the cook should be fighting?”

You wondered if Link was settling into reading your expressions with the same, gradual familiarity you were using to read his. Given the confusion with which you were being inspected (as though he couldn’t wrap his head around what you wanted him to say), you could only conclude the process wasn’t as smooth.

Tentatively, he nodded, and you hmmed to yourself, fully intent on proving him wrong.

The weathered path Link lead you down nestled you in-between two cliff faces to your right and left. Squeezed between them, the expensive blue sky whittled down to a thin strip, and the shadow of Crenel Peak cast itself onto the grass with a darkness that almost coloured the road black. There was something off in the air—a soft sense of alarm that twitched Papaya’s ears and had Link scanning his surroundings.

He always seemed to know before danger came; there was a practised sharpness to his Hylian instincts, something as much of a result of his race as it was experience. By the time your duller, human reflexes caught on and your fingers reached the bow around your back, his sword was already drawn.

When you asked him what had prompted the unease, more than any apparition of danger, you were concerned you’d have to spend another afternoon burying the body of another Yiga soldier. Link was too focused to respond, so the sky was where you found your answer, with the oncoming crackle of a pair of Electric Keese.

He reached for his bow but it was you that was faster this time. With a rush that was entirely a result of your wounded ego, you took aim and shot two arrows in quick succession. One after the other, the Keese fell to the ground with a thump. Link stilled when he heard their squeals, predictably taken aback.

“I’m gonna go ahead and pick up their wings,” you said, doing your best not to look as smug as you felt.

Link stayed seated on his horse (although not without agitation) while you got down and pocketed the creatures’ wings and eyeballs. If he deciphered the passive-aggressive aspects of your little display, you could probably assume he wasn’t all that happy with you strutting your stuff. But it was all the more reason you had something to prove.

If he ever felt an urge to comment, he did not succumb to it.

Half an hour later, the clouds were still a swirling mass of grey in the sky—coiling into shadows that bore increasingly suspicious resemblance to rainclouds. The smell of humidity was unmistakable against the stillness of the air, suggestive of the calm before a storm. It was in your best interest to look for shelter soon, so you scoured the surroundings while Link went on ahead, seemingly unbothered by the steady darkening of the clouds.

Further down, Thims bridge stretched out over a steady river. The bank came into view as a face of greenery below you, and you were in the middle of figuring out how you could construct a makeshift tent out of the tarp and some branches before a rhythmic beeping from Link’s direction scared you half to death.

“What is that?” you asked in alarm, reaching for your bow.

“It’s the Sheikah sensor." He turned to face you and the beeping faded, so he adjusted the direction his horse was facing until it started again.

“Aha.” You nodded absentmindedly, with half a mind to leave it there until you thought better of it. “And what is that, exactly?”

“It tells me where shrines are located."

He gestured for you to follow him, but to your horror, he steered his horse off the road and in the direction the beeping was the loudest. Not only was it a detour (which the weather was not inclined towards), but it was off-road and into the hills: bad news for the obedience of your horse. Apprehensively, you led Papaya upwards, keeping a white-knuckled hold on the reins in case the horse took the absence of a clear road as an opportunity to stray.

Shrines, as far as you were aware, were ancient structures created by the Sheikah for the benefit of the hero. They gave him strength upon their completion (in forms that were apparently quantifiable, although you couldn’t guess how), but otherwise were just another responsibility for Link to wrap his head around.

The irregularity of Crenel Hills made the horses nervous. There was pressure from the weather to get to the shrine as quickly as possible, so Link led you around hollow stumps of trees, upwards and to the side, where a relatively thin strip of rocks cropped out from the steep face of the hills. To its left was an almost vertical, rocky drop.

Link did not hesitate before leading Mipha towards it. It was apparent he had no fear of heights, no absence of courage. But even despite the predictability of his braveness, you couldn’t help but feel left behind by it.

You swallowed nervously.

If there was ever a bad time for Papaya’s mood to turn sour, it was now; it would take only a single, wayward buck to have you fly over the precipice and split your body apart on the rocks below. Nevertheless, you urged your horse onwards. There was no way you would let Link think you were a burden, or a damsel-in-distress who could only follow him as far as they were comfortable with.

Still, when Papaya snorted, you couldn’t help but duck into your seat fearfully. Link must have seen it, because he stopped in his tracks to look behind at you.

“I’m fine!” you hurried to explain, a little too enthusiastically. “I just thought Papaya was getting antsy again.”

He thought for a little while; did his best to analyse your expression. It probably wasn’t too hard to pick up on the sheer panic on your face, but it still came as a surprise when Link moved slightly to the left (closer to the precipice) and told you to keep to his right, where the face of a mountain felt safe and inviting.

“Are you sure?” you asked, and he must have thought it an unnecessary question, because he didn’t respond.

The two of you left your horses when the road cut off at the steep face of a rock. A little bit of scrabbling and hunting about for the shrine brought you to the inside of a massive, hollow tree trunk, missing both a top and bottom.

“Wow, I can’t even imagine the size of the tree that left this thing.”

When you ran your hand over it, your fingers were met with an inexplicable smoothness, buffed by what you imagined to be decades (if not centuries) of rain and wind. If the entirety of Hyrule was full of equally strange formations, you could understand why being a traveller in Hyrule had such mass appeal. Coming across things like this on the daily would certainly make for good stories when it was time to move back to Kakariko.

By the looks of things, Link wasn’t nearly as entranced by the formation as you were. He gave the trunk barely a once-over before his attention returned to the shrine and he tapped the Sheikah slate on a panel that protruded from the ground.

The only other time you’d seen a shrine in person was near the Wetland Stables. It was an enigmatic, blue structure overlooking the two of you from the top of a hill. You’d have asked about it had it not been for the streak of long silence in the morning. In contrast, this one was lined with glowing patterns of an amber colour that were about as enticing as they were mysterious.

You rolled on the heels of your feet, impatiently waiting to usher into the shrine after Link.

To your great displeasure, he didn’t walk in straight away. A roll of thunder lolled in the background as he appraised you, and it made you all the more eager to get the shrine over and done with so you could find shelter. But Link had other plans.

“Wait here. It’s safer.”

“Seriously? Will you not need help with whatever is in there?” Your disappointment must have showed on your face, because there was a little pause before he shook his head.

“Oh. Alright.”

A little bitterly, you motioned that you’d look after the supplies while he was in there, and he walked into the shrine without you. As soon as he was out of earshot, you slumped against it with your arms folded. Perhaps pulling grass from the ground was an over-dramatic display of boredom, but the only thing to see it was a pink heron who chose that moment to land on the bark of the tree, so you could hardly bring yourself to care.

Slowly, you drew a bow from your back and promptly shot the heron down, predominantly so you could have something to to eat for dinner later on but partially because you were in a bad mood and wanted to take it out on something. Maybe karma was the final straw that sent the swirling rain down from the sky, first in cold, little droplets that you felt only on your bare skin, and then as a torrential downpour you couldn’t effectively hide from.

‘It’ll be fine’, you thought, curling up by the side of the shrine and holding a fern above your head as a make-shift umbrella, ‘Link will be back in no time.’

But by the time Link finally came out, as fresh as you’d ever seen him, the better half of an hour had gone and you were soaked from head-to-toe.

“Someone took their time,” you said. Your wet clothes clung to your skin. Combined with the unintentional chatter of your teeth, they served to make an aggressively blunt point. One that, nevertheless, seemed to go right over Link’s head, because he looked around you like he couldn't figure out what you were so frustrated over.

(To his credit, it was probably because as a child he’d undergone training so arduous that the rain meant nothing to him now, even when it pooled on the ground and seeped through his boots.)

“I’m cold,” you clarified, and sharp alarm flashed across his face.

Immediately, he jogged to you and tried wrapping his arms around you. You pushed him away, taking a step back to evaluate the situation.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving you from the cold,” he responded, and there was an equal incredulity to his voice that suggested he didn’t expect your reaction.

“That’s… I don’t think that’s something I need saving from.”

The rain came as a downpour around you. It clattered against Link’s outfit with an unprecedented force, thrumming against the metal of his pauldrons and threading through his hair.

“It’s not?”

A tremor passed through your spine. Your cold clothes still hugged your back, and you felt water sloshing in your shoes. You shook your head, teeth still chattering in your mouth, and promptly regretted even mentioning the rain. “I’m not made of sugar, you know; I’ll be fine,” was your last attempt at easing whatever urgency Link assigned to the situation.

“But you’re cold,” he said.

“Well, yeah," you said, because you couldn’t exactly deny that.

Before you could tell him not to, Link sidled closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Duck into me,” he said, and pulled you further in, towards his chest.

“Look, it’s really –”

“Please.”

You stilled against him.

“You need to be safe,” he clarified, with a hint of desperation that bled in crimson from a wound buried deep in his chest. His voice was raw, honest, and layered with scars crossing over in unison, things you couldn’t understand enough to untangle.

Maybe he needed this. Maybe he was scared. Maybe, just maybe, this was entwined with whatever he saw in the last memory, the same thing that coated his eyes with a thin sheen of tears and ripped his voice of strength.

“Alright,” you said, and curled against him, not to bring yourself closer to him, but to bring him closer to you. “Warm me up.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t all that nice. The cold, wet metal of his armour was hard against your head and the thin banner on top of his chain-mail did little to mitigate it. But it worked where it mattered; Link’s body took the bigger brunt of the rain falling in your direction and your shivers became less and less until you got back to your horses.

“Thanks,” you said, and he nodded curtly.

“I think we should have a lunch break soon.”

The rain was still thick and heavy, pooling in horse tracks on the muddy path. You were wearing Link’s green doublet over your wet clothes. Although it was better than being entirely soaked through, you were still eager to sit down and get changed into something else.

“What will we be eating?” was his first question. You couldn’t even say you were surprised.

“Heron, probably. Stuffed with mushroom.”

Your hands were freezing, so you alternated holding the reins with each hand, taking turns to bring them back to the warmth of your pocket. When your horses turned a left on the path, you followed around the corner of the hill. In the distance, a Lizalfos circled the path, guarding a put-out campfire.

“That looks like a good place to set up camp, doesn’t it?” you asked, although you weren't expecting a reply. “Just have to sort the Lizalfos out first.”

You withdrew your bow and almost felt the hairs on Link’s neck stand on end.

“I’ll do it,” he said abruptly. You breathed in, deciding how best to breach the subject (because you could reliably kill the thing from here in one arrow and have everything over and done with), but he already looked like he had half a mind to take off.

“Just—hold on a minute,” you said, in an effort to tide him over.

With what you hoped approximated determination, you readied your bow and leant forward in the saddle to get a better angle on the Lizalfos. It was far in the distance, but if you took your time aiming, a clean kill could be clinched without much trouble.

Just a little lining up now, checking to make sure the arrow was lined horizontally with the ground, and—

Link propelled Mipha forward so fast that you startled, and the arrow flew off somewhere to the side.

“Oh, in Hylia’s good name.” Your hand immediately went to your back to grab another, but Link was already in your way, blocking your view of the Lizalfos.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“It saw you.”

His tone was urgent—as though merely making eye contact with the Lizalfos was enough to spell your doom.

“So what? He’s miles away.”

The monster cried out sharply, a sure sign that the two of you were spotted. You made a move to draw another arrow from the quiver at your back, but Link stopped you before you could prepare it.

“Get back.”

You groaned in frustration but listened to him anyway, pulling back on Papaya’s reins until the horse followed through to hide behind a hill. You watched him from a distance as he charged at the Lizalfos. Granted, the creature was fast, but it was no-where near fast enough to justify Link’s urgency; the whole thing reeked of over-protectiveness, like he was being manipulated by a hero syndrome that was too relentless to listen to reason.

His sword clattered against the creature’s spear, and although his physical technique was sharp and efficient, it looked like his mind was elsewhere entirely.

You readied your bow again and promptly realised what it was that he was so distracted by.

“Stay back!” he yelled, almost as soon as you touched it.

“It’s a long-range weapon! I am staying back!”

He tried to say something again, but the Lizalfos caught him off guard and pinned him to the floor with a jump, launching its spear into his shoulder. Curse words seethed quietly from your breath as Link gasped and the Lizalfos pulled its spear back, leaving a sharp edge of dented armour pressing into his skin. The chain mail wasn’t pierced, but the impact was forceful enough to smash his shoulder into the ground and send the afflicted arm flopping like a rag-doll. The great-sword he was holding almost fell to the floor along with it.

Desperate to intervene, you made a move to grab your bow again but didn’t even manage to touch it before Link noticed. It distracted him enough that he barely parried a blow which could have easily pierced the plate of his armour. You moved your hand back to your side, and he attacked like he was waiting for it, slashing the Lizalfos with a fast, sloppy stroke that ran across the centre of its chest.

A couple of seconds of thick tension, and then the creature fell on top of him.

You wasted in rushing towards him, already reaching for a cloth from one of the satchels attached to Papaya’s saddle. Tremors in your legs made your feet feel like liquid as you jumped off the horse and helped Link to push the creature from his body.

“Link!” you cried, taking a firm hold of his arm when the Lizalfos rolled to the side. “Are you alright? Did it hit you anywhere else?”

Link shook his head.

“Sit up,” you told him, and dragged his other arm upwards, away from the wet floor before he could protest. “Take your armour off.”

You watched him try, but the dent in his shoulder plates pressed too deeply into his skin.

“Change of plans. Lift your arms up,” you said, and unbuckled the plates yourself, forcefully maneuvering his shoulder off the dent. The chain mail was next to go. After stripping him of the shirt that was underneath it, a veiny, almost black bruise revealed itself on his shoulder. It looked painful, it must have been agonizing, but Link tried to force back the grim scowl from his face nevertheless.

Truthfully, you were too annoyed to say anything that didn’t run the risk of turning into a rant, so you stayed silent as you wrapped the cloth around him in a makeshift sling that pressed his arm to his side. The rain had receded, but it was still thick in the air when you walked him to the campfire prior guarded by the Lizalfos and told him to sit down on a blanket as you set the tarp up.

“I think that was just about the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do,” you said, when everything was ready.

Link grasped his shoulder with the unaffected hand, settling against the provisional tent that shielded him from the tumultuous thrum of the rain.

“I’m not hurt,” he remarked, and it took all of your self-control not to laugh. “I just need to eat something.”

“And that’s going to heal your smashed shoulder?” Not unexpectedly, you had your doubts; the black bruise on his shoulder only worsened with every second, expanding into a sickly yellow reaching even his back. It seemed like an excuse at best—a desperate attempt to ease your concern and rope you into believing he was fine.

He nodded, and you chose that moment to sight outwardly.

“Alright,” you said, even if you didn’t entirely believe him. “But just to be clear, it would have been so much easier if you let me shoot the damned thing." One by one, you laid out the cooking ingredients: taking out herbs, dry firewood, and tabantha wheat from a leather, waterproof bag.

“It takes more than one arrow to kill a Lizalfos,” Link said. “They’re strong.”

“Not if you know where to hit them.”

He didn’t reply, but you felt the unbroken intensity of his stare in the back of your skull as you struck flint until it sparked. In turn, the wheat caught fire, and soft embers blew into the kindling, like sparkling petals of amber dust.

“I just don’t get it,” you said, as you stuffed the heron full of mushrooms. “I really don’t.”

With the way he was looking at you, you weren’t entirely sure he understood the situation either. In a smooth swipe, you pierced the heron with a branch and stuck it over the fire.

“Move along,” you said, and sat next to him.

It was a tight fit inside of the tent. Pushed against the bare arm of Link’s undamaged shoulder, there was barely enough room for you to sit up, but at least his proximity provided a sense of warmth that lessened the shiver brought about from the patter of rain. The campfire burned with a steady certainty, and plumes of smoke brushed against the roof of the tarp—congesting in thick, grey clouds that swirled in an out of existence.

“How’s your shoulder doing?” you asked. Heron bones lay by the wayside of the fire, almost entirely picked clean. If his magical food cure hadn't worked by now, you could probably assume he was lying.

Link rolled the shoulder of note, and there was no hint of pain or inflexibility. “It’s better.”

“Let me have a look at it,” you said, because you didn’t entirely believe him, and crawled over Link to his other side. Carefully, you unwrapped the bandage from around his arm, taking your time to reveal that while it hadn’t perfectly healed yet, its shocking, veiny blackness had dramatically receded to pale yellows and browns. “Well, what do you know?" you said, "it actually is better.”

It had only been an hour since you were caught in the rain, but already, cold air welled in your throat, scratching and tickling in your chest. When you moved back to your spot, a little cough burst from your mouth, and the suspicious gleam in Link’s eyes as he examined you was entirely too predictable.

You wondered whether Hylians ever fell prey to illnesses like the common cold—or whether it was just a side effect of the relatively inefficient human immune system, something that (much like everything else about your species) was slow, gradual, and took its time.

The racial differences had made themselves apparent with the Sheikah you grew up with in Kakariko, but in Link, they were merciless. It seemed like everything about Hylian bodies was better and faster: they could create forceful gusts of wind with only large leaves, heal nearly fatal wounds overnight, (or even faster when assisted by food), and carry overwhelmingly heavy equipment, all in incredibly lithe, compact bodies.

It was hard not to compare yourself. Link was a pure-blood Hylian and it showed, especially with the results of his rigorous training fluffing his innate prowess.

But he wasn’t perfect.

If anything, the discrepancy between his practised dexterity in combat and clumsy approach to communication (and taking care of himself) was all the more apparent. He couldn’t prioritise, couldn’t read in-between the lines, couldn’t even consistently pay for an inn, and the whole Lizalfos incident was just the cherry on the cake.

“I’m happy you’re alright,” you said, and pulled your legs up so you could put your chin on your knees. “But never do that again.”

You relaxed, settling against the tent and Link’s bare arm. The fire flickered in turn from left to right, and the gentle undulations tickled your skin in a steady rhythm. He didn’t respond, but you hoped he understood nevertheless. When it came down to it, you weren’t capable of saving the world. No-body else was.

However, when you looked at him, he only stared back blankly.

“Look,” you continued, and hovered one of your palms facing the floor, outstretched, in a straight horizontal line in front of your chest. “My safety,” you said, emphasizing it. You brought the other hand up to the front of your face and held it in the same position. “Your safety.”

“Alright,” he said, but it was so blank and utterly devoid of understanding that you could only laugh.

“Notice how one is higher priority than the other?”

With a troubled expression, Link glanced you over once again and nodded.

It wasn’t that you were intent on throwing your life away, you didn't exactly want to die. He just needed to know he could focus on the enemy in front of him without watching to make sure you didn’t accidentally get killed by having it look at you funny.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod, this one a little more convincing.

Truthfully, you still doubted his comprehension, but you decided to let it go when the faint glow of an orange shrine in the distance caught your attention instead. It peeked out somewhere through the fog of rain, from the middle of a small lake on a hill.

You pointed it out to Link, curious as to why it was still unfinished when it wasn’t all that difficult to find.

“It’s surrounded in brambles,” he said. 

“Can’t you cut through them?”

“I’ve tried. They’re too tough.”

A vague mass of darkness surrounded the hill that the shrine was on. You stared at it through the rain, trying to decipher it into brambles. “Well, how are you gonna get up there?”

“There’s a tower nearby." he said. "When it stops raining, I’ll climb it and glide there.”

Horrified at his response, you looked off to find a tall, white column rising from the ground, thrice the height of the hill the shrine was on.

The hypocrisy did not go over your head. Apparently, he was willing to climb the slippery, wet walls of an extremely tall tower (with no equipment nevertheless), and you couldn’t even cough without giving him a heart attack.

“I’m sure there’s got to be another way. I’ll think of something when the rain lets up, alright?” you suggested, and it placated him enough to turn his attention off you and onto the fire again. There wasn’t an immediate alternative path to the brambles that you could see from this distance; the thick mist of the rain did well to haze everything far away into an intangible, grey haze, but with some generous squinting, you could at least make out the form of several Lizalfos circling the shrine.

“There’s a lot of those lizard things in the area, isn’t there?”

“We’re nearing Zora territory,” he explained, and you nodded absentmindedly.

“So, they’re like—aquatic or something?”

Link shrugged. “They can swim.”

The steady warmth of the fire settled you further. It beat against your skin, slightly too intense not to edge on burning where you stayed in one place for too long.

“What’s the Zora kingdom like?” you asked, equally out of boredom and genuine curiosity.

Link took his time to answer. “Hospitable,” he said eventually, and then hurriedly added, “for the most part.”

“For the most part? Did you have some weird run-ins?”

Link’s face turned a little sour, and the transparency of his expression hit you with more force than you expected. “One of the Zora elders did not take kindly to me being a Hylian.”

“What? Why?” you asked, genuinely surprised at the mere idea that someone could harbour a grudge towards his species.

“I think he believed we were to blame for the blight one-hundred years ago.”

At that, you went completely silent. Even Link noticed the immediacy of your stiffness, and (though probably unconscionably) he shifted in his seat to dispel the tension in the air. The rain continued drumming out a haphazard rhythm on the leather tarp, and a wayward wind agitated the fire—making it flicker with a tense nervousness.

“Link,” you started, in almost complete monotone. There was no doubt in his mind then, that whatever you were about to say was important. “Do you know anything about humans? About our history?”

He shook his head.

“Maybe that's for the best,” you mumbled, and tried to shift into a more comfortable position (which extended more or less entirely into pushing yourself further against his arm). “I’ve been with the Sheikah in Kakariko for pretty much my entire life, so to tell the truth, I’m not sure how much the outside world knows about my race.”

You didn’t notice when the two of you first settled so closely against each other, but even as a sudden realisation it felt more like a dull afterthought than anything that would convince you to move away from him.

“I’m not even sure how many of us there are left,” you said with a tone that was dark and low.

Link shifted, but it wasn’t to move away from you. Quite the opposite, he propped himself up with one of his hands to let you rest more comfortably on his collar.

You felt his breathing, slow and steady against your cheek.

If your closeness looked romantic, it certainly didn’t feel like it. It didn’t even feel friendly, not really. It was more a case of comfort, of settling into an atmosphere that the both of you got tangled in and letting it tangle your bodies together.

For a while, the only sound was that of the rain and fire. The moment felt entirely too fragile, like a soft cocoon of spider webs that further pushed you into him, made your body heavy and his firm, bare skin, homely and inviting. You didn’t want to mention it out loud lest one of you returned to your senses and pulled away,

“Link, you’ve been travelling for a while, right? Have you seen any other humans?”

The question caught him off guard. Truthfully, he never considered it before. Those he met were only ever split into categories of ‘need help, can offer advice,' or, ‘are shopkeepers.' The shape of their ears never bore much significance to how they’d be intertwined into his journey. Before yesterday, he’d never even actively thought about humans as a race.

With a degree of uncertainty, he shook his head.

You hmmed. “Yeah, I expected that.” The flickering fire cast a warm, red shade on your face, revealing the calm reverie of your expression through the darkness of the cloudy afternoon. Pale flames lapped gently at the firewood, and every gentle crackle sent you receding further into Link’s collar. “I haven’t seen any other humans for a while, either.”

He inspected the curves of your face: the flat, horizontal line of your mouth, the small flicker of flames reflected in your lidded eyes, and the sweep of orange firelight that became your circular ears.

“When was the last time?”

“I think I was seven.”

“That’s a long time,” he said, almost numbly. If the physical closeness was as relaxing to him as it was to you, then it was probably to blame for the slurred nature of his tongue, melting words together in much the same manner he felt you melt into him. Link looked at you curled into his shoulder, your hair pressing against the skin of his collar. You were staring at the fire, watching its long arms jitter and flow, and he was staring at you, at the soft mist in your eyes and the soft curve of your cheeks and the soft, soft, soft—

“Believe it or not, humans were common back then."

Link snapped out of his reverie instantly—so quickly that you almost felt the spike in his heart-rate. His voice lodged itself firmly in his throat and refused to budge. For a second that felt entirely too long to be just that, the only thing that came to mind was the clarity with which he felt your breath against him.

You took his silence as cue to speak further, and he let you, too scared to speak lest his voice betrayed—whatever he was feeling, really, (he wasn’t sure himself), and too scared to move lest your head fell on his chest and you felt the erratic pace of his heart.

“We didn’t have much compared to the other races." Your tone was calm—too calm (at least compared to the drumroll in his chest). “Granted, we were meek compared to the physical power of the Gerudo, and we could never outlast a Goron. We weren’t particularly graceful in the water, and there was nothing we could do about our lack of wings, something that might have put us on equal footing with the Ruto. Our rivalry with the Hylians, however, was by far the most hopeless. They were everything that we were, but seemingly better. Our best men never stood a chance against bodies that were designed, as the Hylians self-proclaimed, to be in the image of Gods; that could heal in seconds with elixirs, boasted over thrice the life expectancy, long-standing power in Royalty, and that were, in every way, stronger and more durable.”

He inspected his own hands, slim, but tough, and compared them to the feel of your skin against his. Tender. He understood then, that even based on appearances, human bodies were less compact and efficient. He imagined what it would feel like to wrap his fingers around your arms and your stomach; how your skin would dimple around the tip of his fingers, and the appeal of the idea far exceeded what he imagined. It brought almost a cathartic sense of intimacy, of being able to feel something vulnerable and melt into it as it settled around where he pushed and pulled.

He couldn’t help but feel like there was something endearing about the tenderness of a human being, even if it meant you couldn’t hit as hard. A prettiness that couldn’t be replaced with strength or power.

Soft, Link could imagine, and the idea was so attractive that when he took to gripping his own forearm, the firmness with which it met his fingers spread a grimace across his face. Tough things were strong, he thought, as his own stomach tightened with the stutter of his breathing, soft things were not.

“We didn't have a proper rivalry for a while, though," you continued, unaware Link was using your distraction with story-telling as an excuse to stare at your lips. "Sure, there was disapproval. Children from Hylian and human couples were more of the latter. Rounded ears and human-like instincts were far more common, and they'd grow up to be weaker, with a complete resistance to any elixir or potion." 

Like you'd told him the previous night, Link remembered. Meaning a mortally wounded human could not be healed with anything magical. What a frightening thought.

"Still, there were no laws against humans getting married and assimilating into Hyrule as regular citizens. Not for a while, at least. The real uproar only begun when the King's son came into power. He was a pious man who believed that the Hylians’ pointed ears let them receive messages from the Gods. That their superhuman strength was a gift, given in return for playing the role of holy messengers. In turn, humans were evil creatures. He described them as spies and traitors who wanted to lead Hylians away from their blessed lives, claiming they sapped the strength of Hylian children by infiltrating their homes, stealing their vitality, shortening their lifespans, and severing them of their power to listen to the Gods. Under his rule, the eggshells between humans and Hylians turned into bombs. It took barely a decade for laws against us to make it into Hyrule."

Link was silent; only the crackle of the fire dared interrupt you.

"We couldn’t even put up a decent fight," you said, in a hushed voice that bordered on a whisper. "I always thought that part of the story was weird as a child, but seeing you now, I get it. No amount of ingenuity could make our weapons sharp enough to win in combat against those who could heal their bodies with food in only minutes. We had no arguments that would convince people to overthrow the opinion of the Royal family."

It was an unbalanced fight from the very start, Link realised. Any Hylian with a decent grasp on magic could easily overthrow a limitless crowd of humans.

“Sorry, I'm not boring you, am I?” you asked, and he noticed with an urgent sense of alarm that he’d been caught staring.

Almost frantically, he shook his head.

“Are you sure? I know this is a long story.”

“That's alright,” he said. His voice wavered, caught on a precipice between firm and desperate. “I want to hear more,” he continued, but he didn’t know whether it was thanks to genuine curiosity or whether he just liked seeing your lips move.

“If you're sure."

(There had to be something inherently calming about you, Link thought. It was the only way he could explain away the degree with which your voice eased his pulse.)

“So, uh, some humans chose to stay and be stripped of their fertility through magic, while others escaped southward, to the province of Ordona,” you continued.

Vaguely, he recalled the village of Ordon in his mind, appearing in tapestries of Hyrule castle as the birthplace of the hero of Twilight. Often, he would look at the detail of the embroidered windmill, or the little sewn crowd of Ordon goats as he wandered the castle when it was still untainted by Ganon’s power. When he focused (really focused) he could barely remember the figures of humans surrounding the hero, standing with their arms raised towards the sky, ears perfectly round.

“It stayed that while for a while. Humans were seen as not quite their own race, but as a disfigurement of the Hylians; outcasts who occupied small houses tucked away in the south, where not even maps made the effort to encompass them. It came as no surprise then, that when the Champions were created, there was no human chosen representative.”

It was the first time since you started that your eyes met with his. He expected some hint of indoctrinated anger, some sort of deep-seated resentment towards him as a result of your past, so he prepared himself accordingly by sheepishly looking away. But there was no such thing. Soft, through and through, you looked at him like a mother might look at her child.

“What’s worse…” a sad, small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes took his own hostage. “We could have helped. We might not have been warriors, but we were good with technology, and the majority of inventions accredited to the Sheikah started out as things we had created.”

No anger, no bitterness for the privilege that was taken away from your race. Just an empathetic appreciation for the tragedy of how history had run its course.

“The most recent ruler, King Rhoam, devoted himself entirely to constructing a force that would re-seal the encroaching threat of Calamity Ganon. Rhoam's responsibility to protect Hyrule against this prophesied danger came before any reservations he had about humans. He made a full effort to welcome us back, repealing all of the anti-human laws in one fell swoop and praising our achievements with technology regardless of the backlash from his people.”

If Link had ever been exposed to this darker side of the Royal family, his memories of it must have atrophied along with rest. All of it was fresh, new information to him, and he painted vivid pictures of your stories in his head, spurred on by the steady crackle of the whitening firewood.

“It was a good decision at the time, but it screwed Hyrule over in the end. Stories of our misfortunes were written about and passed down through generations, from our ancestors to books, from books to our fathers, and from our fathers to us. Our hatred ran deeper than something that could be solved with the King's approval."

"So what happened?"

"Well, we were approached by someone else," you began. The next thing you said sent a shiver down his spine, "by Ganon."

"Ganon?"

"He came to us in the form of dreams and prophecies, claiming to understand our struggle. He was the first to show sympathy for the way we were wiped from history, for all the inventions we had stolen from us. The first to recognise our anger. He swore that if we were to aid him in his take-over Hyrule, he would grant us power and a place on the Royal Throne.”

There was an odd sense of detachment that Link recognised from the tone of your voice. There was no correspondence in your monotone to the strength of your language. He wondered how you could share none of your ancestor’s anger at the mistreatment of your race. A couple of centuries were hardly a long time for a Hylian, after all, so he couldn’t imagine dropping a grudge as powerful as one that had your entire race banished for little more significant than matters of pride.

The majority of the firewood had now paled into white. Flecks of ash circled through the hot air only to fall to the ground.

“We did what we thought was just. Under the pretense of repairing relations, we agreed to assist in the study and further development of Guardians and Divine Beasts, holding Rhoam to a promise that he wouldn't reveal our involvement until Ganon was defeated to reduce public back-lash. When the plan was set, even the watchful eyes of appointed Sheikah couldn't stop us. We created exploits for Ganon to take control of the machines, used our skills in craft to make the Guardians seem undefeatable, only to follow Ganon’s instructions at every step and inconspicuously ruin them inside out.”

He imagined humans working in disguises, planning circuits for the Guardians and dirtying them with Ganon’s magic. The whole picture was guttural, and he couldn’t help but wonder how differently everything may have turned out had he known about this earlier.

“On the day of reckoning, my great-great-grandparents waited patiently at their windows and watched flames engulf the sky in a sea of red.”

There, his memory overlapped with your story. He remembered painfully tugging Zelda across forests, fighting off Guardians to the best of his ability as embers surrounded him on all sides. The gentle flames of the campfire turned into an inferno, rushing through Hyrule castle town and engulfing whole houses, taking entire families in matters of seconds. Often in his travels, he saw the place it turned into: bustling with Guardians and dark, congested clots of Ganon’s power, thick webs of black and purple hardening into noxious walls thrice his height.

“We all waited patiently for our reward, but years passed with no mention of it. When our patience ran out, we started sending people to Ganon's castle to remind him of his promise towards us."

Link couldn't say he was surprised to hear Ganon shirk on his end of the deal. He'd been the synonym of evil as far back as his memory carried him (which, admittedly, wasn't very far, but it did stretch to before the calamity at least).

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t old enough to get on board with much of what was going on at the time. I knew the stories, but at seven, I didn't have the any bitterness for my past. I was just sad when people I knew and loved perished on the way to Hyrule castle, killed by Guardians and Moblins."

You give a small, bitter laugh at the recollection, and Link watched you with unbroken interest.

"The butchery went on for decades, can you believe that? All under the guise of some hero's quest. It nearly became tradition."

The idea of losing those close to you was familiar to him, but he couldn’t imagine what it felt like to have them be picked off, one by one. Was it less painful when it happened quickly, he mused, like pulling out a splinter? Or was it better as a slow creep that did not have the same sense of urgency?

“Eventually, someone came back. I don’t think I’d ever seen Ordon so happy. The whole village was bustling with gossip, alive with the news that Ganon, our saviour, was sorry for making us wait. That he would give us our reward that same evening.”

The neutral line of your mouth curved into a distant grimace, and he knew, at that exact moment, that this story would not have a happy ending.

“The whole town was supposed to get together to celebrate. My grandfather brought his best goats, my neighbour dragged his coal oven out to the porch, and my mother picked the prettiest apples she could find in our orchard. As the child of the best hunter in the village, I got sent to hunt for rabbits a little way off.”

Your bow, an old, sturdy twig wrapped in a canvas of red and white rested against the tent where you left it.

Your next words came quietly.

“I was gone for barely two hours,” you said. “But when I came back, the whole place was burning. Guardians crawled over it like spiders. I could feel the heat of flames on my face even from a hill far away. It was like something out of a story,” you said, and he nodded, because he knew.

You swallowed thickly, leaning your face down and out of Link’s sight, into his chest. When you continued, the gravelly nature of your voice caught him off guard.

“I ran away. Never looked back.”

He could almost feel the guilt rolling in your stomach, making it hard to push the words out. A sense of familiarity (akin to the one he’d felt when you first played with the Sheikah slate) burned bright – ebbing with the fire, backwards and forwards, between Zelda’s tears and your steeled expression. Link did his best to pay attention, to really analyse the fluctuations in your voice and the jitters in your brows. But he was drifting, hazing out with a drowsiness that wrapped him like a blanket-like cloud. You were so warm. He was so tired.

“Maybe I should have went down there – and, I don’t know, tried helping survivors, but – “

“No.” Link’s own voice came out hushed and scratchy, touch-drunk tiredness stripping him of his fortitude. “It’s good you ran,” he said, and maybe it was what you needed to hear. “I ran too.”

A laugh, just a little raw not to be the precursor to bursting into tears.

“Well, if the most courageous man in Hyrule ran, then maybe running was alright.”

He nodded, a drowsy, slow movement that heavied his head with thoughts of sleep. The next part of your story (buried in-between tears and choked sobs) fuzzed into background noise in his fight against sleep. He was barely awake to hear you describe the next three years of your life as an orphan living in the wild, until a branch snapped beneath your feet on an attempt to get to a sparrow’s nest, and Paya and Impa found you on the ground in tears, with two fractured legs and broken arms.

He didn’t hear you stumble over words as you tried to articulate the vast loneliness that you felt that night, when you were completely convinced you’d die alone, in complete silence.

There was no memory of the way you looked at his serene, sleeping face, and asked him to trust you. Begged him to put his faith in you and stop throwing his life away at every opportunity.

No memory of anything. Just the steady warmth of the fire against his skin and the sound of rain hitting the tent he was hiding in.

When he woke up, the sky had tempered its downpour. You were getting dressed into a dry set of clothes. He watched your pants fit snugly around your waist, as your shirt fell over your chest and covered the blue bruise that had been inflicted on you by the Yiga foot soldier yesterday afternoon (that he’d seen the night before, as you got changed in the darkness).

He wasn't there to protect you back then, he thought, as a mosaic of images coloured his mind with the softness of your skin. Of you as a child, standing over a hill and realising that you would never see your family again. Of the tremor in your fingers when aiming your bow at the Yiga, and the assuredness of your fluid, fast strokes when shooting the Keese. Of Mipha the Champion, who spoke strong words with a fragile voice and threw spears without hesitation (but died, anyway), and of princess Zelda, who was assertive, but all the more insecure, who keeled on the muddy forest floor in the midst of rain and buried herself into him, sobbing for the lives of everyone who perished in face of the calamity.

He hadn’t protected any of them back then.

He would do better.

Chapter Text

An endless, pale cloud stretched over the sky. The lake that kept to your left muddled with a muted black in turn, and the steady rhythm of your footsteps on the bank kept you in a state of drowsiness broken only by the occasional hostile creature on the horizon.

“Are we there yet?” you asked. You’d spent somewhere near to three hours walking after leaving your horses at the foot of the mountain, and Zora’s domain, allegedly a beautiful kingdom nestled among the highlands, was still no-where to be seen. 

“Nearly,” was Link’s response.

Had it not been for the chill in the air (remnants of the day’s downpour, no doubt) you’d have been far less impatient. It was certainly doing your cold no favours; despite how hard you tried to keep your coughs and sniffles down to a minimum, they were frequent enough that Link insisted you wear his snowquill tunic over your clothes. A sweet sentiment really, even if dry blood speckled its sleeve and nuzzling into it acquainted you with the smell of his sweat a little more closely than you’d find tasteful.

“You do a lot of this, don’t you? Just travelling to and from places.” The walk was, for the most part, relatively laid-back. Nothing of note happened bar a kerfuffle with a Lizalfos that Link decided he didn’t have the time for; the beast barely noticed him before he gestured for you to run onwards. “It’s better than being caught in fights all the time, don’t get me wrong, but I wonder how you don’t get bored.”

“I do sometimes,” he said, surprising you. To tell the truth, you hadn’t considered Link had the capacity to feel bored, let alone admit it.

“So, what do you usually do to entertain yourself?” 

“I stay focused on the road ahead.”

“Right. Should have figured.”

A large, wooden box lay atop an abandoned cart on the path in front of you, and you started walking towards it even before Link diverted from the path to do the same. As expected, grass and moss thatched over the bottom rim of the wheels, like it hadn’t been moved in months. Not an encouraging sign necessarily, but at least you could be sure that whatever happened to the owner happened a while ago.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

You pried the box open with an arrowhead, and gemstones glittered among the bed of straw that tumbled out of it: a technicolour collection of rubies, ambers, and even a pair of diamonds that you pocketed very quickly. They would cover the cost of inns for the foreseeable future.

“Not exactly. I was just…” you started but trailed off. ‘Wondering if there was more to you than self-sacrifice and ticking-off checklists? Hunting for scrapes of personality I could claw out, kicking and screaming, from your stone-cold façade?’ “Just asking,” you finished, and held an amber up to the sky, where it coloured the grey cloud overhead in a wash of sunrise.

Link nodded weakly. Without so much as inspecting them, he stuffed the remaining gemstones into a pouch hung around his hip. A birdsong—quiet and distant, chirped from a thicket of bushes at a landing on the mountain, and your tongue wet your lips at the thought of bigger animals grazing alongside them. A boar might be nice. Would certainly last a while. Enough to feed Link’s ravenous appetite thrice over and leave some leftovers, which was a challenge in and of itself.

Admittedly, the constant shortage of meat wasn’t entirely Link’s fault; you were far too soft for the way his cheeks filled out in pink after a hearty meal. It was hard to turn away from the desperate hope in his eyes (as transparent as glass) while he waited on your permission to get another serving. Paya and her rambling for the foolish hero be damned; some of it must have slipped onto you when you weren’t paying attention.

What a stupid little man, with his stupid little all-consuming appetite and stupid one-in-a-lifetime smiles, peeking into existence when he teased you with a joke or laughed at you for nearly letting Papaya buck you off. You wanted more of that. Less of the world-renowned hero that couldn’t even scratch his ass lest it scarred his perfect reputation. 

“Link, do you want to play a game?” you asked when he started on the trek back up the highlands, desperately hoping he would say yes.

He looked at you in a way that suggested you piqued his interest. “While walking?”

“Just a game where we talk about ourselves. We don’t need to do anything else.”

“Is that not just having a regular conversation?” 

You snorted, though you doubted the joke was intentional. “Kind of. There are rules to this conversation though. We each take turns to say three things about ourselves: two of them are facts, and one of them is a lie. The aim of the game is to guess which one’s which.”

“And this will keep you entertained?”

“Definitely,” you said and tried your most charming smile in an effort to convince him. You decided to keep quiet until he’d had some time to consider it, and the ensuing silence was boring enough that he made his mind up.

“Alright. But you start first.”

You looked about you for inspiration: at the grass that folded beneath your feet, the cliffs that circled your side in a treacherous effort to grab at the sky, and the water—a dull, shimmer-less body of black lapped with the whims of the wind.

“Okay, my first one is: I can’t swim.”

Though you weren’t intimidated by Link’s ability (or alternatively, inability) to read your expression, you opted not to make eye contact with him regardless. 

“You never learnt?”

“Nope, there was never a chance to. We had one sacred lake back in Ordon, and it barely went up to my knees; everything else dried up long before I was born.”

“Can you stay afloat, at least?”

“If the water’s relatively still, then just about. But if there’s a current? I go under faster than I can blink.”

The way Link glared at the river to your left made you realise (a little too late) that he was just trying to ascertain how much of a threat it posed. You tried to usher on, but when he asked if you’d rather move to his right and keep to the hills, it was clear the damage had been done.

“Maybe if it suddenly gets deeper,” you said, because the shallow of the river barely touched upon two feet of depth, and you suspected even you could worm yourself out of a life-or-death situation where the chance of death was roughly equal to the chance of drowning in a bath-tub. 

“For my second one, I’m gonna tell you about the time I chased a wild buck around town for the better half of an hour, only to have the thing almost gore me with its antlers when I finally had it cornered.” 

“That certainly sounds like you,” he said in a tone that was surprisingly (but not unpleasantly) light-hearted.

“Hilarious,” you said—knowing full well your smile betrayed your amusement. This was exactly what you wanted out of him; humour and entertainment, something other than the repetitive, boring droll of staring at a path. “For all you know, that could be the lie.”

“I doubt it.” Another joke? At this rate, you could convince him to stop and smell the roses on the way to Hyrule castle. Or bluebells. Daffodils. Whatever was left after Ganon’s guardians plundered the earth.

“Now, for my third…” you looked around, but the oppressive blanket of the sky stretched like an ocean of deep grey, and the roar of a waterfall drowned out anything else that might have served as inspiration. Instead, you thought back to Kakariko—a town buried far behind the line of the horizon, and fast glimpses of your child-hood came hand-in-hand with the visual. “I had, erm—” you started, and gave yourself a chance to back out before deciding to go all in, “I had a picture of you on my wall growing up.” You didn’t want to throw Paya to the wolves and explain that she was the one that drew it, but the remaining implication suggested that you were the fangirl out of the two of them: an equally horrifying prospect.

“That must be the lie,” he said, pointedly avoiding eye contact. You considered forfeiting the game to avoid admitting that you did, in fact, have a picture of him on your wall as a child, but some competitive part of you decided that would be too easy, because you didn’t.

“It’s not, if you believe that. Granted, I wasn’t the one that put it there,” you said, clipping off before you could describe the love-struck way Paya called him her, ‘knight in shining armour,’ and religiously kissed the scratchy stick-figure of him before going to sleep. “But it was definitely you: the blonde hair, your little tunic, even that purple sword you carried around.”

“The master sword?”

“That’s the one. Not that you seem to have it on you at the moment,” you said. When you turned around again, Link looked about as embarrassed as you were, and you might have found it entertaining were you not so mortified. “Don’t get cocky about it though. There was a new scribble on that wall every time Impa got through another bed-time story with us.”

“And us is… you and Paya, I take it?”

“Course. She’s the better artist out of the two of us, admittedly,” you said, recalling the development of her little scribbles into sketches that were became quite technical. As a child, the extra attention her pieces received was something you were quite disgruntled over, and you gave up the arts very quickly in favour of going out and shooting arrows into make-shift targets. “She even got taught by Pikango for a little while: the elder in Kakariko who always carts around an easel and a paintbrush.”

“She was that good?”

“Absolutely. I still have a couple of her pictures stored away somewhere.” You recalled the time she drew you to an uncanny likeness when you were perched on a tree, overlooking the setting sun. “I’ll show them to you next time we stop by my house. Maybe if you ask nicely, she’ll even draw you.” (Right, as if there was a chance in hell Paya wouldn’t drop to her knees and beg Link to model for her at the first opportunity.)

“I’d be grateful. It’d be a nice thing to hang up in my house.”

“You have a house?”

“Yes, in Hateno. Is that unexpected?”

“A little,” you said. “Honestly, I always had you pegged as a traveller.” A half-truth; you didn’t feel brave enough to admit you’d thought him flat broke.

“I suppose you’re not wrong; I don’t go there very often.” 

Of course not. You wouldn’t be chipping into your savings to for beds if he had the luxury of sleeping in one place every night. Still, it was nice to know you had a backup bed in case a particularly nefarious wizzrobe ever set fire to your tarp.

“Anyway,” you said, “going back to the game: since you lost that round, one point goes to me.”

“So, which one was the lie?

“The deer one, believe it or not.”

The transparency of Link’s surprise made it clear that’s not what he would have guessed.

“I thought that might throw you for a loop, seeing as the first time you saw me, I was completely drenched in mud from chasing that boar around.” You wondered briefly what impression you left on him the day of your meeting, though you suspected he didn’t think much of it. At the time, you were probably another notch on his to-do list. 

“Your turn now.”

“Right,” he replied obediently, but said nothing after that, not when the grass beneath your feet gave way to rocks and hardy brambles, and not when the once-distant chirping of sparrows burst from the brush overhead in a way that suggested you’d be finding boars very soon.

“Are you struggling?” you asked, and he looked at you apologetically.

“Nothing’s coming to mind.”

You hmmed aloud, less to think, and more to distract yourself from the soreness in your feet as gravel pushed into the worn soles of your shoes. They were ideal for running about on the soft moss of the forest floor (when hunting rabbits was your biggest problem) but their comfort ran out as soon as you stepped foot on the mountain. “Just tell me facts about yourself. Things from your childhood. Things you like and don’t like.”

“I like food,” he said simply, and you burst into laughter. 

“Well, I know that much. If you’re gonna make it that easy for me, you might as well just forfeit the game.”

“Oh, I’ll think of another one then.”

“Go ahead,” you said and waited with bated breath for him to continue. Honestly, you were even more eager to play this game than you thought you’d be. Despite sleeping under the same roof, dozing off on his shoulder, and wearing his clothes, most of what you knew more about him came from Impa’s tales and Paya’s dreamy ramblings. This was your first real opportunity to hear something about him that no-one else was privy to.

“The first time I rode a horse,” Link began, “I pulled the reins too hard trying to slow it down, and it bucked me off.” 

“Really?” you asked, extremely pleased with the visual. “That’s so unlike you, I’m struggling to believe it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just so disciplined all the time,” you tried to explain, “it’s weird to think of you making mistakes at all.”

“Princess Zelda said something similar,” he said, in a small voice void of emotion. For the first time since setting out that day, you couldn’t read his face, and it was surprisingly unnerving. You were just talking out of your ass, but it seemed like you struck a nerve.

“You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“Should I be?”

“About not making mistakes? I mean, that sounds like a compliment to me.”

Link seemed unconvinced, but he must have been reluctant to elaborate, because he let you have the last word. As you walked upwards, the incline of the mountain path carried you away from the river, but the roaring thrum of a waterfall brought it back just before the road curved over the mountain-top. If the Zora were as aquatic as you were made to believe, the running water would probably lead you straight to them.

You looked up to where the cliff-face gave way to the sky, and the steady darkening of the clouds made you skittish. Link warned you of the Zora domain’s perpetual rain, but you figured as long as you kept your wits about you and walked slowly where the earth looked slippery, you’d be fine. Now you weren’t so sure.

“You need two more facts,” you reminded Link, grazing the heel of your shoe over a log as you climbed over it. The way you landed on your feet was a little inelegant, and he seemed to think you were about to trip, because his hand went to your side.

“I think I have another one,” he said, and you gave him a quick thanks before telling him to fire away. “One evening, after a day of archery training during my time as a royal knight, one of the king’s maids invited me to her quarters.”

You perked up immediately. 

Honestly, this was absolutely not an admission you expected to hear. Based on Link’s clumsy approach to most forms of social courtesy, flirting seemed far-fetched at best. He could barely hold a conversation on a good day, and you doubted a flattering bone structure could make up for having to talk to yourself for the duration of his company. (Then again, ‘the strong, silent type’ was popular for a reason, and hell, if you ever came across a double bed on your journey and he showed any interest, even you’d be up for—)

“But before I set foot in her bedroom, I ate all her food and she kicked me out.”

You laughed so violently that spit came out of your mouth.

“That’s—” you started but couldn’t even get another word out before your burst into laughter again. “That’s so you.”

You thought you saw the smallest glimpse of a smile from his direction. 

“That better not be the lie, or I will be so disappointed.” 

You passed by the waterfall in silence, though the lingering, post-laugh warmth in your belly stayed until the river slowed from an unforgiving blur to a lazy ebb that softly brushed against the bank. A sharp incline stretched over your head, and in front of it, the road narrowed dramatically. Though you waited patiently at his side while Link moved in front of you and scrambled over the incline to scout the surroundings, you readied the bow at your back when he unsheathed his sword.

Soon enough, a boulder skimmed over Link’s ear. It flew with a sharp whoosh and barely missed his head in favour of smashing against the steep face of cliff behind him.

“Shoot,” you mumbled, peering over the side of the incline to look at the offending Octorok. It was focused on Link, so despite your poor elevation, you figured you had a pretty good chance of firing an arrow while it was distracted. You edged yourself a little closer to the edge of the bank, doing your best to steer clear of the river, and just before Link had the opportunity to parry a second boulder, you sank an arrow neatly between its eyes—popping it.

Link looked caught off guard for a second, like he wasn’t really sure what happened.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you said coyly, scrambling up the incline to stand beside him. “All in a day’s work.”

For a moment, you were worried his concerned expression would devolve into another lecture from his direction about staying behind him and not getting involved in combat, so you were quite surprised to see him nod.

“I’ll get the ingredients,” he said, when he saw your outstretched hand reach towards the water. You were about to tell him you could handle something as easy as fishing out some tentacles, but he dove in before you had a chance to open your mouth. To his credit, his swimming was quick, graceful, and it only took a couple of seconds for him to be back on your side of the bank with a purple, squelching mass of Octorok tentacles. 

“You could have at least taken your armour off, you know.”

Link looked down at his drenched clothes. “It’ll dry.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watched him reach behind his neck to grab at his clothes in an effort that looked suspiciously like him wanting to undress, so you gave him some privacy by turning around and staring at the cliff-face. 

“Are you done?” you asked eventually.

“Yes.”

You turned around slowly (just in case his idea of ‘done’ circled around your idea of half-dressed) but were pleased to find him in his Sheikah suit, wringing his wet tunic over the river.

“Thought of a third fact?”

The way he loosened his grip on his tunic before anything came to mind was very telling. 

“No?”

“Actually…” he began and took a preparatory breath in before adjusting his seat on the bank. “Swimming in the river just reminded me of something.”

You sat down next to him. “Well, go ahead.”

“It wasn’t here exactly,” he said, observing the way the current circled a stepping stone, “but somewhere along this river, my fiancée and I would sometimes practise spearing fish.”

“Fiancée?” you asked, knowing you wouldn’t be able to wipe the shock from your tone. Sure, you could more-or-less handle the thought of some poor, clueless maid finding him attractive and asking if he would like to spend the night in her quarters, especially if it was only to be subsequently disappointed by his complete lack of sensitivity. But an engagement? A genuine and consensual connection on that level?

“No offence intended, but if you want to parse that one, you’re going to have to do a little more convincing.”

His face was inscrutably hard to read as he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a blue armour clad in scales and silver. “Her name was Mipha,” he said. You were reluctant to take the armour from him, but the way he held it out to you was insistent. “The Zora princess at the time. This was her version of an engagement ring.” (So that’s where his horse’s name came from. Odd, sure, to name your steed after your wife, but it would hardly be the strangest thing he’d done.)

“Armour?”

“Yes. That’s the Zora tradition. Hand-crafted for the betrothed.”

You didn’t know enough about Zora to know if he was bluffing, but a quick once-over the breastplate did, in-fact reveal signs of individual craft, most telling of which was a necklace draped over the chest: a silver chain threaded with rocks, seashells, and the carefully-carved insignia of the Zora emblem.

“You’re telling me that on top of being a royal guard for princess Zelda, you’re engaged to royalty? I’m surprised you don’t mention that more often; I wouldn’t have asked you to run after Bokoblins if I knew you were a prince.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

“No?”

“Mipha was…” he started, and his expression shrouded into a blackout curtain of displeasure and sadness that you’d glimpsed only once or twice in your acquaintance. “She was one of the four Champions during the calamity.”

You felt your heart sink. Of course. Mipha: the spear-wielding Zora champion piloting the Vah Ruta. What little you knew of the champions was all thanks to Impa, and the few stories she shared about them were so Link-centred (under Paya’s discretion) you never put two and two together.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, with as much sincerity you could muster. If Link noticed the way your grip on the armour changed, like you were holding precious porcelain, he noted it without comment.

“It’s been a long time since then,” he said, like that alone would wipe away your pity. When you handed it back to him, he gathered it into his chest.

“It has.” You looked him straight in the eyes. “But it doesn’t feel that way to you, does it?”

Link returned your glance with a tepid disquiet.

“I know it’s been over a hundred years since the calamity, but it must have been shortly before your slumber that you even found out she passed away, if not after.”

The twisting on his face was pained, like you told him something he’d never wanted to come to terms with. Worst of all, with the return of his most recent memory, he could say for sure you were right. Tearing through branches in the midst of a forest, the pit in his stomach circled with adrenaline. ‘Run,’ was one of the voices inside his head, which he recalled most clearly as his feet bore down upon the mud; ‘protect’ was the other, part-in-parcel with the feel of Zelda’s hand against his. It was all action, no rest or respite until he collapsed on the earth—exhausted and drained.

When he woke up, there was nothing. No grief or past to speak of—just the lone thought that he had a job to do. Something that became central to how he experienced the world. That even when his memories returned, bit by bit and brick by brick, (the shame, the rage, the grief) they all came secondary to the one thing that kept him going: moving forward.

“Did you ever have… a moment to mourn them?” you asked. “A burial? Anything like that?”

“With what bodies?” he said, and though it was an impartial statement in his head, his throat turned it bitter and unsure. The subject of the calamity always made him uneasy on his feet. Too volatile.

“It’s not always about the physical act of burying a body,” you explained, not with anger, but with a sternness that made it difficult for him to doubt your authority. “Sometimes it’s just about having a moment to remember those who passed away. I know that wasn’t really the case with those Yiga soldiers we buried, but more so than being ceremonies for the dead, funerals are there to make grieving a ceremonial process. It’s a time to mourn, together, as people.”

“Did you ever hold a burial?”

“Ever?” you asked, though you did not wait for his response. “Of course. Back in the day, countless humans went missing trying to get to Ganon. As small as our village was, we held a funeral almost every year.”

Link seemed to seriously consider whether it was a good idea to let slip whatever he was going to say next, because it took him a good few seconds of just staring at your face to even open his mouth. “I meant…” he started, and for a moment wherein you forgot he was the incarnation of courage, you almost thought he’d lost his nerve. “I meant a funeral for your family.”

Bile stirred in your stomach.

That catastrophic night, when the taste of ash and sulphur hung through the air like a thick cloak that ran circles around your throat, felt eons away. Most of what you could remember whittled down to hushed sobbing against the back of your hand—too scared to open your mouth in case the guardians found you on the outskirts of the town, or worse, the offensive, scalding taste of burning made its way into the back of your throat. You cried a lot, that was certain. Months after, you were still tossing in your makeshift bed of animal fur, visualising the crackle of charred, blackened flesh you once called family. But you never held a funeral. 

You shook your head, and he nodded solemnly. After that, all was silent save for the chirp of birdsong and the happy, unaware gurgle of the river. It wasn’t until Link made a move to get up that you spoke again. 

“Maybe… we should?”

He looked at you.

“Have a burial, I mean. Spend a day collecting flowers and rocks and make a couple of gravestones. Just as long as it feels like we’re leaving something behind for them.”

“For your family? Or the Champions?” Link asked. He clutched the Zora armour to himself protectively as he braced himself against the earth and stood up, though he offered you his other hand to take.

“Both. My family, your fiancé, everyone who died by Ganon’s hand.” Link held onto your hand a while after your got up. It felt like an attempt to ground himself, like that physical act would let him understand the depth of your suggestion. 

“That might be nice,” he said eventually, and the two of you walked onwards, away from the gravel and onto the plain.

You were so eager to get a reprieve from the rocky, mountain road that it took you barely a minute to take your shoes off. When you wriggled your feet into the damp earth, Link looked on with poorly-concealed fascination.

“It’s nice,” you told him, and flashed the shoes in your hand. “You should try it.”

It probably wasn’t wise, sure, especially with the coming of rain as a dapple of foreboding, prickly cold against your skin. But it was fun, and you figured Link’s immune system was nigh-indestructible anyway. Worst case scenario was your cold getting a little worse.

“You never guessed which one was the lie,” he said, and you were convinced it was an attempt to change the subject until he reached for the back of his shoes to remove them. Had you taken note of the way he buried his heels into the earth, you might have thought his curiosity uncharacteristic, but you quickly became distracted with the bustling sound of a boar circling a pair of berry bushes on the top of a valley, and by the time you retrieved your bow, Link was on his toes again—poised and ready to fight.

“As much as I hope it’s not, I think it was the second,” you said. The boar turned its snout upwards when you lined the arrow parallel to the ground, and you barely remembered to shoot before it turned tail into a cluster of trees. Your arrow cut through the air with a smooth arc, but still unsuccessfully landed amongst the grass.

“That was a truth, actually.”

You threw a surprised look his way before stalking off to pick up the arrow. “Then that little tantrum you pulled when I doubted the first one was a bluff?”

Link scratched the back of his head. “That one was also the truth.”

“No way it was the third one,” you said in disbelief, pocketing the arrow into your quiver and coming to stand beside him.

Link only nodded sheepishly, and your jaw swung open.

“That’s heartless!” you cried, playfully punching his arm. “I swear, I was two steps away from bursting into tears!” He laughed as he caught your fists, and that alone was enough to shock you into submission. This was the first time you heard the sound, and the immense satisfaction that burst in your chest could only be compared to a flush of cold water.

“Some parts of it were true.” There was something overly friendly in the way his thumbs rubbed against your fists, but you didn’t think to mention it. 

“Like what?”

“The Zora armour was, in fact, an engagement gift given to me by princess Mipha.”

“But?”

His face fell away into something a little more serious, and with it came the turntable in your stomach. “By the time I found out about it, it was too late to give her a response.”

Your hands dropped slightly, though Link still didn’t let them go. “Do you think...” you began, “had she proposed before the calamity, you’d have accepted it?”

It was a very run-of-the-mill question, and yet it seemed to stump him, because his eyes narrowed in what was, quite clearly, confusion.

“I’ve never been asked that before.”

“Really?” you backed away sheepishly, but his grip was a little too firm to separate yourself further than a half-step. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too invasive.”

“It’s not that.”

“No?”

He shook his head and scrunched his face. This time when you took a step back, he was too lost in thought not to let go.

“I’d just… never thought about it.”

You stopped yourself short of lifting an eyebrow at him. Sure, if you were told about someone’s retrospective plans to propose to you, knowing whether or not you’d accept seemed less like a matter of deliberation and more like a case of instinct. With Link, however, things were often different. Perhaps it was just another manifestation of his one-track-mind, and he’d never thought about his future outside of the confines of his duties as Hyrule’s Royal Knight and Champion for long enough to realise he had one.

“Maybe you can give her your answer when he have the burial?” was what you said instead. “For an armour as well-crafted as that, I think she deserves one.”

“Right,” Link said, punctuating it with a solemn nod. You took your place next to him, and the near-wistful look he gave your hand as you walked side by side twisted something in your stomach.  

Rain danced on your skin. Luminous pillars stretched overhead, and you gripped the balustrade of the walkway you were crossing like it was the only thing preventing you from toppling over. A murky sky swam with ash-grey clouds above you—an ominous symbol that Link had explained was a product of Vah Ruta’s rain. 

“Honestly, I’m nervous,” you said, shifting your bare feet in the ankle-deep water that circled them. Some time ago, you’d wrapped a cotton, white scarf patterned in blue and red over your head in a bandana (one of many borrowed items from Paya) as both a cover from the rain and a last-minute attempt to hide your circular ears, but it soaked quickly, and now did little to temper the roll of droplets down your temple. 

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. On his back (in a make-shift bag made from your leather tarp) he carried the boar you found in the mountains, trimmed, salted, and smoked for preservation; a hulking mass of meat you couldn't even lift off the ground despite your best attempts.

To top it off, you barely killed the thing in time to stop it from ramming you off a cliff, so you'd since concluded that the creatures were probably cursed, and you’d never catch one without facing a near-death experience.

“Is there anything I should know about?” you asked. “A special way to bow? Should I call him Prince Sidon? Or does he use something more formal?”

“He might shake your hand,” Link said. “Watch out for that.” He looked about ready to laugh at your unease, and honestly, you weren’t particularly happy about it. Regardless of his behaviour in your presence, he wasn’t far from silver spoon himself. He had, after all, grown up in the well-to-do background of Hyrule castle, a place bustling with high-born merchants, dukes, and kings. If a situation called for it, he could very well start acting as such. You, meanwhile, had spent half of your life in what might as well have been the sticks, the other half in a hut on top of a hill with only your bow and arrow for company, and if that wasn’t enough, you were human, which had been a little hit-and-miss with royalty in the past.

“You’re telling me the Zora Prince is gonna waltz in and start acting like my best friend?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”   

You found this unconvincing, but you kept quiet until Link waved at a landing that overlooked the plaza you were headed to. Standing as a striking contrast of bright red against the dark sky above you, an imposingly large Zora waved back.

“Link!” it shouted with a booming voice that almost made you jump out of your skin.

“Is that him?” you whispered, and Link gave a brief nod before leading you up a staircase of marble and silver. Sidon charged towards Link as soon as you set foot on the landing, and you swore your heart would have skipped less beats had he been an angry bear instead.

“It’s good to see you back in our kingdom!” he said, clasping Link’s hand between both of his and shaking it. A monstrously dazzling grin of sharp teeth flashed from under his lip. Dear God, he could easily chew your head off. “And you’ve brought a friend!” He focused his cat-like stare in your direction, and you did your best to temper your flinch. 

“It’s an honour,” you said, bowing before him.

“So well-mannered! Please, companion, lift your head. Any friend of Link’s is a friend of mine.”

When you did as asked, his outstretched hand was already waiting. Firm handshake, you thought, hoping he wouldn’t notice how clammy your palm was. Firm handshake, firm handshake, firm—

“And such a magnificent handshake!”

You gave him a shaky smile in return for the compliment, though your heart leapt to your throat when his own fell away to something more serious. He leaned in to scrutinise your bandana, and you almost fainted on the spot. ‘He knows,’ was your final thought before you accepted your inevitable death at his hands.

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but might you perhaps be a Sheikah?” was what he asked (instead of ripping your head off).

“Oh, you mean the colours!” came your response, simultaneously too late and too hurried. Of course he’d mistake you for a Sheikah if you were wearing Paya’s scarf. “That’s very perceptive! I come from the Sheikah village over the mountain.” Not a lie, necessarily, but a misleading truth. Better safe than sorry.

Another dazzling smile overtook him. “Ah, you must mean Kakariko! I have heard of it! Though I rarely get the chance to step outside of the Zora domain, travellers only sing its praises.” he said, with a warmth that felt very genuine. Perhaps Link was right and you were a fool to worry; regardless of his title and imposing appearance, he seemed to care little for formalities that would betray your status as a village bumpkin. “Pray tell, are the evening fireflies as spectacular as the rumours suggest?”

“Absolutely.” The smile that crept onto your features was stealthy, and you didn’t even notice it until you heard the excited lilt to your voice. “There are nights we leave our lanterns at home and let them light the way.”

“What a sight that must be,” he said, with a glint in his eyes that suggested he was marvelling at the imagery in his mind. “Though the heavy rain and mountains keep our fireflies at bay, I hope you find the Zora Kingdom a welcoming place regardless.”

“Honestly, if everyone is as nice as you, I think I’ll love it.”

He didn’t respond to you instantly, and you wondered if maybe it was an overly bold thing to say to a prince when his eyes darted shyly to the floor. At least until he looked back at you, and that dazzling grin came back full-force.

“I should hope so,” he said. (Correction, you were definitely a fool.) “Now, friends,” Sidon cleared his throat and turned to Link (who, for some reason, was getting uncharacteristically impatient), “I hate to hurry our introduction, but Vah Ruta’s ceaseless rainfall burdens our reservoir as we speak, and my kingdom is pressed for time. Have you had the chance to prepare for your encounter with the Lynel?”

You felt a shiver scatter across your spine as Link nodded. 

He was going to fight a Lynel? The same, infamous beast that well-meaning travellers warned you to avoid like the plague? Among all of your years on the road (most significantly as an orphaned child hunting on Hyrule fields), you’d never met a person who challenged one and lived to tell the tale; the few bits and pieces of rumours you’d picked up still had you cautiously scouting the perimeter of every clearing you thought they might be circling. 

“I’m sorry this task falls to you,” Sidon said gravely. “Were it not for the beast’s shock arrows, I would accompany you. Instead, I must leave the fate of my Kingdom in your capable hands.”

No doubt this would prove to be a gruelling trial, even for Link. Nevertheless, there was no part of him that looked afraid. Two days ago, you might have mistaken his cold expression for apathy. Now, however, you recognised it for what it truly was: the sharpened face of Hylian Champion, a mask that came into existence at every duty he was given.

“I’ll do my best.”

Link hadn’t discussed any of these proceedings prior to arriving in the Zora Kingdom. In all honesty, you weren’t sure how he was planning to face off against the Lynel, or where you next needed to go, so you presumed he’d discuss it with you on the way there.

“I wish the two of you luck,” were Sidon’s parting words, “please take care.”

“Thank you,” Link said. You nodded along and readjusted the quiver at your back, waiting for Link to stalk off to whatever road would lead him to the Lynel. As though rooted to the earth, however, Link showed no signs of moving. He only stared at you dumbly, as though bracing himself to speak.

“What is it?”

You could tell by his reluctance alone it would be something you weren’t going to like. With an awkward (almost nervous) turn of his lip, he finally came out with, “it’s best you stay here,” and his sheepish tone was the only reason you didn’t immediately fly off the handle.

“You have to be kidding.” More than anything, you were disappointed. You really thought he was getting better about this whole co-operation schtick.

“It’ll be more dangerous than the enemies we’ve faced so far,” was his justification.

“I know. That’s exactly why I should go with you.”

Link actually rolled his eyes at that, and you were so surprised to see it you almost felt your frustration run into thin air.

“Look, I’m not delusional; I know close-combat is your field of expertise, and I’m absolutely not going to be running up to it and poking it with arrows. But on the off-chance something goes wrong for you, I want to be there; that’s all I ask.”

Sidon cleared his throat from beside you. Honestly, he’d been so passive to this spectacle you forgot he was there, so when you turned to see the embarrassed way he shifted on his feet, some part of you died on the inside.

“Link,” he started, “though I hate to intervene, should this not be your companion’s decision?”

Oh, he was on your side? Princely title and those staggering ten feet of height be damned, this guy was your new best friend. 

“Prince Sidon is right,” you said, but Link only looked at you with a pained grimace. “Plus, you’ve seen me use my bow on more than one occasion. I thought I’d done enough to prove myself.” You tilted your head back towards your quiver—and your genuine look of disappointment must have been the last straw, because Link took a deep breath and gestured for you to walk behind him.

You and Sidon shared one last look before you muttered a ‘thank you’ and jogged to your place beside Link.

“This would be so much nicer if it didn’t stink of smoked meat,” you said, referring to the tarp that you’d tied around a set of branches as a make-shift umbrella. Your on-and-off cough had made a re-appearance as soon as reached the foot of Ploymus mountain, so you decided to leave the boar meat in a dry alcove and use the tarp as shelter from the rain.

Link didn’t say anything, but he did pointedly look down at your heels, not for the first time since you’d set out.

“You’ve got something to say,” you declared, because you’d grown to recognise this kind of persistent stare as the preamble to Link making a comment on something. “Come out with it.”

He looked reluctant for only a little while longer before it tumbled out of him. “Your feet have blisters.”

You lifted an eyebrow. He was about to face Hyrule’s most fearsome beast and that’s what he was worried about? If this was the only reason he wanted to leave you behind in the Zora Kingdom, you’d probably skin him alive. “Yeah, my shoes aren’t great for long distances. Don’t worry about it though; I’ll get a new pair next time we see a merchant.”

Link looked sufficiently convinced. He only gave them one more prudent examination before turning back around to face the peak he was leading you towards.

“Unless you want to carry me up the rest of the mountain?” you teased.

His eyes snapped back towards you. There was something in them that you couldn’t quite place—not dark or threatening, but an out-of-character, playful edge that had you bracing yourself.

“Alright,” was all the warning he gave you. When he lifted you into his arms, you only gave a little yelp. It was effortless, though you weren’t surprised when you’d seen the ease with which he carried stacks of weapons twice your weight.

“I was kidding!” you said and tried to wriggle out of his arms (admittedly half-heartedly, but well, it’s not like this was particularly unpleasant).

“Do you want me to put you down?” he asked, and you didn’t know how to answer him at first, because you didn’t, not really. But he needed to be well-rested for his fight against the Lynel (‘or, well, stealth-mission to acquire twenty shock arrows,’ as he’d clarified, and you couldn’t decide whether it made you feel better or worse) and having blisters on your feet wasn’t a good enough reason to embezzle him out of his strength, so you nodded. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, with that same, strange teasing lilt to his voice as he held you against his chest.

You laughed and tried to wriggle yourself out again, this time a bit more forcefully. “Admit it; you just want to use my tarp-erella.”

“That’s not it.” You were a little disappointed when he stopped walking to put you down, but you thanked him regardless. The whimsical light of his features straightened to something a little more sober when you stepped away from him. “I don’t mind the rain,” was what he told you, the same thing he’d said when (after pridefully flashing your finished invention) you asked if he wanted to come under it.

“Sure,” you said. When you held the tarp over your heads and stepped back toward him, however, he must have decided otherwise, because he didn’t move away.

The peak was deathly quiet.

The song of frogs from near the river had long since been drowned out by a waterfall, and the chirping of the birds thinned to nothing in the static of the rain. Earlier, the grass shifted with the movement of crickets; you’d see them burst from below your foot with every step. Now, even they seemed to fear the earth.

“How are you feeling?” was the first thing you said to him.

His answer didn’t come immediately. Reminiscent of your meeting, his expression was sharpened with a trademark focus that only seemed to grow deeper when he thought about how to answer your question. “Good, I think.” He was still wearing his Sheikah suit, though he gently removed his weapons and placed them in a pile. “The rain will help to mask the sound of my footsteps.”

The tension in the air, though likely one-sided, still coiled in your throat. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were sending him to his death. With his current equipment, he couldn’t do much to kill the beast without endangering himself, so you were relieved he was sensible enough not to chance a direct confrontation. Still, sneaking around without weapons wasn’t an ideal solution. If the beast noticed him, it would be catastrophic.

“I’m worried about you,” you said honestly.

Link looked at you like it wasn’t something he expected to hear, and you weren’t surprised by it. Likely, genuine concern (past the one expressed in basic formalities) wasn’t a sentiment he’d had directed at him in years. Certainly since he woke up from his one-hundred-year slumber, but maybe even prior to that, when he outgrew his training and assumed the role of a prodigy.

“I’ll be alright,” were his awkward words of reassurance.

You shook your head. “That’s not enough. You have to promise me you’re going to be extra careful.”

“I promise,” he said obediently, but you shook your head again.

“Hm, no…” you scratched your chin in mock-deliberation. “It’s still missing something. I think we need to pinkie promise.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s a thing where you—”

“I know,” Link said, without waiting for you to finish, and stuck out his pinkie finger. “Here.”

You took it wordlessly, and when he gave your hand a firm shake, the whole thing was so unconventional that you snorted under your breath. “Alright, I feel a little better now. Thank you.”

His smile was small and subtle, but it was still encouraging enough that you felt your anxieties recede. By the time you broke apart from each other, you felt more or less at ease.

“Do you know where you’re going to be waiting?” he asked.

You gestured flippantly to a little boulder stationed over the field, but he didn’t seem to like that, because he shook his head. “No. You’ll be in direct view of the Lynel.”

“I know, I know, but give me a second; I’m going to show you something.”

He waited through his reluctance as you jogged some distance away and picked up a hollow log half-way sunk into the earth.

“Watch this,” was your prideful admission, before you dropped it over your head and regretted it almost immediately. The inside was full of dirt, dust, and cobwebs—a delightful concoction of ingredients that fell right into your eyes. “Oh god, I didn’t think this through,” Your voice was choked up and hoarse. “I think I just swallowed—” you continued, but burst into a series of coughs before you could finish. With a roll of his eyes that you couldn’t quite see, he moved in to help you of the log, and when it fell aside and dropped to the floor, your eyes were glazed in tears. “I think I just swallowed a spider.”

He buried his oncoming chortle into his hand, and oddly, instead of embarrassment (though that certainly wasn’t absent) you felt yourself light up.

“Seriously, I still feel it in the back of my throat.”

He shook his head at you—and for the first time in your journey, he looked at you like you were the unruly child, a feeling that returned threefold when he picked a strand of cobwebs from behind your ear and shook them off onto the grass.

“Alright, let me try that again,” you said and bent down to pick the log. This time when you put it on, you did it carefully, and after a couple of seconds of trying to wiggle as far into as you were comfortable with, you peered at him through a hole in its front. “What do you think?”

“High-fashion,” he said in complete deadpan.

“Well,” you started, and this time it was you that laughed, “I’m not about to pass up a compliment like that.” The sides of the log had been shaved away, leaving two, convenient slices just wide enough to stick your hands through, and used them to put your hands where your hips would be. “But I meant it more as camouflage.”

Link took a couple of steps away and examined you from a greater distance, head tilted in consideration, and must have liked what he saw, because he gave you two thumbs up.

“You think it’ll be enough to fool the Lynel?”

When he moved back in, he gave you a firm nod. “They’re smarter than the average beast, but as long as you don’t stick your arms out and keep still, the log hides you completely.”

Another first of the journey—words of assurance. This was perhaps the only time he’d commended your efforts in anything but making food, and your confidence sprang seemingly out of thin air.

“Well, in that case, I’m raring to go. Where is that Lynel? Let me clobber him.”  

When his expression faltered, you were worried maybe he’d taken the joke a little too seriously, so you were pleasantly surprised when he playfully flicked the trunk of the log where your forehead would be. 

“Ouch, noted,” you laughed and covered your head in a defensive manoeuvre that was entirely for show. “I’m just kidding, I promise.”

He looked at you conspicuously as though unsatisfied with your reassurance, but you still near-tripped over your feet when he held out his little finger for you take. 

The next smile you gave him gathered every positive feeling from inside of you (of which there was plenty to choose from, now that the deathly atmosphere from before had been completely shaved away), and you curled your finger around his with confidence. “Don’t forget the promise you made to me, either. Be careful. I’ll be looking out for you as best as I can, but that doesn’t mean you can act like an idiot out there.”

He gave your entwined fingers a shake as a last assurance, and it, too, felt like he was trying to pour all his feelings into one gesture. Come what may, at least you both knew that you didn’t want to lose each other. Not a big profession, perhaps, considering you’d feel the same way to most strangers, but one that, nevertheless, managed to feel a little special. 

When you broke apart, it felt reluctant. His first, few, baby steps away from you were taken backwards (like he didn’t want to break eye contact) and even after that, when he started walking along the grass to the flat landing of Ploymus peak (where the Lynel was inevitably making its rounds) he turned around to give you one, lingering look. 

It was the last push you needed to pick up your bow and settle yourself in front of the boulder that would be your vantage point for the course of the mission. When you finally heaved yourself onto it, newly acquired log-body and all, you couldn’t help but marvel at the view.

In the distance, the Zora Kingdom—a beautiful singular structure of silver and marble, was only a blue smudge against the fog of the rain. Here, where the only thing that blocked your view of the horizon was the far-away silhouette of Death Mountain and the sharp incline of Shatterback point, the wind tugged at your exposed skin, and the cloudy sky felt the closest it’d ever been.

Most importantly, however, the entirety of Ploymus peak was open towards you. Gathering your wits, you scanned the surroundings rapidly for the first sign of the Lynel’s appearance, and true to its infamous reputation, it didn’t take long to spot its hulking mass behind a far-away tree. Half-beast, half-man, were how cautionary tales described it, but even they seemed optimistic at best. The thing was fully bestial, all the way from its thunderous hooves to its blood-coloured mane encircling its head like a crown of fire. Even without the axe slung around its back, it was a truly horrific creature, and if you ever encountered it alone, you wouldn’t stall a single second before sprinting far, far away.

Now however, you were with Link, who expectantly looked at you for the first sign of go-ahead. Waiting. Despite whatever reservations he had prior to coming here, he trusted you, and there was something humbling about it that steeled your nerves.

Carefully (making sure the Lynel wasn’t looking in your direction), you pointed towards it, and Link gave you a firm nod.

The path of arrows that marked his route around the field took him in zig-zags. Whenever you were sure the beast was turned away, you’d point him in the direction of another arrow, and he’d follow you, with such blind trust that he barely even looked around himself to double-check whether you were right.

It was only when Link was at the foot of Shatterback point, half-way up a towering pine tree in an effort to collect another shock arrow (which, if you were counting right, should be the last), that your careful routine came to a screeching halt. The Lynel hadn’t noticed you, but its systematic patrol of the peak brought it near the boulder you were stationed at. Still, you felt secure. As ridiculous as your disguise was, Link had deemed it more than enough to deceive the Lynel, and when the beast circled around and behind you, it felt like perhaps that would hold true. If you waited it out and stayed quiet, he’d certainly keep on walking.

There was only one problem.

When Link slid back down the tree, newly acquired arrow in hand, he’d seemed to have completely lost track of the Lynel’s location.

Your heartbeat spiked. If you pointed out its whereabouts now, it would certainly notice you. Sure, you could chance an arrow into its skull; it was barely twenty feet away, a range that might as well have been point-blank. But if you endangered yourself, Link would certainly have something to say about it, and a pinkie promise, though not legally binding, was probably enough to shatter whatever trust he’d built for you if broken.

So, you stayed unmoving, and watched in horror as Link started walking towards you.

The next few seconds, though brief, stretched for infinity. The beast turned the corner from behind your boulder, and when Link realised he was in danger, it was too late.

A volley of shock arrows was the Lynel’s opening attack. 

It must have been by God's grace that he dodged in time, but they still hit close enough that the earth fizzled in sparks of electricity that toppled him over. He made a move to get up but only shook and shivered, rooted to the floor, and he was left completely helpless as the Lynel rushed him from behind and lifted its axe.

It was only thanks to a well-aimed arrow you bounced off the weapon that the beast’s strike narrowly missed Link’s neck, but it was no-where near enough to prevent his oncoming attack entirely. When the axe smashed against the earth, the ground shook, and whatever magic entwined the beast flushed from it in one, haphazard roar.

A wall of flames soared into the sky. 

It was horrific—an explosion of such unprecedented magnitude that it sent Link’s braced body across the field, tumbling across the singed grass in your direction until you heard a sickening crack as he smashed straight into the boulder.

His limp, unmoving body sent your pulse into a flurry. 

There was blood on his back. Bloody burns on his shoulder. His face. Even strands of his hair coiled with a deep maroon. Was he breathing? You couldn't see.

You took a deep breath.

He had to be.

As long as there was a chance he was still alive, you’d have to grab it by the throat. His demise would spell far worse for the fate of the world than anything you could even imagine. Besides, you still had the Lynel to worry about it. On the off chance Link wasn’t dead, it would certainly finish him off.

Plan of action. You needed a plan. 

Jumping down? A one-one-one encounter sounded like a terrible idea, but at the very least, you could shield Link’s body with yours. The log might bear some of the force, though you doubted your good fortune would last longer than that. There’d be no way to run, but more importantly, if the beast’s attack was as strong as the last, you’d be crushed in one fell swoop, and then the both of you would be dead. With certainty.

Running?

No, leaving him behind was not an option.

You looked around yourself.

Arrows. Of course. You could shoot it in the head, and—

No, no, no.

A mere arrow? Sure, enough for a Lizalfos. Not enough for that thing. In the least, you’d need some sort of magic to take it down if you wanted to do it for good, but you’d have hard luck with that. A human couldn’t even channel magic, and manifesting it out of thin air was about as probable as drawing blood from a rock.

Nevertheless, you gathered your quiver in your arms.

If you wanted magic, there was one other option.

You crouched down on the boulder, hiding from the Lynel’s view, and shimmied the log from your body. Another deep breath to steel yourself—something that proved completely impossible. This was the craziest thing you’d ever done. No competition. Quiver in one hand, and a single arrow you’d chosen to hold in the other, you crouched down on the boulder, hiding from the Lynel’s view, and waited for it to approach Link’s body.

It took a step.

You pushed your palm onto your nose to silence your laboured, anxious breathing. This was death, you thought, growing more nervous by the second. You were going to die.

And another.

Paya would certainly miss you. So would Impa. She didn’t always make it obvious (there was a sense of pride about her that made her rough around the edges) but on the occasion you were awake to witness her tuck you in, she still kissed your forehead in affection. A mother, to both you and Paya.

The Lynel’s next step brought it standing over Link’s body.

Now.

You took a running start from the rock and leapt over the edge, above Link’s body, over the Lynel’s head, and onto its back. 

Even before the beast sank to its knees with the sudden force of your weight, and even before you felt the force of your adrenaline rush you like a tonne of bricks, you snapped the belt of your quiver over the Lynel’s waist and around yourself (gripping it so hard that your knuckles turned white) and secured it into the beast by stabbing the arrow you were holding through the leather and into its thick skin.

Everything was happening all at once, both too slow and too fast.

You weren’t even outwardly aware of what you were doing when you reached into the Lynel’s quiver for one of its shock arrows. It stung. Whatever enchantments protected the shaft from conducting electricity into Hylians and the Lynel didn’t work for humans, and the buzz rattled through your hand.

Nevertheless, you were undeterred. You pushed the brittle edge of the shock arrow into the Lynel’s eye with a fast, decisive moment, and the beast’s roar threatened to split the earth. A blinding flash of light sparked against your hand, and the current rushed straight through the Lynel and into you. It was only thanks to the quiver’s belt that you didn’t tumble off the beast’s back and right into the line of its stampeding feet—gigantic pistons that would have crushed your skull before you could blink. 

The Lynel fought against the arrow, clawing at your hand and trying to buck you off like a feral animal, leading you upwards, up, up, to the overhang of the mountain—an incline you only subconsciously recognised as Shatterback point.

An erratic, scourged dance still sparked with electricity sent it tumbling off the cliff and into the Zora lake (a black body of water that threatened to swallow it alive) and you went with it, a helpless speck against the deep, grey sky.