Chapter Text
The Captain is… a distant memory, now.
The thought stops him in his tracks. He's kneeling down by the dresser in his and Malon's room, looking through the bottom drawer - by all means one they barely touched, and one Link had set aside for any important documents and papers - and the thought is one so jarring that he drops down to sit cross-legged. The papers he'd taken out slide into his lap, as does the letter.
He'd been, what, a teenager in the body of a child, back then? During the War of Ages?
It'd been right after his adventure in Termina, spent a couple years there, and he'd been lost and confused as to where to go. He'd poured his soul into that cycle of three days, trying to save a country doomed to be crushed by the moon. What did one do after they'd averted such a fate?
The answer was, clearly, to be recruited into an interdimensional war. One he doesn't remember all that well anymore. He can't - he can't remember the Captain's face, or his voice. He can't picture Tune, or - who else was there? Who else had he fought a war with, became friends with, formed bonds with? There was, uh… Ravio. Midna… who else? Agitha?
It's been so long. Twenty years, maybe. And twenty years ago he would've laughed at the ache prevalent in his chest now - There's always a parting. Nothing ever lasts. What did you expect, getting close to him? - but in the present, older and wiser, it feels like it makes… sense. There was love to be found in the world. There were relationships that would last. Malon was proof of that.
It makes him miss the Captain even more. There's nothing much left to miss, what with his fading, blurry memory of the War, but it's enough. The Captain had been a huge part of Link's life for the years he'd spent in that era - as much as he'd denied it, the man had ended up as some kind of… older brother figure. And that was something that Link had never had, save for Sheik. And, well, Sheik had never quite fulfilled that role - he'd been aloof and disconnected when Link had been mentally young and lost and heartbroken, where the Captain had forcefully wormed his way past Link's walls - when he was fine, as fine as he could’ve been, and didn’t need support - and stayed there.
Link's refusal to trust had ultimately saved him from heartbreak, though. As much as he'd loved the Captain, as much as he'd found family in him, he'd known it would never last. Nothing ever, ever lasted, and the end of the War of Eras proved as much. He'd always been ready to say goodbye; it didn't come as a surprise.
It hurts now, though, like some kind of delayed reaction. He looks down into his lap, at the letter he's been rubbing his thumb across. A high quality envelope, no doubt with similarly high quality paper inside, the kind he'd spend late nights doodling on in the candlelight while the Captain went through paperwork next to him. Tune would be asleep in a cot near them. Link - or Mask, as he was known -
(looks over at the Captain's paper.
What are you writing, he signs. Link doesn't notice, or maybe just ignores him; the paperwork he'd been doing is pushed to the side, and now a piece of thick parchment is being carefully written on, the ink of delicate handwriting shining in the flickering candlelight. There's wet splotches underneath that Mask misses the origin of, but Link dabs gently at them with a scarred thumb.
He tugs at the Captain's scarf. The man jerks just a hint, blinks, and a small, tired smile spreads across his face as he looks up at Mask. He brushes his hair from where it'd been covering his eyes. "Sprite."
What are you writing, Mask repeats. Then, croaky and reluctant because he doesn't know the sign for it: "'s not paperwork?"
"Not paperwork," the Captain confirms. The grin seems to falter a bit as he looks down at the letter, and then he pushes it away in one smooth motion, pulling the stack of paperwork back to the center of his desk. Proxi, who's asleep in her little bed at the corner of the table, grumbles at the disruption. "Although, I must say, you two have been contributing to how much I do have with your antics."
Mask shrugs. The other soldiers were pussies if they got scared by his masks. And public decency laws weren't real. Not my problem, he says, and the Captain's eyes crinkle. He wrinkles his nose as the man flicks it.
"My ass," he says, and grins. His arms, still adorned in their bracers, slide down so the Captain is resting against them, chin against the stack of papers. "Why aren't you asleep, Sprite?"
Tune snores as though to emphasize his point. Link glances at him, and then reaches over to tuck the teenager's arm back into the cot from where it's dangling. Mask watches him impassively, kicking his legs. They're a bit too short to reach the floor in this body.
Waiting for you, he signs, and the Captain looks at him in surprise.
"Aw, Sprite, you shouldn't have," he says, although Link can see the lines of… something else in the corner of his eyes. Before he can inspect it, it's gone - which seems to be a theme with the Captain. Mask can't read him, because his expressions change with the speed and subtly of the weather, quiet and unnoticed. It's like the Captain has his very own set of masks, but they're not a kind Mask understands. They're invisible. Metaphorical. "Well, I'm just about to head to bed anyway, so you should probably sleep."
"No you're not," Mask says. He fiddles with the paper he'd been drawing on, creasing up the corner and folding it up and flattening it out and then folding it up again. There's a drawing of Epona on it - it's childish, and crude, and some part of Mask wants to tear it up and burn it in the candle because damn it he's not a child - but the Captain never really minds stuff like that. He's seen the man draw things too, like stick people and animals and little spirals that go on endlessly during important meetings. So it can't be that bad. "You never do. I watch you."
"Means you're not asleep," Link says, tapping the side of his head knowledgeably. He sighs, letting his head fall to the side. "I'm only asleep when you're asleep. So you can't catch me."
You're so full of shit, Mask says, and the same tired grin from earlier makes a reappearance. Sleep. Bedtime.
He pushes Link over, and the man goes down like a lump of wet clay, sliding off the chair and toppling to the ground with a breathless laugh. He stays infuriatingly limp and uncooperative as Mask struggles to get him to his own cot, and eventually he gives up and just rolls him into a corner of the tent. Another minute, and the man's under a pile of worn blankets, the two thin pillows between the two of them thrown on top of him. Another minute of Mask kicking the blankets in place, and by then the Captain is face down on the ground and entirely passed out.
Mask crosses his arms and looks at him. It's strange to see the Captain in such a vulnerable position - he's not one for sleeping, hasn't been since the first traitor had turned, and it feels almost wrong to see him open-mouthed on the floor, eyes closed and breathing steady. He's not the prettiest sleeper, although Mask doesn't have the greatest sense for what counts as pretty, or not pretty. He'd been informed many times, however, that the Captain fell directly in the pretty category; that his delicate features were ethereal, that his stature and physique were godly, no wonder Cia started a war over him (what was that about?), that his big brother was really handsome, do you think you could give me your address, sweetheart?
He'd nearly bitten a finger off at the last one. He'd still bitten it, of course, but it'd remained intact. Unfortunately. He could recognize second-hand flirting if it was pinching his cheek, and he wanted to be part of none of it. Neither had the Captain, apparently, because he'd looked almost imperceptibly grateful at the incident. Also angry.
He kicks one of the blankets from the floor up onto the Captain's knee. Then he drops to the floor next to the Captain and curls up next to him. It only takes a moment for the man to let out a little groan, and then he's pulled into Link's chest.
"I love you, you know that?" The Captain asks, and Mask feels his cheeks heat up. He reaches up to scrub at them, and then subsequently bites Link's shoulder for payback. "I don't say it enough. You - you and Tuney both - you mean the world to me."
"I know," Mask croaks out, still rubbing at his cheeks. They feel less red now, which is good. "You suck, though."
He's not going to say he loves him back. That's asking to be hurt. There's going to be a time when they'll never see each other again, and it'll be all the more painful if he's attached; or, at least, if he admits it. Tuney has no such reservations, declaring his love for anyone with pomp and happiness. It's… interesting. Mask doesn't know how to feel about it. It's naive, but at the same time, it makes something ugly twist in his gut. Maybe he wants it. He doesn't know.
"I know," the Captain says, and presses his nose into Mask's hair. It tickles. A sigh, and he can feel warm air brush across his scalp. "A war isn't a place for people your age,)
Sprite, the letter declares, in rich, thick ink, reserved for royalty. The neat, tidy handwriting he'd gotten familiar with over time. Practiced, perfect; a far cry from the Captain's real handwriting, which was just as neat but faster, hastier, with a significant slant. He wonders which one's inside the envelope. Link still hasn't opened it. It's been twenty years.
How old would he be now? In his fifties? He'd never really figured out how old the man was, and never bothered to ask; he was too busy trying to convince people that he was approximately twenty, not ten! He'd failed, for the most part. The only people who believed him were Tuney and the Captain, and even that was dubious.
In his fifties… He can't imagine it. The Captain's face had come back, somewhat, as he'd contemplated; but he can't imagine salt-and-pepper instead of blonde, can't imagine wrinkles instead of uncannily smooth skin. Would he have had kids? Had he thought of Link? Or maybe he'd died young, in combat, out on the field.
Maybe Link would never know. Probably. Time travel, after all. Maybe he could ask Zelda if she could look for him in the records. There was always the chance it'd happened sometime in the distant past; maybe he'd get some closure.
It was weird, to be so emotional over someone he hadn't thought about in years. Hell, back when it was still a fresh, open wound, it'd never been this painful. Malon had changed something in him, unlocked some kind of caring that he'd repressed once the world had hurt him too much. There were things to lose now, people to love, and no matter what happened - no matter what he lost - he'd be grateful he'd experienced what he had. He'd always, always be grateful for Malon. Everything she'd given him. Love, a life, and a home.
He doesn't realize he's rocking until a chin presses itself into his hair; he startles for a moment, reminded of a memory he hadn't thought of in a while; and then realizes it's Malon, bending over to wrap her arms around his neck from behind. He leans back into her with a sigh, putting the letter back in his lap.
"Heya, handsome," Malon says, and presses a kiss to his hair. He can feel her eyes on the papers on his lap. "Something on your mind?"
"You know me," he murmurs, relaxing back into her hold. She sits, still leaning most of her weight onto his back so that they're supporting each other. "Tall, dark and mysterious. Always got something on my mind."
"Ain't that right." She shifts to his side, reaching over to where his hands are still resting on the letter. He grips her hand when it slips into his; it's rough and calloused, almost the same size. "What's this?"
"Letter from… an old friend," he says, and it's one of the things he'd never thought important enough to tell Malon. They were transparent with each other, yes, but… what was the point in thinking of the Captain if he'd never see him again? Why go through the pain of it? It was the reason why he'd never opened the letter; there was no reason to dig up the pain of losing the first family he'd found in a long time again. "He's… gone, now."
Malon nods silently, and Link leans into her a little further. God, what would he do without her, without his rock? Would he still be as bitter and hurt as he'd been when he was younger? Would he still be just as broken without Malon gently nudging his pieces into place?
"Would you like to talk about him?" She offers, gently pressing against his shoulder in a way that's pleasantly grounding. He tilts his head towards hers, and she presses a soft kiss into his lips, and then another to his cheek. He runs his hands over the letter. He can feel the grooves in the paper where the Captain's sharp quills had pressed; if he closes his eyes, he can see a blurry figure bent over in the candlelight, writing, face illuminated but not enough for Link to see it. His hands touched this envelope. His presence remained, if only in Link's head - even if he'd never see the man again. Even if no one would know who he was.
I love you, Link thinks distantly. I know I didn't say it during the war, I couldn't, but you made an impact on me. You showed me I could be safe in the presence of others. Thank you.
He would be proud of Link, now. He'd always pressed the importance of having people to trust, to confide in. He'd always tried to be that person for Link and Tune, both. And Link had learned from his words - he'd searched for Malon after his third adventure, and now… here he was.
"I would," he says, and Malon gathers her shawl and dabs at his eyes. He hadn't realized that he'd torn up. "I'd like to talk about him. I… I don't remember him much, anymore."
"That's okay," Malon says, and presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft and sweet. She reaches over to tuck his hair back from where it falls into his eyes. "We'll see if talking jogs your memory any, huh?"
He nods, feeling inexplicably lost again, like he'd felt as a kid. It's a feeling he hasn't been met with in a while; he'd settled into a feeling of complete safety and security with Malon, here on Lon Lon Ranch, and they'd talked through just about everything from all his adventures until he was just… okay with everything. Things like the falling moon, or the seven years he'd lost while asleep, or seeing Castle Town post-apocalyptic at ten, or watching his tree father die - a relatively normal list - didn't phase him anymore. And yet it had been twenty years, and he'd not brought the War of Eras up once. It had always been too painful to think of what he'd lost. The brothers he'd lost.
He's ready now, he thinks. The Captain would've killed him if he was never mentioned to Link's wife, anyway. It was the right thing to do.
He presses his own kiss to Malon's mouth, craning his neck back uncomfortably to reach it. She laughs, warm and loud, into it, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again. Link wraps one arm around her waist, and uses the other to put back the unimportant papers, leaving the letter in his lap; then he wraps that arm around her too.
"Did you know," he asks, once he pulls away, "that I have two older brothers?"
She looks at him, eyes bright. "Well," she says, "I hope you're gon' tell me more about them."
"They'd kill me if I didn't," Link says, and thinks of the fuzzy memories of being teased about girls, and Malon, who's Malon, Sprite? You got a crush? and the ensuing arguing and relentless teasing that had followed. How could he forget? How could he possibly ever forget what little family he had? "Kitchen table?"
"Kitchen table," Malon confirms - it was the place they talked about most things serious. She presses one more kiss to his face and stands, pulling him up as well with two strong arms. He stumbles, just a bit. He feels off-kilter, like the memories of the War of Eras had been a dam opened for the first time in a while, and was now flooding over him. Malon's watching him with faint concern in her features. "You okay, fairy boy?"
He nods, and then leans down to press a kiss against her forehead. She smiles at him. Takes his hand, the one not holding the letter like a lifeline. Brushes their shoulders together, and the overflow of emotions feels lighter, easier to handle. Everything was easier to handle with her. He could carry the world on his shoulders if Malon was there to support him.
The Captain would be proud. He knows it; he can almost hear it, hear his voice, coarse from disuse, boisterous and boyish in public, soft-spoken and teasing in private. He'd tease Link incessantly over Malon, he knows it, but he'd be proud.
He has no doubt about it.