Chapter Text
Urbosa spent the time after Mipha’s departure making herself presentable. She hadn’t any clothes beyond what she had brought in her rucksack , but she shook out the heavy woolen tunic and trousers and laid them out on the bed for later.
She heated some water over the little fireplace in her bedroom, stripped from her sleep clothes and hastily washed, feeling better as she did so, more herself. She would not be home among her beloved ones, but she could at least be clean and presentable for whatever it was Mipha had planned.Urbosa dressed quickly before the fire and tried in vain to smooth out the creases from her tunic. It was a dark blue, at least, and the wrinkles were not too obvious. Her hair hung around her like a mantle of fire, clinging to her face and arms, and Urbosa bound it tightly in a single long braid.
You fuss like a maiden at her first founding festival. She thought, examining herself in the too-small looking glass she had been provided. She couldn’t even summon up any embarrassment; she had long ago acknowledged she was ridiculous around Mipha.
She occupied herself as best she could as she waited for Mipha to return, unwilling to wander far and risk encountering any courtiers, but still prickly and restless as she paced the length of the sitting room. She managed to find a few dusty books tucked away, and was rather amused to find in one a daring passion play about a cuckold king and a robber woman with a talent for scaling the Queen’s tower. Hardly the stuff of high theatre-- or perhaps it was, many Gerudo plays featured equally sordid romances. It all came down to execution, Urbosa supposed, though in this case even the most frivolous Gerudo playwright surpassed this nonsense.
She was spared from having to delve into more of the stuff by a familiar knock at the door. Urbosa paused and tugged at the hem of her tunic one last time, tucked a few errant locks of hair behind her ears. It was stupid, Mipha had seen her in her bedrobe and not too much else only a few hours ago, but still.
“Urbosa, if you’re asleep again I will be very cross indeed.”
Not wanting Mipha to be cross with her, Urbosa let her friend back in. Mipha actually stopped and gave her a once over, and it took all of Urbosa’s self-control to keep from fidgeting under that golden stare.
“That bad, is it?” she asked, grinning wryly down at her. Mipha blinked and seemed to give herself a little shake.
“Not at all. You are...you are very dashing in trousers. I’d almost forgotten.” Mipha said faintly, voice pitched high. Before Urbosa could pursue that, Mipha grasped her wrist and towed her out the door. Urbosa allowed herself to be led into the labyrinth. It was even colder out here than it was in her chambers, but Mipha threw off heat like a blade just pulled from the forge, and Urbosa was more than content to walk with her and try to guess what she was planning.
“Are you taking me to a house of ill-repute? I have several recommendations, if so.”
“You are terrible.” Mipha said, but she laughed anyway, so clearly Urbosa was not that terrible.
“Are you perhaps leading me into an ambush?” she asked, for the sheer pleasure of watching Mipha splutter in outrage.
“ Urbosa !”
The surprise was in Daruk’s rooms apparently, so at least it would be warm if nothing else. Mipha was positively beaming as she threw open the door and called a greeting within.
“Daruk, I’ve got her!”
“Great job, Tiny!”
And there he was, grinning and waving them into the great cavern of his room, impossibly big beside the Hylian-scaled tables and counters that had been brought in. To her surprise, Urbosa saw that he was tending to a wide oven fashioned from stone, which she was almost certain hadn’t been there the last night. Stranger still, Revali was in the room also, bent over some task at the long preparation table. He must have sensed her staring, for he straightened up and dusted flour from his feathers, narrowing his eyes at Urbosa.
“I had to come and ensure something edible was made this evening.” he said, and stared her dead in the eyes as if daring her to comment.
“I’m sure it will be lovely, Revali.” Mipha said soothingly, patting his shoulder and peering curiously at the long sheet of dough laid out on the table. Urbosa leaned down to inspect his work, and caught the scent of cinnamon.
“What is this?” she asked Mipha, gesturing to the room at large.
“Rito spice rolls. I’m not surprised none of you are familiar with the recipe.” Revali said flatly, and somehow managed to make the act of spreading butter over dough insufferable. Mipha ignored him and gently took Urbosa’s hands in hers. Instinctively Urbosa leaned closer, helpless as a moth before a flame.
“You cannot go home for the Long Night, but I thought...perhaps we could all have our own dark feast here. If--if that is all right?”
Urbosa stared down at Mipha, her voice lost to the sea-swell of emotion inside her. She was ashamed to feel tears welling in her eyes, and drew a long, shuddering breath as she fought for composure. All the while Mipha was watching her, earnest and worried, gently chafing Urbosa’s hands between hers. Unable to think of anything else to do, Urbosa laced their fingers together and squeezed as tightly as she dared.
“Thank you.” she said, and her voice rasped like sand over stone. She could not bring herself to say more, could not tell this wonderful woman what this meant to her. Instead she raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Mipha’s fingers. It was inadequate in every way, but she hoped it would do.
When Urbosa raised her head she found Mipha staring at her, her expression something open and tender. Those eyes...she undid Urbosa with those eyes, every time. She had hoped, with time, that she would become armored against Mipha’s presence, but it was a foolish hope. How could she defend herself against the beauty of her body and spirit, when it drove for her heart like an arrow shot true?
“Alright there, fellas?”
Daruk’s voice cut through their momentary seclusion, and reluctantly Urbosa dropped Mipha’s hand and straightened up, the tips of her ears burning.
“Oh, well enough. Thank you for hosting, old rogue.”
She was a poor friend indeed, to ignore Daruk in favor of losing her head over Mipha yet again. Urbosa went and embraced him, lifted momentarily off her feet when he returned the hug with enthusiasm.
“Gotta say, brother, this dark feast of yours sounds grand-- nothing holds back the night like good food to eat, good stories to tell, and good friends to share it all with! No wonder the dead want in on it.” he grinned, and Urbosa had to laugh a little. It was a good summation, all told.
“I suppose now I’ll have to think of what to prepare. How did you come by the oven, anyway?” Urbosa asked, consumed with envy and trying not to show it. Daruk drew himself up proudly and hooked his fingers through his chain.
“This little thing? Threw it together this morning, when Tiny came to me with her idea. Wasn’t too much work, just punched a hole through the outer wall to create a vent, then built the oven itself with the rubble.”
“I assisted! It was very educational.” Mipha said happily, and she was so adorable that Urbosa was convinced it would kill her where she stood.
She would make her mother’s brith recipe, as she usually did. It was one of the few things Rana had left Urbosa and Ubari that did not hurt if thought about too much, and Urbosa saw there were plenty of the needed ingredients among the food gathered at the far end of the table. Urbosa filled the kettle Daruk kept in his chambers and set it to boil over the fireplace, readying a chipped teapot with good black tea from Necluda. She realized with some disappointment that there were no dried cherries or orange peel, only dates, which were an abomination in the eyes of all self-respecting gods. Mipha drew up beside her and watched her futile search, then reached into a burlap sack previously overlooked, withdrawing a handful of dried berries.
“These are from the wetlands in the mountains around the Domain--bog berries. Would these serve?”
Mipha raised one of the berries to Urbosa’s mouth, and Urbosa felt herself blush to the tips of her ears as she parted her lips and accepted the offering. Mipha was not Gerudo, she did not understand how her gesture could be taken.
Bog berries, even dried, turned out to be a wonderful balance of tart and sweet, a flavor sharp enough to stand out against the cinnamon and honey that would be going into the brith as well. Urbosa nodded her approval and Mipha beamed, hurrying to gather a small bowl. Urbosa took a moment to collect herself, ignoring Revali’s speculative stare as she selected an appropriate knife for chopping. She diced a few of the dried bog berries, making rough work of it, and could almost hear her vaba tutting over her shoulder as she dumped it all in a bowl and poured the tea over it.
“This is a kitchen, not a sparring ground. Slow down, cub.”
Urbosa hummed to herself as she began sifting the spices and flour together, her hands working from memory alone. This was her earliest memory, in fact, standing on a tall stool at the table as her grandmother gently guided her pudgy hands in the work. Tamar had been terrible in war, and ruled with a hard hand, but she had loved Urbosa and her sisters with all her fearsome heart.
Across from her Revali spread a mixture of honey and cinnamon over his dough, and with surprising skill he rolled the sheet up and pinched the ends shut. Taking a piece of thread, he cut the loaf into neat segments, revealing the tight spiral within.
“That’s lovely.” Urbosa told him, offering the words like a banner of peace. Revali smiled to himself, quite pleased with his work.
“Of course. I learned this recipe from Talno the baker, who is unmatched in all the Tabantha region. You will all be ruined for any other baked goods once you try these.” he said, head tilted proudly up. He shot a look at the dough that was taking shape between Urbosa’s hands.
“I’m...curious about your chosen flavor combinations. I look forward to trying your offering.”
“That actually pained you to say, didn’t it?” Urbosa asked, with feigned concern. Daruk cackled over the cauldron he was tending, and Revali narrowed his eyes at her for a moment.
“Consider it my gift to you, this frigid Solstice eve.” he said, with an ironic bow. Urbosa laughed as she tipped the bog berries into her dough and worked them in, leaving Revali to put his work on a tray and take it over to the oven.
Urbosa soon shaped the dough into a loaf and found a suitable pan, following after Revali and sliding her brith into the blissfully hot belly of the oven. Daruk came over and passed steaming mugs of something hot and fragrant to her and Revali; she hesitated, then glanced up at Daruk.
“Ah, thank you. What is this, exactly?”
“And will it kill us?” Revali asked, eyeing his tankard suspiciously. Urbosa elbowed him as covertly as possible as Daruk’s smile faded slightly; he had such a tender heart, under all his boisterous good humor.
“No? Got the recipe from Link’s Gran. She calls it scumble, and it’s good for cold nights.”
“ Scumble ? You honestly expect us to drink something that sounds like it was skimmed off a pond?” Revali demanded. Urbosa very slowly put her foot over his and put all her weight on his unshod toes. Revali stifled a squawk of pain and shot her a furious look.
“It smells lovely. What is it made from?”
“Apples from Hateneo! Or at least it’s got apples in, at any rate. I’ve been mulling it with some spices for most of the day. Try it!”
Urbosa pushed back the uneasy memories of the last time she tried a drink prepared by Daruk and took a cautious sip of the scumble. The power of the alcohol soon gave way to the sweetness of apple and cinnamon, with the subtle burn of Goron spice lingering on the tongue after she swallowed. Immediately Urbosa felt warmth kindle in her belly, and she was certain her cheeks were rosy.
“Oh, that’s good. Puts some steel in the spine, this.” she grinned, and took another swallow. Daruk beamed down at her, eyes shining, and Urbosa would drink actual pond water if it made him happy.
“Steel in the spine and life in the party, eh?”
“Are we going to hover here until our food is done baking, or is it permitted to sit on the Long Night? Some of us have been running about the castle like headless fools all day.” Revali muttered darkly, though he sipped from his mug without trepidation now, Urbosa noticed.
“Sure, friend, my rooms are yours! Let’s relax a bit while we wait.”
The larger part of Daruk’s chamber was taken up with mounds of pillows and blankets, and what looked like the mattress dragged in from the bedchamber. They all settled down in a loose circle with their mugs of spiced cider, Revali off in his own corner, Daruk sprawling happily among brocades and silks. Urbosa dropped down onto plush cushions and dragged a heavy rug of some kind over her shoulders even though the oven and fireplace made Daruk’s chamber warm as toast. As soon as Urbosa was settled Mipha picked her way over the sea of fabric and settled down next to her, offering a shy sidelong smile. Urbosa lifted her arm in silent invitation, and Mipha quickly tucked herself into her side with a contented sigh. Urbosa folded the rug around them both and let her arm rest along Mipha’s slim shoulders, conscious of Mipha’s body against hers like a line of electricity up her flank, bright and dancing.
“What’s next, brother?” Daruk asked, grinning over at her and Mipha with open approval. Urbosa drank some of her cider to buy herself some time, and blamed the burning of her cheeks on the alcohol.
“It is customary to tell tales before and during the feasting. Usually accounts of those we have lost, but other things too. The feats of heroines, or shade stories.”
“In that case, I have a truly chilling story for you all. If, of course, you have the courage to hear it.” Revali interjected, turning to face the group at last. Though his tone was cool Urbosa had spent enough time with him to recognize his bright eyes and fidgeting hands for excitement. She wondered, a little sadly, when he had last gotten to sit among comrades and tell stories.
“We shall try to remain awake, little cousin.” Mipha said sweetly, and smiled so that the lamplight caught the points of her teeth. Revali scoffed and gained his feet, shaking his feathers and drawing himself up in the posture of all story-tellers the land over.
“Many thousands of years ago, when the Rito first came away from Lanayru’s verdant hills and built the foundations of our Village, there was a cruel winter that bit to the bone, and carried off many of the elders…”
Revali gave them the story of the Snow-Painter, a spirit of the wild mountain wastes that came as a harbinger of despair in deepest winter. It besieged the early settlers of Rito Village, catching and killing the lonely or despairing who went out alone into the storms, leaving nothing save a spill of blood on snow. Revali was a good story-teller, if a bit prone to exaggerated posing. His characters were nowhere near as distinct and varied as Daruk’s, Urbosa decided, but when the Snow Painter spoke through him in a low, guttural voice it made the hairs stand on the nape of her neck, and Mipha shivered a little in the crook of her arm.
“The maiden Tove knew something must be done, else the Rito would not survive to spring. So she gathered what provisions could be spared and flew in search of the sun, through the killing cold and the song of the Snow Painter. For three days and three nights she flew--”
From outside the room there came the sound of hasty footfalls, as though a race were being run down the length of the hall. Urbosa’s hand twitched around her mug reflexively, and she realized she had left her weapons behind when she left her room. She glanced at the others--Daruk at ease, Revali irate, and Mipha tripping a secretive smile into her drink. The door rattled on its hinges as something--or someone-- slammed into it, and in the next moment it was flung inward with a crash.
“I’m so sorry, we couldn’t get the priestess to leave us alone!”
Urbosa stared as Zelda came tumbling through the door, robed in royal blue and still bearing the crown of lit Solstice candles on her brow. Link was half a step behind her, shoving the door shut and hastily swinging the Sword down from his shoulders to be laid aside.
“Hey, you made it! Grab a seat, Revali’s telling us a tale.” Daruk smiled, bounding up to bow to Zelda, then sweeping her and Link into a hug. Urbosa got her feet under her and stood as well, unable to believe that her little bird was here, on this night of all nights. The moment Daruk set Zelda down again, Urbosa went to her and set her hands on her shoulders. Zelda was out of breath still, and her candles were dangerously askew, but she grinned up at Urbosa with good humor.
“Little bird. How did you know? How did you get away?” Urbosa asked softly; she did not ask why Zelda was not upstairs in the great hall, did not remind her of her duties this Solstice night. Others had done that already, she was sure, and anyway she was here now, and Urbosa did not intend to give her back to the unworthy courtiers.
“Mipha told us-- she climbed up a pillar and signed to me over the entire crowd, and once the main part of the ceremony was done I told Father I wished to retire early, to pray for guidance. And I will...later. He needn’t know.”
Urbosa placed her hand over her heart and feigned shock, delighted at Zelda’s small rebellion. She leaned down and kissed her chosen daughter’s brow, wary of the candles, so happy she did not think her poor heart could hold it.
“I am glad you are here. It is ill luck to be apart from family on the Long Night. Come, we need to finish preparing the feast.”
Revali’s story continued around the long table, as Link furiously diced vegetables and ground spices for a curry, and Mipha gathered salmon from a barrel full of ice. Daruk kept the kettle going, and Urbosa began to teach Zelda the way to make heart soup.
“We’ve no hydromelons, nor fresh voltfruit, but in a pinch apples will serve. Help me cut these.”
Zelda worked with ferocious concentration, slicing apples and radishes and throwing them into a pot for the fire. She clearly had been watching Link at it, for her cutting was more even than ever and did not include her fingertips. Urbosa set the pot over the hearth to cook slowly, for it would be the final course of their strange little feast, and added milk and a bit of flour and butter.
“Oh, I nearly forgot--here!”
Zelda came up beside her and proudly presented Urbosa with a small cosmetics pot, which Urbosa discovered held deep blue paint, dark as a moonless night and smelling of woad.
“It’s not quite the same recipe you use in Town, but I thought it might do.”
“Thank you, little bird. This will do nicely.” Urbosa said, and she immediately went to find some reflective surface. The window was nearly black with the night and storm, and she could just make out her own shadowy reflection in the glass; carefully Urbosa dipped her fingers in the pot and painted the sign of the triumphant sun on her brow, it’s seven rays reaching for her temples. She marked her cheeks with her clan’s sigil, her fingers working with ease born of long practice, and made the sigils for strength and duty on the backs of her hands.
Urbosa looked long at the finished product, her other self faint and faded as though she already walked the night road through the desert. It was fitting, on this last Long Night, and Urbosa felt something like peace when she turned from the window and knelt down beside Zelda. She raised the pot and gave the young woman a questioning look.
“I know it has been a long while…”
“Urbosa, of course. Let me just--”
Zelda took the crown of light from her head and quickly pinched out the wicks, spilling hot wax over her fingers for her trouble. She laid the crown aside and smoothed her golden hair back from her face, standing at attention. Urbosa smiled and painted Zelda’s brow with the sun, something she had not done in over ten years. After a moment’s hesitation she painted her clan’s mark on Zelda’s round cheeks, and gave her the sigils for joy and strength on her hands.
She felt Imelda in that moment, so close that her shade might have been standing at her shoulder as she painted their daughter for the dark feast. The feeling did not wound her as it once did, though Urbosa did not wish to examine why.
She went to Daruk next, then Link and Revali. She marked each as one of her own, and gave them such blessings as a lone woman far from home could grant-- courage and homecoming to Daruk, endurance and trust for Link, kinship and kindness for Revali. Urbosa came to Mipha last, to give herself time to think, and when Urbosa knelt before her it was with something like reverence.
“ Carakeeva .” she murmured, and Mipha smiled and tilted her head forward to be marked. Like the others, Urbosa gave her the sun and the sign of the dragonfly on each cheek, and ancestors help her but Mipha looked beautiful bearing the mark of Urbosa’s clan. Urbosa took a deep breath and with the tip of her smallest finger drew a vertical line from the center of Mipha’s brow down over her lips, ending at the dainty point of her chin. She would never be able to honor Mipha as her wife, but she would anoint her as such this night, among their people.
When she was done painting Mipha’s hands with love and victory, Urbosa sat back and tried to commit the sight of her to memory, glowing gold and copper in the lamplight, marked as a proud chieftain’s wife ought to be. If nothing else, Urbosa would have this to carry with her on the night road.
“It suits you.” she said at last, and Mipha smiled widely at her. Carefully, to keep from smudging their sigils, Mipha squeezed Urbosa’s hands in hers.
“Thank you.” she said simply, and Urbosa thought she sensed the weight of it.
An hour or so later, when the table had been laden and everyone stood behind their respective seat, Urbosa took up position at the head of the table and drew a deep breath to ground herself. She closed her eyes and she could feel her lost ones with her, even here in this place of ice and snow. Her grandmother Tamar, her first and finest teacher; her sister Utana, who had been robbed of her entire future at seventeen; Imelda, her fierce golden queen who even now burned like a torch in Urbosa’s memory. And her mother, a dark and angry shade that seemed subdued tonight, lingering at the edges of everything.
Urbosa sensed them all, and others, perhaps. Stranger-spirits come to see her fellow Champions, pausing on their journey to the next life to check in on those they left. Urbosa opened her eyes at last and smiled around the table at her people, all of them shy and solemn in the lamplight.
“We here gather to honor our beloved dead, on this longest night. May they find their way home once more, to break bread with us and know our love and gratitude. To Tamar, fierce chieftess, and Utana, beloved sister, hail and welcome!”
Urbosa raised her glass of water and drained it one go, then ate a little of the brith she had cut for herself. She nodded to Zelda, who smiled a little sadly and spoke.
“To Imelda, dear mother and teacher, hail and welcome!”
She drank and ate, and looked to Revali; he stood rigidly at his place, his eyes fixed on the far wall. He crossed his arms and glared down at his plate.
“I...do not remember my family very well. Certainly not well enough to invite them in.” he admitted at last, and Urbosa wanted to smooth down the feathers of his head, perhaps even embrace him, because it was too easy to see the lonely little boy he had been. Zelda put her hand on his shoulder though, and gave him a sweet smile.
“It does not need to be blood kin, Revali. Anyone who loved us can be welcomed in.”
“Hmph. Very well.” Revali muttered. He took up his glass and raised it high, declaring in his fine singer’s voice:
“To Elder Aquila, mentor and unparalleled hunter, hail and welcome!”
Daruk grinned at Revali and clapped him on the back, nearly throwing the Rito stripling into the soup tureen, and lifted his glass as well.
“To Barsum, the finest father anyone could ask for, and the mightiest warrior! Hail and welcome!”
He quaffed his water, and then his mug of scumble, and ate a hearty helping of the brith in one bite; not for the first or last time, Urbosa thought to herself that Daruk would make a wonderful Gerudo. Beside him Link smiled his sweet lopsided smile and looked down into his water for a moment. Finally, he lifted his free hand and said,
To Ledin, father and fighter, hail and welcome.
Link looked to Mipha when he had done his part, his eyes sad and soft. Mipha stood between him and Urbosa, her posture rigid. She would break before she would bend, Urbosa realized, and she kept her words of worry to herself. In time, Mipha drew a few deep breaths and lifted her eyes to their company.
“To Raona, wise queen and...and gentle mother. Hail and w-welcome.” she whispered, and absently lifted the heel of one hand to swipe at her eyes. Urbosa wanted to hold her, to tell her to lay aside her strength and let the grief run its course, but it was not yet time for that. Perhaps one day, in a kinder time, they could speak of such things.
Urbosa did reach out once Mipha had drunk and eaten and took her hand; Mipha immediately laced her fingers through Urbosa’s, and they stayed that way as Urbosa finished the opening ceremony.
“May our beloved dead feast and sing with us until the day’s dawning, safe behind these walls. Let them know that we love them still, and carry their lessons with us always, and may they think on us kindly in their next life. Slavta!”
The cheer went up around the table, quieter than the feasts of previous years but no less precious to Urbosa. They all sat and tucked into the dishes their honored dead had loved, talking and laughing a little together. Daruk sang a rollicking Goron song of stealing treasure from the Dark That Waits and living to tell the tale, and they all joined in the chorus, even Revali.
Throughout the night Urbosa ate her meal and laughed and sang single-handed, for she and Mipha kept their hands locked tightly together, for all their companions to see. And though she was far from home and the feast was small and strange, Urbosa thought perhaps this was the Long Night she would cherish the most.