Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a testament to his life that when one moment he’s helping Malon herd the cattle inside and the next he’s in a forest with eight people gaping at him that the only emotion he feels is annoyance. 

Talon, for all that he’s a doting and loving father, is a bit of an idiot in the farm, and he’d rather stab Ingo in the ass with a rusty shovel than let him get any job in the ranch. So he tries to help whenever he can, and it irks him to no end when he’s pulled away from that with no say whatsoever. Malon doesn’t deserve that kind of bullshit.

(He doesn’t deserve that bullshit either, but he’s used to it at this point.)

“So, anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he sees someone incredibly familiar. The scarf is a dead giveaway. “Or are you gonna gape at me like scrubs the whole day?”

He looks down and wrinkles his nose. “And what the fuck am I wearing?” 

It’s clanky and heavy and far too big for him to wear, like someone gave him clothes that were a size too big. Which in most cases wouldn’t be a problem, but too big armor feels awful.

(He’s going to ignore the thought that the armor looks similar to the one he wears when he dons the mask.)

“Well?” He presses, he rolls his eyes when they still stare at him. He’s not in the mood to deal with idiots. “Do I need to bring out my sword and stab someone to make you dumbasses start talking?”

“Holy shit,” one of them says, a kid that looks older than ten. His voice is pitched high, a combination of panic and amusement. “It’s like seeing a fusion of Warrior and Legend.”

“I don’t know who they are, but fuck you anyways,” he replies amiably.

They introduce themselves as Link and explain they each have nicknames for each other and that he shouldn’t panic (incredibly effective, he’s amazed) because there’s a logical (doubtful) explanation for this.

He looks at Bigger Him, who has said nothing, content with letting the group flounder on explaining the concept of other versions of himself and time travel like those things were new to him.

When he takes all their jumbled word garbage in stride, pointing out he kind of figured they were all different heroes from different times because he’s had a similar adventure before, and was literally asking where he is and what, specifically, happened to him in the last few minutes.

“You all know we’ve met before,” Bigger Him says, amused at the glares the group are giving him. “What did you think that would entail?”

Really, and people called him a gremlin. The captain had a bit of mischief (and sadism) himself when he felt like it.

So he was actually thirty, or forty, or fifty. They’re not sure. They have the conclusion he’s older than all of them, but beyond that they don’t know. Older him took great pleasure in making them guess (it sounds like something he’d do).

They were ambushed by the enhanced monsters, and he took a blow from an energy blast from a wizzrobe, and poof, he was younger.

“How old are you now?” One of them asks. Jack, he thinks. “And do you feel off beyond, er, being younger?”

He hums. “I’m sixteen, physically.” Give or take. Malon’s sixteen so it shouldn’t be far off.

He never bothered to keep track of his exact age until he started living in Hyrule, where age factored into a lot of things. Getting work, going places, talking to people.

“I don’t feel any different, though a change of clothes wouldn’t hurt.”

The plan boiled down to finding the wizzrobe that cursed him, then convince them to turn him back (there will likely be violence).

Makes sense. 

If all else fails, go to the local Princess Zelda.

He’s given clothes, thank Farore. The armor was getting annoying.

The one with long hair, Wild, gave him a set of clothes. He’s the closest to his body type and size, so it makes sense (he’s a little peeved that Bigger Him is still the taller of them). He’s grateful for the hair tie as well.

Green tunic with matching shorts, alright then. The clothes are enchanted, he could taste the familiar sugary magic of fairies the moment he put on the tunic. So that’s nice.

He wears the cap more for nostalgia than anything else. The sleeves are a little tight, but overall not too bad. He keeps the ring on, something in him screams at the thought of removing it.

“Alright, now that I don’t feel like a walking bucket, what was the plan for-” He frowns as he sees all of them gape at him again. “What is it now?”

“What the fuck,” the kid from earlier says.

“Looks like you’ve got a contender for the title of pretty boy, captain,” one with a red tunic, Legend, snickers.

“What the fuck.”

Wild looks at the man with the wolf pelt, Twilight, then back at him, then he looks at Bigger Him.

“Green suits you,” the small one, Forge, comments.

“Nice shorts,” the one with that sword, Sky, points out with a smile.

“What the fuck.”

Bigger Him shrugs. “It’s the hair.” And the face, and the eyes, and the jawline. 

He gives a lazy grin. “I was mistaken for your brother a lot. Bet you, if it weren’t for the nose I’d be like a double.”

“What the fuck, he even smiles like-”

“Wind, you gotta let this go.”

“Not Cia?” He asks, because this right here? A couple of Links in one place? He’s sure even Lana would swoon at so many of them.

“No.” A pause. “It doesn’t fit her profile. The portals are different, there's no large raids, and the monsters with black blood are something she never did.”

It wasn’t worrying, but it wasn’t comforting either. “Fuck.”

“You shouldn’t swear.”

“Fuck you, I’m not a kid anymore." A side-eye. "And who do you think I got it from?”

Warrior is the new nickname Bigger Him has in the group.

“Very on the nose,” he comments, because anyone who has seen the man fight would know deep in their blood and soul that he’s a warrior through and through. Anyone who's seen him on a battlefield. “Did I give you that name?”

“You did.”

“What’s mine?”

“Time.”

He snorts. “Very on the nose.”

Better than Young Link, he supposes.

“I didn’t believe the old man when he said he was faster in our ages,” Forge comments, kicking the moblin on the ground when it tries to get up. “I mean, he wasn’t slow.”

Older Time definitely wasn’t. He was fast even with all that armor on, even with his heavy sword, even with his constant complaints of having to keep up with them (like the gramps that he is). And yes, maybe he wasn’t as quick as Sky or as nimble as Wind, but he made it up with the power and skill he had.

Younger Time fought differently, in a way that it was like Older Time’s style, but with a twist. There’s a pep to each swing and step he did, almost floaty. He switches his tactics with a grace that seems so un-Hylian.

He’s not above using moves beyond his sword and shield, wrestling like a Goron, throwing projectiles like a Zora, zipping at one point to the next reminiscent of a fairy. He can change his fighting style like it’s as simple as removing or donning a mask. A layer of skin he can peel off at the drop of a hat.

Forge is reminded of stories about changelings, of children taken by fairies because they wandered too far in the forest, of people who came back who looked normal on the surface but were a level of uncanny the more you spent time with them. Creatures disguised as Hylians.

And there is a level of uncanny with this younger version of their leader beyond fighting. With the way he casually disregards societal rules, something he’d expect from Wild (who has amnesia) or Wind and Sky (who’s Hyrules are so different that their cultures differ as well). With the way he smiles and laughs like Warrior. With the way he could act like he’s (still) older than them, or be so incredibly childish that only Warrior is the only one who can reign him in.

The older Time did not have those quirks, he realizes the old man mellowed a lot with age.

He wonders if there’s a truth in those stories. 

A part of him scoffs at believing a childish tale, a part of him berates himself for making assumptions without facts, a part of him pipes up it isn’t nice to think of a friend like that, and the last part suggests to just ask Time instead.

“He’s terrifying,” he concludes. They all are, but there’s something unnerving at seeing this Time, something that makes his hair rise.

“He’d be a skeleton and still keep up with us,” Twilight says dryly.

“Well, the good news is that we’ve defeated the horde,” Warrior announces. “The bad news is that we’re not in the same Hyrule anymore.”

Which means losing any leads of that wizzrobe.

“Plan B?”

Warrior sighs. “Plan B.” He looks around. “This is my Hyrule, so I’ll take the lead.” He frowns. “It’ll take a few days before we reach Castle Town.”

Time perks up. “Can we stop by the Bazaar?” He asks. “I never completed those medallions.”

“Badges,” Warrior corrects.

“Hill-i-an, High-li-an.” Time waves off. “Same thing.”

Warrior raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s High-li-an, we don’t call our country Hi-rule and the goddess isn’t called Hilly-a.”

Sky looks incredibly guilty for snickering.

They remember the old man laughing when asked to spar, saying he wasn't as fast like he used to.

"Ask me that ten years ago," he had said, eyes twinkling. "Then I would consider."

The old man doesn't really spar.

They know he's stronger than he shows, have seen him kill monsters ruthlessly with his giant sword. 

But he doesn't really spar with them. Again, they ask him to spar with them without holding back. Again, he says maybe ten years ago he would.

"You're not that old!"

"I'm not as young," he had sighed. "I need to save my energy for other battles, not practice fights."

Ask him ten years ago, he had said.

This was pretty close.

“You guys seem very excited in beating me up,” he observes, tilting his head as he sees some of the Links cheer when he accepts their offer to spar. “Am I that much of a bastard?”

Time is kind of a bastard when sparring, literally not above pulling punches. And kicks. And flips.

Sometimes he flung dirt and pulled hair too, laughing as he did so.

“You,” Sky growls, breathing heavily, sword pointing at Time’s throat. “Are a little shit.”

Time grins despite sprawled on the ground and sword several feet away from his hand. “You have shit stamina.”

Most of the Links inwardly agree with both points.

“I didn't think Sky would swear,” Wind muses. “That’s impressive.”

“He brings that out of people,” Warrior says dryly.

“The Song of Healing doesn’t work,” Time muses, though he supposes taking off a literal part of himself and condensing it into a mask wouldn’t have been a great idea either way. “Maybe I can fiddle with-”

“No,” Warrior says immediately.

He huffs, glaring at Warrior. “I wasn’t even done.”

Warrior gives him a firm look. “If it caresses the idea of time and the songs you like to toot-”

“Toot?” He repeats, amused.

“-then I swear to Din, the only way you’ll ever get back your Biggoron Sword is by my cold dead hands.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I-” Warrior sniffs. “-am plenty of fun.”

He rolls his eyes. “Pubs aren’t that fun, no matter how much you insist it is. I’m older and I still don’t understand its appeal.”

Warrior sputters. “And sneaking behind soldiers in camp is fun?”

“Keeps them alert.”

“It’s asking to get stabbed!”

He smirks. “Not if you dodge fast enough.”

"How can you insist you’re older than me when you act like this? ” Warrior throws his hands up.

The other Links look back and forth in fascination.

“It’s so bizarre seeing Warrior be so-” Wild gestures at Time and Warrior bickering. “-responsible?” And Time being the opposite.

“Oh, the captain’s plenty responsible,” Twilight refutes. “It’s seeing him being an absolute worrywart that’s odd.”

“Siblings can do that,” Wind agrees. “And also give you the urge to murder them at the same time.”

Warrior feels a tug from his scarf.

“How long has it been since I’ve been here?” Time asks softly, looking at his surroundings in fascination. Empty outposts and abandoned weapons are scattered throughout the field, many have begun to rust.

“Six years.”

“It looks good,” he says, not letting go of the scarf. He tugs it when Warrior lets out a quiet laugh. “It does , fuck what they’re thinking. I’ll kick their asses if they keep making comments on how strange your Hyrule is.”

“Calm down, You-Time. Their Hyrules are different,” Warrior huffs, shaking his head. He flicks Time on the forehead. “So I wasn’t imagining it, they piss you off somehow. I’ve seen you spar, you were never that brutal.”

Time smiles, deceptively sweet. “I was just testing their full strength.”

I was pushing their buttons and seeing how they reacted, seeing if they could be trusted, even with just their temper. 

Warrior lets out a breath, guilt gnawing at his stomach. He stomps down the relief that Time’s vigilance hadn’t faded in age. He shouldn’t have that paranoia, he didn’t have that paranoia when they first met (neither did he, but he hadn’t been a child). 

He flicks Time’s forehead again. “They’re good,” he says, not talking about their fighting skills. “My word isn’t enough?”

Time grins and shifts his position, turning his back against the other Links and facing Warrior. “If I hadn’t seen you,” he signs. “I would have ran away the moment I had a chance.”

“I figured you got soft from age,” he says airily. “You’ve gotten fatter last time I saw you, you know?”

Warrior doesn’t know what to say, so he pulls Time down and messes his hair, demanding who the heck he was calling soft.

“What if we can’t find a way to turn him back?” Twilight whispers. “What happens if we meet Malon and he’s not back to his normal self?”

Warrior presses his lips into a thin line. “We’ll cross that bridge if we get there.”

If his Zelda had no idea what to do, he knew one other person who could.

Chapter Text

Swords are scattered around the field, embedded on the earth like a morbid parody of flowers. There are shields as well, metal and wood, weeds covering its rotting edges. 

There’s a metallic scent in the air, sharp enough to make his nose itch.

He thought they were in Wild’s Hyrule at first. The devastation looked depressingly similar to what he’s seen in the abandoned forts and villages. But everything smelled so fresh in comparison. Recent to his eyes despite the rust and undergrowth he sees creeping into the weapons.

Then Warrior scans the whole scene and declares this is his Hyrule. He doesn’t need his eyes to see everyone’s shock. He knows each of them have scars beyond physical wounds, that they had their own battles even if their Hyrules had been peaceful. But Warrior, for all that he always shared stories of the military and his battles, didn’t look like someone from a war-torn era. Time looked more like a grizzly veteran than him, and he came from a Hyrule that’s been in peace for decades.

Wild takes it in stride, a combination of seeing a worn battlefield before and not caring enough to make a fuss about it. He himself is smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself. 

Midna had always been defensive about her home, repeating how the Twilight Realm and its people had beauty and kindness as well, angry with Hyrule’s wariness and fear, their comments on the ugly monsters and uglier curse of twilight.

He sees that in Time’s eyes when Legend mutters something biting, when Jack wrings his hands and Wind fidgets (both are such open books), and when Forge and Sky look unsure on what to say. He hears Midna’s voice in Time’s ice blue eyes and clenched fists.

We’re healing, she had spat once. We’re better than before, better than our past. We’re healing and that’s something beautiful.

‘How odd,’ he thinks. ‘That it’s Time who’s defensive, when this isn’t his Hyrule in the first place.’

“What's the largest thing you've ever fought?” Warrior once asked.

And Time, who had been cleaning his sword, answered in a tone that belies the absurdity of the thought. “The moon.”

Nonchalant and casual. He doesn't face them when it’s said, focused on his sword. The moon. Like it makes sense, like at one point you could fight the moon.

Many of them laughed, telling the old man to quit joking. 

It’s not that the thought of fighting the moon is impossible, they’ve all done impossible things, it’s that it sounds silly. How would you get to the moon? How would you fight the moon? What did the moon have to do to merit fighting it in the first place?

“You’re lying,” they snickered.

“It’s true,” the old man refuted.

It’s dismissed as another tall tale, a funny riddle he’s given them the same way he gives breadcrumbs of facts that hint to his true age. The moon is probably a metaphor. Or a euphemism. Or maybe he defeated a moon-themed enemy.

But Wild has seen how the moon can be dangerous, and he had asked, quietly so only Twilight can hear, “He’s lying, right?”

And Twilight, who can literally smell a lie coming off a person, hones in on how Time’s heart and voice don’t stutter when he answers. Nothing about Time changes, not his tone or posture or scent.

He looks around, away from Time to pause his disbelief, and sees a flash of emotions in Warrior’s eyes. It’s gone too quick for him to pinpoint what they are. Regret maybe? Curiosity? Is he remembering something that’s related to Time’s answer?

He wonders. It’s tempting, always tempting, to ask Warrior what he knows.

‘He’s not lying,’ he had thought, alarmed. The moon. His (friend, father figure, ancestor) mentor fought the moon? ‘But there’s something missing.’

“I don’t know,” he said instead. “It’s hard to tell.”

This younger Time is a lot like that moment. The state of confusion and frustration as he tries to figure out the truths Time gives. Not lying, never lying. 

“How long did you stay in Warrior’s Hyrule?” Sky asks, probably not the only one noticing how Time helps in guiding the group on their trek. There’s an air of confidence in his steps that only comes from familiarity of the land.

Time hums. “I was a kid back then,” he says. “A while, I suppose.”

The honesty, while refreshing given how little the older Time liked to share, didn’t make the story (or lack thereof) less baffling. A while is vague, especially for someone as old as him. What’s a while to a boy (a man) whose title is the Hero of Time?

Something annoys Time, enough to make him snap at the others. 

It could be his situation, which is understandably frustrating. It could be the fact that he’s with a group of people he doesn’t know, another understandable source of anger. It could even be Time being a teen, dealing with the volatile emotions that come with growing up.

Warrior distracts him by mentioning they’re a few days away to Castle Town, which starts an excited discussion on a place called the Bazaar and what Time should and shouldn’t buy (won’t buy, is what Warrior implies, his firm tone awfully familiar to the or-else voice he sometimes used at the kids in Ordon).

These declarations also extend to Wind, much to his dismay.

‘This isn’t the first time Warrior could sense Time’s ire and did damage control,’ he thinks idly. Remembering the pinched look an older Time had when Wind asked a talking owl to repeat what he said. Warrior had stepped in, assuring Wind that he’d tell him later, while Time had to convince the owl to keep going, and to please not repeat everything.

He’s sure the old man could control his temper, he’d been the epitome of unflappability since the start of this adventure. Calm and collected. One of the most open minded Links here, considering he didn’t bat an eye on the dark magic he used to transform into a wolf.

But now that he’s witnessing a younger Time, somehow competing with Legend on who was the grumpiest Link in this group, he can understand why Warrior is so tuned to Time’s bad moods (he wonders if a much younger Time had tantrums).

“Is the Bazaar Castle Town’s shopping district?” He asks, a little curious. “It sounds like it’s more than a simple marketplace.”

Time grins, and—oh, boy, Wind was right, it is disconcerting. His grin reminds him of Warrior when he regales them with wild tales of his wilder romances. It’s wide and enthusiastic. Energetic in a way that the old man’s smiles weren’t. 

The similarities are more apparent now that Time doesn’t have any scars or markings on his face, now that he’s next to Warrior. Similar shade of blond, similar hue of blue, and similar playful grins (where Warrior has a more flirtatious edge to it, Time has a mischievous one).

“It’s like it’s own town, last I saw it,” Time says, excited. And goddess, he can see a lot of the boy Malon had told them. Embarrassing stories she had shared with glee that dented the intimidating aura Time often exuded. “It’s big , and the variety of things to find in it is endless. There’s a lot of things you wouldn’t be able to get normally. Like Twili enchantments and Lorulean crafts-”

“What?” He asks sharply, and exchanges a surprised glance with Legend as he echoes his question.

Time pauses, tilting his head and looking at both of them with inquisitive eyes. The stare roams to his face, up his forehead. Then dips low, to the right where Legend is standing, landing on his wrist, the bracelet he’s always wearing gleams against the sunlight.

“You don’t know?” Time asks, surprised. And given the annoyed glare Warrior gives him, Twilight suspects it’s not as sincere as he sounds. “Warrior, did you forget to brief them?”

“You’re a walking headache,” Warrior declares in lieu of answering. “When would I have the time? We were going to places that weren’t my Hyrule, they didn’t need the information overload. Then this happened.”

This being Time’s situation.

“Briefing?” He repeats.

“What the fuck does that have to do with Lorule?” Legend demands.

Warrior sighs, looking up to the heavens and counting to three.

The briefing, as Time called it, is something the soldiers gave to displaced civilians during the war. And they mean displaced in the dimensional sense. There were a lot of people who wandered into Warrior’s Hyrule without realizing it.

“Monsters weren’t the only things that went through the portals,” Warrior explains, gesturing at Time. “There were a lot of residents from wherever the portals connected that went through by accident.”

The soldiers had very little time to give to the confused people, running back and forth to fight and rescue and fight again, and so every word had to count. Briefings were, well, brief. A quick what’s happening and where to go for shelter. 

Warrior didn’t give them a briefing because they weren’t civilians in his eyes, and they already had an understanding of world hopping when he met them.

“And Lorule was one of them?” Legend asks, eyebrows raised.

“One of the earliest,” Warrior answers. “Didn’t know it at first, not much difference between them and Hylians, really. Most wanted to stay too, so they kept quiet about it. Only found out when we rescued a caravan near Eldin.”

“They were pretty low maintenance,” Time recalls. “Didn’t panic as much, didn’t demand a lot too. Very good at selling and haggling.”

Legend snorts. 

“They’re the reason the Bazaar exists,” Warrior agrees. “Not surprised. They made a thriving business out of monster guts and broken weapons.”

“Little overpriced though.” Time wrinkles his nose. “I got discounts as a kid, don’t think I’ll get the same treatment now.”

“What about the Twili?” Twilight asks, heart beating loudly. Time knew about the Twili, enough to recognize the origins of his markings (and he wonders if this is why the old man figured out his other form so quickly). Warrior didn’t deny it either. 

He has so many questions, building up even more at this revelation.

Warrior and Time exchange a glance (what do they know, what do they know ), Time shrugs and looks away.

“None of them stayed,” Warrior says slowly. “After the war, we focused on bringing the people back to their homes and closing the portals.” He swallows. “And they had to, they were from different eras, we didn’t—it was too risky, time was unstable as it was.”

“Lorule was an exception because it wasn’t part of Hyrule at all,” Time adds bitterly.

“Oh,” he says softly. None of them stayed, and whatever they did to get to Hyrule was closed off. A lead that was gone before he even knew it.

“Well,” Wind starts, breaking the awkward silence. “I guess that explains some things.”

They all blink.

“It’s always Warrior that talks to the new member of our group,” Wind elaborates, snickering. “Always. The closest thing the old man did to talking was to tell me to ‘go to the man with the scarf’ and that’s it.”

A beat.

“He did the same to me too,” Jack comments, bemused. Forge nods.

“Now that I think about it, nobody really did the talking besides him,” Sky adds, tapping a finger. 

Warrior opens his mouth, closes it, has an expression that says he’s mentally rewinding his memories to verify Wind’s claims, and turns to glare at Time. “You little shit.”

Time grins, eyes shining with mirth. “Sounds like something I’d do,” he admits unabashedly. “You’re the captain, you’re much better at talking to people than I am.”

They set up camp, far away from the field of swords thankfully. He doesn’t think his nose could handle the metallic air. 

Wild starts working on dinner, pulling out his pots, knives, and spoons from his slate. He taps on the screen several times, likely figuring out what to cook from his ridiculously large arsenal of ingredients he had. 

Forge was helping Jack start the campfire, chattering about the ways to sharpen and maintain a blade (something Jack had to learn before he got his magic sword and Forge was taught to do as a blacksmith’s apprentice). Legend was doing his daily arrangement of his items, switching the rings he was wearing for another set.

To his surprise, Sky and Time are sitting next to each other on a fallen log, harp and ocarina out. He knows Time is wary of the Master Sword, has avoided Sky beyond that spar since he de-aged likely for that reason. 

Then Wind trots to them with a silver baton on hand and chatters excitedly about something, waving the baton in swirling motions, the wind singing along to his moves. 

Ah, he thinks as he sees Sky plucking a few notes and Time perking up, humming along, the ocarina near his lips. He doesn’t play, but he sees his fingers go up and down on the ocarina’s holes. 

“Leave it to another little shit to be able to warm up to him,” a voice huffs, amused. “Thank Din, I was worried he’d challenge one of you to a spar the next day just to have an excuse to throttle you all like a goddess-damned Goron.”

“He’s not that bad,” he defends, though it’s weak. He’d opted out sparring against Time after seeing him yank Wild’s hair and tricked him into breaking his own sword. Not really a feat in itself, considering it’s Wild, but it’s alarming how quick Time could pinpoint their weaknesses and exploited them mercilessly.

“Be glad he didn’t spit,” Warrior says, looking at the camp. “Because he did that a lot to me. Had good aim too.” He wrinkles his nose. “Sometimes he stuffed his mouth with seeds and spat like a rapid-fire slingshot out for vengeance.”

He’s really glad he opted out on sparring. “That’s disgusting.”

“He was a kid. An eerily mature and smart kid, but still a kid.” Warrior shrugs. “Kids are gross, some revel in being gross.”

“And the old man was one of them,” he says in disbelief, because it’s still hard to see that, even with younger Time giving him a new perspective.

“Mm, he grew out of it obviously.”

Farore, of all the things he never thought he’d find out about Time, it’s that he was a hellion of a child. Did Malon know? 

Wait, of course she did, this was the woman who first met Time by demanding he wake her father up with an egg. She was probably a hellion herself. 

“This is enlightening in the weirdest of ways.”

“Story of our lives,” Warrior snorts, shaking his head. “Doing things in the weirdest of ways. Since when did normal fit in our adventure?”

Point taken.

It’s past midnight when he hears someone get up and leave camp. 

He’s in his wolf form, it’s his turn to take night shift and it’s a lot easier to hear and smell enemies as a wolf. A lot easier to notice wayward insomniacs too. All of them have sleeping problems, nightmares usually a prime candidate for staying awake. 

Time does too, older him just hid it better. Younger him, not so much. He walks with that silent step he always does, even quieter now that he wasn’t wearing any armor. Tiptoeing around the sleeping forms, being extra careful not to tangle himself in Warrior’s scarf, he leaves.

He wouldn’t have noticed him had he been Hylian, he has to strain his hearing even as a wolf.

Time doesn’t stray too far from camp, the warm light from the fire still illuminating his side. He finds a tree stump and sits on it, letting out a sigh. There’s a lingering scent of sweat, and as he creeps near he sees his hands trembling. A nightmare then.

He presses his paw against a twig, letting it snap. Time jumps, hand reaching his back as he turns. He blinks as he sees him, narrowing his eyes even when he lowers his hand from the hilt of his sword. Had he been sleeping with his sword on his back? Was that comfortable?

“... Twilight, right?” He asks quietly, snorting as he twitches in surprise. “You still have the same marks on your forehead, it’s not that hard.”

None of the others have found out, he thinks, a little put-out. Not unless he wants them too. Not unless they’ve seen him transform. Wild had been deliberate, Forge was an accident. Time never saw but always knew, he thought it was because he was the oldest, and therefore more experienced. 

But no, he was obvious with a younger Time as well.

“I’m not going to tell,” Time says, looking at him curiously, hand twitching. He trots over and lays his head on Time’s lap, waiting. He feels a hand comb through his fur, hesitant and gentle. “Warrior probably knows.”

What?

“His era is after yours, there’s history books about you.”

There’s what?

He glances up at Time in alarm and gets a short laugh for all his worry. “I guess he figured you wanted to keep this a secret.” He pats his head. “He’s people smart like that, has to be with his position.” 

‘Is that how you figured it out?’ He wants to ask. ‘You read about me? How much do you know? Is that why you figured out I was your descendant so easily?’

He remembers Midna commenting how it was a lucky coincidence that the Howling Stones were situated in places he’d pass through. How he didn’t have to look that hard. He remembers thinking how lucky he was that the hero’s bow and tunic were in perfect condition despite centuries having passed.

He remembers the ease Time spoke with a group of skullkids. He remembers another skullkid, one that challenged him in his stubbornness in both guiding him to the Master Sword and guarding it with his trickery. He remembers thinking how lucky he was to have a guide, no matter how infuriating the guide was.

‘Was it luck?’ He wonders now, ears twitching. ‘Or was it planned?’

Did future Time prepare for his sake? Remembering text he read in Warrior’s history books and wanting to help in some way? Predicting the path he’ll take and building the stones based on it?

He wants to ask so badly. But this Time wouldn’t understand, and the old man doesn’t know. He’s not that future (not dead, not a spirit filled with regret).

“Warrior won’t tell,” Time assures, misinterpreting his whines. “And he won’t judge. There isn’t much stigma in dark magic here, not with Twili helping in the war.” He hums. “Loruleans too, they rarely use light magic, not much in Lorule apparently.”

They sit in silence. Time combing through his fur, distracting him from his thoughts.

“You’re looking for someone, aren't you?” Time murmurs. “That’s why you asked about Twili, was that what they are? Did they leave like-?” The combing stops. “... I’m looking for someone too, I wonder if future me found her?”

More silence.

“Sorry,” Time sighs. “I’m rambling. Passing the time, I guess.” A laugh. “Full moons always get to me, hard to sleep on nights like this.” He starts combing again. “It’s probably the light. Makes it look bigger than normal, all swelled up like it’s heavy and about to fall.”

What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever fought?

There are so many questions he wants to ask.

The moon.

“Sorry,” Time says again, more quietly. “I’ll go back to camp and sleep. Or try to, at least. Don’t worry about me.”

That’s impossible to do.

“Farore, don’t give me that look,” Time huffs. “Warrior’s bad enough, I don’t need another mother cucco up my case.”

He begs to differ.

“Fuck you,” Time shoots back, though he can feel the laughter rumbling in his thin frame. “Goddess, did I grow up to be a worrywart too?”

Would they be heroes if they didn’t worry?

Time hums, nudging him softly and wiggling. He gets the message and sits up, backing away as Time stands up and stretches. 

“I think I get what Warrior sees in you,” Time says, kneeling down and giving him a pat on the head. He smiles. “You’re all nice, really nice. I hope that never changes.”

Why did that feel like he was both given an approval and a threat at the same time?