Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Link lays on the ground somewhere in the Tabantha Frontier, groans in pain, and reflects on how he isn't sure what just happened. 

Well, he knows what's happened. He was trying to snatch an Electro-Rod from a Wizzrobe (damn, annoying things) to show Nebb, when it noticed him and his natural response was to teleport away rather than be shocked and risk dropping the very expensive Ancient Bow on his back. Just as his body began to dissipate and swirl into streaks of blue light (which he still watched in curiosity every time he wasn't escaping something annoying or deadly), a crackling green and yellow orb struck the center of his chest on the seam between solid flesh and light. 

Usually, as he teleports, there was a soft feeling of light, airy wonder as he moved from a colorful blur of his surroundings, to a void, then slowly orienting a new blur into wherever he had decided to go. This time, crackles of green and yellow cut through the void, reflecting flashes of light into his eyes (- had they ever been open before?) ; this time, strange heat and dull, burning pain dance along his body and more dully along his scars ; this time, he thinks he's giving out a strangled scream ; this time, once his body has settled back into a physical form, soreness traps every part of him to the ground ; this time, when he sits up, his entire body is smaller than before. 

At first, he just thought his surroundings, the trees, the puddles, and the bushes were bigger than normal, that maybe something had happened or his eyesight was changing. That maybe he was just disoriented. But, once he saw how tiny the hand he placed down to push himself up was, he froze. A bit of rising panic curled in his stomach and he sucked in a breath before rolling over towards the puddle behind him.

He looked six. 

A tiny, upturned nose placed between two extra large blue eyes. Delicate, long eyelashes and fine eyebrows matching the tips of pointed ears that twitched beneath long, heavy hair the color of darkened straw. Tiny teeth hidden behind fuller, redder lips, and clear, redden apples of cheeks that had an extra degree of roundness. 

A flare of pinkish-brown scar tissue across the left side of a child's face. 

Holy Goddess. 

Subconsciously, his other hand comes up to trace along it, and even as shocked as he is, he can see how small and round each of his fingers are in his reflection ; his scars feel softer, fresher in a weird sense, like he had just washed his face and hadn't bothered to dry it, but the lack of feeling remains. The more damaged parts of his face still require some conscious effort to move. The corner of his ear is still cut in a gnarled tip instead of a smooth lobe. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

AAAHHH!

Once he was done screaming internally (his long withstanding method of coping with all the insane shit that's happened to him), he takes stock of his body and supplies. He's (oddly?) not wearing pants, but his blue shorts, ratty undershirt, and cloak are still on, with the shorts having shrunk but not the cloak and undershirt. He's dressed at least, though his pants and shoes are spread out around him, just as large as before. His (now very small and wiggly) toes grasp down into the soft earth around him, and he tries to suppress a sudden urge to do it again before his toes rapidly flex up and down in the mud, and a mounting feeling of glee takes over his (now very small) body. 

Before he knows it, he's standing and alternating smashing his feet to create deeper pockets of earth to squeeze between his toes, with a very pleased and wild grin as light, childish laughter cuts through the air. 

He freezes when he realizes it's his own. 

Absently, a hand comes up to hold his throat. As his fingers itch against the edge of his scars, he slowly sucks in a breath. His throat is still sore, and his breath is still a little hoarse and rough, but when he extends his tongue and pushes out on a sound, a little "aaaahhhhh" comes out, clear as day.  It's smoother and more articulate than any other sound he's tried to produce since leaving the Shrine of Resurrection. It's also in a higher pitch than before.

He loves it. 

Before he says anything, he decides, very very quickly, that his first word should be an important one. Something good. Something simple, but meaningful. Maybe a thing? Like, “The Master Sword”? Actually, no, because then his first word would be “the”, and that’s boring, he decides as he goes to gather his pants and shoes. How about “apple”? Hmm, sounds more like what a five year old learning the alphabet would say, and not a 117 year old mute knight of Hyrule. Even though he really likes apples. What about “dragon”? But then, which one? Farosh had always been his favorite, but Dinraal was so powerful and impressive, and he had met Naydra first when he saved it from malice. And then it would be a name, and not a thing...maybe a name? Queen Zelda? Impa? Prince Sidon? Purah? Spoone? The Great Deku Tree? Hylia? His own name, Link?

As he shakes flecks of mud off pants longer than him, he decides that his New First Word is an important decision he’s going to need time for, and that, for now, he simply won’t speak. Besides, unless he wants to be a child all over again (or for the first time?), he should probably figure out how to reverse what electricity-teleportation-magic-mumbo-jumbo just happened. And for that, he plops down, and opens up his slate. 

The first thing he checks is his weapons, when he notices his Ancient Bow is missing. He nearly swears aloud, before spotting it in a bush. Leaving his slate on his folded pants, he grumbles a little as he gets up to grab it, before dramatically throwing himself back down. As he carefully places it back inside, he notes a new symbol in the right corner. Usually, there was just his hold button, because his slate's inventory immediately sucked any resource back in if he didn't account for taking it out, so he didn't lose resources when he got jumped trying to make baked apples on the road. This time, there was a new symbol, a circle on a line pushed all the way to the right. As he swiped through, it remained in the bottom corner of each section, applying to his weapons, shields, and clothes. However, on his vitals section (which helped him monitor his health), there was an image of a Hylian body in faint green, with a smaller, darker one standing in front of it, instead. 

Deciding to investigate the sliding button first, he draws out a spare torch and, when prompted, selects its image above the line. Steadily watching both the torch and the line, he draws the circle down to the left and watches, in amazement, as the torch shrinks. Now, when he holds it up, it's in proportion to his new body, and it stays that way, even when he places the slate down. It's much more comfortable in his grip than before, and a little denser in his hands. His toes wiggle as he holds in his excitement, and he slides the circle up about halfway, and the torch then becomes a size between what he deems "normal" and "mini" sized. Less dense than the mini, but more awkward to hold as well. 

Excited that he can swing around a mini Dragonbone Boko spear, Link swipes everything back into the slate, and pulls it out to shrink it before checking his map. He’s a couple hundred feet northeast of Warbler’s Nest, and if he wants to get to Zelda quickly, he’ll need to start right away! She’s been scheduled to be in Hateno with Purah sometime soon, so hopefully if Purah hasn’t reversed her anti-aging rune, Zelda can use her goddess powers to fix him. Hopefully. 

He downs a speed enhancing potion, and starts running down the cliff faces to the path that twines towards Hyrule Field. 

Wherever they are, Sky appreciates the wide open spaces situated between tree clusters and cliff faces underneath the bright, blue sky. It’s not too often they find large, open spaces between worlds: Skyloft is literally an island in the sky, meaning space is limited, and some of the other worlds, like Wind’s and Hyrule’s, are just expanses of water or wasteland. Most Hyrules are fairly straightforward and just spacious enough, but this one has clear spaces big enough for a giant to rest! They’re also stuck in the vast wilderness without Wolfie and Twilight though, so uh, Sky knows he can’t be too excited. 

Time, Legend, and Warriors etch out plans in the dirt a little ways from where he, Hyrule, Four, and Wind have settled down. A portal had opened up in the middle of their fight, and Time had ordered them to jump inside, but they hadn’t made it out all unscathed, and the portal had been tainted before Twilight and Wolfie had made it through. They had been dropped in a triangular patch of trees on a piece of a series of gentle cliff slopes, walled off to what Sky assumed was southwest. Wolfie and Twilight had portalled somewhere farther north, much farther north if Time was correct (which he usually was), and were making their way down to them in this new Hyrule. Not too long ago, Hyrule had wandered around the cliff wall (with Sky’s explicit direction to not remove his hand from the wall as he walked) and spotted a tent structure not too far away, as well as what looked like a village wrapped around a rock spire in the center of a massive lake. 

Sky’s interest was peaked, having figured this was a Rito village, maybe one that knew if there was a connection between them, and the loftwings of Skyloft. It was likely this hero was somewhere earlier in the timeline, with how much space there was on the surface. Maybe it was his direct successor! Maybe he’d get a protégé, like Time and Twilight’s relationship! Though that was a lot of pressure, and he was pretty happy being the  unspoken “mom friend” of the group, even if it meant coercing the younger and lazier members of the group into chores and breaking up the older’s petty fights. It could be that these Rito were the first adaptation of them into a more-Hylian form. Though Wind said his was a split from his Zora..., but! Maybe that was wrong?  Evolution did take a lot of time, and origins were easily lost or forgotten, especially if species had distance between them, and it could be this world and Wind’s weren’t related. Time once said he met a race named Watarara, who were like Rito, but much more bird-like, with feathery wings along their arms, beaked faces, and talons for feet once. Could this hero be between him and Time? 

Once he’d notified Time that there was a settlement not to far away, Time had walked him away from the others and said ,” I know everyone would kill for a good night’s rest somewhere civilized, but if our scents mix with the locals, Wolfie’s going to have a tough time tracking us. We need to stay out in the open, upwind, so that he and Twilight don’t get lost,” Time sighed, and ran his hand through his bangs to show off the blue mark on his face. “And I know if Legend knows there’s a settlement somewhere nearby, he’s going to complain all night. Best we don’t let the sleeping dog know there’s a Cucco crowin’, if he doesn’t wake up himself, understand?”

 At Sky’s nod, Time smiled and closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped for a moment; hesitantly, Sky placed a hand on his shoulder, and when Time cracked his good eye open to see him, he smiled, a little too aware of how his top lip curled around his teeth. He could tell Time was reading the tension in his body language and facial expression , before he gave an amused huff and straightened up. He clapped a hand on Sky’s shoulder as he drew away, with a revived grin and a “Good man, Sky.” Sky’s smile softened into genuity before he walked back to where Hyrule was fixing up a slash on Four’s leg and whispered in his ear, ”Time says we need to stay outside so Wolfie can find us. Don’t let Legend know about the village.” before thumping down next to his bag and pulling out his wood and carving knife. Maybe he could try roughing out the spire before they got a closer look?

Sky had spent a couple of hours whittling while Time herded the others into settling down against the cliff wall. Bags, armor, and loose weapons piled up in small sections for quick access. Four was sketching in his weapons journal, Legend’s fire rod in his lap. Hyrule was consistently chatting with Wind (as the youngest, those two stuck together a lot which Sky approved. It was good for Wind to give Hyrule an idea of a normal childhood after he grew up hiding in caves in a wasteland) about his greatest fishing exploits, while Legend used Hyrule’s back as an backrest and cover from Warriors’ attempts to peak at his hand of the card game they were playing.

Of course, Wind had to dissolve that solution by peering over Hyrule’s shoulder and shouting which card Warriors should play, which prompted Legend to spin around and try to strangle Wind, as Warriors went to snatch his false winnings, and Hyrule futility attempted to keep space between them.

It escalated further when Wind darted out from the protection Hyrule provided, taunting as he circled him. Legend lunged to tackle him as he backpedaled to Warriors, before noticing Warrior’s sticky fingers and starting a whole new squabble about “ You lying cheat! Give me my rupees!” and “No way! Number one rule of gambling: don’t take your eyes off the prize.” Time looked up from writing his letter to Malon when Hyrule stood up, and tried to get Warriors to give back the money before Legend committed murder, and said,” Boys, quit yer fighting over -” and then, a tiny little body hanging onto some cloth-stick contraption came plummeting out of the tree line and into Hyrule’s head. 

The entire camp froze before the bundle groaned and suddenly the cards, rupees, carvings, journals, and letters were dropped in favor of weapons and shields, or open hands to approach the bumpy cloak on the ground. Once the creature realized it was surrounded by strange men, it jumped up and tried making a break down the hill, with it’s contraption folded under its arm. As it darted between legs and slipped past hands, causing cries and cursing along the way, someone shouted, “Catch him!” and suddenly, Sky was at the edge of camp with a very squirmy child in his hands. 

“Um, hi?” 

Locks of blonde hair and nearly glowing blue eyes met him when he looked directly into the shadow of the hood. They were displeased, and very...adult-like? in their displeasure, looking like a crotchety old man who had his breakfast knocked off the table. It wasn’t very dark out yet, the fire at about half-strength to keep the camp well lit and warm, but the very-oversized cloak over the boy’s (?) face hid almost all of it from view. It draped over his front as well, thick folds sloping over his little shoulders in unequal creases: bare legs kicked out from underneath, and twisted with the excess cloth in swirls beneath him. He was dead silent, though clearly uncomfortable and impatient with being held, probably waiting for Sky to put him down. And he was about to, until he noticed an odd tension on one side of his cloak and saw half the shaft of an arrow lodged in the boy’s arm. 

“Hey! You’re injured! I-I mean you probably know that but-”

And the kid was fighting like hell to get out of Sky’s grasp again. From a little too much hesitation, he fumbled, and the kid got a foot on the ground before Warriors wrapped his arms around his middle and heaved him back up into the air. A bit of panic ensued, as the boy dropped the contraption and tried yanking Warrior’s scarf over his face. Legend tried grabbing his legs and Hyrule was screaming about bedside manner, before a very shrill scream came from Warriors and the kid was dropped sideways on the ground. Just as a small hand reached for his device, a booming command echoed across camp, ”Boys! Stop!” The entire camp froze, a tableau of pandemonium in the center: Warriors half blind under his scarf, Legend wielding a knife and bent over, Hyrule keeping him from falling on the kid, Four, Wind, and him on the edges of the circle, and Time halfway across camp with the most pissed expression Sky had ever seen, - Holy Goddesses, we’re dead -, and the child laying at Warrior’s feet, poised to get up and bolt. With the absolute authority in Time’s stormy expression, he’s only half surprised the kid actually froze as well. 

With calm, measured steps, Time parted the circle and plucked up the child, before setting him on his feet. He was definitely engrossed in the older man as Time wrapped a comparatively massive hand around the curve of his shoulder and good arm, and kneeled down to his height.

“Hello there, young one. What’s this I hear about an injury?”

The boy seems to hesitate, before dropping his contraption and pulling his cloak aside. The firelight brought something gut wrenching out of the shadow of his cloak. Thick, heavy scar tissue crossed into an “X” on his left forearm, and the broken shaft of an arrow stuck out of one of the lines, a slow, viscid trail of blood surrounding the head. The edge of a lighter scar stretched out just under the fold of the cloak.

Sky almost vomited then and there, horror was clear across the group, even in Legend’s normally aloof face. Strangely, Hyrule looked stoically resigned. Time didn’t react beyond gesturing towards the wound. “If you’ll let us, we can take that out for you. And then, we can talk about where your parents are, and why you’re out here alone.”

The boy went to make a protesting noise, before Time’s good eye narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed, and he stopped. With a groan, Time rose to his full height, and guided the boy by his shoulder to the log they had rolled up before lighting the fire. Dragging his flying toy behind him, he complacently sat down next Time and bundled his cloak up on his good side for warmth. Once Time waved a hand above his head, Hyrule let out an “oh!” and then scrambled for his bag. 

Slowly, the entire camp drew in a loose circle around the log, with a few brave souls sitting within two feet of a clearly feral child. Sky lowered himself to sit cross legged directly in front of him, so he could keep an eye on everyone. Four and Wind were grouped together to Time's right, Four sitting on his calves and Wind leaning against him, looking up with interest at the kid on Time's left. Warriors was next to them, sulking and bandaging a spot around his wrist. Sky didn't remember Hyrule leaving that untreated earlier, much less Warriors, but he had been whittling for the past few hours and that usually took up all of his attention. Then, himself, and on his right, Legend, who was intently tracking every minuscule movement the kid made. Once the kid was done poking at the arrow stuck in him (which, ew, ew, eeewwww, please don't give yourself an infection -), he stared right back at Legend from inside his cloak. Even as Hyrule came up to throw a leg over both sides of the log, he stared unflinchingly at Legend.

It was only when Hyrule hissed, and Time put a hand on his back and he startled, did he look away. "So, I'd very much appreciate, if you could tell us your name and why you're injured, if you don't mind. We're not from around here, so we don't know the local threats, so to speak. Understand?" 

The kid paused, and then nodded. Underneath the main conversation, Legend raised an eyebrow at Hyrule's hiss as he prepped disinfectant and bandages, before Hyrule whispered, "Dried blood all over the shaft. I think he broke it trying to yank it out. The...scar's too thick." Sky swallowed at the image of this tiny, little boy struggling to pull the arrow out, his hand covered in blood.

"Oh, here! A stick! He can write his answers in the dirt." Wind's cherry voice interrupted Sky's thoughts, and he watched as Wind reached behind him before skipping up to the kid on the log. Next to him, it was even more apparent how much smaller he was, thinner and shorter. How old was he? Four? Five? He was certainly too grumpy for however old he was. And too quiet. And too...scarred. He...he didn't look like a kid at all. 

Time began asking the kid questions as Hyrule gently took his arm. To the kid's credit, he barely flinched, and kept looking straight at Time to focus on what he was saying. 

"What injured you?" 

The kid scratched something out in the dirt, and Time leaned over to read it aloud. 

"Bokoblin. Camp. Why were you at a bokoblin camp?"

"Accident. Didn't mean to. Okay, how old are you?" 

"One..one hundred and seventeen? How are you one hundred and seventeen? Don't lie to me, please."  Time crossed his arms and twisted his face into an affronted expression at the boy; the sudden mood switch seemed to make him worry for a second, before he tapped the number. At Time's denial, he tapped it again, more forcefully this time, acting just as offended that Time wouldn't believe him. 

"Fine," Time huffed," so you're not gonna tell us your age. Which is fine, stranger danger is a valid concern here. Where are your parents? Or guardian?" 

Sky's attention was quipped by Legend leaning back to toss something in the fire. He didn't manage to see anything other than a shower of sparks from whatever it was lighting on fire, but naturally, his eyes drifted back to Hyrule as Legend settled again. Sometime during the whole age argument, Hyrule had yanked out the arrow and passed it off for Legend to burn. Currently, he was pressing a wet cloth to the wound, likely soaked in disinfectant alcohol, and the kid still hadn't noticed. At all. He was completely focused on Time, despite the massive amount of pain he should be in. 

Maybe...maybe the scar damage was so intensive he couldn't feel anything?

"Dead. I'm sorry to hear that. Who takes care of you?" 

Surprisingly, the kid rolled his eyes before hurriedly etching something down. 

"Myself.  I'm - no, no you're not one hundred and seventeen. We're not arguing this. You look seven. At most."

A displeased grunt and a kick to the log they were sitting on. Time raised an eyebrow, and the kid slowly lowered his foot back to the ground. 

"What's your name?" 

"My. Name. Is…" Time's good eye quickly flared open before he forced himself to regain composure. "Link."

Dead. Silence. 

Sky's eyes slammed shut. One of his fists gripped the grass, and the other twisted up into his sail cloth. A deep breath wards off the urge to vomit, and slowly, he tries to keep from letting the kid - no, Link, see him in distress. If he started crying, or shaking, or anything, Link would see and be suspicious. He had already tried to escape before they had helped him, and there was no promise he wouldn't run off as soon as he could. 

Oh, oh my Goddesses, Hylia wanted a seven year old covered in scars to go on their quest with them. He was seven. Maybe not even that. Had he defeated Gannon yet? Could he have defeated Gannon at this age? What killed his parents? If he was his successor, was Sky the reason Hylians on the surface needed a literal child to save them?

A questioning whine broke the silence, and the entire camp looked over to Link, who Hyrule was finishing bandaging with shaking hands. He whacked the stick at part of his sentence, before using it to point at Time, and then gesture to everyone else. 

"Names? You want our names?"

A nod.

"Ah, okay. We all share a first name, believe it or not, young one, so we go by nicknames. I'm Time. One of our party is out right now, his name is Twilight, but he's really good with kids. You might like him. The man in the red dress -" 

"Not a dress, Old Man!" "

- is Legend. The man with the blue scarf is Warriors, and next to him are Wind - "

"That's me!" 

" - and Four. Yes, four like the number. Most of our nicknames are nouns, so try to pay attention to what's said before to know if someone's being spoken too. Prime example; the one who treated ya is named Hyrule."

Link twisted around to look up at the older boy, who shyly raised a hand to wave. A smaller hand replicated the gesture before Time reached out to grasp it. Gently, he formed the fingers to point at Sky. 

"And that one, with the white cloth, is Sky." 

He consciously forced himself to release his fists and appeared friendly and unbothered. The children on Skyloft had always been a little too perceptive, and the children across worlds seemed to be the same. His smile and posture weren't perfect, but considering how little of the kid's face he could see between the distorted shadows and fire light, Link shouldn't be able to see too much either. At least, he hoped. 

A few seconds passed between Time dropping his hand, and Link tilting his head back up to him, cocked at an angle. A small rumble came out of him before he stubbornly pointed past the cliffside and down towards the path. He seemed to be very clearly saying "Can I go now, crazy name man?"

Time leveled an unimpressed look. "Look here, Link. We're going to be setting up camp here for another day or two while we wait for Twilight to re-join us. Unless you want to risk an infection or nerve damage, I suggest spending that time here with us, so Hyrule can help you change the bandages and keep it clean, understand?" 

Link, in all his six year old glory, pouted up at Time. His discontent was evident in the lines around his eyes. Time, however, wasn't one for budging.

"Do you really think you can keep that wound clean yourself? Or that I'd let a child wander off in the dark without a guardian of some sort, after they wandered into a bokoblin camp? There's no argument to be had here, Link. You will spend the night with us and once Twilight is back with the group, we'll set out and find you someone trustworthy to help you get wherever it is you're going. After that, you can never see us again if that's what you'd like. But for now, please share a bed roll with Wind for the night. His is big enough for the both of you, and you'll both stay warm." 

And that, Sky guessed, was that.

That was not, in fact, that. Link had quietly eaten his own provision of apples, swaddled up in his cloak with his knees to his chest, silently observing everyone's movements across the camp. His flying contraption had disappeared behind his back somehow, earlier, and nothing else seemed to be in his possession. He had a small bag attached to the straps and belt across his hips, but if he had any toys, or books, or keepsakes, he didn't pull them out.  He just...stared.

Sky had to walk around the back of the cliff wall to keep himself together. He wasn't ignorant, he had seen suffering across Hyrules, from Hyrule's wastelands, to Legend's haunting stories, to the anniversaries of the deaths of Warrior's past comrades. He just...he just couldn't. He had never seen someone so young so despondent. He was the one who let Demise curse his own descendants. He was the one who wasn't strong enough. He was the reason this tiny, tiny, child was covered in scars, was fighting or fought or would fight Gannondorf, and the kid didn't even have parents for Hylia's sake. Not that you needed parents to be a hero, but this kid had no one. No mom, no dad, no sisters or brothers, no aunt, or uncle, or grandparents, no cousins, no friends, no one to trust. This kid was alone, fighting monsters probably triple his size, and it was all Sky's fault, oh Hylia, please, please -

Once he was sure his eyes were dry and his stomach settled, he walked back into camp to discover Time struggling to pull a stubborn Link off the trunk of a tree. In that short respite, Link had apparently refused to sleep inside Wind's bedroll and then tried to escape up the tree, likely to avoid sleeping all together. Time had snatched him around his middle before he could disappear up into the branches, but Link seemed just as determined to scale the tree as Time was to pull him off it.

"You!" Time huffed and Link hissed, "Have! To! Go! To! Sleep!" With a great crack, pieces of bark splintered under Link's nails and broke off the trunk, leaving Time to hold up a clearly unhappy, agitated child with wood sticking out of his fingers. Hyrule was already dead asleep, having drained his magic from finishing up the wounds from their switch; Legend was grumpily trying to get comfortable across the fire; Four and Warriors were already asleep. The only other person awake and sitting up was Wind, who looked on at his new bedmate resisting Time's authority. And even he was clearly tired, rubbing at his face and yawning beneath Time's soft scoldings.

He also looked like he needed a good night's sleep, and no one would be getting that at this rate. 

"Here, let me help. Time, why don't you lay down while I get Link and Wind ready for bed?" 

Time looked down at Link impassively before looking back at Sky. His face twitched as he weighed his offer. Link kicked his little legs again (wasn't he cold?) before Time seemed to make up his mind, and handed him over with a sigh. As Sky gently rearranged him in his arms (oh, he's really, really light, should he be this light?), Time bent over to reprimand him one final time. 

"Listen to Sky, hear me? If you keep trying to escape, I will tie you up for your own good. Understand? Sleep is a basic need. Get some."

And with that, the old man wandered over to his bedroll and plopped down, not bothering to change into his sleeping tunic. Soft snores soon whispered under the crackling of the campfire and the chilly night breeze. A small groan, and a shift under his blanket, and then Time was completely still and silent.

Okay, cool. Sky was in charge now. 

He looked down at the little boy in his arms before deciding the first order of business was to get any splinters out of his hands. Link looked up at him from his cloak hood as Sky put him down on the end of Wind's bedroll, quietly waiting as Sky rummaged through his bag for his carving kit. Splinters were common when whittling, so he carried a set of tweezers with him at all times. He was also rather skilled at getting them out painlessly, meaning Link shouldn't have too much of a reason to put up a fuss. 

Wind had slipped his legs out of his sleeping mat to sit crisscross facing Link, with his blanket around his shoulders. He seemed to be trying to make soft conversations before Sky joined them and carefully took Link's left hand to treat. 

The kid wore fingerless gloves, likely to protect his palms from scrapes when he climbed. He couldn't see the Triforce marked into his skin through it, much less in the dark. Sky hummed before realizing he had probably been holding Link's hand too long to pass off as a cursory check, so he opened his mouth and said," I should have these out really quick, okay? And then we can talk a little bit before you need to get some sleep." 

He glanced up at Link's eyes, before he gave a soft grunt that seemed to agree, even if he was displeased about the idea of sleeping. Sky couldn't blame him; if he'd been picked up by strange men and forced to share a bed roll with one of their party members, he might try to climb a tree for the night, too. 

Carefully, he pushed the tweezers along the rounded tips of plump, long fingers, slowly gripping the wood between the metal legs. As he pulled them out, Wind babbled on softly about how he usually was the youngest of the party, and how often Time babied him, but he meant well, and that Warriors was a lot of fun to hang out with and a pretty good leader too, even if he just seemed like a flirt all the time, and that just because Legend was grumpy didn't mean he outright hated you. As he worked, he kept half an ear open to the conversation, but the soft hands, cold wind, fire light, and muted conversation lulled all three of them. Wind yawned every few words, and even Link, as cautious and vigilant as he was, was starting to sway side to side with fatigue. Today's battle had been harsh on all of the heroes; privately, Sky wondered how Link had spent his day. Running around barefoot in an area filled with mountains and monsters didn't exactly sound like light exercise for a child.

He pulled out the last splinter before swiping a finger across the knuckles of Link's hand, and then dropped it to the ground. Link startled a little at this, but the allure of sleep seemed to soothe any complaint he seemed to think he should have. The only remaining issue was as Wind laid back down, unsurely but politely offering up the corner of the cover of his bed roll. 

Normally, Sky would insist on Link and Wind sharing the sleeping mat. It was native to Wind's Hyrule, meaning it was meant for nights on rocking boats and sandy beaches, and not for nights in forests edging snowy mountains. It wasn't uncommon for group members to share their warmer sleeping sacks with those who had thinner ones, or double up together. Wind might be a bit chilly tonight, but he definitely wasn't in any danger of losing fingers and toes: however, Sky had a feeling that this Link might bite a few of his off, if he forced him to sleep next to Wind.

“Here, let’s try this.” Sky yawned as he situated a sleepy Link with his back to Wind’s, before dragging over his own travel bag and sleeping bag, effectively putting Link between them, but not so close he would feel trapped. With a little bit of poking and nudging, Sky managed to work both edges of their sleeping mats underneath Link, who looked vaguely displeased but too tired to do anything about it, curling his bare legs and feet up into the fabric of his cloak. With soft noises, Link shuffled his knees and toes, creating soft scratching noises.

Sky felt a frown on his lips, before deciding a cloak wasn’t enough to keep a child Link’s size properly warm, and pulling out his sailcloth to tuck Link into. He gave a faint keen as Sky wormed his hands under him to fold the cloth securely, and Sky leaned over him, careful to be non-threatening. “This is my sailcloth,” he said. “I’d like you to use it for tonight though, for warmth. But,” - don’t say Zelda, don’t say Zelda - “someone very important to me gave it to me, so I need you to keep it safe for me, and give it back to me in the morning. Can you do that?”

Link blinked at him slowly, exhaustion heavy on him, before nodding. A little fist came out of his cloak to grip the top end of the sail cloth as Link resettled, folding his other arm beneath his head. Sky himself laid back down, listening to the soft snores and drowsy mumbles of his companions. As his eyelids got heavier and heavier with each blink, he tried to burn the image of the stars above into his mind. 

He fell asleep before he could. 

Chapter Text

Hyrule doesn't have much experience with children. 

Granted, he didn't think most of the other heroes did either, but that was more from a lack of interest than a lack of children. 

Pregnancy was slow, physically demanding, and painful. Pregnant women were vulnerable, both to the outside world, and their own body. Stillbirths, hemorrhage, infections, high blood pressure, calorie deficiency. If a woman survived giving birth, there was no guarantee that the baby would survive to adulthood. Infancy was long, at the mercy of others, and ravenously ate through resources. Children were a luxury, and Hyrule had only learned half of what he knew from the medical books stowed away in nooks and crannies of the cave system. 

The rest had been...unpleasant experiences.  

Last night hadn't been the first, and likely not the last time he'd see a child injured. His home was dangerous, scarce on supplies necessary to raise children like clean food and water, full of monsters looking for the hero's blood, and the only settlements were cities filled with arguments and discontent, palpable enough to feel weapons and drinks in hand. Children were always at mercy, and a child unfamiliar without some kind of pain the others might have found extreme, was a rich child. And even they might spend a night hungry or be dealt a heavy hand by someone who provided for them. 

And this child had, at one point, been severely injured, judging by the scars crisscrossing his arm and the faintest shift in color in the shadows of his hood. Hyrule had healed children when he could, but some had been too late to save. Some he couldn't stop to save. And some hadn't recovered, even after he healed them. 

He didn’t like to think of what their parents would do to them when they were deemed deformed, so he always put one hundred percent into his healing, but he wasn’t a god. Fairy blood didn’t make him invincible.

When Link had pulled aside his cloak, Hyrule had schooled his shock with the thought, “ This one isn’t gone yet.” even as Legend himself, the group veteran, had stared wide-eyed and stood there. Hyrule had swallowed whatever was slinking down his throat and watched Time temper the child, until he was beckoned for (which he berated himself for, what kind of healer had to be told to gather their supplies - ), and then, he worked, efficiently but gently, half-listening to Time read out the child’s responses in the dirt, working out the arrow (bittersweetly, the scar had kept the wound shallow enough that nothing serious was hit), applying straight alcohol, and bandaging the wound securely.  And, and Link didn’t even flinch.

A part of his heart felt heavy every time he picked up a salve, bandage, or needle for a child. It throbbed every time a child cried, or didn’t respond to pain, or looked at him with fear. But Hyrule was a healer, a peasant’s closest equivalent to a doctor, and what strangled it most was the pattern of tombstones shorter than his knee across Hyrule. He had to keep it from growing.

He passed out hard that night, magical and physical exhaustion mixing with emotional stress to slip him into a timeless, dark void. He woke up the next morning feeling like he had closed his eyes just for a second, staring at the ground between him and the fire. To his left, the old man laid against a tree, rolled up and clearly restless. Past him, Legend and Warriors spoke in low tones, possibly about last night’s gambling by their faces, and Four seemed to stare unseeingly into the fire as he drank tea. His eyes were flickering between colors again, as Hyrule walked by him, but he still raised a hand in greeting. Hyrule, a tad worried, waved back before walking off to the designated privy spot.  

When he got back, the middle lump between Sky and Wind was wiggling itself out of it’s bedding, rolling between the two. With a grumble, Link frees himself and pops out, half a tiny face sticking out from a cloak hood and a mess of blonde hair. Little noises continued for a moment, as tiny hands rubbed at his face and worked his hair and clothes as he liked them, before he settled on his shins and kneeled next to Sky. He seemed to shake him, possibly whisper his name (though he seemed mute? Maybe Hyrule was just imagining it, it wasn’t easy to see his lips under his oversized hood), before huffing and dropping a white piece of fabric on his face. 

Link stomped his little legs over to the fire, stumbling and dipping along the way, splaying himself out in front of it. He shuffled, and then laid still, seeming to rest. Hyrule himself wanted to rest, but instead he walked back to his bedroll, curled up on his side to fight the cold, and pulled out one of his medicinal books that focused on children. 

The early morning passes in stillness, Hyrule consumed in his reading while the camp wakes up and rustles around him. Occasionally, he looks up. At the first one, Wind has joined Warriors and is leaning against him, smiling brightly, and someone has put a cooking pot over the fire. By the next one, it’s clear Link is the one cooking, though he lays back down near the coals when he isn’t attending the pot, and Four has woken up a bleary Time with a hot cup of tea from his kettle. Smoke gently rises through the air as Link cooks: some kind of faintly sweet smell with it. The sun rises a sliver more, the world becoming a little less foggy and muted, as Link and Time sip their cups by the fire, sometimes in perfect unison. Time seems to be talking to Link, perhaps telling him a story, but he doesn't seem awake enough to be very engaged. 

"Boys, gather round the fire. And wake up Sky, we're going to need 'im." 

Hyrule carefully stashes his book away and goes to wake Sky, who's cuddling his sailcloth and murmuring in his sleep. After the fifth shake, he groans, but rolls over, and Hyrule decides he's too tired to be patient for Sky to take his time waking up today. Tampering down his guilt, he sneaks a hand under the cloth and covers Sky's mouth and waits. 

His face twitches under his hand, but he still doesn't wake, so Hyrule whispers an apology and pinches Sky's nose with his other hand. At the next choked inhale, Sky wildly darts up, reaching for the Master Sword, hair askew, and Hyrule quickly let's go and falls back to the ground. Sky pants and wheezes for a second before he catches his breath and blue eyes recognize him. 

"Oh," he smiles," I wasn't waking up again, was I? Sun always did call me sleepyhead for a reason." He laughs a little, yawning and stretching, before standing up and tying his sailcloth around his waist. 

"So, uh, what are we doing?"

"I think Time wants to tell Link about... us. "

"Already?" Sky raises an eyebrow and his mouth sours a bit. "What about Twilight? Shouldn't we wait for him?"

Hyrule shrugs. “Time’s got his reasons. I trust him, even if I don’t get why all the time. Maybe he thinks Link will try to ditch us after Twilight shows up?”

“Who knows.” Sky good naturedly says, then leans down to grasp Hyrule’s hand, and he smacks his own down before Sky firmly lifts him to his feet. They take a second to grin at each other before letting go and heading to the circle around the fire, Sky quickly bending down to grab the Master Sword in its sheath. They settle side by side across from Time and Link, who is a small ball of fatigue and cloak holding what Hyrule now sees in a cup of warm milk. Cute.

The cup disappears into his hood and a slurping sound follows. He smacks his lips and nestles the cup back in his lap, fingers curled around it for warmth. Beside him, Four places a stick for him to write out his answers again beside him, and a nearly invisible nod is his thanks. 

Time clears his throat, Warriors, Legend, and Wind silencing their debate as he opens his mouth. 

“As we have told Link here, we share a name, which is why we have such...odd monikers. Usually I would wait for Twilight to tell the whole story, but Link here is apparently in quite the hurry, so I’d like to tell the tale now.”  

He waits for signs of agreement across camp: Hyrule himself hums in acceptance as Sky and Legend both verbally respond. Once their leader feels he has their blessing, he turns to Link, and begins their story.

"So, long, long ago, there were three goddesses; Din, Nayru, and Farore. They live somewhere high, high above us now, higher than even the clouds in the sky, somewhere we call the Sacred Realm. Din, the goddess of power, created Hyrule physically. Nayru breathed wisdom, and spirituality into Hyrule, and Farore created life, Hylians, to uphold Nayru's gift. 

"However, they couldn't stay forever, so when they left, three pieces of power, called the Triforce, were left behind. Each piece was shaped like a triangle, and connected to each individual goddess; one of power, one of courage, and one of wisdom. When someone possesses all three pieces of the Triforce, in an equal balance of courage, power, and wisdom, they are unstoppable. Even the gods themselves are unable to resist their demands. As such, the three goddesses created a fourth, named Hylia, to protect the triforce should it ever be threatened. 

"Then, a king of demons, named Demise, attempted to steal the Triforce, and succeeded in taking the Triforce of Power and mortally wounding Hylia in the process. With her remaining strength, she gathered the Hylians and life forms who had survived the assault from the Demon Realm, and sent them above the clouds on a series of islands in the sky. She entrusted the remaining pieces, courage and wisdom, to them, and used the last dredges of her soul to reincarnate herself into a Hylian girl, who would later bear the Triforce of Wisdom. 

"Time went by, and Demise kidnapped the Hylian reincarnation of Hylia, who herself was unaware she possessed goddess-like powers. A hero of courage, tested by Hylia, rose, and defeated Demise, restoring the balance of the Triforce, but not before Demise could do one last thing. 

"With his dying breath, he cursed the hero and the girl, that their descendants would be plagued by his descendants, that someone would rise and try and steal the Triforce again and again, and that the line of heroes would never rest from defending Hyrule. And Link…"

With Time, each of the heroes revealed the mark shared on their skin, hands held out, palm down, to the newest Link. 

"Those heroes are us. "

Link is silent and still, his milk long having gone cold.

"All of us share this mark. All of us share the name Link. All of us are Hylia's chosen, and right now, we're questing across time and worlds to find the source of infection strengthening monsters." 

"And we need you to join us."

When they had all met, months ago, they hadn’t had to tell the stories to anyone to prove they were heroes: they’d had to give individual proof, sure, but the mark of the goddess tended to be enough. They had worked out their story for themselves, and quickly believed and relied on each other. Link didn’t trust any of them yet, and it was unclear what he knew about Hyrule, given that he was a feral child running around near a freezing tundra. 

Very slowly, Link picks up his stick, and starts shifting it through the coals. Hyrule can stretch his neck just enough to make out what it says.

"Sorry, but I don’t join cults.”

Time chokes, flabbergasted for a minute; Legend gives a shouted complaint, Warriors joining in to defend their honor, Wind's face is all screwed up like when he tries sneaking around, Sky and Four make eye contact and laugh, a little hysterically on Sky's end, and Hyrule thinks," Wow, never thought we'd be likened to one of those. But it's reasonable enough to assume." with a quirk of his lips. 

Link, however, isn't amused. Nor is he neutral to being yelled at by two men triple his age and twice his size. His little shoulders poke out of the cloak angrily, and his grip around the mug tightens so much Hyrule thinks it might shatter. 

"Li-Link," Time says past a swallow, "we are not a cult. What I'm telling you is the truth. " Patiently, he looks down on him, waiting for a response. Link gives a muted snarl and picks up the stick again. 

"You all share a tattoo, have some origin wacky story about how you're some kind of "heroes", and you all look freakishly alike. Everyone also immediately listens to you, making you the cult leader. That's crazy! You're all crazy and I'm not joining you on your made up quest!" 

"I'm not crazy." Time immediately says. "Nor am I a cult leader. I'm the elected leader of the group, as I am the oldest one here."

" I AM 117 AND I WILL NOT BE TALKED DOWN TO BY A CRAZY ONE-EYED MAN WITH TATTOOS. IF WE'RE GOING BY AGE, I'M THE CULT LEADER HERE."

"Link, you look five and act seven. There's no plausible way for you to be over one hundred and still be alive! Hylians don't live that long. Besides, you'd have to join the cult to lead it, so no, you're not the leader." 

Link freezes in his irritated writing, before dropping the stick and huffing, tucking his arms over his knees under his cloak. His little toes wiggle in the dirt, squirmy and quick, as he tries not to bounce with frustration. Hyrule has to stifle a giggle. He knows if he laughs Link will hate him, but it's too cute, oh Farore, he's so adorable - 

"Look, Link. You might not believe me right now, but you have to at least let us get you somewhere safe. If you decide during that time to come with us, then we'll be happy to have you. If not, well, then we'll respect that, okay?" 

Various animalistic sounds come from Link as he sways back and forth, clearly realizing he'd been backed into a corner and not liking it. 

Seeing no way out, he stiffly gives an exaggerated nod, and Time sighs before clapping a hand on his back. 

"Okay boys, what's for breakfast?"

Link was not having a good morning. 

Yesterday, he forgot he hadn't cleared out the bokoblin camp like he had the hinox after the last blood moon, so he got hit with an arrow trying to escape, broke his spear in the fight, and then, wobbling on his paraglider, flew into a group of cultists dive-bomb style. 

Then, said cultists basically kidnapped him, swaddled him like a baby, and tried to initiate him! Plus, he woke up cold and exhausted, half his body stiff and shaking as he forced himself to move towards the fire, and now! They couldn't even make breakfast!

He was still cold and sore, and now hungry! And annoyed! And he couldn't even teleport away because his slate wouldn't let him!

So yeah. Today was not good, and Link's emotions were very overwhelming and he was five seconds from throwing a tantrum or unleashing his bomb arrows and running. 

He hated being a child. 

As the belligerent, skirt-wearing one shoved the one who swaddled him when he was too tired to evade capture away from where he was trying to fry something, which had instead turning into something black and bubbling and was only contained by the excess of oil popping around it, he picked up his now lukewarm milk and stared into it. It didn’t hold the answers to his problems, but it was a nice distraction from the noise around him. The taste was only mildly disappointing as he chugged it, before sneaking his hand behind his back for his slate. 

With muscle memory, he pulled out several bushels of rice, roughly nine times what he’d usually eat. Pulling out his own cooking set, gifted to him by Zelda, he set aside the rice to wash and boil. He pulled water from the storage on his slate, and marched it across camp to crouch downhill. Placing a bucket under his bowl-with-holes filled with rice, he poured some and set to washing it. Repeating this several times, once he was done, he set the rice to steam on the edge of the fire and ducked away from the shouting over someone’s diabolic attempt at breakfast. 

Once he felt no one was watching him, he pulled out his slate and a mix of seafood. Some snails, crabs, salmon, and porgies should do it, so he separates them and sets out to prepare them. He chunks and puts the crab to bake into a hash he could mix with a sauce, and grilled the fish to mince. His fingers were smaller now, which meant he could pull the snail out easier despite how clumsy they were after boiling them. The porgy cooked through before the salmon, so he pulled it out and cut it quickly, mixing in a thick, creamy sauce to hold the pieces together. 

The rice was done now, warm and fluffy, and he waddles with the pot back to his spot before plopping down with it. He scoops out piles of rice on the cutting boards, wets his hands, and begins shaping the rice into a triangle. Once he deemed it stable enough, he spoons some crab inside and folds more rice over it. With one hand, he pulled out the pre-sliced pieces of seaweed from Lurelin, and carefully wrapped the rice back before setting it on a large leaf. Re-wetting his hands, he repeats the process, alternating between the crab and snail.

The salmon sizzles a little dangerously in the fire, and he jumps up to save it and slice it thinly. Carefully, he folded it inside, and patted the rice down before tucking it in it’s little green wrapper. He then rotates between all four, working efficiently and quietly as the rice in the pot slowly disappeared. 

He carefully counts and separates the rice balls, with six with snails, eleven with crab, and fourteen each of salmon and porgy. He would need to fish for more salmon soon. In Lurelin, he easily caught porgies because most of the area was coast. Salmon, however, were harder to find and faster than most fish, meaning he didn’t tend to eat or keep a lot of it. But if he had to feed eight other people, then he would need to…

“Wow, that smells good. Are you gonna eat all of that?” 

It’s the fake smiley one, the one who tried to suplex him, wears a blue scarf, and has ridiculously shiny hair. He’s squatting really low, his heels down flat and his chin resting on his crossed arms on top of his knees. Link thinks he’s a little too vain and a little too artificial, with the way he holds his scarf away from the dirt with the crook of his elbow, like Link can’t see, and he knows what a real smile looks like. Scarf Boy’s face is too tight around his eyes and his throat bobs as Link stares at him. 

He’s pointing at the snail rolls. 

No! Don’t touch! Not ready!

He bit him, and he’ll do it again! 

Hurriedly, he nods, nearly squishing the half-made rice ball in his hands. 

“Oh, really? You’re gonna eat like, forty of these things? While the rest of us suffer?” 

Link pauses. He hadn’t acknowledged why he’d made so many rice balls, but when Scarf Boy put it like that , it would be kinda mean to starve them, even if they were some crazy Yiga plot…

He looked down at the rice ball in his hands, before huffing and speedily filling and folding it. He only had a little bit left, so there was no harm in marching over to him and dropping it in his open hand to keep him quiet. 

“Aw, thank you. None of us can cook, so they’ll be very grateful you’ve decided to share, Link.” Scarf Boy grins a little more genuinely, tilting his head, but Link figures that’s just because he swindled a rice ball out of him. Turning away, he plops back down, cross legged, and starts on the final few. 

“Wind, come here buddy! Link’s got something for you!” 

Link’s eyebrows crinkle as Scarf Boy calls over the actual child, the one who chattered at him until the other one made them lay down last night about how great the others were (which, holy Hylia, they brainwashed this kid). He excuses himself from the others before skipping over, speeding up once he sees the food in Scarf Boy’s hand. Link decides his nickname is Bluey, because the shirt. 

“Hey, Wars, where’d you get that -” 

He abruptly stops once he sees the spread out in front of Link, clearly surprised to find so much food ready to eat. His eyes blow open wide, and Link swears a little drool sneaks out of the corner of his lips when he opens his mouth. 

“Oh, wow! This looks so good! Did you make this? Can I have some? Please, please?!” 

Link had always had a soft spot for children. Half of his meal slots were comprised of honey candies to slip to kids like Cottla, Tulin, and Finley across Hyrule behind their parents’ backs, despite how often Link needed to eat. He wasn’t gonna not feed this kid. He just wasn’t expecting to be attacked with some of the biggest, shiniest eyes filled with some indescribable sadness that dissected his soul -

“You don’t gotta beg, Wind. Here, Link gave me one, and you know camp rules. Enjoy.” 

Scarf Boy places the rice ball in Bluey, or Wind’s, cupped hands where he stares at it like it’s solid diamond before taking a tentative bite. Some kind of scream leaves him, causing everyone in camp to jump a mile high, while he stuffs the entire thing in his mouth. Of course everyone else comes rushing over to see what has him screaming and his cheeks bulging, and suddenly Link’s makeshift workstation is swarmed with loud, hungry grown men and boys. 

“Boys, boys, what is everyone screaming about?” 

It’s the large, one-eyed man who calls himself Time, shouldering his way up to Wind and Scarf Boy in front of him. He’s stern, but not angry, and everyone instantly settles from where they’re asking questions. Scarf Boy takes a sweeping step forward, his hand landing on Time’s armored shoulder, and he says, “Why, Link here was kind enough to make us some breakfast, I was just giving Wind one of the little triangle thingies he made. Apparently,” he shrugs with a winning smile,” they’re delicious.” 

The entire camp looks down at where he’s retreated back into his cloak, rice still in hand. He struggles not to flinch under the multi-viewpoint stares, feeling oddly like he’s wandered into a Guardian nest without any Ancient weapons.

“Link,” Time steps forward, crouching down a little bit to be level with him. “Is this true?”

Hesitantly, Link nods. 

The marks on his face are mostly covered by falling strands of blonde hair from where he tilts his head: his scarred eye is hidden behind it too, leaving one indifferent eye to gaze at him with one-sided pressure. He watches him for what feels like several minutes, but it could have only been seconds; the smaller grains of rice are squishing between his fingers from where he’s gripping it too hard, and his toes dig into his legs as he tries not to crack. Time blinks once, before something passes in his expression, and he pulls back and stands up.

“Alright boys, tell Link thank you for breakfast. But don’t grab any yet ; we all agreed youngest eats first.” 

“Yeah, but we’ve never had youngest act as chef before, Old Man.” 

It’s Skirt Boy, the rude, argumentative one who always seems tired and never wears pants. He cocks and hips and crosses his arms, a number of rings decorating his fingers, some glinting in Link’s eyes as he points at the food in front of him. “And there’s clearly enough, not that we know where he got it from, so he won’t starve if we go in normal order while he finishes up.” 

Wait...were they debating when Link should eat? 

“Yes, Legend, but Link here is the youngest now and it’s not right to eat before him. Plus, he’s very nicely volunteering to cook for us, so it’s impolite to eat while he works. “ 

“Wind’s already eaten one though.”

Said boy, mouth still full of rice, shrugs at the looks thrown his way.

“Yes, but that was before we knew about breakfast. Wind is also usually the first to be served, so it’s unlikely he’d think about it. You, and most of us, on the other hand, are full grown adults who can wait for a few rice balls while literal children cook and serve themselves. Understood?” 

He’s not a baby! He’s older than Time himself!

For a second, he thinks Skirt Boy is going to stage a mutiny and dissolve the cult system to feed the masses, before he kicks the dirt and concedes with a huff. He and the rest of the boys file back to camp in a crowd, gazing at the food as they pass but happily talking. When Wind passes, he slips an extra rice ball into his hand, ignoring the smile Scarf Boy gives him when he sees. 

Link huffs and ignores him. 

He’ll give him the snail ones. 

While he finishes, the sounds of a camp being tidied up ring out behind him. There’s some disgusted shouting as someone deals with the absolute monster their dishes have become; some thumping and snapping of people cleaning and rolling up their bed rolls; and some general chatter of today’s schedule. The fire is smothered, so that it’s not emitting heat or flame, but is still usable

When he’s done, he scoops the scraps of rice out of the bottom of the pot and eats them. Pulling out several stacks of leaves, he separates the rice balls for each person, remembering to leave some for this “Twilight” guy making his way to them. He places two of the snail ones for Scarf Boy and mixes the rest into the batches. Link carefully places the leaves on two cutting boards, and slowly walks over to the others, who are relaxing in a circle. 

This is child labor. 

First, he walks over to Wind, and hands him two: he points to the one who treated his wounds, and he hands him four, before he points him to the shortest of the group, the one who drinks tea and has color changing eyes, and it goes on and on, from him to The Swaddler, to Scarf Boy (he tries not to let his lips twitch as he hands him his share), to Skirt Boy, and then finally to Time himself. He walks up to him with formality, his steps delicate and eye contact maintained. Time patiently waits for him to offer the plate, and he does, silently. 

With a grateful nod, he accepts his share and Link whirls around and heads back to his tools. Waving his slate over it, the tools disappear, and reappear, clean and fresh in his storage. Once he’s done with that, he pulls out his own meal and wanders closer to the others. 

Apparently, no one has decided to eat yet, despite the hungry gazes some of the group members give the food in their hands. Similarly, when Link sits down a little ways away, he holds onto his, assuming there's some kind of cult eating signal they're supposed to follow? A song, maybe? Time had some weird seed-looking instrument with holes clipped to his bag, maybe it’s like, for Meal Music? Did the others want Meal Music?

Time raises a hand, and everyone's head bob's up in recognition, and Link thinks " Great, what is this, do I need a knife - ", before, in unison, seven voices say, "Thank you, Link!" 

Some people, like Wind and Healer Guy shout it gratefully, and others like Skirt Boy say it in a monotone or unaffected rumble, but some new kind of feeling blooms hot in his chest. Heat flashes across his face, even across his scar to a lesser degree. His shoulders raise up to his ears, and his wrists cross where they push against the ground between his crossed legs. A whine rises in his throat but he shuts it down under thirteen eyes, an odd mixture of happy, neutral, and prideful. 

For the millionth time today, he jerkily nods and flees back into his cloak, bending his back over his lap so more of his hood hides him, quickly stuffing food in his mouth to ignore the pleasant, but crawling feeling up the sides of his neck.

These guys are so weird!

As the attention draws off him and meaningless chatter fills up the camp, Link settles into eating his share, soaking in the ambience around him, resting comfortably.

Time is already evaluating their newest Link after roughly twelve hours, a little troubled by his age, size, and (un)clear history. 

He can cook, he's incredibly secretive, and despite being an actual child, he seems to have a good head on his shoulders. The kid’s well adjusted to, even if he doesn’t trust, their little group, but the more concerning tidbits he’d slipped itch Time’s mind as he watches the little one steadily wolf down four rice balls, each big enough to need two hands to hold. 

Time's not even sure where he got the food, but he didn't think the kid was aiming to pull a plot to poison them and run away, if he’s eating it himself. He seems a little too protective of food to waste it to make them ill, which worries Time even more , if that was possible. Time was the official-unofficial leader of the group, and that makes him the official worrywart who can’t visibly worry because otherwise massive hysteria spreads. Like a village chief, but the village is a small group of boys and men who are past and future reincarnations of each other and he just happens to be the most responsible. He could barely keep Legend and Warriors from brawling once a week, and Hylia thought it was a good idea to hand him another child. One who is tiny and traumatized and is more slippery than oiled Chu-Chu jelly.

Nayru, help him.

But for now, all of his boys, barring Twilight, are safe, fed, and happy, and Time doesn’t have to scold any of them for being irresponsible little shits. No one is bleeding, nothing is on fire, and no one has gotten someone knocked up, so he doesn’t have to think about time-conundrum babies -

With a resounding boof, Wolfie comes dashing into camp, fur speckled and wet with snow, claws slightly muddied. His tongue lolls out as he strides to a stop, and Time is about to reach out to give him a welcoming pat, when their littlest Link perks up gleefully and a young voice cuts the group’s greetings with a loud, clear,

“Wolfie! Dad! ” 

Time can barely blink before a little black blur is racing towards the most affronted looking wolf he’s ever seen. Wolfie has reared back, his ears stretched sky-high, and his neck folded back as he looks down in surprise at the babbling little boy clinging to his ruff. 

Twilight made a time conundrum baby. Twilight made a time conundrum baby. Twilight made a time conundrum baby.

“ - and now, I’m like, seven , and these crazy people won’t let me go, and none of them can cook did you know that?!, like if you’re gonna kidnap someone you need to feed them at least or you’re on a deadline, literally, but anyways I need to get to Hateno, so can we go please, can we, please, please -,”

Apparently, Wolfie does recognize him, as he looks down at him with affection that is clearly tender, and familial, despite the limited facial expressions he has in this form. Link balls his fists in his fur, and leans back, little heels pushing against the dirt, tugging as he pleads. He thumps over as Wolfie stands up from his haunches, and his hood finally falls from his face, with a cascade of glossy hair.

As he looks back up, the hair parts and a young, delicate-featured face gashed with a violent scar peers out, as he pouts up at Wolfie. A wounded sound escapes from Sky’s throat, but all Time can focus on is the way Wolfie looks down at him, gives a lick right over those scars, before leaning over and scruffing him by the cloak, neck twisting to place him on his back. 

With a huff, Wolfie races off again, the littlest Link clinging to his coat.

Chapter Text

His legs and paws stretch, flex, and push effortlessly as he silently bounds between the shade of towering trees. Dapplings of light shine against his overcoat, but he outraces them, avoiding even the lightest remnant of monster musk. The woods here always smell fresh, icy, secretive , with hidden pockets of mushrooms, deer, and salt. Scents from Rito Village rarely drifted down here, but the little boy clinging to his back, fingers safely twined into his undercoat, smelled of fish, butter, snails, and near undetectable traces of rice. If it wasn’t for the almost tangy smell of porgy layered with the salmon, he would have been nosing at the cub for a serving of salmon meuniere, which Kass’ chicks always requested when they stayed for dinner. 

Cub’s babbling had stopped as soon as he picked him up. His little head was tucked into the curve of his shoulder bone, likely to protect his face from the miniature gusts of wind dragging against his sides. Above the furred edges of his tail, he can barely sense the ends of a cloak flapping, lightly tangled in them. 

Once he feels satisfied by the distance put between them and everything else, he slows to a stop, surveying the area before planting his front paws and stretching down and back. As his rump raises, a little “Woah!” gets muffled into his fur while gravity works it’s magic. Cub lands sprawled out on his back, his hair an absolute knotted mess, longer strands licking (into) the blades of grass like golden fire. His expression is pouty, fine eyebrows arched, his face younger, more babishy than before, and his little arms fold together on his chest before he whines. 

“Why would you do that? Aren’t we supposed to be going to Hateno, not playing in the -”

Cub is back! Cub is small! Cub smells like seafood! Must clean, must clean!

Cub screams as his tongue makes thick, wet stripes across his face, neck, and hands, one set of little, wiggly fingers pushing in between his teeth in a futile effort to stop the licking. He laughs and wheezes and cries out, saying No, no, no - ! , but he must clean and greet his cub! Cub must not smell like fish in a forest! Instead, he should smell like him! And be clean! And he must show his affection, and Cub has always liked a soft, subtle lick here and there before, so many licks should make up for what time they’ve spent apart. So he will give them, no matter how much Cub squirms and resists! He must care for his cub!

Cub!

Maybe we should reign it in a bit, hmm, Wolf Self?

It is Cub!

I know, but we have to talk to him and he can't speak in wood and bark.

Clean first! Then comfort! Then speak!

Fine. We just can’t stay for too long. The others are probably rioting.

“Yo-your-ou’re no-ot a pu-ppy! St-stop licking me!”

Cub has fought his way to sitting up, eye level with the fur running down his chest. He pants and gasps, his little chest heaving under his too-large cloak and shirt, the fabric rumpled and creased from their roughhousing. 

He’s so much smaller now. Usually, Cub stood at twice his own height, adult sized and grown. If he wanted to lap at his face, he had to lean his front paws against his shoulders and crane his neck to defeat his attempts at escape. Now, if Cub stood up, all he would have to do would be stretch his neck slightly and push his snout against round, red cheeks to hear a giggled complaint about his wet nose. 

They stare, drinking in each other. Cub’s bare little legs are flecked with mud, his lighter scars trailing up his tiny ankle to hide beneath. He looks at him, the deeply sunken, timeless exhaustion layered beneath his eyes. 

He steps forward in between Cub’s legs, paws over hips, and collapses. Protectively, he lays the underside of his throat on Cub’s stomach, grumbles, and lazily looks up at him. His little chin digs into his collarbones to look down at him, another raised eyebrow. He blinks slowly, before dropping his hands and spreading his thumbs around two fuzzy ears, giving a soft coo as the stiff, lightly greased hairs glide between skin. 

They laze there for a while.

He doesn’t know how long they lie there, him feeling the gentle rise and fall of his cub’s breathing, his cub absently petting him. Just laying there, relaxing, holding, resting. Cub seems to drift off without falling asleep, hazily watching him, watching the unconscious twitches of his tail and body. Everything around them is calm, natural, detached, and something deep inside of him is immeasurably pleased and at ease. Just him and his cub, curled up, hidden in the shade and smells of the northern forest.

Alright, c’mon now. We can’t stay here forever.

He gives a whine before standing up, startling his cub awake. Heavy eyelids flutter, but Cub tries to reassemble his limbs to stand. He simply huffs, gives him a final lick, and knocks him back off his feet with the top of his head. 

“-hey!” 

Stretching his front legs, he backs up, cracks his neck, and holds still. As Cub pushes his hair back out of his face, the two sides of him realign and reach into the curtains of Twili magic. Hands and paws push and pull the walls of black that fizzles around his wolf body. As his bones shift and morph, the bubbling mass climbs up from his feet to his head, before he’s Hylian and bipedal again. 

Now, he towers over Cub - no, Link - who’s gaping up at him, large blue eyes even bigger underneath his mess of hair and the lip of his cloak. He’s frozen, hunched over on the ground. Twilight doesn’t think he’s ever seen him more still. 

“You are an absolute pain in my ass, do ya understand that, Link? You’re completely a mess, and I always gotta’ go chasin’ ya down and helpin’ ya clean up, but you know what? I don’t even wanna know what happened this time to make ya’ so tiny.”

A winterwing flaps by. Link blinks again, his lips moving in attempts to speak.

“....wolf Dad?” 

Twilight resists the urge to shake the child. Even if he knows this creature is not a child. 

“Where’s Wolfie? What did you do to him? Are you him? Where’s my wolf dad?” 

“Link. Did ya not see me just shapeshift from a wolf to a Hylian? I know your eyes work, Cub.”

Link blinks again, processing, before relaxing his back, readjusting, and squinting up at him. 

"So you're Wolfie? If you're part Hylian, why didn't you ever transform back on our journey?" He asks, absentmindedly folding the corner of his cloak back and forth between his hands in his lap.

He's taking this surprisingly well , Twilight thinks, and opens his mouth. 

"Couldn't. And I'm not part wolf, I use a cursed object gifted to me by an old...friend, and that means you are to never touch it, understand? It's from another realm, the Twili Realm, and I only used it 'cause I had-ta. I don't want ta’ see what it does to you, alright? So don't touch it. Ever." 

His curious eyes dart across his body, clearly looking for the cursed object, and Twilight gives himself a mental pat on the back for keeping it hidden beneath his tunic. 

Once he gives up on that, he huffs at his pointed look, and says, "The marks on your face match Wolfie's, so I'll assume you're telling the truth and aren't some kind of wizard. Though being a wizard sounds cool."

The little one stands up, careful to preserve the few feet of space between despite his declaration of belief, and Twilight realizes something as Link mutters to himself.

"Hey, Link? When didja start talkin'? Weren't you mute before?"

He jumps, looking up at him as he speaks. His mouth drops open with an expression of growing shock and a bit of horror. 

"Link?"

Pink lips push together once, twice, before a high pitched wail comes out as," My First Word! No!" followed by some incomprehensible mashings of syllables. His hands clap on top of his head and dig into his hair, knuckles whitening as he laments something , shuddering and shaking. Distantly, Twilight thinks he's being a bit dramatic, before quickly closing the gap and dropping to a knee in front of Link. 

His own, much larger hands deftly loosen Link's tight grip as he shushes and tries to soothe him. He whines and grips harder in response, muttering much faster and less coherently than before, but with enough patience and a hand rubbing circles on his back, the little one eventually relaxes against him, weakly clutching his tunic with one hand, his head tucked into his shoulder to look down at the ground by his knee. 

Purposefully, he keeps up his smooth, steady rhythm on Link's back as he asks, "Link, Cub, what did ya just get so worked up over? What's wrong?"

His blue eyes are wet, but no tears have fallen. He shakily sucks in a breath," When I got turned all little, wh-whatever made me mute disa-disappeared. I wanted to pick a good first word, so I didn't speak, but you showed up and those guys were crazy so I yelled for you, and, and that was my first word, and, and-"

"What, is Wolfie not good enough for ya?" 

"Huh?" Taken aback, Link tries to pull out of the cradle of his arm to get a better look at him, but Twilight tightens his half-hold and continues.

"Wow, Cub, never thought the name of your first companion would be a bad first word. I'm sorry for thinking I would have been so important to ya', seeing as I took care of you and all, but if that's how you feel-"

"No!" The hand in his tunic clenches near desperately, Link almost throwing himself back into his arms. Twilight keeps up the back rub as Link makes urgent eye contact with him. "No, that's not how I feel at all , I just wanted to pick it myself, but no, no, no, Wolfie, no, don't, please -"

"My name's not Wolfie, Link. It's Link, same as yours', but everybody just calls me Twilight these days."

"...Twilight?"

"Yes?" He pulls Link back from where he's burrowed into his chest in the past few moments.

"...Twilight." 

"Yep, don't wear it out."

"Are you guys all really heroes from a goddess named Hylia, traveling across time on some magical quest?" 

"...yes?"

Link gives a frustrated, tired whine and flops back into his chest. 

"I called all of those guys crazy."

"I mean, they are."

"I said they were a cult." 

"...yeah, no, we're not that. More a representative democracy than anything, really."

Another silent moment passes between them. Link's other hand slips past his elbow to grip part of his tunic around his waist, leaning more heavily into him. Twilight brings his right arm from where it had been hanging at his side to encase the back of his head, gently pulling his fingers through Link's hair. It hadn't shrunk with him, leaving it falling in a tangled mess to his knees, and Twilight is happy to comb through it, chin pressed to his head, while he waits for Link to be ready. 

"Where'd your funny voice go?"

"My accent? It's always worse right after I switch back from being Wolfie, Cub."

"What's a cub? Why do you call me that?"

"A cub is a baby animal. Different names are for different baby animals. Usually, for wolves it's "pup", but that's the Old Man's nickname for me , so you're Cub, you little feral heathen."

"Who's the "Old Man" and why does he call you a baby animal name?" 

"Well, we think I'm his descendant, and I turn into a wolf, so Time calls me "Pup". He's also my mentor who helped me on my quest, kind of like you and me, plus he acts like he's everyone's dad, so we all call him "Old Man" to tease him a little." 

" Which one is he again?"

"He's got one eye and the red and blue facial markings." 

"Oh. I called him the cult leader."

Twilight laughs, and squeezes Link a little closer for a second.

"If you're his de-send-unt, and he's your mentor, and you're my mentor, am I your de-send-unt, too?" 

"Descendant , Cub. And probably. You're way farther into the future though, compared to me and him, so it's gonna be hard to know for sure."

"So, is he like, my ancient grandpa? Should I call him "Old Man" if he's my grandpa?"

Twilight laughs again, before his knees ache just enough. He scoops Link up as he stands, hearing his knees give a good crack while he lets the little one rest against his shoulder and chest. He would make him walk, if he hadn't just had an emotional outburst and if his tiny feet weren't bare. Leaving his hand on his back, Twilight starts picking his way down the path back to the others. 

"You should call Time "Grandpa" when we get back, Cub. It'll shock the boots off his feet for sure, as much as he likes to play the wise, stoic leader. And speakin’ of boots, where are your shoes? And your pants?"

The sun is leaning to the right in the sky when Twilight walks back into camp, Link gleefully sitting on his shoulders and holding onto his head. Twilight had tried to get him to walk, but he should have known better than to. 

Considering he spent months traveling with Link, he shouldn't have been surprised by the number of times he’d had to snatch the kid by the back of his shirt to keep him from disappearing in the trees. He’d even had to fish him out of a small pond, him barefoot and disapproving, Link dangling from his hand with two salmon in his arms, one trying to flop out from between his knees, and growling around the one in his mouth. 

Earlier Twilight, in the absolute shock of being named a father , had let the Wolf have his moment with stealing away Link, the absolute gremlin he is. Seriously, calling him his Dad in front of everyone? How is he gonna explain this ? 

Turns out he has a few more minutes to think about that, because as soon as he gets halfway across camp, everyone except Time rushes to him, clamoring with questions and accusations.

“ -now I’m a werewolf-”

“Wait, where’d Wolfie go?” 

“Twilight! You’re back!” 

“ -why didn't you talk to us, Link-”

"Nice to see you again."

“His rice balls are so good!”

" -seriously , he bit me- "

Time parts the crowd with cool indifference, raising a hand and waiting to speak as all of the other Links fall silent. On top of his head, Link shrinks back, hunkering closer to him, his grip on his hair tightening the smallest bit. Hoping it's comforting, Twilight squeezes the little ankle he's been holding like a handle while he meets Time's eye.

"Good to see you, Pup."

Time steps forward, engulfing him in a hug, knocking their heads lightly together. Twilight can feel the flex of his back and arms as he returns the embrace, ignoring the little wiggling feet between them as Link whines softly. His mentor sighs deeply behind his ear, too quiet for the others to catch, before pulling back, clapping a hand on his back as he says, "So, I take it Wolfie took Link to you? And that you know him, somehow?" 

"Yeah," Twilight says, recognizing it for what it is, an out. "Link, Wolfie, and I traveled together for parts of Link's journey, mostly to guide ‘im. This little bugger," he strokes the front of Link's bare leg to emphasize, "right here was a handful and a' half, but he's alright. Feral, but alright."

Everyone has shifted their gazes to stare above his head, where Link straightens his shoulders but leaves his hands in his hair, his heels digging into his chest. 

“So, do you know how old he is?”

He looks over to where Sky is set apart from the crowd, his hands up and open, the Master Sword strapped to his back. Twilight catches the flickering glances above his eyes, some kind of poorly hidden emotion twitching his mouth. Overtaken with opportunity, Twilight tries not to smile.

Giving a pat to his leg, Twilight says,” Tell ‘em, Link.” 

“...one hundred seventeen.” 

To interrupt everyone’s dumbfounded blinking, he laughs. Loudly. 

“Oh, Cub, that’s funny. Tell them how old you really are.”

Stumble on a tree root, Link. 

“One hundred seventeen?” 

Trip into a bog. Wake up to spoiled milk.

“Nooooooo.” He makes sure to put a teasing lilt when he drags out the “o”. 

“I am one hundred seventeen, Twi? What are you talking-”

“Cub, you’re seven . I know you still act like a grumpy old man when you skip naptime, but no one’s gonna judge ya-” 

Wind is giggling behind his hands, Four looks vaguely amused, and Time has completely slipped into a paternal warmth, fondly gazing at the child pouting on his head. 

“No!” With a little grunt, Link tries to throw himself off his shoulders, smashing his little heels into his armpits. Twilight grabs his ankles like straps of a rucksack and lets him thrash, his little head swinging into his back as Link does wild, rocking sit-ups and swings himself in an effort to break free. 

He protests the whole time, shoving and kicking and swinging as the entire camp watches them. Twilight lets him hang over his back when his energy runs out, his body weight ragdolling against him. An exhausted sigh is Twilight's cue to wrangle him into a bridal carry. 

"Cub, if you wanted to be let down, all you had to do was ask." He knows his face is entirely too smug as he talks to Link, who's frowning as he realizes what Twilight just did.

You deserve it, ya little monster. Someone's got to teach you manners.

Twilight bends down and carefully sets Link's feet next to his boot, checking for any particularly sharp rocks, before looking back to the others.

Link tiredly follows his gaze from where it had been by his shoes to see everyone watching him. Red burns into his face, and he immediately rounds Twilight's leg to hide underneath the trail of his pelt, his pants creasing where his hands hang on. 

“So, did you convince him of who we are? Or does he still think we’re a crazy cult?” Hyrule’s voice is a bit teasing as he leans down to peer under the ends of his pelt. 

“Nah,” Twilight smiles, “ I convinced ‘im that we’re not a cult. Didn’t say anything about being crazy, though.” 

There’s some caustic laughter, some acceptive grins, some nonchalant shrugs across camp, everyone well accustomed to their particular brand of “normal”. Earlier, Warriors or Legend might have argued about being crazy, but the last few days particularly should have tempered any of that. Even before being dropped in this Hyrule, their journey together had been strange and otherworldly, literally. 

“I-he is the hero, isn’t he?” 

Twilight turns again to look at Sky. This time, reluctancy and sadness grit his teeth and droop his mouth, the sword held steady in his hands, his hilt hand knuckled white. Twilight instantly sobers up, reconsidering his earlier teasing and what the importance of Link’s age would be to Sky. Sky , the Chosen Hero. Sky , the biggest mom-friend of the group. Sky , the one who-

Oh. Oh, Sky.

“Yes, he is.” Twilight says solemnly, reaching behind him to place a hand on Link’s head. To distract himself from the growing tension, he twists to look back at Link. Link, who’s barely larger than his hip, Link, who’s now developmentally somewhere around seven, Link, who looks up at him, clinging to him, and has huge, innocent but exhausted eyes, who’s hair is wild and long and dirty, who’s face and body is heavily scarred from laser burns-

Twilight almost feels sick with how easy it was for him to forget to see the scars on his protégé.

“So Fi should meet him, yes?”

Twilight straightens up and lets the pelt fall to hide Link away again, despite knowing he’ll need to step out soon. 

Just a few more minutes, please. Let him have that.

“He’s already gotten the Master Sword on his quest.”

“He has?” Surprise, pained surprise, hurt surprise. 

“Yes.” Stalling, stalling.

“Did he ever receive his hero title, then?”

“...no. The Royal Family named him the Hylian Champion and Zelda’s personal knight, but I don’t think that’s his hero title.” 

Confusion is heavy in the camp, Warriors particularly stretching his upper lip as his face sours. Four is staring deadfast at approximately where Link is, his shoulders hunched forward, eye colors flickering. Wind looks constipated, and even Time seems a little troubled. 

“So, Fi should tell us then, right? So we can get his nickname?”

“Yes.” 

Twilight takes a deep breath. 

“Come on out, Cub. There’s something you got to do.”

He leads Link out by the hand, the other resting on his back as he crouches down to be side by side with him. His hood is back up, his free hand fidgeting with his shirt hem as he fixates on Sky and the sword in his hands. On one foot, his toes clench, and Twilight’s heart clenches with it.

He’s so nervous. 

Sky unsheathes the sword, and takes a step forward. 

Why am I so nervous?

Another step. 

It’s just his hero title.

Sky raises the sword high above them, stepping closer still. Link is so small he doesn’t even have to kneel for Sky to knight him. 

It’s not like it’s going to hurt him. 

The blue glow of the sword illuminates the side of his face and casts light on Link’s cloaked shoulder. His grip on Twilight’s hand tightens, and Twilight has to consciously not tighten back. 

Sky lifts the sword carefully over Link’s head, holding it above his other shoulder, letting Fi work her magic. 

“Welcome,” Sky intones, ”Hero of the Wild.” 

Wild. 

Cub’s name is Wild. 

Sky sheathes the Master Sword away, the blue glow dimming as Fi goes back to rest. Li-Wild relaxes minorly, dropping Twilight’s hand, but not stepping away from the pressure on his back. Twilight doesn’t feel ready to stand up yet, so he stays crouched, despite the dig of rocks in his shin. 

“Okay, then.” Time claps, calling everyone's attention. “Boy’s, it’s too late to set out for travel, so spend the next few hours preparing to depart tomorrow. I think our littlest hero has somewhere to be, so let’s get him there soon, alright?”

The camp agrees, so more happily than others, and disperses to their own spots and responsibilities. Legend and Hyrule take out their polish and repair kits, settling down to clean buckles and sand blades. Wind drags Sky to some particular patch of trees down the incline, and Warriors plops down to brush his hair and scrutinize his face with a hand held mirror. Twilight isn’t sure how it hasn’t shattered yet. Time smiles at them, before gesturing to a certain spot, closer to the cliff edge, his mentor’s preferred method for asking to talk privately. He nods, and gathers Link up as he stands, taking an executive decision to walk him over to the log Warriors is preening against. 

He sits him on top, careful to avoid the moss, and pulls a washcloth out of his bag. He wets it with water from his canteen, and before Link can argue, he flips his hood down and briskly rubs his face clean, pushing one finger wrapped in cloth behind and along the backs of his ears. He sputters and whines, but Twilight is stronger than him, easily keeping him in place with one hand when he squirms and tries to push him away. Once he deems Wild’s face clean enough, he re-wets the cloth and hands it to him. 

“Wipe your arms and legs down, hear me?” he says sternly, pointing. “I don't want to see any mud on you when I get back. Let me know if you need more water.” 

As he straightens up to leave, he looks down at warriors and says,” I’m trusting you to make sure he gets clean, Wars.”

He ignores his squawk and hikes it over to Time and Four, who close rank as soon as he steps close enough. 

Twilight takes one look at Time’s face and says, with a bit more hesitation than he planned, “What’s up, Old Man?”

“Twilight,  did you have sex-”

“ No-! ”

“I’m not mad, I just need to know-” 

Four calls to Wild across the camp, “Wild, who’s your mother?”

Wild, the ever chaotic force of nature he is, yells,” A cucco!” Twilight bets he doesn’t even know what they’re talking about, but he looks too pleased underneath his hood to be sure. 

“Twilight, what did you do.”

“I think you know what he did.” Legend reports as he staggers up, having left his supplies with Hyrule. He pauses, looks Twilight in the eye, and then says, ”Twilight, the Cucco-Fucker.” 

“Legend I will push you off this cliff-”

“Okay, okay, we can’t call Twilight “Cucco-Fucker” with Wild around, he’s like seven, Legend, watch your mouth.” Four’s amused, but he crosses his arms on that last bit, jerking his head to where Warriors is now distracting a disgusted Wild with some kind of face cream.  

“I didn’t fuck anything! I’m not Warriors!”

“ Hey, now-”

“Boys! Boys,” Time’s recovered from Legend’s smart mouth, his face still tinged pink as he pushes his hair back, “ we have a seven year old. Please don’t talk about -”

“Talk about what?” 

With mounting horror, everyone in their little group turns to look down at Wild, his cloak left splayed across the log. In his hands is his washcloth, dry and mostly dirty. Pure little eyes blink up at them, before he stretches out his hands farther and says, ”A little more?”

Twilight mechanically pulls out his canteen and re-wets the cloth. He doesn’t think anyone knows what to say, four Heroes of Courage silent and frozen due to a seven year old.

“Talk about what?” he repeats.

“Things that are not for little ears, Wild.” Warriors says sagely, comfortably scooping him up, “Twilight’s done something too dirty for clean little ears like yours to hear.” Wild surprisingly doesn't fight being held, but he does argue with him over having clean, little ears. 

“Hey! I’ve committed murder too!”

“No, no, not murder, Wild. Something much, much worse.” Warriors says in a tone Twilight would usually hate hearing, but right now, he’ll take anything over explaining sex to de-aged Wild. Or being called “Cucco-Fucker”. 

They watch as Warriors helps Wild scrub off the last of the mud, before plunking him down in his lap, one hand holding his comb above Wild’s head. Twilight’s too relieved to even tease Wild about the absolute rat’s nest his mane is. 

Time clears his throat, the tip of his fist touching his pale nose, his good eye still wide. “Let’s talk about this later, more privately. Sometime while the rest of the group is busy, including W-I-L-D, okay?”

Legend, Four, and Twilight all nod and then immediately disperse to their normal activities. Twilight goes to chop firewood, face stained red, because Warriors has Wild docile in his lap as he works through the knots and tangles with patience. Some physical activity should wear him out. 

Dinner is to be skewered roasted bass and mushrooms as the sun goes down, Wild just waking from his nap inside Twilight’s pelt. Warriors had sneaked it for him while he chopped the fire wood that was now smoking. His little cheeks are flushed from the heat of his nap, and he groggily unwraps himself beside Warriors, half asleep and hazy. Slowly, he blinks, observing Time chopping the mushrooms to be skewered. 

The rest of camp is abuzz, Hyrule, Four, and Wind debating over weapons. Twilight is jotting down today in his own journal, noting anything of importance about Wild’s Hyrule, a habit he’d long dropped but never forgotten. Sky chimes into the debate here and there, overseeing the others as he works on a wood carving. Legend is rearranging his infinite ring collection for the millionth time in the light of the fire, muttering to himself. 

Wild fully unwraps himself, struggling to his feet, not acknowledging when Warriors reaches out a hand from his romance novel to keep him from tumping over on his way to the wash bucket. After rinsing, he staggers over to Time, rubs his eye, and says, “Okay, Grandpa, I can cook dinner now. Gimme the knife.” 

Time freezes mid-cut, the knife comically left in a large mushroom as he looks down at Wild, who, for his part, doesn’t react. He just blinks up at Time again, grunts, and makes grabby hands. 

“I-I, I can’t give you a knife, Wild. You’re seven. I’ll cut the mushrooms for you.” 

Wild whines, stamps his foot, and moves on, walking around the stump Time has placed the cutting board on. He snatches up a metal skewer and carefully spears a piece of mushroom on. He then follows up with a thin fillet of fish, folded in on itself in layers, bleary eyes not noting Time’s shocked and almost adoring stare. 

When Wild’s little fingers reach for another piece, Time resets, continuing to chop the Hylian Shrooms Wind and Hyrule has picked earlier. Twilight sees how his one good eye constantly darts between his own hands and Wild’s as they work, how conscious he is of the sleepy little one roasting dinner, pulling his cloak away from the lick of the flames and ignoring Wild’s dismissals or indifference. The others gather closer as the fire light illuminates more and more of the camp, the sun going to bed like they should be. 

Dinner is delicious, a welcome change, plans are made, and watches are set. Wild is tucked into his sleeping roll with him, Twilight now on “Nap Duty”, a little warm bundled against his chest and under his arm. Legend grumbles about another night in this freezing spot in “the middle of nowhere” and Time replies by telling him to go to sleep and they’ll go to the village tomorrow, to which Legend squawks, “The village?!” Time just shushes him, reprimanding him for his volume at night with the “little ones” sleeping. A little one would have protested his moniker had he not actually been sleeping under Twilight’s arm, hands curled up to his face, his feet lightly poking into his hip. Twilight takes one last look at his deceptively angelic face before reminding himself, yes, this is a demon, and closing his own eyes, letting his senses tune in and out of the world around them.

Goodnight, Cub.