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Crickets practiced their symphony somewhere in the thick, lush grass of Lon Lon Ranch. They may have been small, but they played with all of their little hearts, for they had an audience of a million stars, a half moon, and a ranch owner. Time couldn’t see them from his seat by the front door—a high-backed bench long enough for three people—but they must’ve been close. He could even hear them over the muffled racket of the other heroes’ lively chatter inside his home. If he wanted total peace and quiet, he could head out to the barn on the other side of the ranch’s fenced-in field. With a whole horse corral between him and the house, his thoughts would be able to ride the animals’ quiet breathing like a meditative river.
But this was just fine, by Time’s reckoning. He had music to keep him company, and that was enough. Though, there was one more thing missing that he couldn’t help but—
The door opened, and for a brief instant, the crickets’ melody was drowned out by the din of chatter and laughter within. In the array of lantern-light that spilled out, a familiar figure emerged carrying a tea cup in each hand. She looked over her shoulder and thanked whoever had helped open the door. As it gently clicked shut and reined the noise back within, she turned and closed the gap between them, the grass rustling under her boots.
“Tea?” Malon asked with a smile—one that said I already know what you’re gonna say, among many things.
Time smiled a dozen thoughts of his own right back at her. “Please.”
She handed him his cup (warm and filled with four spoons of sugar and plenty of Lon Lon milk) and took a seat beside him. With her own tea (warm and black) cupped in hand, she leaned against him while his firm arm encircled her shoulders.
They sat together and sipped their tea in contented silence. He traced aimless, lazy circles on the soft skin of her arm while she relished in the warmth radiating from his chest. For each of them, the soothing ebb and flow of their matched breathing beat the best rocking chair any day of the week. For a moment, the ruckus inside was a mere murmur in the distance, and there was only peace.
Until Malon felt Time’s chest begin to tremor. She turned to look at his face and found it stretched and contorted by a strained smile, the one that she knew meant he was trying his darndest not to laugh. The sight brought up a smile of her own. “What?” she giggled.
He opened his mouth to say something, but it clamped shut like a bear trap while his eye squeezed nearly closed. He set his cup down and covered his mouth with his hand, finally letting some laughter spill into his palm.
“What?” she giggled again, now desperate to be in on whatever joke had set Time off.
He opened his eye and took a deep, steadying breath in before pulling his hand away and turning to his wife. “Before we arrived here,” he chuckled, “we were in the pup’s era, and he took us to—”
“Wait—the pup?"
“Yes, the pup. You know, our boy?” He pulled her in a little closer, but she pushed herself away again and fixed him with a mild glare (that was belied by the upward turns at the corners of her mouth).
“Link Lon, you do not call him that!” she chided. But despite her best efforts, a giggle slipped out, with more following as they carried on.
“Why not?” he asked with a cheeky grin, his chuckles flowing alongside her giggles.
“Well . . . besides the fact that it sounds like you’re calling him a helpless little puppy?”
“Where was this outrage when you learned they call me ‘old man?’”
With more than a little cheek of her own, Malon squinted her eyes, held a hand up to her pointed ear, and turned it towards him. “Wha-What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of your knees poppin’, dear.”
They laughed together before she settled back against him. “He needs a proper name,” she uttered.
“He has one, darling, but he shares it with the rest of us.”
With the speed of a rattlesnake strike, Malon turned, punched him in the chest with a solid thunk, and settled back down against him—all in one fluid motion. “Oh hush, you know what I mean.”
After catching his breath and laughing, Time leaned his head atop hers and asked, “Well, what do you propose?”
Malon tap-tap-tapped the side of her tea cup with her index finger before letting out a sigh. “I don’t know, we’ll sort that out later. Now go on, you were in his time and . . . ?”
“And he saw that we were near his home village, so he—”
Malon turned to him with wide eyes. “It’s called Ordon, right? Did he take you there? Did you see it?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. It’s small—smaller even than Kakariko was when we first met. He took us to—”
A sharp gasp pierced out from her lips. “Did you meet his family?”
Now it was Time who fixed her with a soft glare. “Do you want to hear the story or not?” he teased.
She answered with another rattlesnake punch, this one much softer, and settled in with her mouth coiled shut. He chuckled some more before pulling her a little closer to him. He settled his chin atop the crown of her head and gently rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm.
“He introduced us to the family that raised him. His family in every way but blood.”
“Rusl, Uli, Colin, and . . . Lucy, right?”
Time nodded with an affirmative hum. Malon giggled, almost in disbelief. Twilight had told her and Time all about his family on that first night the heroes had spent on the ranch, but to hear about them from her husband was different. It made them more real, somehow.
“He’s a big brother," she almost whispered, beaming at the thought.
Time nodded and hummed. “Through and through.”
She tittered some more. “Tell me about them. How old are they?”
“Well, Rusl is perhaps two or three years older than me—”
Malon turned and lifted her fist with a crooked eyebrow and a smirk that said Don’t try me, mister.
Time laughed. “Colin is about fourteen, and Lucy, four.”
Malon lowered her fist and eyebrow and settled back against him with a smile. “All right, then, go on,” she urged.
“Well, they brought us into their home and Uli served us some tea.” As if to emphasize a point, he slurped down the last of his drink before setting the cup aside. “So we all sip from our cups and enjoy this tea, when—”
A wave of giggles seized upon him and brought his tale to a halt. When he regained enough control to try and resume, another wave stymied him again. “When,” he finally choked out, “the veteran—hnhnhn—the veteran proclaims—khkhkh—proclaims—”
He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder and trembled with silent laughter. A wide grin painted Malon’s face and her heart sat on a precipice, desperate to hear what followed. Her grin stretched with excitement when Time finally lifted his head.
“He proclaims ‘Whoa, this is'—KHHNKHHNKHHN—'this is some gourmet shit!'"
Malon’s hand flew to her open mouth to catch the gasped cackling that bubbled out. Her husband continued on, gasping and wheezing.
“And then Lucy . . . Lucy said . . .”
Malon’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped, expelling a gasp that was just as horrified as it was entertained, because she knew there was only one way this story could go.
“Lucy said, ‘goh—’HNHNHN—‘GOH-MAY SHIT!’”
The chorus of laughter they bellowed together put their previous mirth to shame. Tears welled at Malon’s eyes. She curled forwards, struggling to breathe through the weight crushing around her ribs until she spilt the last of the tea from her cup. She gasped again in surprise, her hand cupped over her mouth, until her wide eyes met her husband’s. Then she laughed even harder.
They laughed and laughed together, their sides burning and their eyes watering, for what felt like hours. Just as they finally began to settle down, the door to the house opened and out came Warriors, strolling leisurely. As he pushed the door closed behind him, he turned to the laughing couple with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“I’m going for a walk . . .” he said.
Malon sucked in a few breaths, wrangling her composure back under control before facing the captain. She tried to speak through a smile so wide that her cheeks felt like they would soon meet her ears. “O-Okay then, dear—hnhnhnhnhn. We’ll s-see you when you get back.”
The captain, however, made no move to leave. His eyebrow only inched a little higher.
Time took a deep breath. “I was—kh—telling her abou-about the veteran’s vocabulary less—”
He could go no further and broke down again, but it was enough to send Warriors’s head flying back as he burst out into laughter, too. The captain shook his head with a grin as he turned and headed off toward the corral.
Alone again, Time and Malon laughed and giggled and snickered together until they finally regained control of their sides, their breaths, and their smiles. They sat comfortably nestled against each other, his arm around her shoulders and her knee resting on his. She leaned her head on his collarbone and breathed in his scent (fir trees and fresh grass) while his chest lifted her head in a steady, gentle rhythm.
The crickets played their tune and the other heroes still stirred up a ruckus within. But above it all, Malon only had ears for the gentle buh-bum of her husband’s heart. Like a beloved, antique clock or a dependable metronome, it was constant, steady, and reliable.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she cooed.
He tilted his head and nestled the corner of his mouth into the soft strands of her hair. His voice rumbled in her ear, soft and rich. “I am too.”
There was nothing more they needed to say. They sat together for a long moment, his finger doodling on her arm, and her hand resting on his chest. Together, they breathed, and relished each other’s presence, and listened to cricket music. But every moment ends—and every moment’s end is another’s beginning.
Malon tilted her head just enough to peek up towards her husband and asked, with the nonchalance of discussing dinner: “Ya wanna go upstairs and fool around?”
Time answered with a long, lazy nod, and a long, lazy hum: mmmMMMHm.
She took his hand with one of her own, her tea cup with the other, and led him inside. When she pulled the door open, the warmth and laughter within spilled out into the night. The lovers made their way inside, hand-in-hand and smiling, and left the stars to their cricket symphony.
THE END