Chapter Text
From the time he was a young fledgling, the mark on Revali’s beak preceded any impression he could hope to make. And not in a good way.
The Goddesses engraved all creations with their Parting Words, and Revali was no different. But Revali’s words, which followed the curve of his upper mandible with jagged black letters, would always elicit the same response: a suppressed gasp, then a nervous laugh, then a swift change of subject.
Sometimes, though, the change of subject wasn’t swift enough.
“Why are you looking at me funny?” Revali would ask whoever deserved it. At first he figured it was something fixable; a stray feather, food on his beak, his tunic tied wrong—so the dumbfounded silence that usually followed ticked him off. “Huh? I asked you a question. Do you have a problem with me?”
Instead of a lecture about fledglings respecting their elders, Revali’s brashness usually inspired a very specific expression that he would later in life realize was an ‘oh, this makes sense’ moment.
“Your son sure is…something,” the enlightened offender would say to his mother.
“He is, isn’t he?” She’d respond. Revali was old enough to recognize she was exaggerating some part of that, whether it was her own sincerity or the principle of defending her son. “Nothing gets past my Revali.”
“Well, you might want to address his taunting.”
A laugh, somewhat bitter. “You know that isn’t how it works.”
Revali usually clocked out of the conversation at this point, embracing his role as a blissfully unaware fledgling being spoken about as though he were someplace far away. He didn’t forget it happened, though; just mentally added another link to the chain. At his age, he couldn’t read yet, couldn’t fly, couldn’t conceptualize Parting Words and the many contexts in which they might take place. But Revali could recognize patterns, and the strange interactions his beak always stirred up was a long one.
Death as a concept eluded Revali until his pre-teen years, when his mother whispered the exact phrase etched onto her alula before her final breath rattled in her throat. What Revali lost in light that day, he gained in solemn understanding.
He remembered the way her digit brushed against his beak. Revali saw it in her eyes that she had been wanting to say it for a long time, perhaps holding back because she wasn’t ready for the disastrous domino effect it would have on his life.
“You’ll probably want to cover those, sweetheart.”
The two ends of Revali’s pattern-chain clicked, it all came full circle and his life changed forever. His words were a blight, one so shameful that being allowed to grow up with them on full display felt almost abusive.
His father eventually endorsed his use of orange war paint each morning, helped him smear it over the black letters to conceal what was, by that point, common knowledge amongst Rito Village: the knowledge that he would die a shameful, shameful death. And even though Revali couldn’t see his mark unless he looked in mirror (which he seldom did), the jagged words were burned into his memory like a mental branding. Is that all you’ve got, weakling?
Similarly enlightened fledglings made sure to acknowledge his portended failure. Revali couldn’t even blame them, what with its agonizing straightforwardness. Parting Words were usually vague enough to suggest all types of circumstances; I love you, or it’s okay, or even a haunting I knew it would have been preferable. Instead, Revali’s words painted a singular picture of his loose beak provoking the very thing that would shut it up for good.
As a result, if he made it through a day without a mocking, “Fight me, weakling!” yelled at him, then it was probably because he had spent said day locked away in his room. Sometimes Revali’s rage boiled over and he did fight them, a last-ditch effort to shut the world up. It never worked.
“What are you going to do about it, weakling?” Revali often heard once the elders turned away and the younglings were left to play. He was usually shoved, sometimes grabbed, and he wriggled in his captors hold as they said, “I’ve got a lot more than this.”
“Quit picking on me!” He’d cry, trying to find purchase on their shoulders to shove them into the closest wooden pillar. “It’s not like I can help it!”
“Aw, is somebody afraid?”
After he’d been beaten to a pulp enough times to satiate a large crowd of orange juice enthusiasts, Revali’s desperation forced him to wonder if he could help it, if he tried hard enough. On top of being scourged by what he mentally referred to as his Parting Taunt, the Goddesses also decided to make Revali about five inches shorter than the average Rito, rendering him weaker than most…but also quicker. Maybe, he thought, he could use that with his keen eyesight to do—something. If only he could get his digits on a bow and arrow and find out what.
Weeks later, he padded into the chieftain’s alcove, staring down at his talons as the words he rehearsed all night tumbled out in an abrupt exhale.
“I want to be a warrior. I want to learn how to fight.”
When he found the courage to look up, the chieftain had a pitiful softness in his eyes as though Revali had asked to adopt a stray dog. “Is that so, youngling? You want to train to be a Rito Warrior?”
“Yes. That’s what I said,” said Revali, less intimidated in the face of his chieftain’s clear slowness.
“I am assuming you have thought very hard about this, young one. Becoming a warrior involves tremendous sacrifice. Tremendous...risk. You’ve hardly been flying for a year.”
“I have thought about it,” he snapped. There could never be enough warriors protecting the village, therefore Revali was certain he was the only volunteer to ever be passive aggressively talked out of it. “I’ve already thought about all these things and I’ve still decided I want to do it, so you can’t turn me away.”
The look he got in return made Revali feel like he’d just proven someone else’s point, which soured the chieftain’s next words considerably. “…Very well, then. You’ll start tomorrow.”
And so for years, Revali arduously prepared for his fated encounter, fueled by a completely self-conjured idea that his words might change to something more honorable if he became the sharpest archer in the village. So he trained, and he overcompensated, and he concealed his words with paint, and he didn’t take any nonsense from anyone. He wanted to become strong, so strong that no one would be able to defeat him.
But his words didn’t change, not even when Revali was recognized as the best archer in the village. Nor did they change when he figured out how to generate a blustering updraft that rivaled the pit of the Flight Range. They didn’t even change when he was named the Rito Champion and chosen to pilot Vah Medoh. And for as much as Revali enjoyed to gloat, this reality tinted his accomplishments with a grey sheen of pointlessness. How could praise from his village feel authentic when their gazes lingered not on the sky-blue scarf around his neck, but the shamefully applied paint on his beak?
That darkness sealing sword would be the death of him. Or maybe it was the insufferable knight who, by the grace of some irreversible cosmic mistake, got to wield it. Link was a thorn in Revali’s side that dug deep, denting the metal shell of his trauma-hardened heart. Because lucky or not, even if Link expended only half the blood, sweat and tears Revali had to pull that sword, he would always be considered stronger. He would always be considered more important.
He didn’t have anything to prove like Revali did. That sword proved it all. Revali hated him for it, but a strange, insecure corner of his brain was also afraid he had met the person he’d one day sneer at and call a weakling.
(He knew this wouldn’t be the case, of course, if not because they were technically on the same team then because Link was agonizingly calm and occasionally pacifistic; Revali deliberately provoked him enough times to conclude his buttons could be battered senseless and Link would still refrain from using violence to shut him up. Usually he would smirk, sometimes roll his eyes, more recently began talking back. Revali would keep a close eye on that, in case Link’s surprisingly sharp retorts were a gateway into swift decapitation.)
Things wouldn’t be so bad if Revali were allowed to spend his days isolated in the bowels of Vah Medoh, shooting at targets and tinkering with the controls he’d figured out a week into piloting. But being a Champion meant meetings and ceremonies and other delightful events that forced him to interact with the individuals he was meant to eradicate the Calamity with. And Revali could tell anyone who bothered to ask one thing: saving the world together didn’t mean you automatically got along.
Today, they had been called for a meeting with the King. Revali couldn’t make heads or tails of the summoning letter Zelda had sent him, but the smudged ink and crinkled parchment suggested it would have something to do with her personal shortcomings thus far. Zelda’s Parting Words, printed on the inside of her wrist, was the promising declaration I suppose it all worked out, so Revali couldn’t understand her internal strife as much as the other Champions seemed to. It wasn’t like her words implied a humiliating death, or anything.
As usual, Revali arrived first to the meeting. It was sunny outside so he waited in the courtyard, resisted the urge to preen his flight-ruffled feathers and tap his talons impatiently. Mipha arrived next, drip-drying from her commute in the Lanayru Wetland rivers. She gave Revali a kind smile and wasted no time bothering him.
“Second again. I’ll beat you to it next time.”
“You certainly will,” said Revali, failing to mention he was unaware they were punctuality rivals. It reeked of Mipha trying to have a thing with him, an inside joke of sorts, but he digressed. “This is the last time I foolishly arrive early to a meeting Urbosa is also attending. We’ll be lucky to get out of here by sundown.”
“Urbosa won’t make the King wait too long, or Zelda for that matter.” Mipha’s gaze wandered to the gardens as she added absentmindedly, “I wonder when Link will get here, or if he’s already inside…”
Revali suppressed a snort, partially to meet his daily politeness quota and partially because his gaze suddenly fell to the words scribbled on Mipha’s shoulder fin. It wasn’t the first time he had read them, but they nagged at him like a keese today. Perhaps it was because he contrasted them with the unyielding, often annoying sweetness Mipha always showed him. Sweetness she would have continued to show Revali even if he had let that snort slip.
I’m so sorry, the words read. Revali sighed.
“I’m sure the little knight will get here soon. Unfortunately.”
“Yes, and if he doesn’t I know he would have a good reason. Link has so many responsibilities nowadays, being Zelda’s appointed protector and all. He’s just amazing.”
Mipha’s fawning somewhat dulled Revali’s prior reflection about her sweetness, but whiplash knocked that thought right out of his head when she asked, out of the blue, “Revali, do the Rito have Parting Words?”
He flinched as though she had struck him. “Of course they do, why wouldn’t they?”
“Oh! I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend you, really. I just, you see…I haven’t met many Rito in my life. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen yours before. So I was just wondering…”
Relief that Revali’s village hadn’t spread news of his impending disgrace was quickly replaced with dread at the prospect of delivering such news personally. He couldn’t and wouldn’t.
“If you simply must know, I do have a mark. I just prefer not to waltz around with it on full display for anyone’s viewing.”
“Oh. I see. Why don’t you?”
Revali was halfway through an improvised response about the importance of concealing all weaknesses when a sweat-sheened Link sauntered up to them. Normally Revali’s mood would have soured further, but Link’s interruption took Mipha off his back about the Parting Words thing, so he could let it slide this once. Link gave them both a nod as he tied his hair back, which Mipha returned with a gushing welcome and Revali with a curt look in the other direction.
“You beat Daruk and Urbosa here,” said Mipha, apparently still devoted to her rapport-building punctuality race. “Revali beat me, though.”
“I’ll take third,” said Link, with the comfortable ease of someone who ranked first in everything that actually mattered. “Isn’t that the one with the treasure chest?”
Revali was now properly irked.
“No, no. Your logic is inherently flawed because it implies first is the worst. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“Would that be a problem?” asked Link, with decidedly put-on confusion.
“Oh, let me think. On the grounds that sealing the darkness would be impossible without my assistance, yes. It would be a problem.”
“Your logic also implies second is the best, Link. Right?” Mipha cut in. She had hope in her voice and a dusting of blush on her cheeks that made Revali embarrassed to be taking this as seriously as she was. The monotony of these royal meetings was getting to him, surely.
Link placed a friendly pat on her shoulder. “Sure, I can agree with that.”
“How special. I’m going inside now,” said Revali flatly, because sitting in silence with King Rhoam sounded far better than navigating the twists and turns of this unfortunate trifecta’s dynamic. “And I’ll be sure to tell the princess you’ve been loitering around doing…Hylia knows what, by the looks of it.” He gestured at Link, who looked like he’d sprinted from the Akkala Highlands and whose feet were already in hot water as far as Zelda was concerned.
That fact was the only thing keeping Revali sane, at times.
“I’m sweaty because I was running a bootcamp for the squires. The King asked me to.”
Swallowing the words ‘of course he did’, Revali just hummed and turned to leave.
“Wait! We still have plenty of time to spare. Revali and I were just talking about Parting Words, Link.” Mipha placed a cool hand on Revali’s shoulder and ushered him back to their circle, which felt a lot like being held hostage by a naïve yet manipulative child. “Revali, have you seen Link’s yet? They’re really quite special.”
“I haven’t and I don’t care to.”
“Oh, Link. You have to show him.”
Link looked at Revali with an expression he couldn’t categorize. If he was seeking permission, Revali certainly wasn’t going to give it to him, returning his odd gaze with what he hoped was a terribly inconvenienced one.
Unfortunately, Revali must have let his single crumb of curiosity slip through the cracks, because Link lifted a hand to his collar and tugged the fabric down so that the loopy, fine brown ink beneath his collarbone was visible.
I’ve lived a good life, it read.
Revali rolled his eyes. “Now that’s just bragging.”
“See, I think a good future for Link spells a good future for all of us,” said Mipha. Revali caught a glimmer in her eyes that made him suspect she wasn’t just talking about the future of Hyrule. “You should be glad for it, Revali. I know I am.”
“Yes, I’m sure his mark spells a wonderful future for that tunic you’re making him,” said Revali, because stirring the pot was the best way to change a subject. And suddenly, Revali was feeling like a chef.
Link released his shirt, covering the mark back up. “What tunic?”
Mipha’s features, possibly for the first time in her life, twisted in a novel animosity that filled Revali with glee. She looked right at him as she said, “I’m afraid you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Link scratched his nose, and Revali’s impressive peripheral vision forced him to notice the smirk hidden beneath that gloved hand. He huffed.
“Pardon me, I always forget how highly the Zora value covertness. Like a water octorok waiting to pounce. Maybe it’s because the Rito prefer to speak our minds as we please.”
“It’s never a bad thing to learn from other cultures, Revali,” said Link, who was still grinning. No doubt he knew about the tunic, and Mipha wasn’t as covert as she liked to think.
Said stealth failure pounced on the opportunity for redirection, all according to Revali’s plan. Or perhaps she pounced on the opportunity to gloat about Link—definitely not according to Revali’s plan.
“Link’s right. He’s travelled everywhere there is to travel in Hyrule. He’s kind of like a cultural melting pot! Meanwhile I hardly even leave the Domain except to come here.”
“Isn’t that lovely.” Revali grimaced as a memory of Link clad in a Snowquill Headdress, dining with the village elders surfaced in his mind. “Then I suspect he knows we Rito expect Hylians to use fishing rods instead of their bare hands, next time he decides to grace Lake Totori with his cultured presence.”
Link shrugged. “I learned how to fish from the Zora.”
“From me,” corrected Mipha, desperate for everyone in the vicinity to be aware of their special fishing time together. Well, she chose the wrong Rito to envy monger, because Revali couldn’t have cared less. “Do you even know how to use a fishing rod, Link? We never bothered with those in the Domain.”
“I don’t even know how,” Link agreed easily, amusement-crinkled eyes trained on Revali. “My apologies to the Rito.”
Tendrils of loathing wrapped around Revali’s guts and squeezed. Where he provoked Link loudly and proudly, Link’s swordsmanship taught him how to twist the knife with only a few words and absurdly expressive eyes. Never one to betray personal offense, Revali just dusted off his old, practiced snort with rote ease.
“The melting pot is stuck in his old ways, then. How very uncultured.” He heaved a sigh, like this was all very troubling yet tragically beneath him. “Then again, I suppose not everything can be taught. I can’t teach you to fly, for instance.”
Link nodded. “You’re right. And Mipha probably can’t teach you the Zora art of subtlety.”
Mipha giggled beneath a dainty hand, perhaps choosing to ignore that Link just dished a two-pronged blow. Revali rolled his eyes, wished Zelda were here instead of her. He wasn’t above admitting that socially, this conversation was stacked against him, and he felt just as uncomfortable as he did whenever he was left alone with Daruk (if Revali considered Link to be his social opposite, then the Goron Champion was just about—)
Revali’s train of thought was interrupted by said Champion coiled into a ball, barreling towards them at a breakneck speed. Daruk’s massive body extended to a stand once he stopped at Link’s feet, and Revali’s headache took off sprinting before he even opened his mouth.
“Oh-ho! Look who wasn’t last this time!” Said Daruk, punching a meaty fist into the air. “And I’m the only one coming from the top of a mountain.”
“A mountain that’s on fire, even,” supplemented Link, reaching up to pat his shoulder.
“Are you really that surprised?” Revali snapped. He was tired of this topic. “Urbosa wouldn’t be on time even if she was coming from Hyrule Castle itself.”
Daruk laughed. “Is the heat getting to you, buddy? Well, those feathers certainly can’t be helping.”
Revali shot a pointed look to Link. “Something’s getting to me, all right.”
“Revali and I got here first,” Mipha explained for the third time now, which ignited a rage in Revali so profound he had to take several deep breaths and mentally teleport to the private shores of Lurelin Village to quell it. “To be precise, Revali got here before me.”
He felt Link’s eyes on him as he waged a dicey battle against an insult so personalized it would certainly make Mipha cry, so Revali shouldn’t have been surprised when the insufferable knight just had to add, “I got here third, Daruk.”
“Not bad, little guy! Especially with all you’ve got goin’ on.”
Revali had been more intellectually stimulated watching the village fledglings chirp the alphabet. So much so that he began reciting it in his head while the idiots around him, Hyrule’s only hopes, recounted that third was the one with the treasure chest. Revali recited the alphabet forwards, then backwards, then he tried skipping every other letter, did that backwards until he was fresh out of ways to mix it up.
“Link showed Revali his words right before you got here, too,” said Mipha, as Revali was mentally attempting to multiply letters. “He hadn’t seen them yet.”
“Correct. Mainly because I couldn’t be bothered to care.”
Beneath the currents of Daruk’s enthusiasm, Revali’s retort choked and drowned completely unnoticed.
“Oh yeah? The little guy has some pretty promising ink on him. I like to think it relates to our, you know, big task we’ve got looming over us.” The hand scratching Daruk’s beard poked into swell of his left pectoral, where big black letters spelled the word ‘Goro’. Daruk’s laugh rumbled in his chest as he shook his head. “This, though. I’ve long since given up considering the context. Could be anything. Heck, I say that word about a hundred times a day!”
“I also tend to apologize a lot.” Mipha flexed her shoulder forward, craning her neck to appraise her words with a frown. “For most of us, it really is impossible to know what the words will mean…until the time comes.”
The heavy silence that followed pressured Revali to share an anecdote about his words, but he was nothing if not stubborn. He admired his feathers, cleared his throat and waited for it to pass. In his defense, Link hadn’t offered any thoughts either, although silence was anticipated from him in a way that Revali’s loose beak had never earned. Ignoring the way Mipha blinked expectantly at him, Revali mentally thanked the Goddesses for her lack of assertiveness.
Daruk, on the other hand—there was a sudden desperation in those small eyes that only his resentment of conversational lulls could inspire. Revali knew a few more beats of silence would precede a question he’d sooner resign control over Medoh before answering, so he cleared his throat to change the subject.
“What’s the hold up, everyone?”
A familiar voice saved Revali from commenting on the weather, of all things. When he turned to his savior, Urbosa was taking long, magnificent strides towards their circle, heels clacking against the stone pathway.
“Waiting for me?” she asked with a knowing smile.
“We always are,” drawled Revali, masking how relieved he felt. And then, before Mipha could recite the order in which everyone arrived, he added, “Let’s hurry up. If we go in right away, we might be able to start and end early.”
“Oh, but there’s still time before we’re expected. It’s so nice to just…chat, sometimes,” sighed Mipha. “Don’t you agree?”
Revali had to assume that back at the Domain, young Sidon was being particularly high maintenance today. It rather explained her sudden penchant for small talk and dragging things out. He didn’t like it, preferred Mipha to keep as quiet as Link.
“That’s what post-meeting loitering is for. You’re in luck, because the King does plenty of it,” he said, readying himself to turn away.
“Who ruffled your feathers today? It’s too nice out to be in such a rush,” said Urbosa at the tail-end of a yawn, a leisurely hand on her hip. As was the theme of today, Revali’s eyes fell to the ink printed just above her index finger. No choice but to brave it.
Another squeeze to his battered guts. Out of each Champion’s words, Link’s fluffy sentimentality included, Revali was perhaps most envious of Urbosa’s. Her words spelled a similar fate to his—dying in battle—but they were honorable. They predicted a sort of dignified, sacrificial exit from the world. Meanwhile, Revali’s mark predicted annihilation by the blade of hubris. He shuddered as the reminder trickled down his spine like sewage.
Is that all you’ve got, weakling?
“Ruffling Revali’s feathers? Who do you think?” Daruk laughed. By way of answering his own question, he clapped a large hand on Link’s back so that the knight had no choice but to stumble forward, landing closer to Revali than the latter would have ever preferred him to be. Used to the Goron’s robust appreciation, Link gave a weak laugh as he rubbed his back. When he looked up at Revali, there was a quirk in his brow that dared him to confirm Daruk’s accusation.
Revali did no such thing, only took an obvious step backwards.
“It isn’t Link’s fault,” said Mipha, with a slim finger pointed skyward. “Revali has been angry with me ever since I asked what his words are.”
“Oh, sweet girl. You don’t just ask someone to reveal personal details like that,” said Urbosa, reminding Revali why she was the dullest thorn in his side. But then, “Especially not someone who gets angry when he’s looked at wrong.”
Revali bristled. “Oh, forgive me for not wanting everyone to speculate how I’ll die someday,” he spat. “And frankly, when we have so many other things to worry about, I find death words an odd concept to perseverate on. Especially if you’re going to call me the negative one!”
There was an awkward silence that Daruk must have detested but Revali was prepared to let fester into full-on sepsis, until suddenly:
“Revali has a point.”
It was perhaps the first time Link had broken any silence, ever. And in doing so, it stunned Revali into a dumbfounded:
“What?!”
Link shrugged as though he hadn’t just defied all expectations (Revali sourly reckoned he was used to doing as much) and continued.
“It isn’t productive to focus on words that aren’t even going to be spoken for—” Link’s voice abruptly dipped in volume, either for emphasis or because he wasn’t used to sustaining attention for so long— “for who knows how long, hopefully. What matters is what we say to each other now, since we’re a team.”
A relieved Daruk raised his brows. “Well put, little guy. Who knew you had it in you?”
Revali ground his beak. The ‘we’re a team’ sentiment felt a bit like Link had been reading too many of Impa’s ancient Sheikah parables, but even so he found himself doing something he never, ever did: biting his tongue before it lashed out a reflexive insult.
“As much as it pains me to admit it—and I mean physical pain, here—I think myself and the little knight are on the same page,” was the best Revali could manage, pointedly looking at everyone but Link. “If not for me, then for the princess, who I’m certain cares more about eradicating the ticking time bomb beneath the castle than pondering whether or not we’ll all croak at the hands of it.”
Maybe he was projecting with that last part, because it was a possibility Revali considered on particularly gloomy days. For whatever it was worth, he had no intentions of calling the Calamity a weakling. He also knew fate didn’t care about intentions.
“This is truly revolutionary,” said Urbosa, resting an elbow on Mipha’s shamefully downturned head. “You two are getting along. Hylia, maybe there is hope, after all.”
“Mm. I’d hardly go that far,” muttered Revali.
“I’m so sorry for asking about your words, Revali.” Mipha suddenly looked up and stepped forward, appearing smaller than usual wrapped in her cloak of shame. “I just thought—I wanted to maybe—I was just curious, that’s all.”
Revali sighed a great sigh and made a point to nod towards her shoulder. “You should really stop apologizing so much.”
That got a smile out of her, which he supposed was better than the alternative. It also seemed to filter lingering discomfort from the air, the very opposite phenomenon to what Revali’s words normally induced. He was just full of surprises today, wasn’t he?
The group began trickling inside shortly after, due in no small part to Revali’s nagging. Link went first and held the door open for everyone, a perfectly good deed that angered Revali so much he wanted to peck at his fingers. He didn’t, only because the repercussions of that decision would be incredibly humiliating. Far more age appropriately, Revali waited until everyone else was inside, strode up to the double door and yanked open the one Link wasn’t holding.
Link stared at him. There was a strange vacancy in his eyes that did little to enrich Revali’s triumph and even made him rethink whether the stunt was worth it. He looked like he hadn’t even realized what Revali had done, or why it was brilliantly petty, or why he should be fuming right now. On the contrary, Link looked through him, and it made Revali abruptly release the door he had planned on ceremoniously walking through.
“Stop it. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Huh? I’m not looking at you like anything.” Link snapped out of it, face scrunching in a way that somehow made Revali embarrassed for suggesting otherwise. “I was just—thinking.”
“Oh, dear. Don’t work that brain too hard; no one is counting on it.”
Clearly Link had adorned himself with invisible steel today, all of Revali’s insults crashing into it and twitching in unnoticed agony on the ground. Either that or he was just losing his touch.
“I was thinking about what Mipha said earlier. About not knowing the meaning of our words until the time comes.”
“Hm. I assume she’s just stressed because her words aren’t ‘I might be dying, but at least Link accepted my tunic and is my husband.’”
There was something. The corner of Link’s mouth twitched and then relaxed; whether its trajectory was a smirk or frown before his abrupt resistance of either was anyone’s guess. Revali didn’t care, hadn’t pinned down which one he was going for anyways.
“Maybe. The first half of that kind of ruins the second, though.”
“Well, not all of us are assured that we’ll ‘live a good life’, so I imagine she’d take what she can get.”
Link rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to show you, but you looked curious.”
“I promise you I wasn’t.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “My bad, then.”
The nonchalance almost felt malicious. If Link was trying to provoke Revali by brick-walling his attitude with that ‘whatever you say’ demeanor of his, then it—it was working, actually. And if he was just politely conceding, then Revali would still refuse to apologize for his subsequent accusation.
“I assume you also want to know my words, then? As compensation for taking my side earlier? That little display couldn’t have been for naught.”
Link scratched the back of his neck. “Oh, um. No. I kind of already know them.”
“Well, you’re out of lu—"
Nothing could have prepared Revali for that verbal chokehold, so Link would have to deal with the way he paused midsentence, bent at the waist and nearly coughed a lung up before squawking, “You what?”
“I know what the words are, under that paint you wear.”
“How?” Revali’s fleeting hope that Link could be lying was bested by his fear of actually making that accusation, because then Link would have to prove it and say the words. And if that happened, the constant echo in Revali’s head, the one he knew he’d have for the rest of his life, would no longer be his own voice.
“Frisa told me a while ago. Unprompted, in case you think I asked.”
Betrayed by his own aunt, then. Unfortunately, Revali could buy it. He swallowed the bile creeping up his throat.
“Wonderful. So you’re going to blackmail me, is that it? Well, good luck with that, because anyone who’s important to me already knows what my words are. Whatever it is you want me to do, I can assure you I will not.”
“What? I’m not blackmailing you, Revali.”
“So you just want to torment me for fun, then? For kicks and giggles? Because I do think your schedule is full enough as is.”
Link shook his head. “Stop jumping to conclusions.”
“I’ll fly to conclusions if it prevents you from trying anything funny with me.” Revali took a step towards Link and narrowed his eyes. “Because as far as I’m concerned, you haven’t given me any reason to expect you’ll play nice.”
“…I think you’re confusing me with yourself, Revali. I don’t want to embarrass you.”
Didn’t want to…? Link didn’t want to—Revali couldn’t stand for this. There was no way he’d misread it: Link was his rival, his arch-nemesis that he wouldn’t actually harm because they shared the same goal, even if post-Calamity Revali couldn’t be spoken for yet. Revali loudmouthed at Link, and Link threw subtle quips and irritating looks at Revali. That was how it’d been for months, and he would know because sometimes such exchanges felt like the only constant in Revali’s burdened life.
No. He hadn’t misread it. Building such a dynamic was a two-man job, and that was why the prospect of Link being kind was more horrifying than if he were to blackmail him. Not that he was about to encourage the latter. No, no, no. There had to be another motive, and Revali was grasping at straws to pin it down.
“Congratulations, then. You’ve earned your ‘good and noble hero’ badge from me. I can only assume my reluctant approval means the world, considering you had to invade my personal life to get it.”
The incredulous look Link gave Revali reduced his confidence from one hundred percent to fifty, regarding how certain he was he hadn’t single-handedly created the rift between them. It couldn’t have been all him, could it? Either way, Revali couldn’t find any animosity on those round Hylian features of his. Only a muted, distant relative of…hurt?
“You’re wrong. I couldn’t care less what your words are,” said Link, louder than Revali had ever heard him speak. “And I definitely don’t care if you ‘approve’ of me or not. Because you’re right, I do have enough other things to worry about.”
Then Link spun on his heel and marched into the castle, marking the first time Revali had ever been left in a stunned silence. It also marked the first time Revali couldn’t dismiss Link’s words with the same ease water slid off his waxy feathers. On the contrary, his words, along with that look in his eyes, stuck to Revali like oil.
Maybe he was only twenty-five percent certain, now.
But like Link, Revali also had a great big list of other worries, and his role in—in whatever just happened was by far the least pleasing to address. And of course, the least important.