Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  There are many things Legend is willing to forgive.  

  This is not one of them.  

  He’d only slipped away for a moment, just long enough to wash away the blood that was sticking to the sides of his face and soaking all the way up his arms. Ideally, he’d avoid having to take a bath as long as possible, but when it came to a choice between blood and water, he would easily choose water every time. That didn’t mean he liked kneeling beside their water source, just downstream from the camp as he shucked his clothing and scrubbed soap and water up his arms and over his chest and neck, careful not to leave any of the blood from their latest attack behind, but he was willing to do it to avoid gagging at the scent for the next week.  

  He’d been dripping and grouchy already from having to bathe, made worse by having slipped and fallen in, but when he walked into camp to see his things scattered everywhere, jewelry strewn over clothes and items propped hither and yon, no regard for order, no regard for cleanliness, no regard for  privacy  as the other heroes had continued sorting through his things, he’d been pissed.  

  He’d been about to scold, to just huff, because while he was definitely mad, Time would not appreciate him drawing the attention of monsters and while this was a major breach of privacy it wasn’t as if the others were purposefully causing harm. But then his foot brushed against something. Violet eyes turned downwards and a cold chill washed over him as he bent and his fingers closed around cracked and chipped pink clay. There was a crack running down one side of his beloved ocarina, and unlike the other things lying about, it was cast to the edges of camp, thrown, as if it was worth nothing; the item he’d been gifted and had learned to play music on, learned to play  her  music on, the one  she’d  sung with and he’d used throughout all that cursed dream.  

  It was as if a frozen wind swept through the camp as the veteran hero’s eyes blazed indigo, voice cold and stern and so quiet it almost couldn’t be heard. “ How dare you .”  

  Six heads whipped around, six pairs of eyes staring shamefully up at him from where six heroes were gathered around his bag, the pouches flap pushed back and Warriors’ hands buried inside as the captain froze.  

  Legend was seething, downright pissed- no, worse! He was utterly and completely infuriated as he marched forwards into the camp, wind swirling at his back and the grass under his feet downright withering as the traces of Din’s power left in his body went haywire. “I told you not to get into my things.” The chilled whisper rang across the silent camp.  

  “Vet!” Wind squeaked, ocean blue and silver eyes darting from him to the items on the ground as a flush of shame had settled over the sailor’s cheeks. “Um-”  

  “Drop it.” And Warriors does. He’s on his things in a moment, gathering them up and seething silently as the others back away slowly. His jewelry is mixed together and it take more time than he’d like to replace his rings to their proper fingers and find the medallions and Ravio’s bracelet amid the mess. It’s not nearly as bad as having to refold all of his clothes and sort out his excess jewelry, or having to re-figure-out how to lay everything inside of his bag so he can find it again. Some of these items haven’t seen the light of day in years, and he actually has to unload his bag the rest of the way to make sure the lesser used things actually end up in the bottom.  

  He’s silent the entire time, not even swearing or hissing out complaints in Holodrumese or Subrosian, and the others shift nervously in place, like small children waiting for a scolding as they watch him lose himself in repacking his items, only ever stopping to chitter angrily at one or another damaged or broken items, which are set into a pile at his side.  

  His favorite ice rod has its gem shattered and the lucky boxing gloves Ricky gave him now have a busted seam and splinters in their leather. There’s mud on his blade-master’s tunic and he has to search for ten minutes or so to find his second fire gauntlet in the mess.  

  But nothing beats the cracked and chipped pink ocarina at his belt.  

  By the time Sky and Time get back from their walk the others are nearly cowering as Legend continues to gather his things, actions stiff and clipped as he grabs item after item, checking it over methodically before stuffing it back where it belongs in his bag.  

  “He’s been doing this for half an hour.” Hyrule shivers when the old man turns to them.  

  “Reorganizing?” Sky cocks a brow.  

  The younger heroes all wince. “Uh, replacing? We, um- Well we-”  

  “You got into his stuff?” Time deadpans, entirely unimpressed as Legend stuffs another rod into his travel sack.  

  “Yeah.” Comes the shameful admission as the others all nod slowly, rubbing at their necks and fiddling with their clothes as they try and avoid meeting the disappointed look in their leader’s eyes or the horrified one on Sky’s face.  

  “Captain, I expected batter from you.” Warriors winces at his brother’s scolding as Time turns on his heel to crouch at Legend’s side. The vet shakes off the man’s hand when it goes to settle on his shoulder.  

  He’s beyond pissed. He’s furious. He’s fuming! And the instant he shoves the final rod into his bag he’s marching off into the forest, Ocarina cradled to his chest as he fights back tears. He doesn’t know if he’s crying out of hurt or anger, but the tears trickle down his cheeks hot and steaming as he lets the trees block him off from sight, pegasus boots kicking into action as he speeds off and away from his brothers.  

  He doesn’t care where he ends up, he just needs space right now.  

  It’s been a long day, there have been courtiers with problems aplenty and noble after noble had come to her with worries and woes about the monsters that supposedly threatened their homes and possessions.  

  She’s been batting a thousand today, and while she has faith that her baby brother will take care of it (okay, he’s only a few minutes younger, but Link is still the younger one) it seems the nobles, pretentious snobs that they are, don’t share her confidence in the local hero. Jokes on them tough, Link has the faith of the people, and any noble who tries claiming they can’t trust him will only be left facing a thousand defensive Hylians.  

  She doesn’t know why the common people adore Legend so much, and she’s a bit hurt that they admire him for having ‘kidnapped’ her. She’s reached out to them, of course, but while they greet her with smiles and polite words and nods, she knows the difference between polite manners and the joy on the faces of even her own servants when Link has come stumbling into town or through a castle window. While it makes her happy that he has their support, it irritates her that she can’t gain the same. She’s working on it, but it’s slow going with Father’s actions counteracting her efforts, and it’s only made worse the longer it takes for her and Hilda to figure out how to undue the damages of mind-control on the guards.  

  They’re making progress, but at the moment, she’s more tired than anything, and all that Princess Zelda Naydra Hyrule wants at the moment is a nap and a chance to do something relaxing. A puzzle sounds nice, or maybe a mug of Link’s famed apple cider and a good book. But when she opens her bedroom door to see Link curled up in the middle of her big bed, muddy boots lying in the corner and blanket over his head, all she can do is pause for a moment and stare. “Link?”  

  Long ears twitch in response to her words, and she’s quickly closing the door behind her and darting over, jumping up beside her brother where he’s curled on her bed. He doesn’t even say anything as she settles down at his side.  

  There’s something wrong and she knows it.   

  Usually, when Link comes to visit, he’ll be hiding somewhere in an attempt at startling her, or he’ll drape himself over her chaise with a smirk, half of the time wearing one of her dresses and the rest of the time covered head to toe in filth. When it comes to Link there is no such thing as subtle, he’s as much a pretentious drama queen as she can be, and he revels in it. There is no calm, only drama, and usually he’s either here to mess with her or to tell her the world is ending, there has never been anything in between.  

  But right now, her brother lies curled up under her fluffiest blanket with tear tracks on his face and a dark scowl in his eyes as he clings to something small and pink, the object cradled to his chest as he sniffles against her.  

  “What happened?” She’s already pulled his hat aside to play with his long hair; he’s cut it again, and she’ll have to do the same if they want to keep matching so they can trade places when they want to.  

  There’s no verbal answer, only a slight hiccup as her scowling brother presents to her the item in his hands.   

  Link’s beloved ocarina is scuffed and beaten from constant use, and despite his care with it, there’s no changing the fact that it has grooves worn over the holes where his fingers lay, and the paint has chipped time and again over the years. But Link takes care of his items, even if he’s terrible at taking care of himself, and she knows in a moment’s glance that the ugly crack running up the length of the instrument is not his doing, nor something he could likely fix.  

  She takes the instrument in her hands carefully, letting Link’s head flop against her shoulder as he whines in irritation and frustration. The damage isn’t pretty. “I don’t think I can fix that, little brother.” The strained huff of breath against her neck says he knew as much, and she leans her head against his own with a soft sigh.  

  Link’s items are as precious to him as his memories, and while she doesn’t know the full of how badly his trauma has gotten over his six adventures, she knows that each one of the strange things he owns, no matter how absurd they may be, are a security and comfort for her barely-younger sibling. Link hoards everything and anything important to him, and she’s pretty sure that just his way of coping. That said, having something he cares about damaged is like hurting a friend or worse, and the she knows that the Ocarina in particular matters more to him then maybe anything else that he’s gathered over the years.  

  Pale fingers, soft with castle life, smooth over the cracked clay as she hums softly against the pink head on her shoulder. “How did this happen?”  

  “Heroes.” Link huffs. “’cided to go through my stuff while I was cleanin’ up. Broke a few things.” His country accent bleeds through his words in a way she’s always thought was rather cute, but she doesn’t say anything this once, instead pinching her brows together with a frown at the words.  

  “They went through your things?”  

  “Broke my ice rod too.” Link huffs against her, settling in at her side, warm and limp in the way he rarely ever is, and she revels in the vulnerability he’s showing her as she wraps both arms around his shoulders. “I told ‘em not to touch, but they’re  freakin’ idiots  an’ didn’t listen ta me.”  

  “Well, that wasn’t nice of them.”  

  Link huffs, hot breath sending feathery bangs tickling against her chin. “No kiddin’. I wanna punch that bloody cap’n across his freakin’ pretty boy face, but Time’ll have my hide if I start another scrap.” Link shifts restlessly against her, violet eyes blinking up at her as something between a pout and a scowl settles over his features. “I-” Another deep breath, another shift of the boy sitting next to her. He’s playing with his rings again, twisting them on his fingers in that nervous habit he’s had since he came back from traveling abroad, and it makes something twist up inside her to see how distraught he is as he drops his gaze. “Jerks.” He huffs again.  

  A single crystal tear leaks down her brother’s thin cheek, and even if he’s only younger by twenty minutes, she’s his big sister and anger blooms in her breast on his behalf.  

  “What do you want to do about it?” She’s a princess, she really shouldn’t encourage violence, but she’s already thrumming with ideas as Link nestles against her, thoughtful and tired as he continues playing with his jewelry. Honestly, he wears so much of that stuff, even she doesn’t have that many gems and she’s a freaking princess!  

  “Kick their asses mostly. Maybe knock a few heads together.” He stretches out with a huff. “But that won’t stop it from happening again.”  

  “So, you want to scare them off of messing with stuff they shouldn’t?”  

  Violet darkens slightly, a thin, crooked, and incredibly cold smirk twisting her brother’s lips up mirthlessly. “Yeah.”  

  She nods. “What are you thinking?”  

  The smirk gets colder, darker, nearly intimidating if he weren’t her baby brother. “I’m gonna scare them shitless and make them regret ever touching my shit.”  

  “Good.” She taps his nose approvingly, a dark smile of her own flitting across her face as he sends her an irritated look. “Now, how are we going to do that?”  

  For the first time during their little talk, Link’s eyes glint with a spark of life, mischief thrumming through him as his smirk stretches unsettlingly wider.    

There is chaos impending, and the heroes are going to regret breaking her Link’s favorite item.  

  “No sign of him.” Warriors sighs as he and Twilight trod back into camp. The sun has almost passed below the horizon, and in the fading light, the kingdom around them begins to look twisted and wrong. The rancher might speak of his namesake with fondness, but in this world, it sends shivers down all of their spines, even Hyrule.  

  “Oh crab-cakes!” Wind buries his face in his hands, and even Time’s hand in the sailor’s curls doesn’t help soothe the tightness of the teen’s shoulders. “I knew we shouldn’t have messed with his stuff! Now he’s out there and probably in trouble! And we can’t even find him!”  

  “This is the vet’s world,” Time soothes, still stern but not entirely cold with them after their big mess up. They’ve all admitted their wrongs, and agreed to apologize when Legend comes back, and he’s accepting of that. Still, he’s disappointed that it ever happened at all. “The vet’s resourceful and he knows this land better than anyone. We should find him soon enough, and if not, I’m sure Princess Zelda will have some kind of answers for us.”  

  “How?” Sky fusses, trying valiantly to piece together the shattered ice rod on the ground. “She wasn’t here, and unless Legend went to her  for some reason,  she would have no way of knowing where he is!”  

  “She has soldiers.” Warriors reminds the other man.  

  “She’s not queen yet though.” Hyrule is very nearly vibrating in place with nerves, Time has only just gotten the kid to stop leaning over Sky’s and Wild’s shoulders and fussing at their work while waiting for the others to come back. “She doesn’t have command of the army either, and from what Legend’s told me her father doesn’t particularly like him.”  

  The captain cocks a brow. “Running around with a princess isn’t something I’d expect from the vet of all people.”  

  “Getting into someone else’s belongings isn’t something I’d expect of an Army Captain.” Sky remarks pointedly. It’s clear the other is also disappointed, and worried. They’d only been gone a half an hour or so to talk, the younger man had questions; questions about married life and running a farm and leadership and so many other things that Time only knows the bare minimum of, but he’d been willing to share his knowledge with the boy, and they’d circled the camp thrice or so while they spoke, only pausing once for him to invisibly bump Legend into the stream he was bathing in. Kid needed it, he reeked.  

  They’d only gotten back to the camp after strolling by the stream and seeing that Legend was gone again, and had decided that they too should probably return to the camp in order to not miss when someone inevitably teased Legend for taking a bath and Wild finally started making supper. They hadn’t expected to walk into the clearing to see the six other heroes standing to the side and shuffling their feet with shamed expressions while a painfully silent Legend had violently gone about arranging his scattered possessions.  

  It didn’t take two eyes to read what had happened, but he hadn’t really understood why Legend had stormed off until Sky had bent over to pick up the shattered ice rod. Then it made sense. Not only had his boys been going through their brother’s things, they’d been playing with them. And now some of them were damaged.  

  Their smithy leaned over Sky’s shoulder with a frown. “Yeah, we’d need a great fairy to fix that, the gem is shattered and you’d either need strong fairy magic for that or temporal powers.”  

  Sky sighs, holding the rod up with furrowed brows as he stares at its shattered tip. “How did you guys even break that? Aren’t these sorts of things enhanced somehow?”  

  Wind and Wild both look away guiltily, likely the ones who damaged the item in the first place, and the sailor jumps up to help dish out food as Wild stirs their dinner perhaps a bit faster than needed.  

  “Fire.” Four admits, stooping to scoop up the gem shards and drop them into a small bag at his hip. “They wanted to see what would happen.”  

  “And you didn’t stop them?” He asks, cocking a brow and watching as the smithy flushes deeply.   

  “I- I was curious too?”  

  Sky facepalms and he’s not far from doing the same himself as they settle in for dinner.  

  Legend stumbles in from the woods after dinner, just as they’re debating looking for him once more. The guilt on the pup’s face almost enough to convince him to let his protégé go out again, but then the vet is tripping over something one of the others left on the edges of camp and swearing fit to make a pirate blush (Wind looks intrigued though). Heads spun to stare as the vet pulled himself upright with a scowl, but all apologies and fussing seemed to mean nothing as Legend brushed them all off, walking across camp silently and flopping on his bedroll with something small and pink clutched to his chest as he curls up and closes his eyes.  

  If that’s not a ‘leave me alone’ Time doesn’t know what is, and he motions for the others to leave the vet alone as the camp begins winding down for the night. Sky approaches the teen briefly, running his hands through Legend’s long bangs with a faint smile as he shrugs of his sailcloth and lays it over the vet’s shoulders as they rise and fall with soft snores. The young man settles down not long after, and when the light finally fades Time is sitting alone on watch to make sure further mischief isn’t caused.  

  When the heroes make it through the front gates Zelda is already in position.  

  Of course, technically, she’s supposed to be waiting in her room and reading a book during a brief lull between meetings and lessons, but she can’t resist the urge to watch the production that she and Link have put together and it would be a shame to miss the faces of her brother’s friends when they see they little production they have planned.  

  It’s perfect.  

  The heroes have to sneak in through the back garden, after all the guards would recognize Link in a moment and it would ruin everything if he was dragged off to the dungeons or before Father before they can even start this little song and dance. Of course, the other heroes are utterly confused by the caution that Link takes, but he waves it off easily.  

  He’s moving slowly, stiff and just off balance and perfect as the caped hero and the one with curly brown hair both hovers closely, nervous and worried as he stumbles in through one of the servant doors, waving them in after him.  

  She has to reposition herself to look down into the hall at them, and for the briefest of moments she thinks one of them will look up to see where she’s hiding behind the false wall, but Link stumbles perfectly over the carpet, barely regaining his balance before eating threads and it’s the perfect distraction from any out of place stones or oddly dim lighting. The heroes don’t even look back as they trail down the hall, soft murmurs traveling through their group as Link continues to play up his role, stumbling periodically before finally leaning up against the wall with a series of shallow and rasping breaths that have the others all looking at each other in worry.  

  The moment that Link sinks into the wall behind him with a short scream, she barely manages to cover her mouth to muffle the giggles at the horror that bleeds over the faces of the eight heroes as they freeze.  

   The clock in the hall ticks slowly. Once. Twice. Thrice.  

  In a flurry of movement, the heroes are all rushing up, pawing at the wall where Link’s painting form lies still and flat against the stone. There’s panicked shouts of the nickname they gave him as the one in the cape fumbles with something pink that’s been dropped to the floor.  

  Link remembered to drop the ocarina when he changed. Good, she’d been worried he would forget and she would have to come up with something else to use as their key.  

  She wants to stay, wants to watch as they panic; she may be the goddess's descendant but Princess Zelda is no angel, and it’s hilarious to watch the people who upset her baby brother worry and panic, but she can’t. It will be better when she steps in to play her part anyway, but she needs to get there first.  

  Hilga and Mesthli are waiting just outside the door as she slips out from the hidden room, and both maids nod with miniscule grins on their faces as she waves them off towards the heroes with a stifled giggle. As her feet pad up the servant's stairs towards the upper floors where her room lies, she lets the giggle escape just a bit, thrilled and pleased and mischievous all at once at her first prank with the help of the castle staff.  

  It was Link’s idea, the clever bunny. He knew how much she was trying to make connections with their people and reach out to them and so he’d proposed that they pull the staff in on their revenge prank as well. It took little to no convincing to get the staff in on the game, and since Auntie Impa has been training all of them how best to keep a poker face and lie through their teeth, she has no doubt they’ll do him proud with their acting skills. Now all that’s left to her is to play her part, and as she darts down the halls towards her room, a few more maids smile at her and offer quite little wishes of ‘best of luck, your highness’.  

  She could do without the ‘your highness’, but they’ll get there one step at a time.  

  She’s changed into something clean and settled on her couch with a book (not truly necessary, since the maids all know what’s going on, but she needs something to help calm her racing heart and keep her busy until the fateful knock on the door. It does little good though, and she’s laid it aside to stare out the window as she reviews their little plan in her head. There’s lots of things that could happen, and they’ve tried to plan for any circumstance, but the basis itself stays the same.  

  Link has already done the acting strange and falling into the wall part of their plan, and now it falls to the maids to play up concern for their ‘poor dear hero’ as they prattle about how they ‘can’t believe it’s happening again’. The women will fuss and sob into their lacey aprons (stuffy things those, and Link’s told her how the maids hate them, she’ll have to look into changing the uniform if she can) while the heroes either panic further or stand about in shock, and eventually one of the two women will say something about calling her, or else a hero will suggest it.  

  She has to assume that it all goes well when the two women appear at her door, tear tracks on their cheeks but thin smiles on their faces as they carefully tell her exactly what has happened, filling it with dramatics and babble while all the time grinning like two cats with a mouse between them. These women are pure evil she concludes as they accompany her down the hall, taking up their blubbering and fussing act again with talent she envies; they’re like shapeshifters with how well they can fall into a role, and she has to fight a smile at their acting prowess and instead pinch her own expression into one of worry as she leads the charge down to the hall she just came from.  

  Sure enough, the heroes are all standing around in something of a panic when she sweeps in with her maids, and when all eyes fall on her she feels a bitter satisfaction brewing at the panic and worry in their gazes.   

  “Legend! Legend! Can you hear us?” The man in the scarf calls at her brother’s painted form.  

  “He’s a painting you idiot!” The shortest person here hisses. “He can’t hear you!”  

  “Hyrule.” The man in armor hisses. “What can you read from this?”  

  “It’s dark magic,” The curly haired one replies with a desperate sob. “Oh gosh, Legend? Oh, please tell me you’re alright!”  

  She feels a bit guilty at their concern, but she reminds herself that they’ll be fine when Link reemerges in all of his weakened glory, the ‘curse’ removed and the heroes apologizing and promising to do better in future. It will be fine, and then they’ll all stop looking like kicked puppies. For now, though, she needs to play her part.  

  “What happened?” She clasps her hands in front of her, making worry and fear bleed through her voice as she turns wide eyes from one hero to another, each of which is turning to her in surprise. “Where’s Link? Is he alright?”  

  The gazes that they exchange are nearly heartrending as one of the younger boys points to the painting on the wall. Link hasn’t moved an inch, and she has to mentally applaud his ability to hold out so long.  

  “He’s- he-”  

  “Link!” She darts forwards, inwardly reveling at how her skirts trail after her in a dramatic train of fabric and outwardly horrified and tearful as she presses a hand to the face of her brother's painted form.   

  Fake crying is easy, and something she learned early on as a princess in a castle with no mother around to spoil her, and it’s easy to summon big hot tears to trail down her cheeks as she stares at the painting with what she hopes looks like shock. “Not again! Oh Link! I’m so sorry! I thought-” She pauses carefully, letting the silence hang for only a second before swirling around, skirts flaring deliciously as she turns to the heroes with wide and worried eyes. “Where’s the ocarina?”  

  “The ocarina?” The caped hero repeats slowly, confusion coloring his gaze as he stares back at her (she has to force herself not to study his face too closely, no matter how familiar it looks).  

  “Yes! It’s the only way to break the curse!” She explains, letting still more tears trail down her face as the hero looks down to the cracked instrument in his hands.  

  “This?” He offers, hesitant, and with all the desperation she can manage, she swipes it from his hands and lifts it to her lips, blowing on it with ‘panicked’ breaths and listening as the air slides out with a tuneless whoosh between her fingers.  

  “Sweet saints,” One of the maids breathes, tearful and desperate and so utterly  perfect . She’s going to have to get these women a raise somehow. “Is- Princess Zelda, your grace, is the Ocarina damaged?”  

  She lowers the instrument carefully, slowly turning it over in her hands and studying it, even if she knows exactly where the damage lies, and when at last she ‘notices’ it, she forces out a strangled sob that has the heroes all tensing further. “It’s cracked! The hero’s ocarina has been damaged! He’s-” She spins again, enjoying to the fullest her role and the perfect choice of outfit to play it as she stares at the ‘painting’ on the wall. “He’s trapped!”  

  It’s a delight listening to the chaos she’s causing, even if the guilt is beginning to eat at her, but even as they fuss and discuss while she sinks to the floor to ‘cry’ (really, she’s stifling nervous giggles, but it sounds close enough to sobbing so she lets it out) she doesn’t try to do anything. Link had been very specific in stating what he wanted, and until the words ’we shouldn’t have touched the vet’s things’ sound in the castle’s halls, he’s not going to let her ‘rescue’ him.  

  On the other hand, she has nothing against building up the drama until that happens, and the maids seem quite invested now too.  

  “I knew this would happen.” She whispers into her skirt, not particularly trying to make them listen to her but rather hoping they do. “I knew he should have stayed at the castle!”  

  “There, there, Mistress Zelda.” Hilga shushes her softly as the woman couches next to her, fake blubbering still going strong as the woman ‘comforts’ her. “I’m sure there’s something that can be done, right?”  

  “We could summon that shadow of his!” Mesthli suggests, effectively gaining the attention of the heroes as the woman crouches on Zelda’s other side. “Maybe he can help us again? He always seems to know what’s about when it comes to these things!”  

  She’s getting these women a pay raise if it kills her! Of course! They should have thought to bring Ravio in on it from the beginning!  

  “Yes,” She shudders, faking pulling herself together as she clutches the folds of what is quickly becoming her new favorite skirt. “Call for the shadow merchant, maychance this curse can be undone without the hero’s soul key.”  

  “Soul key?” One of the other heroes whispers in a strained voice.  

  “Princess,” It’s the man in armor, the leader, Time, was it? Link had mentioned him a few times in his talks with her. “What nature is this curse? Maybe it’s something we could help with instead of-” His good eye narrows. “-summoning a shadow mage of some sort.”  

  She bites her lip, carefully averting her eyes and clutching her hands before her chest as the maids wrap each other in their arms and continue to ‘cry’. “It happened during his fifth quest two years ago. Link was trying to save me from the dark sorcerer Yuga. That man had trapped me within a painting so that I could not break free or defend my people, and when Link came to stop him, he only cursed him too.” She lets another trail of tears dribble down her cheeks, lashes lowering as she ‘winces away painful memories’. “Link freed me, and the rest of the kingdom during his quest, but the curse is not something that can be undone by the person it is cast one. Instead, to keep him in this world, we had to summon the hero’s reflection to come and help him remain in this world.”   

  Bright blue eyes turn towards the horrified heroes as she continues, ideas dancing through her head, because no matter how much planning they had done, Link had trusted her to come up with the excuses and build up the story behind the curse, as long as she wove as much truth as possible into her words. “Ravio was able to rescue the hero and gift him a bracelet that would allow him to control the curse and use it for his benefit during his quest, but it was damaged in the final battle.” She hopes Ravio can play off of her story as well as her brother will, she just knows that Link is listening in as she speaks and she hopes he’s not too mad that she’s spilling some beans. “The shadow merchant bound his soul to an item most dear to him, so that he could control his curse, but-” Her voice hitches as she rubs smooth fingers over the chipped clay of the ocarina. “If it’s damaged-”  

  A right and proper sob explodes as she drops the instrument onto the folds of her skirt, hands coming up to press at her streaming eyes as she supposedly sobs her heart out. The act is only made more believable when hiccups invade her speech entirely by accident. "And- and- he's-” A hiccup cuts her off. “He’s going to be trapped forever! He’ll-” Another one. “He’ll never be free again!”  

  To her utter surprise, the caped hero opens his arms, and both because she needs to keep up the distraught princess act, and because the man looks cuddlier than the stuffed horse Link gave her last year, she dives against his chest and sobs with all that she’s got in her against his tunic. Gentle hands rub her back as the man hushes her softly, and over his shoulder (she has to subtly stand on tiptoe to see) the others are all looking increasingly distraught.  

  Time leans down to pick up the abandoned Ocarina as the man with the scarf sags in place, hands settled on the shoulders of some of the smaller ones as tears begin to flicker in their eyes.  

  Here’s where they say they regret it, here’s where the maids suggest she employ the powers of the goddess to pull her hero free. This is where it all comes to an end and Link comes stumbling out of the wall to sag in her arms, eyes fluttering with skill she’s jealous of and breath short as he ‘recovers’.  

  “What do we need to do to help?” The scarfed man, the captain she decides, based on the way that he straightens up, standing and parade rest and turning to her with warm blue eyes.  

  Well shoot.  

  In time, she allows herself to be calmed by the Hero of the Sky (his sailcloth gives it away and now she feels bad for pranking her great-ancestor), and while the heroes settle about the hall, reluctant to leave with Link still trapped, she waves off one of the maids to go and send for ‘the shadow merchant’.   

  When Ravio arrives, it’s with enough dramatic flair that she could nearly scream in delight, and she has to pretend to be overcome with either fear or distress so that she can again hide her face in the Chosen Hero’s shoulder to prevent them all seeing the smile that pulls at her lips.  

    “I hear that Mr. Hero is in danger?” Ravio’s voice wavers as he dashes in, concern pulling at his brows. She really hopes the maids filled him in properly, or else this is going to be hard to explain. She has no reason to worry though., as the instant that Ravio’s eyes fall onto the painted form of his house-mate he presses a hand to his chest with a horrified gasp. “I thought the curse was altered! He should be safe now! Oh, Highness, what happened!”  

  Time hands the merchant the cracked ocarina, and Ravio scoops it up into his hands with a gasp of horror, eyes blowing wider than rupees as he looks over the cracked clay.   

  “This is bad! This is very, very bad! This is really bad!” The dark-haired double looks up at her in terror. “This isn’t supposed to happen! Me being in this world was supposed to keep him safe! How? How did this happen?”  

  “I don’t know.” She whimpers against the Hero of Sky’s tunic, clutching the green fabric weakly and sniffling as he runs his hands through her long hair.  

  “We broke it.” The scarred hero -the Hero of Wilds? Wild? - admits with horror. “This is our fault.”  

  Yes. Yes! Now they just need to say they regret it and won’t do it again! Yes!  

  “But we’re going to make it better.” The dark-haired hero -the one in fur, that must be Twilight- soothes carefully, running his hand through the younger hero’s hair and offering both herself and Ravio a strained smile. “We'll fix this. Does anyone know anything about instrument repair?”  

  No! Just admit you were wrong already and let them free Link! This is taking too long!   

  It takes even longer.  

  The heroes all bustle about, interrogating Ravio and pressing him for how the curse works, only to make the merchant ‘tear up’ in his bewilderment and worry and collapse onto the hall floor in a puddle of tears as he wails out his answer. “I don’t know! I-” The merchant hiccups with another sob, actual tears on his face and Zelda has to hope he’s not actually overwhelmed as he rubs at his eyes pitifully. “I was here to make sure the curse didn’t return! I was supposed to play the song to save him if Princess Zelda couldn’t! But if the Ocarina is broken than there’s nothing I can do!”  

  “How did you fix the problem last time then?” Twilight demands, panicked and agitated as he stares at the poor purple bunny.   

  “I moved his bond from the bracelet to the ocarina while I repaired the old one! The bracelet works now, but it won’t do any good without the Ocarina to break the spell!”  

  “Could you change his tether point- I assume that’s what the ocarina was- to something else?” Time presses, and Zelda’s breath catches in her throat; it’s an excellent point, the perfect plan, but they need to heroes to repent! They can’t ‘free’ Link until the guilty parties actually regret their actions and promise to mend their ways!  

  “Not without him here!” Ravio wails. “And it would have to be a tie to something that matters to him! The Ocarina was Mr. Hero’s most valued possession! There’s nothing else that ties him to this world more!” The merchant sags and she has to silently applaud him in her head. He’s laying it on thick and hot, and she’s living for it!   

  “Are you sure?” She whimpers, giving Ravio a chance to expand on his declaration, and rupee green turn up to stare at her, sparkling behind the tears in the teen’s eyes.   

  “That ocarina has been his only piece of home for ages! He told me so himself! It’s one of the only things he has left of his uncle! An- and-” The merchant's shoulder’s quiver as he wraps himself in his arms. “He it’s what save him the last time the world warped him away. It’s the only reason he made it back to our reality alive!” Oh yes, pile on the importance of the broken object, make the guilt greater and make the heroes sag and repent!  

  “Shit.” The captain breathes and like a clear bell, at last, the words she’s been waiting for escape the man. “We should never have touched the vet’s stuff.”  

  “You did what?” Ravio shouts, jumping up, eyes blowing wide as genuine shock touches his features. “Half of those things are cursed! Do you know what damage you could do? We’re lucky he’s only stuck in the wall, not-” the merchant waves his hands erratically and she shivers as she tacks on the end, he needs to make his sentence worse.  

  “He could have ended up a monster again.” She whispers tearfully. “He was so broken when that happened too!”  

  “Exactly!” Ravio motions to her, only to freeze and stare. “Wait, Mr. Hero has been corrupted into a monster?”  

  The shiver that trails up her spine is in no ways fake, and this time when she buries her face in Sky’s chest it’s because she’s actually upset. She should have kept that little bit to herself...  

  “Can the ocarina be fixed?” Time presses, pained and stiff, his single eyes glinting pleadingly as he looks from merchant to princess slowly.  

  Hilga clears her throat softly, the normally stern woman looking absolutely beaten down as she draws the attention of all present to herself. “My son, Gerald, he could probably fix it if we have time. It won’t hurt the seal to cast more clay over the instr’ment, will it, Master Ravio?”  

  Okay, double raise for Hilga! If that woman actually gets the ocarina fixed, Zelda is getting her a paid vacation as well!  

  Ravio nods slowly, considering. “That might work. It can’t hurt any worse anyways.”  

  It’s like the heroes can finally breathe again at the words, and Time all but demands that the maid lead him to her son, half of the other heroes trailing behind the two adults and leaving her nestled in Sky’s arms while Ravio leans forlornly against Link’s painted boots, deep sighs and subtle sobs still erupting from him. She glances over in concern a few times, but once Sky starts scolding the other heroes, Ravio shoots her a cheeky wink that he hides behind his sleeve as he goes to wipe at his eyes. To anyone else, it would look like he’s blinking away tears, but to the princess, it’s a reassurance that she hasn’t helped to traumatize Ravio further.  

    It takes hours before Time and Hilga are back with the freshly mended ocarina, the Hero of the Four Sword murmuring under his breath as he follows them down the hall and latching hold of Ravio to demand knowledge of the curse in future. “I’ll learn to repair it if this happens again, I just need to know what to avoid.”  

  “It’s,” Ravio fumbles with his sleeves, tears long since dried out and eyes now full of confusion. “It’s bound to his soul. The item itself. You can treat it like any other ocarina, but you can’t break it or-” He sighs deeply and motions towards the painting of her brother, who’s been staying in place for hours now without moving once. The merchant leaves his sentence unfinished as a hush falls over them.  

  “Well,” The scarfed hero draws himself up with a deep breath, motioning to Time who offers the now mended instrument to the merchant. “Now that the ocarina is repaired, you can set him free, oh Soul Keeper.” The man offers a charismatic smile that would almost be charming if he didn’t look like he was about to be sick from worry.  

  Ravio smiles back, taking Link’s ocarina reverently and running his hand over it before setting it to his lips. Zelda thanks heaven that Link doesn’t actually need the instrument to escape, otherwise they'd be in a right fix to have to subtly tell Ravio which song to play. The merchant is a cheeky little bunny though, and the family lullaby drifts out down the hall, fading quickly and subtly into their grandmother’s washing tune, the one that was passed down from her great-grandmother all the way back to the time of the Fallen Hero. Several of the heroes present start at the sound of the song, but she’s too busy moving towards the wall in catch Link when he falls to care.  

  Except...  

  Except Link doesn’t fall. Ravio’s ears twitch slightly and he plays the song again, this time slightly off key and more hurried as panic begins to bloom in her breast.  

  They agreed that Link would let her ‘save’ him when the others made it clear they understood what they did wrong. He’s not deaf like this, he can hear their every word, so why is he not popping free of the wall?  

  The heroes seem to be of the same mind, staring from Ravio to the painting of her brother and back again, worry and confusion on their faces as Ravio stares dumbly.  

  “Link?” She whispers softly, it’s not an act now; she’s worried and Link is going to get his ass whooped if he thinks this is funny. “Link, you’re free, we broke the curse... Link? Come back to us, please?”  

  There’s no response from the wall and her heart stutters inside of her chest as she swipes the ocarina back from Ravio, staring it over as if it really is the key to getting her brother free and then blowing softly into it. She’s terrible with instruments, the one thing that Link is better than her with when it comes to castle life, but she can manage the family lullaby. Still, nothing happens.”  

  “What’s wrong? Why isn’t it working?” One of the heroes, she’s not bothering to keep track anymore, shouts.  

  Zelda’s too busy to respond, ignoring Ravio’s fearful glance or the worried babble of the two maids or the chaos of the heroes behind her as she brushes her hands over the painting again.  

  Pain stabs through her hand and she yelps, pulling away with wide eyes as Sky catches her shoulders, gently pulling her hand back to stare at it, and she can only let her gaze follow. There’s no damage, but saints, does it hurt!!!  

  “Princess?” The hero at her back murmurs softly.  

  Her breath stutters in her ears. “Something’s wrong. Ravio!” She spins to face the merchant, this time uncaring for how her skirt flares out behind her. “There’s something wrong! It-” she stares down at her unblemished but throbbing hand. “The power its- It's corrupted!”  

  Ravio freezes, only for a second, and turns to the wall. “We need Hilda.”  

  It’s with tears that she pushes at the bond that she shares with the other princess, and when she feels something else push back, she shoves all of her fear and confusion through to her dark world counterpart with all the force she can muster. It leaves her trembling in the hold of her ancestor, but it’s worth it when purple and black swirl in the hallways, and as the heroes step back with weapon’s drawn, her dark sister emerges with a scowl.  

  “What’s the problem?” Hilda demands, clipped and still a bit too sharp. They’ve been working on the diplomacy bit, but it’s the thing the other princess struggles the most with.  

  Ravio darts forwards, wrapping his arms around the princess with a sniffle. “Hill! Oh, thank Lolia! Mr. Hero is trapped in the wall again and we can’t get him out!”  

  “Mr. Hero?” Dark brows draw together for a moment before understanding dawns and Hilda blinks towards the painting on the wall with wide eyes. “Oh. Oh dear.”  

  “We need your help.” She pleads softly to her friend, and Hilda nods in understanding as she strides towards the wall with purpose, the heroes parting in her wake and watching with eyes that stare warily at her slight form.   

  Gloved hands press against the wall, Hilda’s own bracelet shining softly for a moment, and then the girl is gone, her image on the wall beside Link’s, the two paintings clasping hands for a brief moment before another flash blinds them and two bodies fall to the floor with a brief scream. Hilda pulls herself up with a gasp, shuddering and wincing even gagging slightly, but Link doesn’t move an inch.  

  “Legend?” A hesitant voice squeaks out, Hyrule darting to her brother’s side with a flap of his ears. The young hero’s hands gently lift her brother’s limp form, breath stuttering slowly as golden green eyes widen.  

  “’Rule?”   

  Hyrule’s voice comes out choked. “He’s not breathing...”  

  Her heart stutters in her chest and her legs nearly go out from under her as Warriors darts over, helping Hyrule to start preforming CPR on the white-faced teen lying on the castle’s floor. She doesn’t speak as the captain pumps as her brother’s chest, Hyrule drawing quick breaths and pressing them through still and cold lips. I’s only when there’s the faint sound of choking and a twitch of Link’s hand that she feels that she can even breath again, and even then she’s too busy stuttering out sobs as violet eyes flutter open with a pained whine.  

  Hilda’s less emotional about it all, hands grasping Link’s and siding up his sleeve to stare at his own bracelet. “It's broken.” All the others turn their heads towards her, save Link himself who only whimpers and tried to pull his hand away, curling up weakly on the floor as Hilda continues to hold him firmly. “The bracelet has been damaged, no wonder he was trapped.”  

  “But-” Ravio stutters slowly, skin fading to white as he stares at his own twin. “I thought-”  

  “The gems damage is easy to miss, but the effects are nearly fatal.” Red eyes dart up to stare at them all, deadpan and emotionless as the dark princess usually is. “Any longer being trapped and he would have died. As is, the torture he must have experienced since merging with the wall will have been excruciating. He will need rest, as will yourself, Zelda. Your contact with him has wounded you, and even if it not something that can be seen, it a silent death to those who would be trapped in it.” Dark brows pinch slightly as the other girl brushes gloved fingers through sweaty pink locks, a knowing look in her eyes as she glares at her own brother. “Zelda cannot be held accountable for this, but they who damaged the jewel and the one who failed to see to its repair have nearly taken this boy’s life.”   

  Oh, saints, let Hilda be in on it too! Please let her just be playing it up! Please don’t let this be real!   

  “Brother mine,” Hilda commands firmly. “See to it that the item is repaired. If you intend on gifting royal jewelry out again, then ensure its care lest poor Prince Link meet his fate through trusting that which is meant to save him.” Hilda rises slowly as Ravio moves to scoop Link’s trembling form into his arms, sobbing softly as his sister gives Zelda a final look before turning back to her portal. “I will take your royal brother with me, sister. Our healers will be of more aid than those of your light realm.” Red eyes peer back at her again as Hilda’s brows twitch lightly, red flickering with a faint warmth and worry as she quirks her lips in the smallest of smiles. “He will live, I promise, but his pain will ease better with those who know how to tend it.”  

  She can only nod slowly as Hilda motions for her brother, who sweeps Link up inn his arms and stumbles after her, eyes wide and teary as he darts into the swirling blackness. The portal fades as the hall is left in silence and it’s nearly stifling as she’s left standing with eight heroes and a pale pink ocarina lying on the floor.  

Chapter Text

  He stumbles as he walks. It’s purposeful, but Sky and Hyrule fuss with every trip or wheeze of breath, and he can hear the others murmuring in concern.  

  Good, he wants them to worry, he wants them to be distracted and fussy, and he wants them to be upset later, but first he has to play up his part. Fable will handle the most of this, let him rest, let him watch, but he has to get them to Fable first, and play up his ‘ailment’ as much as possible so she has something to build off of.  

  Usually, Legend isn’t one for pranks, much less those of the revenge sort. They’re tedious and, well, he always struggled with where the lines were drawn. What counts as going too far? What are the circumstances of that line? Obviously killing and maiming were out of the question, and he didn’t really want to hurt the others, no matter how stupid they’d been, but he’s not sure where here would be going too far.  

  Letting them think  they’ve  hurt  him  should be fine though, the worst that will happen is that someone bursts into tears or thinks that he’s actually dead or something and that they’ve killed him, but Fable will be there to stop any of that. She’ll sweep in like the elegant princess she can be on good days, and be worried and confused as she looks at them, and then she’ll turn to him, see that he is a painting on the wall, and she will panic.  

  The vet snorts, pretending to cough into his sleeve violently even as Sky keeps trying to get him to slow down to otherwise help him. Hyrule reaches out as if to pat his shoulder, but the kid pulls back last moment, hesitation and shame on his features while he lets Sky handle things.   

  He almost feels bad that he’s going to make the kid feel worse, but it was just like Uncle used to tell him; you have to nip a bad thing in the bud and stop it from spreading throughout the orchard. The man had been talking about real buds and branches and bad trees, but that doesn’t stop it from holding true now; he needs to nip this sort of misdeed in the bud and stop the others from prying and disregarding privacy.  

  Gnarled thumbs run over the cracked instrument in his hands as he grits his teeth. To the others, they might think he’s in pain, and as they finally reach the castle wall, he takes a moment to lean against it, wheezing softly while the others murmur and fuss behind him. No one’s said anything beyond a gentle reminder from Hyrule that they don’t need to push forwards if he’s not well, but he knows how he acts, and while he’s not proud of it, he knows that any injury he has that doesn’t bleed will get ignored as long as he can get away with. Blood? He's cleaning it away as soon as possible, more often than not biting his tongue in disgust and trying not to smell the stuff or look too hard at it. Other injuries though, they could wait. It didn’t really matter if he was sore when there was a monster to face, and it’s not like he could count on there being a day when something wouldn’t be hurting.  

  As is, he knows pain well, like an annoying sidekick that insisted on tagging along after he started adventuring and wouldn’t go away no matter what he shoved at it. That said, he knows how to make his pain look real, and the distress he can feel radiating off of his team is a sure sign that they believe every second of it.  

  The passage he’s used since forever it still there, and even though the gazes of the others change from worried to confused as he pulls himself up the ivy towards the top of the castle wall, he eventually convinces them to climb up after. Time stares at the stuff distrustfully, but once Four points out the stealthily woven ladder hidden and twisted amid the vines, the old man follows. It’s an effective trick, one that’s lasted years and several invasions; unless you know there’s a ladder, the ivy looks too dangerous to risk climbing, and it’s that exactly that he and Fable had been hoping for when constructing a path for him to visit by.  

  The looks he gets as they emerge into the castle garden and then enter a small side door, rather than one of the large ones, are just as annoying as he’d thought they would be. Hes too busy pretending to be struggling to really address the problem though, and as they walk down the hall, he makes sure to stumble extra hard over his own feet, only barely catching himself when Hyrule’s fingers brush his shoulders in an effort to grab him. He sighs as he rights himself, tired and in pain and done with the behavior of his brothers, both in act and in reality, and he leans against the wall in an exhausted manner.  

  He’s careful as he lets the ocarina drop from his hands, and he lets it tumble down his leg until it reaches the floor before he allows the power in his bracelet to pull him fully into the wall, a sharp shriek sounding as he does so.  

  No one can hear him anymore when he’s merged with the wall, even if what they say and do is as clear to him as if he was standing with them, and it’s his intention to just close his mouth the moment he’s one with the stone and relax in the second dimensional world until Fable ‘breaks his curse’. Once the others have repented and vocally admitted where they were wrong, she’ll ‘free him from being cursed’. It’s a good plan, he thinks. No one will be hurt, but as long as they think that by damaging his things that they trapped him in the wall, unable to escape, they’ll hopefully think twice before touching his shit again. And until the words have been spoken, his plan is to just hold still and watch his sister act. He’d doze or relax, but his painted form will reflect what he’s doing, and he’s not capable of passing out or sleeping in this dimension.  

  That’s his intent, to watch and wait, to close his mouth and hold still, but the moment his hand is sinking into the wall, pulled by the powers of Ravio’s bracelet, the scream on his lips stops being fake as an agonizing pain shoots up his arm. He pulls against it., tries to pull away from the wall, digging in his heels as the stabbing sensation travels up the length of his arm to dig at his chest and pull him in. Like a snake consuming its prey, the force of the bracelet closes its teeth on him and pulls him in, pulls him flat into a world that’s darker than he remembers, one that’s more distorted than he remembers, and one where the shouts and screams of the hall outside are muffled behind the sound of his own screams.  

  There are no words to his panic, only the instinct to flee, to turn the other way and escape the pain that digs into him from every direction, as if someone was destroying his painted form in the world outside, ripping him to sheds slowly and savoring every second. He can almost hear Yuga’s laugh, almost see Ganon’s teeth, feel the blade of the Four Sword slashing across his shoulders and Veran’s claws over his cheek. The life is being sucked out of him, Onox is standing over him with his claws extended and Din is in danger and-  

  “Leg..d! L...end! ...ou...ear....s?!?” He thinks it might be the captain’s voice that calls out to him, he’s not sure, but he latches onto the sound, trying to use it to pull himself back into the world where his lungs aren’t heaving for air and his own screams of agony aren’t filling his ears.  

  There are other voices, words being called, Fable’s high lilt joining in, but he’s too busy trying to free himself. Never mind their prank! Never mind teaching the others a lesson! The moment he pulls free he’s just going to forgive whomever it is who catches him, because if this keeps up any longer, he’s not going to be able to stand when he breaks free.  

  When. Not if. He’s going to break free. He has to.  

  He tries forcing his will into the bracelet, tries to activate it and tell it to send him back into the dimension where Fable’s sobs aren’t drowned out by everything around him.   

  It’s like there’s a weight on him, something pushing him against the wall, pinning his hand in place so that even if he tries to move, to shift the slightest inch, he’s still frozen in place, unable to do anything, say anything, or even see. He can’t see his own fingers in front of his face, and the faces of the others on their side of the wall should be there. But they aren’t. There are no heroes where he can see them, and only Fable’s voice rings out over the hall beyond, voice fading as the rushing in his ears increases and the screams that echo all around him only continue to make it worse.  

  He’s fighting it, pushing against the weight that settles over him and pins him in place. He tries to envision the hall, tries to imagine the faces of those outside, tries to focus on the tremble in his sister’s voice and the grating rumble of Time’s stern one. He tries to think, tries to listen, tries to do anything to escape, even if only in his head, but it only grows, the pain building up within and without and ripping him apart molecule by molecule. He’s past his pain threshold. He’s still screaming, still begging the others for help as tears prick at his eyes and his heart trembles.   

  He passed his pain threshold ages ago, and were he anywhere else he would have fainted dead away, or even dead, ages back. But he can’t pass out in painting from, and he can’t sleep here either; he’s tried. He’s trapped instead, trapped with his whole body being ripped apart and sewed back together while the stiches are twisted and pulled tight, only to be cut again with another sweep of power from the cursed ornament on his arm. His arm that should have been numb by now, but which instead continues to feel everything that throbs through him and through to his chest, wrapping around and squeezing ribs and heart as the sensation of being stabbed repeats, something pressing closer and closer to his center while his throat runs more and more raw.  

  He’s lost all connection to the world by the time Ravio is playing the repaired Ocarina, He’s faded into his own mind to only what shoots through him and the force that crushes him ever flatter. For a brief moment, Fable’s voice warbles through the darkness, incomprehensible, but hers, and for the briefest of moments the pain fades as something swipes over him only to pull back and allow a fresh wave to wash over him. There’s nothing he can do about it though. He doesn’t even know how long he’s been here, doesn’t know if it’s been minutes of hours or even days, time is nothing and only darkness and muffled sounds can be sensed beyond the raw screams that tear from his aching throat and the white pain that flashes through him like poison and tears across his chest like claws, Ganon’s claws, digging in to throw him to the side, only to swipe clean through as his body fails to move in response.   

  Fable’s voice raises into a shriek, there’s a murmuring beyond the veil that holds him into this dimension, and then the world around him trembles, the claws digging deeper and the pressure on his arm increasing closing tight around him like the bracelet itself is being melted down in Four’s forge, being shrunk until it’s branding his flesh and burning through the skin and all the way down to the very bone, pressing, pressing, pressing-  

  And then there’s something else.  

  A hand is closing around his, gloved fingers closing around the ones that have lain still and frozen for Nayru knows how long, and he’s being pulled. He has no power here, no control, and even if he’d wanted to fight back, he’s still unable to move beyond how the hand pulls him.   

  Light floods his vision, and the pressure around him fades. There are no claws, no teeth, Veran’s cackles and Ganon’s growls have died away into the worried murmur that quickly fades to nothing. Blackness swallows him up again, even as the world fades once more, and even though he fights against it, the pain doesn’t return. It’s fading, along with all else, and when he realizes that he pushes himself into it with a final breath.  

  Legend’s body falls still, white and breathless on the floor of the castle halls, and when Hyrule’s gentle hands pull him up again, the vet is no longer breathing, heart stuttering to a stop in his chest while the heroes panic and his sister sobs. The vet has already faded, and the sobs of his brothers will not, and do not, wake him.  

Chapter Text

  The Hylian Hero’s hand is black. 

  His face is as pale as the pillow it lays against, hair pushed back like limp petals as a cloth rests on his brow. He’s pale, so deathly pale. But his hand is black. Crooked fingers, just as gnarled as before but now with claws, curl loosely at his side, resting above the blankets where the healers can get a good look at them. 

  Hilda stares at the boy. The hand that had touched his lies wrapped in clean white bandages and pressed to her chest in a sling, healing from the corruption of the bracelet. She’d only been in contact with it all for a few minutes, but based on what Ravio had told her, Link had been trapped in that state for hours. The fact that the boy is still alive is a miracle in and of itself, a fact which made Ravio sob and weep like an infant when he’d heard how bad the damage was. 

  Even now, her brother is hovering about the room, worrying at his lip and tugging the ears of the robe she’d given him for his birthday a few years ago. Usually, she would scold him for his open display of anxiety, but they are alone, and Prince Link is his friend, so she does not speak, instead she stares at the hero lying still before her.  

  The Hero is very similar in appearance to his sister, although slimmer and more scarred, but had Princess Zelda been sent running across six countries for most of her youth she has little doubt the fair princess would appear just as her brother does. Although maybe without the claws. 

  She tuts softly at that, dark brows furrowing as she stares at the blackened hand. It’s the one that had been wearing Ravio’s bracelet, the bracelet meant only for members of the royal family to act as their last line of defense against enemies. Because of course Ravio would have discounted his own protection for that of the kingdom; her brother may ascribe to being a coward, but his selflessness is that of a hero. 

  “Why is it changing?” Ravio’s soft tenor startles her slightly, and draws her attention to the face peeking over her shoulder, oddly pale even with Ravio’s dark skin. Her brother’s eyes glint with worry and his ears are drooping, even though he’s tilted them forwards to listen to whatever she says to him. He looks like a child. 

  “Light isn’t meant to survive in the dark,” She explains with a deep sigh. “I have told you this, brother. Prince Link is one of Hylia’s spawn; he is not made for the shadows that we take refuge in. The bracelet is meant for those of Lolia’s lineage.” 

  “But this didn’t happen before.” Ravio whimpers, twisting the bunny ear of his hood as his gaze flits to his housemate, lying still and silent. “And Mr. Hero is adaptable, he’s been to what they call the Dark World before, and that didn’t hurt him.” 

  Now that’s news to her. “When was this?” She turns to Ravio quickly, carefully tossing her head to avoid getting hair in her eyes as she does so. 

  Her royal brother blinks back at her in what must be surprise. “I don’t know. I w- it was before I met him.” 

  Well, that’s no good. The Lorulian princess rises, sweeping her train after her as she flicks her good hand. “Stay with Prince Link, brother mine. I shall return shortly.” And then she is stepping into the portal she has made, and out into the bright and golden world of Hyrule.  

  The heroes, Prince Link’s companions, stare up a her with surprise, blades drawn but quickly falling back as Princess Zelda darts up and towards her. “Hilda! What news of Link, is he with you? Is he alright?” 

  She raises a hand, a signal for silence that Princess Zelda immediately obeys, staring up at her with shimmering blue eyes full of love and worry and care. How odd, she thinks to herself, that despite being each other's reflections they are so dissimilar. Zelda is full of life and emotion, and she is cold and apathetic. Yet, their brothers are the reverse, with Ravio the nervous and open one and Prince Link the brash and closed off one. A testament to their different lives, she supposes. 

  “Prince Link is recovering. However, due to his lineage from Hylia there is some difficulty in aiding his recovery. It has come to my attention that your royal brother was previously exposed to the place you call the Dark World?” 

  Zelda nods. “When we were children.” Sapphire glints and glimmers with apprehension. “Does that change anything?” 

  “It depends.” Because it changes everything, but she does not believe it would do any good to say as much. “Was he at all affected by that place? I am aware that Hylians do not fend well in the shadows.” 

  The mentioned Hylians in the room squirm slightly, and two of the heroes look uncomfortable at her words, the short one and the one with fur cast over his shoulders. Zelda herself shifts nervously, wringing her hands with a nervous glance to the side. “He was... altered, I suppose, a few times. But he’s changed with every quest he has had.” 

  She nods, and then turns to the heroes. “One of you, take notes for me. Preferably someone with legible handwriting.” 

  They look startled, but then the one with long hair darts forwards, bowing stiffly as a pad and pen appear in his hands with a shimmer of blue. “My Hylian is the closest to that of this world. Will that be sufficient, your highness?’ 

  “Indeed.” This one has manners, and it nearly makes her smile. It probably would make her smile to see the young man acting like a proper courtier with such grace if it wasn’t for the gravity of the current situation and the questions that she is about to ask. “Zelda, I will be frank. Any alterations or abilities that your brother may have attained will be critical in his treatment. In short, darkness is overpowering him from an infection of our refuge dimension. His bracelet, the one that allows him to merge with the walls and other such surfaces, was damaged. For me to aid in balancing him again, I need to know what is supposed to be there. Please, inform this young gentleman,” She waves to the hero in blue who sits, watching her with bright eyes and pen in hand. “Of anything that I should look out for. Most critically however, I must know what beast your royal brother was altered into. I understand that Prince Link is very secretive, but secrets will do nothing but take his life in this case. Anything and everything must be shared.” 

   Two of the men, the one in fur and the caped one that hovers close to Princess Zelda, exchange an odd look, one that says they know something. 

   “Do you gentlemen have something you would wish to add?” She wants it to come out as a gentle inquiry, but it sounds more like an order, and the two snap to attention at it. 

  “What does his dark form matter?” The one in fur asks, stunning midnight eyes catching her breathless for a moment as he stares at her. “What does it effect?” 

  For the first time in perhaps ever, she finds herself stuttering over her words. “There- there are two- that is, I can sense two auras within him. They differ strongly, and I cannot tell what is meant to be there and what is forming, he-” 

  “Rabbit.” Princess Zelda murmurs softly, gaze downcast. “He changed to a rabbit when we were young.” 

  The thought actually makes her smile. So, the Hero of Hyrule is one of tender heart and kind soul, just like Ravio. Somehow, she hadn't thought he could be so gentle and kind as to have such a reflection of his soul, but then again, if Ravio fled Lorule a second time just because he wanted to be around the other boy more, he must have some good qualities. To think, he and Ravio share a spirit animal. 

  “I see, well then-” 

  “But-” The other princess hesitates, gnawing at her lip as she clearly fights with something else. “He- in our time there, he became corrupted.” That sends brows rising all around the room, and worry twists her heart as she watches her other-world sister struggle with her words. “Link was driven to anger and vengeance by our enemy and he- well, the dark world shows your heart...” The princess winces. “You can’t hate him, please, he’s not a bad person, or a monster.” There are flames in Zelda’s eyes as she straightens to look over them all, but the other girl still trembles slightly, worry, hurt and conflict all making her fidget slightly. 

  “Of course.” As if she could have room to call anyone a monster. “Hurt can drive us to many ugly things, but we are not our hurt or our wrongdoings unless we let ourselves become so.” 

  Her words seem to startle the heroes, who all suddenly look down, each of them clearly effected by what was simply what Ravio tells her daily when trying to assure her that she isn’t evil any more than he is. 

  “Link’s anger shifted him into a wolfoes.” The Hylian Princess trembles again as she speaks, but she stands firm regardless. 

  Someone chuckles, but when both of the princesses look up it’s unclear who among them finds amusement in the revelation, although many of them shift uncomfortably and look at each other warily. 

  “A wolfoes...” She repeats the word slowly, turning it over in her mind. So, the darkness that is fighting in him is more complex than she had first thought. “That is... interesting.”  And it is. It is fascinating that all the cunning and wrath of a monster can exist together with the kind-hearted tenderness and meek manner of a rabbit. Duality, this is what it is. The ability to be both at once, shifting as needed for any given situation. It makes her shoulders stiffen just a bit more as she realizes that all she has ever been faced with is the wolf, despite all her best efforts to make peace with Hyrule and its royals. She doesn’t blame Link though, he has sound reason in his wariness of her, but she does hope he will not hate her more for what she may have to do to preserve him. 

  “He is already accustomed to a dual nature then.” It’s less a question and more an observation, but the words make Princess Zelda wince and shake her head. 

  “He never did shift to a wolfoes after that one time, and he’s been terribly careful to never lose himself that way again. He hates it, all of it, even more than he hates being helpless.” Which is saying something when it comes to Link; he is always going, forever active and bustling, set on defending and protecting and growing things. To lose his control over himself, his security or safety, or even the right to choose what will happen to him, never seems to rub the boy right. All the more reason for her to worry about how he will react to what she is about to do now. 

  “Zelda,” She doesn’t have to try and keep her voice calm, she snaps to formality and stiffness on instinct as ruby red meets sapphire blue. “If what you say is true, as well as what Ravio has told me and what I have seen for myself, then your brother holds a unique ability to adapt, to change to his circumstances and take hold of the opportunities given to him. However, he is currently lost to our world, and will continue to worsen should no action be taken. I know he would rather make this choice himself, but I must ask you to make it for him-” The other princess stiffens, fear shining clearly in her eyes as the caped man rests a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Link can change, he is used to adapting, and this might be what is needed to save him 

  “You must understand, the bracelet that my brother gave to yours is not meant for light dwellers to use, it is only fit for the royals of the Lolian kingdom, the descendants of Lolia herself. We are blessed with a closeness to the Shadow Realm that our people do not possess, just as you and your brother are blessed with a connection to the Sacred Realm that is not common to Hylians. The bracelets allow us passage to the Shadow Realm, however, rather than leaving a shadow, we leave a colored image in our own world, as we are beings of light, albeit less so than yourselves.  

  “The bracelet acts as a carriage, a safe mode of transport, but when it was damaged, it damaged the wearer as well.” Zelda shivers at those words, gaze wavering sightly, although still stubbornly holding her own as the other princess’s hands fist in her ruffled skirts. Regardless, Hilda forces herself to continue, to make no remark or spare no truth in regard to the obvious fear of her other-worldly sister. “He has become infected.” She doesn’t let the gasps and sharp hitches of breath from the heroes stop her. “And the longer we wait the worse it will become.” 

  Zelda nods, firm, stiff, forced, eyes watery but jaw set as she forces out an answer. “What can we do?” 

  “As I see it, there are four options, although I believe you will find, as I do, that only one of them has any hope of ending well, and even then, it will come with its defects.” 

  “What are our options?” The caped man speaks. His voice is soft, nearly a whisper, but even so it commands the room and makes her and the other men all straighten slightly, even as Zelda relaxes beside him. 

  “The first is the most direct; we remove the damaged arm.” She does not wince, she does not let them see how her toes curl in her boots at the thought or how a shiver runs down her spine, and she does not react to the horror on the faces of the others in the room. “It would stop the spread of infection and presumably do so forever. However, it is damage that cannot be undone, and something I highly doubt-” 

  “No.” Zelda shakes her head, shoulders stiffening. “Link would rather die than- No.” 

  She nods, understanding. Link is a person who likes to work with his hands, and while she knows from Ravio that he complains of pain, it would be torture to take away his life from him in such a way. “I thought as much, but you ought to know all that which is available. The second option is to leave the infection be, something I doubt you would want. It would not kill him, and will not, but corruption is not something easily mended. The third option would be to purify him.” 

  “And why didn’t you do that first?” The brown haired one demands, worry pooling in hazel eyes as he stares at her. 

  “Because purifying him would mean driving out all of his darkness. Furthermore, it would weaken him to darkness, he would be unable to visit Lorule, or even see its people. Ravio and myself would have to close the portal between our worlds again, lest the infection arise again. And,” She can’t stop the wince that flickers over her face. “He would no longer be able to stray from places of pure light. Temples, churches, and the castle itself would be fine, but straying beyond them would risk him further. He would rely on you to preserve his light, and in a way, he would be bound to you for protection from his own self.” Something he would hate, something she knows he would hate more than anything else in the world. Binding a free spirit is the cruelest of tortures, and she knows the hero would rather have both of his arms chopped off than lose his freedom altogether. Still, the choice belongs to his sister. “He would live, but he would be limited.” 

  “And what is the fourth option?” Zelda murmurs, squeezing her eyes shut as the men behind her murmur and steal glances at each other. 

  Hilda draws a deep breath before she speaks. “We encourage the infection to grow.” 

  “No.” It is the scarfed man who speaks, sharp and fast and not even waiting for her mouth to shut before he responds. “That is not happening.” 

  She draws a deep breath, steeling herself for what is to come as she meets the eyes of her sister. “As you know, Prince Link and I have dedicated many hours to the research of a treatment or cure for the Shattered Heroes, to bring them back from their corrupted state within the Palace and allow them to potentially return to life among Hylians, albeit out of the time they know. In our studies, we stumbled across some journals and books written by one of them, detailing an understanding of the worlds and realms known to our peoples. In these records, the hero mentioned that there are five realms, the Sacred Realm, Hyrule, the Twilight Realm-” There’s a sharp gasp from one of the men, and the fur wearing hero shifts nervously at her words, “-Lorule and the Shadow realm. The Twilight realm was created when Hylians and Lolians chose to merge their powers in an effort to gain abilities unspoken of by either realm. The royals of our separate kingdoms did not condone the experiments, and when they were able, they banished those involved to another realm and closed the gates between our worlds to seal them back forever and prevent it from happening again. However, as the Shattered Hero detailed in his research, the Twili people seems to have successfully managed to combine light force and dark force together into something between, to something that was neither light nor dark, something that was Twilight.” 

  “And,” Zelda blinks slowly, hands still fisted in her dress, brows furrowed and lip raw from how she’s been chewing it all this time. “You intend to do the same. To merge light and darkness?” 

  “Yes.” Because there’s no point beating around it. “It will take much work both from my healers and the two of us, but with Lolia and Hylia’s blessings both, we can stabilize the balance of light and dark within your royal brother until there is no longer a risk of it spreading further. Granted,” She winces just the slightest bit at the doubtful and wary glances shot her way, particularly the look in the crystal eyes of the man with the cape. “There will be some changes. To guide him into the in-between of twilight, we would need to be aware that he would develop new abilities. He would retain anything of his Hylian heritage, anything granted by the royal blood you two share, but he would also gain Lolian talents, and potentially those of the shadows as well.” 

  “So,” The man in armor speaks this time, gaze heavy even if it is only from one eye. “Whatever choice her highness makes, there will be a change. Whatever she decides, there will be a risk.” 

  “As is so with all things in life, sir.” 

    Sharp blue, sharp enough to cut through even the stoniest of hearts and strike fear through them like an arrow, gaze down at her with a weight that is only outmatched by those of his caped friend, and when the man speaks, although he does not address her, his gaze never wavers. “Fable, what do you think? Do you want to risk this?” 

  There’s a sound of protest from someone else, but she can’t tear her gaze away to see who it is, not when burning blue pin her down so. “Shouldn’t we be asking Sky this? Fable is his sister, and she’s already stressed out by everything that happened yesterday! Unless they have parents still around, which Legend says they don’t, then the choice would fall to the closest thing they have to a dad.” 

  Blond hair flies up under the force of a soft huff as the leader of the men turns his gaze to the caped member of their party, the one she assumes must be Sky from how they speak of and too him, or how the gazes of all in the room have fallen on him. “What do you think? Is it worth the risk?” 

  There is war in the eyes of the gentle looking man, but he never has a chance to answer as Zelda’s soft voice rings over the group. “Yes. Any chance is worth it. If Link can let himself be changed time and again into every being under the sun, rings or no rings, then we can take a little extra darkness in our lives, just as long as he’s still himself in the end of it all.” Her sister’s gaze is weighty, although not full of judgement and wariness like the man towering over the Lorulian princess, rather, it is sorrowful and fearful, but resolute all the same. “Promise me he won’t end up like the Shattered Heroes?” 

  And nothing holds her back from nodding, firm and certain. “You have my word, sister.” 

  “Then do it.” Sky is the one that speaks, gaze softened, but form tense with a fear that makes the man so much warmer and kind, enough so to make her own cold heart ache at the pain in his eyes. “Just bring him back alive, and-” He winces. “And himself.” 

  Hilda nods, bowing her head slightly to the man, something that only feels right, despite him being a stranger and her a princess. “I will do all in my power to ensure it, Sir.” 

Chapter Text

  It is dark here.  

  It soothes like a balm, it shivers over skin with a caress as tender as a mother’s. He loosens to it, lets the void suck him deeper, away from...away-  

  He doesn’t know what there was before, can’t remember, but the darkness whispers that he doesn’t need too. It’s bright out there, it reminds him. It burns out there. He’s safer here, curling in the cradle of the depths and letting it wash away his cares.  

  What were his cares?  

  You have none.  

  But there were- he had something. The star that burns in his chest screams at him that there was something, something important and dangerous and-  

  Hush. The darkness soothes, although not it words so much as sensations, cool and light against him.  

  The star screams at him to wake up, the darkness croons for him to sleep.  

  We will free you. It whispers. Relax, we will dim the star and stop your worries.  

  It wraps round him, easing him to loosen, to relax from his curl into himself as it dances over his chest, teases at the star even as the light screams and pleads with him.  

  A shock ripples through his body, hot agonizing pain that makes him curl in tighter, makes him whimper to the void which caresses his ears in a soothing manner, it ripples over him like water, assuring, promising, vowing to rid him of the light that is making him hurt, but every touch of the two makes the pain worse.  

  There is no surface in the void, so his tears swim about him, dashing across his skin when they meet again. They are ice against the fire that thrums through him as the star makes itself known, as it fights to release, to envelop him. The light demands and pushes, it wrenches his mind to attention and wakefulness and screams in his ears with a voice he cannot hear but can feel with every fiber of his being.  

  Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! You are in danger!  

  But the darkness is kind? What danger is there here?  

  None. It hisses to him, grazing over him, brushing over eyes closed against the nothing, trailing down over his shoulders with a gentle touch that makes the light scream and burst forth, possessive and angry.  

  When the two touch again, the abyss explodes into color and sensation, there is molten fire in his veins and a cloud in his throat, the wind is tearing at his hair as his eyes fly open and a scream escapes only to be swallowed into the darkness about him.  

  The light shrieks it’s claim over him.  

  The darkness growls it’s own.  

  He wants to escape both, to burrow so deep into himself that neither exist, but they tear at him like a favored plaything, like something to be owned and it hurts! It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts! His cries and pleas do nothing to stop them, the shadows wrapping around him even as light pierces through him. They fight, they dance, they sing and shriek and growl at each other as they run each other through and he is pulled, tumbling and seizing, through their motions.   

  He doesn't quite know when it stops, when he can no longer feel the star pulse inside of him or the shadows slithering over.  

  There is neither now, there is dusk, warm and rich and soft about him, a gentle whisper, a tentative touch, a breath on his ears from a breathless being.   

  He whimpers against it, curls away, pushes himself inwards to escape the new thing that promises pain as sure as the other two dealt it. It is cool and sharp at its edges, and they dance and leave marks that he can feel but cannot see. They croon to him in a rich melody that promises something he cannot understand, their blades ceasing, leaving him shredded before he is bundled in and close, it’s cool at his back and warm on his face, like the falling light of that other place, like the duskiness of the world that leaves breath stuttering from his lungs.  

  This is not warm, nor is it gentle, but it cradles him amidst it’s blades all the same, and without the spark of light inside to power him, he must settle against it and hope that it will at least allow him rest.    

  Open your eyes. It growls, and this time there is a voice against the depths, ringing in his ears and startling his mind. He almost follows the command, almost tries to blink out into the world, but the sting of light pierces his memory, shrieks and sobs and cold stone before nothing faded into his mind.   

  He doesn’t want to go back there, it was agony.  

  ‘Please.’ He whispers. ‘I’m tired.’  

  The dusk does not respond, but he feels that he has failed it anyway. He wants to sleep, wants to fade away into the depths of darkness again and let it sooth his mind and carry him away from cares and fears and failures. They dance ever closer to the surface, and when he tries to peek into the void for the sweet and savage shadows, all he does is find himself blinking awake to a world of stone around him.  

  He’s in a bed, he realizes first. His feet are weighed down in that awful way that means the blankets are tucked around them, that means his feet are covered, even though they are never meant to be when he sleeps. His legs stiffen at the sensation of cool sheets grazing his toes, and the motion, however small, makes pain shoot up through his body.  

  He knows this though, this is normal, this is waking up.  

  He’s not ready to wake up, but something whispers in his mind that sleeping is just as, if not more, treacherous than waking, so he lets his eyes fall open, lets his mind take in the stone world around him.  

  “Mr. Hero?”  

  He knows that voice, although where from, he can’t place it. But there’s something bright overhead, something colorful that swims into his vision.   

  Purple.  

  The thing is purple, and the more he blinks and tries to adjust to the blinding brightness around him, the clearer the figure becomes.  

  Dark hair, frizzy with curls and hanging over soft brown cheeks, over eyes that sparkle green, like something- like something bright and precious that he can’t remember- the hair is topped with a hood, with a purple hood, a hood with strange eyes that make him want to look away, so he does.  

  “Mr. Hero! You’re awake!” The voice is too loud, too painfully loud. But it is warm and it is rough in the same way that sandpaper is, and when he flinches it lowers, it softens further still as the figure pulls away. “You’re awake.” The voice repeats again.  

  This person, whomever they are – he knows who they are, he does, he knows, he knows, he knows- they are safe, they are warm. They carry a rich smell and their eyes sparkle like the star, but they do not scream, they are gentle, they are quiet, they flit to and fro shyly.  

  “Hilda said you would be out of it.” There’s something pressing against his brow, something warm and solid. He can’t fathom what it is, but it feels nice and with nothing to tell him not to, he leans into the sensation. The figure laughs, warm, breathy, it smells like mint. It smells wrong and it makes his nose wrinkle. This figure is supposed to smell of something else, of something sweet and rich and dark, like his eyes, like his skin, like the robe and the hood and the cocoa- Cocoa! He’s supposed to smell like that brown stuff in cocoa!    

  “You should rest.” The figure breathes, and the weight shifts to run through his hair, tugging softly and swiping strands away from his brow. They tickle, but the warmth is nice, the weight feels good, and when the figure hums he lets the sound carry his mind away to someplace small and cluttered, but warm and smelling of spice and rain and crisp apples.   

  He lingers there, content.  

  The darkness does not slither here, the star does not scream. There is a fire, a gentle one, that beckons but warns him off from coming too close, and there are clouds that chant soft and steady to lull him.  

  He is lost into darkness again in seconds.  

  When Legend wakes the second time, it’s with far more clarity.  

  The stone above him is a ceiling, tiles and crafted with care. It’s his first clue to where he is, and he doesn’t like the picture it paints.  

  His second clue is that, when he stirs, there's a faint little noise beside him that he knows all too well, and when he turns his head (pain races through him again, a familiar presence as he shifts the first time in hours) it’s too see black curls settled over purple sleeves, sleeves he can feel rub against his fingers as the figure shifts, Ravio’s little snores sounding as the merchant’s hand loosens slightly from its near crushing grip on his own.  

  The heck?  

  Why is Ravio here? And where is here? This isn’t their house, their house (his house) doesn’t have a stone ceiling, and his bed, neither of their beds, are this soft, this big, this white .  

  He shifts, rolls to his side and tugs at his hand. Ravio whimpers in his sleep, fingers digging into his wrist, a vice, a shackle, holding him down and not letting him go.  

  He sighs.  

  This happens sometimes, and while his fuzzy mind is still trying to work out what he’d been doing before he’d fallen asleep (more likely than not though, he’d actually passed out from one thing or another) he takes it upon himself to free his hand from its clammy prison. There’s a surefire method to do it though, something he’s discovered entirely by accident when dozing off on the couch landed in him waking up with Ravio having slumped over on top of him and pinning him down more times than he can count.  

  He's found that, without fail, running his hands through the merchant’s curls will make the other relax until he’s nothing more than a puddle of purple on whatever surface he rests against.  

  He shifts, trying to turn, to reach out for the mop of black on his bed. The motion sends pain shrieking up his arm (the star in his chest) and he has to pause, bite his lip, breathe in and out through his nose to hold back a whimper that will also make Ravio move, but by waking him up, and judging from the glimpse he can get of his friend's face, that isn’t preferred. Ravio looks like he hasn’t slept in days.  

  He moves slower the second time. He knows to expect the pain and he’s ready to stop if he needs, but what stops him next isn’t another bolt of agony shooting through his body, it’s the black clawed thing that drifts towards Ravio’s head and makes him start back and away.  

  Ravio’s snores cut off with a snort as his sudden motion pulls on the hand still clasped in the merchant’s own, but that's hardly his first concern. His first concern now is the wicked looking hand stretched out in front of him that, when his eyes trail along its length, he finds it is his own.  

  What the actual bumble-bees?  

Breath catches in his throat as he stares at the thing, hesitant to move the hand that should be in it’s place lest the clawed one move instead, lest something prove the thought that whispers and screams in his mind in a way that makes him wish he was still asleep.  

Another glance is cast to the room about him, to the stone walls and the stark white of the sheets, the lack of any personality or comfort in the still room. Is he in prison? They’ve never offered him a bed before when he was caught and he rather doubts that most of the cells at the castle are nearly this large nor this clean. Ravio being here also makes him doubt, as the other has a talent for avoiding the guards and they are both well aware of the fact that if one is caught that the others best chance is to remain free to save them.  

The air feels wrong.  

He doesn’t know what tells him that or how he knows or even what about the air feels wrong, but it doesn’t feel like the prisons beneath the castle, nor the ones in Labrynnia or- well, he’s been in a few prisons over the years and none of them feel like this. It doesn’t feel like any of the other places he knows though either. Not like the Hyrule’s that they’ve danced through these past months, nor the other kingdoms they’ve chanced upon on their quest.  

The reminder has him stilling, brain spinning and shoulders tensing even as bolts of pain shoot down from them. Where are the other heroes? What happened to place him with Ravio and none of them in sight? Last he remembers-  

Last he remembers they were on the path, but he knows that’s not right and he know there's something missing. There was no reason for him to pass out on the path, He’d slept three days ago so he can’t have collapsed from exhaustion (was it really three days ago? Or was it more?) and though his body aches and his stomach complains weakly, he knows he hasn’t skipped meals anytime recently. Wracking his brain, he can’t remember any injuries sustained in the last few battles beyond the usual scrapes and bruises. The most recent injury of any merit was that nasty gash he took to the arm a week back, but they’d had a potion for that and the scar-  

The scar is gone. There is no scar where it should be because a black and clawed thing stares back at him instead of his own arm. There are no rings, so calluses, no age-old burns from missteps at the smithy’s and certainly no bracelet.  

Shit.  

His eyes turn to Ravio, the merchant’s head resting on the bed he lays on, the other boy’s breathing slow and deep, eyes shadowed with bruises that speak of panic and fear. The other is always to free with his love, his care and emotions. He allows the smallest of things to pain and worry him, but it’s rare it makes him sleepless.  

He wonders how angry Ravio would be with him. Surely the other has noticed the lack of the gift he’d been given at the start of their adventure. The merchant may play dumb, but he’s keen-eyes and aware, and he’d notice the smallest thing out of place.  

He’d notice the missing bracelet.  

He’d noticed the clawed hand.  

What he’ll do about either is unknown, but considering his pincer grip on legend’s arm it’s likely his soft-hearted friend will give him at least some time to recover before he has to answer for whatever stupid thing he’s done this time.  

Again, he wracks his mind for answers, trying to trace his actions to anything that could have resulted in this situation, but nothing comes up at all. The closest he can get is when the gem of the bracelet had been cracked once during his battle with Hilda and-  

The breath in his lungs flies out of him as panic takes hold, a sob choking in his throat.  

Is he only now waking up in the wake of that battle? Has all that he’s known since been nothing more than a dream? Another cursed dream? Hytopia was certainly something rather out of this world, but the heroes? The others, Hyrule and Sky and Warriors and Four and Wind and Wild and Twilight and Time, they have to be real, they can’t be just another figment of his imagination, can they?  

But they could. What sort of world has nine heroes and how on earth would they be drawn together across time and space? By a shadow lizard no less! He’s fought a dozen shadow beasts and monsters in his time, it’s hardly likely that Hylia would call nine heroes to face off one alone, even if it had allies in the light realm. Oh cripes, the other heroes aren’t real, are they? He’s in Hyrule Castle or even Lorule castle, either a prisoner or a hero but neither matters when the world is crumbling down. How much of it all was a dream? Did they defeat Hilda? Has she won once and for all? Was Hyrule destroyed, it’s Triforce stollen? Was-  

“I see you are awake.” The voice of the princess herself makes his eyes jump up, makes his whole body tense with a full-body shudder at the cold tone, and pain rockets out from his core to touch the furthest of his extremities.  

Pity flickers across the face before him, red eyes flat to the unseeing eye but burning with concern to one familiar.  

He lets himself loosen, still wary, but assured for the moment. Hilda Before would not have cared for his pain. Hilda after may be cold in his eyes, but like Zelda, she does care for those around her.  

“I have no doubt you have noticed the changes.” The woman clips, staring down at him from where she stands at the foot of the bed, hands loose at her side, sceptre nowhere to be seen. It’s another assurance that this is not the vicious witch who’d tried to destroy his home and his people, but until he knows for sure how much is truth and how much is a dream, he’s not trusting anything for sure.  

At his lack of response, Hilda continues to speak.  

“The bracelet my brother gifted you became corrupted through a damage that went unnoticed. It is my understanding that you attempted to employ its powers in the halls of Hyrule castle and in the process trapped yourself in the walls.”  

Despite instinct demanding to stay still and convey nothing, he flinches. That sounds truly horrific.  

“The corruption of the bracelet not only trapped you, but it infected you with a darkness that could not be contained or destroyed without causing great harm to yourself.” There’s pain in her eyes agian, and, to his surprise, hesitation. “I consulted with your royal sister, and we came to the agreement that the best option to save you would be to allow the darkness to spread and mingle with your light.”  

The heck? The what? Panic blossoms and makes him start, makes him want to surge up and demand answers as it gather sand pools around- around-  

The star, The light, the brightness that had once been his anchor, it’s gone! There’s nothing in his core to assure him of his place at Zelda’s side, there’s no singing starlight buried within, and instead there’s- there’s-  

“Hero! You must calm yourself!” Hilda looks entirely out of her depth but struggling to maintain control as she looks at him, gaze flitting treacherously towards the door as if there is hope of aid. From what he has no clue. There is nothing he can physically do against her. After all, moving his own fingers is nearly impossible, be it from fear or pain he will not admit even to himself, but the inability is still there. He’s held down by Ravio’s form asleep on his arm, and the shackles of agony that make themselves known with his every motion. He couldn’t hurt her even if he wanted.  

Hilda breathes, deep and controlled and grounding, ruby gaze turning back to him and trembling slightly. “You are resting inside the halls of my castle until you make a full recovery. Your sister is a word away should you want her and your companions await your return with her.”  

“C- c’mpanions?” The voice that escapes him is wrong in so many ways. It’s harsh and grating, like gravel fills his throat and the usual siren smooth tones are caught and shredded on it. He'd always hated being teased for the effects of his various curses on his voice, but the siren’s song isn’t something he could truly hate, even if it was a side effect of that blasted tail. He misses it now, wishes there was something he could do to make it come back and replace the weak growl that escapes him instead.  

Hilda nods. “The heroes. I understand they are time travelers with whom you have been traveling to save Hyrule.” She frowns, brows furrowing. “Again.”  

Heroes. The other heroes, his breath catches and his chest releases another gush of air, this time to allow it to return as his eyes fall down to the sheets.  

They’re real, it was real, unless Hilda is lying (which he wouldn’t put past her, but how could she know?), but they’re there and they are waiting for him and-  

“You would do well to calm yourself, Prince Link.” Hilda says, this time a touch gentler. “You are still weak from the toils you have suffered. Your life itself is a miracle given the circumstances, and I would not wish to inform your sister that it had been lost because your heart gave out in surprise at waking.”  

Relief makes a soft huff snort from him, even though he’d rarely smile nor laugh with the woman before him. Certainly, they have spent hours in study together, if indeed what he remembers is real, but that was with the intent of understanding the dark shadows that have taken hold of soldiers and the heroes of the past. There’s little he wouldn’t have endured to save his childhood idols, including Hilda herself, despite how Ravio still trembles around her when her short temper is cut shorter still or when her voice drops just a bit too lowly.  

Still, he can’t help how he responds to her matter-of-fact tone when she speaks about dying of surprise, and the little huff seems enough to shake the boy at his side, make Ravio grumble in his slumber.  

Hilda’s face instantly softens, a tenderness he didn’t know her to be capable of appearing when her gaze falls on her twin. “I apologize on Ravio’s behalf for his behavior. He was quite worried for your safety.”  

Because of course Ravio was.  

He nods, minute and small, but even that making the world swim and his body tense at the strain. It must catch Hilda’s eye, because she approaches, laying a hand on his own clawed one (and confirming it as his own when he can feel the silky material of her gloved fingers pressing against his own) as a faint pulse of light makes the pain ease, creeping over him like a chill and letting muscles relax and pain cease with her touch.  

That’s new.  

“I will inform your sister that you have awoken.” Hilda offers, and it seems to double as her farewell until she pauses in the door, a the faintest and wryest of smiles touching her lips. “And send a maid up with water. Your throat and voice should improve exponentially with its aid.”  

Chapter Text

 They’re all sitting about when the portal opens again.   

 It’s Twilight that senses it first, ears pricking up as his pup turns to face the thing a split second before it actually appears. When it does though, it brings with it the dark princess, this time without the pensive expression from before and instead with only exhaustion burdening her shoulders.  

 Fable is on her feet in seconds, already moving to her doppelganger even before Hilda’s booted feet touch the floor. “How is Link?” is the first question out of her mouth, and if he wasn’t so worried himself, Time would be smiling at her obvious care for her hero.  

 “He has awakened,” the dark princess responds, not without grace but most certainly with exhaustion. “As I can tell, no damage was done to his mind by our work, but he is still reorienting to the world, and likely as not trying to make sense of matters at the-”  

 “He’s awake?” Fable interrupts, catching hands with the other girl even as the heroes move to stand from their positions about the room. They’re all eager to see their brother. Granted, there’s worry besides; a concern for what this corruption may have done, may have changed, but Legend is their brother all the same and regardless of changes, they still care for him.  

 “He is.” Hilda confirms, and then immediately tightens her hold on the other princess’ hands, catching sapphire eyes sternly, “but he is disoriented and will need some time. He is also Link.”  

 There’s something that that means, but Time can’t discern exactly what that is. He’s a Link to, but they might just mean Legend is being or doing something that is very characteristic to himself; what that is though, he has no clue.  

 “He needs me,” Fable insists. “I can help whatever is going on.”  

 An argument that is not refuted, Hilda instead releasing the Hylian princess and motioning to the portal.  

 His boys have been through so many portals by now that another is hardly anything to blink at. Hilda’s is different than those left on their path for them to enter new worlds. Rather than stepping in and watching the world spin and distort into something new, the Lorulian princess’ portals are more like walking through a doorway from one room to another. Indeed, just looking through it he can see into a hallway, and when he steps through, he can still see Princess Zelda’s sitting room on the other side behind them.  

 “Wish all portals were like that." Four murmurs softly under their breath, and several of the others sound their quiet agreement.  

 “Which room?" Fable demands, turning about and looking at the various rooms like one of the doors is going to give her an answer or swing open to reveal her hero. For all Time knows though, they might, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’s been inside of a weird house. Although... this is a castle. That aside though, royals are weird and he wouldn’t put it past them to enchant their homes in some way, in fact, he’d be more surprised if they didn’t.  

  “This way.” Hilda commands, spinning on her heel and moving down the hall, skirts snapping crisply at her motions, feet tapping a steady beat that many booted feet echo as they follow after her. 

  He can feel the unease wafting off of his boys. Warriors is tense about the shoulders, a vein pulsing on his brow like it always does when he’s stressed. Twilight’s gnawing his cheek again (something he really ought to scold his pup for) and the rancher’s hand keeps rising halfway to his chest before stalling, self-consciously reaching for his necklace resting beneath his clothes. Wild’s rubbing his fingers together, calluses pressing over each other in that tick he’d picked up from the vet himself. And the others, Four’s fingers fluttering, Hyrule’s lips pursing as invisible wings flicker, Wind’s shoulders stiffening, it’s all nerves and guilt, worry and fear. And ahead, where Sky is keeping pace with the princesses, cape sweeping out behind from stiff shoulders, he knows the Chosen Hero is worried and tense, and without guilt to detract from his worry, he knows the other won’t breathe easy until they see their ninth hero. He feels much the same. 

  Maybe, were he in a better state, he would have remembered how Warriors has reminded him time and time again that scolding isn’t necessary when a person’s already beating themselves up over a thing, but he’d let that slip in the wake of the princess’s disappearance into the portal again, Ravio and Legend with her. In that hallway, he’d maybe lost his temper, maybe lashed out a bit, maybe dropped his role as leader and indulged in his own fear and anger more than he ought to have. They haven’t been willing to meet his eyes since. 

  Sky had swept the princess off, hadn’t witnessed it. He’d wanted her away from it and he’d held her and murmured assurance for who knows how long. All Time knows was that once he’d stomped away and trailed about the palace, eventually coming across some parlor or another, he’d found the girl with her face buried in the skyloftian’s chest, both of them clinging to each other with tears on both faces and anger and self-loathing filling Sky’s eyes. 

   How Sky could blame himself for this, how he could possibly find some way in which he was to blame, Time doesn’t know, but he’d been no good to abate it. Instead sinking down across from the duo, catching sapphire eyes for only a moment before sinking his head into his hands and biting back another swell of instinctual anger and desperation. 

  He’d trained himself, Malon says, to default to anger rather than allow himself the vulnerability of fear or sadness or even grief, but there’s a point where anger runs out and he’d just ended up feeling hollow, sitting there in the princess’s parlor with nothing to offer anyone, not advice, wisdom, support, or generally anything useful to the other heroes. 

  He rather regrets it. It’s not the first time he’s been too harsh, but in the past, someone, usually Legend in fact, although sometimes Warriors- will speak up and soften the blow. Warriors usually rephrases what he says in a less harsh manner, but Legend always challenges it with something quick-witted and brash that makes the others either smile or snicker softly to themselves at someone coming after their leader in return for his statements. 

  But neither did that this time. This time Legend was fighting for his very life and Warriors was one of those guilty for the whole matter. This time the only one who has grounds to refute him is someone who’s refused to speak to any of them since it all happened; Sky who’s busied himself at the princess’ side rather than speaking to his brothers over the last several days, and who still hasn’t spoken anything to them directly, despite their addresses to him when trying to figure out what to do about the whole situation. 

  Even now, Sky walks separate from them, walks with the princesses and doesn’t look back even as the other heroes share nervous looks between themselves. 

  “He’s okay,” Warriors whispers, sounding half like he’s assuring the group and half like he’s reminding himself. “Legend’s alright, guys.” 

  Wind just tenses further, and several of the other’s stiffen as well. 

  They haven’t been getting along with each other either. It’s strange that the harshest and most blunt person among them being absent actually worsens the overall state of the group. There’s no one to catch the worst of their ire and send it back in a back and forth that lets them lash out without harm.  

  Legend is usually the person who speaks for the group as a whole; who says what everyone else is thinking but is too polite or kind to say aloud. And he’s granted some grace for that. The vet is just like that , so no one thinks twice if he says something that can be taken unkindly, because he’s always that way and never really means anything cruel by it. Legend’s insults are well known to be somewhat affectionate, and when he is actually mad, he never actually uses insults, he’s just cold. 

  Twilight insulting the others though, or Warriors, or sweet sunshiny Wind , well, that’s a different matter altogether. And insults had flown, blame had been passed back and forth, the boys trying to determine who damaged the bracelet, who threw the Ocarina, whose idea it had been to get into the vet’s stuff to begin with. Not that his boys are the sort to assign blame normally. Really, it had been more them genuinely trying to figure out if they were the one to start it, to break the items, to be the root of the problem. 

  He doesn’t know the answers, and unlike times before, he’d failed to step in and settle things. He’d let them argue it out, let them blame themselves and each other, and he knows Malon wouldn’t approve of that, but in the moment, he hadn’t particularly cared all that much. 

  He does now. He sort of regrets it now. Not that he’s not still furious at them for breaking Legend’s trust, magical items, and potentially his soul in the process, because he is, but he does regret not handling himself better about the situation, not handling his boys better. 

  They look to him as a leader, and he’d failed them. 

  Which sort of makes this his fault too. 

  “Here we are,” Hilda’s voice breaks his focus, brings him back to see the princess come to a door and stop, hand on the handle and brows furrowed. Her hair flies up with the force of motion as she turns back to them, deep-set and piercing frown still on her face. “I understand that you are all eager to see Prince Link-” and that was a realization they’ve all been putting off addressing because Prince Link? Legend? “-but for his own sake, it might be best to not come in all at once.” 

  “Does he even want to see us?” Wild asks, surprisingly meek for the champion. 

  The dark princess cocks a brow, taking in the young knight. “Should he not?” 

  “Well-” 

  “This is kind of our fault,” Wind mutters, “and he was furious last time he was-” the last time he was conscious enough to be so. Reasonably so, of course, but apparently no one had bothered telling Hilda all about it. 

  “How,” the princess asks, glancing over all of them, and he can see the wall that comes up behind ruby red eyes as they drift over their group, “is this your fault?” 

  “We’re the ones that broke his items.” Warriors speaks. The captain doesn’t hesitate, in fact, he’s falling into that at-attention posture he does when reporting to those he considers his superiors. 

  The princess stiffens further, shoulders falling back as she surveys the heroes. “Perhaps then, you ought not enter just-” 

  “Sky had nothing to do with it!” Wind blurts out, “you should take him with!” 

  Both dark brows rise as ruby eyes fix on the sailor. 

  “He’s Legend’s best friend in our group,” Wind continues, unaffected by the stern stare of the royal, “you should at least let him see him! And Time didn’t do anything either! They weren’t even there when we broke the stuff, and they didn’t do anything but help Legend! Please don’t be mad at them.” 

  Lips painted black purse, red flicking to the skyloftian briefly before trailing to the Hylian Princess.  

  Fable doesn’t hesitate, catching Sky’s hand in her own wordlessly from where she stands beside the man. 

  Hilda nods, turning back to the door and motioning for the duo to follow her in after. A part of him, a very selfish part, wishes that someone would suggest he go in as well, but the more mature part of him (that’s been a bit less active than it ought) reminds him that this is Legend’s family; Fable and Sky are the two people besides Ravio who their vet seems to be closest to, whereas he’s nothing more than the teen’s leader. 

  He keeps quiet, but he does still try peering in through the door, same as all the others, when Hilda opens it and motions the Chosen Hero and Sacred Princess within.  

  Legend lies on a bed against one wall, Ravio leaning over him and tutting softly. The merchant’s body blocks the vet’s face from view, but does nothing to prevent the grating, rasping voice he’s barely able to recognize from drifting over to them as Fable darts across the room. 

  Hilda, in either an act of mercy to the heroes, or absentmindedness, leaves the door open long enough that they can see the princess reach the bed, see a glimpse of the vet’s worn face, eyes open and with life in them once again, even with as dark and soulless as they seem, as Fable fusses and examines her brother.  

  “You’re alright.” She whispers. 

  There’s something like a choking noise but which he thinks may have been meant as a snort, and Ravio immediately moves for the water pitcher on the nightstand. “Debatable.” 

  Blue eyes flicker up, and Fable’s unasked question is received by her dark counterpart as the Lorulian princess moves to stand in the doorway, clearly hesitating from moving towards their brother. “His voice is raw still, but ought to recover. The worst of the remaining damage is his hand, and I’ve yet to determine what can be done about that.” 

  They only get a glimpse more of the vet before it’s closed and Hilda moves to join the others, but in that glimpse, they see Sky settle at Legend’s head, running hands through sweaty pink hair with a pinched sort of expression as Legend looks up at him. 

  “I don’ ‘derst’nd,” rasps that rough imitation of Legend’s voice. “W‘t ‘appened?” 

  And then the door closes and cuts off anything else. 

  “Crap.” Wild’s voice is choked as he speaks the word, probably without meaning to. 

  Twilight hesitates a moment before reaching to grip his protege’s shoulder, and Wild either doesn’t process it or doesn’t mind because the cub just stands there, unresponsive for a brief moment before something he’s pretty sure is a Sheikah expletive slips from his tongue. It’s a strong one too, the one Sheik would hiss whenever things went especially bad, but he’s not sure what it means other than “this is bad”. 

  “He’s going to be alright,” Warriors murmurs again, softer this time, less sure but clearly still trying, “he’s-” 

  “Legend?” Hyrule challenges, sharp and harsh and cold as he looks up at the captain. “Yeah, look how well that’s been working for him; seven adventures, a body that shuts down on him and now corruption.” 

  There’s a beat of silence, and then a shuddering sound from the champion that has Twilight’s grip on the cub’s shoulder tightening. “He doesn’t remember.” Wild whispers. 

  “Lucky him.” Four hisses. “Would you want to?” 

  “Four,” Twilight scolds, still soft, because he rarely if ever gets fussy with Four of all people, “don’t.” 

  “Don’t what?” Four hisses back, rounding on the rancher with blue fire blazing in his eyes. “Don’t tell Wild to shut up? He lost his memories, we know that, but this is about Legend and not him and-” 

  “He never said it was about him!” 

  “Well, he’s certainly making a big deal out of-” 

  “He’s dealt with it himself! Of course, he’s-” 

  Both boy’s voices rise steadily higher, tensions bleeding out into voices as they, once more, lash out at the only thing available; each other.  

  Time wants to help, he does, but what does he even say? What can he say? Whose side does he take here? Whose side can he take? He can’t nip something like this in the bud with an order or a shout, it’ll only put it off, let anger simmer and guilt and self-hate stew until they find something else to fight about. Besides all that, he’s not entirely cured of his own frustrations, and if he’s not careful that will spill out. 

  In the end, he doesn’t have time to come up with an answer, Four shouts something, stepping towards the rancher and prompting him to move, on instinct, to get between the two boys, and then the door flies open. 

  He’s seen Ravio angry precious few times. Even during the war, Ravio usually hid his emotions by hiding his face, and body language alone didn’t let on what the merchant was thinking. Now though, standing in the doorframe, green eyes blazing, there’s no doubt in any of their minds exactly what sort of temper the merchant is in. 

  “Kindly shut up,” dark fingers grip tight on the door handle, small frame wound for a spring or a blow as the rancher and smithy are leveled under a piercing stare. “You two, I don’t want another word, you here? It’s bad enough he’s confused and lost, scaring the shit out of him isn’t helping anything you know.” 

  “Sorry, Ravio.” Wind speaks, for the group as a whole, and not unlike during the war, all Time can manage is to nod in an echo as the sailor, captain and he all move to guide the other four back and away from the door and the seething dark-world hero. 

  “You should be,” Ravio hisses back, with fire to make Legend’s seem cold in comparison. Green eyes turn on Four, sharp and force and burning as a hand raises to prod at the smithy’s chest. “You. No raising your voice. And you,” the finger turns on Twilight, “act like a beast with all that growling and I will call the guards to put you out like one.” 

  The rancher gapes. 

  Ravio doesn’t give time for an answer, instead turning on his heel and closing the door. 

  On the other side, out of sight of the heroes, Hilda turns a sharp eye on her brother, offering a hand to the trembling merchant for him to squeeze. 

  “Are you well, brother mine?” 

  Ravio huffs, declining the offered hand and crossing his arms instead, fingers gripping his voluminous sleeves. “They scared him. He’s already vulnerable and disoriented, and they scared him.” 

  “I do not understand.” 

  Her brother’s eyes trail to his friend. The vet lies curled on the bed, and though he doesn’t seem to be listening, he still looks worn.  

  The shouts startled all of them, but Legend’s eyes had widened and breath hitched at the sounds in a way that only Zelda seemed to understand, moving up onto the ed and pulling her brother to her side, hushing and soothing as she pet at his hair, trying to draw his attention away from it all but with no results. Now though, legend sags into her, a strangled noise escaping him as his face creases and turns to bury itself in the princess’s side. 

  “A wolf and the Hero of Four Swords.” Fable sighs. “It’s like his first adventure all over again.” 

  The chosen hero seems confused, but he doesn’t speak. He hasn’t, not since asking when and if they could see the Hylian prince. Instead, he continues to gentle blackened fingers in his own, acquainting both himself and his younger brother with the new flesh and claws; gentle and never once judgmental despite his surprise at first sight. 

  Hilda frowns, similarly confused. 

  “I’ll explain later,” Ravio sighs, moving to his friend’s bedside, sister following in tow. “Right now, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

  So, she doesn’t push. 

  On the heroes' side of the door, the Links move back, only Hyrule lingering at the door as the others take their talk and hissed arguments out of range of the Lorulian merchant, and on the royal’s side of the door, the four nobles gather around the veteran, soothing and fussing even as he rolls his eyes at them. Still, Legend doesn’t push the away, and when Fable tugs at Sky’s hands until he climbs up beside them, pulling them both in close, and Ravio climbs up at the foot, Hilda perched hesitantly on the edge, he just sighs and settles in. 

  Answers will be forthcoming, for now, he lets himself enjoy the presence of his favorite people. 

  Minus Hyrule. He kinda wants Hyrule here too. 

Chapter Text

  They fall asleep in fitful piles in one of the rooms.    

  Wild hands out some semblance of a meal, but even those that accept it only pick at it sullenly. Four is still cross, and although Wind has sat with him to try and settle the smithy, there’s no way to miss the dark looks shot towards Wild and Twilight. Wisely, Warriors has avoided taking sides, but he has settled beside the rancher, and despite the near snarl that had escaped his pup, the captain had only raised a single brow in response to his brother’s ire.    

  Twilight didn’t last long under Warriors’ stare. His pup caves easily under disapproval, especially from authority figures. While the captain is hardly the rancher’s commander, even Time had learned his own disapproving stare from the captain, and if he thought it worked well when he did it, well, Warriors manages much better.    

  The captain tames his cubs like he used to tame Time, talking them down out of their fuss and both assuring and reprimanding them in the same breath while Wind mimics the same with Four on the other side of the room. They’re a dangerous team, those two. He’s always been a bit jealous; Warriors spent time with him when he was small, and guided him and worked beside him, but there was never the spark that burst between sailor and captain, the playful teasing and light laughter and warm smiles and understanding that flitted between blue eyes. It’s probably because Warriors spent more time trying to help him heal than anything, and he’d spent so much time pushing the other away. Unlike Malon though, Wars never broke the barriers he put up, instead backing away and respecting them even when a younger Time had wanted the man to push them down and grab him by the shoulders and hold him, even when he said he didn’t want it.   

  Wind though, Wind has always been there, reliable and strong and helpful. Waking up in the middle of the night to tell Warriors to sleep, making sure there was something decent to eat at their tent after a long day, because all of them knew Warriors couldn’t cook for shit. Wind’s always been Warriors’ trusted right hand, helping fill in the cracks and providing strength, but never afraid to ask for the captain to give a little back, to hold him when he was lonely or to read to him when he was missing the sound of the waves. It’s not uncommon, even now on the road, for the sailor to flop down on the man’s chest and ask for poetry readings, and more often than not, the captain will oblige.    

  They’re dangerous as a team, be it in the field or in a camp, and amidst heroes at odds with each other, they work like needle and thread to mend the holes.    

  Well, those than can be mended.   

  Four may stop seething and instead start talking, voice hissing and harsh, but it’s accepted with ease by the sailor until the anger bleeds out into something almost tearful. Wild’s fears and worries may be soothed with Warriors’ shaking hands and rich voice, even as doing so sets the rancher better at ease to see his cub taken care of and no longer panicking, but none of that does anything for the fact that Hyrule still stands in the door of the room, back turned to them and shoulders stiff, fury pouring off of him in waves so strong that even Time feels a bit of fear when he steps too close.   

  And none of it does anything for the fact that he’d still lashed out at those who’d put their trust and faith in him to lead and guide them through this blasted adventure.    

  They pass out sometime in the night. When he wakes, he’s not sure when exactly it was, but he knows Wild is curled into Warriors’ side with Twilight mirroring on the other, and Four still has his head leaned against the sailor’s shoulder where the two are propped against the wall. Hyrule still stands at the door though, peering out into the hallway, down towards the door they’d left behind the day before just as he’s been doing since Ravio ordered them to leave.   

  “Traveler-”   

  The teen’s shoulders stir, but it’s the only sign of reaction from him. Still, Time can almost see the wings beating and whizzing, can almost hear Navi’s voice screaming at him that, hey, listen, this isn’t the best thing to do right now!   

  Angry fae are dangerous, and an angry fae who can’t be near someone they care about when that person is perceived to be desperately in need of their care, well-    

  “Try sitting down at least, you’re going to strain yourself,” he ends with, sighing and sinking back into the chair he’d fallen into at some point in the night. He’s still in his armor and sleeping sitting up has most definitely messed up his neck, but that’s his own fault and right now he doesn’t exactly feel like he deserves anything better.   

  Malon would probably glare at him for such thoughts, but she’s not here right now and he hasn’t the mental energy to correct himself.   

  He glances over the boys, Warriors is beginning to stir, arms tightening minutely around the two heroes at his sides as his brow furrows and his fingers twitch. In a minute or so, once the man is quite aware and he’s taken stock of everything, bright blue eyes will flicker open, and when they do, they trail over the two sleeping heroes with a sigh before immediately turning on him.  

  The disapproval is palpable.  

  He’s years older now, but even so, he still shifts a bit in his seat under the captain’s stare as the man gingerly extracts himself from arms of the two younger heroes, fobbing off Wild on Twilight so the clingy rancher doesn’t get overly upset at his loss of a sleeping buddy and so Wild won’t freak out at the sudden cold from no longer having a warm body beside his own.  

  Once free, the captain lingers, staring down at the two with a pinched expression as he brushes long hair from scarred cheeks ad adjusts Twilight’s fur to cover a bit more. The two do not earn the favor of his scarf, but it’s a near thing, Time thinks.  

The scarf doesn’t get handed out unless it’s someone Warriors trusts and is quite pleased with, and even the captain, who is entirely oblivious to what the thing means to most of them, seems to recognize that sharing the envied article would be as good as giving his support in one side or another of an argument.  

  He wonders how it came to be that way, but can’t think of what exactly triggered it.  

  A sigh brings him back to himself though, Warriors turning away from the others and cracking his back in the process as he turns instead to Time, pinched expression still present as he moves to crouch in front of the leader.  

  He doesn’t feel quite like a child again as Warriors squats in front of him, not quite; he’s looking down now instead of being level with the man and the weight of responsibility on his shoulders can be felt far greater than when he was thirteen and fighting in a war.  

  “Are you okay?”  

  It’s a stupid question, and while he manages to respond without sass or snark, he can’t help but scowl a bit at the words. “What do you think, captain?”  

  Warriors blinks at him, long and slow, not unlike a cat, and doesn’t say anything.  

  “Legend died.” He hisses, admits aloud to the world around him and the sleeping heroes as he buries a hand in his hair. “His heart stopped, his breathing stopped, and until you and Hyrule got him going again…” he was dead. He was dead and it was their fault.  

  A hand, hesitant, which he hates, settles on his knee, bright blue staring up at him with the weight of the whole world in their depths. The captain doesn’t say anything.  

  It’s what always works best for him. Having someone there, having someone listen, but not having to answer so much as just ask for himself and spout off, it’s always helped. Warriors knows that, and regardless of the fact that this whole mess is partially the captain's fault, he also is the person trying hardest to fix their group in the aftermath and for that, Time can look past the previous mistake.  

  For now.  

  “He died.” he chokes out at last, again. “I didn’t stop it, I didn’t fix it, I didn’t do anything but stand there, useless, and then I yelled at the boys when it was over. They’re hurting already, and I only added to it all.”  

  “We deserved a bit of a yelling,” the captain sighs, hand slipping away. He wishes it wouldn’t. “Not to the degree you took it, you’re right, but we messed up big this time, and you had a right to call us on it. Now, I’m not saying that what you did was okay, you took it a bit far for that and I’m not going to lie; you hurt us, but I think the reason it hurt as much as it did was because we all agree that you were right; we should have known better.”  

  “But you didn’t.”  

  “We acted foolishly and we hurt our brother. We got Legend hurt, killed even. We as a group messed up big time, and trust me, none of us are going to let ourselves forget it, ever.  

  “As our leader,” Warriors shifts, staring him in the eye again, firm and solid like he always is, strong and dependable, but with that flash of hurt just beneath the surface that Time can never quite get at and help, “you had a right to scold us, to tell us we did wrong and to even punish us if that’s what you saw necessary.”  

  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”  

  An echo of a smile chases away some of the shadows of the captain’s face. “ But , as a leader, you can’t ever let yourself be consumed by emotion or hurt, your team relies on you to be their strength, and it’s not fair, but that’s the way it is. If we let emotion win over logic, we hurt the team and we hurt their trust in us as leaders.”  

  “In me, you mean. You’ve been helping them back together.”  

  The hint of a smile disappears, eyes falling and shoulders slumping as the man before him basically droops like a withered plant. “I still helped cause the problem in the first place, and I lashed out too. I’m not innocent here, Sprite, and I think we both know that perfectly well.”  

  They do. He does. Warriors was the one who suggested rooting through Legend’s things to begin with; he does it to the other heroes and it’s far from the first time it’s happened. He knows the captain won’t admit it, but he and Wind both have a running theory that the man is trying to satisfy the endless urge to pickpocket the other heroes by instead just going through their things and putting stuff back when he’s done. Theoretically, it’s harmless that way and no one gets hurt.   

  Except this time someone did, and it hurt the team as a whole as a result.  

  “So, what would you suggest I do now?”  

  Up again shoot blue eyes, a bit startled. “Huh?”  

  “You’re better used to leading than I am, what should I do now?” He asks, shifting forwards so that he’s hunched over his legs, face a little closer to being on the same level as Warriors’ own.  

  He’s not sure what he hopes for, a clear-cut solution to the problem or some direction to try and take, But the man before him just settles back on his heels, looking for a moment like a crouching skulltula; all long limbs and joints, as he reaches one arm around to rub at his neck in the clear signal to all Links that he’s lost. “I don’t know.”  

  Something inside of him sinks at the words.  

  “I’ve never been here before, Time, and to be honest, I don’t think I have the right anymore to determine what we do going forward. I messed us up and I dragged the others down with me. If you want advice from someone on how to handle that mistake, I’m not the person to ask; I can’t promise that I’ll come up with a fair solution to our problems.”  

  He pauses, staring, and then sighs as he runs a hand down his face. “How did you not end up leader here?”  

  The smile he’s offered in return is half-formed and tired, but it’s playful all the same. “Because I’m not the old man here.”  

  He swipes a fist at the other, but the captain springs back easily, chuckling breathily.  

  “Ah, ah, ah! A good leader doesn’t strike his followers outside of combat training, doncha know?”  

  He tries glaring, but like any of the expressions and techniques he learned from the man, it doesn’t work on Warriors.   

  “Honestly though,” the captain sighs, dropping back down to the floor, smile faded and eyes heavy on his own, “they look up to you, Time. I may be an army captain, but that’s to my detriment; they don’t trust soldiers. Maybe they trust me now, or maybe they did before this…” he waves his hand; there’s not a word that can begin to describe what this situation is, “but when we all first met, you were the one who seemed to best understand what to do. Legend knows how to adventure, but he’s not keen on leading. Twilight knows how to lead, but his knowledge and experience is still limited. Sky is the first of us, but he’s still getting to know what the surface is like, nevermind eras upon eras of Hyrule. You, however, understand the land, people, and have the experience to know what to do in most cases. Even when you don’t though, and trust me, all leaders have those moments, you have the faith in your team to trust someone else to handle things you can’t; you trust me to make battle plans, you trust Legend to guide us through dungeons and if he gives a warning about random crap, you know to take him at his word. You know to put aside your own feelings- in most cases- and even if it doesn’t suit your own wishes, you’ll still allow or do what you know is best for all of us.”  

  He’s about to speak but the captain fixes him with a look.  

  “ In most cases . And in this case, where you messed up- Hylia, where we all messed up- you’re willing to see where you were wrong and take advice. Granted, I’m not the person you should be consulting with, since technically I’m one of the ones under the flames right now, but that’s beside the point.”  

  “Who then, am I supposed to be consulting with?  

  The captain sighs, overbalancing and falling back on his ass in perhaps the most gracefully intentional way he’s ever seen somebody do that. “ Sky , you tree-twunk! He’s the only one among us who didn’t mess up! By all rights, he’s the only one with any grounds to say anything about how to handle this situation beyond just making peace between us.”  

  He doesn’t get to answer that, the captain’s raised voice drawing Wind up from sleep as the sailor yawns loudly in waking, moving to rub at his eyes and pausing half-way as he recognizes the existence of a smithy leaned against him.  

  “Morning, kiddo.” Warriors greets, offering another of those sweet half smiles that says he’d love to ruffle the teen’s hair if he was at all close enough to do so.  

  Wind yawns again, lifting the other arm to scratch at his own head as he offers a returning, albeit very sleepy, smile to the captain. “Morning, Link.”  

  Even despite himself, he feels a smile pulling at his own face at the two of them. Wind’s usually fine about remembering which nicknames to use, but he still sometimes slips up and calls the captain by his given name rather than his hero’s title. It confuses the rest on most days, but today, when it's just the three of them (and Hyrule, but Hyrule’s ignoring them) awake, it more brings back old memories than it confuses anyone.  

  He watches Wind settle back to himself, ocean eyes trailing over everyone in the room before pausing on Hyrule and dropping immediately, the previous peacefulness in his face fading with a soft sigh. “Any word on Legend?”  

  The traveler stirs, glancing over his shoulder at the sailor. Rather than stern and fierce, there’s a trace of something almost rueful in the older teen’s face as he looks at the younger before sighing and turning back to his watch of the empty hall. “They haven’t left all night. I think Sky and Fable fell asleep with him a while back, but Ravio and Hilda have spent a good portion of the night hissing at each other.”  

  “Like, whispering?” Wind asks, straightening and nudging Four into wakefulness beside him, “or angry whispering?”  

  “Charged.” Hyrule clips.  

  The three of them nod. That would make sense. Tensions are running high in all directions, and the only ones who don’t seem to be mad at anyone yet are Legend and Fable themselves, and that’s because Legend, last they saw him, was still pretty out of it. When the vet’s more recovered it’ll be a different story.  

  He’s not sure what to expect when that happens really. Legend had become strangely silent when he’d discovered the damage in the first place, and in the following morning he’d been short with them, but never lashed out. Honestly, that just makes him feel worse , because despite hardly being affected by everything, he’d behaved worse than Legend , and what sort of leader does that?  

  How Legend will react now, now that they nearly got him killed- did get him killed, however short a time his heart had been still- he doesn’t know. Will Legend be quiet again, turning a cold shoulder on them in disappointment with them and with himself for trusting them? Will he yell and cuss and throw a fit? Time wouldn’t blame him, or scold him even; Legend’s entitled to that at this point. Or might he hiss sharp, pointed things that dig at their faults and weaknesses, picking them apart piece by piece like he did that one time in Warriors’ Castletown with a particular idiot who just wouldn’t leave them alone?  

  Time isn’t going to lie, he’s a bit worried about what’s going to happen when the door Hyrule’s been watching so intently actually opens.  

  So, when it does, when Hyrule starts and straightens, nervous energy pouring off him in waves as he practically trembles with anticipation, something curls in his gut and makes his heart clench in what even he will admit is fear.  

  The three wakened heroes stand, and Four, blinking awake on the floor, stumbles to follow their example. No one moves to wake Twilight and Wild, but considering how fitfully he knows they slept, and how tight they cling to each other, and how high tensions are running between Four and Twilight, he determines that that’s probably for the best. Wild will probably yell at him later for not telling them about anything, and Twilight will undoubtedly agree with him, even if he bears too much respect for Time to vocalize it, but if it prevents Ravio snapping at them again, he’ll take it.  

  Feet tap down the hall, down towards them because Legend’s room was at the very end of it, but Hyrule doesn’t wait for whomever it is to stumble across their open door, instead darting out into the hall and accidentally startling whomever it is as he asks “how’s Legend?”  

  There’s silence for a moment. He can still make out the traveler’s figure framed in the doorway, but the other person remains unidentified.  

  “Is he alright?” Hyrule demands, clearly irritated at his lack of answer, although not enough so to encroach on the other person’s space (yet). “Did he sleep alright? Is he in pain? How’s his arm? Did everything go as planned or is he still unbalanced?”  

  There’s something of a sigh from the other person, whomever it might be, and then Hilda’s voice can be faintly heard from the hallway.  

  The heroes hurry to the door, making as little noise as they can to avoid missing any bit of the news the dark princess has to deliver.  

  “Link is recovering.” the princess announces, same as she had the day before, only this time far more clipped.  

  Hyrule scowls, clearly trying his best to be respectful but also impatient for more than just those simple words.  

  “His injuries are minor, although physical alterations are to be expected. Fortunately, his soul was not entirely unresponsive to our workings and his light is now in balance with his shadow. That said,” he can almost see the princess raising her hand to halt any interruptions, just like Lullaby does and Sheik did. “He has a long ways to go yet to fully recover. What he suffered could be equated to a week's worth of torture.”  

  Four winces. They all wince. He can’t even begin to imagine-  

  “His mind is also somewhat muddled, so his understanding of things is questionable at best. He knows who he is and who other people are, and as my brother attests, he is fully understanding of his previous six adventures, however, the events leading to this egregious accident are unknown to him, as are the full after affects.”  

  “So, he doesn’t remember being trapped?” Wind presses, darting out into the hall behind Hyrule and promptly stopping a step outside the room. The rest of them follow the youngest hero, pausing in the doorway as Hilda arches a judgmental brow at them.  

  “He does not.”  

  Breath he didn’t know he was holding is released, and the others do the same, shoulders sinking with relief that seems to make Hilda all the more stiff. Hyrule, however, does no such thing, stepping a bit closer, hands fisted at his sides and wings, though invisible, now almost audible in their frenzied buzzing. “But is he okay? Is he in pain? Is he sleeping, can he hear okay, can he talk?”  

  The princess’s brows furrow. “Do you honestly expect that I can answer all of that at-”  

  “Yes!” Hyrule whines, looking genuinely pained.   

  The expression of Hilda’s face rewrites itself into something almost softer, still mostly emotionless, but softer all the same. He thinks it might be her eyes. “His voice was damaged substantially, most likely by calling out for help and or screaming in pain.”  

  Something every one of their hearts do at the words; it almost feels like Ganon himself has crushed his, claws piercing even as it’s thrust up into his throat.  

  “As such,” the princess continues, “he is unable to communicate very well with us.”  

  “Do you know sign?” Four tries suggesting, fingers slipping into words even as he says them, like it’s instinct to use both even when he’s just thinking about the language.  

  Hilda shakes her head. “I am proficient in Lorulian sign, and my brother has studied your Hylian sign excessively, but Link is very weak, and his motor skills at the moment are largely lacking. He is, for the time being, about as capable as an infant, and limited mostly to similar means of communication if he wishes to allow himself to heal.”  

  Maybe, were the situation different, someone would have laughed at that. No one does.  

  “Can I see him?” Hyrule begs, and he really is begging, the traveler’s face is written over with desperation and his face twitches every so often like he’s trying to hold back tears.  

  Hilda regards the traveler silently.  

  “I know I messed up,” Hyrule murmurs, voice suddenly soft. “I know I screwed up big time, I broke the Rules, and I’m willing to face the consequences for that, whatever they might be, but please, your highness, please let me see him!”  

  Hilda eyes the traveler, and then bows her head softly. “You may go.” Hyrule starts down the hall the moment the words are off her lips, but he’s paused by a hand on his shoulder and red eyes glinting darkly at him. “You will be quiet and will not wake him. If he wakes, you will not speak of what happened and you will call no attention to the changes that have been made to him. Cause him harm or anguish and you shall face my wrath, understood?”  

  There’s not a bit of fear or doubt in Hyrule’s eyes, only something firm and sure, “I understand.”  

  Again, the princess nods, and then, hand still on Hyrule’s shoulder, she turns to the rest of them. “You, leader, the child here claimed you were innocent of the crimes against our hero?” The possessive claim of their vet makes Hyrule bristle just a bit, but Time’s soothed by the thought that Hilda would claim and protect their vet.   

  He nods. “Sky and I were absent from the group at the time.”  

  “You are the leader, and you were absent?”  

  A thing that bites at him and stings as she speaks of it.  

  “He was advising someone,” Four speaks up softly, voice gentle but eyes sharp. “Sky needed someone to confide in, and they trusted us to mind ourselves in their absence. This isn’t either of their faults.”  

  Wind nods, turning to the princess with a twisted-up expression. “He’s a good leader.” ‘Most of the time’ rings in the air, but no one says it.  

  Legend would have said it.  

  “This isn’t his fault.” Warriors agrees.  

  Hilda hums, hand still firm on Hyrule’s arm as she regards Time. Her gaze, like Ravio’s, like Legend’s, is piercing. There’s something about her that screams that she could strip a man to his very soul and only need stare at him to know his every flaw, and he feels as though she does as she stares at him. Whatever she finds there, it doesn’t make her seethe or spit or, as a noble would, turn up her nose. Instead, she regards him with a stern look and nods. “You may go as well, and you also,” ruby eyes turn from him to Wind, softening as they do. “You will own to your mistakes and I trust you will prevent each other from going too far.”  

  They nod as one and her grip loosens, but does not drop. “If, however, my brother orders you leave the room, you will do so without argument. Should you cause any trouble, you will no longer be permitted entrance to the room, understood?”  

  They echo their agreement, and at last, she lets them go.   

  He doesn’t stop for a moment to ask why she’d let them go, or why it was only the three of them. Selfishly, he doesn’t care, he just wants to make sure for himself that Legend is even somewhat alright.  

Chapter Text

  The room is dark when they enter.  

  Hyrule’s feet are softest as they creep towards the bed set against one wall, cautious as the traveler darts around the single chair that lies close by, empty, but no doubt where the princess had sat prior to exiting only moments before. After all, Time can’t imagine a young woman such as herself curling up amidst the other four on the bed, Sky to Legend’s front, strong arms wrapped around both him and the princess who’s wrapped herself around her brother’s other side, face in his shoulder and still streaked with tears even in sleep. It’s not a big bed, and Sky’s bulk makes it smaller for the others, but Ravio curls at the foot all the same, face twisted up similarly to the vet’s own but with worry in place of pain.  

  Time stands back, close enough to see, but not daring to step forwards and touch.  

  Hyrule seems to bear no such reservations, drifting close to the bed and reaching out, feather light fingers brushing petal colored hair from drawn cheeks, thumb tracing the lines of pain that crease over the face of their brother, smoothing what he can and soothing in a second some of what he finds there.  

  It’s as though Legend was waiting for him, relaxing some into the bed at the traveler’s touch, face gentling and shoulders losing some of their strain as the traveler breathes a brief sigh.  

  They do not, as ordered, mention the clawed hand even though Legend is asleep and cannot hear them.  

  At his side, Wind shifts, watching, trembling just the slightest bit with emotions he can’t name. He wants to reach out and offer comfort, but restrains himself; it wouldn’t be welcome, not from him. From Warriors maybe, from the vet, without a doubt, from Hyrule even, he thinks, it might be accepted, but he has committed an error, and for that, he’s lost the trust of his boys for the time being, even Wind, who’d helped him learn to trust again in the first place.  

  “He’s so still,” the sailor breathes, watching as Hyrule fusses and touches, “you almost can’t tell-” …that he’s even alive.  

  He should offer words of comfort, offer something, anything. Hyrule’s mind and soul are fixed on satisfying his own worry, and after a lonely vigil throughout the night, the traveler shouldn’t be the one to have to offer comfort as well when none of them had offered it to him (not that he would have accepted it).  

  Still, Time can’t force himself, just stands there, painfully still, hands itching to touch, to hold, to reach out and draw them all in close and apologize for failing them, as a leader, as a friend, as a brother, for failing to stop them messing with Legend’s things. For failing to help the vet at all once the curse took hold. For failing to do anything more than yell and lash out when they’d been left in the aftermath. For standing silent and still and watching as bodies smaller than his own bear the weight of the worry, Hyrule sagging further the more he sees and Wind clutching hold of himself, not daring to touch as Hyrule does but clearly wanting nothing more than to wrap their brother in his own sturdy little arms and apologize endlessly.  

  They’ve got to be a sight when Ravio’s eyes crack open, bright and eerie green against the darkness around them, blank for only a moment before flying immediately to their veteran’s face, pausing on Hyrule, where the traveler’s hand rests against one drawn and pale cheek. The contrast is strong between them, sheet white skin against warm brown, something straddling the line between life and death paired with something that’s very essence breathes the former.  

  The merchant stirs.  

  “What are you doing here?”   

  “Hilda let us in,” Wind answers, soft and still, eyes not meeting eerie green even for a moment, “we just wanted to make sure he’s alright.”  

 The merchant blinks.  

  Before, when asked, Legend has called Ravio his better half. The merchant is soft for every bit of sharpness of their vet, kind in contrast to the harsh manner of the other, sweet and tender-hearted where their brother is harsh and cold. Yet, as of late, they’ve seen glimpses of a hero with a softer side, or a veteran beloved by his people and revered as pure and patient, caring and warm, a person to turn to in times of trouble; reliable, steadfast, strong, brave, loving.  

  If Ravio then, is Legend’s reflection, the reverse of their vet, then if, beneath the ire and ice, Legend is kind and warm, what does that mean about the merchant?  

  He thinks they’re finding out. Legend’s dark gaze is a heavy thing to bear, but Ravio’s is chilling, cold and harsh as it regards the three of them from where the young man still lays at the feet of their fallen brother. Bunny or not, he feels more dangerous than the wolf that curls beside Wild.  

  Fleetingly, he remembers Navi warning him about rabbits; it’s not uncommon that the powerful will mask themselves with the face of the sacred beasts, and wizards, witches and those bearing holy power might be the ones he stares at when he sees soft fur and gentle eyes.  

  There’s no hiding here though, Ravio is in no ways showing a soft or meek side, defensive and cold instead as he watches them, pulling himself up with the same grace as their vet as one hand drifts to catch, as though it is nothing, the clawed and twisted hand of their brother.  

  “You want to make sure he’s alright.” Ravio repeats.  

  Wind shifts, they all do, but the sailor is the most obvious as he nods. “We know we messed up, Ravio, but we’re sorry, and while I know that doesn’t mean a lot right now, we still care and we still want to make sure he’s okay.”  

  The merchant cocks his head, blinking slowly at them. Unlike with the captain, who does so in a patient way that puts them at ease, Ravio’s eerie eyes fix them with something that does anything but. Like the captain’s though, it prompts words to come spilling out, Hyrule tense, Wind worried and Time…well, Time’s not talking at all. He’s run out of words already and the day has only just started. Today has the high potential of being a no-talking day for him, and even his hands can’t verbalize what he’s thinking as he watches the downfall around himself, watches Ravio regard them without his usual friendliness. There’s pain and anger both mixing in those green eyes, the grip of the merchant on their brother’s hand is strong but gentle, cautious of harm and almost cradling the vet’s twisted and blackened fingers in his own, like nothing in the world could change how he feels about Legend, corrupted flesh and darkened magics included.  

  At last, however, the words, apologies and explanations and the whole story, run out. Hyrule and Wind are left standing, and he behind them, and Ravio is still staring, blinking slowly and saying nothing.   

  Silence holds the room for what feels like forever.  

  Eventually, the merchant turns, reaches over and bushes back soft pink hair with a little sigh that says more than anything they’ve managed to splutter out. “He trusted you, you know.”  

  The words shouldn’t pierce like they do, shouldn’t hurt. Hearing that Legend trusted them; Legend, the ornery vet who was wary of anything he didn’t know nearly intimately, trusting them, is an honor. But they probably have lost that now.  

  “I was so proud,” Ravio continues, fully aware of their pain but doing and saying nothing about it, eyes fixed on their brother with something pained, yet almost reverent. “He’s always been a wary person, my Mister Hero. There’s always been someone trying to hurt him, and rarely anyone he can trust to help keep him safe. It took him ages before he’d turn his back on me; he’d always back out the door with his eye on me when we first met, so it shocked me when he was so open with you when he met you. He just let you in, trusted without question that since you were heroes, despite what your kind have done to him in the past, you were safe.  

  “He gave you what most people have to fight for, and you threw it away.” Dark fingers trail over feather-light scars and freckles. “And what makes it worse, is that you didn’t know the value of what you had. Not only that, but now that you’ve broken it, there's a chance it will never be offered so freely again, no matter who it is he meets.”  

  So that, in the end, they haven’t just killed their brother, revived or no, they’ve also killed a spark of faith in people as a whole, one that Ravio must have nourished so faithfully for it to sprout to begin with. One which the merchant mourns before them, his hurt and anger on clear display as glistening eyes turn back on them.  

  “I’m sorry,” Wind repeats, meeting those flashing eyes with a courage Time doesn’t have himself.   

  “And why are you apologizing to me?” Ravio bites back, pain shining through, “I’m not the one hurt here, Tune.”  

  “But we threw away something you worked for, and, in the long run, you’re the one who’s going to hurt for it.”  

  In the bed, Sky shifts, bright crystal eyes turning to the sailor. He doesn’t know how long the other has been awake, but it’s apparent by the clarity in those blue eyes that it’s been a while; no shroud of sleep is left in their depths as the Chosen Hero stares silently at their youngest, no doubt listening closely.  

  The weight of the eyes is prompt enough for the teen to continue, even though no one speaks to ask him aloud. “You’re his best friend, you and Zelda and- I don’t know, maybe Princess Hilda as well. You’re the closest he’s got, and even if he does come back with us on our travels, he’s still coming home to you all. And you love him, I know you do, you love him even more maybe than any of us, and no matter what, I know you’re planning to stay beside him, which means facing his demons with him; you’re going to be the one who helps him pick up the pieces from this, who will talk him through his nightmares and adjust to his new magics and help him embrace life in the way it’ll be now. So, in the long run, we’ve hurt and burdened you even if we never did anything to you directly.”  

  He knows all of them are staring, can feel the air shift in surprise at the understanding and foresight Wind shows. He knows, deep down, in a part of him that had looked up to the sailor as a child and had envied the other’s wisdom, power and courage, that this isn’t anything remarkable to the youngest of his brothers. Still, it catches him off guard, just as it does with Hyrule and Sky, if he’s reading their stares correctly. Ravio though, while he starts at first, only glares at the sailor as the younger finishes.  

  “He isn’t a burden,” the merchant murmurs, soft and sure but harsh. “A burden is something thrust on you by others, and I choose to be here. I choose to help him with his troubles, because they’re just as much a part of him as his charm and his wit and his smiles and his laughter. Just because you added a new one doesn’t make him someone I have to ‘deal with’ . Mister Hero will forever be someone that I choose to work beside .”  

   Something inside him surges at the words. They’re an almost familiar mantra, one Malon has whispered to him countless times as she wipes away tears and brushes back his hair and kisses over his face with more love than he’d ever fathomed a person could show to him before he’d married her. It’s not the same way Ravio says it, Ravio says it with more fire and less tears, like they ought to say it for each other, but never do. He says it loud enough that, on the other side of the bed, Fable stirs awake, and only seconds after blue eyes flicker open, a similar set of violet follows after, a soft noise, not a groan but not a whine, rings through the still air between them.   

  “Ravi?”  

  It’s like magic the way the crouching beast returns to the soft and gentle rabbit they’re used to, Ravio’s eyes softening as they turn to the veteran with a weary but adoring smile. “Hey there, Mister Hero,” dark fingers squeeze around blackened ones gently, “I hope you’re feeling better.”  

  There’s a slight nod, drowsy. Legend’s eyes lack the usual spark, but they don’t look dead now either, just hazy with warmth and sleep and trusted people all around. They flicker up, catching on Sky’s face and then Fable’s before turning to Ravio, lips moving to form words but no sound is produced. Regardless, the heroes understand. ‘Hyrule?’ is the silent question, and it makes the merchant sigh, but he doesn’t express his disapproval, instead only smiling and squeezing the vet’s damaged hand once more. “He’s right here.”  

  The traveler takes that as his cue, stepping forwards again to the bedside and kneeling down by its edge, better in Legend’s view even if it does bring him closer to Ravio as well; it would seem there’s not one without the other.  

  The breath that rattles from their brother is a heavy one, a sigh almost, as he shifts, wincing even as dark eyes rest on the traveler’s honest face with something warm and soft and kind in them that they only rarely see, and only for the Chosen Hero and traveler. “Hey.”  

  “Ah, ah” Ravio scolds softly, shaking his head, “no talking. Your throat is still awful messed up.”  

  The vet makes a face at his friend, an over-the-top pout that draws hints of smiles to the faces around him, but there’s little else he can do, not with Fable and Sky still pressed in close on either side and Ravio still holding onto his hand.  

  “How are-” a look from the merchant has the traveler rephrasing his question, ducking his head a bit under the stare. “Did you sleep okay?”  

  Legend’s face twists again, considering. His expressions are rather over the top, but considering he has neither speech nor much motion in his current predicament, it might be that he’s doing so on purpose to better convey his meaning. He frowns, then tips his head on one side, an expression they take to mean “I’m doing so-so.”  

  “Well,” Hyrule chuckles, a bit wetly, “that’s normal I suppose.”  

  A crooked smile meets his words, a hint of stars touching violet skies as brows furrow and the stare of the other intensifies, fixing on Hyrule in an inquisitive manner.  

  “I’m okay. Worried about you.”  

  A quirk of the brow.   

  “They’re alive, but Hilda doesn’t want us all in here at once.”  

  The vet’s face relaxes, accepting the answer as he settles back against the others, glancing up at Sky and receiving a worn but loving smile in return as the man’s hand slips through his hair in a way that’s likely meant to comfort himself as much as it is to comfort the veteran.  

  Another quirk of the brows, the same silent question.  

  Sky’s voice is rough, grating almost as it answers, “I’m alive, Bun.”  

  A scowl, familiar and disapproving.  

  Sky shifts, rolling his shoulders a bit and escaping the heat of the look. “You scared me.”  

  Another frown, this one directed at the group of them as a whole, but this time the intention of it isn’t as clear.   

  It’s Fable who has to decode it. “We’ll explain when you’re in a state to hear it all,” the princess sighs, also reaching over to caress her brother’s face, just as gentle, but with her, the vet leans in, nuzzling against her hand like a particularly affectionate cat. It makes the princess smile. “A lot happened, and your body is still in shock. We’d like you to recover properly and not make it worse.”  

  Another frown, almost a pout, but the princess just taps his nose playfully, eyes sparking a bit with life again as she does so. “Believe me, I’m doing you a favor, you idiot. You always manage to get yourself into the worst of nonsense, you know that?”  

  It’s green eyes that level them with a stare, unseen by the nobles as Ravio fixes them with a look that’s as much as to say “he didn’t get himself into this one, you did,” and it makes all of them shrink back a bit.  

  A bunny shouldn’t have the power to make grown heroes tremble, but it’s a near thing.  

-  

  They’re ushered out of the room after a while, this time with Sky and at their sides. The chosen hero protests, but Hilda is firm.   

  “Link requires our constant care, but he must be allowed to breathe. Her grace Zelda and I need to tend to him for now, and you may not be present for what we need to do. We shall, however, alert you when you can next see him again.”  

  Which won’t be soon enough, regardless of how short a time it may turn out to be.  

  They return to the room the heroes have in a way, claimed.  

  Ravio is not forced out, going of his own accord although clearly not because he wants to. Still, he’s assigned a task by the princess, and rather than leaving with them, he departs through a portal once they’re out in the hall, Hilda opening it for him and giving the heroes a glimpse of the cottage home the merchant and hero share on the other side.  

  When they return to the room that’s, in a way, become theirs, it’s to find Twilight and Four back at each other’s throats, Warriors caught between them, one hand on the rancher’s collar and the other outstretched towards the smithy in an attempt to either calm him down or hold him back. Wild just looks overwhelmed, hands over his ears and face drawn, eyes fixed on the fuss like he’s not willing to not know what happens, but still can’t bear to actually listen to it all. Not that the champion can escape the sound; only Legend’s hearing is better, and that means muffled or not, the teen will be getting an earful of all that the others have to say.  

  They fall silent though when the others enter the room. It might be just him, but Time gets the impression that it’s nothing they do so much as the presence of the skyloftian that has them holding their tongues again.  

  The silent treatment, as he’s found out through Malon, is a horribly effective thing, and Sky seems a master of it, having not spoken a single word to them since the Incident itself, yet still commanding their attention and stillness with his presence alone.  

  “How’s Legend?” Wild asks first, dropping his hands and watching their predecessor intently, as though he can read by actions alone what state their brother is in.  

  “Alive,” Sky grates, voice rough from disuse and emotion both, “barely.”  

  Any hope that surged, falls.  

  “Is he alone?” Four asks, biting back whatever he’d been about to shout at Twilight to instead drop his voice and lift his gaze to the hero they all know he looks up to and admires.  

  Sky shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Hilda and Fable.”  

  Maybe, Time muses, Sky is also having trouble with speaking today. He’s usually better spoken, if not more wordy, and the contrast between his normal and current states of speech is stark.  

  “Are you okay?” Warriors asks next, dropping his hold on Twilight and drawing attention to the fact that he’d not only scruffed the rancher, but lifted him off of his feet to prevent him fighting back.  

  Time is impressed. He’s lifted the pup himself, of course, but never scruffed him like an actual pup and held him one handed. Either the captain is stronger than he remembers, or had to employ some item or another, because that’s impressive.  

  In answer, Sky just sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and moving further into the room and away from the rest of them.  

  They watch, all hesitant, all wanting to help, but none brave enough to try and risk Sky’s wrath. The Chosen Hero wouldn’t strike them, and they don’t fear harm, but if Time, their stoic leader and guide, lashed out, how would Sky, the Chosen Hero and God Killer, react to their harming his closest brother? They haven’t seen yet, and he knows none of them want to.  

  “You could have woken us,” Twilight hisses, turning back to the returned heroes, and Time himself, with a dark look glinting in midnight eyes.  

  “You needed the sleep,” Warriors returns, sounding like it’s not for the first time. “And Princess Hilda wouldn’t have let you in to see him anyway.”  

  “But he’s still our brother,” Wild challenges softly, eyes glinting as they turn on the captain, “we still should have been told when something happened.”  

  “What, so you could fight her about seeing him? So, you could have kicked up another fuss and cause even more problems? You’re not exactly close with the vet, champ, why should she have let you go?”  

  There’s a light in Wild’s eyes, an unnatural, dangerous sort of thing as the champion sneers down at the smaller hero. “I notice she chose to leave you behind.”  

  The words are like a slap to the face for the smithy, or worse. They hit where it hurts and stoke the fire already blazing in shifting eyes to a blaze as Four’s hands twitch at his side. “Excuse me?”  

  “Ravio threatened you , smithy, not me.”  

  “Ravio threatened all of us,” Wind interjects, stepping between them and blocking their views of each other, assuming a similar position as Warriors had held when they entered. “We all messed up and we’re all in trouble.”  

  “No need to fight about who messed up more and who did or didn't get chosen by Hilda to visit our- to visit the vet.” Warriors sighs, backing the sailor up as he comes to stand beside him, hand falling to the younger’s shoulder in a visual signal of his support.  

  Four’s glare is a harsh and bitter blue. “Says the one who started this shit.”  

  The words are cruel, and Warriors winces, his hand tightening its grip on the sailor’s shoulder when the younger starts forward as though to defend him; a signal to stay, to not speak up. Warriors will take the blow and he won’t deny his fault in this matter, he doesn’t want Wind fussing over it. Still, it’s a low blow to throw around the blame, and Twilight hisses as much to the smith.  

  Four just scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Warriors went through the bag, Wild broke the ice rod, I scuffed the boxing gloves. Nayru knows which one of you idiots tossed the ocarina, but considering all but one of us knows music when we see it, I think we can make a guess.” The shot is directed at Twilight and none of them miss it. “We all messed up, like Wind said, but at least I’m willing to own to it and not make this whole nonsense about myself and what I want, unlike some people.” And there’s one for Wild as well. “Neither do I try to curry favor,” Icey eyes flicker to Warriors, “or boot-lick and grovel for forgiveness.” And this time he shoots for Wind.   

  The sailor meets cold ice with a calm sea, silent and still as Four lashes out in a way not unlike Time had before.   

  “You’re right,” Twilight snarls, tense like he’s about to spring, and Time has half a mind to reach to grab the pup lest he actually try it, “instead you just lash out and hurt everyone else. Make it equal, yeah? Make everyone hurt just as much as the vet did so you feel like it’s all fair and even?”  

  He should step in. He needs to step in. He wants to step in, but he can’t get his tongue to work, and even though he starts towards his boys, it’s without a thing to offer. They don’t even look to him from where they glare at each other, and he can’t bring himself to make them.  

  “That’s enough.”  

   That draws their attention, eyes lifting though stances hold defensive, or aggressive as the case may be, as all turn to the skyloftian.  

  Sky’s face is turned to the wall, hand clutching the Master Sword’s hilt as though for dear life, but not drawing the blade against them. Time thinks, in a way, it’s Sky’s own way of seeking comfort, even though he doesn’t understand why.  

  “What if one of you got cursed,” Sky speaks, voice soft by comparison to the angered shouts cast back and forth, but ringing clear despite, as the rest of them fall to silence. “What would you do if Twilight got cursed next? Or Wind?” Blue eyes, full of pain and torment, turn on all of them, “wouldn’t you regret saying all this to each other? You regret how you treated Legend now, but what if it was someone you were actually-” the words cut off and Sky winces, lips parting to continue only to stop.  

  The words are run out. There’s nothing more Sky can say, any more than Time can right now.  

  He feels for the other, offers as best an understanding look as he can as he nods his head; thanks for handling their brothers mixing with sympathy for a shared burden.  

  Sky meets his eyes for only a second before turning away with a sigh, fingers twisting into the final words he means for their brothers. “Don’t say things you’ll regret.”  

  He doesn’t want to know what Sky regrets, or who he’d spoken to that must flicker to his mind as he warns them.  

  Four hisses something under his breath, not meant for them, but caught by the rancher and earning a growl, an actual growl, no words attached, in response. The smithy just glowers back at him, until Warriors straight up scoops the smaller up and pushes Twilight back and away in the same motion, stalking to one side of the room with a familiar and aggravated sigh even as Four struggles to escape his grasp. “We’re going to have a talk, smithy.”  

  “We are doing no such thing!” Four shouts in return, “you are going to put me down right now and maybe I won’t shatter your kneecaps!”  

  “Because clearly,” Wild scoffs, “you can’t reach anything higher than that.”  

  Regardless of the captain’s reminders to not strike his subordinates he cuffs the champion over the head for that one, glowering in disapproval that makes the teen drop his gaze with a scowl of his own, but not push the matter.  

  They’re a mess.  

  Warriors isn’t much of an opponent for Four, and the smithy slips from his grasp after a minute or so, slipping past the others and out of the door.  

  Hyrule, back on his post, doesn’t stop him. In fact, the trailer lets him go, moving back into the doorway once he’s left and, by doing so, blocking them from following after.  

  It’s probably for the best, Time muses, massaging his temples with a sigh. Keeping them all locked in a room with tempers flaring and worry and hurt and guilt all eating at them won’t help. Now that they’re no longer all waiting up for news of their brother’s condition, they probably should split off to catch their breath and process everything at a distance from the issue itself. He doubts that they will though. Hyrule and Sky will linger here until someone calls them back to the veteran’s side, and Warriors will wait with them, determined to be there for anyone who will let him help. If Warriors stays, Wind will too, just as where Wild goes, Twilight will follow. But Twilight lingers too. With Four gone, the rancher’s focus flickers to Hyrule, catching eyes with the younger hero and only dropping his gaze when met with flat gold and brown.  

  There’s something keeping his pup here, and for once, it’s Wild that follows Twilight’s lead, waiting with his mentor, be it out of some sense of loyalty to the rancher or to the vet, Time doesn’t know.  

  Sky made a point though, as did Four. There’s few of them actually close to the vet. For all that they’ve bonded and connected with each other, the vet isn’t someone anyone but his ancestor and successor have tied themselves to. Not that Legend had let them, but they hadn’t exactly tried either.   

  He wonders if Legend resents them for that, maybe feels jealous to see the close connections between select members of their chain of heroes; between himself and the pups, with the captain and the sailor, between Hyrule and the captain; stark opposites but close despite, even if it’s a freshly forged sort of thing. Even Twilight and Warriors maintain some sort of antagonistically sibling-like relationship with each other, one which they’d hit upon nearly the moment they met and the captain had dropped his sword from where it had been held to the rancher’s throat.  

  All that seems to be shattering now.  

  He wonders if that would be the case if any other hero had fallen, or maybe if it’s because of the circumstances around what had happened. After all, both he and Wild have taken nasty hits before with no such reactions. Only Legend had seemed particularly worried about either of them, helping him back to his feet and panicking on account of the blow Wild had taken.  

  It’s a mess, and he only expects it will get worse if the vet takes too very long to recover.  

   As is proved when Ravio comes hurtling in through the door, apparently not expecting Hyrule to be lurking in its frame and slamming directly into him. It’s maybe good luck, or maybe instinct that has the traveler curling around the merchant as they hit the ground, and there’s a soft ‘oof’ from one of them, but that’s hardly what anyone is focusing on. Rather, Sky is shooting up from where he’d been sitting, and the others follow, all surging close as the Chosen Hero pulls the two teens from the floor, eyes wide and speaking more than his voice seems capable of right now.  

  “Something’s wrong,” Ravio rasps, shaken and startled as he looks up at the other hero. “Does anyone have experience with shapeshifting?”  

Chapter Text

For a reason none of them can determine, the merchant’s eyes immediately turn to Time, expectant, but it’s Twilight himself who speaks up first.  

“I do. What happened?”  

The merchant doesn’t answer, staring at Time, and the old man sighs, fingers twitching but not answering. He hasn’t said anything to them this morning by Twilight’s recollection, not when they were yelling at each other, or even afterwards. He’d almost get the impression that the old man was giving them the silent treatment after having chewed them all out, but the set of the man’s face as Ravio waits for him to answer says otherwise.  

“Time isn’t talking today.” Wind informs the merchant, firmer than anything he’s said today, but not harsh.  

Ravio breathes, a sigh or a wince or something that doesn’t push, that knows what that means, but also knows that Time not talking will make things difficult. Still, the merchant pushes. “You use transformation magics, don’t you?”  

He’s only standing a foot or so away, has just offered his help, but Ravio is ignoring him? Twilight won’t be the first person to claim he’s patient by any means, and while he’s not typically impatient or harsh either, when it comes to the safety and wellbeing of his brothers, he is both of those things, and it irks him considerably that Ravio would just.... ignore him like that. But he does. Ravio ignores him and watches as Time shifts his hand in a so-so motion, the wince on his face saying more than words can about how he feels about that sort of thing. Time has masks, he can take them off and put them on and they all know that (while they’ve never seen them in action) the old man isn’t keen on using them.  

“Something from my childhood,” Time had told them when Wind and Four had been looking at the items, tucked into one of the spare rooms at Lon-Lon ranch where they’d been staying and set on the wall. It used to be Time’s room, apparently, before he’d married Missus Malon, so there’d been a good many of his old adventuring things spread here and there, not messy in any way, but certainly eye-catching. The old man had touched the edges of one mask, that of a deku scrub, hands surprisingly gentle, as though maybe he had some fondness for the thing even after growing up. “I try not to need to use them now.”  

Wind had had questions, and Time had answered what he wanted to answer, saying that they were for transformation, but warning that their powers were not to be abused or played with, gaze stern in that way that, at the time, none of them (not even Legend) would have dared to challenge.  

They’ve been together longer now, and the willingness to challenge Time’s authority on matters has grown, although less for some and more for others. But the man isn’t an expert in everything, no more than Legend is, or Warriors. Still, as far as anyone in their group is aware, Time is the only one with the ability to change his physical form at will. Well, as far as most of them are aware. Granted, Zelda and Hilda had revealed to everyone that Legend is quite capable of taking on several forms (and it worries him which is the one that has taken over to cause Ravio to panic like this), but outside of the vet, Wild and Time (and Four, who is currently absent) nobody knows about his canine side.  

He’s willing to let that change.  

They’d basically killed their brother, and to fix it, have had many of the vet’s secrets revealed to them; his existence as the first prince of Hyrule, his ability to shape-shift into various creatures, his curse and the fact that he can get trapped in a second-dimensional world at the drop of an ocarina. It’s something Legend should have a choice in, but didn’t, and he’s willing to share his secret (with a select few, not Warriors though) to make up for that, if it can help in anyway.  

“Do you know how it works?” Ravio presses, but when Time shakes his head with a small wince the merchant sighs, scrubbing at his face with a little huff that bleeds worry and anxiety into the room.  

Twilight barely bites back a growl at having his offer ignored. “I said I could help,” he insists, staring.  

Ravio stares back through soft, dark fingers before his eyes fall shut in another sigh. “Anyone else have anything?” Does anyone, anyone at all who isn’t Twilight, have anything to offer, the merchant means. Twilight bites back a sound of annoyance and sweeps his eyes over the others. No one offers a thing.  

The merchant drags a deep breath, looking up at him with glinting green, stern and scathing. “No wolf business.”  

The words make him start, make him stare because how does Ravio know? Legend wouldn’t have told him, would he? Although, if the vet did, he doesn’t exactly have a right to be angry with the other right now. Maybe if things were different, he would be, but...  

“That darn imp better be right,” the merchant finally sighs, turning for the door, and while Twilight almost pauses to wonder what on earth Ravio is on about, he doesn’t, instead moving to follow after, Sky already on his tail.  

The other heroes do not move to follow, but Hyrule fidgets in the doorway, anxious. Ravio pays them no mind, although he also says nothing about Sky coming with, so there is that as well.  

The hall seems too long as they walk down it, even with their longer legs eating up the distance as Ravio all but trots at the front of the small procession, guiding them to the door but the pausing on the one side to turn on them with a stern look that Twilight can only barely bite back a growl of frustration at.  

 “We’ve already seen him transformed before, we’re not going to freak out.”  

The merchant’s mouth claps shut, surprise glinting behind his frown, but then he opens his mouth again, only for Sky to interrupt, his voice very nearly a growl with how rough and abused it sounds. “We won’t tell.”  

“Or tease,” he adds, in case that is the merchant’s concern, and it must be because Ravio gives up trying to warn or threaten them (which it is, he isn’t sure) and instead opens the door and ushers them though.  

It’s not a small room, the opposite actually, rather large for its current purpose. It's well furnished, although simple for a castle, based off of what he knows from Dusk’s own. There are a few chairs set about, a desk to one wall and a window just a short distance from the bed, close enough to provide fresh air if opened but not so much to leak cold directly onto whomever may be sleeping nearby. He’d almost think the place bare and cold, even for how soft the furnishings of the bed appear, except that there are traces of Legend in it, even if they’re clearly not laid by the vet himself. The vet’s hat and clothes are folded nearby on the desk and his adventurer’s bag is settled beside it. A few things from inside said bag (namely the damaged items) have been taken out and laid beside it with small tools and various bits and bobs scattered across the rest of the wooden surface. There’s a jug of water on the bedside table and a mug he recognizes from the vet’s house is set beside it, and the old quilt from Legend’s couch has apparently also been brought to the room, although rather than on the bed, where he first looks for the vet, it can be seen beneath the bed.  

“Is he-” Sky’s voice really does sound awful, and he wants to- very kindly, tell his brother to shut up and not push himself.  

“Under the bed.” Ravio nods, moving to crouch down beside the open space. The two princesses are standing well away, murmuring quietly to each other, glances darting over as Ravio knocks a quick but gentle rap on the floor. “Mister Hero?”  

The blanket moves just the slightest bit.  

Despite the anger and tension in their group, Sky and Twilight share an incredulous look before moving down to join the merchant, although Twilight stretches out an arm to signal that they should both stay back, giving the bunnies their space. Goats, he hopes Legend is only a bunny right now, if he’s any of the other things or creatures that Fable said he was able to turn into, this might get difficult.  

Ravio leans down further, cheek basically on the floor as he murmurs something soft and quiet they can barely hear, much less make out.  

Confusion spins in his mind, drowning out the irritation from earlier as he watches the bunny merchant. “Did he crawl down there?”  

“Not exactly?” Ravio more asks than answers, chuckling nervously as he speaks, hand moving for his neck in the same motion they all preform when flustered, sitting up to meet their eyes with a wince, “he um...fell down there?”  

Sky, beside him, does not speak. He stares at the bed, he stares at the spot in the center of the bed where Twilight imagines everyone had been curled around the veteran, and then stares at the space underneath the bed that is set in the corner of the room.  

“He um....” the merchant looks to under the bed again, and then sighs, “he fell through it.”  

Beside him, Sky’s face slackens, jaw dropping and eyes clouding over in confusion.  

Twilight sighs, crawling forwards and glancing under the bed.  

Relief floods over him at the sight of pink fur, familiar from only the one incident, but far better than whatever else it could possibly have been. Dark eyes, half lidded, stare back at him from under the bed. The rabbit is curled tight, trembling, and he can hear teeth sawing in pain to tell him that no, Legend isn’t hiding under the bed, he’d apparently unlocked one of those powers that Hilda had warned about and just fallen through. The surge of shadow magic is likely the cause for him transforming afterwards, leaving him too small and fragile to be pulled out again easily or without hurting him.  

He wonders if Legend was curled in the blanket, holding it, or if it had just happened to fall through as well while nothing else seemed to have. Not that it matters, really. What matters is that Legend is watching him with heavy golden eyes, and something inside of him stirs at the sight of the bunny, warmth overflowing in his chest as he flattens himself on the floor and reaches over.  

He’s not sure if it’s a sob of relief or a pleased laugh that escapes him when Legend closes his eyes, leaning just slightly into the touch. “Hey,” he murmurs, rumbles a bit and fortunately, although he can feel Ravio’s eyes on his back, the vet doesn’t stir over much or startle. A small, wet nose shivers slightly, ears twitching towards him briefly as he reaches over properly.  

Unlike Ravio, or Hilda, or Fable, Twilight has been blessed with large hands, and while maybe they’re not as big as Time’s, they’re big enough to gently slide under pink fur and lift, pulling the vet out from beneath the bed’s slats without stirring him over much. It’s habit that has him sitting up and tucking the smaller form into the crook of his arm, but it’s Legend that chooses to hide his face there, settling against him soundlessly as Sky scoots over closer to him, Ravio trailing close after with wide eyes and all signs of the vicious persona from before washed away with curiosity and awe.  

Sky’s hand reaches for the sword on his back, but Twilight stays it, catching the limb with a hand and a heavy look. “No.”  

Sapphire eyes flash in a warning.  

“It will make it worse,” he tells the other hero, cradling Legend carefully while still holding Sky at arms-length.  

“What is he trying to do?” Hilda, stern and regal, asks, sweeping over so that her skirts brush against her brother’s back. Fable follows after and falls to her knees between Twilight and the merchant, hand reaching hesitantly for the pink fur in his arms. He doesn’t stop her, and his lack of warning means that fingers soft from palace life trail gently over delicate ears, a quiet, breathless coo escaping the princess as he holds her ancestor at bay.  

He lowers his hand, releasing Sky, and glad that the Chosen hero takes the hint and releases his hold on the sword. “The Master Sword is a surefire way to turn a cursed hero back to their original form, that is, if shadow magic changed them or something. But to do so, it causes an influx of light magic through the body, an’ while that’s all fine an’ dandy most days, Legend’s light and dark balance is...” he lets the words trail off, and while the princesses and Ravio look assured and nod their heads in understanding Sky is still staring at him in confusion.  

“In short,” he surmises, “it would mess up his natural magic when they just got it stable again. Kinda the opposite of what....” he trails off again at Hilda’s warning look.  

Legend doesn’t know. Legend doesn’t know what happened and it appears that the princesses want to keep it that way. Normally he’d protest keeping someone’s memories from them, especially after Ilia and Wild, but in this case, it’s probably kinder for the time being. At least until the vet is stable enough that the shock of it isn’t likely to cause his inner magic to go on the fritz. That’s what he assumes has happened here, something- likely the shock Legend’s body and mind have undergone, is causing his magic to act up.  

“So,” Ravio whispers, watching the vet’s rabbit form with open amazement, “what do we do to... fix him?”  

Twilight shrugs, careful not to jostle the fluffy bundle in his arms. “You can’t. Were he just an animal, I’d say you could try a few things, stuff I learned so I could shift between my beast form and my hylian one-” because if Ravio knows then Hilda and Zelda probably would have been told too; Legend probably would have told his sister if he told Ravio, and if everyone else knows, Hilda isn’t far from finding out, and Sky already knows about him “-but since you said he fell through the bed, it’s most likely his magic is just settling out and he’ll return on his own.”  

“Most likely?” Hilda prompts.  

In a close echo, Zelda adds, “and what do you mean his magic settling? We already balanced it.”  

He shifts, sitting crisscross to alleviate the pressure on his lower legs as he sits on the floor, and while his legs form a cradle that he could easily settle the vet’s bunny form in, he doesn’t, preferring instead to sooth himself with dragging his hands through pink fur. He needs this, in a selfish way. He needs to hold Legend himself and assure himself that the other is okay, even if he is stuck as a rabbit right now. But Legend is clearly too tired to care what he is at the moment, so he doesn’t think the vet minds, especially not with the gentle vibration he can feel against his chest as soundless purrs thrum through the rabbit hero.  

“Okay, so magic is a bit like water,” he explains, avoiding the eyes of his brother, who knows he hates magic, or the royals who stare at him curiously, and instead focuses on the rabbit in his arms, face softening and heart stirring because, hey, he has a weakness for small animals alright? “It ebbs and flows, if you use too much of it too fast then you can run it dry, and if you don’t use it enough then it overflows and uses itself, usually to your detriment.” As he has seen from sealed items and weapons; things that were meant to never be touched again, but the moment they were had surged with power and caused damage and corruption unlike anything. He’d read up on it all before (Sara at the shop teased him as a kid that he would be a wizard one day) and Midna had shared some knowledge about magic use as well, and wary as he is of the stuff, it’s more because he’s well aware of how other magical items may throw off his own abilities or items, or how his might corrupt the other force, shadow magic as it is.  

“When somethings natural magic is disturbed, like- Le- like Link’s-” it feels so odd to say his own name in relation to somebody else “-then it can cause the magic that is left to ripple. The light magic and dark magic may be in balance, but it’s like if you poured water from two jugs into one big jug, it’s going to splash around a bit and move for a while until the excess energy from being poured dissipates. In this case,” he reaches up, scratching delicate, thin little ears as gently as he can, “you both poured your respective magics into Link, and they’re sloshing around inside, trying to settle, but also reacting to each other. The initial reaction is over by now, since it happened with...you know,” what happened in Hyrule castle, namely, and likely what happened after Hilda had left the second time as well, “but now that they’re mixed, they’re still gonna keep moving for a bit, and that’s gonna mean his magic will surge suddenly and then suddenly dissipate. More likely than not, when it dissipates, he’ll just turn back because the shadow magic won’t be surging up anymore, and he’ll be Hylian again.”  

“But we should not force the change?” Hilda reaffirms.  

He nods. “Correct. If you did, you’d have to present more light magic and it would throw him off balance again, just...” and he mouths ‘ in reverse’ in order to not leave clues for the vet’s mind to pick apart what happened and bring back the memory that will most definitely cause a magical shock-wave in his current state.  

The princesses and Ravio nod, Sky just watching him keenly but not speaking, but understanding seems to have granted itself to everyone present (save the rabbit in his arms).  

“Alright,” Fable hums, reaching over again to pet her brother’s downy fur. “So, he could change back at any time?”  

Another nod, his eyes falling on the girl crouched at his side. She looks remarkably like Legend now that he has time to actually focus on her face, although her expression and smile are sweeter, untouched by the horrors her twin has faced in his numerous adventures. He wonders if Legend ever looked like that, or if maybe the vet has always had a darker disposition than his sister. “Yeah. Probably best if none of you are holding him when that happens. He ain’t heavy, but it could be a shock.” Usually, he’d warn against the possible effects of having someone shapeshift so close to them, but they’re all skilled users themselves, so he needn’t worry. Although, he does wonder about Sky. Does Sky know enough magic for it to not affect him at all?  

On one hand, Sky forged the Master Sword, and he’s dating the literal incarnation of Hylia, so if that’s the case, he should be well exposed. Still, someone sloughing off their dark form will cause a slight surge of dark magic, and as Hilda had warned, overexposure to light magic can make someone more sensitive to the darker sort and cause poor side effects. Granted, it wouldn’t be deadly or anything for Sky, but if the skyloftian hasn’t faced much dark magic (he hasn’t even faced Ganon, Ordonia sakes) then would he be able to handle it?   

 He doesn’t want to find out, and even though it earns him a heavy glare from the skyloftian, he shifts the vet a little further away from his brother, wary in case Legend turns back at any given moment.  

“How do you know all of this?” Hilda asks, and suddenly the princess is settling on his other side, arm brushing his own as she stares over at the small, pastel colored critter in his arms, dark eyes heavy with an emotion he can’t place, but intrigue coloring her words as a gloved hand gently brushes thick fur.  

He’s not sure what to think of her yet, but she reminds him of Dusk; stern and cold to the outside, but with some sort of something flickering within. She’s younger of course, and a slight insecurity can be felt in the way she holds herself back; where some may see someone aloof, he’s too familiar with the action and knows it’s simply a sort of hesitance brought by countless self-set rules.  

In short, the Lorulian princess feels a little like a lost person, and he can’t help but offer her a slight smile as he answers. “I’ve studied magic extensively-” and Sky starts at that, staring at him wordlessly but watching the royal teenagers crowding around the rancher, himself doing nothing “-not that I’m capable of much, but I wanted to understand it better.”  

“Dark magic?” The princess presses, ruby eyes turning upwards to meet his own.  

“Initially, actually,” he agrees, hands continuing their soothing motions over the vet’s fur. “I didn’t take much interest in light magic until it became relevant during my adventure.” And even since then, he isn’t nearly as knowledgeable. He’d spent years hunting down every tome he could and reading it through to discover the secrets of shadow magic, and he’s had an excellent up front and personal opportunity to see how it worked for himself more than one in his life. Light magic on the other hand... It’s been a blessing, surely. The fact that he still, somehow, possesses all of his limbs is a testament to that. Still, dark magic is more familiar to him than light, despite being raised under Ordonia’s protection.  

That fact seems startling to the royals in the room, and two shades of matching blue, dark red and heavy green all stare at him curiously, something he’s acutely aware of as he curls around his brother’s alternate form, watching dark eyes flutter shut as the other presses just a bit closer. Certainly, he’s distracting himself, but hero of courage or no, he’s not really in such a way that he wants to have to suffer the judgement of their stares, and he would much rather endure the rarely given snuggles of their prickly veteran instead anyway.  

There are more questions to follow of course, the princesses curious about how much else he knows, especially how much else that might be relevant to his brother, and then of course Zelda asks what he means by changing forms, revealing that Legend has not , in fact, told her about that (he probably didn’t want to admit his sister how exactly he found out, Twilight thinks). He owns up to his wolf of course, because Ravio and Sky are right there, and honestly if anyone was to judge him for using dark magic, it’s not going to be a princess who uses it herself, or another one whose brother will now be living with it on the regular.  

Come to think of it, the other heroes hadn’t seemed to react too poorly to the idea of Legend using dark magic either, although in all fairness, the vet’s survival was paramount in that situation, so maybe he shouldn’t take too much stock in it all.  

Regardless, they sit around, and they talk, taking turns petting Legend’s pink fur but leaving Twilight to hold him until, at last, a flash of golden light restores the vet as he ought to be, still held tight to the rancher’s chest but Hylian again and thoroughly exhausted. 
 

Chapter Text

It’s comfortable here.   

 He knows he isn’t to think that. He knows that his senses are warning him that there is a beast very close. There is a beast with strength and teeth and claws and Power that radiates from it, and it is close, so very, very close. Yet, despite knowing that beasts are dangerous, that ones with teeth and claws are things he should avoid (run, hide, burrow, freeze), that ones with Power are dangerous (kill, destroy, fight, death), he finds that another part of him whispers that this one is Safe. A part of him whispers to press closer to the beast because it is warm and safe, and its teeth and claws will not be turned on him; it is like him.   

  Still, that other half recoils and hisses, even while he gives into the warmth and the softness and the musty scent of fur and hay and woodsmoke mixed with that distinct scent of trees that he’s only seen in a foggy, misty place, once upon a time.   

 Where was that place again? He's not sure. It wasn’t very nice and there were many things there, beasts, ones that had tried to kill him, but someone had helped. Several someone’s had helped and while they flicker in his mind, he waves them away, content to instead rest and seep up the warmth that floods over and around him.   

 Someone is holding him. Someone with strong arms and a broad chest and gentle hands that drag through his hair, and quite frankly, he’s content to bask in their attention while he still can.   

He’s got a reputation, as the Hero of Legend, for being strong and gruff and sharp around the edges. Hugs are not something he often finds himself offered and he has every intent of enjoying this one as long as he physically can, even despite the pain in his chest and his left arm.   

  The chest he is pressed to rumbles. He thinks it may be talking, but he’s not sure, only that it’s deep and gruff but not growling. The beast is not angry or threatening, and while the hissing half of his soul does not still at that assurance, it does seem to quiet at least partially.  

  The hand, because it is a hand and not a claw that settles on his head and tugs gently at his hair, moves again, dragging and scratching in a way he can’t help but lean into as it strays closer to his ears and the base of his neck. It is close, so very close to slipping and straying near sensitive, precious flesh. One instant and one motion could have his throat torn out, but this thing, or beast- or maybe even person, is not going to do that.  

  He’s not sure how he knows that, considering that it is, after all, a dangerous thing with heavy magic seeped over it, but the heavy magic is like a steady weight over him too, like a blanket to nestle and curl into.  

  It’s like Twilight.  

   Twilight. His mind stutters. Is the beast Twilight maybe? It feels right, and when he shifts just a bit, rubbing his face against the figure he’s surrounded by, his cheeks are met with rough fur over sinuous muscle.  

  The beast smells right to be Twilight, and the fur feels right for either Wolfie or the pelt. Honestly, he doesn’t care which it is, but he’s glad it’s there.  

  The last he really remembers is a star exploding in his face and then Sky’s rough voice, cool tears dropping on his face as fingers had held his own, tracing in the familiar way Ravio does when his hands bother him, and oh! How glad he is that Ravio was there. His hand hurts so very bad, like part of the star had struck it or some such thing, and the merchant’s steady motions and thick, spicy magic had soothed it so deliciously.  

  He wishes the merchant was here again, his hand hurts more than it did then, and he’s not sure why. It’s not the joints that ache and bother him like normal, but rather something else. He can’t put a name to it, only that it throbs like he’s touched a buzz blob, only worse.  

  “Hey,” the chest he’s leant against rumbles. It’s Twilight’s, it must be, because Time’s is covered in heavy mail and Warriors would never hold him like this and while Twilight usually wouldn’t either, he gets the idea something’s happened and the rancher always gets clingy with all of them after something bad. So, naturally, it has to be Twilight, because Sky doesn’t feel like this.   

   Sky he knows. Sky likes hugs, and while he doesn’t force Legend to have them, sometimes he offers, smile knowing because he Sees. He knows, somehow, how much Legend likes them, and Sky never tells anyone when he accepts, when he lets big arms wrap around him and squeeze, or when he reaches around and catches pale linen in his hands and squeezes back. Sky’s chest isn’t like this, so he knows it isn’t him. He can feel the skyloftain close by though, knows, although he can’t name how, that the man lingers just out of reach to him, but is watching.  

  He knows how he knows Sky is watching, of course; Sky’s sapphire eyes are heavy, and he knows, even without looking, when they are fixed on him. They are now.  

  “Hey,” the voice says again, rich and thick and accented with something rolling but just a bit smoother than Sky’s accent, “you with us?”  

  “He cannot answer you,” a clipped voice, female, responds, sounding like it’s scolding.  

  Dangerous, his mind whispers to him. That voice is Dangerous. It makes his soul shiver, reminds him of dark stone and heavy shadows and red , blood red, angry red eyes.  

  “Hey now, shhhh,” the hand moves again, gentle, curling around his ear and cupping the back of his head, pressing him just a bit closer to warm fur that smells of woodsmoke and misty, dark places, “it’s okay. Yer okay, I gotcha.”  

  He shivers a bit, from the contact, from the voice, the words. He shivers just slightly and it hurts, and the smallest sound squeaks out despite how he fights to keep it in.  

  “Is there anything we can do to decrease his pain?”  

   That is Sky’s voice. It is rich and smooth and deep and warm, like honey and cinnamon and cedar. That voice is familiar, and he knows that voice easily, just as he knows that the next is his sister’s; close, very close, not as close as Twilight but as close as she can be without sitting on the rancher.  

  “I’m not sure. Hilda? Is there anything we can give him?”  

  “I have something that might work,” and oh hallelujah , that’s Ravio. “I’m not sure if he’ll let me give it to him though.”  

  The chest rumbles again, the hand stroking but not lifting away. “Does he not take well to it?”  

  Soft chuffing laughter, the sort Ravio always uses when he’s nervous or worried or lost. That’s laughter that means something is wrong and it only further cements his suspicions that something has happened. More importantly though, something has happened to him.  

  He’s not stupid, Legend knows Twilight wouldn’t be cradling him so gently for no good reason, and although he can’t fathom why Hilda of all people would be here, he knows that if she is, it has to have a cause, and that cause has to be something very important or very bad, or else- and arguably worse- something that had made Ravio so worried that he’d call on his sister for help. And he knows, because Ravio has told him and because he has seen for himself, that there is precious little that Ravio will consider bad enough to call on his sister for, and the only time he has ever chosen to do so, was because it was his Mister Hero and not himself who had needed something.  

  So he knows something happened, and he knows something has likely happened to him, what with the pain, and the gentleness, and Hilda and Ravio and what they’re murmuring soft and warm and worried, but he can’t for the life of him remember what it was.  

  It bothers him. It bothers him a lot and he suddenly wishes very much that he could go back to drifting in the fogginess of his mind, seeping up the warmth that pours out from Twilight and nestling into the blanket of dangerous Power that settles heavy over the two of them.  

  He can’t though, instead he finds himself listening, not watching or responding because he doesn’t have that much energy, but listening all the same as Ravio speaks.  

  “Mister Hero and medicine don’t usually mix well. He takes plenty of it most of the time, but trying to give him anything when he’s not particularly… present... it doesn’t tend to go well.”  

  The word Ravio is searching for is ‘lucid’ but again, he hasn’t the energy nor will to correct him. Correcting Ravio means talking, and talking means letting people know that he is lucid, and people knowing that means that whatever has happened, they’ll stop openly fussing and cuddling, and Twilight will stop holding him and petting his hair, and people will move back and away and quite honestly, he doesn’t want that.  

  It’s been lonely, a part of him whispers.   

  Whatever happened, it must have made them mad at him, because if he’s feeling like this, then even Sky must have been avoiding him, and he’s almost scared to know what he could have done to incite such a reaction.  

  Did he yell at Time? Wild? The whole group of them tend to dote on Wild a bit, the champion being so young and having seen so much, so if he said something, or did something, he supposes it would make sense they would all be mad at him. Except, if it was Wild that he hurt, then Twilight would be off with the champion right now, not here, with him, in-  

  He stiffens. They are not in Hyrule.  

  They are not in Hyrule. They are not in Holodrum. They are not in Labrynna or Subrosia or Hytopia or at sea. They are not in the Hyrules of the other heroes either, and he knows , he knows because he can feel dark magic seeping all around. There is dark magic everywhere, not just in the power that radiates like heat from the rancher.  

  They are in Lorule.  

  Why are they in Lorule?  

  Oh crap, did someone find out about Lorule? Is that what happened? Did they get mad at him for saving a shadow world? But it’s a reflection, not a shadow? They wouldn’t know that though, Legend reminds himself, they wouldn’t understand that sort of thing. They are time travellers, not inter-dimensional adventurers like he and Ravio are.   

  Well, most of them. Twilight is too. He’s not sure how, or to where, but foreign magic wisps off of the man, and from the strange necklace he wears and which Legend detests with every inch of himself. He has been to some Other place, although where and when, the vet can’t say. Still, maybe that is why Twilight is the one holding him, why Twilight is shushing him gently and running hands through his hair, trying to soothe him again and reminding him that he has tensed once more.  

  Maybe Twilight is the only one left who trusts him after finding out.  

  And Sky. Because Sky is here too. The others though… He can’t feel the others.   

  He can’t feel Wild’s death magic, or Hyrule’s Life. He can’t feel that Wrongness about Time or Warriors’ Fire. The gentle, flowy magic of the sailor and the clashing auras of the smithy are absent, gone. They are not here.  

  A surge of panic washes through him as he tries reaching out, tries Feeling for them. Are they even okay? Did they go? Were they taken? Lorule is a dangerous place, and even though he’s been helping Hilda and Zelly to fix it, there’s only so much three teenagers can do after decades of destruction and decay.   

  Panic furls in his chest like a withering plant, sharp and painful, surging outwards and making his left hand throb even more than before, making pained whimpers escape from behind clenched teeth. Twilight’s hand is moving again, voice rumbling through him in twisting sounds that fall unheard between them.   

  He’s not really sure what happens after that, only that when he’s next himself he’s somewhere else.  

  As feared, he’s nestled among fabric, nothing but softness beneath, and no steady heartbeat or soothing breathes. There’s nothing and no one and so signs of life except for the magic of others nearby to assure that he’s not entirely alone.  

  It’s not enough.  

  It’s cold now, and though his body accepts it, his soul makes its complaint known quite clearly.  

  He groans, wishing he was back amid the warmth; fur pressed to his cheek and heavy, dark magic draped over him like a blanket.  

 “Mister Hero?” That one is Ravio, he doesn’t need to even listen for the words to recognize that voice, a softer, huskier version of his own. It is distant, like Ravio is standing away from him, but the soft scuff of booted feet against stone tell him that his friend is moving closer, and the gentle sway of the bed beneath him says that Ravio is coming to sit at the edge, eyes heavy on him as the legendary hero lies and does not bother to open his eyes to stare back.  

  “Are you alright?”  

  He shifts again, curling a bit tighter and finding that it hurts to do so. He can’t, for some reason, stifle his whimper of pain, despite how he tries, and making the noise only makes him hurt more, sound travelling like gravel over his throat.  

  “Oh, Mister Hero,” the merchant’s voice is soft, and the other shifts, the bed shifts, and a hand, cool and gentle and soft in a way none of his brothers’ are, brushes hair from his brow, settling there and granting some sweet relief, “I’m sorry. Don’t try talking, okay?”  

  He had no intention of it. Words are too much effort right now. It feels as though weights pull at his limbs, making motion a chore, and the mere idea of opening his eyes, much less his mouth, sounds too great a task for him to muster strength for.  

  “You’re going to be alright,” Ravio assures, hand moving, only for a moment. Like Twilight’s, it rests in his hair, brushing it away from his face gently. “You’re just sick right now.”  

  Sick? How can he have become sick? He can’t remember taking on any injuries, and though he knows they’re in Lorule (the oppressive feel of the magic around him is evidence enough of that) he can’t think of anything he or the heroes have wandered into that would make someone sick. And as someone who has wandered across anything and everything within the realms that can make him sick, he knows that with a surety.  

  Ravio must sense his confusion, because the merchant explains. “It’s just a slight fever. Hilda says it’s because you’ve been under so much stress, so don’t worry mister hero.” The merchant’s hands draw away, and could he not practically hear the little frown that must be on his housemate's face, he would wonder why. “I made your medicine-” a giggle sounds between them as he tenses on reflex, and even though it hurts to do so, it’s alright, because Ravio is huffing soft laughter at him. “Now, now, Mister Hero, none of that. You need to take it and we both know it, and you and I both know you will, so why fuss?”  

  He manages to crack one eye open to try and glare at his friend, but the heart-broken look on the merchant’s face when he does has him stopping in a moment. He’d stare; try to find out why Ravio looks so very sad, but he can hardly keep his eyes open that long, and they fall shut against his will.  

  “If I make you cider, will you take it?”  

  He musters up the strength to look again.  

  Ravio is forcing a smile, but it’s weak and pained and so, so very sad. “How about cocoa?”  

  The only thing he can do in answer is huff, and even that hurts, strains at his chest and makes him wonder just what he’s done to himself this time.  

  There’s a soft little hum, and then gentle fingers taking his hand, tracing over it gently. It’s the left hand, the one that hurts so much for a reason he’s not yet sure of, but the pain abates somewhat at Ravio’s touch, the merchant’s mostly dormant magic surfacing enough to provide some form of comfort, just as his presence does. “You really scared me, Mister Hero.” It’s so soft he almost doesn’t catch it. “Hilda says I’m not to tell you what happened, because you might panic or hurt yourself, but…” The merchant’s thumb caresses his fingers. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”  

  He thinks he hears the beginnings of tears in Ravio’s voice, and that simply won’t do. If the other heroes are gone (missing, lost, left him) then that means they are alone, and he can’t comfort Ravio properly right now. The best he can offer is a slight amount of pressure to the fingers holding his own, but that seems to only make it worse.  

  He feels lost. He can’t help. He can’t help his best friend, and Ravio is crying, soft and quiet, but he feels the tears that fall on his hand, and the little shivers that travel down the merchant’s arms to their joined hands. He hates it.  

  He can’t move enough to offer Ravio any comfort, he can’t speak enough to say anything or tease him or tell him to shut up in the way that Ravio always smiles at and giggles and says he knows he doesn’t mean it (he doesn’t, the merchant is right). Even just tightening his hand around Ravio’s fingers made Ravio cry harder, and that’s all he’s capable of.  

  He hates being helpless. He hates hearing Ravio cry. He hates not being able to do anything.   

  Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t understand just what is making Ravio cry to begin with.  

  Ravio has seen him bloodied and beaten and torn to shreds, and not once can he remember the merchant sobbing like this, not even after the final battle with Yuga. Granted, there had been tears then, but they had been tears of relief and no one had really judged anyone else for it because all four of them had been crying when the Triforces were back where they belonged, and their twin kingdoms were safe once again.  

  Now though, there is no kingdom in danger, only a shadow beast they are hunting, and Ravio isn’t even part of that. This time there’s no blood or weapons or enemy, and while he’s definitely in pain, there’s not anything like blood that he can remember in the recent past, except in a battle that had ended up with Warriors covered in blood. Well, he’d been covered in blood too, but it wasn’t his, it was the captain’s, and he’d been fine all told, save some bruising from getting thrown across the battlefield like a ragdoll.  

  He’s not injured enough for Ravio to be freaking out, and last he remembers, Ravio had been safe at the house and with his only worry being not having enough customers to satisfy his scamming ways.  

  Legend wracks his mind, thinking back. There was food enough to last until the end of the winter down in their cellar, and the bees and trees and other protective measures he’d placed around the cottage were all alright, so it wasn’t as though a knight or enemy could come wondering around and hurt Ravio. There’s nothing that Ravio should be panicked about, unless something happened to Fable or Hilda or Warriors.  

  Crap, did something happen to Warriors? Fable is fine, he’s sure. Her magic when he’d sensed her earlier was a bit weaker than normal, but only like she’d been using it a lot, and he knows she does. Hilda was the same, but Warriors- he hasn’t sensed anything about the merchant’s “mister captain hero” and he knows Ravio cares about him. Time too, come to think of it, and Wind. Did something happen to the heroes? Is that what has Ravio so upset?  

  He’s half tempted to ask, the pain that making noise causes be darned, but he hasn't the chance, Ravio’s hands tightening slightly on his own before loosening again as though the merchant thinks better of it, but still clinging tightly to him.  

 “Golly, Mister Hero, I- I’m sorry. I should-” and he has no clue what Ravio “should” have done or said or thought or planned for, or whatever it is that Ravio was going to say because the merchant cuts himself off and, with a little sniffle, draws a hand away. He thinks the other might be wiping away his tears, because the hand comes back a moment later, gently toying with his fingers, just the slightest bit damp.  

  He’s not wearing any rings, he realises belatedly. His left hand is usually bare, and when the merchant strokes his thumb over gnarled knuckles, there’s no shifting of metal bands or catch of sleeves on jewels.   

  He has so many questions.  

  “You’re going to be okay,” it sounds more like Ravio is reminding himself than he is telling Legend, but the veteran appreciates the sentiment all the same. “Hilda and I are going to take good care of you, don’t you worry.”  

  ‘Why would they need to?’ he wants to ask, but he can’t. Instead, he’s stuck lying still, on his back of all the atrocious ways to lie, with his hand trapped between Ravio’s own and his face turned towards a tile ceiling he only knows is there from hazy memories and the quality of sound in the room.  

  Man he hates tile. He really hopes this kind won’t try to kill him.  

  It probably won’t, they are in a palace after all, and not a dungeon, but this is Lorule, so he can never be quite sure, and regardless of that fact: it’s tile.  

  There’s a faint scuffing sound from not far away. It’s not close, but it’s close, and while Ravio doesn't seem to catch it, the merchant does look up when a door creaks and feet scuff the floor.   

  There is more than one set of feet. He’s still hazy, but he thinks there’s three different pairs. One is sharp, tapping evenly across the floor: Hilda. Another scuffs slightly, the heels most likely, and heavier sounding, although not lumbering: Sky. The last is nearly imperceptible, only the slightest sound of sandals against stone giving it away, and he knows without a doubt that it’s his sister. Zelda, like himself, is a master of forced silence. There is no one better than her at creeping around castles without being noticed, and he’s counting himself on that list.  

  “Is he awake?” It’s Zelda that speaks, soft and sweet and a melody to his ears as she glides to his bedside, to standing beside Ravio and likely staring, taking in whatever signs of tears still show on the merchant’s face and the way that the other boy holds tightly to her brother’s hand.  

  “He is,” he can imagine Ravio nodding as he speaks, “or at least, he was.” there’s a brief pause, and the hands stroking his own pauses. Green eyes are heavy, even when unseen, but he can feel them tracing over his face. “He opened his eyes for a bit, but that was a while ago.”  

  “Hmmm.” He can feel Hilda’s eyes too, as the woman stalks over. She stands close too, and though they’ve spent time counselling and discussing corruption and magic and restoration efforts, her presence still sets him ill at ease. He doesn’t trust her, not yet, not after what happened to Zelly and Ravio and Hyrule. Ganon’s corruption or no, there had been a part of her active beneath it all, and even before Yuga, or so Ravio says, she had been desperate and cold.  

  He doesn’t trust desperate. He knows it well, and he knows what it can drive a person to. Desperate people are dangerous.  

  “The heroes are doing alright,” he gets the feeling Zelda’s words are addressed at himself this time, voice lilting a not higher and much softer, but she doesn’t move to touch him. Usually she would, but he supposes Ravio is making that difficult. He’s thankful that she doesn’t bid the merchant away though, instead just standing and watching and letting Ravio have what he needs.  

  She’s good like that. Selfless in a way he can never be.  

  “Knowing you, you’ll be fussing about where they are,” a little scoffing laugh. She’s teasing him, he knows it. “They’re here in the castle, don’t you worry. They’re not getting along very well, but they’re working on it.”  

  “Mister Chosen Hero is here with us,” gentle fingers squeeze his own again. “He’s not up to talking right now, but he wants you to know he’s here if you want him.”  

  Somehow, he’s got enough strength to squeeze back.  

  Ravio chuckles. It’s wet, but it’s real, he can hear the humour in it past the fading tears. “You want him now, don’t you?” And then, without waiting for an answer, “can we all hold you?”  

  Another squeeze. He’s getting sore again, which is ridiculous, as all he’s managed to do is squeeze Ravio’s hand, but apparently whatever happened has left him weak as a kitten. Still, Ravio seems to understand, and within moments, he finds himself being hoisted, Hilda and Zelly scolding and guiding, and then-  

  Warmth. Soft, familiar fabric brushing against his face. A steady heartbeat pulses under his ear as he's pressed to a broad, soft chest and calloused hands settle him in place. Fable’s gentle fingers catch his own, Ravio now loosened from his hold to instead putter about, scolding and fussing like anything with medicine and drinks before coming to join them.  

  It’s right though, It's safe again, and warm. It’s not warm and dark and heavy like Twilight’s magic, and it’s missing the glitter of a fae that he wants so badly (he could swear he’d felt it earlier), but it’s Right. It’s Sky, all rich, wild, Powerful magic that sings through and across him like lightning over the skyloftain’s namesake. It settles into the darkest crevices of his soul and holds, whispers, offers warmth and light that he embraces as best as he can.  

  It’s safe again.  

  It’s missing the others though. Strange as it seems, he wants to feel Wild’s death magic and Four’s shattered soul. He wants to feel that familiar recoil of his magic at Time’s twisted magic and flare at Twilights’ darkness.  

  He wishes they were here. He’s not sure why they aren’t, but he’s glad they’re close at least.   

  He’s glad they’re all still alive.  

  He just hopes that whatever happened, whatever has all of them keeping away, is something that can be fixed.  

  He’d kind of like to know what he did to make them stay away.  

Chapter Text

  The soft patter of feet on stone is nothing to calm the spinning of the smithy’s mind.

  Everything feels so wrong, feels unbalanced, feels broken and shattered and wrong right now.

  They have never lashed out at the others, never spoken a word in anger save when their shield was in danger of the like-like and the others had sat around laughing and teasing, and even then, it was only worry from losing Zelda’s gift to them that had them so upset anyway. Now far more plagues their mind and heart, tearing and rending and causing a conflict even between their selves as though to echo that between the individual heroes.

  Green wants to work things out. Blue is furious and indignant. Vio is busy blaming all of their selves for their faults in this situation and Red just very much wants to sneak into Legend’s room and at least look; he’s desperate.

  It feels like a part of themselves is missing, like the chain of heroes as a group is part of some whole and now a piece of that is missing. There is something important missing, something vital.

  The forge is nothing without the flame, the flame nothing without the burning coals. That which is set over the forge cannot be altered, will become brittle and weak, without the heat to temper it into something strong. They are like a sword, Vio muses, their group a blade, a weapon, a threat to that which comes against Hyrule, a weapon for the gods to wield. But they are still being forged to be that weapon. They still need the fires and flames and the forge to make them what they need to be, and with the burning star of heat that is their veteran now absent, the warmth is now gone and the cracks are beginning to form.

  It’s settling them ill at ease.

  It’s setting everyone ill at ease, Red insists. They are all strung thin and fragile, they’re all seconds from cracking, some closer than others. They are not the only ones whose mind is spinning and whose reason has been clouded by their fear and pain. That doesn’t change the fact that Blue fully believes they have done no wrong by calling the others out; even the most brutal of truths deserve to be heard. Still, Green will counter, to apply force and friction, like a hammer on an unheated blade, will only damage it; they messed up. 

  They all messed up, Vio hisses. They all are at fault to some extent. They all are upset.

  What’s worse though is the voices of the others, Time’s fury; Twilight’s temper, Sky’s own harsh words and Wild’s barbs and jabs. The fact that Warriors and Wind hold so well under the pressure, helping and offering comforts and smiles, only further tempers their frustration, only serves to remind them of how they ought to be acting, and for that they can only despise the duo.

  What hurts the most though is Sky’s plea for them to grant grace, his whisper that had it been someone any of them were actually close too, it would be far worse. 

  It hurts because it’s true, but hurts far more because they can’t change it.

  Sky and Hyrule are the only two who can claim closeness to the veteran, but not for lack of effort on their part. 

  There’s something that calls to them, nay, screams, pleads them listen, watch and see, to recognize some thing in this world of the vet’s and even its mirror. There is some sensation as though there is a voice speaking, something knowing, something that knows them , and begs them remember. It’s there in the veteran too. The wary eyes and the guarded stares, the starts and stammers and the incessant feeling of being watched . 

  They had wondered, after seeing Time and Twilight, Twilight and Wild, if maybe there was something in his future that the vet knows, maybe some time where they would meet, as seems to be with their wolf trio, but each time they’d made to ask, the veteran had slipped away, had suddenly been talking to Wind or Wild, had been on the other side of camp even as they were just beginning to turn to him.

  They don’t know what they’ve done, if they’ve done anything at all, but Sky’s words in their borrowed room had only incensed them further in their anger because they have tried , but Legend avoids them for some reason. Add to that Ravio’s warning, given directly to himself and Twilight, and the unease that has been stirring in his gut only makes itself better known. Twilight they understand; big, intimidating, loud, a voice that rumbles with growls from the wolf within, it’s no wonder a delirious and injured hero would find that something to fear. But themselves? What about them- their voice, saving their tone- could possibly drive Legend to be…afraid?

  They are heroes of courage, and while fear is not unheard of (for courage is not the absence of fear but rather the facing of it) the idea of Legend being scared of them is laughable. The man has fought Ganon multiple times, carries what is equivalent to an arsenal on his person at all times, his magic is strong, far stronger than their meagre skills and far more varied in its practical use- and besides that, he is a veteran ! Of all of them, Legend knows the most of their field. Honestly speaking, Four’s not unconvinced that the younger man couldn’t kick their collective ass.

  So why would he fear them?

  They don’t know, and it only adds further to the stirring in their mind as they wander restlessly through the halls of Lorule Castle. 

  Temptation, an urge to sneak into their brother’s room to see him, gnaws at their mind, but only the insistence to not cause him further harm or distress stops them. That and they want only to enter when declared worthy, without the sucking up and pleading that the others are displaying. That, however, seems a far way off, something they can only hope will happen but have no control over, something which only further erks Blue, whose greatest hatred is having no control or power in any given thing. Between him and Red, Four as a whole feels it might be best to let their selves manifest for only a short while so the two emotionally charged aspects can have at each other for a bit to beat out their frustrations while Vio can finally ponder his in the privacy of his own head, or at least in some corner where what he says and thinks aren’t as likely to be heard by the others and drive them further to madness.

  They can’t though. Green knows they can’t because it’s not safe here, and this world, this place they don’t know, is not some place they can trust. Anyone could happen on them and anyone could see them, and while explaining to the heroes what has happened to them might be something they have put off, it’s still a fare more appealing idea than trying to explain to some poor unsuspecting fool who has had no prior exposure to anything nearly half as mind-boggling.

  So they stay as one, or rather, as Four, and they pace the halls nervously and grumble and fume until their fumes have run out. They wait until Red has shed his tears and both he and Blue have vented their anger. In the wake, Vio rationalises the frustrations, and he and Green are just working out what to do going forwards as they aimlessly wander. 

  They ought to try and at least hold their tongue for now, Green decides, as apologising at the moment is out of the question, what with their pride and Vio not standing for such a thing if Twilight and the others won’t even see their own faults. That said though, they don’t need to go about causing more issues, and they will watch their temper and they will mind their behaviour and at the very least they will apologise to Wind because he really hadn’t done anything wrong and they had been quite unfair to him.

  Plan set, they move back to the halls they’d left behind. It’s a winding journey, retracing their frenzied steps out into the further reaches of the castle, but the place is hardly without life and they eventually find someone who guides them to the right hall, and they thank the man as they move to enter.

  They stop though at the sound of Twilight’s voice.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  About what? 

  There’s no returning word, or answer, but they can only assume Twilight and Time must be talking, although considering how both were at each other’s throats not too long ago they can’t fathom how Twilight only sounds worn now, rather than defensive or fierce.

  “It’s a long story, alright? Somethin’ happened when I was a kid, I went looking into the why, I learned some dark magic, but that’s it! I don’t use it and I most certainly don’t have any aspirations to try.”

   Wait, wait, wait, magic?

  They can hear feet, but the hall is clear. Still, they duck behind the arch that opens into the hall, waiting. 

  The door to Legend’s room swings open.

  What the- What? They had it on good authority that only a select few of them had been allowed into that room by Princess Hilda, and Twilight was most certainly Not One Of Them. What is he doing in there? And with Sky no less?

  Sky would never sneak around behind the royals’ backs to get Twilight in there, would he? And why Twilight of all people? The rancher and Legend don’t even get along! Four’s relationship with the vet may be non-existent, due to Legend somehow never being near enough to talk to, but at least it’s not antagonistic! Twilight seems to have taken one look at Legend and Warriors when they all first found each other and decided he didn’t like them, because none of the three seem to have any common ground whatsoever. A soldier, a farmer and an undercover prince don’t have much of anything in common to begin with, but their personalities…

  It’s all water, fire and steel between those three, and never in the right quantities. On the field of battle they forge a forceful blade, but off of it they’re hissing and cracking and only riling each other up.

  Why would Twilight, of all of them, be allowed to see the vet? Especially when Wild, who’s actually at least sociable with their ornery teammate, hasn’t?

  They don’t know, have full intentions of finding out, but snap back to the present as Twilight pauses in the hall, leaning back against the wall with a heavy sigh that has Sky turning towards him in concern. One hand raises in reassurance, even as the rancher sags against the stone, eyes fluttering closed. “I just need a moment,” a shifting of shoulders, a weak attempt at Twilight’s oh-so-charming farm boy smile, “you can actually breathe out here, you know?”

  They can’t see Sky’s face, his back being turned to them (and missing his sailcloth, why?) but the chosen hero follows Twilight’s lead, not speaking as he settles against the wall, head falling back and eyes lifting to stare at some facet of the ceiling. The man looks exhausted.

  “He’s going to be okay.” Twilight seems to have noticed as well, brows creasing and smile dropping; concern clear on his face for the other hero. “The worst is over, Sky.”

  From where they hide (why are they hiding?) they can only make out the twitch and furrow of the skyloftian’s brows, but his arms, crossed before him, stiffen, hands tightening their hold on his sleeves. He’s been having trouble with words today, they remind themself, so the little ticks and glances are likely the only answer Twilight will get.

  The rancher reads them with annoying understanding though. “The worst is passed. Yeah, his magic will likely flare up here and again, but that’s to be expected when you learn something new in magic, ain’t so?”

  The slightest uptick of the chosen hero’s lips speaks volumes. 

  Twilight grins. “Your Zelda?”

  A nod.

  Another smile, gaze falling to stone tiles below and shoulders loosening. “Yeah. He’ll probably scare the shit out of hi’self a couple times, us too I reckon, but he ain’t likely to hurt ‘imself with this, just-” and the man nods to the door they’d just exited through “-wear himself out all sudden like. He’ll be fine.”

  What happened to Legend while they were gone? Red’s voice rises in their mind, panicked. Why had no one told them? Blue demands. And most importantly, Vio adds, why on earth does Twilight of all people seem to have the best understanding of what is happening at the moment? A good majority of their selves are moments away from pushing the collective body out into the hall here and now to demand answers, but Green holds them back, wary.

  They agreed not to strike the brittle sword, they promised each other they would be better. It’s time to act on that and hold their breath and their tongue, waiting in their alcove with Vio’s thoughts spinning in their mind until Twilight and Sky both, at last, breathe a sigh and move back again down the hall and towards the room the others had gathered in. Only then do they allow their feet to touch the stone of the hall, fingers trailing against the wall as though to reach out and feel for the magic Twilight had spoken of.

  Now that they listen, feel, it‘s there.

  Twisting and mangled, neither light nor dark, rough and rippling and yet subdued.

  It’s Legend. The contradictory nature of the magic towards itself is the only thing they need know to have that certain in their minds. It’s weak, as Twilight said, pulsing and reaching. It’s desperate though, in a way that Twilight had not spoken of, nor seemed to have considered, and it reaches out, brushing against their own before suddenly dissipating.

  “Legend?”

  There’s a shuddered sound from the other side of the door that only now they find themselves to be standing at, face only an inch from the woodwork as Vio reaches out with everything they’ve learned to seek and feel, but not touch.

  Imbalance, the princesses had said. Touching such things, Shadow had once warned, is far more dangerous than any corrupted thing Vaati or Ganon might have cast their way. 

  But their brother is hurt, reaching out, seeking, even if unconscious, for someone. There is no sound from the other side, not even the shifting of feet or the clicking of instruments. There is nothing. Their brother has nothing.

  It’s something to make Red demand they linger, demand they wait. They set themselves against cool tile and opulent woodwork and they turn their eyes up to where the wall meets the tiles of the roof, and they hum. It’s a song from Grandfather’s forge, some little smithy song that Red will sing on end for weeks if allowed. They know the words by heart, having heard it night and day when they were small and still Link and living in the little attic above the forge where it was warmest. They’d hear the thud of the hammer and the rich, rolling voice of Gramps down below, working away until the late hours of the night so that they could spend their mornings busy together.

  It brings a smile to their lips, and a peace they’d been seeking when they’d left the others settles over them at last. Similarly, the magic that seeks around them seems to settle. It reaches again, tentative, and brushes over them. Now that they know to listen for it, it’s all too there, but they leave it be. They continue to sit and to hum.

  From the depths of the room, they hear a voice humming back softly.

Chapter Text

  Much of the day passes with little interaction between the heroes.   

   Four does not return to the room the others linger in, and though Twilight and Sky do, it’s only for so long before apparently Hilda determines it fit to give them space of their own, but properly this time. This time they are given rooms. All in the same hall as their brother, even including the one they’d sort of picked out for themselves.   

  It doesn’t slip past Twilight though that they are arranged throughout the hall. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed, except Sky is given the room directly beside that of the vet, and Hyrule the one across. The rest, he can’t exactly name a reason why, but he knows those two were intentional.   

  It’s nice though, having space. Much as he loves his brothers, they’re a lot to deal with on the best of days, and those recently are anything but that. It’s been a long time since he’d had any space to claim for himself, never mind one he could shut others out of. It is odd to him though, especially after Ravio’s outburst yesterday, that his is the one across from Sky’s and beside Hyrule’s rooms; the third closest. Maybe it’s because he’d helped, or at least shown he could. After all, the rancher muses, wincing, it’s not as though there is anyone close to the ornery teen, so perhaps it only made sense to the princess to place someone who could be helpful nearby, rather than the rest of the heroes.  

  Whatever the reason, given all that’s happened, he’s mostly content to stay in his room once he’s shown it. The only real reason he’d have to leave was if he was needed, and as there’s no knock save that of some servant dropping off food, the rest of the day is spent is silence.  

  It’s unnerving.  

  Lying in the bed offered, he’s struck with the fact that he actually hasn’t been properly alone since meeting the rest of the heroes, and while it’s a welcome thing, it’s also hollow. He’s still pissed with the rest, knows full well that if one of them was around they’d break into a fight, but it’s also so strange to be alone again. Again though, he doesn’t want to be near the rest!  

  Settling in, pulling the blankets over his head, he huffs.   

  Now he understands why Hyrule had chosen to haunt the door.  

 -  

  He’s not asleep too long before there’s a tap on his door.  

  Blankets fly free and away, but he doesn’t, instead staring out into the blackness of the room. His ears must be tricking him, no? Why would-? Yet there it is again, a tapping, hesitant but there.  

  The rancher sits up.  

  Is it one of his brothers? A servant? He hasn’t a clock on hand (or Time, who they would usually just ask) but shouldn’t people be…asleep?  

  But if they’re not asleep, then they have to be awake for some reason or another, and he might as well get up and just ask instead of sitting there all night long wondering and waiting for them to go away.  

  The floor is cold as he crosses it, and he half regrets not grabbing for his fur. He’d forgotten what it was like to stay in any sort of castle like building, and he could be wrong, but he swears Lorule is just a bit colder than Hyrule was. Definitely more so than in Ordon, where sleepwear as a concept is near laughable for how warm most nights are. As is, he very much wishes he’d grabbed something even a bit more concealing, his shirt maybe, to throw on, especially when he opens the door and finds not one, but two princesses looking up at him.  

  He thought it was one of the heroes. He never would have guessed it would be the two girls.  

  “Yer majesties,” he lacks cap or the room to bow, so a quick touch to the forehead seems appropriate. The last few times he’d forgotten, mostly because worry or tension filled the air, and while they’re not exactly absent now, it’s the least he can do as a show of respect considering…everything else.  

  “Hero of Twilight,” Hilda responds, gaze flat but ears twitching slightly. “May we have a word?”  

  “Of course.” He opens the door, because, well, it wouldn’t do to have the stand in the hall would it? Still, it feels odd, letting to girls in, and he’s careful to leave the door open, just in case. These are ladies after all and he wouldn’t want people talking at all, especially their idiot captain. More for their sake than his own, but Ulli didn’t raise no rake.  

  It’s a decent sized room, at least as far as he’s concerned, although on the smaller side for a castle. He’s gotten the impression they’re in an out of the way hall, and not one of the sort usually used for guests. Not that he minds at all, but it does feel rather… odd, especially with having only the bed to offer as seating. Which he doesn’t do, because that would feel wrong, and odd, so he just sort of… stands there.  

  The two princesses do the same, hands folded primly before themselves until they almost look like actual reflections of each other, save the little things like hair and colors and all that. The only real major difference, at least in his eyes, is the expressions on their faces. Zelda’s is more pinched, Hilda’s more authoritative, although less then the times before.  

  “It’s about Link,” Zelda starts.  

  He nods. He probably could have guessed. They wouldn’t have any other reason to talk to him anyways, although the words, and their tone, do make worry stir up all over again. “Is he alright?” Only respect has him not turning and immediately looking to the vet’s room, “did something happen again? If so-”  

  A gloved hand raises, the darker haired of the two girls answering before he can finish. “He is sleeping. Poorly, but that is to be expected.”  

  The urge to ask if he can check, all the same, rises, but he bites it down. He hasn’t the right after all. The only reason he’s been to see Legend was because he’d had knowledge they needed, not because the vet had wanted him there or anyone had thought it the best thing to do. Ravio had made that clear; he was their last resort, only there because they needed someone, anyone, who could help the injured hero.  

  Trust isn’t easily earned, and with the vet he feels that trust lost may be lost forever. As was, he’d barely been offered any before, Ordonia only knows what it will look like now, once Legend’s himself again.  

  If he’s ever himself again, a dark voice in his head whispers.  

  Aloud though, a softer voice speaks. “You mentioned knowledge,” the darker princess’s eyes are intense as they meet his, searching, head ever so slightly on one side as she watches him, something unreadable in the pinch of her brows and purse of her lips. “That you’d studied darker magic.”  

  “Never for any ill intent, I assure you, ma’am.” He’s quick to clarify.   

  “Why then?”  

  It’s…. It’s not something he’d wanted to talk about. Sky had asked, in a way, but, despite everything, the other had accepted rather easily when he’d said he didn’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t, but he’s not sure exactly how accepting of that the two princesses will be, especially with Legend’s well-being on the line and he being part of the cause of that.  

  The rancher winces, hand trailing for his neck, gaze wanting to flick away but knowing- Minda’s voice sharp in his head, how that might be taken. “There was an outbreak in my home-town when I was a young thing. It- it weren’t purty, an’ I’d hoped to maybe learn why it happened, or maybe how to fix it.”  

  “Did you?” The expression in the lighter princess’s face is more easily readable then her counterpart; worry, concern, maybe even pity.  

  “No ma’am.” He tries for a hint of a smile all the same. “It was fixed though, jist, not by me.”  

  Red eyes trail over him, slowly, “understandable. You are no mage after all.”  

  “No, ma’am.”  

  “But you know about magic.”  

  “Yes, ma’am. Some.” He’s confused, although he tries not to show it. They’ll tell him what they want, when they want. That’s how royals are. After all, he’s had a dark and light princess of his own to teach him as much, and he knows where asking questions leads to, and that’s usually being ignored while they talk to each other instead.  

  Similarly, both girls turn to each other, exchanging some series of expressions and likely underlying thoughts, but he’s blind to what most of it means, instead standing there awkwardly and wondering what his chances are of crossing the room to his discarded shirt and tunic without getting stared at are. Probably not high, but he daren’t interrupt, and considering they’re here, he knows they’ll be saying something to him sooner rather than later.  

  He’s right too, for its only another moment or so before Hilda is turning to him again, and once more, he sees that flicker he’s seen twice before, that glimpse of brief uncertainty as crimson eyes level him. “You know how to shift back from a beast form, and into one, yes?”  

  “Yes,” he nods, finally settling on crossing his arms in order to best do something with his hands, and preserve some sort of warmth. Loosely though, so as to not look threatening. He’s well aware how it could be taken if he’s not careful, which he usually doesn’t mind, but wouldn’t bode well at all around here.  

  Ravio had threatened to have him put out like a dog if he misbehaved, and while he’s not entirely sure that wasn’t just emotion taking over and speaking, he’d rather not risk it. He’s never been to Lorule after all, and he’s not keen on learning the country at the moment. Even just the castle seems quite enough, if not too much, at this time.  

  “Could you teach Link?” Zelda asks, face pinching up in impatience and unsurprisingly, concern. Because of course she would be concerned, this is her brother they’re talking about, but also-  

  “Pardon?”  

  “Can you teach him?”  

  Twilight blinks, startled. He’s not sure what he had expected them to have to say to him, this whole night-time visit coming as a surprise, but…. “Me?”  

  Hilda nods, sharply. “You are the only one who has displayed any sort of understanding as to his situation, any sort of familiarity.” One gloved hand fists in her heavy skirt. “Prince Link requires help as he adjusts to all that has happened, and while Princess Zelda and myself are fully willing to offer our assistance, our own knowledge is quite limited in these respects; there are some things we simply do not know. But you do.”   

  It’s got to be a royals thing, the way that heavy eyes bore into those they fix on. Blue and crimson both hold his own, watching, intent, focused, and more terrifyingly; the slightest bit of hope touches those two tired faces, like he’s some answer to a prayer they hadn’t dared to breathe.  The expectation is heavy, and strong as even he is, he’s not sure he can carry it without faltering.  

  But it’s also a promise. A chance. It’s a way to help, to atone for what he’d done. It’s a chance to see the vet for himself, to make sure he’s okay.  

  Yes, he’s got a protege already, yes, he barely has a handle on teaching Wild anything. But this is different ; this is helping someone learn to live again with something that is beyond their control, but within his to help. It’s heavy, yes. He’s not that strong, yes. But Legend needs someone, and Twilight will be darned if he turns his back this time.  

  His silence though must be read otherwise, because Zelda sighs and Hilda’s eyes slip away, downwards, voice softer this time, slower, less clipped. “You’re the only light being who’s handled dark magic without corruption before. I understand what we ask may seem-”  

  “I’ll help.”  

  Blue and red rise to meet midnight.  

  “This is our fault,” he sounds again, echoing the words that have been on the tongues and minds of all of them since it all began. “We did this, an’ we ought to be the ones bearin’ the consequences.”   

  “Link isn’t-”  

  “Link-” and Ordonia help him, it’s still hard to use that name on another, “-is my team-mate- my friend if he’s still willin’ to call me that. He doesn’t deserve to face all this, but he has to, he’s stuck with it, fer better or worse, so I might as well pull my own and do what I can to make that easier for him.” And there’s no smiling on this, no assurance he can give, just the plain bare truth as he meets those heavy eyes. “I can’t promise I won’t mess up again, or that I’ll do everything I ought, or even that I can keep my temper with him all the time-” and despite expectations, Zelda cracks a tiny smile towards the floor at that, although Hilda looks none too impressed as she stares at him, “-but I want to try. It’s the least I can do.”  

  Dark painted lips purse with a small nod. “Excellent.”  

 Zelda, in contrast, just stares at him, doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer, doesn’t really make any expression either. It’s uncanny, and all the more so for her similarity to her brother.  

  “It will be some time before he is recovered fully, but should it be required, we might send for you if he needs help.”  

  “I’ll be here,” because where else would he be? “Jist….” and it’s been bothering, so while he’s not sure if he has a right to ask, if he really wants to know, he still speaks, “are you sure it’s alright? Yer- Ravio didn’t seem fond of my bein’ near him.”  

  This time it’s red turning to blue for answer and the light princess sighing, wincing really, like the very question pains her. “My beloved brother has-” a huff, a twitch of long ears, “Link is afraid of dogs.”  

  “Which is not to be shared nor mocked,” Hilda affirms quickly, gaze darting, but easing at the nod he gives immediately.  

  Both girls relax some when he says nothing of it.  

  “You’ve seen it, how small that form is,” the lighter speaks again. “Even hylian though, he’s been hunted. He hides it best he can, but-”  

  But he’d still known Legend was hesitant near Wolfie, near avoidant at times. The first he’d made to have contact was back the same day as both their secrets had been spilled to the other. He hadn't thought much of it then, but it makes sense, he supposes, even if it does sting a small part of himself, be it out of further guilt or more sympathy. “I see.”  

  “We would not have asked,” Hilda murmurs, now much softer, gaze the same, “except for how you handled everything before, this morning.”  

  “I jist-”  

  “He calmed,” where one softens the other firms, Zelda’s voice stronger now against the stone of the room, almost ringing back but for lack of volume, although not force. “Say what Ravio might, but Link doesn’t do that with anyone he doesn’t trust. He calmed in your presence, and let you keep him close when he was vulnerable, confused, and no doubt scared. Regardless of your actions, and that of your companions, he doesn’t remember any of it enough to see you as a threat or enemy.” She has Sky’s eyes, he finds himself thinking, turned on him with that same strained, searching pain he’d seen from the skyloftian earlier in the day, standing in the hall outside of their vet’s door. “That may change, or perhaps not, but for now, for his sake, we’re willing to offer you the same if you help him.”  

  It’s not as though there’s any real choice, or real deliberation. There’s doubt- concern, yes, but regardless of who, or how, or where, or when, this is a fellow hero, a brother if anyone still would think to call them that, and Twilight will and has ridden through fire for his little brothers. Doing it for another- doing far less- is only natural.  

  “Just give a call if you want me, or if he does. I’m here.”  

  “Thank you.”  

  “Nothing to thank me for,” he almost feels he ought to bow to the hylian princess, “it’s the right thing, plain and simple. I’m just glad you’re willing to give me the chance.”  

  That face, so like their vet’s, yet softer, sweeter, twists up, tension in proud shoulders and tightly clasped fingers. “We’re not, but Link is, and somehow, between the four of us,” another glance between the two royals, “he’s always been the wisest on these matters.”