Chapter Text
Sunlight was Ravio’s constant companion as he journeyed through Hyrule. As loyal as Sheerow and at times as distant, it beamed down at him from a cloudless sky when he tried to set up shop near the Eastern Temple; it glittered behind the leaves of the enormous trees that tried their best to shade the paths he walked along in search of a new location for his business; and it shone with gentle illumination on the wide double doors of the Sanctuary as he hesitated on its front steps. He had thought he had heard a commotion inside, and his curiosity warred with prudent wariness as he decided what to do. He put his hand to the door. Warmth seeped through his skin. The tarnished bracelet on his wrist flashed with reflected sunlight— there was no magic left in it to glow from within. He shifted his balance by a fraction, and the door eased open on silent hinges. Decision made, he stepped through the doorway and followed the light pooling at his feet to walk deeper into the building.
Ravio knew he had found the Hero almost the moment he laid eyes on him. Even unconscious and sprawled out on the floor of the Sanctuary, the young man had an aura about him that was impossible to ignore. Ravio’s last moment of doubt, wondering how much of his allure was merely a trick of the light flooding in through stained glass windows lining the aisles, faded as he drew near the stranger.
Here was the man who would solve Lorule’s problems. The legends always mentioned the pointy ears, the parted hair, and the sideburns of the Hero, which Ravio confirmed as his gaze flicked across his body. The perfect part in his honey blond hair had been unaffected by neither his fall nor the green cap perched on the back of his head, and his sideburns rested comfortably in front of his elegantly pointed ears. Ravio crept closer and kneeled by the young man’s side. He pried his eyelids open to mark the size and reactivity of his pupils, and gasped when he was confronted by the deep blue eyes beneath, sparkling with sleep-dimmed life.
Did the goddesses always bless their chosen one with legendary good looks? The stories were vague on that point, but Ravio thought it made sense to throw as many positive attributes into the hero pot as possible. Princess Hilda had told Yuga to be on the lookout for a handsome, courageous youth when he had set off on his Triforce hunt. The advisor, after bowing and giving Hilda a respectful kiss on the back of her gloved hand, replied that he was more interested in the beauty of princesses. Ravio had wanted to vomit when he heard that cheesy, rotten line, but Hilda had smiled radiantly and sent Yuga off with her royal blessing.
The princess had told Ravio a time or two that he was passing fair, but all her compliments had stopped when it became apparent that he had not been cut from the same cloth as the heroes of old. His mother, too, had called him handsome, and dutiful, and clever besides, but he didn’t think that really counted. At least she had died before he had the chance to disappoint her as a heroic failure.
If Ravio couldn’t be the Hero, then helping the Hero was the next best thing. He scanned the nearby floor, looking for anything the young man had brought with him and dropped. There was a sword, glinting in a beam of light, just out of reach of his slackened grasp. Ravio picked it up, admiring its craftsmanship for a moment, and sheathed it in the scabbard belted to his waist. He slid his hands over the knocked-out man’s chest, straightening his belt and tugging the wrinkles out of his tunic. There were no stains or rips marring the finely woven fabric, and no other physical evidence on his body of the altercation which had rendered him unconscious. Ravio could, however, feel traces of magic under his probing hands, clinging to his body like shadows before the dawn. The lingering effects of a powerful magical blow must be keeping him under.
Ravio glanced at the far side of the Sanctuary, where a stylized portrait of a uniformed man had been painted between two windows, and shivered. He’d recognize that hideous art style anywhere. “You must be someone special if you crossed paths with Yuga and didn’t end up as a scribble on a wall!”
Satisfied with the Hylian’s steady heartbeat and slow, even breaths, Ravio moved his hand up to caress his cheek and jaw. His skin was smooth and warm, not at all like the door to the Sanctuary, but somehow still reminding Ravio of retained sunlight. It was hard to look away from his somnolent splendor, to remember what had brought him here in the first place, and he reluctantly removed his hand from the young man’s face, only to grab him by the arm and pull him into a sitting position.
“My word, you’re handsome,” Ravio murmured. “How’d you like to get married?”
The Hero’s unsupported head lolled to the side, reproachful even in silence.
“I suppose you’re right,” Ravio admitted. “It is a little premature. I don’t even know your name! But once we get past the preliminaries, I’m sure you’ll reconsider!”
Once again, he hesitated. They were closer now, face to face, and Ravio recalled other stories, fairytales in which a magic spell was broken with a kiss… The Hero wasn’t a princess, and Ravio was just a nobody, but it might work. But wouldn’t it be less disorienting, and more respectful, for the Hylian to wake up in his own bed and under his own power?
“Okay, Mr. Hero, let’s get you home,” Ravio said in a confident tone that sounded strange to his ears as it carried clearly through the hushed room. He hefted the unconscious Hylian over his shoulder and whistled to Sheerow to follow him down the aisle. “From what I’ve seen, Hyrule is a lot like Lorule, so I have a pretty good idea of where to find your house!” He stepped outside, sunlight greeting him like a long-lost friend, and walked down the path that connected to the larger road he had come by on. A new thought came to Ravio’s mind. If he couldn’t be the Hero, and he couldn’t marry the Hero(yet), he might just be able to live with the Hero…