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Everything was quiet on the first floor of the healer's house. Wisps of red light filtered through the dusty windows; the radiant hour had passed, and the blinding glow of the sun no longer stared into their eyes. Now shadows stretched out instead, slowly creeping upon the world to cast it into darkness. In the room, complete silence reigned, save for steady, laboured breathing.
Time clung to that sound like he did to the hand of the boy laid in the bed. Twilight's chest was covered in bandages, moving up and down regularly. Time ran his thumb on his knuckles, calloused and warm and alive.
He was asleep. Safe, for now.
His gaze wandered to the other bed in the room, the other person sound asleep there. Despite Time's efforts to stop him, not wanting to deal with another of his dear companions gravely injured, the traveller hadn't listened. With a stubbornness Time suspected he was only starting to understand the depth of, he'd cast his Life spell a second, then a third time, until his knees had given out in exhaustion and they had to drag him away from Twilight's side.
In spite of all odds, it had helped, although nowhere near enough. The wound was still there, nasty and persistent. There was no telling whether Twilight would rise from it in the end. But Ms. Isha, the healer, had stated that he would most likely make it through the night.
That diagnostic had been what had finally convinced Hyrule to give in, accept a magic medicine and some sweetened water and lie down in bed. He would be completely fine after he rested, thankfully.
On both accounts, it was more than Time had dared hope for.
He looked at Twilight's face, relaxed in his dreamless slumber, and tried to brand his features into his memory. The marks on his forehead, his relaxed brow. His closed eyes, his half-open lips from which puffs of air escaped. The chiselled shape of his jaw, slightly leaning to the side on his pillow. His tousled brown hair, red in the places where the sunlight caught. Time ran his hand through it, gently, taking care not to wake him. Impossible tenderness bloomed in his chest, mixing with quiet despair.
He missed Malon so much in moments like these. He needed her strength, her unwavering comfort. With her, he could overcome anything. She was the one who had made him brave enough to let people into his heart again, back when he'd thought it wasn't worth the pain.
Thanks to her, he had forgotten how much hope could hurt.
He swallowed, forced himself to breathe through his tight throat. The night was so peaceful, and he was so tired. He'd never felt so old as now, with this dull ache in his bones and the sharp awareness of the discomfort of the chair he was sitting in.
With a mirthless smile, he wondered if the boys' approximation of his age was really all that far off.
It had been a struggle to convince them to head down to the inn, get some rest and some warm food. They had only relented in exchange for him accepting a bowl of broth, which had seemed reasonable enough. While eating had been hard with the knot tying his entrails, he had managed to finish it all, and found himself feeling much better afterwards.
The healer had offered him a cot so he could stay at Twilight's side for the night. He had refused, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep. The thought of wasting a minute of the time he had left was unbearable.
Twilight's breath hitched, sighing in his sleep. Time hushed him, his hand still resting in his hair. Although his body was sturdy, still warm with life and strength despite his wound, in this moment he looked fragile and vulnerable.
He was so young. Responsible, reliable and capable, but still barely a man, who had so much to live for.
Please, Time caught himself thinking. Please don't take him away.
He wasn't sure who his prayer might go to, who he was hoping to reach. He thought about Sky and his hymns to Hylia, his endearing confusion when he'd tried to explain her relationship to his Zelda that nevertheless didn't even dent the fervour of his faith. He thought about Twilight's wordless rituals to the Light Spirits, a thousand small gestures that could easily be taken for superstition, if not for the matter-of-fact habit with which they were performed. He thought about the way Malon thanked Farore each time a mare successfully delivered a foal.
None of them felt real, and his unspoken words felt empty. Time was alone, like he had been ever since Navi left him. His burden was solely his, heavy on his sagging shoulders, while his desperation dissolved in the serene air.
It was eerie, how calm this moment was, caught between dusk and night. It was as if the most bitter and intimate fight wasn't happening at all, invisible to any eyes and ears, in the warmth of this cosy building.
A noise made him tense. He faced the entrance of the room, ready to jump if it turned out to be a threat.
Footsteps in the stairs. Time rose, as silent as he could in order not to disturb the two sleeping boys, but alert and prepared for a fight.
The steps slowed down. Wild waveringly walked into the room, his feet light, his eyes puffy and red.
Something in Time settled. The others had reported to him that Wild had gone missing, and he had worried, but there had been so much going on aside from that he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Now all his boys were home. Now they were all together again.
For however long that lasted.
Wild took a step towards Twilight, then he faltered, his expression crumbling as he took in his appearance. His lips wobbled; he bit on them and turned towards Time.
“How is he?”
Time looked at him, the way his whole body was wired and tense, the conflict on his face that Time knew all too well.
“He will at least hold out until daybreak,” he answered.
Wild nodded and swallowed. He took the last few steps that separated from Twilight and knelt next to his bed, delicately taking his hand like Time had done earlier. Twilight shifted in his bed, perhaps roused by the noise of his arrival; his eyes opened halfway and fell on Wild with a smile.
“Champion...” he murmured. “You 'kay?”
Wild nodded frantically.
“I got him. The thing that hurt you. It's gone.”
Time was impressed. The black-blooded Iron Knuckle had been a nightmare, impossibly tall and powerful with its cursed weapon; he hated the thought of Wild going up against it, but knowing it gone – and Wild looking fine – reassured him immensely. Still, he was curious how Wild had managed such a feat. He would have to get the full story out of him later.
Twilight nodded, smiling at his protégé.
“Good,” he replied. “'M proud...”
Wild smiled back, and tears sprung out of his eyes.
“You're gonna be fine,” he said – pleaded, his voice shaking even though he was whispering. “You have to.”
But Twilight had already slipped back into sleep.
Wild's shoulders shook. He gripped the covers on the bed with both fists and buried his face into the cloth, his breath hitching with badly restrained sobs.
Time's heart broke. He knelt next to him and passed an arm around his shoulders, gently pulling him to his side. Wild didn't raise his face, but he let himself lean into the embrace. Without a word, Time laid his cheek on the top of his head and rubbed his upper arm in comfort. His throat closed up, and he found a few tears escaping him, too.
Twilight kept sleeping, kept breathing, blissfully unaware of their grief.
Time sighed, once again struck with the harrowing familiarity of the feelings. Something felt different this time, however; more faded, more bearable.
The part of him that had lost, and lost, and lost since he was nine years old couldn't bear trusting Twilight would live only to be disappointed. He was too tired, too jaded to have that kind of energy left in him. The odds were so bleak. True hope was beyond him.
But he could deal with that, he realised. It would be hard, and he would come to the other side devastated; he knew this intimately from all the other times he had gone through it. But the warmth of the boy by his side, and the knowledge of the seven – no, eight still, although he couldn't say for how long – others that depended on him grounded him.
For them, he could stay strong. He would carry them through this ordeal, however long it took. Just like Malon had done for him, when she had rebuilt his faith in the world piece by piece, he could do for them.
They would get through this. Together. No matter the outcome.
Night had completely fallen by now, and the room was dark. Time squeezed Wild's shoulder, laid down a kiss on the top of his head and stood up to close the curtains.
Then he took a candle from the stack in the drawer that the healer had shown him, lighted it and set it on the console before settling back in his chair, going back to his silent vigil.