Chapter Text
Rauru wasn’t a settlement revered for much.
It was a humble village, constructed only a few hundred years before by the families of the knights who trained at the military camp to the north of the settlement, and was known for little else. Being positioned close to the castle, Rauru was occasionally stumbled across by the odd merchant or traveller looking for trade. But those who chanced the trip rarely made a second; the village was entirely self-sufficient and also by default heavily guarded- populated mainly by retired knights who had grown suspicious of new faces.
Right at the end of a branching path that sat closer to the training camp than the bulk of the village was a small cottage of ivy walls and crumbling stone. Anvils, tools, and offcuts of steel, iron and stone littered the small garden at the front of the cottage. In the open plan of the home sat a large gnarled workbench.
This was the home and workplace of the village’s blacksmith, the main supplier of swords for most of Hyrule’s knights. The smithery was the work of a retired Royal Guard, who worked on the blades, and his twelve-year-old son, who preferred the detail-work of the hilts and scabbards.
The week had been obscenely warm. The other businesses of the village had discovered lounging around and complaining about the heat to be a much more enjoyable way to pass the time than to carry out their manual-labour-heavy professions. The farmer was letting her escaped cows wander the village, the baker had grown too hot with the heat of the oven and was attempting to sell some rather unrisen bread, and the butcher had closed up shop entirely.
But the blacksmiths had continued working through the peak of the day, until the sun was just beginning its descent across the sky- for Banzetta was a disciplined man, having served as a Royal Guard for twenty-five years. ‘Days off’ were unknown concepts to him, and he believed in the art of learning to work in any conditions- a teaching that he wished to impart onto his son.
Link wasn’t particularly undisciplined per se. He was a hard worker with a pure and steady heart, and an unwavering respect and admiration for his father. He was knowledgeable in his craft and showed great potential for following in his father’s footsteps as an esteemed Royal Guard- likely even surpassing him one day.
For at the mere age of three, Link had found his own way around a training sword and would be taken to the military training camp by his father on weekends to fight with the knights there. And much to the surprise of everyone, at four years of age, Link could best many of the knights in one-on-one combat. He was extremely capable and insanely driven- but the village knew him best for his warmth, and his compassion.
He was so often running around for others, fulfilling various requests and tasks for the people of the settlement that Link’s father sometimes feared that he would not be so selfish as to choose his own path in life. It would be just like the boy to stay in the village just to look after his old man and his people, and never see the world beyond a brief journey way back when to Zora’s Domain in the East. Or to enrol as a knight just because he felt bound to follow his fathers footsteps.
No, Link certainly wasn’t undisciplined. But he was a curious boy with a wandering mind, and would sometimes become distracted from his work. He would often stare at the horizon far beyond Hyrule Castle, to the highlands of Gerudo, the slopes of Death Mountain, the peaks of Lanayru.
Banzetta knew that his son was not to be tethered- he often felt that the boy belonged to the Wild, to the very curvature of the earth and the roots that grew beneath it. The higher-ups at the training camp and even the King himself were eagerly waiting for the day that Link would enrol himself as a knight- but Banzetta sincerely doubted that someone who so desperately dreamed of roaming would willingly imprison himself in duty.
The two had worked until just after noon, and despite a thick layer of sweat on the young boy’s forehead, he continued to work diligently. But his father was not blind to the increasingly frequent glances out of the window.
“Take a break, Link.” Banzetta piped up eventually, while hunched over a particularly stubborn blade.
He supposed that a wander in the open air would clear his son’s mind and hopefully settle his energetic curiosity a while- and the last big shipment of swords had gone out only last week, meaning they could afford a small dip in productivity.
Link looked up from where his neck had been craned over the minute details of a royal broadsword hilt.
“Are you sure, Father? I can work a while longer yet-“
“-And it would not be necessary. You’ve worked well, my boy. A short rest has been well earned.”
With very little further hesitation, Link smiled and nodded his thanks before bounding from his seat and rushing to the door, grabbing the frame just at the last moment to lean back into the room.
“Oh- I was thinking of exploring the woods by the camp, in case you have need of me later and can't find me. Thulin has run out of herb for his bread- and his loaves have been dire enough what with his refusal to bake properly in this heat. I should be back long before sundown.”
And with that, he ran out fast before his father could change his mind and sit him down for more work.
-
Leaving the village often felt like a mission of stealth for Link.
He didn’t mind helping the people of his village- in fact, he often volunteered himself for various tasks on weekends when he grew tired of working overtime on grips and scabbards. But sometimes it was nice to escape for a while without being hounded to herd unruly cows back into pens or lug heavy stones to the cobblers.
Every task requested of him was a reminder that he was needed in this village- they relied on him. And that would only make it more difficult to one day leave to visit the places he so often dreamed about.
Sometimes he wondered if he would ever get the chance.
And even if the chance presented itself, would it be selfish to leave the village that had raised him? That needed him? Would his father be able to run the blacksmiths alone?
Link stopped that line of thought before he could grow more distressed. There were a few more years yet until he would have to decide what lay in his future.
And, he supposed if he really grew tired of Rauru, he could just become a knight as was expected of him. It was hardly travelling Hyrule of course, and he would most likely eventually be placed in the position of Royal Guard, which would probably be even more stifling than Rauru, and…
No, he really must stop this line of thinking.
He brought his attention instead to the task at hand. He had successfully made it out of the border of the village, grateful that his home was situated a small way from the main bulk of the settlement, and was now making his way up to the familiar path to the training camp. He always appreciated being able to come up here, even though his responsibilities in the town meant that his once frequent visits to practise swordplay were becoming much less so.
He may not particularly dream of being a knight, but he loved the freedom of swordsmanship. The calculation required to study the opponent. The spontaneity of the moves and the feel of the wind rushing through his hair as he swiped, slashed and stabbed. It was a brief respite from the monotony of staying in one place that he dearly appreciated.
He walked past the camp and into the wooded area beside it. There were not many people who entered the dense woodland, as it was generally understood that it was very easy to get lost in the low hanging branches and the thick mist that seemed to become opaquer the deeper into the woods you travelled.
Many parents of the village had banned their children from going anywhere near it, telling them old wives’ tales of children who went into the woods and never came out. Link could see why these tales could be so believable- had he not spent so much time roaming around here on those weekends at the training camp when he was younger, he might have gotten lost in the mist himself. It was fortunate that he had a keen eye for routes and direction- he read his environments well and it meant that he very rarely, if ever, became lost.
Except for today.
He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened- he had been sticking to the paths that he had discovered and committed to memory in all these years of exploring, keeping his eyes peeled for Hyrule herb that he could collect and bring home to the baker.
But now he stood in an entirely unrecognised clearing- truthfully not even knowing there were clearings in this dense wood.
He made the mistake of turning around, losing his sense of direction completely and becoming surrounded by mist and trees as far as the eyes could see. He supposed he had become distracted in his thoughts and perhaps missed a turning or a landmark- but something in him felt that something was not right here.
Something felt alive in this forest, and not just the odd mountain crow that hopped by his feet. Whether the mist, or the trees themselves, or the odd thrumming in the forest floor. Something was off.
He tried his best to calm himself down and orient himself- he was sure that he had done a half turn, so if he turned around again he would likely be facing the general area he came from. And if he followed that, he was sure to see something that would lead him to his known path-
“-ere!”
He stopped in his tracks.
A small, childlike voice had rung through the clearing.
What was someone doing in these woods? Were they alone?
“Over here!”
It was coming from his left. He turned to the direction, trying to tell if the voice sounded distressed or upset in any way. He couldn’t place it. The voice sounded almost playful. Like a child playing a game.
Still, these woods were no place for a child. He would have to find them and bring them to safety, but he had to keep them talking as to know their location.
“Hello?” he called. The ring of his voice seemed to be swallowed by the mist and yet go on forever.
He waited a few moments in silence before trying again.
“Is there anyone out there?”
He held his breath.
“Follow me!”
Follow? Link mused. How can I follow if I can’t see you?
He shook off his growing frustration and set off towards the voice of the child- hoping with wider strides that he could reach them before they could travel any further off.
He briefly saw something scuttle across the ground, and it very almost distracted him from the fact that the trees were starting to take some very interesting shapes. Some of them even appeared to have faces- wide, gaping mouths with spikes of bark for teeth and a cavernous hole in the trunk. The gnarled roots wove intricate shapes and merged together as though this forest was just one organism, one life force all moving in synchroneity.
Link began to feel that the trees were breathing, that if they wished to, they would speak to him.
He pushed away the unplaceable feeling and continued to walk in the direction of the voice, praying that he would reach it soon.
“Link!”
He stopped short.
Was this child from Rauru? It would make sense given the woods’ proximity to the village, but Link knew each of the children very well and did not recognise this as any of their voices. But then who would call his name? Was it a trick of the rustling wind in the trees?
“Who is there?” He did not raise his voice to a shout. He was beginning to feel that they would hear him even if he whispered.
“Follow me!”
“Or me!”
“You could follow me!”
Multiple voices. All of similar tones, but each minutely different.
It surprised him that he wasn’t terrified. Strangely enough, he actually rather felt the opposite- there was something about the life of the forest that made him feel at home. As though he was living with it. As though he was a part of it.
He decided against calling again. He was no longer thinking of the direction of the voices- he was following the way the mist swirled and pointed, the way the trees seemed to beckon, their leaves swaying forward or this way or that. It felt so natural, like he had walked this very path every night in his dreams.
After a long while he came to two sheer faces of rock that formed an enclosed pathway in the middle and entered it. The path carried on downhill from here for a while, lined by small shrubs and plants that looked a great deal healthier than some of the gnarled trees that had led him here.
A few more minutes passed until he reached a hollow tree log on its side, forming a kind of pathway canopy- almost impossibly large. He wondered briefly what kind of tree could create a trunk so big, but as he walked through it to the other side, he realised he might not have to wonder for too long.
He had walked into an enclosed forest clearing, with a chunky stepping stone path decorated with dappled light from trees above that formed rays of sunlight like curtains. The mist had disappeared, instead replaced with a luscious warm light that settled on every blade of grass and every falling leaf.
It was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.
And at the very end of the path was a very striking sight.
A colossal tree trunk with a colossal face. An Ozymandias of bark and blossom.
Link got the strong feeling he was brought here for a reason.
Below the great tree was a triangle of stone- a pedestal, for what Link now realised was a sword sheathed deep into the rock. And it was the most beautiful sword he had seen. Nothing to be crafted by mortal hands, he mused.
A beautiful royal purple and olive green lattice pattern on the grip, a tapered hard-edged pommel, a lightly shimmering pale blue silver blade, and an upwards curved crossguard that split into decorative tiered wings. It was nothing short of majestic. His entire attention was drawn to it immediately, the life of the forest drowned out, and he longed to know the name of such a creation.
He walked closer to the sword and noticed an interesting design engraved near the top of the blade- a triangle made up of smaller triangles. The mark of its maker, perhaps? He reached a hand out to trace the design, and felt a spark in his fingers.
He knew before he even reached a hand around the grip that this sword was his.
He did not yet reach for the grip. Instead, he addressed the tree with the face.
“I would much like to know your name.”
The tree stirred, as though shaking off the stillness of a thousand years. Or many, many more.
Its large eyes locked immediately with Link’s, and there was a familiarity there.
“I am the Great Deku Tree. I have watched over Hyrule since time immemorial. And I have been waiting for you, Link.”
Link digested each of his words slowly, understanding the privilege to be addressed by such a being. He thought about his response for a while.
“Did you bring me here, Great Deku Tree?”
“I did not bring you to the sword.” Link did not doubt the truth of the words. “My Koroks have helped guide you through the Lost Woods, but it was your heart that led you to this pedestal.”
Link blinked for a few moments.
“My heart?”
The tree heaved a big sigh- but it was not of discontent or frustration. It was just breathing in the force of the forest, of the wild. Living in its own special way. Link wondered how long the tree had been dozing.
The tree made no further move to reply.
Link looked down at the sword below him, feeling its consciousness and its life.
He wrapped his hand around the grip. It felt like it was made for him. He brought his other hand to sit below the other and braced his posture before pulling. But it wasn’t pulling weight, not like you would pull any ordinary sword from a stone pedestal. It was pulling towards, away, together, everything, and nothing. It was becoming, and it was rebirth, and everything in between. It took everything out of Link, but also the same effort as it is to breathe and to be.
He pulled, and pulled, and the sword came free of its stone sheath.
Its weight was neither balanced nor imbalanced. It was entirely relative to Link’s position. It was a part of him, an extension of his core strength, an addition to his very bones. If he shifted more on one foot, the sword adjusted in kind, as though it was liquid in solid form. As though it was magic.
He shifted it experimentally in his hand a few times, testing its weight and feeling it in his bloodstream and his soul. And then he lifted it to the heavens.
And in that moment of divine connection, he realised that this sword might not just be a gift.
It was an omen.