Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They reach the next stable halfway into the afternoon, Snowcap speeding into a canter at the sight of the wood-and-cloth horsehead suspended up against the sky. Rook lets her speed up, it’s been a long trip for both of them.

As they draw closer the chatter of quiet voices, and the much louder chatter of donkeys lets him know that he’s not the first here tonight. There’s a small trader camp set up, not at the stable but in in the field nearby. Apparently they found the prices too steep to sleep in the walls of the stable yurt.

Or maybe they’re just stingy, Rook posits as he draws close enough to see the fine embroidery on the donkeys and the jewelry the teenager taking care of them is wearing.

But if they’re taking good care of their mounts that bodes well for a traveling farrier. Underneath his scarf Rook grins.

The youth listlessly brushing the donkeys glances curiously at Snow as she comes up with her rider. They make an interesting picture. She’s nearly fifteen hands, and probably some stallion in her ancestry was a knights destrier. With a light rider like Rook she can carry pack up and down the mountains without breaking a sweat. A lucky find when he saw her at the market. He knows what a striking figure she paints: a dark grey mountain of a horse with white dapple, and on her back a slender rider with a hidden face, sitting in a throne of saddlebags, clinking faintly with the sound of metal.

Half of trade is theater. Rook nods to the teen and leisurely walks her along, towering over the others and making sure to stay mounted as long as possible before sliding off and idling over to the counter where the owner is watching with a slightly amused expression at the theatrics. Rook pulls the scarf down to grin back at the stable owner. (Padok? Highland Stable isn’t on his normal circuit, and its been a while since he passed this way).

“Hello there and welcome back.” Padok says, “Haven’t seen you since last spring at least.”

“Thank you” Rook rasps, making sure its loud enough to be heard over the background chatter, before switching to his hands.

Horse-catching again.

Padok nods. “Aye, I figured. How’s the old girl?”

Snow is doing her best impression of a clay statue right now, placidly staring off with a wise expression like she’s staring into the heart of the universe. Rook knows better, she’s probably falling asleep right now.

She got a s tone in her shoe a few weeks ago on a mountain . Had to repair it on the road. “Pain in the ass” Rook adds out loud.

“Well she’s a lucky lady then isn’t she. Yes, madam you should thank the goddess for your blessings.” Padok tells her very seriously. She stares off into the middle distance, no doubt thinking about apples and napping.

“Anyway, have you already been to the steppe? Or are you on your way there?”

Coming back. No luck. Rook makes a face. The herds were skittish and he couldn’t get a good approach. Too many of them are dying to moblins for any herd leader to relax. There’s a reason he’s ridden so far for this trip. A lot of the fields near Lanayru were picked clean.

“Yeah we’ve had a lot of raids, I’m not surprised to hear that. Don’t suppose I could bargain for a spare then?”

Rook shrugs. If I get more than one. It’ll be a long ride home and I need something to show for it.

“Alright then. Are you looking for a bed tonight? Same price, 15 per.”

Maybe. Any horses need shoeing?

“None of mine, but I think they’ve got a limping donkey” Padok says, lifting his chin vaguely in the direction of the trader camp.

Any work you need around here?

“Are all you travelers allergic to spending rupees?” Padok asks, lazily amused.

Yes. Rook tells him with a grave face. Very serious.

“Oh my, that must be hard when you have to buy something”

It is.

“Well, in deference to your infirmity I think Brynne has some repairs she’s been putting off. See if she’ll let you at it.”

“Thank you” he croaks out and adds: Same price for the horse?

“Ayup.” the owner says and pushes over the plate for the money. He easily hands it over to bunk Snow down, taking the stable chit in return. “Brynne will get her set up, but you need to take care of the bags yourself. Paying customers get storage and you haven’t paid yet.”

Snowcap is a paying customer. he points out with a winsome smile. It gets an unamused glance. Worth a shot. Shrugging he pulls his scarf back up and grabs her reins to lead her around the side to the paddock.

He casts a practiced eye over the trade group as he walks over. Its about five people, four pack animals and a couple of dogs. No-six people, he realizes as a small figure darts after one of the dogs, shrieking with glee. There’s a child with them, no more than ten years and likely less.

Seeing a child is always bittersweet. She looks healthy and happy, giggling and running. Someone’s tied bells into her hair, probably to keep track of her as she plays. It’ll also keep ghosts away, if you believe that sort of thing.

Tucking a hand up against his chest he carefully signs Please give her luck and many years up towards the sky. He never speaks when he prays. It likely won’t do anything, but there’s a chance that someone is watching and she can use any extra bit of luck. Superstition completed, he walks around to find the stable worker.

‘Brynne’ isn’t anyone he’s met before, a stocky young woman with dark hair and small eyes, her uniform in good repair. He waves when he gets closer, and sighs internally. Talking to strangers is always a hassle. She looks startled at the size of Snow, and casts a skeptical glance at her tiny rider.

“ '’Lo stranger, welcome to Highland. You looking to bunk down that beauty?”

He nods and flips the stable chit, a show-offy move that catches her eye before he hands it over. She takes it with a slight smile.

You know how to read hands? He asks her hopefully, netting a blank stare in return. “Everything all right there?” she says, slowly. Damn. Talking it is then.

“Hello” he croaks, ignoring the look she gives him when she hears the wreck of his voice. “Bad throat, sorry. Padok said you had work for board?” he swallows down a cough after the first word he’s likely said in several weeks and looks at her expectantly.

“Um.” she says. “I mean, there’s always work, but I don’t know if we have anything for you. There’s uh. Well it’s a lot of. Um.” she rubs a hand across the back of her head. “It’s uh. Hard work you know. Might be tricky for a uh.” she continues to flounder. He smiles and refuses to help. “Trading man?”

As a euphemism for ‘you look like a strong wind would pick you up and you sound like death’ it’s a new one.

“Farrier. Tinsmith. Horse tamer.” Rook lists his services. “Can cook too. Anything?”

She looks skeptically at him. He looks back placidly, copying the example of his horse. “Broken tack?” he offers. She sighs and gestures him to follow her as she walks towards a work bench tucked under an awning.

There’s the usual dented cups and plates, a cracked pot, a broken clasp on a necklace, and a myriad of tack in various stages of repair. She hands over a saddle that’s torn to hell and lets him know that she’ll put him in for an available bed if he can get through some of the work. Its about what he expected.

Once Snow’s saddlebags are stacked next to him, he settles in next to the cooking fire to work. Another way to catch the eye of anyone who wants his hands. Leather isn’t his preferred material, but he knows enough to get it back to functional. As long as she doesn’t want any embossing this is well within his wheelhouse.

It also lets him keep half an eye on the movement of the camp. The teenager finishes with the donkeys and stomps over to the tent in the nearby meadow. The little girl must be a relative because she sprints over as soon as they’re done and begins chattering about something. Brynne rubs Snow down, and Rook keeps a quiet eye to make sure Brynne treats Snow right. She does fine, even if she’s shooting glances over at the man sitting calmly by the fire. Eventually she finishes and goes to check the paddock, separating out a roan stallion that she starts saddling up.

The traders chat.

He stitches a broken leash back together. It’s easy, methodical work. He feels settled by the motions, like sitting on a rocking boat or a swaying tree.

Eventually the traders come over to the fire. The leader, an old man with a bad leg and a grim affect grunts at him before sitting down, the others still standing respectfully around.

The effect of majesty is spoiled by the enormous structured hat he’s wearing, covered in feathers and ribbon flowers. It’s probably a symbol of importance for their tribe, but it makes him look like a marshbird in a sulk.

Rook nods at him, and turns his face back politely down to the work on his lap, face not betraying his thoughts. The traders bustle in quiet for a bit, someone throwing a ladle of oil onto the pot to get dinner started. Eventually the old man speaks up.

“I am called Head Rider. What is that you are working on there, young man.”

“I am called Rook.” Rook carefully rasps out, before switching to hands. Apologies, grandfather. I am injured and cannot easily speak. Do you read hands?

Head Rider nods and switches to hands as well. He’s a little stiffer, and his sign has a Rito accent. They’re from Hebra, or nearby.

It can be a hard road out there. You are blessed to be alive, injured or not.

Out of respect for an elder Rook doesn’t roll his eyes. This was no blessing, merely the indifference of the world taking itself out on an idiot.

Thank you for your wise words grandfather. I hope to sleep inside tonight and I am trying to pay with work. I heard that you might have need of a hoof doctor?

The old man grunts. One of our pack animals is limping, but it’s likely just a stone. Still, it would be useful if you could look over the group. We have a ways to go.

Negotiations are the same no matter what language, species or kind of people in Rook’s experience. There’s some back and forth while they figure out what a good payment would be and then Rook has an appointment with the donkeys before dawn tomorrow.

With the work concluded, the old man gets up and leaves without a word, the remaining members of the tribe sticking around to cook. An older man with lightly salted black hair settles in to watch the pot, roasting pieces of fruit and meat. He’s barely taken the first pieces out when the young girl bolts over and attaches herself to his side.

“Is that how we say hello?” he says, barely swaying as she uses his leg to brake herself.

“Hello Uncle, how is your wife, do you need help and may I have some please?” she says in a single breath.

“You may, once they are not covered in boiling oil.” he says dryly. She flops down next to him and stares intently at the food. Rook goes back to work, feeling vaguely awkward. It’s a public space, and there’s not really anywhere better to sit, but still. Eventually she notice him and throws a wide-eyed look, staring hard.

“Are you a monster?” she asks.

“Kate!” the man snaps. “That’s rude, apologize.”

“No it’s alright.” Rook croaks. “I’m Hylian.” he says to her “Monsters want to eat people, I only want to eat dumplings”

“Me too” she giggles. He smiles at her, skin pulling on his bad side.

“Kate.” the man says again.

“S’rry I called you a monster” she offers.

“It’s alright. You learn from questions” Rook tells her very seriously.

“Can I ask him?” she asks her Uncle. He nods.

“Why do you look different?”

Rook glances at the uncle. “Used to be treasure hunter. Guardian hit me. Hurt a lot.”

“Wow.” she says, her mouth in a perfect ‘O’

“Here Kate, this one is for you but the other two of them are going to your sister. Go and pass them along.” the man interrupts her, by portioning out some pieces into a piece of canvas he cups and hands over. She takes it and runs away.

“Sorry about that” he says “she’s a curious girl”

Rook smiles and signs at the man. She’s learning. More polite than some adults I’ve met.

The switch to hands startles the man who takes a second to change modes. He responds in words, still frying. “Ah. Yeah we’re trying to do right by her.” Rook nods. The two men go back to their work.

-

Lily the Donkey has a stone in her hind hoof, and another one in the fore that hasn’t reached the point of causing a limp. She’s also threatening to throw a shoe but Rook doesn’t have equipment with him, and the stable isn’t set up for farrier work. He gives a recommend for someone in a nearby village and the two groups part ways in the morning.

Snow and Rook go back out to the plains the next day, making another attempt at a capture. Their luck is bad, but by the end of the first day there’s a black mare skittering along the end of a lead. Another benefit to Snow: Rook hasn’t met the horse that could outpull her. The new lady tires, letting him come close enough to touch her flank. He won’t shoe her until she’s broken to a saddle, and she’ll likely bolt if he take the lead off but she follows Snow without too many issues.

Most horse-catchers run in groups of three or four. Rook rides alone. Normally it’s not much of a problem, he rides draft horses like Snow and he stays close to Laneyru, so he won’t have to drag them far. But it’s been a bad season and he’s ridden out past the end of his normal circuit. It’ll be a long few days riding home, and slow with their extra passenger. Rook sighs and walks over to Snow.

Lets away big lady he signs at her one-handed and then mounts up to start the day.

It’s a cool day as they start out. Early morning mist clears to be replaced by late morning clouds and then midday sun. Blackie spooks at a leaf and they spend a wonderful ten minutes waiting while she dances around at the end of the lead. Rook keeps the horses tied to each other when he dismounts for the noon meal, Snow snorting in irritation as Blackie continues to be a nuisance.

She’s a smaller breed, and seems quick. Stablemaster Canta will like her. Even though she’s just one horse and he promised her three by now. She’ll understand. The rate for new horses is so high for the same reasons he’s out so far.

Nobody wants to say it, but the math is clear. The number of monsters will never go down. Even if only one horse dies to a lizalfos each month, the herds are just going to thin. There’s nothing anyone can do except slow the pace and send guards out after every full moon.

And its not just horses. Game is almost gone in most places. There’s a town up in Hebra that just breeds and exports deer, since they’re almost extinct everywhere else. Hyrule is slowly retreating behinds the walls of the towns. Rook has never even seen the bird he’s named for.

Laneyru is doing pretty well for itself, the water birds are quick and tricky enough that the Lizalfos population isn’t having a noticeable impact. The towns have guards around a couple of nesting areas just to be sure. There’s some chatter that foxes were seen in the nesting area last spring. But there’s really not much to do with the bigger animals except what he’s doing.

Blackie spooks at a scary cloud of dust and tries to sidestep off the trail, interrupting his quiet brooding. She manages to almost tangle in the halter line and he pauses to give her a second to recover. She tangles herself further and he sighs, dismounting again.

“shh, shh” he hisses at her, making soothing noises and clucking his tongue, trying to calm her before walking into the range of her hooves. Animals tend to calm around him, and she eventually quiets enough to let him walk up to her neck. “shh shh” he continues to soothe, making sure she knows where he is as he runs fingers down her face.

Easy, beautiful. He signs at he, before beginning to unwind the rope she’s managed to hook her foreleg into. He keeps a sharp eye on her as he carefully lowers himself down. Mitya put too much effort into keeping him alive to die due to a kick on the road. The second he clears her leg he has to scramble back and away from her as she stamps a foot right where his leg used to sit.

You’re a problem he tells her calmly, sitting on his ass in the middle of a dusty road. She whinnies. Snow plods over towards him and sniffs his hair. Significantly dustier, they continue along.

The breeze is light and faintly cool, bringing in the scents of plants and greenery. He keeps half an eye on Blackie, and half an eye on the road. It’s a gibbous moon, and they’re on a fairly well-trafficked road, so Bokoblins aren’t likely to be a problem but they also move a lot and with his luck a Lynel will be moving through the area. Or more Yiga asking for ‘tribute’. So far there hasn’t been anyone else on the road, aside from prints in the mud and birds scattered up by their passage.

He idly toys with the idea of picking up another brace, hand sliding to the sling at his hip but he decides against it. Birds don’t really sell and late spring isn’t a season they need to be stocking up. And Haite gets mad at him every time he brings home a bird, he thinks with a faint smile. Maybe he should pick up some extras, just to tease her. She does eat a lot of meat for someone who keeps ranting about how terrible it is to hunt…

Blackie spooks again, and he turns to look at her again. She’s tossing her head and dancing on the end of the lead. To his surprise, Snow also responds, slowing down and nickering. He strokes a hand down her neck, looking to see her ears pinned back. Snow’s steady, this is something other than nerves.

He pulls his sling out with one hand while scanning the area slowly. They’re at a relatively low area, but it’s wooded and not easy to see past the thicket. Now that he’s focusing though he catches a sharp noise, something metallic ringing out from ahead and to the left. Birds scatter up, about half a mile ahead. And almost directly on the road damnit.

Snow stamps a foot. Rook blows out a breath.

He dismounts yet again to walk Blackie off to a tree nearby and ties her up before getting back on. After a second, he pulls off a couple of the saddlebags as well and stashes them. Snow is starting to get annoyed about the constant climbing onto her and almost sidles out from underneath him. Once seated he takes a second to stroke her neck, wordlessly apologizing.

Or maybe whatever she’s hearing up the road is upsetting her. It doesn’t matter. He’ll ride up with her and if there’s a problem they’ll bolt back.

Now with significantly less metal clinking, the two of them make their way along. The closer they get the louder whatever it is becomes and it’s clearly a fight. There’s shouting, Hylian voices in aggressive pitches, snarling and creaking wood and metal and the sound of impact. Someone shouts again and then there’s a garbled roar. Rook spurs his horse, slipping a stone into his palm and readying himself for what he knows he’s going to find when they canter into view.

It’s a Bokoblin raiding party, four or five reds circling and snapping at a trio of travellers. One of them is downed, the other two standing over him while they try to recover. Snow flattens her ears and leans into a full gallop without a prompt from him, as he drops the reins to aim for the closest bokoblin. The thunder of hooves and the impact of the stone draw the eye of the raiding party, two of them jumping back and gibbering at him as he knees Snow into a wide arc so he can face the Bokoblins broadside. The one he hit falls over but is struggling back up to its feet, screeching.

One of the reds fully sprints after him and he can’t spare an extra eye on the travellers, but sun flashes on metal in the corner of his eye and there’s screeching again while his stone flies true, seeming to glide straight from his hand into the eye of the charging monster. Snow’s arc carries them parallel to the road and he watches one of the travellers pull a sword out of a bokoblin, shouting something at the others.

He’s wearing armor, glinting in the sun and he bangs a fist on his chest, making himself a target as the bokoblins snarl at the noise. The other man is smaller, younger, and struggling to drag his injured friend away from the fight. A red lunges forward, ending up between him and the armored one. Rook breathes, palming another stone and slinging it forward in a motion so practiced he doesn’t even feel his arm move, watching his hand slip into his field of view and then back as the stone strikes on the shoulder, spooking the bokoblin, and then the a second strikes the neck and it’s on the ground. The young man is crouched now, hunkering over his friend. The armored one is swinging at the last two, blade humming in the air as he twists away from claw swipes and club strikes, moving like a dancer. The glint of metal and the easy confidence he wears shakes a memory loose.

For a second Rook feels his fingers grip on a pommel of his own. This isn’t the time though, and he drives a fist into his thigh, pain forcing him back into the present.

The armored one doesn’t really need his help by now, one bokoblin in chunks and the other looking ready to bolt. Rook slows Snow and pulls her head around, wheeling back towards the injured man and his guard to the background sound of meat and shouting.

The kid looks sharp, holding a hooked sword ahead of him as Rook approaches. He can’t be more than sixteen, Rook thinks with a pang. His friend on the ground looks older, but it’s hard to tell, he’s moving a bit but in the way of someone who took a hard hit and is gathering his energy.

Its telling that with his friend unconscious on the ground the kid is choosing to focus on Rook instead of taking care of the wounded friend. It’s smart—Rook is keeping an eye out in case this rescue is bait, so he’s not going to judge too much—but telling nonetheless.

“HEY-AH” the armored guy shouts, sword ricocheting off something. The kid glances at him and then lowers the weapon a notch.

“Thank you for the help.” he says carefully. Rook lifts a hand and signs. No problem. You would have had it yourself.

Kid stares blankly at his hands and then looks back up at his face. “Uh. I’m sorry I don’t-” he breaks off and frees one hand to make a few signs of his own. It’s not anything that Rook has seen before.

The worst part of travelling is dealing with strangers. Rook pulls Snow up to a comfortable halt a few feet away and dismounts (Snow snorts, still annoyed) to try and increase the odds of the kid actually hearing him. Rook spreads his arms in a broad gesture before he walks closer, showing off that he’s approaching unarmed.

“Don’t worry. Are you hurt?” he rasps. The kid goes to sharper attention hearing his voice, oddly. Rook tamps down annoyance. He sounds rough but the kid just fought off a raiding party, he needs better nerves than that if he wants to survive long-term.

“Please stay back.” he says. Rook nods and drops his hands, falling back next to Snow, laying a hand on her side. She whuffs, breath pressing the fabric of his scarf against his face.

“Wanted to help.” Rook rasps out, irritated and trying not to show it. “Just checking. You need anything more?” He’s not going to waste energy trying to help people who don’t trust him. The kid opens his mouth to respond and then stops as the armored one saunters over, his maille making stealth an obsolete concept. One hand still on his horse Rook turns to look at the new guy.

Blond hair, same as the kid. Similar face too, must be family. He carries himself like a king and everything about him screams money, from the shining metal armor that’s in better condition than some wedding jewelry Rook has seen, to the thick and padded green tunic he’s wearing in the kind of style you might see in an etching of the Old Castle. He’s clearly a swordsman, the blade moving like an extension of his body as he pulls up the edge of what Rook would consider festival cloth and uses it to wipe Bokoblin blood off his sword.

His face is a little grim as he walks over, shouting out to the kid

“Four!” four of what? The kid replies like that means something.

“Wars! Sky needs a potion. You got any?”

“Yeah, but we have to be more careful, I don’t have a lot. Thank you for the assist.” this aimed at Rook. “Those guys are tougher than I’m used to.”

Rook just nods, watching as a bottle of something red is passed over and the kid kneels down next to their groggy friend, shoving it into his hand and helping him drink it.

How about you ? Rook signs at the guy, feeling optimistic. No luck.

“I’m sorry friend, I don’t speak sign. Four does-oh I’m sorry.” the man stiffens up and then bows with a little flourish of the wrist, hair falling as he faces down towards the ground. “My name is Warriors, and with me are my brothers Four and Sky. We are, ah. Somewhat lost.”

“Rook.” he taps his chest to make sure it comes across as a name. Warriors straightens up and nods.

“Rook, well met. Could we trouble you for some directions?”

Rook almost tells him that there’s a charge but changes his mind at the last second, when the downed one groans and mutters something, sounding pained. “Where are you going?” he croaks instead. Warriors looks sheepish.

“Ah. That’s the thing. I don’t know. If you could tell us where we are right now, that would help us immensely.”

Rook stares at him for a second and then sighs. Pointing down “Atun Valley.” pointing west “Faron. Stable” pointing east “Lurelin Village” and pointing up the road, northeast “Laneyru then Hateno.” this much talking is starting to hurt and he coughs after the last word.

Warriors looks, if anything, more confused. “Alright, this must seem like a very obvious question to you but are we in Hyrule right now?”

Rook opens his mouth to say no and then reconsiders. “Border” he settles on. Warriors lets out a relieved laugh. “Okay that’s good. And what direction is the castle? Or castle town?”

Rook feels a burst of anger well up, nearly choking him at this question.

There’s only one reason for strangers to want to go to the castle. They’re fucking grave robbers. The fine cloth of Warriors suddenly seems grotesque. He opens his mouth to speak and can’t, words catching.

It’s not enough that Hyrule is in ruins, her people barely eking out in the ruins, these people want to try and loot what remains. They’re not the first group Rook has encountered and his opinion has only gotten lower with each one.

I’m not helping you he signs, even though they don’t understand him, hands shaking. If I knew why you were here I would have stoned you myself.

“Is everything alright?” Warriors says, sounding confused. Rook turns his back, gripping onto the pommel and vaulting back onto his horse. “Sir?”

He turns his horse around and looks down at the rich man below him. He forces the words out. “Rob your own corpses, stranger.” It’s barely intelligible but some amount gets through because Warriors’ expression changes from confusion to anger.

He turns Snow back down the road and heads to collect his bags and spare horse. Behind him Four pipes up with “What did you say?” and Warrior shouts “HEY” at his back. He spurs Snow into a trot, leaving the tableau. If they’re still there when he makes it back up the road he’ll gallop past.

Blackie and the bags are in the same spot, Blackie noticeable calms at having another horse nearby. Rook throws the packs onto Snow, and takes a moment to lean into her side, breathing heavily. His throat hurts. Rook tries to take a swing from a water skin and nearly chokes on it, water barely forcing down and his throat seeming to close. He wheezes through the next few breaths, forcing himself not to panic at the feeling. It’ll pass, he tells himself, it always does.

Talking to strangers is awful. he signs to Snow’s flank once he’s able to drag in a full lungful. She doesn’t respond. This whole trip is awful. he adds for good measure and then leads Snow towards the side of the road. He’s not going to try and vault into the saddle like this, he clambers up onto a rock and slides onto her back. Then it’s back to the road.

The three of them are still in the same spot on the road when he comes back up, mounted and fully supplied. Blackie, because she’s the bane of Rook’s existence, startles at the corpses of the Bokoblins. Rook steers the whole caravan off the road, swinging wide. The three men watch him pass, one of them trying to call out but he keeps going, keeping half an eye for arrows. They let him pass.

The rest of the trip is quiet. He rides until twilight, heading down to the waystation at the end of the road. Further down would be the village but he’ll be heading north in the morning and he doesn’t want to waste the money. He finally lets Snowcap off the leash, tying Blackie to a tree so she can graze and settles next to the cooking pot, pulling a saddle bag next to him and moving to the edge of the lake.

A stone meets a duck, and dried vegetable soup for dinner get an extra ingredient. He grins, settling in to pluck and dress his catch. The light is falling more, the night filling up with the sounds of insects and the pop of the fire. He throws pieces of the duck onto the pot, and mushrooms once the fat starts to come out a bit more. Nothing fancy, but a hot meal is always worth it.

There’s footsteps coming up the road and Rook’s heart sinks. Voices murmuring in the dark. They made shockingly good time if they got this far on foot alone. The figure of the three from earlier slowly appear in the gloom.

There’s a pause in their conversation when they get close enough to spot him sitting at the fire. Rook picks up a cloth and starts wiping grease off the knife he’s using to chop. Gotta keep your cooking tools clean.

They walk up slowly, clearly reading his hostility. The one who was knocked out is upright but swaying as he walks, the shadows in his face exaggerated by the fire. Still he’s moving well and he steps up first, Warriors falling behind.

“Hello” he has a soft voice, low and cultured. “We seem to have offended you earlier, and I’m sorry about that. I’m hoping we can just let bygones lie and share this camp tonight?” he continues anxiously.

The younger one speaks up, standing next to his brother. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding honestly, but for now can we travelers just call a truce.”

Rook looks at them and leans back. “Nobody would win if we fight.” Then he leans back and focuses in on stirring the meat again. They take it as permission and begin making their own preparations for the night. There’s a hushed conversation that ends when the kid says “Sit down Sky” and then the knocked out one is being pushed onto the opposite bench while his brothers go and figure out food and sleeping.

Rook shoots him a glance. He might be from Hebra, got a lot of layers on and his cloak has that blue and white the Rito like. Green tunic like Warriors though. He slumps forward once he sits, exhausted. Despite his occupation, Rook feels bad for the guy.

“Want some duck?” Rook croaks. Sky shoots him a startled glance. “You need a good meal” Rook offers as explanation and then stab the tip of the knife into a finished piece, pulling it off the pot and onto a scrap of cloth. This guy looks like less of an asshole than Warriors. Sky takes the offered food with a murmured “thank you” and munches on the morsel of fried meat. Rook chews on the next bite himself, passing Sky another two when he bolts the first one and looks hungrily at the pot. His brothers are having a quiet argument, something about time and weather and supplies.

“What did you mean by corpse”

Rook turns to look at Sky who’s staring into the fire, but turns to face Rook after the question. “Sorry, but I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. We’ve-I’ve never been here before. What did you mean?”

“Where are you from”

“Far away.” Sky says with a chuckle.

Rook huffs a breath. “Castle is a sad place. Leave it be.”

“Why is it sad?” his eyes are guileless as he asks, looking at Rook like he just fell out of the clouds and hasn’t seen the world crumbling around him for the last century.

“Where it started-” Rook rasps raggedly and coughs, reaching the limit of his words again.

The calamity. he signs at Sky who stares blankly at his hands.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Any chance you could write? We don’t understand your sign language, I’m afraid.”

Its not a bad idea. He grabs a stick and scratches out THE CALAMITY in the dirt, upside down so Sky can read it. Sky stares at what he wrote and then looked back up blankly. Does he not know how to read?

“What calamity?” he asks.

“What the fuck” Rook croaks, voice coming back out of pure confusion. Sky looks just as confused.

Four and Warriors have stopped talking, unsubtly listening to the conversation. Sky shoots them a glance.

“Look, we’re from really far away.” Four suddenly says from behind. “And we just got attacked by a bunch of guys, and we’re missing half our...family, and you kind of yelled at us earlier for no particular reason. It’s been a very long day, can you please just tell us what you mean.”

Rook wipes the dirt and then writes NOT FROM HYRULE?

“No.” Sky says.

WHY ASK ABOUT THE CASTLE

“It-it seemed like a central location.” Warriors speaks up now “We’ve been to a lot of different places and there’s usually a castle where we can meet up with people and trade. If that’s not how it’s done here and I implied something else, you have my sincerest apologies.”

Goddess forgive them, these three are idiots. Rook realizes. They really must be from far away.

CASTLE IS DANGEROUS

He writes it out and waits for them to finish reading to wipe and add the next sentence

DEMON KING CAME, BURNED IT

HUNDRED YEARS AGO

KINGDOM FELL

TREASURE HUNTERS GO THERE

FOR ARTIFACTS AND MONEY

THOUGHT YOU WERE DOING THAT

After a second he adds.

DON’T ASK ABOUT CASTLE. LOOKS BAD

“The castle fell?” Sky says in a very small voice.

“The kingdom fell.” Rook corrects him in a rasp.

“A hundred years ago. Was there-did anyone try to fight?”

Rook nods and writes out the next sentences.

THE ROYAL FAMILY DIED FIGHTING

RITO GORON GERUDO ZORA ALL TRIED

“What about a champion?” Warriors asks, sharply. “Was there a champion?”

Rook doesn’t respond, which they take as an answer. He adds more after a second of thought.

CORRUPTION FROM THE DEMON STICKS AROUND

DON’T TOUCH PURPLE GOO

“Everyone is gone?” Sky’s voice breaks, as though he’s hearing about the passage of someone he loves, and not ancient history. Rook opens his mouth to speak and can’t.

Blond hair and red skin and the smell of burned meat. The world ending in one afternoon. Echoes that linger even to this day. Corruption that burns down to the bones, a castle filled with monsters. Villages hidden behind walls, that live in the shadow of the moon. Too much to ever say.

He nods. Sky gets up abruptly and walks unsteadily away from the fire. The other two exchange a look and then Four turns and walks after him. Rook turns back to the fire and the hiss of the cooking oil.

Some of the meat is blackening. Pity. He stabs a piece out of the fire and sets it aside. Warriors is standing nearby, not saying anything. After a moment he goes after the other two.

Rook swallows, feeling the tightness of his scars.

I’ve got two days to ride before I get home, he thinks, and goes back to his chores.

Chapter Text

The travelers stay away from the fire, echoes of their conversation drifting through the night. Rook finishes cooking, and leaves a portion set aside while he goes to wash the pot. Not enough for all of them, but a little extra never hurts, and he can spare it. Blackie is tired enough after the walk that she lets him stroke her neck and he risks running his hands over her flank and back, checking her over. There’s a rough patch in her fur on one side, a scar or maybe a disease but otherwise she’s in good condition. He backs away from her once she starts to pin ears and walks back to the fire. The travelers are still talking. There’s a statue of the goddess nearby, a round stone the size of a child with the carving of a face and hands. He decides to pray, rather than intrude on their conversation.

Rook doesn’t really believe, not the way his family does, but he has a pragmatic take on the goddess. Best to keep her happy. He puts a piece of dried apple on the altar before he sits down.

Guide these travelers. he signs, once he’s kneeling in front of the statue. They’ve come a long way and they need help. There. Altruistic theism completed.

Rook settles back on his heels and closes his eyes, focusing on the more personal work of meditation. He focuses on his breath, flowing in and out of his body. His heart beating gently in his chest. The grass brushing against his hands, leaving cool streaks of damp when the wind blows. The burn in his chest, ache in his shoulders, sharper for being noticed. The easier strain of hard riding, thighs and hips stiff.

The tremor in his hands. He closes his fists, the feeling of skin inserting itself over the memory of a sword hilt. He’s missing a joint on the left pinky, and the gap breaks the flicker of memory.

Something kept me alive he tells the goddess with his hands , opening his eyes. Maybe it was you. Thank you, if it was.

It wasn’t. It was Mitya and Haite and his own stubborn refusal to die. But it never hurts to oil the people in power. Rook rises and turns back to the fire. It’s clear and fairly warm, he doesn’t need to bother trying to pitch a tent. The three travelers stop talking when he crosses the edge of the firelight to go grab a bedroll from his bags. He sets himself up close enough that they’ll wake him if they try to take anything, and lays down on the ground. Far off in the distance he catches the plop of something in the lake, and then the low voices of the travelers pick back up again. He slips off to the sound of the brothers and the night insects.

-

Warriors is awake when Rook crawls out of his blankets shortly before dawn, stiff and creaking. The two men exchange a nod as he hobbles up, woolen cap shoved down against the cold. His scars are on display but Warriors only casts a brief glance at the exposed side of his face without comment. Rook grabs a chunk of bread to gnaw on while he gets ready to feed and water the horses, and begin the slow process of packing to head out. The sky is fair and cloudless.

Blackie doesn’t like Warriors and spooks on waking up when the morning sun shines off the armor he’s still wearing at roughly 5am, so Rook has to spend an extra few minutes coaxing her back with dried apples before she’ll settle enough to let him touch her. And then Four wakes up as well, walking into the area with a ‘good morning’ and she rears up in panic at this terrible threat. Rook sighs and steps back. He can feel the eyes of the other two, watching him. Professional pride (and an audience) keeps him from throwing up his hands and letting her have a tantrum. He hushes her and moves gently, keeping ahead of her and making sure she knows where he is. Snow watches this exchange with the empty eyes of true wisdom, waiting for her own breakfast. Once she’s calm he waits for a moment, half expecting Sky to show up and complete this incredibly stupid trifecta but instead Snow walks over and tries to eat his hair, making it very clear how she feels about being ignored.

I’ m so sorry Queen of the Mountain he tells her with great and unappreciated sarcasm, and begins taking care of her too.

Blackie seems more skittish this morning, he might want to blindfold her when they take the north pass, so she doesn’t spook. The downside is, that if they run into a monster she won’t be able to run with Snow, plus they’ll be off the road and he’ll have to be careful to watch her footing. But he’s already spent ten days on this trip, and he’s not riding back out to Farun because she broke her own neck on a leash. He sighs. Maybe it’s the travelers that are upsetting her, and she’ll calm down when they have some distance.

Speaking of. He turns back to the fire. Four is crouching by the fire, boiling some kind of porridge. Warriors is further back doing something to his hair. It takes a second for Rook to realize he’s brushing it out and then another, more incredulous second to realize he’s brushing oil into his hair. This man is the fanciest person Rook has ever met on the road. Sky is presumably still sleeping off the fun from yesterday.

“Good morning” Four says politely when he sees Rook turn. “Would you like some breakfast?” His eyes stick on the scars at the side of Rook’s face and jaw, and he doesn’t seem to be able to look away. Rook sighs and pulls the scarf up to wrap his face before he responds. It’s too early to deal with this. The kid flushes when he realizes he’s been caught and Rook speaks up before he can try to apologize. “Yes, thank you.”

He’s never going to turn down a hot meal he didn’t have to cook. Even if its porridge. “Do you need anything?” he offers raspily, more for formula’s sake than anything else. The kid looks sheepish and asks “Do you have some salt we could use?” He hides his surprise behind the face covering. Alright. They brought hair oil but not salt. Good to know. He goes and gets the salt box from the bags and hands it over.

He watch Four giving the salt a blank look and then throw barely a pinch into the pot without looking. He sighs.

Stop that he signs, not bothering to talk and gets up. Four looks over and he makes shooing motions at the kid. Confused, but the kid moves. Rook holds out a hand for his spoon, which gets handed over and then leans over to taste whatever is happening.

He’s not entirely sure what the cereal is, but its not nearly done cooking and there’s too much water. Rook moves it over to a hotter part of the fire and starts to add more salt. The kid watches him.

“Thank you for helping” he says and then laughs “I didn’t think I was doing that badly though”

Needed more salt Rook says and then out loud “You weren’t, more salt” before handing the spoon back over and moving away. Four watches his hand closely when he signs and then looks up.

Need he signs and then asks “Does that mean salt?”

Rook shakes his head and signs Salt. The kid signs it back to him.

“Need” Rook croaks and then makes the sign. The kid lights up.

Needs salt he signs and says out loud. Rook grins at him and nods.

“I speak sign too” Four says, “but a different kind. Can I ask who taught you?”

My aunt Mitya “ Aunt”

“What’s her name?”

He writes it out in the dust this time: MITYA

“How did you say aunt again?”

Rook shows him. Four imitates it. They pass the time with Four asking random vocabulary words and staring enraptured at Rook. He’s a fast learner, and the kid is good at remembering to stir so the food doesn’t burn. Warriors eventually joins them, sitting down without speaking and watching the conversation. Its a pleasant way to start the day. Sky is still asleep when they start serving up the food, and Warriors goes off to wake him up.

The kid hands a bowl over to Rook first and then hesitates before speaking. “I’m sorry about being rude earlier, you don’t have to hide your face around me.”

Rook shrugs as nonchalantly as possible so Four will get the idea. It’s fine, hardly the worst he’s ever gotten. Still it’s comforting that he doesn’t have to worry about scarring the kid when he pulls the scarf down to eat. Four is a lot better about it the second time he sees Rook’s scars, only glancing once before pulling his gaze away and setting out food for his brothers.

Warriors comes back with an incredibly groggy Sky in tow who almost collapses on the bench and starts wordlessly picking at the food. Warriors snorts at him and says “Don’t fall into your bowl, Brother Bird” which nets him an annoyed look and a muttered comment Rook doesn’t catch. Yeah they’re definitely brothers all right. Four ignores the two others with something of a practiced air, scraping the last of the food out of the pot and setting it aside to clean.

“So” Warriors says, after the bowls are handed out but before anyone has actually had the chance to eat “You said the Castle was off-limits. So what stands for the capital in your Hyrule?”

Capital? Rook raises an eyebrow at him and writes in the dirt, rather than waste vocal power. His throat aches this morning.

NO CAPITAL. NO KINGDOM.

“Yes I know, you said that.” Goddess grant Rook patience with this boy “A large city, central, where a lot of people gather. Is there anything like that?”

Playing dumb Rook writes out: CASTLE IS CENTRAL. Warriors looks unamused. “Wars.” Sky chastises sleepily, still staring into his food.

Warriors sighs “What’s the biggest city”

Gerudo Town, probably. Its the biggest town on its own. But in terms of population the Rito have everyone else beat and the Zora aren’t too far behind. In Hylia it would be Hateno, which might be closer to what Warriors is actually asking. It really depends what he’s looking for. And if Warriors wants him to be helpful he could try not being an asshole. As the elder of the group it’s Rook’s job to teach them proper behavior. He looks confused and writes out:

BIGGEST HOW?

“Goddess bless me.” Warriors mutters and then adds snidely “Biggest. Most people, trade routes, roads, whatever. Where would lost travelers go, specifically”

“Wars.” Sky says again. Warriors ignores him. Rook reminds himself that he needs to make it home alive, and not cut up by a young man who seems to be growing more frustrated with the conversation. It’s a sobering reminder, and it cools his temper quite nicely. He doesn’t look visibly angry yet, but it’s probably time to cut this game short.

HATENO IS BIGGEST HYLIAN TOWN. He writes out. They won’t make it to any of the others as ill-prepared as they are.

“Great! Wonderful!” Warriors says “How do we get there.”

Rook thinks about the map buried in the bottom of his bags, and decides against trying to sell it to him. Better to not let them know he has something they can take off him.

GO UP THROUGH THE PASS. Rook writes out. Sky looks up at him, confused. “What pass?”

Rook pauses and decides to be charitable to the group, leaning forward to start sketching out a line map of the trail they want to go on. It’s the same route he’s taking, but he’s on horseback there’s not really any concern about them doing anything to him on the road. They won’t catch him. Four leaves the fire to walk over and peer down.

“It looks far” Four mutters. “Is there a road there?” Rook shakes his head, and says “Valley” before drawing the line up the Keya Pass with his finger.

“Are you headed up that way?” Four asks. Rook is not guiding these children. He shakes his head and lies “Heading back to stables” They likely won’t get moving right away, he can just get ahead of them on Snow.

“How long is it to Hateno?” Warriors asks curtly, still staring down at the map sketched in the dirt. Rook appraises the group and holds up four fingers to be conservative. Three days is what he would expect, and two days if they move fast. Sky looks a little dismayed.

“Hm” Four says, and then turning to Warriors. “Looks like we have a ways to go. Could you take care of the pot while we finish packing?” Warriors shoots him a suspicious glance.

“We need more directions than this, Four.”

“So I’ll get them” Four says calmly. The two of them look at each other for a second before Warriors huffs and gets up, stalking over to the cooking pot and then hauling it down to the lake. Once he’s gone Four turns back to the sketch in the dirt. He makes the sign for Sorry that Rook taught him earlier. As an attempt to soften him up its a damn good start.

“Hey I’m sorry about him, he’s a soldier and forgets how he comes across sometimes.” Four murmurs. “I really appreciate all the help.”

Sky adds his own quiet ‘Thank you’ from behind, still looking drowsy. Rook nods and signs It’s okay. Four looks on without comprehending. Sky keeps talking without seeming to notice Rooks hands, musing out loud. “Seems like this Hyrule is more dangerous than some of the other places we’ve been to, if yesterday means anything. Rook-” he looks up now, still dozy but seeming to pull himself together “Can I ask you a question? What are we likely to run into on the way?”

Rook writes it out so there’s no confusion.

BOKOBLINS AND LIZALFOS IN THE PASS.

DON’T GO UP THE PEAKS-TALUS ON BOTH SIDES.

He looks at the two bright-eyed youngsters staring at him and adds

DON’T STOP AND TALK TO ANYONE. JUST GO THROUGH TO HATENO.

IF YOU MEET YIGA GIVE THEM WHAT THEY ASK FOR

NOT WORTH THE FIGHT

“What are Talus?” Four asks. Rook raises an eyebrow.

“Where are you from, exactly?” He asks raspily, and tries not to wince when something in his throat catches. The two look at each other, seemingly unsure of how to answer. “Somewhere without Talus, I suppose.” Four says. “I’m not trying to dodge your questions but its a long story and we’d rather not talk about it right now.”

Sky looks out over the nearby hills. “The short version is that we come from another land, all of us. We’re foreigners here, just trying to get home. This place-” his voice is soft and sad as he talks. “It reminds me of my home in some ways. Just a little different. A little quieter” he muses at the end. Rook hears the grief in it.

“I’m sorry for asking” he croaks. “I wasn’t prying. Talus are monster. Look like a rock” Their story is their story. No refugee owes anyone an explanation. “Yiga are a bandit clan.” he adds, before his voice gives out entirely for the day.

“Bandit clan?”

Warrior clan if you ask a Yiga, but bandit clan is going to get the point across more easily. Rook nods and taps the message about giving them what they ask for. He’s given his fair share of rupees to the Yiga, and known too many who vanished on the road.

“And you said you’re heading back to the stables?” Four asks “It sounds like a dangerous road. Any place we could find a guide?” Rook sees exactly where this is going and ignores the question.

“What is your business in the stables?” Sky cheerfully persists. “We could try to compensate you for the lost time, we’ve got some rupees and we’re good in a fight.” Four shoots Sky a glance at that little speech. Probably because he’s telling a stranger that they’re carrying money on the road. They don’t know how lucky they are that he was the first person they ran into.

Rook hesitates and scrawls HOW MUCH?

Sky answers “Like I said: we’re from far away, so you’ll have to let us know what a reasonable price would be. How much would be fair for you?”

Rook likes them but not enough to drag them along the road to Hateno. He holds up 3 fingers and then makes a circle with both hands.

“300 rupees?” Four says. Rook nods. They’re foreigners, and bartering with them for whatever goods they have would be a headache. Rupees are the trade coin of choice when dealing with strangers. 300 rupees is roughly equivalent to double his entire finding fee from the Stablemaster, and easily five times what he would normally take as a guide fee for such a short, safe road. The kids are nice, but this is Rook telling them no. “Would that be payment up front” Four asks. Rook nods again, making his stance very clear. They take the absurd price in stride, accepting the polite refusal for what it is. Four nods and looks at Sky. The two of them have some kind of silent conversation that ends when Sky gets up and wanders towards the area the travelers were sleeping in.

Rook takes it as a pause in the conversation and starts working on the bowl of hot porridge. It’s shockingly smooth and pale, and it takes him a second to recognize it as white rice. Four was carrying white rice in his bag and he just threw it into the public cooking pot for a morning meal. He glances over at Four and then looks down into the rough wooden bowl currently containing a porridge of the finest quality grain that Rook has likely ever eaten since he started walking again. Four sees Rook look over and offers a small pouch that he’s currently rummaging through. When Rook takes the offer and reaches in he pulls out a strip of some kind of dried meat with seasoning. White rice, but jerky meat? Four goes to his breakfast. White rice, and hair oil, but not salt and no foraged food. Armored and armed, in finer gear than anything outside of the Zora. Strange folk.

Sky comes back, rummaging through a pouch. Rook keeps half an eye on him, and then both eyes on him when he realizes that Sky just pulled out a gold rupee , which he is apparently carrying in a cloth bag. He walks past where his brother is sitting by the fire and holds it up. He falters at the shock on Rook’s face.

“You said 300 right?” he says, sounding unsure. Rook stares at him. Four glances up at Rook’s face, unconcerned with the amount of money that’s currently sitting on his brothers hand. Either they’re lying about being treasure hunters or they just waded ashore from the Old World. Or they run a bank. Rook hasn’t ever seen a rupee that high before. Likely no Hylian alive has. It wouldn’t even be able to be broken into smaller currency without some effort, he would have to go through a Gerudo. They have a central banking system and mint the coin for Hyrule. But Sky is just holding it out in front of him, three weeks of labor in the palm of his hand, for Rook to accept.

They are good in a fight. Or at least Warriors is. And they’re rich. Rook can’t afford to turn down good opportunities. He holds out a hand for the rupee. Sky walks over and places it in his palm, soft fingers brushing up against Rook’s calluses. He has scholar’s hands. Rook takes the payment and tilts it in the light, looking for the starburst that means a true rupee: four points, one longer than the other three.

It’s real. Looks like he’s taking them up the road. “I’ll do it.” he croaks before rising and walking over to the saddlebags. He makes as though he’s putting it away but tucks it into his belt instead. This is going to stay on his body until he gets a better hiding place. As he does he hears footsteps and turns to see Warriors comes back with the pot polished clean, returning from his temporary banishment.

“We worked out a guide contract. Rook’s going to lead us to Hateno Village.” Four says giving him a look that probably translates to ‘don’t say anything. we just fixed your mistake’ Warriors gives him a look that probably translates to ‘bite me little brother if we didn’t have an audience I would throw you in the lake.’

“So glad you decided to aid us” Warriors says, the irony so thick he might hurt himself. Rook feels the edges of the gem press against his hip and breathes. The money is definitely worth it.

-

The details are hashed out while the travelers finish packing, which doesn’t take long at all. They’re traveling very light, a bag for each man. Blackie gets a blindfold, since Warriors is still wearing polished maille, and Snow gets loaded up. Rook will stay on her back though, the extra height will be very useful. And it’s never a bad idea to be more mobile when you’re outnumbered. While the travelers load up Rook takes the time to go through his saddle bags and carefully knot the pouches in a specific pattern. It won’t keep the strangers out if they get greedy, but it’ll let him know when it happens. Then its just leashing Blackie to Snow and they’re ready to go, maybe an hour or so after dawn.

Rook gets up on Snow’s back for the higher vantage, turning and looking at his charges for the next two days. He claps to get their attention.

“Safe path.” he croaks “But just in case.” Their eyes are on him as he very obviously lifts his hands and exaggerates his movements

Danger he signs and says “Danger” Four copies him. Run “Run” Stay still “Stay still”

“Got it” Sky says, and then copies the three signs himself. Warriors nods. Rook gives him a thumbs up. Odds are good the worst they’ll see is a single monster but he can’t scream a warning, and situations can escalate fast. With that they’re on the road as Rook clucks his tongue and nudges Snow out into a slow walk. The three brothers fall behind.

-

Sky yawns his way through mid-morning to late morning, but doesn’t say anything. Four trots along beside, occasionally jogging up to ask Rook for a handsign. Rook decides to teach him some phonetic signs, to make everyone’s life easier, and that kills almost an hour of quiet conversation. Warriors entire affect changes once they’re away from the campfire, visibly turning into his namesake. His eyes are sharp, and his hand rests easy on the hilt of his sword. He watches carefully. Rook keeps an eye out as well, watching the way the grass rustles and birds flush up at their path.

The walls of the mountains rise up beside them as they continue down the valley floor, boxing them into the gorge. It’s a clear day, not many clouds. A good day to travel. As Sky wakes up his feet get more steady and he starts helping Four pick his way across the hummocks and uneven ground after he keeps stumbling. He’s a little clumsy and trying to pretend he’s not. It’s charming. Kid probably just hit a growth spurt. Even so they move much faster than the other groups he’s traveled with. Not as fast as Rook alone, but definitely not a full four days. They might be able to push into two and a half. Rook rides past noon without offering to stop, but none of the brothers look like they need it.

Its at some point in the early afternoon that Sky speaks up for the first time all day. “This valley is so quiet” Rook blinks and looks down at him, startled out of the trance of the road. Four is looking at Sky as well. He continues “We haven’t seen a single person besides Rook and I can’t even hear any birds or anything.”

“Yeah, it is pretty eerie.” Four muses. “No deer, no birds, no houses or anything and we’ve been walking half a day already.”

It’s far away from the villages . Rook signs, movement catching Four’s eye . He prefers to talk even when people can’t understand him, h elps strangers remember he’s a person even when he can’t use his voice. And the mountains are good ambush points for monsters.

Monsters Four mimics and speaks up “I know that one!—did you say there are monsters nearby?”

Rook signs Yes and no , slowly enough that the kid can understand him. Warriors is on higher alert at hearing the word monster, scanning the area. Monsters eat the deer and the birds and the traders. If there aren’t any, they won’t stay nearby.

It takes a few tries and some simplifying the concept but some amount of that gets through. It’s not important enough that Rook wants to hurt himself trying to explain it out loud.

“How many monsters are there altogether?” Sky asks.

Nobody’s counted. Rook says. Enough to be a problem every month.

Month? Four asks with his hands and Rook uses phonetic sign to clarify. “Oh. ‘Month’. You said they’re a problem once a month?”

Every month, yes.

“What is it that happens once a month?” Warriors interjects. “Only one fight a month sounds pretty easy”

When the full moon rises, the monsters rise with it. They can’t die. It’s part of the curse.

Yeah that’s not going to translate. “Full moon, fallen monsters come back to life. Never die.” Rook rasps and winces. He needs to stop talking before he hurts himself.

Sky looks horrified. “How?”

Rook only knows it in the sense of vague impressions. It’s part of the general decay, the spiraling contamination that oozes into the groundwater from the heart of the kingdom, leeched up into the sky. If he ever knew the details of the answer, it’s gone. He shrugs. Sky falls silent. They walk on, the mood more somber. At least for them. Rook has a job to do and none of this is new information. Warriors keeps his watch.

A little bit further down the road Warriors suddenly speaks up, slowing down and then stopping as he looks off at something.

“What is that?”

What is what? Rook scans the area and then looks over at Warriors, stopping the horses. Blackie walks to the end of the tether and whinnies, but stops. Warriors is staring up at a cliff wall, posture stiff. Both of his brothers are on alert at his words. Rook didn’t see anything except for a fox halfway down the road. Looking up the cliff face doesn’t give an answer either.

“What are you—oh. That shimmer?” Sky says and Rook sees it once it’s been pointed out. There’s a lone lizalfos attached to the side of the slope, about halfway up. Hopefully the camp is on the ridge top but they’re heading into wetter ground, and lizalfos like swamps. He makes the sign for ‘stay in place’ and gets down from Snow.

“What’s the danger here” Warriors says and then he walks up behind Rook like he’s going to follow the trader off the path.

No danger Rook says and then adds Stay still so that Warriors won’t follow him. Warriors looks distrustful but moves back towards his brothers while Rook walks to the rocky scrub at the base of the cliff. He can’t hear horns or chatter, so the camp might not be nearby if they’re lucky. Hopefully he can scare this one away without a fight. The lizalfos hasn’t moved, relying on camouflage. Okay then. He can’t climb up without risking a hit—and he doesn’t want to fall on his ass in front of his clients—so Rook goes with the simplest option and kneels down to pick up a rock and stands to whip his sling in the air. The whistling noise gets a reaction as the lizalfos spots him and shifts, then a stronger reaction as it scrambles away when he launches the stone against the cliff face with a crack. It keeps moving up, scattering over the ridge top, and not jumping down. He steps back and scans the cliff face for more, but it looks like the scout was the only one. They’ll have to keep an eye out but that probably won’t be an issue.

All clear he signs as he walks back to the horses and the travelers. Warriors has his sword drawn.

“What was that”

Lizalfos Rook says No danger.

“Yes I get ‘no danger’ but what is it?” Warriors prods. What does he want—its a giant chameleon and it eats people. Rook doesn’t want to break his throat assuaging Warriors curiosity. He mounts up without bothering to sign an explanation.

No danger. He adds from Snow’s back. Warriors looks furious but takes a deep breath and sheathes his sword.

“Okay” They keep going.

Four keeps stumbling, but otherwise the afternoon passes easily into twilight. They reach the edge of the wooded swamp at the lowest point of the valley just as the light begins to blue. It’s a good time to stop. There’s hunting in the water, but they don’t want to cross this at night. He turns Snow and grabs the lead tied to Blackie to let her know they’re moving off to the side, starting to look for a camp site.

“Are we stopping?” Sky asks his brothers in a hushed tone.

“Good thinking.” Warriors says at full volume, directed at Rook “That swamp looks like a bad place to be at night.”

If pretending he knows whats going on helps this kid feel a sense of control, Rook isn’t going to blame him even if its incredibly galling to be congratulated on basic sense by someone who doesn’t even know what a Lizalfos is. Rook ignores him and walks Snow slowly towards a camping spot he’s used before. There’s a dry area sheltered by the cliff with a couple stones in front of it, covered enough to risk a fire and away from the line of the valley path. With four men and two horses, its going to be crowded, but the ladies can be tied up to a tree nearby and Snow will let him know if anything bothers them. He strokes a hand down her neck as they move towards the campsite and she snorts. It’s been an easy day for them both.

Snow recognizes the area apparently because he barely has to turn her before they’re coming up at the site. The rocks loom in the dim of twilight, looking like watching giants.

Hello elders, may we stay with you a night? Rook signs before he dismounts. The stones don’t object. Or turn into a Talus. He gets down and turns to the brothers following behind. He makes an expansive gesture at the small shelter and then signs Rest. It’s not one that Four knows (yet. that kid is insatiable) but it involves miming being asleep so the point gets across. They filter in behind while he walks the horses a little ways away for their evening toilette. Horses first, the brothers have thumbs and their own food. Blackie spends the requisite amount of time panicking as soon as he takes her blindfold off, but she’s definitely relaxing around him because she calms down relatively quickly.

“Is she wild-caught” comes from Four’s voice, quiet but closer than she likes. Her ears goes back and she stomps but doesn’t run. Rook strokes her nose and nods.

“We saw horses when we came in, I thought they were wild but she’s too big for that. Are they feral?”

Rook pauses at the question and turns to look at Four. There might have been some wild herds up in Hebra but the interbreeding with the remnants from the Old Kingdom has made the distinction pointless. Rook nods again and decides to risk talking again. “Old Kingdom had a lot of horses.”

“And they were released when it fell.” Four says, like he’s confirming something he was thinking about. “Are there wild cattle too?”

Rook snorts air out of his nose and shakes his head, turning back to Blackie. If Four wants to be chatty he’ll wrap this up. He doesn’t want her to spook and kick him. He walks back to the campsite gesturing Four in front of him. Sky and Warriors are unpacking the bags, glancing up at the sound of footsteps on the ground. They’ll need someone to go grab firewood. Not that it’s necessary but Rook wants a fucking hot drink and these kids have enough trouble understanding him in broad daylight.

“Is it alright if we start a fire?” Sky asks. Rook nods.

“Wood nearby?” Warriors, this time. Rook jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the brush around the pond. There you go buddy. Sky makes as if he’s about to get up and Warriors puts a hand on his shoulder. Sky shoots him an annoyed look.

“You’re not the only one who can fight, you know” he says with a bit of a sigh.

“Yeah” Warriors says easily “But its my literal job. Keep an eye on the camp, I’ll be right back”

Four snorts, Sky sighs again and Warriors saunters out towards the brush. Well if he gets attacked he can scream for help, Rook walks over to check the saddle bags. The knots are all in the same arrangement, looks like the brothers haven’t tried to mess with anything. Good. Rook rises and turns back to the center of the space, scuffing the ground to start laying the area for a fire pit. No grass, and plenty of stones to line the space. Four realizes what he’s doing and starts silently handing over palm-sized stones. Helpful. Rook nods at him, not bothering to smile underneath the scarf. It’s a little too dark for it to come across. Warriors comes back with an armful of mostly dry wood and starts laying it out in a complex pattern with an important air around him. Rook leaves him to it and gets up to go grab some water for boiling.

When he returns with a dented kettle loaded up with stream water, the fire is lit and the brothers are settling in, chattering quietly. They have enough sense to keep their voices down in an unknown area.

Now that he’s noticing it, the travelers have been pretty well-prepared despite his low opinion to begin with. Warriors has been moving like he doesn’t trust anyone besides himself in a fight, which fooled Rook into thinking he was the only experienced travel among the brothers. But the fire is set to minimize smoke, they’re all keeping low voices and Sky’s pulled out a longsword in battle condition, leaning upright on his pack like a walking stick. Even during the day, they kept quiet and kept watch.

Stranger and stranger. None of Rook’s concern though. He settles the kettle into the coals and goes to scrounge up something to cook. Might as well enjoy a hot meal while they’ve got a fire. The kids sound like they’re figuring out a series of watch shifts. It’s not really needed but a good thought anyway, and he won’t stop them.

Dinner is stewed jerky with herbs and dried vegetables, and a generous helping of salt thrown on with a pointed glance at Four. The kid laughs a little sheepishly at the private joke. At some point Sky asks if they need to keep quiet and when Rook shakes his head, he goes to his pack and pulls out a travel harp in an ornate style, well-loved and well-tended. He plucks a few strings while they sit, providing a quiet background music over the insects. He doesn’t sing, humming along with the melody. Warriors kicks his feet up and lounges by the fire, watching the tableau with lidded eyes. The familiar posture of a young soldier off-duty. Echoes of old history swirl up in Rook’s mind at the picture, and he ignores it with long practice. He’s here now. He stirs the pot.

“So” Warriors says, Sky plucking something melancholy over the bubbling of the pot “How good are you with that sling?”

Once again a memory lifts like silt in still water and Rook ignores the feeling of a bow in his hands. He shrugs nonchalantly.

“If you ever want some tips, I’m no sharp-shooter but I’m damn good with a bow.”

Rook leans back and turns to Warriors, making sure to half pull down his scarf so that the raised eyebrow is fully visible. Warriors puts his hands up and leans back. “Sorry, just trying to make conversation. You ever hunt with that thing?”

Of course he has, what a stupid question. He has to eat doesn’t he? He turns back to the fire. Warriors persists.

“What was that lizard on the wall? I’ve never seen anything like that before. Are there a lot of them around here?”

Lizalfos Rook signs and then writes out in the dust, upside down so Warriors can read it

LIZALFOS. DANGEROUS IN PACKS. A LOT OF THEM AROUND

Four tilts his head to read and then looks back at Rook. Lizalfos he says. Rook nods.

“The red things we ran into when we met you, what were those.”

Bokoblin. Rook signs and writes, tapping the line about dangerous in packs a second time.

“Have you ever fought one?” Warriors asks, idly curious. Rook gives him a look.

YOU STAY ALIVE LONGER IF YOU DON’T he writes out and then adds BUT YES I’VE HAD TO

“Any weak spots?” Warriors asks.

EYES. NECK. THEY’RE ANIMALS. THEY RUN IF YOU’RE BIGGER THAN THEY ARE

Warriors nods, seemingly satisfied. Sky now speaks up, Rook suppressing a sigh. Looks like he’s educating this evening.

“Do you travel down this road a lot?”

Rook nods.

“Where do you live?” Sky asks and Rook wipes the last sentences to write HATENO in the dirt.

“What is it like there?”

QUIET. PEACEFUL. YOU’LL BE SAFE THERE

“How many people live there?” Sky asks. Rook glances over. He hasn’t stopped plucking the harp and his expression is guileless. Still, that question is too specific. They’re only three, but Rook’s alone. He’s not going to bring them to Hateno if they have bad intentions, he’s died for worse causes before.

WHY DO YOU ASK

“Oh um.” Sky suddenly looks bashful. “Ah. Well-”

“—they’re building a city back in his country” Warriors cuts in “And Sky has been badgering anyone with a pulse about the best practices for every possible architectural situation.”

“Wars” Sky hisses, annoyed. Four smiles into the fire.

“Watch out or he’ll start asking you about your aquifers and then you’ll never have peace.” Warriors continues

“Wars!” Sky hisses, even more annoyed.

“He’s right Sky” Four says. Sky stops playing to defend himself, oddly his accent grows stronger and more formal with his affront. “You mightn’t have noticed, but there are some difficulties in building a country from the ground up. So to speak. And I assume that a world where they have to rebuild will be more relevant to us than a world with several hundreds years to build up the infrastructure.”

STILL INFRASTRUCTURE Rook points out. MOSTLY HYLIAN CITIES THAT WERE DESTROYED. ZORA AND GERUDO ARE FINE

Sky reads and then looks up. “How old is Hateno?”

PRE-CALAMITY Rook writes.

“What’s the calamity?” Sky asks and right, he never actually used that term around them.

THE DEMON KINGS INVASION IS THE CALAMITY. HATENO WAS FOUNDED BEFORE THE FALL

“Oh!” Sky lights up at that. “Are there other cities that survived? What is the architectural style? Are there any remnants still alive from the old kingdom-”

Rook puts his hands up and laughs softly, just a hiss of breath. Peace, Peace he signs at Sky who stops his volley of questions.

“My apologies, I got excited there” he says with a half bow. Rook nods and writes out the answers slowly, erasing each sentence after he gets a nod from SKy

MOST OF THE BUILDINGS SURVIVED

BUT THE POPULATION WAS DISPLACED DURING THE CALAMITY.

NOBODY LIVES THERE THAT LIVED THERE BEFORE.

Well with a few exceptions of course.

LETS SAVE THE QUESTIONS AND JUST EAT

They do just that.

Dinner passes without any more interrogation, although Warriors does start telling a story about an archery competition he competed in, without any prompting from anyone else. The brothers figure out a watch schedule with great solemnity, while Rook sets up a bedroll and prepares to sleep through the night. If they want to make themselves tired for no reason so be it.

The second day on the road dawns misty, but dry. Four took the last shift, because he’s up already and greets Rook when he creaks his way to his feet in the pre-dawn light. Warriors rises next, prodding Sky awake with an air of long practice. Breakfast is bread and cheese, because Rook is at the end of his tolerance for dry jerky. There’s some weakness from the scars on his left jaw, and gnawing on tough food does it no favors. Horses are gathered, bags slung on shoulders, Rook gets up on Snow and they turn down the valley into the wetland that fills up the lowest point.

Rook hasn’t had to walk the path on foot in a long time, and he soon realizes that it’s going to be slow walking for the brothers. After Four nearly loses a boot in a sinkhole for the second time Rook dismounts and signs at the kid to get on Snow. Warriors and Sky are bigger and seem a little more experienced in hiking. Plus Rook likes him. Four tries to argue but he gets overruled by Rook and Warriors in tandem. Rook switches to leading Snow by the reins, using the low view to scout the easiest path through the swamp. They pass Kena Pond, stopping long enough to fill up the water and for Rook to lay an offering at the small shrine by the side of the water, ignoring the looks he gets from behind him. Then they’re on the slight uphill climb to the north end of the valley, back out of the brush and into the scrubby grassland of the dry valley floor.

This side is a little more trafficked, Keya Pond is a decent fishing spot, and far enough away to be the kind of adventure a youngster might decide sounds exciting. They start to catch glimpses of worn grass from hooves, forming a thin path that winds up towards Hateno. When they clear the swamp Four dismounts with a stubborn expression and spends a few minutes complaining about how he knows how to travel. ‘Just because you all live in the woods, doesn’t mean I can’t walk’

That starts a light-hearted argument about who is the best at roughing it, which Rook listens to with quiet amusement. Warriors is a soldier and knows how to haul pack, but Sky is an explorer of some type? Rook wouldn’t have guessed that. Four apparently works in a smithy, which just cements him as Rook’s favorite in the trio.

If anyone asks, Rook is definitely the clear winner here but he’s not jumping into the fight. It’s mid-afternoon by now, and Rook is still on foot as they walk along. The valley walls are lowering as the two mountain peaks fall behind them, the path growing more distinct as they walk closer to areas of true civilization and the day remains fine if a little cool. None of the bite of spring snow, but chill enough that the flowers aren’t rising up quite yet. Maybe a few weeks or so before true warmth. They’re fast coming up on the point where the old road crosses in front of the valley, continuing to make good time.

The stones of the old road begin to become visible, framed between the mountains as a gray line in the green grass. Snow snorts and picks up her pace a bit more. She know what the road means. About half a mile away Rook notices some dots shifting around on the road, one or two people who are just standing at the entrance to the valley. They’re alone, no pack animals and it’s not more than two.

Trouble has to come eventually. Rook puts his hand up and whistles softly, cutting off a debate about whether smithing or climbing gives you stronger arms. Rook points at the road up ahead and speaks.

“People on the road. Let me talk”

“Do we need to be worried about them?” Warriors asks.

Rook shakes his head. “Likely Yiga”

“Wait, they’re Yiga? You said they were bandits” Warriors says sharply

“Should we be ready for a fight?” Sky asks. Rook shakes his head again and repeats “Let me talk to them”

“I’m coming with you” Warriors says. Rook shoots him a glance, looking up and down at his visible battle-readiness and shakes his head. He emphatically signs Stay put with an extra point at the ground for good measure. Warriors looks at him with a mulish cast to his face. “I’m coming with you.”

“How about” Four cuts in “I come with Rook instead. Then you and Sky can hang back and if there’s trouble we’ll call for help.”

Having any of them tag along is going to be a problem but Four is the youngest and least-visibly armed. It’s not a bad call. Rook decides that taking him along is easier than fighting and shrugs. He speaks the most hand sign by this point as well.

Stay behind me. Rook signs at Four. We’ll walk up, but the two of us will get close alone. Now tell me what I just said

“You said stay behind me, and we’ll come up alone.” Four says dutifully. Rook nods and gestures the others to follow.

The Yiga have only grown bolder as the years continue. Rook can remember a time when they snuck around and you had to be careful with strange travelers, but by now they rarely attempt to hide their affiliations. Ten yards away he can see the white masks hanging on their hips, and the curved blades in their hands. He signals Sky and Warriors to fall back, handing the reins over to Sky and then Four and Rook are walking up to the road alone. There’s a sharp slope going up to the stones of the path and they have to scramble a bit to get up. The Yiga watch them impassively, one of them snickering a bit when Rook gives Four a hand to clamber over a large block. They’re young men both, similarly built with braided brown hair and sharp features. One of them has blue beads in his hair, and he’s the first one to speak.

“Hello Uncle.” he says to Rook once they make it onto level ground. “How’s the way.”

“The way is good Sir” Rook rasps and swallows his pride to bow to them. Four is standing there with a confused expression “What can we assist you with?”

“Tithe” the other Yiga says, sounding bored. “We have need of aid, Uncle.”

“Of course I would aid you” fuck his throat is starting to hurt “But we have little that you would want”

“Just give us your damn coin, I’m not in the mood to play” the first one speaks again. Four glances at Rook sharply but doesn’t say anything. Rook bows again and reaches to his hip, pulling out the bag of coin he pulled from the saddlebag earlier. The Yiga hold out a bored hand as he walks forward and drops it into his palm, Rook hiding his irritation at their arrogance. Its not worth the fight but that doesn’t mean it’s not annoying.

“Anything else you can provide, Uncle?” the Yiga asks, pawing through the bag. The other one is staring at Four now, likely seeing the quality of his clothes and wondering about what else they have. Rook steps back and squeezes Four’s shoulder, playing at a familial touch, before he shakes his head.

“Trade goods only” he croaks. “Do you need supplies for the road?”

The one watching Four steps forward now, looking even closer at him. Four stares right back into his eyes, not averting his gaze at all. His expression is blank, almost bored. He needs to ease up before the Yiga takes a disliking to him.

“Be respectful, nephew” Rook rasps, squeezing Four’s shoulder again. He jumps and looks up at Rook, finally breaking eye contact with the Yiga.

“Where are you coming from”

The Yiga with the braided hair looks up from the bag to his partner when he asks the question and then over to the two travelers. The one without beaded hair is staring very, very closely at Four now. Rook isn’t entirely sure what’s catching his attention.

There’s a pause while everyone waits to see what happens next. The Yiga gets bored first because he lifts up his sickle and moves forward with lazy intent, the tone of the conversation moving from tense to hostile. Rook manages to get enough in the way that the Yiga grabs him instead of Four, fingers digging into his shoulder as the cold metal presses fabric up against his throat. Rook swallows. Hopefully Four can run back to the others in time. His heart hammers against his throat.

“I asked you a question” the Yiga says, looking at Rook but speaking to Four “You’re starting to piss me off kid. Answer or your old man won’t make it to the next village.”

Four responds by leaping at the Yiga.He slams all of his weight and height into the gut of the fighter, bodying him away from Rook in a single inelegant charge.

The two of them stumble over each other, falling on the ground as Four shouts “GET UP HERE” towards his brothers and then the braided hair one is pulling out a sickle and rushing at Four. Rook isn’t a fighter by any means and he came up the slope unarmed but he manages to step up and get between the two on the ground and the threat in front of him, grabbing at the Yiga’s arm. The only advantage he has is surprise, and that’s slim fucking help as the ninja just slams a fist into his jaw when he comes close. He’s got some kind of metal in his gloves. It hurts. By the time Rook manages to shake the stars away, he’s lying on the ground with the taste of blood in his mouth, Four is standing and holding a blade up as the two Yiga circle him like cats with a mouse. Then Warriors and Sky are charging up the slope and onto the road, both shouting.

It’s chaotic. The Yiga are outnumbered and clearly not prepared for anything like a serious challenge, stumbling back at the newcomers. Sky swings his sword down as he leaps forward, far more of a threat than Rook had been expecting from the man. The blade glints in the light, blue and silver under the sun as he forces them back with swipes that make the wind sing over the edge.

The Yiga react far more strongly to the threat than Rook was expecting. One of them disappears in a sudden cloud of smoke, appearing yards out of the fight in a crouch. “Brother!” he hisses in alarm. The other Yiga says “Go to Kohga” suddenly grim before he charges forward with his sickle. The other one disappears again in a cloud of smoke, vanishing entirely from the scene. Sky sinks the blade into the chest of the first Yiga as he charges in, and the young man falls down at his feet.

It’s anticlimactic after the surge of adrenaline. Rook clambers to his feet, rubbing the side of his jaw, the light sharp and harsh and his pulse fluttering. Warriors turns around when he moves and then steps up towards him.

“What the fuck was that” he growls. Four speaks up.

“Settles down Wars. I think they noticed I wasn’t from around here and got suspicious.”

Rook nods. Warriors deflates. “Are you okay?”

All good Rook signs at him. Warriors nods and turns to Four. “Good thinking.” he says, keeping his blade loosely up. “We weren’t sure what happened until they pulled the blade on Rook.”

“I don’t like those guys.” Four says baldly. Rook snorts, still touching his jaw.

Nobody does. Thank you.

Thank you too Four signs back at him and tosses something in his direction. When he catches it he recognizes it as the money pouch he was preparing to give to the Yiga. The kid must have grabbed it off the guy at some point.

Next time I go in alone. Rook signs at Four. The kid sighs.

“Yeah I see what you mean. Wars, Sky, Rook just said next time he’s going in alone. They probably wouldn’t have attacked if they knew I was from around here right?”

Rook nods and signs, mostly for himself

They’re bandits. They take money, but they don’t normally attack people unless you provoke them.

“They didn’t seem like much of a threat.” Sky adds, incongruously cultured compared to the blood clotting in the fullers of his sword. “One swing from me and that guy abandoned his friend.”

Rook shrugs. It’s been a long time since they’ve had to face any real fighters. The guards have long given up on anything but appeasing the clan so they don’t attack traders.

“They’re vultures. They run if you scare them” Rook rasps. “Are you ready to keep going?”

The brothers nod and Rook turns to walk back down to the horses, ready to cut this trip short.

Chapter Text

The first two days seem to have contained all the excitement. The rest of the trip goes by without complaint, although the brothers are subdued and watchful. Its an interesting contrast from earlier. Rook wouldn’t have necessarily called them soft, but there was something in them close to it: something untarnished, something new. Still there, but the touch of danger has seemed to shift them over into a different frame of mind.

Warriors isn’t the only one watching the road as they go along now. But it’s not like Rook can’t say he isn’t nervous too. They killed a Yiga. Rook is just a trader, just a guide, and won’t likely be dragged along if the Yiga decide to make life difficult for the brothers but that doesn’t mean that he won’t get caught in the crossfire. He’s below notice, but that also means there’s no consequences if they vent their anger on him. Still, it could have been a lot worse.

The brothers make sure to keep their watching eye on him as much as they do the road, and he wonders if they think he’s fragile or if its a guilt response. Eventually he starts playing a game with himself where he counts how often Four checks in over the course of the day. It gets up to eight by the time they stop for the night. Sky only asks twice. Warriors doesn’t technically ask at all, but the way his eyes are glued onto Rook might as well speak for him. It’s kind of charming in an irritating way. A punch from a Yiga is hardly the worst thing he’ll ever weather, and it says something about them that they’re so fired up about it. Maybe they don’t have to worry about bandits where they’re from.

Or maybe its because Rook is such a treasured guide and mentor, that the sight of physical injury has reminded them that the man of infinite wisdom leading them is mortal after all.

Definitely the last one.

The ache from his jaw spreads down into his neck and up to his ear. It’s not pain in a place he’s used to, but it’s not bad. He makes stew for dinner again though. No point tempting fate.

-

The next day the pain has soaked from his jawbone into his entire skull and he wakes up with a hammering headache. The light stabs him like a needle to the eye. Rook spends a few minutes signing some colorful curses against the Yiga, the inventor of knuckledusters, the Goddess herself and the concept of sunlight. Once he gets that out of his system he crawls up and schools his expression. The kids have been annoying enough already, they don’t need more ammunition.

They’ve made very good progress, more than Rook even realized at first because its not even mid-morning by the time he spots red in the distance and Snow snorts, trying to pick up her pace again before he slows her. They crest a hill and there it is: the white walls and red roofs of home. Rook scans over the rooftops in a practiced motion, looking for smoke, looking for movement, looking for ambient purple. He’s lost cities before. He doesn’t want to ride into another dead town.

Hateno looks fine, chimneys puffing and the ant-movements of Hylians at a distance. Someone is riding out, heading west and Rook wonders if it’s his sister or Mitya or one of the other stablehands. Someone he knows at least would be a welcome sight. He’s ready for this trip to be over.

“Hateno” he rasps, pointing over the hills to the town. It’s a bit redundant, but there’s a contract so might as well be pedantic about it.

“Oh” Sky says softly and then “It’s beautiful.”

Rook warms to the boy. It is beautiful. It was always beautiful. “Yes” he says, voice harsh but tone as gentle as he can make it.

“Are those walls plaster?” Sky asks in the same musing tone “And the color of the roof, is that painted tile? Or red clay? How many houses are there? And-”

Warriors shoulders past his brother with an eye roll and a badly hidden smile. “Let him alone, Sky.”

Four looks down and then back over to Rook. “This is where you live.”

Down there Rook signs, and points to the end of the village where his house is. I work at the stables, over there. He points at the other end. If you want mounts go there.

Thank you Four says. How much longer?

Hour at most. Rook tells him. Warriors catches the tail end of that conversation and looks between them.

“Can someone say that out loud for us slow fingered f- Folks.”

Rook doesn’t laugh at the self-censorship. It does beg the question of how long Warriors has been out of the army. Four either doesn’t catch it or doesn’t care.

“We’re an hour out, right Rook?” Rook nods at Four and then nudges Snow into a walk. They begin to head down the road. Do you think you could translate for your brother? I can answer the questions he has. Rook looks at Sky but gestures towards Four, half turning so that both hands are fully visible. Four nods.

The hour passes quickly, the packed dirt lane scuffed tan by traffic turns into a cobbled road turned tan by road dust. Maybe a mile or so out a man comes up from Hateno, wearing the characteristic pagoda hat of a stable worker and leading a pair of grey mules. He has thick eyebrows and hair, and a pigeon-toed gait, the familiar sight of the stablehand Hock. A nice man, good worker, bit servile sometimes with customers. Rook wonders why he’s going out of Hateno with steeds, normally mounts are going in. He passes a few minutes idly speculating as they approach. Mules are enough of a specialty that he might be heading out for a sale somewhere.

Hock hails them and waves, ambling over. Well gossip is good entertainment no matter which way you’re heading. Rook resigns himself to the inevitable.

“Yoo-hoo! Rook, good morning” Hock says. Rook hasn’t worked much with the man, but a vague memory lets him know the man is at least passing familiar with sign.

Hock, good morning. Where are you headed?

Hock mouths along with his hands, Rook consciously slowing down when he notices the other man doing so. Then he looks up with a grin.

“Bit of a family thing, bit of a stable thing. There’s a wedding in Kakoriko and I offered to courier some mounts over that way. Hello, gentlemen” here Hock bows, not very deeply since he’s still holding onto the halter of his mules.

“Hello” Sky says and, after a second of hesitation, bows back. Hock chuckles when he straightens up and sees it.

“No need, no need. Guests get first courtesy around these parts.” that’s news to Rook. Last he heard from anyone in town was that ‘foreign rupees leave the hand easier.’ His face is mostly covered so he allows himself a slight smirk at the familiar sales pitch for the tourists. It’s not like he’s any better, he thinks, the gold rupee a comforting lump tucked up into his belt.

“Thank you” Sky says politely “Where I come from, the people on the road all get equal courtesy.”

That almost sounds like an insult, but if so it’s an incredibly mild one. Or maybe Sky doesn’t like Hock’s demeanor. Which is fair. Hock keeps the placid smile of the rural local talking to the rich foreigner.

“Oh my! Sounds like a lovely place! Might I ask what your business will be in our fine city?”

There’s a moment where they all look at each other instead of answering. They look like a group of conspiring counselors in a play. It’s incredibly suspicious for a group of men who seem to mostly be fumbling in the dark about what exactly they’re doing. Rook rescues them by lifting up his hands and answering.

Meeting up with their brothers in Hateno I believe.

“Ah! Family in town?” Hock says out loud, after a second of translation.

“Yes” Four says, doing a bad job of not sounding relieved and glancing over at Rook. “Our brothers. They may have arrived ahead of us, have you just come from the city?”

“Wellll” Hock drawls “I don’t suppose they would happen to be two young gentleman with golden hair and fine clothing such as yourself, would they?”

“Yes” Warriors says. There’s another pause. “Yes it would be.” he clarifies, helpfully. Hock nods.

“They came in yesterday. We’ve only got the one inn, so I won’t bother telling you their lodging but I will tell you that the leek and cheese dumplings there are quite good!”

“Did you say there was only two?” Warriors cuts in.

Hock blinks and chuckles. “Ah yes. Two young fellows, very nice folk. Very polite.”

“What did they look like?” Warriors is getting too intense for the conversation and Hock is staring at him. He throws a glance to Rook who shrugs back. He’s not sure what the issue is either. And he knows Hock, but he’s not going to jump in front of Warriors’ sword for him. Until the young man moves Rook will stay out of it.

“Wolf skin, green tunic, and the other one had skin-painting under his eye” Hock lists, more blandly than his previous speech. “Don't know more. Weren't very talkative, and I have my own affairs to attend to.”

Warriors nods at the information and looks meaningfully at his brothers. Hock looks to Rook who shrugs. Again.

Foreigners. He signs, making sure that it’s in a spot where the brothers can’t see him. Hock crinkles his eyes in a brief smile of mutual understanding and then flattens his expression.

“Well I must be away to my own family. Rook, will you give your Aunt a hello from me and tell your sister to stay out of trouble.”

She will not stay out of trouble and you know it Rook signs at him and adds Safe travels. I came from the south, can’t tell you anything about the road to the west.

“That’s alright, it’s not usually a bad way, and its late in the moon.” Hock says and then “Safe travels home. And welcome to Hateno” He bows again at the brothers and then turns the mules, continuing his journey. Rook raises a hand at him and then turns Snow, continuing on his own way.

“Time and Twilight” Sky murmurs, clearly to his brothers and not to Rook. He lets them have their privacy and looks forward, not reacting to the quiet conversation.

“Obviously” Warriors snaps under his breath. “More important is where the other two are.”

“Let’s meet up with them before we get upset. They might be looking for us.” Four offers. The brothers fall into a silence. Rook keeps looking ahead. Hateno is close. Home soon.

Rook starts whistling after a while, some out-of-season tavern tune he heard at a festival once. The words were about fair maids with long hair, but the chorus is good and he thinks one of the verses had a bit about dancing with a fox woman? It’s not like he can sing anyway, the words are irrelevant. The notes of the reel float up in the air, blown away by the wind as they draw nearer to town.

-

They finally draw level with the first building, the archway of Hateno welcoming them in. Rook draws up Snow and dismounts. The feeling of his own weight bearing down into the bones of his feet is satisfying after so many hours in the saddle. He stretches for a second, feeling the deep ease filling in the space where the tension sat from travel.

Welcome to Hateno . Rook says, making sure to rasp out the town’s name so they recognize the sign. And here is where our contract is concluded, young men.

Four blinks at him. Sky is staring around, open-mouthed while Warriors glowers.

“It’s beautiful” Sky breathes out. Rook feels his lips curl up in an easy smile, against his will. He nods. The white walls and red roofs have the familiarity of a beloved child all grown. This is his city and he's happy to see her and see how she's been.

“Thank you for the guidance” Four bows when he speaks, perfect-polite. Someone taught him courtesy, Rook thinks with approval. “Could you point us in the direction of the inn so we can go find our brothers?”

There’s only one main road and they’re on it. Directions take a half minute to convey. The payment is still wrapped against Rook’s waist. They never made any attempt to get into his bag or take the money back, and all in all this was a far more successful guidance than Rook had been afraid of. He makes the blessing sign over them before he heads off, a little superstition of goodwill. That they don’t understand and stare blankly at. Oh well, it was more for the symbol than anything. And with that the boys head off to their affairs, and Rook to his.

-

First stop is to Canta, to drop off his wild catch and receive the finding fee. As per usual she harangues him about the poor quality of the mounts, the length of time it took him to arrive, the amount of work he’s left her with and wraps it up by letting him know she expects him in the stable at dawn the next day to make up the time he spent lollygagging in the mountains. He nods his way through, watching the strands of hay wagging in her hair as she monologues. Blackie gets renamed to Blackberry on the roster because Canta thinks the name is unimaginative. He leads Snow over to her stall and begins to take off her saddlebags. Once her bags and saddle are off she immediately trots out to the closest patch of grass and settles in for a nice roll, legs akimbo. He snickers at the sight of his huge dignified horse flopping like a foal while he shoulders the bags. Guess he wasn’t the only one who was tired of the trip. Bags slung over his shoulder he begins the trek home.

Rook, Mitya and Haite moved to Hateno three years ago now, still strangers to the settled Hylians who call themselves Hatenans. The central houses (the big houses) all belong to families who can track their legacies to before the Calamity (and will do so, at any provocation) and to fine craftsman. Their small family lives in a cottage that was built out of a former compound, converted into smaller huts. It was there or finding a house who wanted a live-in servant, and that would have likely split them up. Men don’t get servant work, Rook isn’t a soldier, and Mitya was too old for anyone to want to train her. Mitya and Rook can get work in the stable at least, enough to pay the rent on the property, and Haite works the dye shop. She’s clever about it, a wonderful saleswoman and the daughter of the owners is blatantly in love with her. If she plays her cards right, Haite will eat well her whole life. The house is small for three, but they get by.

He heads up the slope, behind the houses with their proud chimneys and sharp roofs to the choppy buildings slung a little haphazard on the slope. Four or five, and most of them for transient stable workers. His house is the closest to town, low on the slope. At the entrance to the path up to the house is a hooked pole pounded into the earth, a cord tied to the top with a cluster of horseshoes hanging down. Anyone who comes by will know its a farrier’s house. He reaches up a hand to swipe the metal, causing it to clatter, alerting anyone at home.

He can see smoke rising up from the forge on the backhill behind the house. Mitya is a master smith and Rook a journeyman, but he’s usually the one who does the day to day petty work. She usually focuses on larger or trickier projects. Still, he’s been gone long enough that she’s likely covering his projects for him. The sound of metal sings over the grass as he pads up the stones to the front door of the house and slides in.

The house is cluttered, broken tools stored next to half-finished weaving projects. All three of them like to do things with their hands, which is great for a steady supply of petty cash, but terrible for keeping small items off of flat surfaces. It smells like smoke and leather and old curry, and the horseradish that Mitya insists on putting in all her pickles. He runs a hand against the lintel, wiping away a bit of plaster dust that dries the tips of his fingers and makes him want to wrinkle his nose at the feeling. Home.

He stops in the kitchen to say hello to their ancient Hylian retriever, who’s taking a nap under the table. Nudge has been deaf for almost a year now, and is living a comfortable life as the world’s most useless guard dog. She doesn’t wake up until he pokes her with a foot, opening one eye and lazily sniffing at his hand. She then deigns to get up, shaking herself out with grand majesty and blesses him with a tongue fully up his nose when she licks his face in greeting. The sound of metal ends in the yard, Mitya must have heard him come in.

Thank you Nudge he signs, spluttering. She noses at his pockets, looking for food. He sits cross-legged on the floor of the kitchen, and blinks back a lump in his throat as he feeds her a piece of jerky.

It’s good to be home he tells the dog.

“You know you’re the reason she steals things off the table” Mitya has come in behind him. He turns and grins at her. His aunt stands over him, one hand on her hip and still in her leather apron. She smells like burned hair and iron and her hair is escaping the tie into a salt-and-pepper halo around her worn face. She looks tired. She always looks tired. But her face seems to wake her up as she looks at him, wiping the sweat off her hands.

She can’t jump, its fine. Besides isn’t it our job to respect our elders

“She’s thirteen years old.”

Well you don’t know, she might be older than me. We only know I’m ten years old for sure

He adds a winsome grin, no doubt horrifying by his facial scars, netting a head shake at his foolishness from his aunt. A rush of fondness well up at the sight of her weathered face, softened by a smile. “And you act every year of it. How was the trip?”

Prima was right, the herds are scattered. I had to ride to Faron before I even saw a horse, and then they bolted when I got close. Managed to trap one mare for Canta, but its going to be another long ride for a second catch. He sigh s as he continues . Canta is annoyed as always, but she paid in full. That woman would weep if things went well. A little extra work on the road, but nothing notable. Picked up some travellers though, they paid very well for a guide. How have things been in the village? Where’s Haite?

“She’s at the dye shop. Don’t worry she’s still trying to take over the entire store. I swear that girl was a wolf in another life, once she gets an idea she holds it until its dead.” Mitya laughs “She’s got a seven-year plan.”

She’s smart, she might do it.

“Oh she’ll do it. I just wish I could see her more than twice a week, while she does it.”

Has she actually said anything to Becka yet or is she still just trailing after her?

“Goddess bless, she’s gotten ever worse if anything. She brought the girl flowers and spent an entire evening talking to me trying to decide if Becka liked them or not. I only hope it ends soon.”

Rook laughed freely at the image of a harried Mitya trying to cook dinner while being trailed by a hormonal teenager waxing about her first conquest. He’s equally sure that Mitya will be laughing at him in a few days once Haite gets ahold of him next.

“As for the rest. Little jobs here and there, the chief wants you to take a look at his horse, the big one. Canta upped the finding price again, the second you had left town of course”

Of course.

“Clara’s herd got a sickness and she had to butcher two milk cows. There’s a group of pretty boys who came in from Laneyru, and all the girls are falling over themselves to show off for them. Otherwise all quiet.”

Blond pretty boys? With expensive clothes

“Might as well be wearing catnip the way the girls trail them” Mitya sniffs.

Oh and you never chased any tail in your life Rook says, amused at her purity.

“I never chased, I got” Mitya says primly “And I’m too busy for that right now.”

Well if you change your mind, the travelers I guided were also blond and rich. Probably brothers actually, they’re a regular traveling family.

“We missed an opportunity then, could be a traveling family too.”

Yes but no one here is blond or rich.

“You’re ashy blond, I think we could make it work.”

I’m going prematurely gray and scarred from neck to scalp, don’t think I’m going to be catnip to any young ladies. Rook points out, a little dryly. Mitya grunts.

“You’ve had your fair share of luck in the bed though, you can’t deny that. What did they pay?”

Rook silently reaches into his belt and pulls out the gold rupee. For a second there’s silence and then Mitya strides forward, grabbing it out of his hand and then tilting it to the light. There’s a moment of contemplation and then she turns back to him. He nods at her expression of disbelief.

She looks down into her hands. “There’s a Gerudo camp that’s coming in soon, we’ll need to hide this for another six days and then we can get smaller coin out of it. Goddess bless, this is almost more trouble than its worth.”

I know. But I couldn’t turn it down.

“Turn it down, are you insane?” Mitya hisses “This is a season of work I’m holding right now.”

It’s not really a season. Maybe a month, two months if they were bad months. But it’s enough to keep them very well. Rook shrugs and holds out the small bag that contains the finding fee for Blackie, mouth open for the gold rupee. She drops it in and he draws it closed before handing the bag over.

“I’ll hide this” Mitya tells him, he nods and watches her tuck the bag away. After a pause she looks down at the dog curled up in his lap.

“Nudge missed you.”

Nudge could barely be coaxed into walking to the end of the yard and bore a startling resemblance to a barrel. Wasting away was not one of her problems. And if she even knew he had left, Rook would eat a saddle blanket. But if Mitya didn’t want to say that she was the one who missed him, he wouldn’t push. He knew what she was saying.

Of course she did, I’m the only one who feeds her. Can’t you see how much she wastes away. He signs, gesturing at the spoiled furball currently putting his foot to sleep. Mitya snorts.

Sometimes Rook wonders if she thinks he’s going to ride away and never come back. She’s never said anything, but there’s something about the way she looks at him when he comes home. A quiet relief, maybe.

There’s always risk when you leave the cities, always a chance that this time will be the time he’s not quick enough, not smart enough, not wary enough to come back alive. He looks down at Nudge, running a hand through her fur and feeling her breath against his leg.

It doesn’t matter how smart or quick or wary you are if the goddess takes an eye on you, anyway. He knows that.

“Go to the baths. You smell awful” Mitya says, breaking the quiet moment. He blinks and looks down at himself, horsehair and dust spackled with the sweat of rough living.

Aw, don’t you want a hug first? He signs one-handed, rising to his feet and spreading his arms.

“No, no, don’t you dare you’re filthy Rook” she laughs and dodges away.

Auntie don’t you love me? I’m so hurt

She lets herself be pulled into a bone-cracking, horse-scented hug, complaining the whole time. The apron is getting soot on him he’s sure. Mitya is wiry in his arms, thin and muscled. He feels a quiet pang at how thin she is, but makes sure to not show it on his face when he pulls back. She pokes him in the forehead and orders him to the bath. He laughs and goes to drop off his bags. He’s home now, and it’s time to start coming back.

-

His bags are dropped off in the corner, and Mitya goes to go tuck the money into some corner of the house before returning to her work. Tinsmithing today, she said with the sniff of the true blacksmith. Her training was on farming equipment, but Hateno is a cattle town and that’s not in high demand around here. Precious little iron in this corner of the world. Rook lets her return to work and goes to his own affairs. He has the rest of the day on his own before returning to the stable tomorrow, might as well make the most of it. First step: the public baths. Soap and towel and entrance fee are grabbed and he changes out of the filthy travel cloths into something a little less likely to have him thrown out of the front door. The final step is to make sure his face is covered when he steps outside, the only part of being home that he could do without. But it’s better than the staring or the wards against the evil eye.

Hateno was one of the few place in Hyrule that could be said to be truly at peace. He watches people wander on the wide street as he walks down, children chasing each other and locals bartering over the hauls from the kitchen garden. The cows were in the pasture, lowing, and there’s a young unfortunate tasked with cheese making, miserable next to a pail that was refusing to separate in a timely fashion. Seeing people walk around at ease calms him more than anything else. The Calamity isn’t here, it was never here. He’s safe.

The inn has smaller baths for the rooms, but the public baths for the town are in a separate building to the side. He makes his way in and towards the men’s area. He was expecting the baths to be wholly unused in the middle of the day, but when he pays his way to walk in there were low voices and splashing coming from the men’s side. Rook sighs and signed at the door attendant. Who’s here already?

The attendant takes a second to translate, mouth working as he thinks. “It’s a group of traders from the north. You want a bathing robe?”

Yes, thank you. Looks like the brothers beat him to it. He goes to the washing pools to remove the dirt of the road.

Once he was scrubbed to an acceptable level and the clean cloth wrapped around himself he walked into the soaking room, feeling his shoulders relax at the wall of dense humidity that met him. The conversation halts as he comes in, heads turning to face the door. It’s two strangers, not any of the ones he’s already seen. Maybe they don’t know the others are in town?

Pretty was a good descriptor for them. Could be twins, bulky shoulders and flowing hair dripping from the bath. They have tattoos on their faces, red stripes for one and a gray lattice for the other. Rook feels suddenly exposed with the scars on his face, stony skin pulling as he shifts his weight.

“Good afternoon” red stripes says politely. Grey lattice bobs his head. Rook looks at them and then half bows.

“Good afternoon” he croaks “I believe I met your brothers on the road”

Gray sits up so fast he kicks up a wave over the lip of the pool, but it’s Stripes who speaks first. “Where did you see them?” Well that answers that question.

“They came with me to town” Rook says roughly and then adds “at the inn” before his voice fails him entirely. Gray vaults out of the bath without a word and walks straight out of the room. “Thank you” Stripes says and follows him out. Rook stares at the water, lapping at the edge of the pool and the snaking steam blown by the waves.

Happy to help. He signs at the water before climbing in for a soak of his own. Rook leans back against the back of the bath and settles in. He can hear the lowing of cattle, just on the edge of his hearing through the thick walls. After a few minutes the sound of excited voices begins to filter in from outside.

He must be in time for the turning of the light, because after a while he starts to hear the sound of the temple flute lifting up to accompany the chatter. Songs they’ve played for a thousand years. An old hymn, he can almost hear the words. ‘Gracious goddess of the heaven we thank you.’ The light flickers off the walls, up and up and up to the roof, where the voices seems to rise and collect. ‘Gracious goddess of the earth we honor you.’ Written and remembered and sung again and again and again. ‘Gracious goddess of the light, we see you in your glory.’ The smoke is thick, the robes heavy, he watches with lidded eyes as a figure in blue lights the candles next to him, the eyes of the supplicants weighing down his shoulders. ‘Champion of the goddess, child of the goddess, life given freely to service-’

Something clatters in the other room and Rook rouses, glancing around the brick-walled bathing room, shaking the song out of his ears. It’s been a long day. He should go back home and eat something. Rook rises and dresses. He makes sure to slip a rupee to the attendant when he leaves, and then stops just outside the door.

Warriors, Four and Sky must have encountered the other two on their way out of the baths. They really are all blond, he thinks to himself with bemusement, watching the family reunion currently happening in the middle of the street. It’s a good thing they all dress so strangely or else no one would ever be able to tell them apart. One of them appears to be wearing a full wolf skin, with head attached.

The one with Red Stripes is checking everyone over and talking while Warriors tells them about the fights they’ve been in, a little bit too loudly. Four spots Rook and lifts a hand in greeting, smiling. He looks calmer than he did on the road. Sky catches the movement and beams in Rook’s direction as well, and then Red Stripes catches the look and glances over. The two men lock eyes.

When Rook first woke up it took him nearly a month to walk again, but much longer before his mind came all the way back. His memories of the time are partial, half built from the things that Mitya told him and mixed with the medley of sensation that he understood in the moment. He was almost an animal, not having words but understanding threat and fear and kindness. It’s been years by now, years in which he’s learned how to be a person again. As he looks at the man for a moment, actually sees the focus of his eyes in more than a passing glance he feels a beat of animal feeling again, wordless and powerful. Predator. He blinks, and stiffens his back.

“Time” Four says, “That’s our guide, Rook.”

Rook should probably take it as a sign to get closer. He doesn’t.

“Afternoon again” the man says. He hasn’t looked away since they first met eyes. “Sorry for running out”

Rook shrugs, hoping to convey ‘it’s fine’ as much as possible. Four lifts up his hands and signs at Rook, looking pleased with himself: His name is T-I-M-E and then gestures at the other one, the one wearing a wolfskin in full sunlight. T-W-I-L-I-G-H-T

Odd names all of them. Time watches and then lifts his own hands up to sign. Not anything that Rook recognizes “Oh” Four says, interrupting him. “No-sorry. Rook you can hear just fine, yes?”

“Yes” Rook croaks and then uses the harshness of his voice as an explanation as he taps his throat. “Injury.”

Time nods and then speaks. “I said I was sorry for not using sign, but that seems to be unnecessary.”

It is. Rook shrugs again. Warriors manages to stop his story with a seemingly heroic effort once he sees that there’s a new person.

“Ho there Rook” he grins, overly boisterous. Sky gives him a weird look. “Thank you again for everything you did” Warriors is putting on an affect, like he’s making a speech.

My pleasure pretty boy . Rook signs at him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Four imitate the sign for pretty boy with a confused expression and Rook has to swallow a laugh.

Its my job he adds and then spells J-O-B so that Four can translate. Once the message is passed along, he gives them a short bow and turns to make his way home, leaving the kids behind. Of course its not that easy.

“I don’t suppose-” Warriors lifts his voice as Rook turns to leave “-that you know of anyone around here who’s an expert on the Calamity.”

Rook turns back to look at him, catching the end of what he thinks is Four kicking him. Time looks like he’s praying for patience. Rook doesn’t respond. They’re strangers, and as much as the three insisted they weren’t grave robbers...this is a specific line of questioning.

“Specifically the champion, really.” Twilight murmurs, sounding distracted. “That’s what we really need.”

“A historian perhaps?” Warriors offers, looking hopeful. Sword hunters maybe? That would explain a few things. It’s better than the castle divers, and its not like anybody could sell the Master Sword if they actually found the damn thing. There are worse things than chasing fantasies. Most of the sword folks are trying to save the world, even if they’re going about it the wrong way.

It actually makes a lot of sense. Distant warriors, come to save the day, following the vague legends of the Goddess Sword, shocked by the country around it. Rook tries not to feel insulted. It’s not like the Hylians haven’t been looking for the last hundred years these kids aren’t going to find anything new. But if they want ancient history, they’ve landed in the best village for it anyway.

“Ancient Laboratory” Rook croaks, gesturing up the hill towards the windmill, before switching to hands. They study old artifacts. But the owner is- Rook stalls trying to come up with a good description. Condescending? Dismissive? Only caring about their own affairs and no one else?

Odd. He decides.

Four translates the handsign. Time looks at Rook.

“Ancient Laboratory sounds like it might be exactly what we’re looking for. Is there any chance you could tell us the way.”

Rook can. It’s not like the damn place is hard to find. Look for the windmills on the northwest slope. Rook’s hands tells him. Its an old mill they added on to. Four translates and Time nods.

“Thank you.” the man then tips his head in a shallow bow. Rook is charmed. This must be where Four gets his manners from. To encourage the behavior he says “Here to help” out loud and signs I work at the stables if you need anything else.

Time nods at that and then Rook makes another attempt to leave. This one is successful.

It’s early afternoon by now, and Rook decides to go say hello to his sister before heading home, leaving the cluster of men behind him as he walks.

Rook pauses on the way past the market, trying to decide if he wants to buy a pie to bring her, but decides against it. Mitya hadn’t mentioned any new debts to worry about, but its best to conserve. He walks down the dusty middle road lined by shops, heading towards the enormous structure that the Kochi family built in front, four wooden posts painted and carved to look like enormous dye vials. It’s the pride and joy of their little town, they’ve had people come as far as Gerudo to get alterations and dye. When Haite and Rook first came to Hateno they had made a living by selling ingredients until they got more stable employment. Literally in Rook’s case, Haite just developed an indescribable crush on the owners daughter and badgered her way into a position cleaning the shop. She’s gotten more and more responsibilities. Their house contains many a failed or ‘experimental’ dye project. Rook has even let her practice hair dye more than once. Thank god the last batch has faded.

Senna—one of the owners— is standing at the door, seeming to catch some fresh air but she ducks inside when she sees Rook come up. By the time he walks up to the adobe storefront, with the colorful sign and the enormous tower silo, Haite has appeared, sliding out of the open door, goggles pushed up and white-spattered apron flapping in the wind.

“Rook!” she cries once she spots him, jumping from foot to foot in her excitement before forcefully composing herself and half-jogging over. “I can’t give you a hug, we’re working on different bleaches right now, Sayge said I have ‘an inspired eye for alchemy’ isn’t that incredible, where were you, did you get anything, did you get a lot of money-”

Haite chatters like a running stream, words tumbling out as she struggles with the ties of her leather apron. Behind her a face peers out from the door of the dye shop, pink hair and buckteeth. Rook lifts up his head, making an obvious glance over. Haite spots it and turns, waving at the door. “Oh! Becka! Rook’s back, I’ll just be gone a moment! Can you watch the fire.” the odd girl slips back in without a word. When Haite turns around, she’s blushing a little and trying to play it off.

To fulfill his brotherly duty Rook signs Is that your girlfriend then?

Haite makes a half-muffled shrieking noise and smacks him with one of her gloves. “Rook” she hisses at him, “Don’t you dare she can read hands you...you donkey!”

She’s cute, I approve. Rook smirks at her. She glowers back.

Just saying .

“Ugh” she says, fully pink now.

Anyway I just got in, figured I would walk by and say hello.

“You’re terrible, and Auntie should never have taken you home.”

Rook mimes taking an arrow to the chest, staggering back with a woeful expression.

Oh how you wound me, sister without blood. He signs with great melodrama. She sticks her tongue out at him. He laughs, breath rattling and throat catching. Haite giggles too.

“Can you tell Auntie I’ll be home tonight? We can eat dinner together, I’ll tell Senna.”

She misses you when you’re not at home you know. Rook signs. Haite looks guilty.

“I know, I know. But I’m just really busy right now and Sayge is teaching me so many things. Once I get the dyecraft mark I’ll be home more. I promise.” she adds the last words in a softer tone. She ruins the moment by adding. “And stop worrying so much or you’ll get wrinkles and you can’t afford that.”

Brat. Rook tells her with great affection. Anything I should pick up from the market before I go home?

“Oh if you could that would be wonderful hold on I’ve got a list.” Haite’s off again, slipping back into the dye shop.

He waits outside the store, half turning at the sound of voices. The group of brothers turns the corner, seeming to head towards the armor shop. Twilight sees Rook watching them and nods a greeting. It catches Time’s eye who looks over and spots Rook lounging outside the dye shop.

“You all go in” he says to one of the others. “I’ll be in a second.” The rest filter into the shop, and he walks over to Rook.

“Hello again” Time says. “Sorry to keep bothering you, but Four said you were one of the stablehands?”

Rook nods.

“We need some horses before we head out, would you be the one to talk to?”

“No. Canta is the one—” Rook starts and then turns at the sound of Haite bounding out again and then drawing to a halt at the sight of a heavily armored stranger looming over her brother. He makes the signs for safe down at his hip where Time can’t see. She relaxes and heads over, visibly putting on her professional affect.

“Hello young master and welcome to the Kochi Dye Shop” Haite says with a bow, managing gravitas even while her clothing is speckled with blobs of dye.

Time bows to her. “Hello to you, young lady.” Haite looks immediately charmed. Rook has a horrifying thought and briefly prays to anyone listening that Haite doesn’t develop a crush on any of the travelers.

Haite Rook signs, hopefully distracting her. Can you translate for me? He had some questions about the stable.

Time looks at his hands in polite confusion. Haite nods.

“My brother here says that you were looking for the stable?”

“If that’s where we get horses, yes we’re looking for the stable.” Time says and directs his next question at Rook. “What were you just saying about Canta?”

Half-turning so his hands can be seen by everyone involved Rook signs.

Stablemaster Canta is the one you would speak to about horses. Friendly warning, it’s going to be expensive there’s a shortage of good mounts right now. I’m off the clock but I’m working tomorrow if you want to wait for a friendly face

Haite translates that. Time nods. "Thank you very much. I'll likely take you up on that. If you'll excuse me?" and with that he bows again and heads off towards the rest of the group.

Who is that. Haite signs as soon as Time turns his back.

Traders. Rich traders. I walked his brothers up from Faron. Stay clear of them Haite. He adds at the end. They’re strong men and strangers to boot. Might be treasure hunters.

“I’m not an idiot Rook, I know how to talk to customers.” she says with a sniff, sounding just like Mitya. “Did they treat you all right? Any odd comments?”

Rook raises an eyebrow at her. And what are you going to do if my honor was tarnished by these men.

She glares at him. “You don’t have to just take whatever people say about you, somebody has to stand up for you.”

The righteous indignation of the young and healthy. Rook feels very fond of his sister right now.

I’m okay Haite, they were perfect gentleman. I’ll see you at dinner?

She starts to nod and then stops

“Oh damned sky—let me go grab that list before you go” and she’s off again, back at top speed. Rook leans against the fence post and waits for her to get back.

-

The list of items is long and then when he returns home Mitya has already started on the evening meal, so he goes to check on the forge and bank the fires for the night, reassuring himself with the tools of his trade. Mitya is a functional cook, not an amazing one but the curry she makes might as well be manna from the goddess for how good it tastes to him, eaten out of a chipped bowl while his sister yammers about the finer details of white leather. Rook didn’t know anyone could care this much about paint.

It’s good to be home.

Chapter Text

Figuring out sleeping arrangements is as much of a hassle as ever. Mitya and Rook bicker about which one of them should take the bed while Haite rolls her eyes and lays out her futon. Rook wins and Mitya takes her due as the elder, sleeping in the room with the bed. She always does, it’s her room. They’ve been having this argument for years now and she never wins. Knees creaking, Rook pulls his own futon out, disturbing Nudge from her spot to clear open enough space to sleep. Dust tickling his nose and the sound of his families breathing steady him. The walls block the light of the stars, dark and close, like a cave.

Rook dreams a lot, some fever bright and some with the clarity of memory. Rarely anything that makes a lot of sense. But when he’s home he always dreams the same. He’s riding on a horse, in glinting armor and beside him on a white horse is a blond woman in a blue dress. She’s solemn and he’s laughing. She turns to look at him, a small smile rises to her lips and she’ll say something to him before he wakes. Tonight she says “Are the flowers blooming yet?”and then he wakes up.

The light is dark but it has that promise of gray that means dawn is soon. Haite is mumbling invectives as she drags herself up. Mitya is no doubt still asleep. Rook shoves up, once again disturbing Nudge who seems to have moved into his space again. Well, maybe Mitya was right that Nudge missed him.

“Goddess damn the sun” Haite mumbles, Rook snickers at her and makes sure to rise with an obnoxious stretch and a bounce on his feet. His vision swims and his knees click but the look she gives him is worth it.

Breakfast is grabbed for both of them, a bowl set out for Nudge, and then Haite heads to the dye shop and Rook back to the stables. He’s the only stablehand here right now, but Canta will arrive soon no doubt. Rook stretches his back and gets started on feed and water.

Canta arrives maybe ten minutes later, and barely glances at him. He knows well that if he weren’t there already he would be hearing about it though. She disappears to her office, he keeps working his way down the line. Eventually the next stablehand comes in, a young boy who’s name is escaping Rook right now. Hal? The boy is some relative of the chief and probably being groomed to take over after Canta. For all her faults, she won’t let anyone take over unless they’ve met her standards and so Hal is here at dawn, mucking stables in finer clothes than any other stablehand. Rook doesn’t dislike the boy, but its still a little amusing to see. Hal and Rook keep working, Canta coming out in work clothes and starts turning out the first set of horses. When he gets to Snow, Rook makes sure to give her a proper hello and a handful of vegetables. She tries to eat his hair.

“We’ve got two I need you to look at” Canta tells Rook in passing “And your new girl needs breaking to the saddle.”

You think he’s up to help or just watch? Rook asks her. He’s still not sure what the boys name is so he just points in his direction. She grunts.

“Watch. Boys good but if he gets kicked in the head I’ll get run out of town.”

Got it. Rook tells her. Who needs looking after?

-

It’s not a particularly busy day. Only one of the travelers brought a horse, a large and placid brown mare with a white mane. He makes sure to watch her when she goes out to pasture, but her feet looks good. Good-natured lady, from the little he sees of her. He’ll rub her down later and make sure but for now she looks healthy.

The rest are all owned by townsfolk, or the public horses the town keep to rent and for the soldiers. Familiar faces. No other traders in town right now. Its spring not winter, and the roads are mostly clear, but trade won’t really reach peak until the Hebra passes are all clear anyway.

Canta buys him the noon meal as the traditional thanks for his long journey. She looks like spending the money on it causes her physical pain. Rook had wrapped up a small chunk of bread just in case, but he’s not too surprised to see her come back from the market with a stick of grilled meats. She cares about proper procedure.

Around early afternoon two of the blond travelers arrive. Time and Twilight if Rook is remembering the markings on their face right. Rook is the closest to the front when he hears the sound of approaching footsteps and heads out to greet them.

“Afternoon” he rasps.

Time half bows. Twilight awkwardly copying his brother after a second.

“Afternoon, Rook.” Maybe it’s the way he keeps eye contact that’s so nerve-wracking, Rook thinks. It’s like staring down a dragon. Even his brother with the wolf skin isn’t as coldly intimidating, though he’s trying harder. Twilight looks like a wild man, Time looks like there’s something under his skin he’s fighting down. Rook lifts a hand in an easy acknowledgement.

“How’s Epona?” Time asks, and Rook stares at him for a second. Its hardly the first horse with the name—but why is this man using it when he’s from so far away? Maybe she came with the name but no Hylian would name their horse that, so she would have to come from Hebra or Gerudo or some place where its less sacred. Or maybe he’s from this area and just doesn’t care.

Well he’s a customer so Rook just gives a thumbs up and then gestures Time to follow back to the pasture. He’ll show them.

Epona knows her rider and comes over to say hello, bounding like a foal. She’s playful with Time, Twilight hanging off the fence while Rook leaves them to it, keeping half an eye and making sure he’s close enough to stop them from opening any fences or getting trampled. Time eventually leads her out, asking Rook if he could grab Epona’s tack. Rook nods and goes to grab it for him. When he comes back Time takes it from him, making to saddle his own horse.

“I prefer to get her ready myself” Time says quietly, almost apologetic. Rook doesn’t care. He’s paying, this man can do whatever he wants. Twilight continues to hover without speaking.

“Could I ask for some advice though?” Time asks politely once the work is done and the reins are in hand. Rook looks at him and then nods.

“Have you traveled far?” he asks Rook.

“Across Hylia.” Rook offers. Time nods.

“Ever been to Kakoriko?”

Kakoriko and Hateno are sister towns: the farmers and the cowherds. He’s been up and down that road more than he could ever count. Rook nods and then asks. “You?” because it feels like Time is dancing around something.

Time shakes his head. “No. I’ve never been here before. We went to the Ancient Tech Laboratory —and thank you for that, the owner was very helpful. But she said that we needed to pick up something from Kakoriko and then return. Twilight and I are going to make the run alone, we want to keep some of our brothers in town, and I want to make sure I know what we’re getting into.”

Rook feels a hint of trepidation. “Should wait.” he says, voice harsh before swallowing and struggling out “Moon coming.”

Time looks at him steadily. “What about the moon?”

Rook gives up and makes a ‘hold’ gesture with his hands before going to go grab a sheet of paper from the office, with a charcoal stick. He returns and scribbles out his answer before handing over the paper to Time.

MONSTERS WILL RISE AGAIN AFTER THE FULL MOON. COMING IN A FEW DAYS NOW.

“Warriors mentioned that” Twilight mumbles, reading over his brothers shoulder. Time hums.

“I appreciate your concern, it does you credit.” Time says, ignoring Twilight. “But we need to get to Kakoriko and we can’t waste any time.”

DANGEROUS. Rook writes.

Time looks back at him, immovable. “We have to ride out.”

Rook looks away, breaking eye contact. Its too much to keep level with that steady stare. The road is one of the safest but that doesn’t mean there’s no risk, and he doesn’t know the boys capability. Rook has seen too many empty houses. He thinks about telling Time not to be foolish but it doesn’t seem that it’s going to dissuade him. His mind goes back to the group in front of the bathhouse, the joy and camaraderie. He sighs and flips the paper over.

KAKORIKO IS WEST. He writes instead. THERE’S A ROAD. THE INN WILL HAVE A MAP. DO NOT GO PAST ASH SWAMP. DO NOT GO UP ANY OF THE PEAKS. THE BRIDGE IS A DEATH TRAP, CUT THROUGH PHALIA UNTIL YOU GET BACK TO THE ROAD. THE CITY IS WALLED, SAFE.

Twilight asks “Any settlements along the way?” Rook shakes his head. It’s Hylia, there’s no settlements outside the villages and the nomads.

“Why rush?” Rook asks roughly, half curious and half chiding. The smart move would be for them to wait and come back after the scouts have spent a few days shooting out the big threats. Time keeps his unbreaking gaze.

“We’re missing people.” He says calmly “And I’m afraid they’re hurt. We need to find them. Quickly”

Rook tilts his head, hoping it comes across as curious. Twilight speaks this time, sounding a little agitated.

“Legend, Hyrule, Wind and he’s just a kid, we need to find them. Almost got my head torn off by one of your goblins—“

“Twi.” Time cuts in “He’s smart, he’s been in worse. We’ll find them.” Twilight subsides. Rook puts the paper against the wall again to write.

HOW MANY. HOW OLD. WHAT DIRECTION ARE THEY COMING FROM?

Time looks at him but doesn’t say anything. After a second Rook adds: TELL THE SOLDIERS. THEY DO PATROLS. MIGHT FIND THEM.

“Oh.” Twilight says. “Yeah, that’s actually a good idea Time”

“Yes.” Time says. “Do you do patrols?”

Rook cackles raspily and shakes his head. The cracked voice is just as much of an answer as anything. His injuries keep him away from the skirmishes, the only good thing about them. “I’m a trader.” he says.

“Well-traveled trader.”

Rook shrugs. “Only Hylia”

“What’s that?” Twilight asks with deep curiousity. Rook tries not to laugh at him.

“Here” Rook says. “Where you are.”

“Thought it was Hateno?”

Rook writes out his answer to that. HYLIA IS COUNTRY. HATENO IS TOWN.

Time looks up sharply at that. “Hylia? Not Hyrule?”

Epona and now Hyrule. Looking for historical figures. What are they even doing. Rook tamps down the curiosity. Getting too involved in strangers affairs is never a good idea.

HYRULE IS OLD KINGDOM. HYLIA IS THE NEW.

Technically on the maps its probably still Hyrule, but the people have always been Hylians and with the castle a burning ruin rotting the country, Hylia is more accurate. If the old kings have a problem with it they can clean up their mess and come argue about it. The kingdoms gone, its the people who are left.

Twilight pipes up “Purah called it Hyrule”

Rook raises an eyebrow. “She’s eight” he rasps out. He thinks anyway. She can’t be older than ten at any rate. He’s only seen glimpses of her since moving here and she’s small.

Twilight blinks. “Right. Yes.”

ALSO HER FATHER STUDIES HISTORY. Rook writes out. He’s going to grab water after this. HE PROBABLY CALLS IT HYRULE BECAUSE OF THE REMNANTS OF THE KINGDOM.

“Yes.” Time says. Rook hears the sound of hinges creaking and glances down to see Canta walking by, throwing a glance at the customers. Time and Twilight glance at her too.

IF YOU NEED MORE MOUNTS CANTA IS THE ONE TO TALK TO. Rook adds, looking at Twilight as he jerks a thumb towards her. Twilight gets a weird look on his face. “Epona is enough of a problem.” he mutters. Time smacks him on the shoulder, trying to be subtle about it. Twilight glares at him.

“What? I can get my own food at least.”

“Mm.” Time seems skeptical. “That reminds me, are there any restrictions on game around here? We don’t want to get caught for poaching on someone’s land.”

Goddess these rich boys. Do they think they’re on a king’s park? Rook elects to write instead. WHATEVER YOU CAN FIND IS YOURS.

Twilight looks confused but says “Thank you” anyway. Time just nods.

“Thank you very much Rook. You’ve been very helpful. We really should be riding out soon, but thank you for everything.”

Rook prefers gratitude in coin and not words, but he’ll take it. He bows and croaks out “Safe travels.”

-

He spots Four and Sky in the market as he’s walking back from his days shift, the two boys seeming to poke around a vegetable cart. Four is examining the produce and seeming to explain something to his brother. The conversation with Time and Twilight sticks in his mind as he looks at the two young men wandering around the market.

He looks away before someone thinks he’s eyeing the strangers up and walks over towards Rennet’s stall. Haite asked him to pick up some hard cheese for travel, they’re almost out. Rook lifts a hand easily at the cheesemonger who waggles her fingers back before going back to writing down the days sales. Closer he can hear Four’s words now sounding like he’s laughing at his brother.

“You mean you’ve never even had potatoes? Even I can grow some potatoes, everyone has had potatoes.”

“You ever had Loftwing quiche? Everyone has had Loftwing quiche” Sky says, equally amused, if making considerably less sense—and now Rook is eavesdropping. The voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Mitya tells him to mind his own affairs and he goes back to his shopping with a force of will. He hands the rupees over to Rennet, making sure to fold his hands in an obvious ‘thank you’ as he leaves.

His hip bag now containing Haite’s lunch for her next herb collection trip, Rook turns and consciously ignores the boys chatting with each other as they pick up the food for the days meal. Four catches Rook’s eye and waves a greeting before going back to his brother, Sky looking over and copying him a little more shyly as they go back.

Rook thinks again about the odd conversation with the two riding out to Kakoriko. These people came here and they don’t even know about the blood moon, they almost got overwhelmed by a bokoblin tribe. What if they had ended up traveling longer? What if they ran into a Talus or headed towards the castle and ended up like Rook? What else don’t they know?

After a second he sighs and gives in. It’s not his affairs, no. But they’re in his town and he owes them at least the courtesy of aid. He walks over towards the two of them.

Sky greets him out loud as he comes closer, dropping their conversation to say hello. Rook gets his own greetings out of the way with a half-bow before turning to Four. Rook doesn’t have paper on him, he can only really talk to Four. And Four is the youngest of the brothers. He can’t pretend its not weighing on him.

Can I speak to you? Rook signs at Four, who glances at his brother and speaks out loud.

“What do you want to talk about?” he’s cautious, that’s smart.

Travel advice. Rook says, because honesty is probably the best way to get the kid to listen. Four cracks a grin, still in a good mood .

“Well of course. Sky I’ll be right back.” Sky does not look happy about this but he nods. When Rook leads his brother away he can see Sky moving his position to keep them both in sight. They don’t go far, just a little out of the way.

Why are you actually here? Rook asks Four, as soon as they’re out of the middle of the square. Four looks startled.

“What do you mean?”

You’re looking for something. Looking for old artifacts. Why? Four stares blankly. Rook sighs and switches to speaking out loud. “Artifact hunting. Ancient Laboratory.”

Four looks guilty. “Look—I know you said that you hadn’t had good experiences with treasure hunters but we’re not robbing or stealing or going to hurt anyone I swear on the goddess-”

No- Rook says with a flick of his fingers and then hesitates. He’s wearing a scarf wrapped around his face and hair to hide the marks from his own stupidity. The one he always wears in town. Its cheesecloth in faded blue with a little white design of feathers because Haite likes to use scrap fabric for experimental work. But its also his second skin. It takes a conscious moment but after a second he lifts his hands up and carefully unwinds so that the skin on the left side of his face is visible for a second. Four’s eyes catch on the scars for a second before he locks his gaze back to Rook’s eyes.

Rook reaches up and taps the smooth numbness where the skin was burned away, and then pulls the scarf back up once Four’s attention is caught.

“Used to be a treasure hunter.”

Four looks at Rook in something like shock. “What happened?”

I don’t know. I’ll never know. He speaks with his hands, without any translation from thought to word as he feels the familiar old grief. An old wound but it still hurts sometimes. They always do. He pauses after a second and starts talking out loud again. If he’s going to do the dramatic warning, Four needs to understand him.

“Do you know how Mitya found me?” Rook rasps, feeling the familiar burn of the throat injury as he talks. It hurts the more he speaks but he knows what he can handle. The raggedness will do a lot in setting the stage anyway. “Heard someone screaming in the night. All night long, screaming. Patrols found me at the foot of the cliff in the morning, barely alive. Half-burned, broken legs, torn by the rocks when I fell off the plateau. Like a child: couldn’t walk, couldn’t talk. Took me years to recover and my memory never came back.”

“I don’t remember my name.” Rook continues. “Don’t remember my family. Don’t remember whatever I climbed up there for. Must have been important. Must have been valuable. Gone now.”

“I’m so sorry-” Four says, Rook cuts him off a little sharply. That’s not why he’s sharing an edited version of his sob story with a stranger.

“Don’t pity me. No good reason for why I was there. Probably grave robber. Probably thief. I have a good life now. I didn’t lose much in the end. Gained more than I lost, certainly. Been ten years since then and I’ve made a good way.”

Four hesitates and then asks “Why are you telling me this?”

Because Rook has a horrible intuition that the boys are trying to make their way towards the castle. Because they don’t seem to understand what they’re walking into, despite the warnings. Because if he can send them away maybe some good will come out of the worst decision that he made in his life.

Rook says out loud. “People go to the castle every day, people hunt for the sword every day. No one finds what they want. Never ends well. You all should go home. Be safe, go home.”

“We can’t” Four bursts out suddenly. “I can’t, I could if I would but I can’t. I don’t even know where we are Rook. We’ve gone so far, you don’t even know how far we are here.” he speaks more quietly as he continues “I’m sorry, what happened to you is terrible. But you don’t understand what we’re doing.”

I don’t. But I’m worried. Rook’s throat feels raw enough that he can’t really continue out loud. He’s going to be feeling this conversation for a while. At least the important part got said.

Four scrubs his face. He looks young. “You don’t need to worry. We’re okay.”

Rook looks at this young man and feels very tired.

Okay. He signs. I’m sorry for being nosy.

“No, no. Thank you Rook.” Four says. He hesitates and then asks. “Why do you think we’re looking for the sword.”

Why else are you asking about history? Rook is genuinely curious. Four doesn’t recognize the sign for ‘history’ so Rook repeats it and croaks the word out loud, struggling not to choke.

“We could be scholars.” Four asks, in a tacit acknowledgment that they’re not. “Or historians. Or just strangers in a strange land, trying to understand what happened here”

What’s there to know? The history is all around you.

“To you.” Four points out. “We’ve barely seen any of this place.”

That’s a really good point actually. Rook nods.

“My brothers and I have a...unique connection to the Champion.” Four says, hesitating on the adjective.

Unique how? Rook looks a little more sharply at this rich young man from far away and wonders.

“He’s more than just a historical figure to us. And—” Four hesitates again and then sighs, giving in to something. “We want to help. This country is sick and if we can do something to fix it, we will.”

Well that’s….idealistic is probably the kindest way to put it. Not for the first time Rook thinks about how young the travelers seem. Rook thinks on the best response and decides after a second. Hands folded, he bows to Four, low and respectful. When he straightens up he speaks with words and not hands. Some things should be done in the proper format.

“Thank you. Good luck in your work.”

Four hesitates and then bows back.

“Thank you for all your aid.” he says back “Not many people would care about the wellbeing of strangers. Good luck in your own work.”

With that the two men part ways. Four walks back to his brother, Rook catches “Are you alright?” from Sky and feels a little bad. He was hoping to scare him into being more careful but he still feels like a dick. All that really achieved was waking up his own grief and spooking the kid. He rearranges his cowl over his face to turn and head home.

His leg starts to ache halfway through the trip and he has to stop along the way to catch his breath. The bone is healed, its ghost pain. Rook feels the leg tremble as he shifts his weight and half limps over to a nearby crate, gritting his teeth when he has to bend his knee in order to sit. It burns the same way that snow does. Not for the first time Rook hopes that he was a bastard before he fell.

Blue cloth and shining armor rise up in his mind, thick walls and the ears of a brown horse, but nothing clear or useful. Stained glass and swords, fever dreams mixed with glimpses of real life so tightly they can’t be unwound. If there’s any justice to his injury he just forgot about the time he killed someone in cold blood and this is the world’s repayment for his crimes.

Most graverobbers are desperate, it would be rather cruel of the goddess to cut him down for trying to feed himself.

Goddess above . Rook signs with some irony. Please let me have been a real fucker so that my suffering is actually worth something. He waits politely for her response. A shining woman in glowing cloth carrying the moon in a sacred bowl fails to appear.

Well then, Goddess above. Rook signs again. Please send any of your power towards keeping everybody away from the castle instead.

He shoves himself to his feet and goes back to walking home. He’s not surprised when he wakes up halfway through the night from a memory of burning light and falling, but its still not pleasant.

-

He doesn’t see Four in the next few days, which is good. Rook is honestly kind of embarrassed by that whole conversation. Apparently something about Time and Twilight’s ride struck a nerve he wasn’t expecting.

Maybe he’s getting old, if he’s starting to give cryptic advice to younger people so they don’t make the mistakes he did. Of course, the right of the young is to ignore that advice and do it anyway. He tries not to think about his past most of the time. Its sad and terrible and painful and he can’t change it. Rook’s been running from those hellish early years ever since he was able to start walking again, trying to run away from what he had to endure. Its easy: there’s always work, always a meal to cook and something to repair and somebody who needs to be taken care of.

Rook falls back into the rhythm of home like he always does. Mitya works on her projects, Haite flits in and out of the house and Rook works a groove between the house and the stables. He’ll be getting stir crazy eventually but the routine is nice after nearly a month on the road. He walks Hal through the process of horse-breaking, and teases his sister when she starts blushing every time she mentions Becka. A few days after his return he unfolds his formal wear from long-term storage for a meeting with a member of the village chief’s household that ends up being less than half an hour long, and then has to change back into works clothes to shoe the chief’s favorite horse. Blackberry softens to the saddle and then the halter. Haite tries to beat him at target practice with a sling and he defeats her handily—then she starts throwing pebbles at him and he picks her up to sling her over his shoulder while Mitya cackles and eggs them on from the doorway. Mitya’s eyes are going now but she’s the one who taught them both, and unbidden his mind goes back to those early days where he was a hulking shadow behind her. Even sick he was wary, probably because of whatever attacked him before, and once he got the feeling back in his hands Rook was a pretty damn good hunter.

Still is, of course, but not really how they make their living anymore.

Nudge keeps trying to smother him in his sleep. Canta almost gets them in mediation with a leather worker when she tries to haggle below politeness and the man gets offended. Mitya and Rook quietly wait for news of the next Gerudo traders, hoping for someone rich enough to take away the gold rupee burning a hole in the wall. And then about five days after the two men leave Rook is working in the stable when he hears the sound of someone riding at speed.

The stables are designed to be seen from far away, and there’s only one place that riders will go. Still, he’s curious and he goes outside to look.

The rider has sheikah clothing. Traditional shiekah clothing, high quality fabric with veil and hood. Rook steps out, waiting for the man to stop and dismount but he rides straight on. Rook turns to watch him go. After a moment of indecision he steps inside and goes to find Canta.

She heard the hooves too, glanced over when he left, but seeing him come back with no rider and whatever his body language is showing she straightens up.

Sheikah rider Rook signs at her, Went straight to the center of town.

Canta nods, impassable. “Watch the barn. I’ll go.”

Rook tamps down his curiosity. Canta is the stablemaster it makes sense for her to be the one to go. He almost makes the sign for Stay Safe but making the gesture in the calmness of Hateno feels wrong somehow. He simply nods.

She leaves as Hal comes out to watch, confused and then shocked when he sees Rook make the sign for ‘Sheikah’.

“Are we safe?” the boy blurts out once she’s out of earshot. Rook is a little startled at the question.

Why would we not be safe? He asks the boy who flushes.

“They’re—you know. Calamity people” he half mumbles the phrase, something he probably overheard from his father.

They maintain historic artifacts. They don’t have anything to do with the Calamity. Rook tells him, struggling to keep his irritation at the old argument out of his hands. Shiekah aren’t any different from any of the other races, and this is one superstition he doesn’t hold with.

But this does mean that something is happening in Kakoriko. Rook tells him.

“The blood moon just happened, do you think they got overrun” Hal asks, voice rising in horror.

Rook actually laughs at that and shakes his head. Most likely stores got destroyed or something big moved into their area. Normally they would send a Hylian to Hateno, so its a curiosity. Nothing more. Probably a scout from a traditional family.

Rook doesn’t want to feed any more strange ideas about the Sheikah, he switches to business talk. It means we’ll have at least one more when the trader brings his horse back and probably two. Go and prepare the stalls just in case.

Hal leaves, casting a doubtful eye after the strangers. Rook regrets bringing it up at all now. A Sheikah riding doesn’t mean anything except that one Sheikah had somewhere to be. He goes to mind his own affairs.

Its at most an hour later when he hears the sound of far more than two horses coming from the same direction. This time Hal comes out with him and the two go to look and see what is coming.

The horses are going slowly, walking down the center of the road. This far away he can see the red and blue of their clothes, and the way they’re circled around a cart being drawn in the center. There are tassels on the tack, but Rook can see the glint of metal at their hips. Formal wear, but strongly armed and this many must have all come straight from Kakoriko. In the front, on a brown steed is a man in metal armor, glinting in the light. Time stands out oddly against the colored cloth of the Sheikah. Rook can’t see Twilight but he’s more concerned about why the hell a group of Sheikah is leading what seems to be a caravan.

There’s sound from further in the village and Rook turns back around to stare at the sight of the village chief striding down the road, with his own entourage behind. Canta was following behind but she pulls away from the group and heads over to the stable.

“Kakoriko sent their village elder and no one knows why” she says without preamble. “At least half of them are going to need to stable with the chief, we’ll be taking the overflow. You two: go and get every open spot ready.”

Rook nods, casting another glance at the procession before turning to get started. Politics is other people’s jobs. His is horses.

Chapter Text

The sudden arrival of Kakoriko’s elder falls on Hateno like heavy rain on a chicken coop. The market shuts down early, everyone finding excuses to hang by the chief’s house and gossip. The caravan with the elder heads straight to the complex and the stable takes six horses from the escort. Rook wouldn’t be surprised if the chief sends his own horses to the public stable in order to make room for the guests, so they’re preparing for that. Apparently Mitya is staying at home like a smart women (which he finds out when his sister bounces through the crowd to give him the latest gossip. Mitya hates crowds almost as much as Haite loves them.)

At some point in the early afternoon Rook’s prediction proves right when the Chief sends two extra horses to the public stable and then he’s too busy to do more than throw a smile in Haite’s direction when he spots her across the way. It’s well into dusk by the time everyone is settled and he can finally take his aching bones away from the overcrowded barn to make his way home to sleep.

It isn’t until he leaves that he realizes that Time didn’t bring Epona back. Rook tries not to feel insulted that Time chose to stable his horse with the Chief. Its not a snub, its an honor to be stabled with the Chief—he is not working right now, this isn’t his concern. Rook huffs a breath. He has horses on the brain.

He takes off his work apron and folds it, before storing it and rewrapping his face. Some of the horses get a bit panicky when someone walks in with a veil, he usually keeps it off around animals. With that they day is over and he can step out into the fading light of an early evening, sucking in the smell of air that doesn’t reek of the stable.

He’s not much better than the stable residents right now, drained of everything but ‘food’ and ‘sleep.’ He even spooks a little at the sound of a voice from nearby, wildly turning to see the person who was standing so close to him without noticing.

“Um good evening?” It’s Twilight, looking sheepish. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Long day. Rook signs at him, fingers fumbling a bit. Twilight stares. Right he can’t read sign. Rook tilts his head, hoping to land on inquisitive instead of hostile.

“Um” Twilight says, shuffling in place. He looks like a lost child trying to find his way home and he sounds like he hasn’t spoken in days. His voice is rough. Its kind of funny, they match. “Um I was trying to follow my brothers trail—like, foot trail. Hoof trail. Because we split up. On the ride. And I.” He looks like he gives up trying to explain whatever he’s trying to explain. “They’re not at the inn or the Ancient Laboratory, have you seen them.”

Rook points a finger up the hill towards the chief’s house. Twilight looks baffled. “Chief’s house” Rook says. Twilight nods, still looking mystified. Rook sighs and makes a ‘come’ gesture. What the hell. He’s going to pass out before his body fully hits the pillow, an extra three minutes on his feet won’t hurt. He’s spent all damned day running around for other people anyway and apparently these kids are in with the Chief now. Might as well kiss up to them for a bit longer. Twilight falls behind as he walks towards the hall that the whole procession went towards.

Rook spares a thought for what they’re doing in there. Probably ceremonial dinner of some type. That kind of thing isn’t for Rook or his family. Although Haite might be able to pull off a Chief’s hat. Pull it off and burn it. Then she would likely remake it in some avant garde style that everyone would hate. What kind of food do the Sheikah make? He’s been to Kakoriko but every dish he’s ever eaten there has fled his mind. Eggs? They have eggs in Kakoriko. Durian? Eggs and durian sounds awful.

Goddess in the sky he’s tired.

“Are you alright. You’re uh, kind of-” Twilight says behind him, breaking off in the middle to clear his throat.

“Long day” Rook croaks, matching his wrecked voice. He grins and looks behind. “We match” tapping his throat to indicate the rasping voice. Twilight smiles at that.

“I was traveling on my own for a while.” the other man says quietly. “Keeping an eye for Time. And for our brothers.”

Rook nods and asks: “Any luck?” but he knows the answer. If he had found them he wouldn’t be alone right now.

“No.” Twilight says. The two of them keep walking but Twilight doesn’t seem to have anything to add. Rook hopes for his sake that his brothers are safe.

When they get to the Chief’s house there are two men in Sheikah clothing standing guard by the door. As the two men approach one of them lays a hand clearly on his hip. Rook can’t see what it is but he gets the threat. He lifts his hands and half bows.

“Show your face.” The guard snaps. Rook raises an eyebrow where the man can’t see. Both of the guards are wearing Sheikah veils. Hypocrites. As Twilight steps aside and pushes his own cloak down, Rook unwinds the thin blue cloth of the cowl.

Well to be fair to them, his cowl is more of a makeshift wrap and it looks more like a bandit cover than whatever important symbolism the Sheikah warriors bear. Plus they have all their rules about when and who you show your face to.

He loosens the scarf enough to show part of the scarring, normally enough to get the point across.

One of the guards jerks, like he’s seen a monster and not a man with severe burns across his face. Rook tries not to take it personally. The other one manages to hide his disgust a little better. If they were anyone but armed warriors Rook would probably make a comment about it but he doesn’t want to get stabbed. He lets it lie. Twilight steps forward to walk in and the guards block him.

“Stop.” one of the shiekah say, raising their voice at the other man. “What’s your business here.”

“I’m with the others.” Twilight says, incredibly unhelpfully. Rook sighs and the guards puff up even more. Rook decides to leave him to it and steps back to rewrap his face and head home

“The walls are shut, the elders are convening.” the older looking one says to Twilight. “Go home.”

I’m trying, Rook signs to himself, down where they can’t see.

“You can tell them that Twilight is here.”

They cast doubtful looks but one of them turns to beckon a servant up to pass the message along. Rook glances at Twilight before he walks away, and gives him the sign for Luck. Twilight stares blankly back and then one of the Sheikah guards wildly overreacts by drawing a sickle blade from his hip.

“What is going on here” he says with deep suspicion. “What exactly are you trying to signal.”

Goddess save them from overzealous young soldiers.

“Hand sign” Rook croaks, “I said good luck.”

“Who are you.” the guard snaps at Rook.

Rook gestures at the stable uniform that he’s still fucking wearing. After a moment he adds, helpfully: “Stablehand.”

The guard looks like he doesn’t believe him, which is fine. Rook has dealt with worse. But of course Twilight steps in, suddenly defensive and unexpectedly sharp.

“He’s a friend of mine and I’m one of your guests.”

“That is up for debate, right now you’re causing a disturbance.” The guard snaps back. Rook resists the urge to roll his eyes, while the two men glare at each other like dogs on a carcass. In this metaphor he’s the carcass.

“Twilight.” He rasps, but unfortunately not loud enough to be heard over the guard and he’s not stepping any closer to this fight. Twilight is the soldier. Rook mentally shakes the conversation off his hands and turns to walk away as the two men bicker behind him. Well its sweet of the boy to care.

“Where do you think you’re going” the guard says and then Twilight says “Leave him alone.” and yes, Rook is getting the fuck out of this fight, except then one of the chief’s cousins show up saying “What is the meaning of this?”

Rook sighs and turns around to see what exactly is going on now. It’s some second cousin or other of Reede who came out of the woodwork when Reede became chief. He has absolutely no idea what her name is, that’s all from old gossip before they came to Hateno. She’s puffed up with importance as she bustles down to escalate the already stupid argument even stupider.

He waves a hand at her, careful to make sure she sees the greeting. Twilight speaks before the guard can, and before Rook can make yet another attempt to leave. “Is this your guard?”

“Excuse me-”

“Who do you-”

“No.” she sniffs over their indignation. “They’re our honored guests.”

“Well I think I am too.” Twilight says boldly and then fumbles, visibly wilting. “Um I think. Are the others here?”

“Lady Hateno, he’s with the traders” Rook rasps out, raising his voice enough that she catches it. Her eyes go towards him and then glance away.

“Thank you hostler” she says. Three years and she doesn’t even know his name. He was at the house last week. Typical.

“You know this man?” one of the guards says.

“Of course. He’s our groom.”

That’s overstating the fucking case. He signs to no one in particular, because seriously. Its not the time or place, but he does not work for her.

“Then where is his uniform.”

Before she can try and get him into chief’s colors and keep him working in their stable Rook cuts in. “Public stable, not private.”

Between the exhaustion and the throat injury he doesn’t think it comes out right. They stare at him. “I work for Hateno.” he tries instead.

“What happened to you” the other guard asks and Rook was ready to go home ten minutes ago.

“Bothered a blacksmith. Lit me on fire. Need me for anything?” the last directed at the chief’s cousin.

Of course she sniffs and says “Don’t be ridiculous” to him and “it was a house fire.” to the guards because apparently the whole town knows his business. Then to make his evening better she turns back to him and adds “I need you to take another mount back to the stable.”

He nods, sighing internally and mentally adds another forty minutes before he can go home as he makes to follow after her. She sweeps around, her robes picking up a little dust line at the hem that quietly cheers him. The Sheikah look after him with deep suspicion, Twilight trailing behind like he’s trying to sneak in without anyone noticing.

“Your brothers are in the reading garden” she throws over her shoulder to Twilight as she strides away and Rook rolls his eyes. ‘Reading garden.’ Absurd. They only have one garden, its a family compound not a damned castle. “They’re with the elder Sheikah and our Chief.”

“Who’s the elder Shiekah?” Twilight asks. She answers with a ‘hmph’ of disdain and a cool “I’m sure your brothers will explain with the rest of your business, those concerns are beyond me.”

Rook trots after her and keeps his opinions inside himself. The sooner this is over the sooner he can go home.

He was in the compound a few days ago, meeting some minor family member long enough for courtesy and then moved to the stables where the actual job details could be passed along. The house is a daub box from the road, with the doors opening into a dim and paneled interior, even more dim and paneled now with the full dusk. The entrance hallway stretches back with great pomp, flickers of candlelight flicking off hints of some polished something, and the woven matts on the floor swallowing the darkness. Rook takes a second to stare down at the flecks of light, letting his eyes rest while the relative shifts a hanging cloth aside to usher them into the familiar smoky hallway that heads back towards the kitchen and the cleaning spaces. She only steps inside long enough to hail a young women in navy with a flap of the hand and directions to send them both. Then she’s back to the nice side of the curtain, no doubt soothing her ego with fine cloth and polished wood. The servant girl silently beckons them, looking harried.

Rook half-bows, making sure she gets that he’s thanking her. She softens a bit, bowing back before turning and walking away at speed. He gives her the courtesy of keeping up. He can only imagine how much work they’re doing right now. They slide down the hall to a rear door, stepping aside at the steady trickle of servants flowing in with half-eaten food and out with drinks. No doubt mead, or something equally clear and potent. And expensive. The Chieftan of Hateno Village would never be caught dead pouring a spiced beer into a bowl for his guests. He can hear Twilight following meekly behind them as they keep moving.

Out of the hall, and they’ve set up screens in the garden, trying to create a facade as a backdrop and hide the furious activity behind them. The woman in blue slips up and whispers something to someone else, who slips in front of the screen and then someone else comes back after a moment and there’s more whispering before a young man is corralled to slide back the paneling and make an introduction to the backlit splendor of the party.

Rook can’t see anything of the group, just a cluster of dark figures who must be the guests and more looming around the edges who must be the guards as the male servant speaks.

“Master, an honored guest has arrived.”

There’s a cackle from one of the figures as the two of them are bundled in with a small clump of servants. He stays behind while Twilight makes his awkward introductions.

“Ah” a voice creaks, cutting the ceremony blessedly short. “Which of them are you then?”

There’s a long pause. After a moment Twilight jumps and speaks. “Oh! I’m Twilight, uh. Ma’am?”

“He is one of the brothers I was telling you about.” Time’s voice cuts in, smooth and easy. Rook’s eyes are adjusting. They have lanterns spread across the table and a glass bulb of the bluefire light that they make in the Ancient Laboratory. The room is fully lit, the chief seated on one end of the table and Elder Kakoriko seated on the other. She looks like a small hill of fabric with relatives buzzing around her. The travelers are seated at the other places.

“And what about the other one? Come here boy, don’t you know its rude to hide your face.” the small hill of fabric says, gesturing at him.

Once again Rook looks over at the guards in their veils and cowls, but people with swords are allowed to be hypocrites. He steps forward to the edge of the light, bowing and speaking to the ground. He catches a very small sigh from the servant who brought him in. With any luck this conversation will be short and he can go grab the horses and move them.

“Honored elder. I am a stablehand. I veil my scars. I mean no disrespect.” he nearly chokes on the words but it gets out only mostly rasped. He leaves the wrap on, the lights are driving into his eyes like arrows.

“Oh and I’m such a beauty myself” the elder says, cackling. “Show me anyway. I trust a stable boy more than anyone else here to tell me what I need to know.”

Ah to be a woman of such power that she can insult everyone around her so blatantly. Rook sighs and straightens up, unwrapping his scarf for the third time this evening. Its still loose so he just gives up and lets it fall back, laying in a circle around his throat and leaving the scars on his scalp and face open.

The elder jerks back like she’s been struck. Rook keeps his irritation internal. The sweat from his work and the breeze draw a line down his face like a finger, the right side cool and the left side a void.

He’s being deliberately shocking. The skin on the left side is silvered down from his jaw to throat, snaking lines crawling up and into his hair. The eye was saved at least, but not the skin, some miracle he doesn’t understand. In the light of the fire the scars will reflect, throwing back a shine that healthy skin doesn’t. They want to see it, they get it. He’s not ashamed, he covers it so people won’t act the fool around him.

“Goddess above, Link?” the elder says, making as much sense as anything else that’s happened today.

Every one of the travelers looks over at her. It reminds Rook of the way hunting dogs look at the horsemaster. He bows again, hoping that whatever this is doesn’t require him.

“I apologize for the disrespect Elder Kakoriko” he says as blandly as he can.

The elder jerks to her feet suddenly, almost falling over before some younger relative leaps up and grabs her arm. She’s unsteady but direct, striding straight towards him.

She says something in Sheikah. Her dialect is thick and his vocabulary is functional at best. The only word he gets is ‘you’ and ‘yours.’ Everyone is watching the interaction closely. He stays silent, not drawing any more of whatever this is. The eyes of powerful people are laying on him right now. Rook isn’t a fool, so he won’t run. But this is dangerous.

She says something again. Then she gestures and starts insistently repeating a phrase. He’s not sure what to do. He doesn’t understand her, or what’s happening, and he doesn’t want to risk insulting her in a room with all of her friends and none of his. He stays blank and silent.

“Impah” the voice is startlingly high, young and piping. For the first time Rook notices Purah in the room, the little girl dressed in her finery and oddly out of place among the mighty figures in the room. She slips off her seat, trotting towards the elder with grave affect. She says something in Sheikah back, startling from the mouth of a child. The elder huffs and speaks in Hylian.

“Do you know me” she says shortly.

“You are the honored Elder. Of our sister village.” Rook forces out carefully. He’s trying not to be obvious but he’s keeping an eye on the scouts in the room. And the travelers, because he’s seen them fight and won’t ignore that threat either.

“What’s your name?” Purah pipes at him and he looks down as she strides in front of him, folding her arms.

“Rook, little sister.” he tells her.

“Rook? That’s a bird” she says. He nods idly while she assuages her curiosity and keeps an eye. “Where are you from Rook?”

“Lake region.”

“The castle.” the older woman says sharply. “Or the plateau?”

Neither. “Lake reg-” he begins again and half chokes on the word. His throat catches and he has to swallow hard, holding breath for a second before he chokes. Both of them lean forward, staring at him. Its incredibly disrespectful to use sign language around an elder but if they want him to actually communicate then they can suck it up.

Lake region, by the stable. He says with his hands. He half bows an apology, tapping his throat for explanation.

The chief’s cousin speaks, pleased to provide information. “Rook is a mute. He speaks with his hands.”

How can he be mute if he just spoke. The elder looks at him.

“Not very mute if you can talk. Still, I know enough to get by. You said by the stable?”

Yes elder.

“Don’t give me that nonsense. Where are you from?” she snaps again. The scouts at the corner of the room are watching him.

Hyrule lake, Outskirt stable. I came to Hateno with my family three years ago. He offers her.

“Where did they find you? Who are they?” she snaps and the room sharpens. She won’t have Mitya or Haite. He keeps his hands low, face blank. He doesn’t answer. If this escalates, he hopes someone will warn them.

“Impah” Time speaks now, and the quiet predator in his voice has never been more present.  “Leave him alone. He's innocent to all this.”

“He’s no innocent.” the Elder says. “That one is ours, back from the damned dead. And I want to know how.”

The eyes go back to him. Purah walks up to his hip and circles around him, evaluating him like a fucking horse. He resists the urge to kick.

“You said he died.” Time, in the tone of someone trying to deescalate. Maybe Rook does have something of a friend in the room right now. Or at least a soldier with a conscience. “You were very clear about that.”

“Well clearly he’s not” Purah says from his hip and Rook jumps as she pokes him in the thigh. That’s enough, he turns to grab her hand and move her away from him.

Enough, little sister. He signs at her, with the hand that’s not holding onto a wrist, before gently letting her go. She puffs up with indignation and then suddenly seems to deflate.

“You don’t know. Alright. Do you know who I am?”

You live on the hill in the laboratory. He tells her. She nods.

“Mm, okay. I expected some of this...but this is very unexpected. You have scarring, where did it come from?”

House fire. He tells her before looking up and back to the Elder who’s still peering into his face.

“Everybody get out of the room.” She says suddenly and with force.

Chapter Text

Rook assumes she meant it metaphorically, but several of the servants seem to thinks she wants the room clear and slide out, leaving the woman who lead him in and another man that Rook thinks is part of the chief’s family. The guards stay of course and the Hateno Chief looks over at the Elder with bemusement. He’s a man of few words, which is normally something Rook would appreciate but its letting Kakoriko run roughshod over himself specifically while the Chief watches and waits for the apt time to speak.

So be it, he’s no one and not worth angering the sister village over.

“Elder” Chief Reede begins, leader of Hateno, slow and steady as the cattle he manages. “Might you explain yourself?”

The Elder is old and powerful, so she doesn’t have to bow down and apologize, but she does incline her head faintly, a more deferent gesture than Rook expected. He half turns to leave, and changes his mind when one of the travelers straightens up at his movement. Its barely a flicker from both of them, but the silent conversation is clear. He stays put.

“Ah. Reede, this young man and I have met before. In fact I believe we have business that we need to conclude.” she says. She’s leaning on a cane, and even standing barely reaches Rook’s collarbone. The two younger women who flank her stare over at Rook. He leaves his cowl down, and ignores the feeling of being naked in the room. Everyone is staring at him, at the skin on his face.

He feel like a cow being inspected, as the eyes crawl over him. Property and not a person.

He’s not a person to them, he chastises himself. The powerful don’t care about the little people. He’s just a hostler and the Elder wants him for something. His hands tense, but he keeps them down. He has nothing to say that they’ll listen to—well actually he has one thing to say.

“Sir” Rook rasps, inclining his head towards the Chief before straightening up and lifting his hands to speak. He keeps his face tilted respectfully down, but talking with hands has to be done upright. It’s not exact protocol, but Reede has always been understanding.

Sir, if the Elder requires me, may I suggest another aide for your stable? Rook signs carefully. Reede nods, and gestures the servant still in the room towards Rook, barely even glancing over as he responds to the Elder

“I see. Rook is a citizen of ours, and I have responsibility for him-”

The servant slides up to him and looks over, sotto voice so as not to interrupt the Chief. “Should I send someone to the stable?”

He hesitates for a second before deciding. If there’s need of hands, send to Mitya. She’s the smith at the edge of town. You can tell her that Rook was called into audience by the Elder and ask her to fill in my work until I return.

She nods, looking sympathetic and a little pitying at the instruction.

Mitya is more steady than Haite, and less likely to try and do something ill-advised like come to the compound and try to talk to him. She’s also got instinct for danger that a wild rabbit would envy, and knows people. Hopefully she can figure something out of this mess.

“I’ll send a boy” the servant says over his musing, he bows with a fist to his chest, the same deference he showed to the Chief. She nods, taking his gratitude and slipping away. That’s one fewer friendly face then, as he goes back to the conversation.

“I assure you” the Elder says, “That he has neither wronged me, nor offended me. I hope you understand when I say that this is a matter of ancient history, and I must ask you to give me a moment of his time.”

Warriors of all people cuts in: “Why are you speaking as though he can’t hear you.”

Reede responds with a tone of paternal indulgence.

“Ah, I know how odd the customs of foreign countries must seem. I wish to ensure that my citizen here has not commited any crime that I have failed to address, and that our sister village has no mark against us.”

Ah the bountiful compassion and open hearts of the Hateno. Truly Rook is blessed to have a Chief so ready to believe the worst of him and turn him over to armed guards. He can’t blame him though. If it comes down to an immigrant hostler or the leader of the Ancient and Noble Sheikah, Elder of Kakoriko Village, half of the Hylian syzygy?

Well, Rook knows his own value.

“If anything” the Elder assures the room, “It is a matter of acknowledging a great service he has performed for us and our village.”

“Every village, to be precise” Purah pipes up. She’s scribbling on a pad, head down and sounds half distracted.

“Might I trouble you for a few moments alone with him?” the Elder asks the Chief who makes a gesture of magnanimous indifference and shrugs.

“If you wish for a private room, there is still the office. Do you remember the way?”

“I may be old, but I am not senile” the Elder says with a cracking laugh and begins her slow march towards a curtain. One of the attendants darts forward, offering an arm, the other slips up to hold open the curtain. Rook hesitates, but one of the guards politely steps forward and gestures him ahead of them. Reede is staring at him, no doubt trying to remember anything at all about Rook besides the fact that he’s someone who sometimes shows up to shoe the horses. From the wrinkle in his brow, he’s failing to come up with anything.

If the servant sent the runner, Mitya will know to be careful, he thinks forcefully. His family is probably safe.

He doesn’t pray as he falls into line. The Goddess is enough of a problem, he doesn’t want any more attention here than there already is. Behind him he hears the scolding tone of Purah as she badgers the travelers into joining. The child has a strange amount of sway.

-

Elder Kakoriko seats herself on a cushion and waves away the hands of the relatives circling around her. She’s slow but spry in her way. Then there’s a barked “Leave us.” and Rook watches the people flow out, first the relatives, then the Sheikah guard. The travelers and Purah both stay, the guard seemingly unconcerned about leaving their government guarded by strangers and a child. Rook walks forward, keeping his shoulders down as the travelers all find places to stand or lean around the edges of the room. The Elder seats, the sun at the heart of this world, and Purah flits past him with a large clinking bag, to start pulling out strange devices onto a table. He stands in front of the Elder, as though he’s providing a statement. Which he very well might be.

It feels like a trial.

“This must be strange for you.”

The elders voice rasps into the air, starting off whatever this is. Rook looks over at her. She’s mastered herself from the agitation of earlier, but he doesn’t know if it will hold.

“Do you know who I am?” the elder asks again.

You are Elder Kakoriko. Rook tells her carefully, hands lifted and keeping them slow . You lead the Sheikah.

“Do you know my name?”

He shakes his head carefully. He knows Chief Reede’s name because they live in the same town, this woman is just Elder Kakoriko. She sighs.

“I am Impah. I am over a hundred years old, older than the Calamity. Old enough to remember the face of the champion. I know who you are, or at least who you look like. What is your name?”

Shiekah can live a long time, but he feels a slight chill. She’s seen the world alive, and seen it die. He’s standing in the room with history. And the history seems to be trying to attach itself to him? Rook signs his name again.

He had half thought the Champion was a metaphor for the soldiers who laid their lives down. A legend. She says it as though it was a real person though, a singular man that Rook can resemble. Maybe the Champion of the Princess? He was certainly real, a guard with flesh and blood. Rook doesn’t know anything about them or the family though.

“Got it!” Purah cries out and then suddenly hops over, holding something incredibly odd. Its made of dark stone with paler detailing and a panel of something sleek on one side. “Alrighty! This should be attuned so if you just hold it right here and tap right here, and then it should give us the data we need-” she shoves the thing at him. He takes a half step back.

Little sister hold. He tells her.

“You know its very rude to call your elder ‘little sister’” Purah tells him sharply.

He looks down at the little girl scowling up at him. My apologies. He tells her with restrained irony.

“What is that?” comes half whispered from the corner where Twilight is sitting. Purah looks over.

“It’s the Slate.” she says, rocking back on her heels as she speaks and looking down into her hands “It was supposed to help him when he awoke, but it was left behind after whatever happened. Rook”

He looks at her.

“This is a very odd request, but can you hold this for me. Its attuned to. Well. A friend of mine if we’re going to play along with this, but its meant for one person. I need to know if its for you. Please hold it?” she asks and pushes it at him again.

She isn’t talking like a child. Out of everything else today, this is the moment where it finally strikes him how far away he’s gone from normal, looking at a small child with the eyes of an ancient. He holds out his hand for whatever this is.

She hands over the stone, far lighter than it looks. There’s an etched handle on one side, he wraps his fingers carefully around it and lifts. The sleek screen looks like some kind of glass—and then it lights up with the pale blue of antique tech, making him jump. Purah lets out a breath.

“Blast it.” There’s a detail on it, a stylized eye in sheikah style, flashing. He offers it back to her, she takes it and starts tapping on the glass like a bird. After a moment she sighs.

“You are him.” she Rook accusingly. He nods carefully. Sure.

“Do you want the sword?” Sky says and Rook goes absolutely cold. This is it then.

The words seem to be coming to him from the other side of the ocean as he hears “Well now we know the fingerprints match, and the face as well. No need I think.” from Purah.

“I was hoping my eyes were wrong.” the elder says, shifting her hands on her knees. “The goddess has a strange sense of humor doesn’t she.”

Well at least they agree on that.

“Okay.” Time again. “The Slate is attuned to the champion then?”

“I programmed it for him, for when he wakes.” Purah says. She sounds almost sad, looking down into the toy she’s holding. “Its quite sophisticated you know, quite a few little tricks we can use—but that’s the easiest way. Impah.” she seems to snap back, sharpening and trotting over to pick up a notebook on the table. “Let me interview please-”

“Act your age.” the elder snaps. Purah giggles.

“Oh but this is so much more fun, big sister. Hm” she taps her pen on her chin, arms folded as she looks over at him. “Now where should I start?”

“Why don’t you explain the shrine again. This one hasn’t heard of it” Impah says.

“Begin at the beginning then.” Purah says. She flips open her notebook, seeming to look for something specific as she talks.

“Well this is known to you, but for our strangers: this kingdom was overrun by the monster Calamity Ganon, an avatar of malice. One hundred and five years ago, almost exactly. The Hylian kingdoms resurrected ancient technology in preparation for the fight, but the corruption infected the technology and gave the power back to Ganon. So when our champion tried to fight back he was killed by an ancient guardian-”

“The princess was with him.” the elder interjects. “She survived and destroyed the guardian after he was downed. The body was recovered at least, and she was unharmed in the fight. But he was slain.”

“And he was perfect too.” Purah says plaintively. “He was a knight of the crown” Purah keeps going, folding her book up to tick off a list on her fingertips. “Chosen from birth, marked by auspicious characteristics and selected by the goddess. Genius with a sword, master archer, skilled horseman, victorious in battle, devoted to the goddess.. We stacked the deck as much as we could. The priests absolutely loved him. Everyone loved him.”

“It was nauseating honestly.” she says with a wrinkled nose. “He was exhausting to be around. Too perfect by half. We certainly never thought he would fall.”

“Were you there?” Time asks Purah. She nods.

“Yes I was one of the Sheikah-oh.” she turns to Rook. “I’m the same age as Impah. Not a child, I just look like one. It’s a long story. Anyway, the Champion fell and we were all in shock. Because he had to be the one to win. And without him? Well.”

She puffs up her cheeks and mimes an explosion with her hands. It’s evocative.

“And then you put him in your magic shrine that brought him back to life” Warriors says, cutting in impatiently. “And you were real clear that it didn’t work so what are you on about?”

“It wasn’t magic it was science!” she says indignantly. “And it didn’t bring him back to life, it was a piece of incredibly sophisticated ancient tech that maintained stasis and allowed tissue regrowth. Let me explain the full story.”

“It wasn’t fully tested but the princess had been working on it and she insisted that we place him within it. She was going to hold off the forces at the castle, for as long as it took him to wake.”

Impah and Purah glance at each other, sharing a grief. Purah keeps going. “Her father was killed, the kingdom fallen. A weaker woman would have simply laid down-”

“No.” the elder speaks now, interrupting Purah. “She was told her whole life was just a sacrifice for greater powers. She was doing what she had been told to do. She wasn’t grieving Purah, she was a soldier and she followed her orders.”

“You saw her eyes, sister.” Purah says. She looks down, as though she needs to look away from the eyes of the princess in her memory. “She was committing suicide.”

“She was.” the elder concedes. “We were all so twisted up in the narrative by then though, how much of it was really her choice?”

“Look at us old birds” Purah chuckles softly, “Circling over ancient history.”

She looks back at Rook. “The point is that the princess went to hold back Ganon at the castle while we went to go put our champion back together.”

“Put him back together? How badly was he hurt? I thought you said it was a fatal wound?” Sky asks. Rook keeps his silent vigil, words bouncing around him.

“Well he was down a lung, half a jaw and an eye. So pretty fatal” Purah says.

“Half a jaw? How the hell—“

“You could have told us this when you learned about us” Time cuts in.

“We told you our champion was dead.” Purah snaps at him. “I didn’t think you wanted the details about exactly which organs we had to regrow. The shrine was to help keep him in stasis, so we could put the tissues back in and let him regrow the damage. It was a horrorshow, Time.” she tells him curtly. “I have no desire to relive that day. He died. We placed him in the shrine, and put him away for exactly one hundred years, at which point he would awaken and be ready to take the sword up again.”

“One hundred years? Why so long.”

“Because-” she stalls and then sighs. “He needed to be as fully healed as the shrine could get him, if he died again I don’t know that we could save him. It had a maximum setting of one hundred years, and I had no idea what we were doing.” after a moment she says “I guessed” in a quieter voice.

“We gambled the world on one man.” the elder says. “The only one who could kill Ganon and he was charred meat at our feet. Wait a hundred years to see him win, or wait ten to watch him die and wait for the next reincarnation. We chose the path of caution.”

“Let me tell the story.” Purah says. “So we put the Champion in and we set it so he should wake in one hundred years. And one hundred years pass, we get everything ready, we wait and wait and wait and-!”

She claps her hands and then spreads them out, empty air between her palms.

“Nothing.”

She lowers her hands. “One year goes by and the champion doesn’t find us. Well maybe he’s slow. So two years go by, nothing. And the third year comes and something must be wrong. So we go to the Plateau, go to the shrine.”

“The door was broken open.” the elder interrupts quietly. “The stones were shattered. And when we went inside there were bones. And not just his bones.”

“We don’t know what happened.” Purah says softly. “But someone found the shrine to break it open. And our champion died a second time. Alone.”

There’s a pause.

“You expected him to rise again after a hundred years?” Four this time.

“He has.” Purah says, very simply.

The eyes of the room fall on Rook. He swallows. Its not a trial. It’s a recruitment.

“Child” the elder speaks again, almost coaxing. “Tell me what you remember.”

It takes a moment but he lifts his hands. I don’t remember that.

“In the market-” Four suddenly speaks up and then stops. Rook is so fucking stupid. “You said that your family found you at the base of the Plateau.” Four finishes quietly. Rook closes his eyes and clenches his hands.

“When was this?”

Ten years ago now. Five years before the champion was supposed to wake. according to Purah.

How old was the Champion when he fell. Rook signs at Purah. If his hands shake with his heartbeat, they’ll forgive him.

“Eighteen years.” Purah says. He thinks of Haite, seventeen years old, being given a sword and told to kill the corruption at the center of the world.

Did anyone survive him? Family, child, lover?

Purah and the elder look at each other.

“The only one he had was Zelda. He was raised in the castle. He might be an orphan, we never heard of any family”

Then why in the hells does it matter if you think I’m him or not. Rook tells her with hopeless finality.

“Because the champion can defeat Ganon-”

Clearly not. He gestures out of the door, indicating the whole of the corrupted world that he’s inherited.

“Zelda is still in the castle.” the elder says. “Her spirit is still fighting Ganon. For one hundred years she’s been fighting.”

Tragic. Sad. Terrible. That’s the way of the world though.

What exactly are you asking me for? Rook flicks his fingers a bit with the words, fear hiding under anger.

“Nothing.” Purah speaks, almost soothing. “We just want to know what’s going on.”

So does he.

“Just—do you remember your mother?” Purah asks. He flinches slightly. It’s answer enough, but he’s not giving them any information about the family he has. He keeps his face blank and his shoulders straight.

You think I’m the champion reborn. He signs in lieu of answering that question.

“I know you are.” Impah says. “You are Link, Champion of the Goddess-”

Bells ring and the priestess lays a circlet on him, the spots of light from the sun blind him to the watching council. “Champion of the Goddess” she begins, starting the ceremony that will make him a knight.

No.

Rook is standing in the Chief’s office. Voices are circling around him. He can’t even begin to care, to listen. He hears bells, he hears bells, but there aren’t any. Not brass, not like the ones he’s hearing. He hears bells and the voices of people who’ve etched out a slot for him, just his size.

He hears bells. He sees blond hair. It feels like he’s dreaming.

“We all have a part in this fight” the elder says. Impah, her name is Impah. Immortal Impah. “The corruption is in the water, in the air. Young man the world is dying.”

The world was dying yesterday. It will be dying tomorrow. He hears bells. He takes a breath and the wall of his chest aches with the motion. He looks at her.

He lifts his hand to respond and his eye catches on his own palm. The creases are darkened, leather oil mixing with sawdust and dirt and grinding into his skin. There’s a burn scar at the base of his thumb from when he first learned to smith.

He hears bells but he sees his history, solid and real.

What do you want from me? He says again, steadier now.

“We need our Champion back.” Impah says calmly. “We need the man who can stop Ganon.”

He died.

“He came back.”

I might have come from the shrine. I might not have. I don’t remember. Rook tells her. But I am not the man you’re looking for.

Impah sits silently for a moment and then rises, pushing herself up to her feet. There’s gravitas in the slow forceful way she forces herself to her full height and faces him.

“You are a coward.” she says, mincing no words. “If you have no interest in helping the world, then you truly aren’t the man you used to be.”

Rook wondered what Impah had been doing for the last hundred years, and why it wasn’t her responsibility to fix everything. In the interest of not provoking his own death he instead signs I’m sorry to disappoint you.

She snorts and began to seat herself again, creaking with age.

“He has a point” Four says, probably the only other person who actually followed that conversation. “Even if this is your Link, he’s several years out of practice. And Rook, it seems like the injuries weren’t fully healed? You said you were injured when they found you, if the shrine was damaged maybe something went wrong with the healing.”

Several years out of practice? At best a hundred years out of practice. There’s no kingdom, no knights and no temples of the Goddess, because the Calamity is one hundred years in the past and also he’s a fucking stablehand—

Several of the travelers straighten up, turning towards the door. Impah and Purah both look to the door, Rook glancing at the travelers first before they all hear a soft knock against the frame.

Twilight is closest to the door but stays put, looking around at the others. After a second Sky sighs and steps past him to open it himself.

“Good evening sir” Mitya says, bowing to the waist from the doorframe.

Rook isn’t sure whether he’s pathetically relieved to have someone else help him out of this mess or absolutely terrified that Mitya is joining this mess. Still facing the floor she speaks.

“I did not mean to interrupt, I was informed that my nephew was here.”

“Nephew?” Purah snaps out, whipping her head between the two of them.

Mitya straightens up. Her eyebrows raise a hair as she looks around the circle and then scans over Rook sharply. He thins his lips, a gesture small enough that other people won’t catch it but she will. She nods minutely. He lets out a slow breath. His aunt is here. A childish, wounded part of him thinks everything is okay now.

Mitya looks at Purah when she responds to the other woman’s question. “If you could spare him, I need to speak to him for a moment.”

“Come in and shut the door” Impah says.

“There is no need to waste your time” Mitya says calmly. “It will only be a moment.”

“Come in.” Impah orders.

“I will not impose on you.” Mitya says, still calm. She looks at Rook.

Rook considers the options and then makes the sign for armed-strangers, low and near his stomach. It’s one of the general trade signs, one-handed and clumsy but Mitya catches it and steps into the room with a bow. This is a dangerous room.

Sky steps away, closing the door but not getting between her and the exit. She strides up to Rook’s side.

“How long have you known him?” Purah asks, leaning forward.

“He is as a son to me.” Mitya says.

“Could I get that in a number of years?” Purah says.

Ten. Rook signs to get Purah off Mitya, and then decides to give up on caution and turns his body so Mitya can see both hands.

Aunt, have you ever believed me to be the return of the Hyrule Champion?

She looks like she’s going to laugh for a second but sobers at the energy in the room.

“Not that I have noticed.” she says, somewhat dryly. “And I would rather you not perish on the road to Calamity. Why is this in discussion”

“An old memory of mine.” Impah interjects. “I’ll concede that you’re not the same man who fell. Before I let you go I need you to answer one question for me, in truth and truth all-”

“Where did you come from?” Purah bursts out, practically bouncing in place. Mitya looks at Rook. He shrugs. Mitya speaks then.

“I’ll tell the story for him. My nephew was found at the foot of the Great Plateau. His mind was lost at the time. He was beyond words, and beyond memory. Whatever came before, I can’t tell you and neither can he. All I can say is that he was burned and it took him several years to regain his senses. The workers at the stable gave him medicine.”

“The Goddess fought hard to keep him” Mitya says “But I fought harder and he lived.”

“Where did the name Rook come from?” Purah asks. Mitya laughs, a little sudden. She looks at him, cocking an eyebrow. He sighs and answers.

My sister was around eight years when I learned to talk. She found it endlessly amusing that my voice was ragged and decided that I should be named after the rooks she heard cawing in the trees. Over time the name became more prescient, as I became a trader and began flying over Hyrule.

“Your sister?” Purah says.

“Haite was an orphan. I raised her.” Mitya’s voice has no room for argument. She looks at Impah. “I answered your question and more besides, Elder. If your word is true. May we leave?”

Impah sighs. “This was a wonderful waste of time. When you feel the need to return to sense, you may find me.” she tells Rook. “And I imagine we will have many fruitful conversations in the future. But tonight we are done here.”

-

Mitya stays behind him, standing between him and the rest of the room and only follows once he clears the door. He pulls his scarf back up the second they leave the room. There’s no point pretending that he’s not upset. Not with Mitya.

Exhaustion has burned out to a nervous energy. He feels light and shaky and cold, Mitya guarding his back.

She stops him with a touch to the arm when he makes to turn up the hill towards their house, halting him in the road.

“It may be wise to travel tonight” Mitya says softly. “A few days away.”

You think its that bad. Rook asks her. Or he tries to. His hands aren’t steady enough to curl in for ‘think ’ and he stops after a moment.

“Rook, for Hylia’s love I can’t see a damn thing right now.” Mitya says with humor. Right. It’s evening, the sky night-blue and the crickets slowing in number as the moon rises. He’s waving his hands around in the dark. She starts walking towards the stable and Rook is irrationally annoyed by how normal the town feels.

“Old eyes, bane of my existence. You’ll have to bear with me until we get to the stable and I can get a lantern.”

“You think its dangerous” he rasps. Mitya turns and smacks his shoulder sharply.

“How many times have I told you, don’t talk. You’ll burn out what’s left of your throat.”

“Important.” he says. She concedes with a sigh, thumping along the dusty path.

“Fair enough. What was that nonsense about the champion? And don’t get wordy, even if this is important.”

“I'm the champion who died in calamity. And I forgot.” Rook tells her. “Elder wants to get me back.”

“Well I wish you had told me this earlier, we could have charged more for your work.” Mitya says.

It’s not funny but he laughs, and once started he’s helpless to stop the gasping breaths. It hurts and in seconds it felt like his throat was closing but fuck if he could stop. Half bent over, covering his face Rook laughs hysterically at the sense of humor the universe has.

"Take a breath and sit" Mitya tells him, and when he doesn't react right away she grabs his arm and pulls him towards the side of the road He goes with the firm hold, sitting down hard in the dust. She crouches next to him and presses a hand against his jaw, the scarred side, with her fingers down near his throat.

"Breathe. It'll pass" she says, the way she always says, the way she said when he was crying and insane in the sick room.

He doesn't remember the Calamity. He remembers Mitya’s care. He remembers brusque words.

He gets his breath back and calms himself. It passes. It always passes. Mitya stands, knees clicking and extends a hand to him. When he gets up the light blurs out and he teeters on his feet.

“You’re in no condition to ride.” Mitya says. He shakes his head, and then speaks.

“Can ride. Tired.”

“You’re falling off your feet.” she tells him shortly.

I can ride. He signs at her. She can’t see anything beyond movement but he’s betting she’ll know what he’s saying.

“Weeping Goddess—alright. We are both going to ride up to the nearest campsite, you’re going to go the fuck to sleep and I’ll ride back and get the pack ready. Might as well get some use out of this and bring the travel kit, get some money.” Mitya says, sharp and fierce and direct. “Lurelin is probably the safest bet, and fisherman always need repairs. Lot of crystal to grab down there. You’ll ride south with the farrier kit, maybe hit Faron and then loop back. I’ll tell Canta family emergency, Haite can go stay with the dye-workers until this blows over and then you’ll come back in a few weeks. It’s not an ideal schedule, but we can work with this.”

“What about you” Rook rasps.

“I’ve seen worse than a group of fancy punks and an old woman who’s lost her mind.” Mitya says coolly. “I’ll stay in the house and work on the forge. I won’t be afraid of them, and neither should you. This is just to get their attention away. Most of the time religious obsessives will move on if you remove their target, they’ll find some other person to harass and forget about you. We’ll starve them out.”

It was solid, practical advice, that cemented this as a problem of the real world and not the nebulous golden dreaming that had gripped him in the Chief’s office. They would mount Snow and he would take a saddle blanket up to one of the campsites.

Things were always simpler on the road.

-

Rook awoke to the sound of his namesake, screeching in the trees. The blanket he’s under is damp, the air is cold and his hip aches with the ground underneath his hip. He feels like he’s run up a mountain.

He dreamed about a woman with gold hair. Of course it was only a dream.

Or not. Rook took a breath. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. He was cold and sore and two miles outside of Hateno. His face hurts.

He wanted to go back to sleep. He gets up instead.

Last night feels like melted wax, deformed and incoherent. Rook breathes deeply, and deliberately looks around the clearing, sharp in the gray pre-dawn light. Mitya left him with a saddle blanket and a water skin, riding back down. Her hands were warm on the reins, Rook seated behind her on Snow. He had laid his head on her back, rocked by the motion. She left him at the foot of an elm and rode back to Hateno.

The rooks in the trees are screaming alarm calls, mobbing up at some unlucky hawk that got too close to the rookery. He looks up and over, watching the sharp diving of the birds. They’ve treed it, circling and yelling.

It’s too fucking early.

Rook make a cursory attempt to beat the dew off the blanket before glancing around the clearing. The density of the trees tells him that Mitya took him to Midla woods, the wilder area on the south side of the road to Hateno. It’s less dangerous than the east woods, but he still unwinds the strip of leather looped into his belt, making sure his sling is closer to hand. He’ll look for stones on his way to the nearest stream.

Three stones for his pocket and the bracing ache of cold water start the day, Rook peeling his shirt off long enough to splash under his arms and his neck, before scrubbing the dirt in his hands away with the sand of the stream. The sky warms as the sun rises, until finally the light can fall on the water.

He pulls his shirt on and looks at the shards of light scattered off the water. It’s bright, piercing into his eyes.

He almost lifts a hand to send a good morning to the Goddess, his normal conversation starter for the day. But a sudden coldness stops him. He clenches his hands instead. The Goddess isn’t in the clearing with him. It’s cold and bright and he’s hungry.

I s he the Champion?

It doesn’t matter. He kneels down again forcefully. River stones are good ammunition, he can grab another couple for the sling. The cramping cold keeps him grounded.

Eventually the sound of hoofbeats on the road alert him, and Rook rises. Paranoia has him pad silently through the brush instead of making through the cleared way, watching through the breaks in the leaves to see down the road.

The pale light limns the lines of his aunt as she rocks on the back of Snowcap, the mountain of a horse holding the rough-hewn pillar of a woman. Coming down the road, dust puffs up, metal clinks and Rook smiles. She loaded up his farrier kit.

He steps out into the road, ambling towards them. Mitya lifts a hand lazily and Snow picks up a bit, trotting towards him to bump her head on him. She greets him with a nibble to his hair, while he rubs the side of her neck.

Mitya dismounts with a grunt and a sigh. She looks exhausted, and Rook swallows a moment of guilt.

Did you sleep at all last night? He asks her.

“You needed it more, don’t play martyr with me.” Mitya tells him curtly. Definitely didn’t sleep then. “And I’m going right back to bed as soon as I get back. Haite is furious by the way.”

Rook winces. What did she say?

“I don’t think the travelers are getting any discounts.” the restrained irony in her voice lets him know how loud the argument must have gotten. “She won’t do anything stupid though. And if she does I’m going to throw her into a river.”

Yes, Haite is known for her self-control.

“She’s seventeen, we have to make some allowances. You look awful, fix your hair.”

I slept in the woods, we have to make allowances. Did the Sheikah do anything?

“No. They stayed at the Chief’s. I think the travelers went back to the inn though, so watch for that.”

Not ideal.

Canta?

Mitya actually rolls her eyes, looking exactly like Haite in a snit. It’s an odd look on a woman nearing fifty.

“You’ll still have your job in a few weeks, don’t worry about that. I can talk to one stablemaster. Besides you’re the best catcher, she’s not chasing you off any time soon”

You’re biased. Rook accuses her. Mitya snorts.

“Suppose I am, after I spent so much time keeping you alive.”

I’m a good investment don’t worry. Rook tells her with a grin from the eyes. She shakes her head and then smacks at the saddle bags hanging off of Snow.

“Farrier kit, five reds, and Haite had some dyed wool she wants you to offload in Lurelin. It’s batik dyed, so nothing less than a red per yard-”

I know how to sell cloth. He interrupts her. And I’m offended you think I can’t get fifty per yard.

“Be fair in your trades Rook”

I’m not scamming anyone, Haite has good quality wares.

They’ve had this argument before, and its not like she ever turns down the money he gets from a good deal.

“Come home.” Mitya tells him bluntly. He blinks and looks at her. The lines of her face are harsh in the morning sun. “After.” she clarifies. “Come home after.”

He swallows.

I always do auntie.

“Don’t vanish into history.” Mitya says quietly. “I need you to come home Rook.”

There’s fear in her voice.

Nudge would waste away without me. He tells her. And I have no interest in dying for the sheikah.

She nods and lifts a hand up to sign Lucky travels at him. He turns away from his Aunt and goes to hide from a legacy he can’t remember.

Chapter Text

He makes it until the first road shrine before he has to dismount and punch a tree. He would be proud of making it this far if there was room for anything beyond the grayed-out fury that’s currently replaced everything under his skin.

Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck this. The anger is directionless, his mind only landing on a fury for something too big to understand. He punches the tree again.

Fuck smug old women, and fuck young soldiers who want bodies for the war that isn’t even their own fucking war and fuck people who’ve never worked an honest day in their life and fuck the Chief for taking better care of his horses than his citizens and fuck Hylia for abandoning the entire world to a red moon and monsters.

Snow sidles away from him, ears pinned. He kicks the tree for good measure, feeling too righteous to be petulant. It’s still petulant. He’s fucking earned it though. Crying is painful, so he sinks down to his knees, choking on air instead. Thankfully no one else is there to see his total collapse except his horse, who doesn’t understand the weird things that people do. Rook lets himself shake, sinking down and hiding his face against the tree, the cloth protecting his face from the roughness of the bark.

He’s not sure what he’s upset about. Everything? Nothing? Helpless anger swells up in him and boils over in tears. At least Mitya can’t see him—and that sets him off again.

It’s the sound of a distant wolf howling that brings him back. He leans back, folding the damp cowl down and pressing both hands against his eyes.

Goddess this is embarrassing.

He’s kneeling in the dust, back to the road and wiping tears off his face like a child because he had a strange conversation with an old woman. The wolf howls again, and Rook tips his head up.

The road is well-traveled, and the thought of someone seeing him like this gets him up. First dusting off his knees, then coaxing Snow back, so he can splash a water skin on his face and pull out a dry scrap of fabric to loosely wrap around his neck. Keeping his hands busy so his mind won’t be busy. It lasts until he takes Snow’s reins to mount up again and sees the road shrine again.

He’s always liked the way the little statues look. They’re simple, a gray stone carved in rounded lines to show the figure of a small woman with her hands folded. A hint of closed eyes and a straight nose finish the serene face of Hylia.

According to legend the statues were carved in place. Some person on a lonely road, walking along to find a boulder big enough to be carved. Born of the land they sit in. There’s moss on the rock, crawling up from the base. He finds himself walking over, leading Snow with him. She’s a wall at his back, bolstering him with her indifference as he looks down at the statue. Someone left a wooden bowl for offerings, and there’s some withered flowers and a relatively fresh apple.

Feeling spiteful, he stays standing.

Hylia. He signs. It’s disrespectful to use her name if you’re not a priest, but they might be on first name terms. He shivers slightly, something running up his back. It’s happened before at shrines and sacred places, a feeling of watching eyes.

He never thought it wasn’t normal, that ripple of the divine.

Am I yours, Hylia? He asks the shrine.

Nobody speaks to him.

Was I yours before? He changes the sentence

Silence.

When I dream I see a blond woman. I hear bells. I always thought it was nothing.

Silence.

I never see a family, Hylia. I’ve never seen another person even. Except the woman—girl. If she’s Zelda then we were children together. Why would I think that was anything? Fragments of a beautiful old temple, why would that be anything but a fever dream? Temples aren’t real anymore. Not like that.

The wind picks up for a moment. For a third time he catches a howl, blown in his direction. Three calls and no response. It’s a lonely noise, the wolf looking for her pack. Wolves don’t come into the lowlands, there’s no food. But this soon after the blood moon he can imagine she didn’t have a choice.

He thinks of the lonely wolf as he stands there. Walking over the ridges. Wandering through trees, hungry and footsore. Alone. There might be deer in the area but if she can’t find them she’ll end up at Hateno, where she’ll try to take down a cow and someone will put an arrow in her.

The world isn’t built for wolves anymore.

He tries to remember the dream he had last night. There was a woman in it. Blonde hair. She said something, what did she say?

‘Its your world now, you know.’

If that was Zelda he signs at the statue. I like her a lot more than you.

If it was. If he’s a man from before the Calamity and not just some unlucky fool who’s family came from the Champion’s stock and ended up with a head injury. Snow tugs on the reins, tossing her head. Probably the wolf spooking her. Rook almost reaches down to take the apple from the offering bowl, but stops himself with a sigh. He’s angry at people who exist in the world, and removing something from a shrine won’t fix anything or change anything.

Gods don’t know what they do. Rook says, quoting the old axiom with irony. They do and they make. We do not understand, we merely live in what they make. But I think I’ll be keeping my distance from you anyway. If you don’t understand, so be it.

He turns his back on the shrine and goes to calm his horse before she tries to bolt.

-

The wolf seems to be heading with him away from Hateno, Rook hears her call again in the afternoon when he stops by Keya pond. It does not escape his notice that he’s tracing the path he took with the travelers just a few weeks ago.

It’s a lot quieter now, even if he has to keep a sharper eye out. The path between Hateno and Lurelin is well-traveled enough that the patrols will have gone through for camps this early in the month. But lone monsters are going to be a concern for a while yet. Snow is a good meal for any bokoblins who could take her down, and Rook keeps his sling to hand. The periodic howling keeps him alert as well. A hungry animal is a desperate animal, and there’s no game for her in Keya pass except them.

He stays on Snow’s back, rocking with her gait and watches the walls climb down as the sun climbs up. It’s about two days to Lurelin, and he’s going to have to camp alone in the pass. A breeze picks up and his eyes snag on moving branches and trees, flicking past leaves to try and catch the silhouette of something dangerous.

They scare up a pair of herons on the farthest shore of Keya, Rook tilting his head up to watch the pair clatter out over the water with their necks tucked in. It’s late enough in the day that the light is glinting off the pond, turning them into flecks of shadow on a gold background.

There’s a superstition that if you see a pair of birds flying together it means you’re going to be married soon. Rook’s been seeing pairs flying off Keya for as long as he’s been riding, and he has as much interest in marriage as he does in stone-carving: a respectable condition, but not really in his interests right now. Still, the fact that the pair is by the pond in nesting season is a good sign. Maybe there’ll be peeping chicks on his way back.

Many years and many children. He signs over his shoulder as they walk on . I’m sorry I didn’t bring a wedding gift, but I give you my regard.

It’s late afternoon, and the ground is marshy from the pond, but Rook starts scouting for a stopping point. He won’t sleep tonight (too soon after the blood moon) but Snow needs a break. Something easy to defend, where he can light a fire and sit with his back to something solid.

He turns Snow towards the wall of the pass, finding an alcove formed by a large boulder, far enough away that they won’t have to worry about Lizalfos falling on them in the night. Snow takes the removal of her pack with good grace, and he keeps an eye on her grazing while he collects stones to form a fire circle. He has enough light to look for tinder right now, even if he should smother it before the night falls. But he could use some hot food.

Luck (and a dead bush by the edge of the cliffside) is on his side today, and he’s able to get a smoldering fire going while the sun is up, and boil a pan of water for tea and stewed jerky.

A battered tin cup sits heavy in his hands, nearly burning with the heat of the water. He can’t remember if Mitya made this cup, or if he did. Or if they bought it, hand made by a stranger. He can’t imagine they would waste money on the purchase though. He spends a few long minutes sitting and thinking about nothing in particular, tracing the hammer marks on the side before pulling back into the moment.

Snow gets tied loosely to a tree so she won’t bolt without him, the bags cached in case they have to run and Rook settles in for a watchful night. The pass saves enough time that its safer than trying to go up the ridge or take the long way down the road, but its dangerous right now. If he was on foot alone he would keep walking, but he’s not going to wear down his horse. If they have to ride, they’ll ride. Better to save their lives and leave the kit to come back for later.

The moon is bright and clear, little puffs of clouds smoking over the light. Gibbous waning: alarming sight outside of a roof. The crickets chirrup, and Rook is grateful that its still early enough in the spring that the mosquitos haven’t begun to breed yet. He counts his breaths, focusing on the night.

The conversation with the Elder is sitting in his chest, pushing out everything. Its too big to be pulled apart, even though he’s been chewing on it the whole ride. No clearer than it was at the beginning of the day.

He can’t remember. His hand goes up to trace the dry leathery skin of the burn. There was blood in his hair, Mitya assumed his head was struck when he fell. He doesn’t even really remember his recovery. Occasionally he’ll smell an herb or hear something and his body will panic without his input. Odd things. He no longer freezes at the sound of a whistle, but if he’s tired or nervous it still lifts his heart rate. Bright lights, bone broth, the faceless masks that the Yiga like to wear. Maybe its a memory of his past life, or maybe its a childish fear from his new life earned when he spent a year being nursed back to health after his face was burned off.

There’s a children’s story about a fox that puts on a dress and tries to become a person. It makes it to the end of the day and then the noise of the bells startles the fox so much it jumps out of the clothes and runs into the woods. He feels like that sometimes, an animal merely waiting for the breaking point to go feral.

But he can’t fucking remember why. It doesn’t normally bother him, he’s made a life. Its pretty rich that the strangers have decided that they can project whatever they want on top of him.

Sometime before midnight he rouses from his morbid thoughts to hear the sounds of something walking in the grass. There’s a chance its a deer or another wild animal, but he’s not going to bank on being that lucky. Eyes closed, the sounds of the night become louder as he sifts through the noises around him. This far out from town, the only big creatures are people and monsters.

Or the wolf he thinks at the sound of a low chuff, opening his eyes.

The spot they’re in is low and scrubby, broken up by large stones, dramatic in the faint light. Over towards the north is the impenetrable darkness of the trees around Keya. Rook can’t see any shapes moving in the open space but when he looks back at the pond he catches a glint of something. Against the dark background, movement is hidden but eventually something pulls away from the edge of the darkness and resolves into a low, dark shape slinking towards the cliff wall.

It’s not moving towards him directly, but making its way down the valley parallel to them. He hesitates for a second. Its just a hungry animal, but a wolf can take down a horse and can certainly take down its rider. He doesn’t want the wolf to think they’re good hunting.

Rook palms a stone and launches it sharply in the direction of the wolf. In the dark a direct hit is impossible, but the sudden attack should startle it enough to pull away. She’ll go and find easier meat. The stone lands, cracking against something hard in the darkness and causing the dark shape to pour down and flatten. She stops moving.

I see you. He tells the wolf, one-handed in the dark.

The eyes of the wolf are just flecks in the darkness, too far away to catch the color. It’s looking his way though. Rook stands up straight to make his silhouette clear to her and lifts the sling to whip it in a circle over his head. There’s no stone in it, but the movement spooks her and she begins to shrink, heading back towards the darkness of the forest.

He feels a bit subdued when he sits down. She’s not a monster, just hungry. Maybe he’ll leave some food behind after he leaves, give her something. She won’t make it to the next moon. There’s no game, no family. The packs live on the mountains, she must have been chased down by something.

Wolves are supposed to be good luck to travelers, a sign that there aren’t monsters nearby to eat them. A single wolf chased into the lowlands isn’t a sign of anything good. He goes back to sitting.

It’s closer to midnight, but not much later when he hears a sudden squealing from the direction of the pond. Rook sees Snow startle in the corner of his eye as he rises to his feet and stares down at the blackness. That’s a bokoblin, snorting and shouting at something. Branches start cracking in the same direction and the noise layers with more voices. Not a full camp, but more than one. One of them screams, and Rook moves closer to Snow, waiting to see if they need to run. There’s a sudden yip in the night and Rook’s heart sinks. Won’t even make it to sunrise, the wolf is being hunted right now. Paws thump on the ground and a dark shape flows rapidly away from the edge of the forest, followed by the clattering thunder of pursuit. The bokoblins are easier to see than the wolf, hunched over as they charge.

Rook shakes off his exhaustion, watching the drama. The lamp-light eyes of the bokoblin glint and there’s a confused movement that might be a spear throw. The wolf is low enough that he keeps losing its shape against the bushes and stones, but there’s no sound of pain or impact so it must miss.

Some of the bokoblin slow to a trot, another peels away in a forward lope. At least three then. Grunting, and snorting again. As far as anyone can tell, the bokoblins don’t have a language, although the moblins might. But his gut tells him to be ready to mount up and mount up fast. Better to move on now and come back for his gear later, than to get cornered and try to fight in the dark. Snow is restless as he unties her, but silent. Even in the dark he can see the white of her eyes, not running yet but not calm.

They must have come down the walls of the pass during the night. Bokoblin tend to be a bit more nocturnal than some of the others, and they’re shyer than Lizalfos. Neither one is ideal though. He reaches up to hold Snow’s muzzle, stroking the velvet skin of her nose. They wait.

The bokoblins walk on, swinging their heads from side to side and gibbering faintly as they keep moving.

Snow gets bored before he does, flicking her ears and bumping him away. She wouldn’t calm if she could still smell them, so Rook takes it as a sign to relax. Down in the valley he hears another bokoblin scream. Seems like their prey is a bit too much tonight.

The moon is a handspan above the horizon by the time the wolf comes slinking back up the valley. It’s panting, loud enough that he can hear it from his position at the edge of the valley. There’s no pursuit.

Rook salutes it, silent and unseen. That must have been one hell of a fight.

-

The moon sinks, the light turns. He saddles up Snow early, eyes itching with exhaustion. The dew makes his hands stiff with cold in a satisfying way. He doesn't have any work to do besides ride, it'll work itself out. Blue turns to gray, the blot of the forest around the pond picks up the edges of its trees as the horse and rider begin their way along. He walks besides Snow to start, stretching his legs and giving her a bit of a break.

It's maybe a half mile or so when Rook spots a dark pool in the thinning grass ahead. Too large a spot of color to be anything but their visitors from last night. Not moving but more than enough reason to mount up.

Two bokoblin are lying in the grass, although it's been long enough that putrefecation has taken a lot of the soft tissue. Scraps of red are half dissolved in the dark muck that came from their veins. Hopefully the wolf got a few mouthfuls for her trouble. From his vantage Rook scans the earth. They were taken down pretty close to the center of the pass and the only thing moving is the faintest wash of mist in the distance-

Hold on now.

When he stops looking for color and starts looking at shape, his eye catches on a mottled patch behind them. Head twisting and hands resting on the rein he looks behind. Their shadow takes the opportunity to glide forward, hugging the walls as she lopes down the path.

Rook wonders if the wolf is used to being fed by travelers. She's being far too calm with him. He's never heard of a wolf this tame. Near the rock wall her gray and white fur breaks up the outline and she blends into the shadows of the craggy ridge.

Its quite a striking coat, and when she stops to look at him he sees a white square blazed on her forehead. There’s a moment of idle thought where he wonders what her pelt would fetch. Not more than an idle thought, of course. The wolves are even rarer than the deer, and nearly sacred to most people. That’s the kind of thing that gets stony faces and higher prices. ‘Killed a wolf. Heartless.’

Still, she’s beautiful.

The saddlebag with the food is near the top, close enough that it can be reached with a minimum of undignified bending, and he manages to dig out the canvas scrap with his half pound of dried beef. The canvas is unwound to tumble his offering into the grass, away from bokoblin juice.

Sorry for throwing a rock at you . Rook signs at the distant figure. She seems to perk up a bit, slinking forward a pace. You really should go up the mountains though. You’re a ways from home. Enjoy the breakfast.

A thump of the heels and they’re off again. He keeps his back to her until they’re a ways down before glancing back. The spot is lost in the dips of the ground, he can’t tell if she took his food. Hopefully she did.

-

Lurelin might insist at length and with great pride that they’re a Hylian village, but Hateno and Kakoriko view the situation with more condescension. Kakoriko has the Ancient and Powerful Sheikah. Hateno has pre-Calamity architecture and what amounts to a central government. Lurelin has a thriving community of nomadic fishermen. Too sandy for farming, too steep for orchards, too young for history and too big to be completely ignored.

Rook likes Lurelin, the little brother of the two greater villages. It’s rare that he ever ends up there, since he’s not interested in starting a war with the fishing traders. Its a vicious market, one he wants no part in. But iron is used everywhere, and its just small enough that they rely on travelers for most of their master craftsman.

Or journeyman craftsman, as the case may be. You don’t need to study for eight years in order to make a fishhook.

When they reach the road Snow turns west, heading towards Faron Grasslands and the herds that he’s gone after so many times before. She snorts when he leads her in the other direction. Her tastes are more about grass, and less about money and fish. Not much for her in Lurelin. She goes eventually, seeming dubious with every step they take towards the stones around Lurelin.

I know its unusual. He tells her. But we’re just going on a short trip, I promise.

She twitches an ear at him.

Lurelin was only recently added to the stable system and the cloth signs at the stable are so new they seem to glow, whipping proudly in the sea breeze. Rook takes a bracing breath of the air, lips curling up. There’s no grazing, meaning that the cost of a stable night is exorbitant but Snow is worth it, and fish straight off the docks means his own food and lodging will be cheap.

Rook dismounts and leads Snow down the stone path they’ve laid over the sand towards the stable. At the sight of a draft horse and her rider, the slumped figure at the stable counter sits up sharply. She tries to discreetly straighten her hat before giving it up as a lost cause.

“Welcome to Lurelin Stable!” she says grandly, “We deal in all things horse, uh, related to horses! We also have comfortable beds for weary travelers offered at economical rates, for any traveler-”

She seemed more than willing to keep going on the sales pitch, more out of determination than skill. Rook interrupts her with a lazy wave and a cracked “Afternoon” before he asks Do you sign? with his hands.

She looks blankly at him, mouth dropped open a bit. “Um” she says. “Do you want me to get the stablemaster?”

He waves her away with a gesture. That’s a no then. He taps his throat and rasps “Injured. What’s the rate?”

Exhorbitent, of course. Trying to negotiate a discount for some labor takes twice as long as it should because she’s overeager and thinks he’s trying to imply they aren’t fully set up. At last he manages to get her to understand that he’s trying to haggle and they settle up for a better rate.

Its normal. Its completely normal. He agrees to help the new stablehand (Gail, apparently) with a handful of repairs, and strikes up a conversation with Stablemaster Phosa. He negotiates with the Zora and speaks their sign perfectly, but not the trade pidgin that Rook speaks most fluently, but they understand each other well enough. Phosa doesn’t have any interest in repair work, but his sister in law might like the batik cloth that Haite sent Rook away with so he goes off to the floating market to set up a meeting. No different from any other trip he’s made before.

-

Two days in Lurelin. Mitya overestimated the repair work that he can do in a mostly fishing town, but he’s handy enough that he keeps busy. The cloth sells well, unsurprisingly, even if the foodstuffs he has goes for barely more than he would get in Hateno. They aren’t hurting for dairy products down here, not so close to the town.

Rook can’t stay busy enough. There’s not nearly enough work, and he’s painfully aware of the stash of coin he was sent away with. They can afford a week or so without his wages, but guilt gnaws at him. He’s wasting money by being here, and the calm of the waves only makes it worse.

Lurelin is a sleepy town, lacking the industry of the larger cities. Too damned sleepy, and Rook can’t stop his mind from turning over and over and over again, trying to make pictures out of blurry half-dreams. The bells keep fucking ringing whenever he’s not paying attention but nothing clear comes through. He scrounges up a shard of memory after a long night of staring at the ceiling: looking down at the long razor of a sword, with a starburst of light glinting a handspan off the hilt. Of course the imagines refuses to show anything before or after and he can’t remember moving or swinging the damn sword, so maybe its a hallucination.

In the privacy outside the city he caves and finds a long branch, holding it in the same manner as his memory. To see maybe? Or to bring something back?

Its not heavy enough, he knows with terrifying finality. Not his mind, but his hands know it isn’t heavy enough.

He drops the branch and turns on his heel. He goes back to town. There’s a fisherman who needs extra hands on a night trip. It’s good money even if Rook won’t be able to sleep that night.

The next day he dozes for an hour or so in the calm of the noon break, and wakes up looking at his hands. That night he goes back out on the water. It’s good money.

Four days. Mitya didn’t give him a time to stay, but he thinks seven is probably a good bet. Ten would be better, or fourteen. But he keeps hearing bells and Hateno sits like a stone in his shoe. He wants to go home, but his house is buried under the dimness of a room with an old woman in it who wants to erase him into history. He wants to go home, and if seven days isn’t enough he doesn’t care.

Lurelin is far too quiet of a town. The night fishing is dull, grim work even if the money is good. The fishers respect his labor at least, even if they’re getting confused about why a trader is picking up day labor. It’s not typical at all. Nobody will turn down the hands, but why would he waste his time on dangerous work like theirs, when he could simply sleep in bed and then sell his luxury goods instead.

One of the fisherman gives him a bone talisman before they step off the docks into the dawn fog. “Its from my lady, she worries. It’ll take you home if the worst happens.” Whatever he reads in the line of Rook’s torso compells him to add “She keeps making them, I’ve got six. Makes her happy you know. I figure one for you could do some good.”

Rook croaks a ‘Thank you’ and slips the crude piece of fish skull into his hip pocket. Its his fifth day in Lurelin and his eyes are aching as he walks back along the dock towards the stable.

Snow is napping in her stall, the morning air smothering the little sounds of creaking rope and wind. It’ll warm up later, but its cool enough for fog.

Hateno doesn’t get a lot of fog, they’re too far inland and too temperate really. But when they lived on Lake Hyrule, they were used to wetter weather.

He remembers the yellow sunlight peering through and lighting up the smoky air when Mitya took him with her on a morning walk. His feet were unsteady back then, so Mitya would stay nearby while Haite was scrambling ahead of both of them. She was one of those children who ran everywhere, and every few paces Mitya would scold her to come back and slow down or she would trip. When they reached the lake, he would limp over to find the least slimy rock to sit on while Mitya chased after Haite.

Mushroom hunting in the fall, a slower time of the year for the stables, but a good time of year for the fat brown mushrooms that Mitya liked to cook with. He would sit on the rock with a basket by his feet, staring out over the water and watching his little sister bolt back to him with a handful of dirty brown lumps. His job was to check them over to make sure they were safe and then wash them of dirt. He remembers the way the film on the caps peeled away in the cold water, and the way the mist boiled away in the light.

He looks at his hands again and clenches his fists. The memory is indistinct, but detailed, a picture worn by time but still readable: Mitya and Haite and Rook Went Mushroom Hunting At Lake Hyrule.

He thinks about the sword again. Light glints off the blade. Nothing more. Nothing less. His hands clench and relax. This is ridiculous.

He scolds himself, in the privacy of both his own head and the early morning. There’s no need to keep dwelling on something. The Champion is dead. Whatever fragments he has don’t mean anything. And there’s work to do.

-

The stable has the space for a farrier, even if they don’t have one with them. Snow is the only horse in town, but an anvil is an anvil and last night one of the fishermen let slip that they had a cracked chain to be repaired. A couple rupees switch hands and Rook settles in for an easy morning of heating metal and re-fastening links. A couple are too cracked to be salvaged, but its the kind of steady work he’s been looking for.

The shouting from the area of the docks comes out of nowhere, breaking through the peace of the morning. Rook is momentarily shocked. He didn’t think anyone in Lurelin could yell like that—which is a stupid thought. Its a town, and anywhere with people in it is bound to be chaotic. He’s not quite at a stopping point, but starts to wrap up as villagers begin to drift towards the dock, curious about whatever is happening. Rook joins them as soon as is practical.

The noise is coming from the floating market, where the deep voice of a fisher is mingling with the chatter of a crowd. The words are overlapping too much, and there’s more people joining in as Rook idly circles around to catch a glimpse. And then he laughs.

Some street brat must have stolen from a boat, because the owner is holding them up by the back of their shirt while the kid clutches an armload of something and yells back, kicking and squirming. It looks like a bear scruffing a kitten. Another couple of dock workers are standing nearby, acting placatory.

“Does this belong to anybody?” the huge woman bellows into the crowd, swinging her bundle up and around. The kid seems unafraid of falling into the water, struggling further.

“Okay Gar, you made your point.” a man says calmly besides her. Rook moves to find a spot to sit and watch. All around him housewives and shop workers settle onto barrels to watch the entertainment.

“Its been ten days!” she shouts. “Do you know how much catch this little rat has stole from me?”

“He’s a street kid, he doesn’t know any better-” another dock worker soothes. The kid shrieks “What is that supposed to mean-” before getting rattled around by Gar.

“Where the hell are the big men when you need them” someone mutters. Rook stays put. He hasn’t seen any peacekeepers around the town, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Someone big and puffed up will show and throw the kid into a net while they figure out what to do with them.

Or the kid will switch tactics and drop his bundle before tucking his arms into his shirt and popping free.

Gar and the two dock workers lunge in (a woman gasps in excitement and leans forward at the drama) but he lands on hands and knees, grabbing the bundle in one hand and then launching himself forward with the other, shooting between the knees of two adult men and bolting towards the town.

Rook lets the kid fly past. No point getting bitten by a hungry child, and he feels for the kid anyway. A few beats later Gar is pounding past him, waving a washed out blue shirt like a war flag as she gives chase.

Happy hunting. Rook signs at her, cheered by the spectacle. In the scattered crowd someone claps. A tired looking dock worker sighs and begins a much slower walk after the two of them. Rook ambles towards the docks itself to listen to an animated retelling of whatever led up to the confrontation.

“-we’re all dealing with it, you know. Part and parcel, things go missing. But Gar was mad about it, kept saying that she smelled a rat and she didn’t think it was a shark sneaking into the nets. Course we didn’t believe her, ‘specially because she kept saying it was taking money and blankets and stuff and all. Come on, you even seen a fish walk into a shop?”

There’s scattered chuckling from the gathered listeners. The young woman telling the story grins at the reaction. “Anyway, its been going on for days, and eventually Gar gets it in her head that its come from the wreck that washed up. I say to her , if its from a dead boat that means its a dead person and better not to mess with a ghost, but Gar says that only live things eat fish.”

“Can ghosts eat fish?” someone mutters in the crowd. She nods at that.

“Ghosts of cats do and ghosts steal everything no matter what. But she keeps getting madder and madder, and madder and madder and then today she comes up whipping like a rope in the wind about how she’s going to go down to that wreck and scatter out the rat that steals from her and she goes stomping off like a stormcloud, and then we hear her shouting and she comes back up with that little kitten swinging from her fist.”

“Poor thing.” someone mutters. She ignores it and keeps going. “Looks like the tyke was sleeping in the wreck, and sneaking up to grab food and such. Guess dead ships have live children sometimes.” she says with a rueful chuckle.

R ook feels a pang. Poor thing indeed. Kid was probably scared out of his mind, although Rook can’t imagine why he didn’t just come ashore. Stables feed and house orphans as a matter of course, but maybe the kid didn’t know there was one in town. Or he had a run in with bad strangers and hid out of fear.

Children shouldn’t have to deal with that, Rook thinks, before making his way back to the stable and his work. People will be talking about this for days, he can go back to work and learn the rest later.

-

The kid is a spitfire apparently, punching Gar in the belly and having to be hauled in a net like a feral dog. Rook hears the story of his capture several times over the course of the day, everyone eager to find a new ear for the story. The mute trader is exactly the kind of audience they’re looking for. The kids a Hylian at least, so there’s no worry about having to send him to another country , but he doesn’t know where his family is from, or where they sailed from. The current rumor is that they were living on the sea year round, like fools, and now the sea has come to pay back their idiocy. The fact that there were no bodies on the wreck and the kid insists he sailed alone doesn’t stop any of the rumors. Another strange trag edy.

Rook is a stranger and a mute besides. To them, of course. He’s not mute, but people tend to forget that when they see him sign. The point is that the no one expects him to contribute to the conversation about what to do with the newest member of town, but he does learn what they’ve decided to do with the stowaway when he walks from behind the stable.

Seated at the cooking pot is a a small figure in a faded blue shirt, curled over a bowl of something. Close by but not hovering, the stablemaster conferences with a handful of other figures. The kid eats like a feral animal, but he seems less wild than last time Rook saw him —or at least mollified by the food.

Most stables house orphans, he can’t say he’s surprised that they brought the foundling here. The kid looks up sharply at him, blue eyes flicking over towards the stranger who just rounded the corner.

There’s a shiver down Rook’s back. Blue eyes and dirty blond hair.

Absolutely not. Rook signs at the sky and turns on his heel. Its not hiding, its a tactical retreat.

He's done with destiny, even if its not done with him.

Chapter Text

The humor of the heavens is inscrutable and Rook has no interest in deciphering it. He walks back to the anvil. He picks up a tin hammer. He starts looking for something to hit.

A dented pot takes the brunt of his ire, and then he feels bad about sloppy craftmanship and manages to lighten his hand to something more useful. He keeps his mind on his hands, consciously pushing everything away except work. The pot fixes itself too quickly and he almost decides to heat up some chain to fix—but its late in the day and he shouldn’t.

He stalks the long way around the inn to get to the docks, avoiding where the kid is sitting. With any luck the child will be gone by the time he returns from the nights work.

-

Rook isn’t superstitious, but he’s also not someone who ignores uncomfortable realities. So he’s not exactly surprised when he comes back in the dawn and sees a small figure standing next to the covered horse stalls.

The urge to flee again is powerful, but the urge to not see a child trampled by his horse is more powerful. He starts walking over. Snow notices him first with a snort from the darkness of her stall, and then a bulky shape peels up from the ground and scuttles away from the tableau. Rook nearly stumbles before breaking into a run. That’s not a dog.

The kid turns when he sees Rook running up and flings his arms wide, getting between Rook and the wolf.

“Back off” the kid snaps, not at all intimidating. He drops a hand to his hip in a gesture that makes Rook’s heart hurt to see. Snow sticks her head out of her stall with a snort. Rook slows when he gets close, keeping his hands up and placatory. No sudden moves. The wolf is backing slowly away. The kid looks unharmed, and the stall door is intact. Snow whickers.

“Hey!” the kid snaps. “Don’t ignore me!” Rook looks down at him and then past him.

He steps around the kid who curses him under his breath as he looks at the wolf. Its ears are back, and tail low. Its not being aggressive, and this close he can see the odd patterning more clearly.

Maybe its a half-dog. It would explain why its so drawn to towns.

Its very close to them.

The kid kicks Rook’s ankle out from under him.

He hits the ground with a strangled noise. Really wasn’t expecting that. The wolf actually steps forward a pace, Rook trying to make himself look threatening before he’s abruptly staring up an angry child, heart hammering at the threat behind them.

“Don’t think I can’t take you out.” the kid snaps. “Leave it be. Wolfie get going. We’ll meet up later.”

Wolfie?

The wolf does not leave. It instead whuffs a breath and starts stalking closer.

Easy, Rook tries to sign. The kid frowns at him without comprehension. Rook switches tactics and holds his hands up in an exaggerated surrender. His frustration at the absurdity of this entire situation is profound but also useless right now.

H e was hoping that the family resemblance was just sleep deprivation talking, but up close the kid could be the younger version of Time. He has blue eyes and blond hair. Even his clothes: the blue and white isn’t the exact same pattern, but its similar to Sky’s cloak. Rook’s eye then catches on the boating knife lodged into his belt that the kid is resting his hand on.

If he gets gutted by this child Rook is going to turn into a ghost and haunt him forever. This is ridiculous.

He really doesn’t want to fight back. Fortunately there’s another whuff and the wolf walks up and mouths the back of the kids shirt, in what is very clearly a trained move. Rook feels dizzy with relief as the kid turns to look at it.

“What?”

The wolf tugs. The kid looks back at Rook, confused and steps back, walking with the wolf. They’re almost the same height.

“You’re lucky he likes you.” the kid says. Rook gets up, making sure to stay calm. Once he’s upright and towering back over the kid the wolf drops the back of the shirt and then steps in between them, crowding against the kids legs.

Rook steps back, slow and wary. The kid stays stiff , glaring at Rook. Th e wolf is mirroring Rook in its exaggerated motions, belly low to the ground. Rook is careful to not stare directly into its eyes but the wolf and the man watch each other. Its very clearly a trained animal, but now he has to worry about the fact that he apparently just tried to attack the kid’s dog in front of him. And earlier in the road, but he isn’t planning on mentioning that.

Snow butts her nose into his hair, bumping him over a step. She whickers again for his attention.

He lifts a hand up without looking, petting her face while she lips at his hair. The wolf continues to back into the kid’s legs, pushing the two of them apart.

“Oh.” the kid suddenly seems to deflate. “Oh that’s your horse. Wolfie won’t do anything, he’s tame. She’s alright”

You should really put a collar on him or something . Rook says with his hands. To be fair to the kid, ‘Wolfie’ seems to have been running loose for who knows how long. Its lucky that they found each other again.

“What are you saying?” the kids replies with suspicion. Rook sighs.

I’m glad we had this conversation.

The kid lifts his own hands and makes a series of sailors gestures. Rook bursts out laughing.

Fuck your own mother instead he sends back with a grin. The kid snorts.

“You can’t talk?”

Rook shakes his head. Explaining this is getting old and his patience for scraping his throat raw is low today. He taps his throat and bows, signing my apologies to the child. The kid looks blankly at him as Rook turns to walk back to the cooking fire, leaving him standing with his hound in the stables. If the kid isn’t in danger, Rook wants to keep some distance. Snow keeps her nose sticking out of the slats as he walks away, no doubt trying to coax breakfast out of him.

“Um. Thanks” the kid calls out at his back. Rook turns, confused.

“For trying to help.” he sounds sour as he says it. “I mean, I’m definitely a better fighter than you but its nice that you tried to take out the big scary wolf. I guess.”

Any time. Rook tells him, waving a hand dismissively so it comes across.

“But if you kick Wolfie, he’ll tell me and I’ll find where you sleep.”

Rook blinks but nods. The kids voice is grim but its a little too dark to see whatever expression he’s wearing. The small silhouette nods after a moment and turns to walk away into the gloom, shadowed by the enormous shape of the wolf. Its not really a comfortable sight, and he can’t shake the feeling that Rook shouldn’t let this child walk away with this wild animal, no matter how confident he seems to be in its domestication. They only go a few paces away and Rook idles for a second, indecisive before he remembers that he’s not getting involved. And the kid clearly wants to be left alone.

S itting down at the fire makes his bones sink. Rook blinks at the cold ashes, suddenly drained. Br eakfast is going to have to wait. Maybe he should have fed Snow while he was upright. Well, no matter. That’s what he’s paying the stable fee for.

H e hears the sound of the kid murmuring something, presumably to the wolf. Its too quiet to be directed at him. Rook ignores them, resting his arms on his knees and gathering himself for the rest of the day.

He must doze a bit, because he’s alerted by the sound of a tinder striker and rouses to see one of the stable staff lighting the mornings fire. She catches his eye when he wakes, smiling at him. Gail was her name. He lifts a hand in a wave, scrubbing his eyes. He looks up at the sky.

A little overcast, so its hard to tell but he doesn’t think its been more than half an hour at the absolute most. Not long enough to dream. Small mercies.

“Long night?” Gail asks. He shrugs and then nods. “You’re a hard worker.” she says. “Heard you were out on the night runs?”

He nods and stands up . His joints sound like green wood as they snap into position. He rolls his neck, waiting for his vision to clear at the change in position.

“Any interest in the house special?” Gail asks hopefully. He grins underneath the veil. She keeps trying. He shakes his head and she hides her disappointment badly. “Well if you change your mind, its 50 rupees for a meal.”

Thank you . He signs at her with a bow. She seems to know that one because she says. “You’re welcome.”

He gets up to grab the kettle sitting near the fire, shaking it at her so she sees what he’s doing.

“Oh! Thank you for grabbing that” she says to him as he nods and goes to the pump.

He brings the kettle back, splashing water on his own face to hopefully wake him up more. The kettle gets placed on a nice hot patch of coals to get started. Rook is idly curious about why Gail is cooking a hot meal on the communal fire, but that’s answered when the kid suddenly appears with them, no Wolfie in sight.

“Oh there you are! Next time tell me when you leave sweetheart.” she chirps at him. “How do you like your porridge?”

“Do you have cream?” he asks with barely restrained hope.

G ail frowns. “That’s more of a Hateno thing, I’m afraid. We can’t keep cattle out here. Rook has some cheese and such for sale, but no milk. Sorry about that. How about berries and honey instead ?”

“You can just tell me what you have” the kid says shortly. “Instead of asking me to guess. And I don’t know what a Rook is.”

Its me . the man in questions signs as Gail gasps. “Oh I’m sorry, you two must not be introduced yet. Wind this is Rook, he’s a trader all the way from Hateno . Rook this young man is Wind, he’s staying at the stable for a little bit.”

“Hi.” Wind says without emotion and sits himself as close to the food as he can without burning his shoes, ignoring him entirely.

T he feeling is mutual. Rook keeps half an ear to Gail’s nervous chatter about what her favorite kinds of berries are, and the other open for the whistle of the kettle. She drags Wind with her to go and collect breakfast food. Rook is amused to note that Wind moved the dagger underneath his long tunic at some point, hiding it from casual view.

The water boils, and Rook moves it to the side while he gets up to go grab a bowl for his own breakfast. He feels a little self-conscious going for his normal meal of hot water poured over spiced jerky, so he dumps a handful of dried fruit in as well to make it look a little bit more like something edible. Its basically pemmican now . Chicory is a waste of space on the road, but he could go for a cup right now.

M itya drinks brown rice tea nearly every day. Since she gets up later one of her children boil the water for her before they leave. Rook lets the homesickness swell up and then break over his shoulder s . He fishes out a piece of dried apple and crunches on it. He’ll be home soon enough, no point getting melancholy.

Across the fire Gail serves a bowl of some millet to Wind with an admonishment to eat slowly because its hot . The incredulous look the kid gives her lets Rook know exa ctly what he thinks of the comment. Rook smirks to himself.

G ail has to leave to go take care of something in the stable, leaving Wind and Rook together at the fire. The second she rounds the corner Wind slips off his seat and stands up , still holding the bowl of food.

Happy adventures. Rook signs at Wind, one-handed. The kid frowns at him.

“I still don’t understand you. Write it down or something”

Rook signs Eat my ass at the kid to make him laugh. His own lips quirk up.

“Can you tell the stable lady that I left to go visit my family. She’s kind of—“ Wind makes a weird smashing gesture with his hands and then says “Uh. Overbearing. But nice. Anyway, can you tell her.”

Rook raises an eyebrow but nods. He hesitates after a moment but he can’t in good conscience let the kid walk off in the wrong direction. He holds up a palm in a gesture to stop, and peers around for a stick or something. Wind gives him a weird look that he ignores, grabbing a piece of kindling and bending over to scrape letters into the dirt.

IS TIME YOUR BROTHER?

The kid hones in like a stooping hawk. His whole body snaps to Rook, eyes intense. “Where is he?” he says instantly.

Rook raises an eyebrow. HATENO. DO YOU KNOW THE WAY?

“Who’s with him” Wind comes up and sits at the closest place, staring unblinkingly at Rook. “How many? Did you talk to them? Are they-”

Easy, easy. Rook signs. The kid stares at him. He looks older like this.

TIME TWILIGHT WARRIORS FOUR SKY

Wind looks at the names, and tenses his jaw.

“Hyrule or Legend?” he asks. Rook shakes his head, but something about the way Wind said it makes Rook think he knew that would be the answer.

“Figures.” he mutters. “Um. Are they okay?”

Rook nods.

T he kid sighs. “Actually okay? You’re not just saying that because you think I can’t handle the truth and they’re actually all strung up by the ankles by the banana guys ?”

Rook raises an eyebrow that the kid can’t see. He tilts his head in a question that the kid either ignores or doesn’t understand . He has that unbreaking stare some children still have, no fear in him of the stranger across the fire.

Rook thinks about the wolf that the kid treats like a dog, and the knife on his hip.

...Wind probably doesn’t have any real reason to fear Rook. H e’s never been one of the men who carry their value in hunting trophies and stories about monster kills , but its a little hard to swallow being outmatched by a child.

Belatedly he nods again, letting Wind know that his brothers are fine. He scrawls out SAFE AND UNHURT in the dirt.

W ind blows out a breath and leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

“ Blast.” he mutters, which is an odd reaction to finding out your family isn’t dead. Or maybe not that odd, if they’re as insufferable to Wind as they were to him.

Have they recruited this kid? He’s a child. But Four was with them, and he’ s clearly a teenager .

Goddess damn them all. Rook scrubs his face through his scarf.

If they were just as pushy, maybe Wind is running away and not towards. The dog was running from Hateno, the opposite direction from the travelers, the kid is hiding out here instead of looking for help, refusing to give any information about his family if the rumors from town are true.

Rook doesn’t like this picture.

Rook sighs again and speaks out loud, startling the kid who jumps and yelps at the noise.

“Are you safe with them?”

“Don’t do that!” he snaps “And why didn’t you just talk earlier, instead of drawing pictures out”

“Painful” Rook croaks. His default tone is emotionless, but he thinks it reads as sarcastic. “ Are you safe?”

The kid looks at him, very intently, but doesn’t respond. Rook waits him out.

“What did they tell you?” Wind asks.

Where to even fucking start. Rook just shrugs.

“Did they tell you about the sword?” the kids tries again still leaning on his knees. Rook leans forward to write it out instead of more talking.

CHAMPION’S SWORD?

Wind lights up and then scans the area, getting up to pick a seat next to Rook.

“Does anyone else know?” he asks, still far too intense. Rook looks down at his face, still rounded with baby fat, and feels the same nameless emotion he does at the sight of ruined houses. This shouldn’t be happening. Rook shakes his head.

“ Okay. You’re from around here, yeah?”

Rook nods.

“Who are the red men in white masks?” Wind asks him, eyes very intense. Rook feels his eyebrows raising again.

YIGA is scrawled in the dirt. Wind actually scuffs it away with his foot as soon as he’s done reading it.

“ Is that a name?”

CLAN

“Oh good, there’s more of them.” Wind mutters. He fixes a glare at Rook. “Where are they located.”

Rook shrugs.

“They stole two of my brothers.” Wind says, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence.

Rook winces.

“ No one knows.” he croaks out for the kid. The Yiga are more prevalent in some areas, but that’s just the major trade routes. They’re thugs. He can’t imagine why they would ever try to capture a person.

Well. He can. He’s not a complete idiot. But the travelers aren’t anything close to the kind of people who get sold for work, and they’re not brides—

Wind sits back, leaning away from Rook. “I tried to follow them, but they just poofed away. And then I was stuck in this weird place, with all these stupid horses and everything keeps trying to eat me. I really, really need to find them before the eye-guys decide to finish what they started and hurt them.”

R ook... is not a fool. The brothers ar en’t likely to be alive. He looks away from the kid, the weight of two deaths sinking his shoulders.

“ Thank you. For telling me what you know.” the kid is more subdued now. A nd actually sincere. U nlike his threat from earlier in the morning. “ Really.”

R ook nods. YOUR FAMILY IS IN HATENO he scrawls out. DO YOU KNOW THE WAY

“I can’t—I’m gonna send Wolfie to let them know where I am and keep looking. They can meet up with me.”

Well that’s just the kind of idea Rook expected from a young child who’s never traveled alone before.

DANGEROUS.

“Yeah I picked up on that” the kid is glaring at him. “Your bokoblins are ridiculous by the way. They don’t need to be that big.”

Rook snorts and nods. Legend has it that the Calamity made them grow in size, but who the fuck would know. Not like there’s a fossil record.

“ Where can I buy bombs?” the kid asks. Rook snorts again, shaking his head. The kid keeps looking expectantly at him. He cannot be serious.

NO

Wind pouts at him.

“ I need to protect myself. I know how to handle explosives .” the kid says, a little sullenly. Rook underlines his NO.

“Fine.” the kid stands up finally, and stretches, bouncing on his heels. “Are you going back to Hateno? That lady said you were from there?”

Rook nods.

“Can you tell them you saw me.”

Ah. Dammit. This is his fault for being a soft touch. Rook tries to formulate a polite way to say ‘your brothers want me to die for the sake of the world’ to someone who—

“You okay?”

Rook consciously releases the tension that just locked up his shoulders. Well. That wasn’t subtle.

“What’s wrong with them?” the kid asks, and yeah that’s exactly what he would expect.

SAFE.

“Bullshit.” the kid chirps in his prepubescent soprano. The shock is starting to mellow after exposure but its still odd to hear. Rook sighs.

THEY DON’T LIKE ME. Rook decides to say. Its not true, but it gets the point across.

Wind’s face closes off entirely.

“Why?” he says, leaning back.

Where to even fucking start.

He decides to take the path of discretion and shrugs. Wind looks at him.

“Okay.” is all Rook gets in response. The kid is staring at him like he’s trying to peer through his skin.

“Did you hurt any of them?” he asks.

Rook does not want to get stabbed by a child. He shakes his head violently and lifts his hands in a fake surrender.

Maybe he can get the kid away from the others if he plays this right. He hesitates.

THEY THINK I’M ONE OF YOU he writes in the dirt, chasing a hunch.

Wind looks even sharper at Rook. Then he scoots forward. He braces his hands on his knees so that he can bend forward and squint even more menacingly at Rook. He peers into his face.

Rook leans back on reflex. He fights the urge to break eye contact, and then loses the fight because he can’t stop thinking of Wind as a feral dog and his instincts are screaming at him to look away. He does. His face is wrapped in fabric, the most the kid can see is the mask of his eyes and a bit of scar tissue. It still feels invasive.

“Show me your face then” Wind demands.

Rook hesitates. But in the end its just pride, and he’s not got much of that. He slides the cloth down, ignoring the recent memory of eyes on bare skin. He shows Wind his face. He raises his eyebrows and makes a gesture at himself.

Here I am.

Wind sits back and frowns.

“I mean, I guess. Do you have the sword? Or did Sky let you talk to Fi? And why aren’t they with you, how do they know-”

Rook shakes his head again, and pulls the cloth back up while Wind picks up momentum

“-and why are they mad at you? Is your quest over? Are you in the middle? Why haven’t you taken care of the stupid banana guys-”

Rook shakes his head, trying to slow the escalating rant. Wind stands up and wheels on his feet, talking faster.

“Or are you undercover? They were looking for you but they grabbed us—do they know about you?”

What do the Yiga have to do with anything? Rook asks.

“-and where is everyone? Why did you leave-” Wind asks plaintively, turning and looking at Rook properly. He then stops in the middle of his sentence, finally seeming to realize how worked up he is.

“Sorry.” the energy puffs out of him in a breath. He looks older now somehow, with the contrast of his earlier animation. He sits back down. “Please tell me what you know?”

Chapter Text

Rook was an adult man with apparent combat scars and (for a long time at least) no ability to communicate so the number of young children he’s interacted with has been highly curated until recently. The only young Hylian he’s spent a long time with is his own sister, and the occasional collision in the market.

He doesn’t really remember what Haite was like at Wind’s age, partially because he has no idea how the two of them compare and partially because it was very early on in his learning to become a human. She was learning to read at the temple by then, or maybe she already had? She was teaching Rook his own letters so maybe not. Was she apprenticed by then? He has no idea. Her stubborn streak was well on its way, since that would have been when Mitya started teaching Rook to smith and Haite decided she had absolutely no interest in the craft. He remembers some arguments about it.

There’s something in the jut of Wind’s jaw that loosens an old memory: Haite with her arms folded and her head tipped up at Mitya, arms also folded. His hands twitch, feeling the notch of the hammer he must have been holding as he watched. Haite telling Mitya that she wanted to become an apothecary. Mitya having to tell her that they needed everyone to work. Haite’s eyes gleaming, childish pride hitting the first wall of the world: you work or you don’t eat.

It’s a strangely melancholy memory. The resolution was simple enough, Haite ran out and started doing odd jobs, picking up collections of skills from every passing trader. Rook stayed in the forge while she darted back and forth. She and him have different calluses now, but she earned working hands the same as anyone does.

Mitya was patient with her, in her implacable way. And with him as well, although his troubles were very different. Looking down at the expectant and insistent face of Wind, Rook feels a sense of vertigo. He is not Mitya. In fact he is not actually that good with children. Fuck.

I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING

Wind does not believe this, based on facial expression.

IM NOT THE CHAMPION. Rook adds.

Wind continues to not believe this. “Who are you then?” he asks.

ROOK.

Wind looks at him. Rook sighs and looks away.

THEY’RE WRONG

Wind nods. Slowly.

Rook leans back with a shrug, kicking the dirt to scuff the letters back off the dirt.

“Do you have the sword?” the kid asks, seemingly out of nowhere. Rook shakes his head.

“What about the ocarina? Epona?”

Rook is not a priestess, so no he doesn’t have a ocarina. And he’s not naming a horse Epona. No point rolling the dice on running across a faithful who takes it as an insult. The raised eyebrow stays behind the veil but the head shake is clear.

“Where’s the princess?” Wind asks. Rook sighs again and shrugs. After a moment he changes his mind and reaches forward to write in the dirt.

ROYAL FAMILY DIED IN CALAMITY

“The what?” Wind says.

Rook stares into the coals.

-

The conversation continues on in that vein. Wind doesn’t know about the Calamity, but he seems a little less surprised than the others did. Probably because he’s been fleeing over the mountains trying to find a safe harbor from the monsters, and also he’s a twelve-year old boy who has less of an idea of how the world works. Children are used to learning new things, the older you get the rarer it is.

Rook is trying hard to keep a distance between Wind and Haite, but its hard. The way he schools his expression at stupid questions and people doubting his abilities might as well be an etching of Rook’s sister setting her jaw about learning to hunt.

Then its back to endless questions about the other travelers. Are they safe, are any of them hurt, did they have their horses, where are they staying, how far away is it, how long of a trip on foot, how long on horse, how do you send a message.

Rook gives up and tells the kid that he can follow but Rook needs to get back work. He goes back to tinkering, answering the rain of questions while he punches leather for tack repair and bends wires into the right shape.

The kid seems reluctant to leave Rook, even when the stablehand hunts him down for lunch. He’s back with a bowl of the local chowder, so salty that Rook nearly chokes on his own spoonful.

“It reminds me of home” the kid says, at the look the smith gives him. “I’m from a port town, and we have a lot of salt fish.”

Rook tilts his head, wordlessly asking for further information. Wind looks down at the bowl. “Usually there’s more veggies though. This is a lot of fish. My grandma makes a really good soup, she was teaching me before I left home.”

There’s a pause while the kid eats. He looks up. “Do you know your family?”

Rook nods before thinking about what exactly Wind means. His hands are busy so he croaks “Aunt’s not a good cook” at the kid who laughs.

“Me neither” he says. “But I’m really good at roasting, I can roast any fish no problem.”

At least his family got him that far. He wasn’t thrown out into the wild totally naked. Someone was taking care of the kid before he ‘left home.’ Rook wonders what exactly chased him out of the home. Thinks about road orphans he’s seen before. Skinny, feral. Rarely long-lasting. Wind is wearing dyed cloth, well-stitched, and he’s not afraid of adults. He hasn’t seen real danger, not the kind that reshapes a person entirely. He’s a village child not a road orphan.

The boy is something of a child soldier, or a young hunter, but he’s had the worst of the world kept away from him. Nobody’s beaten Wind complacent.

For a single heartbeat Rook muses idly on what kind of child he was in his own life, whether he was feral or pampered, whether someone tied bells into his braid to track him while he plays, before Rook shakes off the memory. His childhood is gone. That’s alright, he can give it to others instead. Live the life you get.

-

Wind seems to have his own affairs, such as they are, and vanishes in the evening. Rook ignores the four-legged shadow he spies trailing after and goes to the dock for the nights work.

When he comes back in the morning he checks Snow, but there’s no blond hovering around her in the morning light. There might be a pawprint, but nothing else.

Wind doesn’t show up for breakfast, and he wouldn’t have thought twice about it except that the stablehand showed up again, this time far more nervous.

“Have you seen the boy?” she asks without any preamble. He feels like an asshole but he can’t remember her name right now as he pauses his slow enjoyment of a hot drink and looks at her. She’s a little frantic. “He was with you all day yesterday and he didn’t sleep in the stables last night, and I’m sorry I know its none of your affairs but I’m really afraid he ran off again.”

Rook lowers the cup and then shakes his head. She wrings her hands for a moment before forcing them apart and flexing her fingers. She smiles, unconvincing. “Alright. Well thank you, if you see him could you tell me? I’m just going to run down to the docks for a moment, I’ll be right back so if you see him please just wait for me-”

Hold on Rook signs at her, interrupting her talking with a confused look as he struggles to his feet. Mostly to give the impression that he’s responding he signs I think he would go towards Hateno anyways and then says “Can track” out loud to her. She deflates a bit.

“Oh. Oh, good. Um, do you need something of his or-”

Rook looks incredulously at her, but decides to not make a comment because she clearly seems very stressed. First time losing a kid? He asks her. She blinks. My sister used to run off all the time. He’ll come back or he won’t. Rook tells her, and then “Its okay” out loud.

For some reason hearing the croaking voice of a total stranger providing the bare minimum of reassurance does not immediately assuage all her worries. Mystifying. Rook will talk with his actions, something he thinks more people should learn how to do. He walks back towards Snow, this time keeping more of an eye.

He sees the flare of Snow’s lips as she shoves her nose over the stable door and for some ridiculous reason homesickness hits him like a boot to the nose. He doesn’t want to be chasing this kid for a well-meaning woman in over her head, he doesn’t want to be running night fishing, he doesn’t want to be tracking wolf prints, he wants to go home-

He shoves it down, breathing a little shakily. One thing at a time. He pets Snow’s nose and looks around. She’s the only horse and he’s handling her himself, so the freshest prints are pretty easy to figure out. There’s a muddle of scuffing, a few clear bootprints and near the edge where grass is poking shyly up there’s one or two spots where a big paw displaced the dirt enough to be visible. There’s a gasp.

“Oh no, oh goddess no” she says behind him and Rook realizes what this looks like. He shakes his head violently, turning sharply to sign at her. He’s safe, safe safe he repeats and out loud “Dog. His.”

“What?” she says, sounding very confused and worried and Rook wishes that she could just understand what he’s trying to tell her.

“Safe. Dog.” he says “Saw yesterday. Easier to track” it feels like he’s trying to swallow sand but it calms her.

“Oh. Okay. That’s—okay.” she says. She flexes her hands again, clutching at the fabric of her shirt and then releasing it. He turns around and crouches down, imitating the hunters he’s seen before.

Does he know how to track? About as much as anybody does. Does she need to hear that right now? Probably not. He’ll see if there’s an obvious trail and if not they can find someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

Big paws and the smaller oval of leather wrapped feet head towards the woods. It’s the same direction as when he saw them leave the night before, and once they get onto the rockier parts of the path Rook loses it entirely. He shrugs at the lady.

“I guess he did leave then” she says, sounding subdued. “I was hoping—well. Goddess willing he finds kind people.”

For a moment she look at Rook and he knows that this stranger and him are thinking the same thing. Then she looks away and he sighs. Maybe with the dog Wind could make it safely to Hateno, by being quiet and stealthy and running if anybody found him. If the kid was right about the Yiga being after him...well it doesn’t matter. They usually stick to the roads, and it sounded like he came from the west anyway. And if they find him there’s no point in running or hiding.

Rook feels his hand curl on his chest in familiar benediction and then stops.

He lowers his hand, trembling faintly. Angry maybe. The only reason he wasn’t home right now was to avoid playing the games of the goddess to begin with.

He won’t pray. He wants her to ignore them both.

He turns down the path and heads back into the town. He works. At sunset he heads down to the docks. He doesn't pray and he tries not to think.

-

It's night, but the sun is shining on him. He’s riding on a horse, in glinting armor and beside him on a white horse is a blond woman in a blue dress. She’s solemn, serious and he feels the last echoes of laughter on his lips as it fades into a smile. She glances over at him, smiling faintly at the joke.

The peace of the moment is too deep to go away, even as he looks out and notices the sharp points of castle towers, clean and well-maintained. Banners flap, giving movement to it as though the place is alive. It must have been alive, whenever this was.

He speaks before she does, looking forward and feeling calmer than he thought he would.

“Is this a memory?”

He’s not looking at her, looking ahead but she sighs and he knows the empty expression on her face. The banners flap.

“Its a bit complicated, I’m afraid. It’s more of...well. Its an interpretation of my attempt to talk to you. There’s certainly an aspect of memory involved” she says, off-handed and uninterested.

He looks at her, even though he doesn’t have to. He knows what she looks like. She hasn’t changed. Her dress is blue, her hair is long and neither moves in the wind.

“Am I actually talking to you?” he asks.

She shrugs. “Yes and no. Like I said, this is your interpretation. Its not really a direct conversation, you know. Without destiny you’re just a person and I’m currently more of an abstract concept than anything else. I’m trying to keep in contact, in case Ganon comes after you and this is your minds way of understanding it”

He swallows. On a whim he lifts a hand to touch the side of his face. Scar tissue.

“Are you in pain?”

She shrugs again. “I’m not anything right now.” Her voice is just as off-handed, just as idle.

“Do you…” he has no idea what to ask. He turns and looks at her “Have you always been watching?”

“On and off. I’ve been fighting mostly. I saw the other champions come, I’m watching them right now. The sword can talk to me. That’s been nice at least” she says, quiet and empty.

There’s purple smoke in the castle, glowing runes, crumbling stone. It’s not alive, hasn’t been for a hundred and five years.

“This isn’t right.” he says. “This isn’t right, what’s happening to you.”

She shrugs.

“Its my fault.” she says. “What happened to you. And me as well. I suspect that things would have gone better if the cycle could end. Let the world die, let things finally end. Not this….half-state. We could both rest then.”

“I don’t want to rest.” Rook tells her, watching something crawl up the side of a crumbled battlement. “I like being alive. Your name was Zelda, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What would happen if you gave up, Zelda?”

“I won’t.” No doubt, no fear. No conviction.

“This isn’t right” he says, for himself and not for her. He doesn’t think it’ll reach her.

“I liked it better when you didn’t know.” she tells him idly. “Its nice to see the world through you, actually see it. Its all...purple, where I am.”

“Is that why I don’t remember?”

“No.” she shakes her head. “I can’t do that. I wouldn’t anyway. You were taken out of the shrine before it finished, there are bound to be side effects. Retaining any motor function was a minor miracle.”

“It took a while to come back.” he says. She looks over with actual interest. There’s something enormous in the sky, swirling clouds piling up above the castle with gleaming yellow eyes peering in their direction.

She taps her heels on her steed and turns her head over her shoulder as her horse start walking. Then she turns, facing him as she leaves. The darkness frames her, she seems to glow. Rook stays put.

“You got out.” she says. “Don’t come back.”

“Are you in pain?” he asks again.

She turns and leaves.

He looks up and over, staring at the purple ruins before him.

Beneath him Snow sidesteps, jostling him. He blinks, shakes and reaches up to stroke her neck—

He can’t move his hands. When he opens his eyes he’s jostled again but he’s far too close to the ground, he can see the grass merely feet below.

He’s not on a horse. And his mouth tastes foul. Something is digging into his stomach.

Splicing out the last dregs of the dream takes real effort, he has to shake away the faint melancholy of the woman on the white horse and come back to the bad-smelling and lumpy reality of the real world.

Also confusing. He has no idea what's going on. He was on the night run and then he came back to the fire? Where is he. His neck hurts. And his head. And stomach.

He appears to be slung over someone’s shoulder. It’s not a particularly comfortable position. He manages to crane his head, ignoring the furious ache as his neck bends and peers muzzily around him.

Red cloth. There's a sickle clicking on the belt of whoever is pacing alongside them. They're moving fast.

Slung over the shoulder of a Yiga, Rook feels nothing but dazed resignation. It seems that fate has decided to stop waiting for him.

Chapter Text

His hair is wet. It’s dripping down his neck and its driving him crazy. His head hurts too, but the crawling water feels like a bug walking down his neck and he wants it to stop far more than anything else.

He can’t remember how they grabbed him. The dream is too bright and loud for him to remember anything but the woman with the golden hair, with a very faint memory of salt water and herbal smoke that might be a part of the dream as well. They grabbed him, somehow and for some reason. And he knows exactly why, because if they were angry they would just kill him. They think he’s important. They think he’s one of the travelers.

He hopes, in a very quiet way, that Snow makes it back home. And his bags. Mitya is going to need the money.

The Yiga that was carrying him dumps him off her shoulder without warning, letting him thump onto dry ground with a grunt. He doesn’t know how long its been but its some point into twilight now. He wasn't sleeping, but the uncomfortable travel had sent him into a quiet retreat in his own head. That and the shining sickle that gently clicked with every loping step they took. It was nearly hypnotic, looking at that gleaming metal. Watered steel, fine as a rippled silk. It's master work. Ancient steel, or maybe Gerudo. Nothing Hylian, certainly.

And master work isn't even accurate because a master smith couldn't make that. Rook certainly couldn't. He didn't think anyone could. He didn't think that anything so fine would be made again.

But here it hangs, with twine wrapped around the leather handle.

Needs a new grip, he thinks. The leather is getting thin.

The sickle is easier to look at than the Yiga, especially when she draws it to hang lightly in her fingers.

Staring at the blade that will kill him, he feels a desperate hunger to know how it was made. A distant voice in his mind regrets that he won't ever find out and that Mitya won't know what happened to him.

"So." Comes from a voice behind him. "Is this one of them?"

"Think so." comes from the sickle and then someone steps between him and the blade, confusing him for a moment. They grab him by the chin, like a cow. Rook struggles to even look at them, but he manages to glance them over. The Yiga looking at him is dressed in red and black armor and they've pulled the mask to cover their face so all he can see is the pictogram of a single eye. Rook is bare-faced before them.

"All the blondes look the same to me. Hey" the Yiga shakes his head briefly, making the whole world dissolve before he can blink away the spots. "Name."

When he doesn't respond right away the Yiga drops the hand and smacks him on the cheek twice, almost playfully light. "Hello? Name"

"Rook" he croaks before the Yiga can get annoyed. The Yiga sits back on his heels. Behind him the pack mule who was carrying Rook is standing with crossed arms. She's dressed normally besides a red leather vest and the sickle, with her mask pushed over her hair. His eyes stick to her cheek where she's inked a tattoo of a red eye in the skin of her face, before dislodging and going to the sickle of the new Yiga.

"Rook? Looks like we clipped your wings Rook." the Yiga says and snigger at his own joke. The standing one rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth.

"I don't have all damned day" she snaps. "watch him while I piss, and don't fucking touch him."

"What's that supposed to mean" the crouching one says, fully turning to look at her.

"It means what I said." she snaps back. "The vapor is still wearing off, he can't even walk and he's valuable."

Crouching Yiga sounds furious but he simply responds with an "Of course." as the standing one stalks off. He throws a glance at Rook briefly but gets up and settles into a looser posture, head up to watch the area around.

Rook feels the weight of the eyes leaving him and almost relaxes. A shift from the guard stops that though. He's not alone, just not currently being scrutinized.

Tugging on his hands makes tingling pain shoot up his shoulders and once he notices it won't go away. He bends his head forward to see his upper arms pulled behind him. His ankles are tied as well. And knees. Probably to make him an easier package.

He still can't remember anything.

His eyes sink closed for a second before he forces himself to look around. The woman was right, he feels hazy still. They drugged him? Ahead of him is pale brown dirt, dry and packed tightly with roots. Behind him a tree casts a shadow on him and a bare few feet away the dirt begins to sprout with thatches of long thick grass.

This is Faron. They're heading west, into the prairie.

He's too low to see anything but the cloudless twilit sky and the silhouette of the Yiga. There's no horses, no voices, no roads, no village, no barking dogs or harnesses jingling. The wind hushes in the grass and his watcher stands silent. There's no one else in the world but them right now.

Rook can't decide whether he wants to close his eyes or not. The light is low but there's enough of it that the blade can shine and he can see it like a star in the night.

Faron feels like home, in some ways more than Hateno. Hateno is houses and horses and family. Faron is him alone, facing into the endless green. He knows Faron not the outposts, not the people. He knows the look of false clover and the shadow of the herds and that particular call the wind makes over flat ground. It's a solitary place but a beautiful one.

He doesn't want to die here. But, there are worse places to die. He lays there, not even trying to move or close his eyes. A bee hums by on her way home for the night. Far off something barks, a sharp call into the night. The wind picks up and the grass shhhs. He lays there and tries not to think about anything

The silence is broken by the crackling rhythm of someone walking through the field. The Yiga guard grunts, probably a greeting and Rook watches the grass.

"Let's get this over with" comes from the Yiga who was carrying Rook and then there's hands on him again and the sky is spinning. He opens his eyes back to his traveling view: Broad back and bright sickle. Then they're moving again.

Pain has a way of making your world smaller. Fear has a similar effect.

The glint off the metal fades with the light until he's alone in the night, the shoulder of his pack mule digging into his gut with every stride.

The Yiga run in silence, on into the night. His world grows smaller. He tries not to think.

At some point there's a murmured exchange of words with another person. At some point his weight is half tossed onto someone else's shoulder. It’s painful. Aside from the grunt from forced air he stays quiet, feeling a distant sympathy with the calves that have to be carried to market.

The first flick of yellow shocks him, driving him from the hazy dream state back into his body. It hurts and he groans without meaning to. Then he parses what he's seeing. Yellow and orange. Firelight. There's a camp nearby.

He has long enough to hope desperately that it's a Yiga camp and not raiding a group of desperate people before the light streaks and he feels the ground rushing towards him again. This time the impact radiates through his body, jarring the bones of his hip and shoulder with the ungainly landing as he’s thrown yet again.

The person carrying him is visible in the light, now shaking out their neck after the long run. Rook hopes they sprain something and averts his eyes to look at his new location.

The camp itself has the rough look of things constructed out of what was available, but it also has the look of a place that's been inhabited for a while. Lean-tos decorated with little handmade touches, a man with a paint pot and a chipped mask, and grass has been beaten down or torn in a vast circle around them to keep the vision line clear. From the top of a makeshift scaffold a curious scout looks down at the new delivery.

As is becoming expected, his being dumped out is then followed by meeting a new Yiga. The fear has at least settled into something like emptiness, his eyes only listlessly clinging to the sharp blade as this latest thug stomps over to him and raises her voice.

"What is this?"

Rook is numb most of the places that he would need to know about, so he has to guess about what is happening. The world tilts and someone else gets up to walk forward, there's a vague sense of pressure as someone behind him scolds someone else. He thinks he’s being untied? Or moved?

" Have you lost your blessed mind? Did you run the whole way like this? Unbelievable, we only have one damn order, a single damn order, do you even remember -"

"Our only fucking order was to keep them alive" someone says. Rook is trying to listen but suddenly someone has laid their hands on his shoulders and they're dragging at him. Through the burning he watches his hands fall limp to the sides. Not pulling. They untied his hands and the blood is coming back. He keeps silent mostly because he doesn't want the pain of screaming. He's learned that lesson before.

"One won't wake, one can't eat and now this one might lose a hand. I don't even see a goddamn weapon-"

"Stop worrying so much or you'll go gray. We have them all, we can bring them in and then we'll figure out how to fix them. What does it matter if the pig gets bruised before dinner-"

"Oh well then". The scolder is very close to Rook now and suddenly crouches in front of him to roughly grab a limp arm. Rook can't really flinch or react. He's oddly grateful for the stiffness of the scars on his face, the mask that can't be taken off him. The angry one is an older woman with a shaved head and tattoos along her emaciated cheekbones. Her voice is as sharp as her eyes.

"By all means then. Kill them all. The last time we did that it only make a dozen more, what does it really matter. Leave the king to rot in the castle another ten years, sit back and get fat because FORBID US TO DO OUR FUCKING JOB" she starts shouting suddenly at the end. Rook flinches at her anger but she drops him and stands up. "Forbid us to be patient" she's stalking towards the complainer, the one who was carrying him. The woman is tiny but he sways back at her presence, averting his eyes.

"Forbid us to be strong and clever, let's just go out and practice hunting sheep instead. Forbid us to be faithful, it's so much easier to bully around sniveling farmers. Let the world hang itself, just forbid us to exert a single moment of thought."

"I spoke without thinking" the thoroughly chastised man now says. She snorts.

"Remember, this is for the King. This is a punishment for our complacency, allowing that demon goddess to gain a foothold. If we lose vigilance, she will feast on us. Get him settled, and send ahead to the hideout. That's three all together now, even if we don't have the sword"

The wiry woman whips on her heels at the order and stares at him. He can see why the other man shrank back. She has zealot eyes.

He isn't stood upright, because he can't feel his legs. Instead it's more of a general hauling away from the direction of the ground as he's dragged ungracefully backwards by the back of his arms

The presence of hitching posts tells him what this camp used to be before it was colonized by this group. Some frustrated horse catcher pounded in a series of posts, deep enough for even an angry stallion to stay put. One of a dozen outposts just like it: a little cooking pot in the wild for the traveler to rest. There's four posts, and at two of them there are dark shapes leaning against them. The farthest one shifts, lifting a head as Rook is thrown next to his own hitching post, like a fucking cow. A voice picks up from the fire and the watching figure seems to shrink back a bit.

The other figure isn't moving. Rook can hear the sound of it breathing even from where he sits

His legs are cut free but a long strap is threaded on his ankle, above the boot. Then the Yiga walk back to the fire, leaving them only under the eyes of camp watch.

The second they turn their back, the sitting figure is shifting towards him. Rook's eyes are struggling to adjust between walking darkness and being placed directly next to a fire, so the details are hard to make out. But he can tell that it's a Hylian. The Hylian lifts a hand and makes a quick series of movements on the side away from the Yiga.

Of all the things that happened today, having someone sign at him is such an unexpected gift that he almost wants to cry. The prospect of speaking without pain was more than he could hope for. He can't see any of what is being said but still.

I can't see yet he signs back, trying to keep his hands subtle. The figure doesn't react. He tries again, slower and simpler, heart now sinking.

No response. By now the pale circle is beginning to resolve into a face and Rook almost winces in sympathy when the details become clear.

He's young, and of course he's blond. But most importantly he's been beaten. Badly. Half of his face is swollen with one eye shut and if his cheek isn't broken Rook will be shocked. The remaining eye is sharp at least, he doesn't seem to be dazed. But he looks monstrous in the firelight. Rook feels a kinship with him. He lifts his hand again and this time goes for a simpler sign. Name?

"Hyrule" the beaten traveler says which explains exactly nothing. Probably the head injury? Good to know where he's from at least "Who are you"

"Just a trader" Rook says, tired of playing along with these games. This is what he is. Whispering at least doesn't hurt as much. "Rook."

The traveler nods jerkily and then looks down at the unconscious one. "His name is Legend" the worry in his voice was obvious even in a whisper.

Oh. The memory jogs loose. Hyrule and Legend. The last two brothers are named Hyrule and Legend.

"Your brothers are looking for you" Rook rasps quietly and the traveler snaps to him.

"Where?" he hisses, leaning forward. "How far?"

He’s too loud, because one of the Yiga turns a head. The injured man doesn’t seem cowed, but he’s not defiant either as the Yiga walks over. If anything he seems annoyed.

“ Keep quiet.”

“Got it.” Rook stiffens a little at the blatant disrespect. The Yiga doesn’t react right away, snorting and turning to walk back to the fire. Rook does not relax. He’s looking after the leaving one and catches movement out of the corner of his eye. When he turns to look there’s more signing.

It’s odd. He recognizes some of it, but not all the signs. Silent is one of them, and guard is another. He watches and then carefully signs back.

I can’t understand you

The second attempt is much clearer if missing any ambiguous gestures. I-quiet-you-quiet. Guards hit.

You-face? Rook signs back, stroking a finger down the side of his own where the other man is injured. Man, maybe teenager. He looks older with the bruises. And the resignation. It’s hard to tell.

A head shake from the other. I-face and then he gestures at the rope on his ankle. When Rook doesn’t seem to understand he says “When they caught us” very quietly. Rook nods at that.

Him-sick? Rook asks, pointing at the slumped figure. The teenager exhales and nods. Then he reaches up a hand and taps the base of his own neck, looking grim. He-sleep. Only sleep. Head-sick. Walk-no, talk-no. Bad. Bad. Bad.

His hands are steady as he fumbles through the pidgin sign to explain. Rook doesn’t respond, only looking down at the figure. He makes the sign for medicine? but it doesn’t seem to be understood.

He doesn’t know where they are exactly, but they’re deep in Faron. Rumors have always held the Yiga to be from the west, maybe as far as Gerudo. But Legend can’t walk, might die if they move him. The matron who yelled at the guards implied that they needed to keep them all alive. This brings Rook no comfort to think about.

It doesn’t make any sense. The Yiga are thieves and brigands. They steal money and hassle people on the road. They don’t kidnap, they don’t take prisoners. They don’t even like to go near the villages, since the guards take a grim view of them. They’re road pests. Dangerous, of course. But the blades are so fine…he’s only walked through Yiga a handful of times but how has he missed the quality of the metal? What are they? What is this?

Why are they involved in the dead story that he’s being dragged into? Who is the ‘king’ the matron spoke about? Why is he here?

Are they going to ever let him go?

He wants to go home.

-

I t’s easier to talk in the day, but it brings the situation into unambiguous clarity as well. There are maybe eight or ten Yiga in the camp, and all of them are soldiers. Or at least all of them are armed. In addition there’s a trickle of scouts coming into the camp to deliver messages and flit off again. The matron seems to be in charge of this camp, but she’s not in charge of the whole group. She responds with anxious energy to every message, seems frustrated. They’re holding for something but he can’t hear what she’s being told, he can only watch the set of her shoulders and the way her crew circles warily around her moods.

The three prisoners are left almost completely alone, except for the scout on the scaffolding keeping watch. In the light Rook can see the dried blood at the base of Legend’s head, but he’s more worried about the grinding noise Legend makes with every breath. He’s no doctor, but he knows a pneumonia very well. Broken ribs mostly likely, and then the fluid sickened inside him. There’s blood on his chest as well.

Hyrule is in pain, but he’s not afraid. He’s the only one of the travelers so far that seems like a normal person. Tired and in pain, resigned. He bolts the food they’re given as best he can with a broken face , and keeps his eyes down when the guards come by. He watches his brother, looking worried.

Rook leans against the pole and tries to ignore how much his entire body aches, how much the sun hurts his eyes, and how much he wants to go home. Between moments of no surveillance Rook and Hyrule kludge together enough sign to get by. He’s clearly fluent, even if its in a sign type that Rook doesn’t recognize. There’s similarities in words.

Hyrule manages to tell Rook that he was trying to keep Legend sitting upright to help him breathe, but the Yiga grew angry any time he touched Legend. He asks Rook if he is the hero. Rook tells him that Hyrule’s brothers think he is. Hyrule asks him again.

No. I’m no hero. Rook says. Hyrule nods at that. He looks sad.

I am not a hero too. Hyrule signs back.

In the evening another of the Yiga come by with food. Rook wants to ask them to help Legend but his courage melts at the cold face and the hanging weapon. He and Hyrule eat their food in silence.

He can’t tell if the boredom is worse than the aching back, but they’re both very annoying. Hyrule says they two travelers have been here for six days, but even after one day Rook is desperate to stand up and walk somewhere. Anywhere. He tells Hyrule about his brothers, slowly and clumsily. They come up with signs for the different names to make it easier. Again at the evening meal he thinks about talking to the Yiga about how to keep Legend alive . It’s boring, but at least the fear keeps him from thinking too much.

Rook watches a pair of circling birds as they loop over the camp for most of the next morning. The wing shape isn’t quite right for vultures. Maybe raptors, but it would be a bit odd to see two at once. Maybe a mating flight? But it’s not the time of year for that.

Even the Yiga seem bored today. No scouts show up. The matron is listless, pacing back and forth. Legend is sleeping, his breath gurgling deep in his chest. Hyrule is huddled up to the side of the post, staring into nothing and keeping his hands away from the broken part of his face.

The wolf howl hits the air with the shock of a stone thrown through a clay pot. The boredom shatters and every eye moves. Half of them towards the grass, half to the watching scout standing in the scaffold. He shades his eyes and peers forward, scanning at something off in the distance. Then he drops a hand to his mouth and whistles three shrill notes.

Two of the Yiga drop something at their feet, throwing up a puff of smoke or dust. Before it clears the others have gone for their weapons, and another is pulling on armor. The matron slips her mask over her face, and nearly in unison all the others do as well. In moments the camp has transformed from a lazy outpost to an organized militia.

Blank red eyes stare into the grass. Two more throw down smoke and vanish. The scout makes the same three-note call.

Rook wasn’t looking at the other prisoners, but a half conscious groan from Legend catches his attention. He’s immediately looking down and over. Then he freezes.

Hyrule isn’t there.

The rope is lying slack on the ground besides the pole, still knotted where the other man was laying only moments ago. He didn’t walk away, because the grass is packed flat for many feet around them, and there’s not even broken stems where the other man could have bolted. He’s gone, as simply as the Yiga with their smoke trick. The others must realize it at the same time because the matron breaks her silence to curse and then makes a series of pointing gestures.

The next moment doesn't make any sense.

The matron is ordering her troops, who are fanning out. One of them is walking towards Rook. Then Hyrule is rising behind the Yiga, facing Rook.

He doesn't walk up, because Rook would have seen that. And so would the Yiga. There's no smoke, no obvious movement. He's there in a place he wasn't seconds ago. And he’s untied. There's just enough time for him to slam into the Yiga's arm with his own hand, hard enough that the Yiga drops his sickle and Hyrule takes it from him. There's a flash as Hyrule half turns, and the Yiga staggers in place.

The Yiga’s not dead because dead men don't breathe. But men who are going to live through the next ten minutes don't breathe like that . The blood in his side is pouring from am unassuming slit in the armor and by the time Rook looks up Hyrule has bloodied another one as he's slowly being circled.

When Hyrule glances over his shoulder Rook sees his face. He's not angry. He looks focused at most. A bit grim. There's arterial blood weighing down his pants and he looks like someone who does this every day.

The re’s thunder in his ears . Then he realizes it's too loud for a heartbeat. By the time he recognizes the sound of hoofbeats the horse and rider have charged into the camp at full gallop. Two Yiga vanish into smoke with seconds to spare before they're trampled. Hyrule doesn't react, except to lunge forward in the distraction with a truly wild swing at the closest enemy who dances back like a snake. The fight arranges itself with him at the center. The remaining Yiga fall in on him while he furiously keeps them at bay, the rider looping around in an arc and drawing a blade for the return. She's a brown and white mare, a bit on the stockier side, but she gets her speed up even with an armored rider.

It's Epona and Time. Rook isn't sure if he's surprised or not. But seeing Time, he's not at all surprised when Sky comes pounding into the camp with a war cry and Warriors flies in behind. Wind and Four and sure why not, the fucking wolf as well are bringing up the rear and go straight to the posts and their crumpled brother.

"Rook!" Four says, holding a shortsword and keeping his front facing towards the scrum. One of the Yiga got close enough to start wrestling Hyrule for his weapon and it's confusing, but both of them are bleeding now. Sky and Warriors are flanking the group and Time has dismounted into the mess. Epona sidles a bit, ears pinned back but not bolting while the fight continues.

Wind is the one who slices the rope on Rook's ankle. He gestures a quick thank you bu t Wind’s attention is on Legend. The wolf gets between the unconscious man and the enemies while Four slips a hand under Legend’s chin to lift his face enough to examine.

There's a sliver of color at Legend's eyes with the movement and he manages to bare his teeth. Four is unintimidated, either because Legend's lips are going blue or because he goes limp again at the exertion.

Rook tears his eyes away and stands. The wolf growls at him but like hell is he staying put. They have this under control and he is unarmed and lightly injured. He owes them nothing.

Epona is side-stepping away from the noise of the fight now. There's another body on the ground. All the men look rougher now, and even more determined for it.

Rook whistles, the same call he heard Time make. Epona is well trained because even though he's a stranger, she comes close enough that he can grab her halter to keep her from bolting. Even a war horse can break, he's seen it happen. At the end when everything in the world seemed to go wrong. The monsters scared everyone-

Epona huffs. A sword rings on armor. The air smells like a butcher and a man gasps his final breath.

Rook realizes that he knows this horse. And he knows this scene.

He knows her, he's seen her, he's been at war before.

He's held his sword shaking in his hand praying that the men won't see his fear, calling them to die for the King and the Princess and the Goddess. He faced death on this horse, and met his match. The swords ringing

O n Epona, holding himself as steady as he can. Trying to maintain his composure. He glances over his shoulder at Zelda, and his head twinges at her expression. She looks at him and nods. There are eyes on them, so he holds a fist to his chest and bows over it. Then he taps his heels.

The Guardian struck him in the chest not even an hour after,

He died. And that wasn't enough, because here's his horse and there's a sheath on her saddle and there's a fight he can join. Here's what he was made for. Here it is, all laid out by the fucking goddess herself no doubt.

Rook remembers.

The smell of blood and the sound of dying, thick in the air right now . He remembers that. He remembers the woman from his dream, grim with exhaustion as she bled her magic into the Earth, clawing for one more day. He remembers despair and duty and the unblinking stare of the servants as they whispered behind his back. 'Him. He's the one who will save us.' He remembers that.

There a choking noise. Rook idly looks over to see Legend weakly coughing and swatting at Four, a discarded phial of something laying beside them. Wind and the wolf are shoulder by shoulder, watching the fight. Another Yiga is down but Hyrule seems to be flagging hard, he's being closed in on, the others are charging at him.

You can save him. Don't you want to be a hero?

"Fuck." Rook croaks, because the first time he died it burned away his voice. "You."

His hip aches, but he manages to swing into the saddle anyway. The sheathed sword bumps his knee insistently. He lays a hand on the hilt. Then he hauls it out of the buckled strap, sheath and all.

The thump of the sword hitting the ground gets Four's attention, his eyes widening slightly as Rook coaxes someone else’s horse to ride away with him. Well, maybe she's his horse. Isn’t she? When he turns her head away, she goes as though she knows him. He won't risk a gallop when he doesn't know how long she's been riding but he taps her into a trot and sets his course as far away from his destiny as he can.

They might be hurt. You could help them.

He is hurt. Has been hurt. The world is hurt and he's done this already

But you failed

The only difference is that he's older and more cynical. There are seven others. Use them.

This is your world. These are your people.

He is one those people now. He's not going to play this game. He wants to go home. Why can't she just let him go home when can he be done he wants to go home

The thoughts floating up in the voice of the long dead abbess goes silent at that response. Maybe it's the goddess trying to coax her favorite. Or maybe it's eight years of training to sacrifice himself. Maybe it's the last words of a dead world trying not to die. Maybe he's a madman, driven too far after a hard life and making stories out of shadows. A trader who spent too long around-

The howl of a wolf breaks his spiral of self pity quite nicely. He's still in Faron.

Epona pins her ears. The howl is at least coming from ahead of them, and not the howl of the wolf behind. So it’s not pursuit, just a pack. He wonders acidly if this is another sign from the goddess, sending auspicious creatures his way.

He rides on.

-

They don’t follow him right away. Or at least they can’t keep up with him while they’re wrapping up the fight. Once he gets far enough away that he can’t hear the fighting anymore, he dismounts and starts leading Epona by the halter. Saving her for a run later, just in case.

He hopes that the stables never find out about his new career as a horse thief.

It takes well into early afternoon to find the nearest road, and by then the sharpness of the battle has faded. Faron isn’t dry, but the water he passes is stagnant and he keeps moving. Eventually there’s a stream and he finally lets himself stop, tying up the horse and settling next to the stream. The horse and him drink in companionable silence.

He doesn’t really know where he is. It’s far, he can tell that much. Farther than he thought could be gotten on foot in the few days the Yiga was traveling. Either he was unconscious for longer than he realized or the Yiga move faster than he thought anyone could.

He rides on, too afraid to be tired. He doesn’t have any supplies, nothing except the sky as he picks his way along the road. Eventually the foam on Epona’s flanks shames him into stopping at the next stream, making sure she drinks water carefully while he stays standing. His feet ache, but its pleasant in a way.

He drinks water but he needs to start looking for food soon.

In the end he decides to leave the horse and keep walking, making sure she’s not restrained in case a predator shows up. She stays happily at the little pond, ignoring him. It’s oddly comforting. He was afraid she would follow him, or he would wake up with her dogging his heels.

So he keeps walking.

He’s used to travel at least, the familiarity is calming. Eventually he spots a wild orchard off the road and slides into the grass to grab a fruit lunch and sit under a tree.

Sitting down was a mistake. He lays his head into his hands.

The wind blows over the grass. Faron, land of horses.

The memories in his mind barely seem real. He’s watching the hands of another man, someone unfathomable. Did he truly become a knight? Did he lead a war? The Champion, so different from the broken-down working man huddled under a tree and wishing pathetically for his Aunt to come and save him again.

“Rook?”

He takes a breath, not surprised to hear the voice. He can’t run, can he?

When he lifts his head there’s a cluster on men coming up the road. Their horse is with them.

Four was the one who called him name, now running forward at a dead sprint. The others seem to be hanging back.

Legend is seated on the horse, slumped but upright. Rook breathes out, now allowing himself to feel the guilt he was ignoring for leaving them all behind.

Then there’s a teenager in a patchwork tunic pounding full-tilt at him, face filled with fear and worry.

“You’re alive” Four says and then he gets down (good knees, Rook thinks with envy) and grabs his shoulder to pull the older man into reach. “Are you hurt, did they hurt you, Hyrule said you were fine-”

Peace Rook signs, and despite everything he smiles a bit at the naked worry from the kid.

Chapter Text

The others filter in slowly, loosely circling the frantic teenager mother-henning at Rook. In between repeatedly signing I’m okay at Four he watches the group warily.

Time is leading Epona by her halter, she’s still got sweat on her flanks. They must have caught up to her and brought her straight along. Hyrule looks brutalized but stubbornly places his feet below him, while Sky hovers next to him. Warriors is weathered and bloody but keeping his head moving in a constant watch. None of them look angry or volatile. They look tired, and concerned, and some of them look relieved. Legend looks confused and angry. Rook can relate.

It hits him that his face is completely bare to them, and for once he can’t bring himself to care. After everything that’s so far down the list of concerns that he can’t even pretend it matters.

Hyrule limps towards Rook with determination, waving an unsteady hand. “Hey” he half calls, “Um. They’re dead now.”

“What Hyrule is trying to say” Time cuts in, bringing Epona up to the small grove of trees that Rook has settled in. “Is that we took out the camp.”

“Oh so when I say something we need to have a lecture about appropriate civilian conversation but when Hyrule-”

“Wars.” Time says quellingly and Warriors stops his rant. He sighs and scrubs his hair.

Four then grabs Rook by the chin, very inelegantly moving him to look at his eyes for something. Rook goes along with bemusement.

“Sky can you take a look at him-”

I’m fine Rook signs for the eighth time.

“Even I know what that means” Warriors says. “Leave him be Four”

“Hyrule, you should really sit down” is half murmured in the background. Hyrule shoots an irritated look at Sky, ruined by the fact that half his face is going spherical and he can’t stand fully upright. He finishes his laborious walk over to Rook and flops down next to him with great dignity.

“Thought they were going to shoot you when you got up on the horse” he says. “And you had a tail for a few miles. Figured you didn’t know.”

Rook had no idea. He closes his eyes and leans back, letting the words wash over him.

“This is a good place for a camp, Sky can you come here for a sec-”

“Can we call Twi in yet?”

“Set up camp first, then we’ll see where we are. Here, grab him”

“I’m not helpless!”

“Shut up and stop moving before you brain yourself falling off the horse.”

“I hate this world”

Presumably the person who sounds like they’re on death’s door is Legend. Rook keeps his eyes closed.

“Rook” Four asks, very quietly. “Please tell me if you’re not alright.”

He opens his eyes and looks at the worried kid. What the hell.

The fighting. He tells him. I remembered the war. I remembered before I died.

Four looks blankly at him. His fingers twitch, he frowns, trying to recognize some of the stranger signs. Slowly his face begins to fall as he figures it out.

“Oh.”

“What?” Hyrule says.

“This is the champion of this world.” Four says. “And he has amnesia. But he says he remembered during the fight”

“Oh goddess” Hyrule says, with a wince. Rook leans back against his tree and wishes he could turn into a tree. Then he wishes he could just ride away. Finally he decides to wish for being ignored by everyone around him. He gets none of these things.

“What do you remember?” Warriors asks, startling him out of his half-prayer. Four beats him to the response.

“Can you at least pretend to believe Rook is a person” he snaps, shocking Rook into opening his eyes and looking at him. Hyrule is also staring, even if his confusion is harder to read. Time has a hand pinching his nose and Warriors looks annoyed.

“It’s a single question-”

“In the name of the goddess just shut up” Four snaps. When he turns back Rook has his eyebrows raised. Four looks a little flushed, almost disbelieving his own ire. “You don’t have to answer. Any of it.” he tells Rook with almost comical seriousness.

Okay. He signs back, mostly to calm down whatever is agitating Four.

Rook decides in that moment that he will do everything in his power to make sure Four never meets his sister. Fortunately the others take the stance that families the world over frequently do when a young member gets righteously protective.

"Okay then" Warriors says, and visibly moves on from the conversation. Four stays in place, looking like he's ready for a fight that nobody takes him up on.

"We should wait to have this conversation" Time says, reasonably.

"What conversation?" is said by Hyrule and Four in unison. Rook is outnumbered and very tired, but right now he can't muster up enough energy for fear so fuck it. He taps Four on the leg and signs I remembered the war

Four looks blankly at him and Rook sighs. Tell him for me. I remembered the war.

" He says. I remembered the, uh the fighting?" Four translates for him. Close enough. He keeps going.

"The swords and the. The nose-the smell. Scent-memory? Of the war. We knew we would die. We knew we couldn't win. I rode into a fight I couldn't survive. I died. My chest was-"

Dissolved Rook signs, looking at Time. Quiet and defiant. Four loses the sign but the gesture is fairly evocative. I have served the fucking goddess. You can do whatever you want. I have served. Are you going to finish her work for her?

Four doesn't translate the last sentences. Time glances between Rook's face and his hands before looking at Four. There's some exchange that passes overheard before Four repeats the statement with reluctance.

"We've all sacrificed for her" Time says quietly. His single eye looks at Rook.

Rook curls a lip and spits off to the side. Out loud he says. "Then you're idiots"

It doesn't bait them into killing him, and he's a little relieved. He wasn't expecting to be relieved, but some part of him still wants to live.

"Blessed heavens but you're not wrong"

Warriors of all people is the one who speaks. At the incredulous look thrown at him by Sky he speaks up. "What? I'm a soldier. I follow orders. Doesn't make me smart"

"We don't have a choice" Time says. He sounds just as implacable at Zelda did in Rook's dream. "We fight. If we try to walk away we always come back"

"Slavery" Rook says.

No one says anything to that. He looks at the rich boys in their thick cloths and remembers the shining maille that was laid across his shoulders.

Fuck this he signs, Wind snickers a bit at the sign as then he stands. "Campfire?" he asks

-

Four dogs his heels fitfully throughout the entire process of gathering a bit of kindling. Rook can't quite catch what Warrior is saying under his breath but the tone and cadence is fairly clear. He needs a fucking drink.

Rook can sympathize.

"This is a mess" comes from Sky, which almost startles Rook. He forgot the man was here.

You're telling me he signs.

"Wars" Time says. "Let's set up, scout behind us. Sky, check the area. Do you have an extra potion?" It's not necessarily that his voice becomes instructive, as much as his tone finally makes sense when he gives instructions.

Sky hands over a phial and Rook has a moment of realization that it's not polished metal, these men are carrying fucking glass on the road. Because of course they are. At least he's reached his capacity to be flabbergasted by what's happening and he's living in the cold reality of whatever is happening.

Nothing. Nothing and nothing of nothing, not one single thing makes any fucking sense.

"How are you doing?" Time is clearly trying not to sound like he's giving an order. He's failing, but he's trying.

Rook gives him a thumbs up. Time sighs.

"I've been putting this off but at this point I don't even know if we'll make it to the next town. We're all heroes. The goddess brought us from different worlds, but we're your reincarnations. We've all fought Ganon-"

He keeps talking but Rook stops listening. He didn't know you could care less than he did before the speech started. Good to know.

" Are you here to fight Calamity " he asks it out loud because it's fairly time (Time- hah ) sensitive. The man ahead of him shuts up and looks vaguely stoic. Rook cheats and glances at the face of his teenaged shadow.

Four looks stricken. After a second of silence he seems to decide something, setting his jaw.

"Yes" he says. Staring at Time. "We are"

"Its the role of the hero-" Time tries to say, voice going a little gentle. Like he's trying to break bad news

"We're all heroes" Four says stubbornly. Time sighs and scrubs his face with one hand, briefly closing his one eye.

"There's a chance it won't work" he says. Lowering his voice a bit. "You've seen this world Four. This might be a-" he unsubtly changes what he was about to say at a glance towards Rook. "-this might be a warning by the goddess. And we don't know when the portal will come. If we start the quest and have to leave we might wake up Ganondorf and then abandon everyone here to die" Again he looks at Rook.

Portal ? Rook signs out. This is not a word he ever bothered to teach Four because why the fuck would he, so no one understands him.

"I know, Time" Four says. He sounds sad. "But I think you're wrong. Why would she send us here if we aren't supposed to help."

"A warning" Time says. "Or a confirmation of our necessity"

"And why would I need that" comes piped up from Wind.

"Okay that's fair" Time says. Then he sighs.

"We all agree to do this or no one does it." he says, sounding final. Rook has a feeling that he's not included in the 'we'. Or at least not included in the 'agree'.

"I'm in" comes from Hyrule and Four, at the same time Wind says "You think anyone's gonna say no?"

Time mutters something and scrubs his face again. He's not the type for a fucking drink. He might be praying for patience.

Rook still has no idea what is happening. But they seem to think the conversation is over, so he resigns himself to continue never understanding anything and signs Can you tell him sorry about the horse to Four who winces and subtly shakes his head.

"Give it a few days to get over it" he mutters. "Time is too busy to be mad about it right now"

-

Rook tolerates the soldier's efficiency of the camp but draws the fucking line at Wind's attempt at cooking. The kids not bad. He's impatient however, probably because he's a child. He burns the rabbit that Warriors brings back to the camp (with a smug look at Sky who rolls his eyes). Rook attempts to maintain his disdain of the brothers, even as they start acting like real people.

When smoke rises Rook rises as well, ignoring the way everyone immediately turns their head to look directly at him. Its been a long day, and he’s used to ignoring the eyes that follow him.

Stop that he signs at Wind, walking over to where he's roasting chunks of lean meat in a shitty tin pot that he pulled off Epona's gear. Wind stirs harder, with a mulish expression.

"Its fine" he says.

Put some water in there or it won't be edible Rook signs and then starts looking around for a water skin.

"Its not a stew so it doesn't need water and it's fine" Wind repeats.

Warriors seems to think this is funny. He offers Rook a water skin.

Rook takes it and stands over Wind. He's stubborn too. When the kid doesn't get up he just leans over him (he's tiny) and pours a handful in the pan. It's on far too hot a point in the coals because it immediately starts hissing, but the smoke is at least steaming now. Before he can get swiped at by the indignant cook Rook walks away. It won't taste amazing but at least they can actually eat the food now.

He gives the water skin back to Warriors. Then he realizes that he doesn't know what to do.

Well. Back to classics. He sits down next to Hyrule and continues to watch the camp.

Why the child is cooking unsupervised, goes onto the tail end of the scroll of questions Rook isn't asking. ‘Will you let me go home’ is on that scroll. ‘Where the fuck are we’ is as well. He then neatly rolls that scroll back up and puts it away.

At least it's a nice day. The kind of pale sunny sky that you only get in Faron. A jay shrills irritably in a tree. He tries to find it, but he can't see its perch until it takes off in a clatter and darts off. Black and brown, a female, and she’s still screeching at some enemy offending her sensibilities.

For some reason this alerts Warriors. Maybe he’s afraid of birds.

This cheers Rook.

The jay’s yelling gets louder and less ignorable. Rook can’t deny that he’s secretly hoping she’ll come by and peck one of the travelers. It’s very petty. He can’t help it.

Instead she drops, getting louder and a very harried looking wolf bolts forward with his ears pinned and a bird on his tail. Warriors bursts out cackling.

“Run for your life” he shouts, cupping his hands to send it further. This attracts the attention of the rest of them.

“Wolfie!” Wind shouts and stands to wave, completely forgetting the food he’s ruining. Hyrule says “Twilight!” in the same tone and then makes a pained gagging noise that draws Sky’s attention in a bustle of worry.

Rook leans forward to watch the show. The jay dives and the wolf skirts sideways. It manages to look very put-upon as it makes the final dash for the relative safety of the camp.

Even Time smiles at the scene. The wolf makes it to Epona, going nearly under the horse in a move that’s either astonishingly stupid or brave. Epona lifts her head from the light grazing and half twists to look at her new friend. She is possibly the calmest animal in the world because she ignores the enormous predator at her exposed flank and goes back to grazing. The wolf looks irritably up at the tiny bird caterwauling in its general direction and yips.

Warriors gets up and walks over, spreading his arms to look bigger and spook her off. “Leave him alone now.” he says up at the jay. She says “wrah” and goes back to her vigil in the tree. Then Warriors looks down at the wolf. The wolf walks away from Epona towards the fire with heightened dignity.

“My brother” Warriors calls after it, in a highly affected tone. “I shall protect you, I shall lay down my life for you-”

“Did Twilight just get beat up by a bird” is mumbled from Legend who’s been semi-conscious for the last however. That’s the name twice now. Rook looks at Four and signs Twilight? at Four who blanches.

“Twilight? What?” he says. Unconvincingly. Rook raises both eyebrows at him.

Four looks away very quickly and stands up. “Wolfie” he calls.

Too much emphasis Rook tells him. Four is pointedly looking away. He can’t imagine what the wolf has to do with their brother, but sure. It’s a secret. Maybe he’s a wolf-demon and he transforms under the light of the noonday sun. Maybe Twilight can walk his soul. Or he contracted to a spirit of the wilds. Or a demi-god.

Probably a demi-god, he decides to believe. Mostly because it would be the most interesting. Then he remembers that they all think they’re chosen by the Goddess. He further remembers that he also thinks he’s been chosen by the Goddess. Finally he remembers Mitya’s face when he left for Lurelin.

The bubble of normalcy pops. Rook is alone, with no equipment and he’s at the mercy of this group. He schools his expression before any of them can see his mood on his face.

What is he doing?

Warriors is heckling the wolf, who is ignoring him. Rook watches.

Hyrule propped himself up against a tree, and Rook set himself up next to the injured man for no reason more pressing than that he felt kind of bad for him. Legend is across the fire with Sky fussing over him. Time is also watching the camp. He sighs and stands, before clapping his hands.

“Twi.” he says.

Wolfie looks over at him with great dignity. Rook wonders what else is going to fucking happen. The goddess clearly both hears him and hates him because the wolf starts glowing.

Because of course it does. Like a bloody lamp. Backlit by solar light the form of the wolf looks like a dark blob, with the fine details obscured. Rook looks away, blinking away spots from his eyes and ignoring the quiet sounds of—something. It sounds like fabric ripping under mud.

“Hey” Twilight says from the direction of Wolfie. Rook discovers that there’s another, deeper layer of apathy that he can descend to. He does so. "They’re going to get reinforcements.” Twilight says. “Maybe a day or two. I don’t know how fast they move. Is that dinner?”

“Yes. It’s going to be delicious.” Wind says. Rook looks up at the trees at the familiar scream of a jay bird. Probably the one that hassled the wolf. She’s in a tree somewhere, hidden, but he can hear her calling out for some distant partner. Twilight can turn into a wolf. Interesting.

“Okay.” Time says. “Where are we going next?”

Hateno, he thinks, almost dizzy with how much he wants it.

“They went west.” Twilight says. “So, what’s west of here?”

“Are we bringing-” there’s a pause and Rook doesn’t need to look to see the finger pointed at him.

The silence is mildly horrifying in its implications. He exhales.

“Rook.” Four asks quietly. “Can you tell us anything about the Yiga?”

Probably in Gerudo Desert. He signs. Best to be helpful at least. Or at least they trade there. He then spells out Gerudo for Four. And points vaguely westward after. Start there.

“Yes but who are they? Why do they want us?”

He shrugs. Brigands. He tells Four, ignoring the other six sets of eyes and continuing to look into the grasslands. Thieves. I don’t know.

“They want to save Ganon” Hyrule says.

“What?” Four and Time say together.

“I overheard them talking.” Hyrule says, broken jaw still sounding like he’s talking through mud. “They were arguing a lot about what to do.”

“And they want to save Ganon from what?”

“The Goddess.” Hyrule says. “He’s trapped in the Castle, by the power of the Goddess. It sounded like they killed the hero and they think us showing up is because of that. They were arguing about whether to kill us or if that would somehow make the situation worse.”

“He’s not dead” Four says sharply.

“Not the hero” Rook says quietly.

“But you’re not dead.” Four says again.

“They killed the man who would ride up to the castle and fight Ganon.” Time says. “I think whatever happened, it’s pretty clear that-”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Four says, sounding indignant. Rook catches a flicker of movement and finally narrows on the silhouette of the jay in the tree. She’s near an outer branch.

The argument picks up behind him. Rook doesn’t bother to listen. He can’t change the course of the water, and he can’t change what’s going to happen to him.

As far as he can tell Four thinks they need to take care of this themselves, Time thinks they need Rook, Twilight thinks the same but feels bad about it, Warriors doesn’t have a stand but thinks Four is overreacting, and the others fall out as background voices without making a strong statement. Sky takes over the meal, silently handing water and food to the injured and Rook, while throwing placatory comments into the mix.

By nightfall the only thing that’s been decided is that they don’t have nearly enough information and that they need to talk to the elders before they make any decisions. The winning argument is that if Rook dies in a fight they might not be able to do anything, so they shouldn’t go after the Yiga right now. How charitable they are.

But they decide on a direction at least. East, blessed be. Rook is finally consulted about something regarding his own life: they need him to provide directions.

They want to head back and regroup, get Hyrule and Legend somewhere to recover. Nobody is saying that explicitly though, probably because Legend seems ready to try and attack the first person who does.

At some point they managed to get a terrible map, probably something they paid too much for from a farmhouse. Certainly nothing that a professional would use. Still, the distances might be inaccurate but the directions will be close enough.

They’re just past the Menoat River, deep in the grasslands. Farther out than he goes on normal runs, which is likely why the landmarks don’t strike him as familiar. But they're near to a stable he knows well. Highland. He has friends there. Or at least people who will send a message home for him.

When asked he tells them a route that goes straight there. Down the old roads, over the bridge.

Menoat is broad and not terrible swift, and the headwaters come from the lake. This means that there’s more superstition than fact about the river. Gerudo lands don’t start for days after but few Hylians live nearby. It’s a border most don’t want to cross. Demons are supposed to be in the waters, ghosts brought downriver from the Old Kingdom, sights of great ships too large for anything of the real world.

Rook has never seen ghosts, but the bridge over Menoat is a relic of a dead world no matter how you talk around it. The stones are too great for anything but the ancients. He understands why so many prefer to stay far away. Superstition or no, it’s a grim reminder of a dead kingdom.

And it’s dangerous. Yiga are more active in Faron, and the broad road is an excellent staging point for bandits. The safest route is actually to find a fording point. Two considerations stop him from suggesting that though: one, the travelers are numerous, well-armed and have already proven their mettle against the Yiga; two, Padok will likely send a message back to Mitya. So he gives them the path that goes to the stable and they agree

Route planned, the travelers begin their way.

-

It’s mid morning, the mist finally drying in the sun when the sight of the wood-and-cloth horsehead rises from the horizon. Rook is walking, in the middle of a loose formation of stern-faced men, and can’t shake the feeling that he’s bringing something back that should stay in the wilds.

Or in the past maybe.

They head towards the cooking pot, and Time helps Legend off his horse before starting to walk towards the stable proper. Rook follows after, ignoring the looks thrown his way by the others. The surreality of the situation sharpens in the familiar setting. He’s not a single man on horseback staring at the groups of strange travelers, he’s a member of one of those strange groups. His tools and gear and everything are back with Snow, wherever she is. He looks like he was dragged through the wilderness at knifepoint.

Padok’s eyes widen sharply when he sees Rook, his cheerful smile staying in place. He glances over at Time and then to the rest of the group.

“Hello there and welcome to Highland Stable” he says. He doesn’t hesitate before also adding “And welcome back, friend. Where have you been?”

Its a long story. Rook signs at him. I’ll be needing to buy supplies off you if you’ll let me negotiate payment-

“Don’t worry about that.” Padok says. “What gear do you need?—pardon me, gentlemen. BRYNNE!” he shouts over his shoulder. A distant call comes from inside the stable house. He turns back and smiles brightly. “My assistant will be with you folks momentarily, Rook and I have some catching up to do. I have a job I’ve been needing done.” Padok steps out and towards the travelers without a single moment of hesitation. He’s fearless as he grabs Rook gently by the upper arm and starts pulling him inside the stable proper. Away from the travelers.

“Excuse me, sir” Time says, polite and dangerous. “Who are you?”

“Stablemaster Padok” he half bows, tassels swinging with his movement. Time’s hand has fallen to his hip, casual as a sunning snake. “Rook trades in this area, we’re practically business partners by now”

“Family friend.” Rook adds, to sell it to Time. Hearing Rook acknowledge the relationship calms him down more than anything else does.

“Let us know if you need anything” he says. Padok nods and chivvies Rook inside the tent.

It smells like leather oil and dirty travelers and spiced tea. Rook can feel the pressure of the eyes on him boring through the canvas wall, but for the moment it lifts. He exhales. Padok isn’t smiling now, looking sideways at Rook.

I’m unhurt . Rook signs at Padok. But thank you.

“Your business is your own. But if there’s one thing I know it’s that no one speaks honestly in a group armed that heavily.” Padok says. “What have you gotten yourself into, Rook?”

Trouble, as you can see. He says, aiming for a joke. Padok is not amused. He sighs.

I was captured by— how do you even start to describe the last week— slavers. The men found me and brought me back.

“Goddess above.” Padok hisses through his teeth, making a warding gesture with his hand. “They’ve gone bold then. Bad times when young men can be taken on the road. No cost for the gear, whatever you need”

That’s unnecessary—Rook begins.

“Its necessary.” Padok says grimly. “I’m no rich man with a shimmering cloak, but I have enough to get you kitted out. Besides, you work for the stable systems anyway. One colleague to another.”

Rook fists his hands, holding for a second while he tries to think of what to say.

I don’t want to take what I can’t pay you back for. He decides on.

“You’re a good man” Padok says. “And an honest one. Help me with the stables and forget the rest.”

Rook signs I will pay you back next time I’m in Highland.

“If that makes you feel better.” Padok says, shaking his head. He’s looking less grim now, smiling faintly. “Free meal and board, I have some extra clothes that don’t look like they’ve been dropped in a river, and we have extra pack and supplies.”

Mental math puts that at about 80 rupees, maybe 90 depending on what Padok means by supplies.

“Stop adding up the cost in your head” Padok says, and shoves his shoulder gently.

Rook laughs and follows after the stablemaster, not arguing any more. He needs the help, no point chasing it away.

-

When they come back into the sun Rook looks over, searching for all of the travelers. Most of them are out near the cooking pot, with that relaxed air of people back in civilization after a long pause. Even Time is sitting down now, chatting with someone. Sky maybe. Its hard to tell at distance.

There’s not many other visitors here, only a handful of pairs here and there, vastly outnumbered by the brothers. Rook can see a few glances at the strange group, but not many. This is deep in the wilds, stranger things have arrived at Highland before.

The fact that a handful of them are wearing open weaponry helps. People are keeping a wide berth.

Rook sees Four turn his head as soon as Rook exits the stable tent. He gets up immediately, walking towards the man that Four has decided to protect. Padok stays nearby, casually turning to look at Rook and ask “So how does that job sound, then?”

“Job. What job?” Four asks, looking sharply at Rook. He lifts a hand, Padok falling quiet to let him talk.

He needs some labor around the stables and I need gear. We worked out payment.

“You can have some of our gear” Four says. His suspicion is poorly concealed as he looks at Padok.

Peace. Rook says, smiling a bit. He’s a good man, we’ve worked together before.

“Rook is being rather modest” Padok interjects. “He’s a regular of our stables, since Faron is his hunting grounds. You’ve caught yourself one of the finest horse-breakers in Hylia. My stables would be half empty without his catches. This is the least I can do.”

I said I’d pay you back- he starts to sign and Padok waves him away.

“Traders. Always thinking of money.” he says it to Four as though its a shared joke. The young man looks gravely back. “You owe me nothing. Help with the tack if it makes you feel better, but its no payment. Only a favor.”

“How much would it be” Four asks, suddenly a strange look on his face. Padok blinks and looks at Rook.

Don’t worry about it. Rook signs. We’ve sorted it out. The last thing he wants to be in debt to the travelers instead.

Four frowns but drops it. He stays as Rook and Padok make small conversation, until Padok is called away to his work and Rook is left alone to walk towards the stables. Four breaks away at that point, while Rook wanders away to go bother the stablehands for work.

There’s not much to be done, but he helps muck out a stall and feels a lot better by the end of it. Padok gives him a knowing look that Rook ignores. The quiet, impersonal life of a waystation folds the strange destiny of the travelers into its fabric with total indifference. They’re just another group of faces. There’s no danger, no violence. Just the movement of the camp. Some of the people at the stables pack up and move on, and a handful of new ones arrive. There's chatter, and small bargains. Someone starts up a dice game. It's normal.

-

Rook avoids the group as best he can. He thinks they’re trying to keep eyes on him, because he keeps seeing one of them walk over to see where he is. It keeps him from trying to buy a horse and ride on. He’s past the point where he can get away from them anymore. It only works so well, because in the yellow light of early sunset, Time finds him punching out a new belt for a saddle.

Time walks over, alone. He can hear the others chattering a distance away. It looks like they’re setting up in the field instead of buying beds for the night. It isn’t exactly what he expected, but nothing about them is. They might want to keep a watch.

“May I join you?” Time asks, with disconcerting politeness.

Rook nods, because what the fuck is he going to say. He waits a moment, but Time doesn’t seem to want to add anything else so he goes back to finishing his work for the day.

Its quiet. Almost peaceful, if you ignore everything that has happened in the last few weeks.

“I owe you an apology”

Ah. Here we go. Rook puts down the awl and looks over.

Time is looking at him, single eye staring through Rook. There’s an intensity to him even now, in a quiet yard by the road.

“We never asked you if you wanted to join us. I never asked. And now you’ve been dragged into. Well. Into all of this. I’m very glad we were able to find you before the Yiga did anything.”

His words aren’t quite matching his tone, but Rook thinks that might just be the way the man talks.

“I apologize.” Time looks away, and Rook feels as though a weight has left with the removal of that gaze. “And I apologize, but I’m going to ask you to stay with us.”

Rook’s hands are still. He listens. Some cynical part of him thinks that they’re reaching the only honest part of this speech.

“You have a life. You have a family. I can’t-” Time breaks off. He closes his eye and breathes. There’s a moment and then he says, very evenly. “That’s something that very few of us are able to say.”

Despite himself, Rook thinks about how the travelers call themselves ‘brothers’ even though the only blood they share is on the battlefield. He wonders whether any of them have a mother or an aunt who they can come home to. Time doesn’t say anything, and for a moment Rook can see the muscles flexing as he clenches his jaw.

“I’m not trying to ask for sympathy.” he finally says. “I just wanted to say that I know how terrible it is for me to ask this of you. And if I could, I would let you return to your life. But we-I. I need your help.”

Rook looks at him, the shadows slowly growing around them as Time talks.

“I’ve seen worlds die before. I don’t want to see it again. And I know, I know we can stop it here. I know.”

Gray eye flicks up, as sudden as a landing arrow. Rook is pinned by the certainty. Whether its true or not, he suspects Time believes it to be true.

“And I need you for it.” Time says, cold as metal.

“I’ll pay you.” he says. Rook wants to feel insulted but Time reaches into his coat and pulls out a bag, with the familiar clink of rupees.

Despite himself Rook reaches forward to take it, feeling the weight as it settles into his hand.

When he opens it, gold glints back.

This is...This is a future. This is anything he wants. This is a lot of money. And Time keeps talking.

“This is yours. No questions. For everything we’ve put you through until now. If you want to go home, if you want to be done with this, I understand. I’m not happy with it, but I won’t stop you. That is for you and your family, no matter what. But-” and now the raptor stoops, Time leaning forward. “If you join us I’ll pay you more. Whatever I can give you. Maybe another thousand or so, I’ll need to talk to the others. You aren’t chosen like the rest of us, you have a life Rook. I can give you what you need to have a better one.”

He leans back now. “And if you decide to walk away, I understand. I really do. This is going to be a difficult road and I won’t blame you if you don’t want to be a pawn in this game.”

Liar, Rook thinks, uncharitably. The man is offering to pay a king's sum for Rook's labor. He can't find gratitude for it. This is a trap.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to join us without giving you anything in return. Four was the one who mentioned it to me. You’re a trader, he said. A material man. He said we should try and offer you something for your troubles.”

Four probably meant recompense, not whatever this is. Extortion? Rook feels a tired swell of hate, but controls his face so it doesn’t show.

“Will you join us?” Time says. The hawk shakes the rabbit, already long killed. Rook breathes.

This money goes straight to my family . He signs, even though he doesn’t know how much Time can understand. You won’t win this deal with my death.

“I accept” he says out loud.

Time nods. “I’ll let the others now. I’m sure you’ll have terms you want to work through, but I’ll need to grab Four for that. Give me a moment to grab him, we can sort this out right now.”

Rook feels the weight of the money bag, pinning him in place as Time rises to go talk to the others. Four lights up at the news, looking over at Rook with joy. Despite everything, he feels betrayed. But he shouldn’t. Four is kind, but he’s young and he’s bought in as fully as the rest of them.

The two of them start walking their way back. Rook sighs and begins to start thinking about the contract he’s going to make for his life.

-

They decide on an easy contract. Rook will give them information and guide them. Purah has some kind of device that needs him, and he’ll help them with that. They agree to head back to Hateno first. Rook to break the news to his family, and the brothers to talk to the Sheikah again. Time agrees to pay up front without even a murmur. Rook will believe that only when the money is in Mitya’s hands.

They’re heading out the next day. After the exhaustion of that conversation Rook escapes to the cooking pot, sitting down with a pair of women who also decided to take a moment to rest. He doesn’t have any interest in cooking anything, but its peaceful here. The brothers are far enough away that he can’t hear their words, only the tone of  as they do...whatever it is they’re doing. They must have read something in his body language, because all of the travelers step away to let him keep to himself.

The strangers give him a brief glance and the older one, a graying matron as spare as a bowstring, grunts him a greeting before looking back down into the fire.

He sits there a quarter turn around the flames and watches them as well. He’s on a holy quest now. For better or for worse. A log spits.

When he was broken and Haite was young, Mitya had told them that all fires came from the breath of a dragon. There was a legend about it, that he had gifted it to humans to keep them warm in the night but gave it a bite so that they wouldn’t abuse it. When you burned yourself, that was the dragon telling you to be cautious. He reaches up, touching the smooth skin of his own burns.

The old woman flicks a hand at her companion, maybe a niece or granddaughter. “Go up to the stables” she says, in a harsh voice.

As the younger woman silently leaves, Rook feels something cold begin to slide down his spine. The older woman stands up and walks over, seating herself besides him. Her hand whips out and grabs onto the bones of his wrist in a clutching grab.

“You’ll keep quiet now” she says, in a voice he recognizes. The last time he heard it though, it came from behind a white mask. A white mask with an eye on it, and a woman shouting at her subordinates.

He turns his head to look at her. She’s wearing a green felted jacket with mud splattered on the sleeves, and has a cluster of wrinkles besides her eyes that fold up when she gives him a grin, patting his arm. She could be anyone, the harshness of life carves most older women along similar lines. A different kind of mask than the Yiga one she was wearing the last time he saw her.

“You see my friend over there” she says, pointing at the niece or granddaughter. She’s ambled up to the stable counter, leaning over and tapping her fingers as she talks to Padok. “Now. You brought some friends of yours as well, which is nice and proper. Bad to travel alone you know. And your friends could likely tear me and mine into shards on the grass. I know it, and you know it as well. But I’m a spiteful old bitch and I don’t let anyone kill me without hurting them back. Call for help and every one of these good folks will bleed as well.”

Rook stares helplessly at Padok, who seems to be lightly flirting with the younger woman. He grins, almost laughing at something. Rook shifts, wearing the clothes that the other man gave him only because he recognized Rook and felt sorry for him.

Rook looks at the woman and then glances over at the travelers, suddenly terrified. They’re not paying any attention to Rook, talking to a strange woman at the camp fire.

What a start to the journey. He can’t feel surprised though. It seems in character with everything else that’s happened.

“I understand” he says. His voice is rougher than normal. She smiles again. The wrinkles around her eyes almost hide them when she smiles, like she’s carved her humor into the skin of her face.

“I thought you would. You strike me as someone who knows how to survive. I can respect that. You don’t live long without a good healthy dose of hard work. I’ve certainly put mine in.” she pats his arm again, idly looking around like she’s a grandmother giving life advice to a man on the road. “And I suppose the right thing is to apologize, but what’s the fucking point. I have my work to do, and you just happen to be caught up in it, little bird. So I thought, why make more fuss and difficulty when I think we can come to an accord. Yes?”

“Yes.” he rasps, turning to look at the fire. Affecting calm.

“Do you want to know how you were born?” she asks.

He turns and looks at her again. This time he raises an eyebrow. She cackles.

“Oh no, don’t worry. I’m not a hundred years old. That honor goes to those hermits in the woods. But about ten years ago I led the greatest glory of my life. And now it seems I’ve messed it up somehow, because you are certainly not as dead as I thought you were when I left. That, I will apologize for. Yes, I think I will.” she nods, decisively. “I am sorry. I thought you would be like them. But you’re just a man, and a rather injured one. Half of that is on me—pardon the rambling.”

She shakes her head. “So many years and plans and work and you’re just here! Like a miracle. What strange times we live in. Anyway, I was on the team that gave you this”

He’s wearing a veil, but the burns crawl up to just below his left eye. She reaches forward, tracing a finger along the bone, over the slick skin. He can’t feel the touch. Her gaze is almost hungry.

Again he glances back, but none of the brothers have noticed her possessive touch. No doubt they’re having some important discussion he isn’t permitted to hear.

“There’s a guardian on the plateau.” she says. “We had to be clever. And the shrines are armored—I’m sorry. What do you remember?”

He tries to answer and his voice cracks. After the stab of pain it causes, Rook only shakes his head. She nods.

“This will be my penance then. I’ll tell you what I know of you. And then I’m going to ask you for help. I’ll likely threaten you as well. But this much I owe you.”

She looks away, her eyes unfocusing as she speaks. “One hundred and five years ago, the champion rode into battle against us. He was golden and full of youth. He died in the end, fallen as heroes always do. There’s no hero without tragedy. But.”

“There was a princess” pale eyes glance sideways at him. “She was a cunning woman. A genius. And desperate. A desperate genius is often a mad genius, and both combined can crack the world to the core. I admire her, I’m not ashamed to say it. She could have been great, but the sun got her before we could. She took that hero, and she placed him in an ancient machine. A coffin, maybe? But no-this was no coffin, because it kept him alive. And it could remake him. Yes. It would take a long time, because a man is not a cracked wheel. One hundred years it would take. And then they would have the hero again.”

“Zelda” he says, unthinking. She nods.

“Her. She was the one who put him on the plateau. There’s a great deal more to the story, but I’m afraid we don’t have all afternoon to wait for me to tell it. Your friends will finish their planning soon and then call you to their heel. If they find me here, good folk will be hurt. Now.”

“The coffin was a clever thing, ancient and guarded. Not just by technology, but by the spirit of an ancient king, if you can believe it. We certainly didn’t.” she sounds a little rueful. “We lost good souls in the hunt before we learned his ways. He’s still up there, as far as I know.”

“The golden hero and the sunny princess, they’re creatures of the open field. Me and mine, we’re creatures of the dappled shadows. And the hawk can’t find the rabbit in the brush. What I’m saying is that we were clever and more than that we were sneaky, and we found our way up the rocks and onto that blighted earth. And when we found the king, we found our way away from him, hidden in the grass. And we found the entrance, slowly. Ever so slowly.”

“I watched many die” she says. “Their bones are still up there. We couldn’t bring them back down to be buried. It was the works of many lives, but in the end we found the door to the coffin. And you know we found something else very special about it. Because the coffin was buried under the earth.”

A fierce smile comes over her. “And once we knew that? Well. Next time we brought shovels.”

The story is compelling. Despite himself, he can see it. The holy guardian and the brutal thugs throwing themselves into the meat grinder to make sure the world can never heal. It’s viscerally real. It has a truth to it. He thinks of the other old woman who told the story, and wonders what Impah would say if she heard this.

“There was a door, but the walls were only stone. We broke in. Ninety-five years after his death, we opened the lid of his coffin.”

“I remember.” her voice softens. “His face...he could have been dreaming. I took a blade, a long thing and I placed it below his noble jaw. The cold, I think it was the cold, because he roused. His eyes, they tried to open, and I opened that holy neck to let his blood pour free.”

He reaches up to touch a jagged scar underneath his veil. It feels as though the rest of the world has retreated, and he’s alone with this bloody story and this ferocious woman.

“It was stupid of course.” she frowns now. “He was still lying in the coffin. He couldn’t die. His lifeblood was flowing free but those eyes opened, they stared me down. He rose, hauling himself out of the machinery, sheeting blood, and furious as a wounded animal. I dropped my scythe like a fool and he took it, swung it. He couldn’t shout, the blood was all flowing inside him. Before my eyes I saw the blue of the magic work itself, keeping him alive as he fought back. Like a fox in a trap he fought, no beauty or artistry. No knight, but a wounded monster.”

“It was an ugly fight. He was carved through by the end and not able to die. Someone finally broke the connection between him and the machine and he staggered. Like that was all he had left. Then he ran, stumbling drunk, with the skin peeling back from his burns and the blood pooling from the mouth I made of his throat. He fled into the darkness, maddened with painand unable to scream.”

“The guardian heard us.” she says. “And came and saw us crawling out of a bloody hole in the earth and it fell on us like a thunderbolt. Another fight, and we were injured by then, and shaken. I’m not ashamed to say it shook me to my core. We lost, we ran. I can’t even tell you how it ended. I survived. Most didn’t.”

“The story is almost over now. Weeks later we went back to check the work, slinking around to avoid the spirit who had done so much harm. The coffin was soaked in blood and tissues, and broken machinery. There was a trail as thick as a log, dragged towards the edge of the cliff. Far more blood than a living man could have lost. He must have still had enough of the blue in him to stay upright, even with the connection cut. The guardian was distracted by us while he walked, and so there was nothing and no one to stop his heedless run.”

“The trail reached the cliff edge and then trailed down the rocks a little bit. Below were trees and rocks, a very long ways away. The hero, we decided, was dead.”

He believes her. He shouldn’t. But he does. She’s mad and cruel and dangerous, but he believes every word she says.

After a moment he lifts his hand, and she releases his wrists. Both hands up, he lowers the veil and looked at her. Her eyes roamed over his skin greedily. She’s almost leaning forward, peering at the scars on his face as though she can see the raw wounds they used to be.

I was found in the woods. He signs. By a hunting party. They heard me screaming and brought me back to the stables. They thought I was dead. But I lived. I couldn’t seem to die. They said I bled for weeks.

“You look just like I remember.” she says. “But older. A man now, and not a legend. I gave you that” her hand floats up and halts a few inches away from his neck. Then she puts it back down.

“I saved you from the goddess. It wasn’t my intention. I wanted to kill you. And I nearly did. But you lived. You had ten years of a life. A free life. I’m glad some good came out of that night—“ for the first time her voice fails and something crosses her face. Grief maybe.

“And now you’re here. And I’m here. Ten years later. I was an older woman then, and I’m even older now. This is how it began. Maybe this can be something like an ending too.”

“Ending?” he asks. The odd camaraderie fades and her face goes back to the congenial mask.

“I want them dead.” she gestures vaguely towards the travelers. “Or at least gone. They’re in the way of our work. I’m supposed to throw myself into the grinder and draw blades on them, but well. I’m not dying yet. So I come to you, young man in an old body. You’ll help me.”

He looks over at Padok, wiping down the stable counter with a distracted air. The niece-Yiga is nearby, arms loosely folded and looking up at a passing bird. Still far too close.

“You may know me as the Rat, because there’s nothing that can kill me.” something presses into his hand and when he looks down he sees a small painted tile of some type. It’s a pale kind of pottery he doesn’t recognize with a glazed picture drawn on it. The head of a mouse—a rat he corrects himself—with a distinctively detailed eye staring up. There’s a hole and a loop of leather in it. “That’s my token. You took their bargain. We were listening. And so you’ll travel with them. And every once in a while someone will visit you, and they’ll have the token I gave you.” her fingers tapped on it. “You’ll show them yours. That person might be me, or one of my friends. Speak nothing if they don’t carry the rat, even if they have the eyes of the Yiga. We do holy work, but every holy order has a schism. You work for me and mine alone. This work is too important to be interfered with by anyone”

“What then” he says

“You listen to what they say and you do it.”

He closes his hand over it and looks at her to respond but she’s not done. She reaches into a pocket in her jacket and pulls out a small braided cord. Then a second. She passes them both over without comment.

One of them is a dark brown, dusted through with silver. The other is sleeker, a warm shade of brown. The grayed one has a small iron bead on it. The brown has a scrap of dyed fabric.

It’s woven out of hair.

“They’re alive.” she says calmly “I think someone got this from an inn they stayed at, so they haven’t even been touched. It wasn’t hard to find them at all. They came to the city we captured you from, made a great deal of noise about it. A friend of mine is watching them now.” she says. “I haven’t followed the reports too closely, but I heard they’re back in Hateno. Back to a normal life. Your life as well. If you survive to the end of this story.”

She stands up, while he sits frozen. “Mitya and Haite. Lovely women they are. And Padok is a kindly man.” His eyes look over at the stablemaster, unaware of the danger standing paces away from him. The blade hanging over the neck of someone who doesn't deserve any harm.

Her point made, she smiles. “Remember that. Those sunny soldiers you’re with? Are they worth the lives-”

“No” he says, harshly interrupting her. He closes his hand over the braid and looks up at her, more certain than he’s even been. “I understand. You have me.”

She looks satisfied. She should be. She played him like a flute.

“I’ll speak to you soon then. Safe travels.” she says and turns to join the other woman. Without a word the two walk away, ambling down the road as though they had just stopped by for some tea and lunch.

So it seems he has two masters now.

He should pray—but instead he pulls out the bag from Time. On a whim he can’t explain he ties the token of the rat around the mouth and then puts it back away.

He looks over at the brothers and then turns to look at the retreating back of the Yiga that just threatened his loyalty.

Certainty settles into his hands. The last shreds of fear finally leave him. He wraps his face back up, careful and precise. He rises from the fire and turns his back on both for a moment. Something frantic in him soothes when he looks over at the hills of Faron. He knows this place. He knows these lands.

No matter what else goes on, the horses will keep riding over the hills and someone will need to come and collect them. Leather will break and metal will bend. Tea boils onto the fire if you don’t watch it, and young people argue with their elders until they grow old themselves. The world is still the world, even if he’s not a part of it anymore. He can let go.

He walks back to the travelers with purpose. This is his job now, and he’ll make the most of it.

Chapter Text

There's no easy way to get a message ahead of them. There aren't any couriers going ahead and even if there were, he's not sure that they would be any faster than the group itself. Rook is trying to be at peace with his family not knowing until they arrive at Hateno, but he can’t help but wonder how worried Mitya is.

There is some luck though, because a lone Rito lands in the evening, looking for a place to shelter through the night.

He hadn't been watching the skies, so the sudden landing startles him (and half the stable), although he manages not to completely embarrass himself and stand up like Warriors does. He can't really blame her for not announcing before she landed. The lights going and he's yet to meet anyone who wants to fly after dark. Still. It would have been more polite to whistle—

—It occurs to him that the he’s never heard of a Yiga who wasn’t Hylian, and that a Rito wouldn't really have any need to fly this course unless she was going to Lurelin. It further occurs to him that he's currently fabulously wealthy, and Padok might be willing to translate for him.

"Who is that?" is half whispered by Wind. Rook glances over. His personal guard has acquired an urchin as well as Four, while the others mill around at their own affairs.

Rito. He signs and then repeats it a second time. There's two ways to say it and he's not sure which one Wind might recognize. The Zora sign (Bird and then King) gets recognition. Not the Hylian. Interesting.

"Oh. The Rito are different where I'm from" he says, casting another glance over.

"The what?" Four asks, tearing his eyes away from her. He's staring like a child seeing the sun for the first time.

"The Rito. They have wings and beaks and they live on a volcano. I met one once and she helped me out. Have you seen them before?"

"No" Four says and turns his head again. Rook leans forward to tap his leg

Don't stare. He signs, when Four looks back. They're strong fighters, and proud. Be respectful.

"Fighters? What do they fight?" he asks. Rook stares at him incredulously.

"Probably the stupid moblins. They're too big" for some reason Wind directs the last sentence at Rook. He lacks the ability to fix that, and so doesn't directly respond.

"Well....alright you got me there. The monsters are all over then? Or do they just live near the castle."

He dithers for a second and then says Give me the map. Once handed over he unrolls it and taps the northwest corner, where Hebra is.

Rito, he signs. Then he taps a finger by the lake. The castle. The mountains are safer, better than the central areas. Still monsters. And they have the Demon Beast with them.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Rito step away from the stable and pace out to start stretching. He stands, wrapping up his conversation.

Everyone fights. If you leave home you fight more and get better, that's all. I'll be right back he says and steps a little away, only sparing a glance to make sure he doesn’t get followed by an overzealous teenager before he walks over to her.

She glances sidelong at him but doesn't stop her work as he steps himself directly in front of her. He lifts a hand in a lazy wave, making sure he’s projecting the casual almost-arrogance of a confident haggler before he signs a greeting at her. Always be direct with a Rito.

"I don't know your hands" she says brusquely. Switching arms to stretch. "You know how to talk underwater? "

Zora sign again. He hides the sigh and resigns himself to talking in simple sentences

Need message. He fumbles. Go east?

"Yah" she says.

Fish village? He asks

She grunts before saying. "Lurelin. I'm going there. Your sign is terrible"

Oh I'm so sorry, ma’am I apologize dearly for my lack of swift movement he says in Hylian sign, deliberately speeding up his hands. She coughs out a laugh, taking the rebuke in stride with a bobbed head.

Family in Hylian Village. North. Need message for—

Fuck what's stables.

-horse house. He tries, a little lamely. She snorts again.

He holds up ten fingers and then five. Low but not insulting. Desperation is the surest way to get ripped off.

She beats her arms once, driving up dirt and buffeting him by her wingbeat. He stays impassive, blinking away dust. When he can see again she's shaking her head.

"Forty" she says.

No. Short message. He's firm with his no, making the sign for fifteen again

"Hmm. What's the message"

Tell Mitya— he has to spell out the sounds of her name, hopefully the Rito understands—I will be home in ten days, coming from Faron. Tell the stable master she can send a runner and have them paid by Mitya.

"Oh that's it? Yeah I'll do it."

Good. he says instead of ‘bless you and thank you’. He adds. Aunt worries and she sighs.

"Mine does too. But us wanderers gotta keep moving, you know. Couldn't stay back in the mountains forever. I'll pass the words, you can just drop the payment off at the desk when you get it. The horsemaster's honest here"

Will do. He gives her a short salute, fingers held flat like feathers. She clicks her beak with a pleased smile and gives him the same gesture back with her wing.

When he turns around, he nearly jumps at an audience of staring blonds.

All of them are staring at him. The Rito must notice it too because she calls out "Don't forget to blink" in a much less friendly tone than before.

He half turns and makes the sign for Foreigner followed by a descriptive sign he picked up on the docks among the fishermen. It does what he was hoping for, which is that she cackles out loud instead of going to confront the brothers as he walks back over to the group

Told you not to stare he signs at Four, sitting back down. Warriors joins them, because of course he does

"All good?" he says voice easy but hand at his hip.

Rook nods as Wind says "She's a Rito" and goes back to his important task of pulling up grass blades and throwing them into the fire.

"For someone who can't talk you really seem like a charmer" Warriors says, still standing over them like an asshole. Rook can't tell if that's an insult or not. If it is, it's possibly the stupidest one he's ever gotten. He shrugs.

Warriors whirls his cloak out of the way to sit down and asks, louder now. "So what dealings do we have with this fine gentleman of the skies"

Who? He asks back

"Wars is asking what you and the Rito were talking about" Four volunteers.

She's a woman he starts with and then: I asked her to run a message to let my family know I'm coming home.

"Oh. I'm really sorry, we didn't even think of that" Warriors gives Four a look. He translates "The Rito is a woman and Rook sent a message to his family"

"Oh" Warriors now looks at Rook and then over to the Rito, who is now ignoring them all. "Wait how can you tell"

Because he's a petty man Rook says "Close personal experience" out loud instead of 'they style their crests differently and also average about a head shorter.'

Or 'the lady Rito's being smaller means they tend to have an easier time flying long distances, so this far away almost all of them you see are female.' Or 'honestly I'm not sure, it's mostly a guess and it's incredibly rude to ask but either she's female or trying very hard to look female for trading with the Gerudo'

Warriors bursts out laughing at the quip and claps him on the shoulder. Rook manages to brace under it, without tipping over. Mostly. "Nicely done" Warriors says.

"You've didn’t say anything to me about knowing what Rito are. What makes him special" Wind says, still throwing green things into the fire. Warriors freezes.

"Uh." he says.

Rook helpfully clarifies by tapping Wind’s leg to get his attention and then making the sign for having sex with someone. Wind stares at it and then wrinkles his nose. "You’re really gross" he proclaims.

"Good time" Rook says, and Wind makes an exaggerated noise of disgust. He snickers as Wind rolls his eyes and then turns to Warriors.

“You can relax" Wind says "I know where babies come from."

"Goddess bless." Warriors says with fervent emotion

They're acting like people again. It's confusing, trying to figure out which face he's talking to from hour to hour. Wind is trying to scandalize Warriors, while Four looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Rook lets himself enjoy the moment with these boys, just fellow travelers on the road

-

It doesn’t get easier as the days go by, but Rook gets the impression that Four or Time have told the others to not talk to him. They mostly leave him to his own devices, except for asking him for directions. The only excitement is a brief encounter with a pack of moblins, who take one look at the heavily armored and large group before moving on to easier prey. Rook feels a bit like he’s the one being escorted by the group, complete with mild conversation by the leader to make sure the client is coping with the difficulty of travel.

It’s fucking insulting, especially since he seems to be the only one who can both cook and hunt. But it’s tolerable.

The next bout of excitement comes about three days from Highland, with another six to get home.He’s up front, ignoring the unspoken rotation of who walks next to him. Right now its Four. They’re making good time, even though they’re on foot. Four is continuing his attempt to learn every kind of sign from Rook, and Time is leading Epona by the halter. She has a few packs slung on her, but nobody seems to want to ride her. The air is lightly damp with a misting drizzle, the kind of rain that can’t decide if it wants to be fog or not. Visibility is low, but they’re closing on Keya pass and the shadows of the ravine is still visible as a dull shape in the sky. It’s gray and quiet and a little damp, and Rook feels as muted as the foggy air. Not really in a bad way, its been a difficult few weeks and the break is welcome.

The first sign that something is wrong comes from the slope north of them, when there’s streak of brown lunging across the path .

Rook stops, hand to hip and watches as a pair-no, a whole herd of deer cross the path, lunging out of the fog like spirits. Two does, a fawn and a stag . A yearling follows after, limping a bit and moving slower than the rest . They don’t even cast a look at the Hylians standing in the middle of the road as they rush heedless into the other side of the fog.

“That scared the hell out of me” Warriors mutters, and Sky smacks him on the shoulder. One of them starts walking forward, but Rook hangs back. Listening mostly, but watching as well.

“What is it?” Four asks.

Why did they come down from the mountains ? He signs. Something is strange here

“ Maybe they just moved ?” Four says and takes another step forward. Rook doesn’t follow. Deer shouldn’t be here. Not on this road. Not in this number. The valleys are full of monsters this deep in Hylia. T hey would only be found on the mountains if at all. And why would they come down? What could even find them up at the peaks?

There’s a chuff, low enough to carry from a perch further up the slope. He freezes.

Run. He signs at Four.

“What-”

Run. Now. He’s facing the slope now, backing up and scanning the horizon. A rock shifts, revealing itself to be something much bigger and more mobile. A head turns, ruffed mane clear even in the poor light and Rook spares a moment to wonder what else could possibly go wrong around these boys.

It doesn’t leap yet, and he wonders how much of them it can see. Whether it knows enough to recognize the glint of metal. With any luck the lynel thinks they’re a patrol and it will be experienced enough to leave them alone.

“What’s going on” Four says. The silhouette gets lower. Rook tenses. The others have pulled ahead, leaving the two of them behind the group. Making them a target. There’s a shift above them in the rocks.

Rook and the lynel both lunge for Four, Rook knocking the younger man onto the ground and beneath him. He can feel the warmth of the monster, the weight of it pushing the air away as it clears them by inches. He’s half curled now, and his eyes snag on the hoof directly in front of him. The force of the landing pushed it into the dirt. It shuffles, turning as the lynel huffs in annoyance and Rook grabs Four and hauls them both backwards.

He blinks hard, something dark flowing into his vision as he moves and oh. Maybe it clipped him, because his hand touches a warm wetness at his hairline. Fuck. That could have easily killed him.

It roars and every primal instinct in Rook shrills an alarm. This is a predator. An angry predator. He wants to lie down and give up, but instead he forces his shaking body to straighten up and spread his arms. Make himself look bigger. Or at least a bigger target. Its supposed to help with bears. If nothing else he can try to dodge. Something that big can’t be quick—

It roars again and stamps. It unsheathes a sword that is—conservatively speaking— t he size of Rook’s torso. He half crouches, ready to drop when it swings but it howls suddenly and then the mountain of steaming muscle bounces back in an athletic twist of surprising grace, proving Rook entirely wrong about how fast it is. The landing vibrates up his feet but the lynel is a few paces away now and looking at the rest of the group.

They’ve all drawn blades but one of them—and he can’t be fucked to figure out which one—has drawn a bow instead and looses an arrow at it. The lynel swats a paw at the projectile, huffing and then rearing back.

It’s going to blow fire. Rook opens his mouth to scream a warning and something in his throat pops, nearly making him gag. The only noise that comes out is a faint cracking. Then everything is heat and red light, as a wall of fire cuts across the path.

He watches with frustrated helplessness. A blast of hot air smacks him in the face, h e can hear the horse screaming, and the sounds of the brothers shouting. Rook falls back, trying to grab Four by the shoulder and pull him away while its distracted but instead Four lets out a wordless call and charges forward. He drew a sword at some point, comically tiny in comparison to the cleaver the beast is using. It does the job well enough, because when Four slashes the flank it clicks its jaws shut and rakes its claws into the air where Four is standing. He manages to dodge out of the way, whacking the extended arm with his blade.

“What the fuck is this” someone shouts and then finally, finally, someone says “We need to run!”

There’s another boom and a wave of air, this time directly on the lynel itself. Some small bomb, detonated in its face. It snorts again, shaking its head. B etween Rook and the rest of them right now, but focused on the bigger threat.

He has a goddamn sling. And a dagger. Unless he manages to pop the eye of an angry, charging lynel with a single stone he’s more than useless. He falls back.

T wilight has mounted Epona, handling her as she tries to spook away from the smoldering grass . It’s all shouting, but there seems to be a measure of order coming into things. Warriors thumps his chest with a roar, yelling something unintelligible. The lynel doesn’t take the bait, instead making a swipe at the closest brother.

T he entirety of what he knows about lynels can be summed up in a single sentence: Get the fuck away. They’re territorial. If the group can run, they’ll leave its territory and they can report it at the nearest town to allow the actual professionals to clear it out for the moon. That won’t work though because h e can’t shout, they can’t read his hands and he can’t get close without dying painfully.

He never thought he had a particularly charmed life to be honest. They were hungry a lot, and hunting for work and sometimes living on the goodwill of other people. He’s worked hard all his life. But as he watches the fight he has the quiet realization that he’s never actually seem someone die in front of him. Seen bodies, yes. The roads are hard, and people don’t always make it to the next town. But he’s never actually watched the life leave a person.

First time for everything, he thinks, angry at the thought but not sure why . He stays low and backs up, facing the fight. The lynel is now completely occupied and he doesn’t want to turn his back on the slaughter.

Twilight handles Epona well, and she finally wheels to face the beast. Even from here, Rook can see her nerves as she steps in place and tosses her head, but she holds and even starts to move forward at a yell from Twilight. The lynel snaps to them, stamps its own hoof . He wonders if it feels some kinship with Epona, some understanding of the way she moves. It leans back again, and this time at least they know to scatter, Epona bolting now, barely contained by her rider as blazing fire chases her tail in an arc across the path.

Then. Well. It doesn’t make any damn ed sense but Twilight is twisting in the saddle and firing behind him, long bolt after long bolt flying free as he guides his horse by the knees in the opposite direction that he’s looking. It’s probably the finest moment of horsemanship Rook will ever see in his lifetime, and its followed by Wind pulling something out of his bag that throws dirt up around him and then a wind blows through the clearing, so sharp the lynel stumbles in place and even the embers of the grass gutter out. Rook feels the edges of it brush against him.

Warriors leaps in now, bracing his sword arm with his off hand to give power as he sinks a full handspan of steel into the rear flank, and wrenches it free again. Drops flick off the end of his blade as he pulls back, giving room as it makes a limping turn. Sky comes in from the other side now, slashing sharply at the hide in a flicker of gleaming metal. It cuts far deeper than he thought it would, carving into the beast. It staggers again, roaring.

As he watches them herd a lynel like a trapped boar, he feels like he’s witnessing sacrilege. They can’t win. That’s absurd. This is a lynel. It takes a twenty-man patrol to pin them down every month and every soldier on the team has to designate who takes their wages after death. They’re unholy demons that render roads unpassable and mountains forbidden. Rook has gone miles out of his way to avoid the faintest rumor of a lynel. He’s ended trips because he’s seen a footprint, and even Canta hadn’t said anything beyond ‘rough luck.’ There are people who believe them to be malevolent gods, and no one can really argue with them.

And this one is screaming in fear , blood matting down its rear legs.

Rook can’t tell what he’s feeling, as he watches the chaos up ahead slowly resolve itself. Twilight is circling on Epona, raining arrows at every opening. Four and Time are bracketing the thing while Sky and Warriors alternate hits. Hyrule and Legend have weapons drawn but they’re definitely in a defensive position.

There’s a howl, a roar that bounces off the mountains and as the last echoes of its voice fades the lynel topples.

Warriors moves in to lay a blade in its chest. Then he straightens up.

The air is still.

“What. The fuck. Was that.” is said to no one in particular. Rook runs a hand up and presses against the cut on his forehead, feeling the blood pool under his palm. When he blinks the world tilts for a moment, but it rights itself.

“Was that breathing fire?”

H is balance is fucked. Goddess damn it. The words “Well, this is embarrassing” cross his mind and then darkness rolls over him as he f alls in a dead faint .

-

He comes to on the grass, with something shining in his face and a truly foul taste in his mouth.

“Welcome back”

That one is Sky. There’s a lot of other noises happening, but Rook has been kicked in the head by a lynel and decides he’s allowed the indulgence of not paying attention for the moment. He manages to sit up without passing out again, and goes to wipe the blood away from the cut.

He freezes. The blood is still wet on his face, growing sticky at the edges. But the lip of torn skin isn’t there. He presses fingers to the spot, harder than he probably should be. He winces but there’s no mark on his skin.

“I used a potion” Sky says, crouched in front of Rook . “You weren’t waking up”

He lowers his hand and looks over. There’s a very large carcass on the grass, currently in the process of dissolving.

They killed a lynel. And they healed him of his injuries. He checks the sky for a dragon, and is quietly relieved that he doesn’t see one.

“ How is he?”

Time maybe. Sky twists to say “Awake. Head injury. That’s another one down.”

“What does that bring us to?”

“A little under half.”

“ W e’re burning through supplies -”

“Oh hey, don’t try and stand yet” Sky turns to see Rook try to gather himself and lays a hand on the other man’s knee. He pauses mostly out of bafflement. “You might be dizzy for a while.”

“Good save” Yeah that’s definitely Time. “How did you know it was coming?”

Rook looks up at the man to confirm that he’s being spoken to

“It moved like an avalanche did you see that thing-”

“Where did it even come from-”

“Look at this sword-”

“Rook?” Time asks. He shakes the other voices out of his ears and signs up at the leader.

I saw it on the rocks when I was trying to see what spooked the deer.

He shrugs Sky’s hand off and stands up, ignoring the spots in his eyes. He removes his veil and starts using it to wipe the blood off his face. One handed he adds They don’t normally come down here.

“We all really need to learn your sign if we’re going to be doing this for any length of time.”

Rook agrees with him. He nods and scrubs at his own hair. Dammit. His collar is soaked. Mitya is going to lose her mind.

“You’re handling this very well.” Sky says.

Its probably the head injury . He shrugs.

“ Link!” Time shouts, and everyone looks at him for some reason . “ We need to keep moving. Rook, do they hunt in pairs?”

He shakes his head and points down the road, forcefully.

It gets the point across. They gather again, falling into something closer to a formation. He’s in the middle of it, along with the other injured. Or Hyrule at least. Legend shoves forward with a stubborn cast to his jaw and glares Time down until the leader looks away. Its a victory of some type because Legend shadows Warriors as the point of their little squad, and Time falls to the rear. Rook mostly just stays out of the way.

When he glances at Four the young man is staring at him. He’s frowning hard, tense with an energy Rook can’t read. At a touch to his shoulder from one of the others Four breaks eye contact and goes to clean his blade before sheathing. Rook can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed some test, or disappointed the young man in some way.

-

In his opinion the travelers are far too impressed by his demonstration of basic situational awareness. A mile down the road Time asks him if the way is clear to go forward. He gives the man an unimpressed look and then glances around.

The rain hasn’t really resolved one way or the other. They are on a road. He shrugs.

Warriors mutters something that Rook ignores.

It turns out that this is the new normal. Go a mile, ask Rook for his mystical wisdom. If he didn’t have a headache he would fuck with them a bit more, but as it is he just glances around and waves them forward.

They cross a lizalfos patrol, but a pair of shouting young men in armor is more than enough to scatter them back into the woods.

Mid afternoon Warriors grabs Rook by the arm and hisses “Look” with a finger pointed forward.

It takes Rook a few seconds to realize what he’s looking at when a patch of brown moves. Another deer. Although its probably one of the ones they saw earlier, having cut across the path to get as far away from the predator as possible.

At the terrifying sight of a young deer sheltering in a grove, he pats Warriors hand and signs Have courage my comrade.

“Is there another one?” Warriors asks. Rook shrugs and then shakes his head before Warriors can do something stupid like draw a weapon. Instead he helpfully signs That is a deer.

W arriors nods gravely, as though he understood. He at least understands that Rook isn’t worried. They move on.

It’s a long day.

But even the longest day ends, and then he can sit by a campfire while the brothers dump their gear and begin the laborious process of cleaning guts off of their weapons. His task is to get water boiling.

H e’s getting a feel for them, and so he knows that the quiet around the fire is tenser than normal. Hands keep twitching at the sounds of night birds, and more than one of them makes as though he’s about to rise in response. Weirdly, they keep looking to him. Some noise, a flinch, then a glance at Rook peacefully feeding wood into the coals and they’ll go back to what they were doing before.

He’s ambivalent about being a good luck talisman but it could be worse. Four is the only one who doesn’t look at him, staring down into his lap for a while. Finally the young man puts his gear down and walks up to Rook.

“Can I talk to you for a second” he asks. Rook nods, Four glances at the rest of the camp and raises his voice a little. “We won’t go far Time, don’t worry”

They only go a few paces away. They can still see the others, but there’s some distance now. Rook looks down at the grave young man, and asks What did you need?

Four opens his mouth and then shuts it. Then says “ I wanted to talk to you.”

You have me.

“You tackled me.” Four says. He starts out a little too loud and then makes his voice quieter for the last two words. “When the lynel came. You shouldn’t have done that”

Rook raises an eyebrow.

“Why did you do that?” Four asks, sounding very young.

Rook lifts his hand and then pauses before answering.

I saw it jump. He says. I didn’t think. It was going for the two of us and I thought it would miss us if we got on the ground.

“You can’t do that ever again” Four says. “Ever. Please promise me. Because you’re not a soldier. And I am. I know I’m younger than the others but I can hold my own. In a fight, I need you to let me do my job.”

Ah. Rook holds his hands up and hesitates. This is a tricky line to walk.

I saw the way you fought. He starts with. You were incredible.

Four looks surprised at that. Rook keeps going.

I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you and your brothers do. I thought it would kill us all. But I was wrong. I thought maybe you and I can get away if it kills the others first. I was wrong. I thought you had no chance against it, that no person could ever survive. I was wrong.

Four looks down. Rook taps his shoulder and keeps going when the young man looks up.

You remind me of my sister. She is going to be an incredible woman. If anything happened to her before she got the chance to become that woman? I would be heartbroken. Young people should grow old. I won’t promise not to try and keep you alive, b ut I can promise that I w on’t get in your way . As long as you listen when I say to run.

Four frowns hard. “I’m supposed to protect you. And I’m not young”

You did. Rook points out. You speak up for me in the group.

“ I don’t—they mean well.” Four says, with a pinched expression. “A lot of them have seen some really horrible things. I’ve been lucky. I know they treat me like a kid, but a lot of the time I feel like I’m older just because I know how to talk to people. And I’m not even good at that.”

“I hate being young” he finishes, scrubbing the back of his neck with a slightly sheepish laugh.

I’m grateful to you, Four. And young isn’t a bad thing. Young people have better knees.

Four snorts, looking a little surprised at his own reaction . Then he lifts his own hands to say Worse since you threw me.

Not sorry. Rook says. Bad knees are better than broken head.

Four looks better now. At least he’s smiling.

Well sir knight you had better keep me in good condition then . Rook says. Besides if I’m your client I get to be as annoying as possible.

“Oh goddess don’t” Four mutters “I got enough of that in my own escorts.”

No, no, no. He says, eyes crinkling. You want to protect me don’t you. I think I feel the urge to go fall in a frozen river, and maybe throw a rock at a monster. Or sketch on a cliff with my pack besides me so I can tip it off and almost kill myself.

“That sounds like it came from experience” Four says, starting to walk back towards the fire. Rook snorts, keeping half an eye on the young man besides him. They make it back to the fire and Rook settles in to tell the story.

Chapter Text

Time throws a glance over at Four and Rook when they return to the fire, glancing over Rook’s face as he tells the story of the Gerudo merchants he had to babysit for two weeks, and then settling on Four’s. Standing slight in front and much taller, Rook can’t see Four’s face but he communicates something because Time dips his head for a fraction and turns back to the fire.

The wall between Rook and the rest of the others stands in the air like the flank of a breathing animal. He can almost smell it. Four is reaching out around the barrier, but he lives on the other side. And Rook wouldn’t give a shit if other people have lives that don’t revolve around him. But he would prefer to know what he’s being dragged into. Still. Only children think they get what they want and Rook was never a child.

Or...well he was. Presumably. A few scattered fragments of slaughtered soldiers can’t have been his whole life before. Presumably. For some reason his mind slips to a woman with a rat tile, telling him that she gave him ten years of a life. She did. He can’t say has anything else. The weight in his pocket suddenly seems heavier, and he’s grateful for the veil. Maybe he puts a little too much energy into pretending to be engrossed in his story, but none of them will understand.

So finally he signs, reaching the punchline. I’m sitting with the silk trader, setting her shoulder back in place, since the beadmaker wasn’t an option. I tell her that it was uncalled for, that the beadmaker needs to control her temper better-BANG. He claps his hands for emphasis, ignoring the sidelong glances at the noise. I’m flat on my back, confused as hell, and the only reason my jaw wasn’t broken because she hit me in the face with her off hand. And she says. “Don’t you dare talk about my sister like that”

Four actually laughs out loud, settling down back in his place by the fire.

They were actually sisters? He asks.

Rook nods. Oh yes. They were in completely different styles of dress, so I didn’t realize. But considering how much they argued I should have known right away.

Do Gerudo sisters fight a lot?

Oh young sir, Rook says. (Four won’t recognize the affectation of elderly wisdom in his choice of honorific. But if Rook only told jokes other people understood he would be the most boring person alive.) All siblings fight a lot. Do you have brothers?

That question shouldn’t be confusing. Four goes through two false starts before finally saying Yes. Or Yes? If Rook goes by facial expression.

His first instinct is the road-etiquette of ‘don’t push strangers for more information, or you’ll start a fight.’ But backing down from answers isn’t doing him any favors right now and Four is the most sympathetic. Even if Rook strikes a nerve, he can get himself back in Four’s good graces.

You seem confused. Complicated family? Rook asks, tile digging into his hip.

Four actually groans, dragging a hand down his face and says something quietly. It might be “you have no idea.”

Apparently I’m a hundred years old, so I might have some idea. Rook points out once Four is looking at him again.

“Fair point” Four says out loud. He glances around the fire, and oh this is interesting.

Four signs Yes its complicated but I don’t want to get into it around the others.

Rook raises an eyebrow and then nods. It might just be a brushoff. But it might mean the brothers are keeping their own counsel. And that could be very useful. He simply tells Four ‘Later then.

“What’s a fair point now?” Comes from Warriors, coming over to the fire and squatting to poke at the fire.

“Rook and I were talking about escort missions” Four says. There are groans from various points around the camp, proving his suspicion that they’re all listening intently.

“It wasn’t that bad” Wind says with an eye roll. “You guys are so dramatic.”

“Yours could fly” Warriors tells Wind, in a tone of long-suffering.

“Yeah.” Wind says with a shrug “Medli was awesome. You guys should have escorted better people.”

“If I could I would have.” Sky says. His voice is unexpectedly dry. “Fi absolutely insisted that the only way we could get the temple was with the robot, as though I lacked the ability to carry a single basin of water.” he glares vaguely at nothing, facing towards his sword. “It took me two days. Almost wanted to punt the thing off the side of the mountain by the end—“

“Robot?” Rook asks. Out loud, because even phonetic sign doesn’t always translate for other languages.

Sky looks over at him, startled. He tilts his head.

“Do you know what an automaton is?” he asks.

Feeling a little bit like he’s talking to a schoolmaster, Rook has to shake his head no. Sky looks sad.

“They were a race of people. Made of mechanical parts, but given life through stones of great power. They were ancient in my time, I’m not surprised they’re long gone.”

Something in his resigned expression makes Rook sign Maybe not as long gone as you think. Have you seen any of the Ancient Shiekah technology.

“Rook asked if you knew about the old holy technology-”

Sheikah Rook corrects, spelling it out this time

“Old sheikah technology, sorry.”

“Purah spoke to us about it. It didn’t sound too similar.” Sky says, diplomatically.

Mechanical creatures, powered by purple corruption. Rook says. But they don’t sound like a people, you’re right. I would not suggest getting close enough to talk to one.

“Why not?” Sky asks.

Rook gives in to a sense of theater, and pulls his veil down again. Fuck it. Might as well.

Fire beams he says, tapping the rippled skin of the burn. And they’re very fast. Run if you see them. All over the old castle.

“You remember that?” Time says once that’s translated, a little sharply.

“A little.” Rook says, covering his face back up. “Remembered burning.” he adds. It stops that line of conversation easily. Sky looks between them and then starts fiddling with the laces on his gauntlets.

“There’s nothing worse than a burn.” he says, loosening the leather enough to slip it off and roll up his sleeve. When he leans forward, he looks calmly at Rook, showing off his own patch of shining skin. Almost like a grease burn, crawling up the wrist of his arm. Rook had almost written Sky off as something of a warrior-scholar, but he says. “Funny enough I got this right after I worked with that robot I told you about. He helped—well. He was certainly there while I went up to the path of the fire sanctuary. As you might imagine, there were one or two fires there. Got splashed by a lava bubble. I had a potion or else I would have lost the arm.”

Hidden depths to that one then. At this point he’s no longer surprised.

“Oof.” Warriors says, easily. “I think burns are just a Link thing. I set my shirt on fire one time when I was trying to impress people at a bar.”

“What?” Sky says, sharply looking over. “No that’s entirely your own fault. Why in the heavens were you—“

“There may have been a lot of alcohol involved.” Warriors says, speaking over the incredulous pitch of his brother.

“Yeah I did the same thing” Wind says. This time everyone looks at him and he puffs up. “What? Fire arrows are cool.”

“I think its more about the alcohol--” Warriors says before Twilight offers “Forgot my tunic and lit my shoes on fire”.

Sky turns on him, somehow even more incredulous.

“Rough luck.” Time says. “I’ve done that too.”

“See” Warriors says. He turns to look at Hyrule and Legend. “Okay how did you two get your face burned off?”

-

"What does that kind of cloud mean?"

Glancing up into the sky towards where Wind is pointing doesn't really clarify anything, because they're walking through a valley in spring. There's more gray than blue. A token glance around and Rook offers "Rain" as a response. Wind huffs.

"That one. On the top of the mountain. It looks like a plate. What does that cloud do"

Now that it's pointed out, Rook can see the distant shape. A pale cap on a far peak. He nods with sage wisdom and answers properly.

"Rain."

Wind kicks at his ankles, thankfully not hard enough to actually knock Rook over.

"Aren't you supposed to be the trail expert?" Wind says, "C'mon. I'm bored. Tell me about the storms and things around here."

Not a sailor. Wind is better than others but not perfect, so Rook is careful to sign slowly. I don't use the sky like you do.

"How are you supposed to know when storms are coming then" Wind says with true and biting skepticism.

The birds. The color of the sky. The smell of rain. Rook offers. How do you know?

Wind perks up at the question. "Lot's of things! You have to watch the sky, she'll tell you almost every time. If the clouds look like feathers and horsetails you have fair skies. That's why they're broom clouds, because they sweep away storms."

"The scientific term is cirrus clouds" Sky adds from behind them. Wind huffs again.

"They're broom clouds. The big ones that look like anvils are storm clouds. When you see them you have to check the wind to make sure they aren't coming for you."

"Cumulonimbus or thunderheads" Sky interjects distractedly. He's pawing through his bag looking for something.

"Okay smart guy" Wind says. "What's it called when there's one that looks like a hat on a mountain."

"Lenticular." Sky says, without even missing a beat. When he looks up at Wind he adds "Although that term can be used for any stationary cloud in a disc formation. You mostly see it over mountains."

"Why do you even know this?" Wind asks, looking a bit sulky.

Sky gives him a very flat look. After a few minutes he says. "Wind. I was born on an island floating in the sky. You've been there"

How does that work? Rook signs, making sure to poke Wind for a translation.

Sky brightens up. That's twice now he's asked him questions and it pleased them. They're alright with curiosity, maybe even encouraging it.

"In ancient times" Sky begins ("you got him started" Wind says accusingly to Rook.) "The demon demise was kept trapped beneath the stones of the earth by the power of the three Golden Goddesses. In time they entrusted their power to the hands of the Goddess Hylia, in the form of the three-part Triforce."

Sky pauses here to swing his bag around. He's carrying a shield beneath it, metal painted in festival colors. There's a little decal: three golden triangles together, Sky points to that.

"She ruled for many years until Demise grew jealous and sought to take the Triforce from Hylia-"

"Sky." Time says gently. "I don't know that we need to hear a history lesson."

I want to hear. Rook says. Wind audibly groans but Sky looks even more cheered before he looks at Time and wilts a little.

"Ah. I'm sorry. I enjoy history and I've talked my brother's ears off with this story before. The demons ran over the earth and the power of the goddess raised the earth beneath her people's feet, bringing them to the safety of the sky."

"And on the ground?" Rook rasps.

Sky frowns. "Monsters. Corruption. Demise ran unchecked. The people left below struggled to survive. It was why the goddess called me to power"

At Rook's head tilt Sky looks back with pride.

"Demise was defeated. We were able to return to the surface. We're building a kingdom, greater than Skyloft. The kingdom of Hyrule. Built in the image of Hylia. When I went on this journey we were in the process of creating the first city."

"Sky wants to become a civic engineer" Warriors stage whispers. Sky rolls his eyes over some good natured chuckles.

"It may still be a legend in your time." There's a quiet hope in Sky's voice. "Rook, have you heard anything like that?"

My time? he asks instead of answering. Once translated Sky looks at Time, with the air of a child who told a secret they weren't supposed to. Time sighs and answers for him.

"The Goddess brought us from many places. As far as we can tell, Sky was brought from the very earliest time in the world. He's the first of us."

Sky fidgets with his pack strap, no longer looking at anyone directly. "Well, we're not sure. In the context of the reincarnation of the Hero there could be a more ancestral instance that wasn't brought forth, and we know that there were divergences in the worlds so it is more accurate to say I'm a basal version of the incarnation, or a prototype maybe. An unspecialized attempt by the goddess for the specific instance of our circumstance-"

" You have any stories like that, Rook?" Wind asks loudly. "About how Hylians used to live in the air because the ground was cursed or anything."

"Not religious" he offers and then stops when he remembers that’s not quite true.

Not Hylian. He signs, having to make the sign twice until Wind gets it right. The Rito do. There was a time when the Hylian, Rito and Zora were one people. Waters flooded the earth, drowning the land.

That sentence makes Wind scrunch his face and fold his arms. Rook gives him a look and keeps going. The Zora dove into the ocean. The Hylia built on the shore. And the Rito fled up into the sky.

“That’s not at all what happened!” Wind snaps, forgetting to translate the last sentences. “The waters were cursed, the Zora couldn’t swim at all, so they went to the Sky Spirit Valoo for wings.”

Okay, Rook thinks, nonplussed. How on earth and under the sky did a fucking Rito creation myth piss this child off. Why does he know a heretical version of this myth and why does he care so much. Is there anything in this world that these brothers don’t have strong opinions about?

“What are you talking about?” Sky asks. Wind huffs. “The Rito think that they were all Hylians before the flood and the Zora went watery after. That’s wrong”

Its their history. Rook says gently. I don’t think you know better than they do, Wind

“Well what do the Zora say?” Wind snaps. “Do they think they were just swimming around evil waters or what?”

The Zora don’t share their mysteries with outsiders. Rook says. At least not outsiders who don’t develop very good relationships with their fishmongers and Rook is not giving out secrets he’s not supposed to have. Especially to this group of people.

“Hmm.” Wind says, with towering irritation. “Where’s their city?”

“We” Time interjects “Are not going to go bother the Zora for curiosity’s sake.”

“What about historical accuracy’s sake” Wind says, with a sidelong glance at Sky. Maybe trying to recruit him to the cause. Sky is—he appears to be muttering to himself.

Rook shifts his pack, occupying his hands before he can do something stupid like ask the unstable zealots any more questions about their religious beliefs. They seem like regular folk most of the time, but he shouldn’t forget the weight over his head. Especially when he doesn’t know what will break the cord holding them back.

In the end this really isn’t too different from most of his other escort missions. He has to stay pleasant and helpful, offer diplomatic suggestions about how not to alert every moblin in the area that they’re heading towards the valley, and make small conversation. Very small conversation. He’s learning not to talk too much to Sky if he doesn’t want to start in about legends. He can’t keep it all straight, the only belief they seem to share is their idea of a holy war by the goddess. The descriptions of the places they come from are even more disparate and fantastical. He doesn’t know what to make of it. If you were to take their words as true it paints a fairly bleak picture of a Hyrule in constant collapse—which he could easily believe in. He’s seen the world. Late at night he thinks about the crumbling ruins, about the glint of a sword in his memories and wonders whether they really believe themselves or not.

-

His armor is heavy on him after so many days wearing it. His shoulders ache with the weight. Still, hardly the worst that could happen to a soldier. He knows that. Pain means you’re alive. He freezes as something kicks a stone, further down the hall, his hand tensing on the hilt of his sword. Glancing behind him, he sees her pale face as she leans against the wall, protected behind his body. Her shield.

“This can’t possibly be a memory” he tells something shaped like the ghost of a woman. They’re trapped in place by purple growth, pulsing and sickly sweet in the air. For a moment the confusion of rot smells almost like fruit, and he thinks of wine making.

“No. Not particularly.” she looks idly up at the ceiling, where clumps of tissue hang overhead. “Not an interpretation I would have expected either. You haven’t been to the castle by any chance, have you?”

“I don’t have a death wish, so no.” his hands want to draw the sword. He makes himself sheath it instead.

She hums. “Well you are very different now I suppose. Help me up.”

She holds a hand out without looking at him. He takes her wrist and guides her up, like the elder she is instead of the young girl she looks like. She leans on him, patting his arm for a moment.

“Don’t mind this, I decided to allow myself one more indulgence. It seems things are complicated now, after being very simple for so long. Change is never good for us, is it?”

She says it with a knowing glance, a shared joke between him and whatever she is or used to be.

“Things aren’t exactly wonderful as they are” he points out. She slumps abruptly, bending over.

“Evil is infinite” she recites quietly and he believes that, if he believes nothing else. Evil is certainly very easy.

“Well” she straightens up, just as abruptly, and removes his hand from her arm. She’s in a blue dress, fine satin that sheens with the fungal purple of the room they’re in. A little shorter than him, she looks up with an imperious indifference.

“I may not be infinite.” She tells him. “But it’s working anyway.”

When he opens his eyes the sky hangs overhead, the deep blue before the dawn. A cricket trills and someone is breathing deeply, still below the level of a snore.

The fire is embers, providing faint light to see Time on watch across the fire when he tilts his head. The brothers always keep a watch.

That was Zelda. He was Link and she was Zelda.

The sky overhead sprawls beyond the edge of sight.

His hands curl on nothing, scratching up the dirt.

He masters himself before the others awake, making sure his shoulders stay relaxed and his hands steady. Breakfast is made. Stories are shared. The crusaders break camp and continue on their noble quest. Rook clutches the edge of his pack, leather worn thin from use. He’s starting to believe that its possible for a person to enter another world.

Chapter Text

It must be a bad season. There’s a small shrine by the fork in the road before Lurelin, an offering bowl and statue. He doesn’t approach, but Sky does, bowing his head in prayer. When he comes back Sky idly asks Rook if he knows the meaning of the grass doll left next to the bowl.

He doesn’t answer, instead walking over to see for himself. The staring grates on him as he looks down. Green grass tufts for arms, feather for a head. It’s a Rito grave doll. There’s also something burned in the bowl, cloth or maybe hair. That was probably for a Hylian.

Another group with a bad end.

“Offering” is all he says, shrugging and moving on. Somebody already took care of them.

They're a big enough group that, besides the lynel, most monsters won't want to approach them. Loud and armored and vigilant: exactly everything that a bokoblin hates to bother. Not everyone can be that lucky.

They don't see any patrols avoiding them, but the signs are there. It's a bit odd to find a territory marker carved on a rock and go forward anyway, but it's the kind of odd that everything's been so far, a growingly familiar weirdness.

They're making good time, he can hardly complain about that can he.

It's when they cross into the pass that they finally see the signs of non-monster life: a dead horse still in tack, half eaten in a spray of thrown leather and wood. There's a clear path of crushed herbs and grass where other bodies were dragged from the fight, but the horse must have been too large to move.

Something about it unnerves the brothers. Well. It unnerves him too, but it's hardly the first unlucky people he's seen before. Or the twentieth. Call him morbid, but this is almost a pleasantly familiar sight.

"What is that?" Time asks Rook. They've halted well short of the body, and fallen into something a little more like a formation before approaching. Rook's place in the formation is the bestiary and travel guide. Four's is the secretary, translating his answer out loud.

"Looks like a guard patrol. Unlucky."

That answer satisfies. Time approaches first, with almost comical caution. When he signals the rest of them walk up.

Warriors is the first to speak. "Poor bastards"

"Yes." Time circles out, looking at the drag marks and following them up with his eyes. "Twi, can you circle around? Make sure there's no more of them before we go up"

What?

"Not a lot of blood" Hyrule says, scuffing at the ground with a boot. He's right, but it's getting creepy how fascinated they are by this. None of them have even taken a look at the saddlebags, staring at the corpse and the marks of struggle. He doesn't particularly want to, but when no one else does he moves forward. Several sets of eyes turn to him as he walks.

It was a roan pack horse, but anything beyond that is lost to the weather. Rotting, and deeply unpleasant to get closer to. He resigns himself and crouches into the smell of decay to look over the pack.

"What are you doing?" Warriors sounds vaguely disgusted which is a bit rich honestly. Rook stops himself from giving him a look and continues rifling through. Food and camping gear, nothing particularly helpful until he finally opens a side pouch and pulls out a small journal. The first page is a list of names. No one he recognizes, thankfully.

"What is that?" the curiosity of a child. Wind is trying to peer over his shoulder and read. "Holly Fisher, Bowman Gar, Swordman Pike-"

He shuts the book abruptly with a shiver. Wind stops and looks at him. Once the dead are no longer being called out he feels a little stupid. He's not a believer in ghosts, but he does believe in respecting the dead and its uncomfortable to hear them summoned like that. He tucks the book under his arm to free his hands when he responds

The people who died here he says, standing and moving away from the festering corpse with deep relief. Their names.

"You don't know they're dead" Wind says.

Rook has to stop and take a moment to gather himself. His fingers shift for a moment but he closes his hand before he signs anything.

The kindest cruelty is the death of innocence he thinks to himself and then meets Wind's eyes for the answer. Tries to channel Mitya's iron as he answers.

They are dead he says, emphasizing the final sign. The horse is half eaten, and the people were dragged. The only thing left will be in the bone pile, unless the meat was buried to eat later.

Wind's eyes grow very wide. Rook feels like an asshole. He taps the journal. This is their body. he tells Wind Whoever they left behind will need this to lay them to rest. There's nothing left.

"Is everything okay?" Sky asks them. Wind ignores him and says "If they're alive, leaving is as good as killing them."

Rook can't help it but he smiles. Wind sounds just like his sister. How would they have survived? he asks

"Don't you care about them? Do you want them to be dead?" Wind's raised voice catches everyone's attention

"Whoa, Wind-" Warriors says, glancing at Rook. "I don't know what you're talking about but I think that's out of line-"

Really? It's a fairly mild rebuke. Rook reaches to his neck and pulls out the smithing token with his namesake etched on it, showing it off before tucking it back in so he can use both hands.

If my body is found on the road, this is how my family will know it's me. That's why I took the journal. So their families can know they died. That's how you honor the dead

Wind frowns, but the idea seems to land. Rook finishes with Death happens, and it can't be stopped. We just live in the space around it

"That's depressing" Wind says. Rook shrugs.

Still true he signs firmly.

"What's going on?" Time asks. Rook glances over.

"Rook thinks they're dead" Wind says. He looks to Time like he wants confirmation. Time sighs and looks at him. He nods.

"You know the region better than anyone else." Time says to him. "Do you know what took them"

He shakes his head. The tracks probably could tell them.

Sky looks between Wind and Rook, his eyes catching on the journal. When no one says anything else he asks “Could I ask what that book is?”

“Journal” Rook says, Time looks at him with the calmness of a cat, while Sky seems to be vibrating with suppressed scholarly interest. He sighs and hands it over after a few moments of anticipation, ignoring the feeling that he’s betraying the dead. He doesn’t know these people. It’s just a book.

Sky flips it open and then immediately frowns. He turns the pages, leaning closer. By the time he’s progressed to holding pages up to the light Twilight has returned down the slope. Well, presumably he does. Rook missed him doing the...thing that turns him into a wolf. He can’t say he’s upset by that. Anyway a wolf comes down the slope, looking a bit muddy and it doesn’t try to attack them so his guess is that its Twilight.

The wolf makes an oddly doggy whuff when Warriors walks towards him and asks a question, too quiet for Rook to hear. Time starts heading over too and then Sky says “Do you know what this means?” and shoves a page into Rook’s face.

It’s a travel journal. Most of what it appears to mean is ‘my feet hurt and its raining’. Rook glances between the griping in the entries and looks back at Sky. Whatever Sky sees in the gesture makes him poke at a specific point on the page. A date entry. He glances over it

Third month, ten days in, 105 years after . He signs the date at Sky. The man makes a confused noise and half imitates the sign for month. Rook sighs and makes it more obvious. Slower.

“Month three, day ten, year 15?” Sky says. It takes another handful of gestures before he gets it. “Year 105. That’s so young, but what is this?”

‘This’ is a moon count, 18 days until the blood moon. Rook thinks about how long that’s going to take to translate and sighs.

“Days until moon.” he says. Sky frowns and flips through the pages before showing him something else. A few sentences scrawled in Rito marks. The top one says ‘Educational phrases’ and they’re all curse words. Rook snorts.

“A joke” he tells Sky. Then he remembers the Rito grave doll they passed.

He holds his hand out and Sky hands the book over. He flips back to the first page, where the names were.

Longflyer Panna.

Flipping through the pages more carefully gives him the picture of the group. Five traders from Faron, along with a Rito bard hoping to make her way in the world. A bokoblin raid two days before the final entry. There’s no more information but he can see it clearly. Two men with an overladen horse heading down a broad path. Tired, worn down. Easy prey. They should have killed the horse and ran, but they had too much in the bags to abandon. Rook hands the book back.

Panna was teaching the writer phrases in Rito, and liked to sing at the evening fire. Holly and Gar were both haulers from Lurelin, and the writer didn’t think very highly of them. They’re all dead now. Eaten. At least some of them got offerings. He sighs. He’ll throw a piece of bread into the fire tonight for the rest of the ghosts.

“Lizard people” Warriors calls out, looking up from his conversation with the wolf. Twilight stays four-footed. “And its a couple days old by now. Rook’s right, they’re long dead.”

“Goddess keep them in her care” Sky murmurs. “Take them back to her arms, let them rest from the world.”

Odd words that. Sounds like a sheikah prayer.

Find a better world, this one wasn’t kind to you. A Hylian prayer, far more to his taste. A prayer of this world and not of lofty heights and strange religions.

Sky keeps the journal. Rook doesn’t bother asking for it back.

-

Halfway down the pass now, this strange journey coming towards its close. Or this portion of it. The wild garlic has brightened into its finest green and is threatening to turn darker. Spring pushes on. Despite everything, the world hasn’t changed. He can’t tell if that’s comforting or frightening. Suppose it depends on how exactly the world views him.

Like the last time he led the travelers through the pass there’s a silhouette standing on the old road when they approach. The memory of masks and red worries him, as much as the strange token from the old lady who threatened him at Faron which is still on his body—but its not Yiga. Its a massive horse, old blood draft breed like a mountain in motion with small figures on either side. One taller, one shorter.

Twilight skates ahead, sliding into the brush like his namesake. Probably to scout but Rook knows who’s up ahead. He masters himself, trying not to react. To alert the brothers. Or anyone else watching, because his family has been dragged into this net along with him and he won’t let them drown he won’t get them killed for a dead world and a dead woman in a ruined castle. For the first time he wonders if the group has been followed.

Ahead of them Haite spots the group and shouts. Mitya shifts, turning towards the group. He can practically hear her chiding comment, the warning for caution. Haite bolts anyway, vaulting the rock wall and jogging towards the group.

Warriors shifts a bit and Rook very calmly remembers that every single one of them is armed. He steps ahead of the group sharply, striding past a suspicious Legend and Time and ignoring the blades at his back. Getting between them and his sister.

She hits him like an avalanche, speaking well before she actually makes contact, half words and half hands, all chaos, drawing every eye to her

Hello to you too sister he signs. She smacks him in the shoulder, full force. Behind her Mitya makes a more dignified approach. Out of the corner of his eye he sees movement in the brush and glances over to see canine eyes watching them. Great.

“You-” Haite says and then stops talking very abruptly. Her face crumples on itself for a moment before she shakes her head, composes herself back to calm. Not fully calm though. She looks fragile. He swallows his own fear and takes one of her wrists in his hand. He presses her palm to his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat. She looks down where they touch. After a few moments he lets go so he can talk.

Its a long story and not one we should have in mixed company. But I’m alive Haite. I’m alright, I’m alive.

You were gone from Lurelin Haite signs back, stepping away to use both hands. She’s losing the battle with tears They found Snow on the road with your pack, we lit herbs for you, I grieved you

The Yiga got mixed up with the sheikah’s crusade and they grabbed me . He says, again trying to get her to pick up what he’s saying and drop the subject while they’re surrounded . I’m alright, I’m alive, please don’t cry

“Rot your bones” Haite says, crying. “You died you don’t get to tell me what to do-”

“Um.” Four says, ruining the moment. Haite’s eye flick to him and then back to Rook dismissing him in totality. Its her, she’s fine, his sister is here and safe they haven’t hurt her.

Fuck he’s going to cry too.

Mitya and Snow come more sedately into the group, but she drives straight towards him all the same. Behind their heels Twilight ghosts from the brush and slides up their path.

“You owe me for the funeral bundle” she says to him. It startles a laugh out of him. That’s his aunt.

Should have had more faith in me he tells her. Could have saved the coin.

“My apologies, I assumed my child would want to be remembered. But if you want to be a hungry ghost of the hills its not my place to halt you” Mitya says. He shakes his head and walks past her to Snow.

You wouldn’t charge me for a near death experience, would you girl? He says, or tries to but his horse sidles into him and almost knocks him off his feet in her investigation. Mitya snickers, Haite laughing wetly as he’s buffeted by his frantic horse.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced” Time says, perfect-polite. Haite is staring at Rook and Snow like they’re a miracle but Mitya looks over at the group. He resists the urge to get between her and them. She can handle herself.

“It was Time, I believe. You’re the travelers who work with the sheikah?”

“I suppose you could say that.” so diplomatic of him.

“You’re relatives?” Sky speaks up, and knowing him this is some kind of push for geneology. Mitya simply inclines her head. He sounds excited as he keeps going “When you get a moment I would love to-”

“Not the place, Sky” is muttered by Time before he asks whatever question he’s going for. Then he says “A pleasure to meet you ma'am."

Mitya bows, bending over at the waist. "I apologize for my intrusion into your affairs. I only ask that you allow me to stay with my child until your business with him is concluded."

"There's no business -" Time starts, sounding confused. Mitya cuts him off.

"I understand that he's under your power, I'm not fighting you" Mitya says, something tired in her voice and Rook glances sharply over to her because what in the heavens above and below is she trying to say "I'm not a mayor or a scholar, I know the shape of the world. I just want to see my son"

An appeal to sympathy isn't going to sway Time, but it will work on the others. Mitya is trying to soften them up so they'll be willing to leave him alone. Haite and him meet eyes and then she wipes her face to draw attention to herself

"Mitya stop" he rasps a quiet warning, stepping away from Snow and towards her. Getting between her and the rest of the group again. With his hands visible to Four but low enough to seem like they're hiding he signs Don't provoke him

Time spots it, eyes flashing down at the movement. Rook drops the motion like he's been caught.

Bait set, line thrown. Warriors bites the hook.

"Goddess fuck me, that's not at all what's going on here-"

"You're not a prisoner" Four cuts in sharply "And Time isn't going to hurt you, none of us are going to hurt you"

"Of course you wouldn't" Mitya says. The sardonic tone isn't well hidden. "You aren't those kind of men"

He glances between her and the others sharply, because that is a pretty harsh line to feed a rich man, and as kind as they are they believe they're working for a higher purpose.

Time lifts his hand and makes a gesture with his hand. It's clumsy but readable, the trade sign for Armed strangers. Rook and Haite go similarly still at the threat, Mitya straightens her spine.

"Could I ask you what this means" Time says, towards Mitya. She doesn't answer.

"You signed it at her when your aunt came into the conference at Hateno" Time says. Rook feels a tired hatred.

"Time-" Four says, but doesn't keep talking. Rook answers, before Time can get more demanding.

"Trade sign, means that the people you're with are armed"

"Goddess above" Warriors mutters. Time folds his arms.

"Uh what conference are we talking about" comes from Hyrule, almost sounding suspicious. Time looks back.

"We spoke to the leader of the sheikah, an elder who knew the hero a hundred years ago. She recognized him, and told us a bit about the history. Rook left with his aunt partway through."

"And you were armed?" Hyrule says incredulously "What kind of conference was this Time, what on earth-"

"No one was armed-" Time raises his voice over Hyrule before turning back to Mitya and Rook. "- It was a peaceful meeting, a dinner with the village chief. But I can see how it would look that way to you"

Liar, Rook thinks, and doesn't look at Sky who was wearing a sword or Twilight who's a weapon all on his own. And that's ignoring the village guard who was in the room.

"We're no threat to you or your family" Time says quietly, lifting his hand in placation. "I swear it on the goddess, we don't mean Rook any harm."

The reassurance bounces off Mitya, Rook and Haite but Mitya inclines her head to acknowledge it. Time seems to take it in the spirit it was intended, sighing faintly.

"Let's get back to the village" he says. "It's dangerous to have this conversation on the road."

Chapter Text

Despite everything he can't stop himself from relaxing around his family. They're here and they're safe. On the other side t he travelers seem subdued, almost awkward. Even Four is withdrawn from them.

It would be both petty and stupid to enjoy this moment of social power over the travelers a nd yet for some inexplicable reason Rook doesn't try to talk to them any more than they talk to him.

Mitya-and-Haite-and-Rook is a familiar unit. It's always been the three of them with their backs to each other, for better and for worse. The brothers seem to think that Rook is the center of the unit, which isn't true at all but it is useful. Mitya is willing to play up a role as worried protector, and Time treats her with formal courtesy. The others pull back.

Rook strokes Snow's nose and keeps half an ear on Mitya's obsequious attempts for sympathy, while Haite slips up to his side. Her hands both lay on Snow's flank, hidden from the brothers properly now as she says "Are you well brother?" while she spells out Safe? with her left hand and a question sign.

Safe enough. He says, with the trade sign for uncertain weather.

Danger from all directions. Haite says, and brushes against him to walk away.

Four has been having a hissing conversation with Sky, but he finally stops and turns when Haite and Rook start moving. Rook catches Sky saying "-give them space-" before Four walks over with determination and bows at Haite, Rito style. It’s less impressive without the feathers but as an attempt at flattery Four picked a good one.

"I can't remember if I said hello last time we met, I'm Four" he says while he straightens up. Haite slides into polite confusion with a bow of her own.

She's staring at Four - no, Rook realizes, with a small amount of amusement. She's starting at the parti-colored tunic the boy has on under his half cloak. He can't blame her, the colors are vibrant.

He has a feeling that Four is about to get an interrogation. He settles back to watch, while Time calls for the rest of them to get moving. They’re not far from Hateno, and this journey is almost over.

“Is that madder?” she asks. Four blinks.

“Pardon?”

“The dye for the red red. Is it madderdock?” she doesn’t reach forward and finger the cloth but Rook can see the toll it takes on her. Four glances up at Rook who looks guilelessly back. “The blue, that’s indigo of course, but the red is sharper than I’ve seen before. Is it madder? What’s the mordant, do you know?”

“I traded it?” he says. Haite makes an irritated noise and stops restraining herself, grabbing at the edge of the cloth. Her eyes widen immediately.

“This is wool” her tone is almost accusing.

“Probably?” Four is leaning away from her, seemingly without thinking.

“Is everything alright?” Time asks.

“Yes of course sir” Haite says with a distracted noise before she drops the sleeve and pulls back. “It’s a bit heavy for this far into the lowlands. If you wish to head further into the river you’ll likely want flax or a hemp. Won’t hold a color as fine—well, actually.” she frowns and turns to look at Rook. “Stamella?”

Farmed in Kakoriko he signs back. Could get some from the sheikah?

“Rather not with everything going on.” she frowns. “Do you think we could find some in the rivers nearby?”

Would you need it? I thought you used crickets.

“Yes for everyday wear, but its a little dull. Stamella boiled in vinegar, it draws out a color like nothing else. Glows like new leaves.”

She’s the expert. He glances over at Four who looks faintly hunted.

“I’m alright but thank you”

She nods but Rook can see her mind spinning as she eyes up the tunic. Four relaxes at the quiet. Foolish mistake.

“Now the purple-”

Rook snickers under his veil while the young man slumps.

-

Four and Haite somehow manage to scrape together almost half an hour of conversation while the rest of the group tramps along in silence. Rook sticks closer to Mitya than he really should for the sake of his dignity.

Time is casting sidelong glances between the two of them—well actually they all are, but Time is trying to be subtle about it. Rook watches Time from the corner of his eye. The man finally seems to reach some conclusion and steps up his pace to draw level with Mitya and Rook.

“Is Impah still in Hateno?” he asks. Presumably that’s directed at Mitya and not the one who’s been dragged all over this forsaken dirt for the last ten days.

“Yes sir” Mitya says, calm and respectful. “The sheikah have asked our chief for hospitality until their business is concluded.”

The business is him. How fortunate Rook is.

“I’ll go and speak to her as soon as we get back into Hateno.” Time says. “But I won’t draw your family into the conversation, you have my word.”

“Thank you” Mitya says and Rook inclines his head slightly. Time glances over at the movement.

“How much of the story do you know ma’am” Time asks, lowering his voice a touch.

Mitya glances at Rook, and he lifts his hands. See what he tells you.

“The story of the champion?” she says. “He died in the calamity, but the sheikah are saying he’s my son. That’s all I know”

“What about the legend of the triforce?”

Mitya and Rook share another baffled glance. She frowns. “I’m not much for foreign legends. Rook have you heard that before?”

I think its a sheikah tale. He signs at her. Something from the old religion maybe?

“Sheikah story” he says out loud. Time nods.

“Impah told us that the demon king rose, a hundred years ago. Ganon. But it wasn’t the first time he rose. Evil is cyclical and returns even after its been defeated. But each time he rises the goddess also sends a protector. A champion. A young man named Link. And a woman to guide him, named Zelda, both reincarnated each time that evil rises. That’s who we are. Each of us, the champion reborn to fight the evil of our day.”

“And dragged out of our homes throughout time and land by the will of the Goddess” Warriors adds with a raised voice. Sky looks pained by that sentence.

“And I’m him” Rook finishes.

“Maybe not” Time says.

Abruptly everyone stops pretending to not eavesdrop and looks at Time.

“You’re not like us” the words might be an insult, but Rook can’t bring himself to care. “Maybe something is different here. And even if you are the champion, I think the story is over. Ganon won and you live in the ruins.”

Well, that definitely is an insult. Rook bites down a comment.

“You think this is a failure” Sky says softly. “A warning.”

“Nothing else makes sense.” Time sighs. “We should still go to the castle and confirm, but you can see that Rook isn’t a soldier.”

“Impah is going to love this” Warriors mutters.

“She’s got seven extras. We can probably kill Ganon and get sent along, leave Rook to his life.”

This is the best news he’s heard all day. Mitya and Rook glance at each other again, but don’t speak. Talking might break the spell the travelers have woven around themselves.

“That’s what I’ve been saying” Four snaps, sounding amusingly young. “We’re here to take over for him-”

“-we don’t know that-”

“-he can’t even use a sword, he’s just a regular man-”

“Not all of us got trained from birth you know” Wind pipes up. “Some of us had to actually work at it.”

“You know what I mean” Four folds his arms as he keeps talking. “So we can leave them in Hateno and go do our actual job instead of harassing normal people-”

Normal​? Haite signs, with a doubtful look at Rook. He bites back the impulse to stick his tongue at her. The travelers are fully in their argument now, and not watching them, but still.

“We could still use a guide” Warriors now. “And that magic square only turned on for him. Impah thought it was important.”

“The banana people thought he was one of us” Wind says. Hyrule winces at the reminder and starts up with “Yes we can’t just leave him without protection-”

Considering how many times he’s helped them survive—no matter. Rich people are the same everywhere aren’t they.

“-said the Zora were down the road we should-”

“-the divine beasts-”

“Why are we even talking, we know where he is let’s just ride-”

Rook catches Four’s eyes in the middle of the nattering. The young man lifts his left hand and signs Sorry about them with a very apologetic expression. Rook doesn’t bother to bite down a grin.

“No, that doesn’t even make any sense” Four says, attention grabbed by whatever Warriors just said. Haite is watching with a bemused expression.

Let them argue. Rook signs to his sister and his aunt. This stretch is safe enough.

Mitya shrugs and looks ahead.

The noise will keep monsters away. Haite says back, before doing the same.

Surrounded by the circling arguments, his family keeps a weather eye and makes their way along the familiar roads.

-

The red roofs of Hateno rise again, breaking up the green around them. Cream and red and people bravely lodged onto the world like a shell on a snail. Or—his mind turns to angry monsters and dark corruption—like a stone in a shoe that can’t be shaken out. Stubborn refusal to fade away. Not violent or aggressive but implacable. Houses and not swords. Slower to build, and slower to break.

Metal clinks from the men behind him and Rook—

He’s grateful.

Everything they have has been worked for, the ache of his bones is so familiar he doesn’t even notice anymore, he’s been a stranger in every house but his own and he’s grateful. For the roofs of Hateno, for the plod of his horse and the chatter of his sister and the stories he’s earned on the road. Compared to the thick and dripping coat of portent that haunts these shining men? Bruises and blood and shining metal and dreams of dead women? History made and noble sacrifice?

A life with a horse and a family and a bed after a hard day’s work might be a blessing from the goddess.

He looks back at Four again. Barely a man, and already a soldier. He’s solemn. Young face, but there’s no humor or play in him. He isn’t griping about how hard he has to work when its so nice out, or taking some other young thing to a pretty area, or fucking up the laundry because he’s trying to rush. He’s making small talk with Haite while he watches the left flank of the group.

There’s a small token in Rook’s pocket, from an old woman who killed his own destiny. He wonders, very quietly, if he could kill Four’s.

Chapter Text

There’s a small token in Rook’s pocket, from an old woman who killed his personal destiny. He tucks his hands under his arms and wonders.

Snow whickers, tossing her head. He clucks his tongue at her, reaching up to stroke the side of her neck. She doesn’t settle, shaking her harness with a huff.

Rook frowns, and shifts so he’s looking closer at her. She’s nervous. He clucks his tongue again and then wraps the leather band a little tighter. She turns abruptly, bending her head like she’s scooping under his arm. A familiar gesture. Mount up.

He looks around again, sharper now.

There’s a pair of birds calling, a little ways up the slope. The wind blows the grass, the men chat. The clouds look a little thick, flirting with an edge of rain. Snow thumps him again.

He shushes her, still scanning.

The second look catches the attention of Warriors, who drops his good humor for alertness and asks “What’s the matter.”

Nothing. Rook signs, after a few minutes to look around. Something is scaring Snow.

Mitya was looking in the other direction but at Warriors expression he swats her on the shoulder and signs again. His aunt sighs and repeats his words.

Warriors nods seriously and then says just as seriously “Can she tell you what she sees?”

Rook turns and looks at him. “She is a horse” he points out. Spoken, because this needs to be said.

Warriors grunts. “Yes but can she tell you anything?”

Rook looks at him. Then he looks at Snow.

You know I never asked. He signs , reaching up with his other hand to stroke her neck . Anything to add young lady?

Snow spots his fingers moving and twists her head to mouth at them. He doesn’t have anything for her to eat and she turns back after a moment without contributing anything to the conversation.

“Horses don’t talk” Mitya says, which is a very polite way to translate that sentence. Warriors shrugs.

“Some places have dragons. Talking horses wouldn’t be that weird”

“Of course sir” she says. Behind them Sky coughs delicately. Wind cackles, much less delicately.

“Do we need to be worried about anything?” Time asks, voice slightly raised.

Rook turns his head to look around them. They’re at the bottom of a valley, not too far from Hateno. The guards try to clear out camps close to the settlements but trouble can always slip through. After a second he decides that he wants a higher vantage and clicks his tongue twice at Snow. She whickers, but grudgingly halts. She’s tall enough that he can’t really get a good angle over her neck but he has a lot of practice by this point. One hand hooked into the saddle and one foot in the stirrup lets him vault quickly if not gracefully.

Sitting on Snow feels like having his legs back. He taps his knee to get her moving and looks again from his elevated position.

Far above them he spots a bird, wheeling slowly. He doesn’t smile, but the little sign of civilization relaxes him. There’s always more animals where people are. He thought it was a crow, but after a moment it stoops out of the air and towards the walls of the canyon they’re in.

He stiffens as soon as his eyes follow it.

There’s a person up there. He can’t see details, but they’re crouched on a ledge and leaning over with their arms folded on the front knee. Color is hard, but he can see they’re wearing something over their face. A mask or paint, white and black.

“Who’s that creep” Warrriors muttters. Presumably he followed Rook’s eyeline. Around him Rook can hear the group come to a halt.

The person shifts, lifting their hands to their face. It takes a second but then Rook can hear a high whistle blowing over the wind.

The whistle splits tones. Someone else is responding. Rook whips his head in the direction of the new sound and sees a pair on the other side, mirroring the stranger. Same masks.

They aren’t moving yet. Just calling to each other through the wind. The high notes blows in the air.

Its eerie.

He feels Snow shift underneath him at the same time as Wind says “Did you feel that?” Rook glances down to see Wind...staring at the ground. All of the travelers are.

“Rook” Time asks. He has his hand on his sword. “Do you know about -”

Before Time can finish his sentence a roll of thunder splits the air, so loud that Rook can hear the echoes before it even finishes. Snow throws her head and stamps, but he grips her mane and mindlessly tries to gentle her. The sky is clear and he can’t see lightning – another one. It sounds like no thunder he’s heard before, deeper and angrier. And longer. It lingers in the air, rumbling. One of the travelers curses quietly, another one says “I hate worms”

Rook can’t begin to imagine what worms have to do with any of this. His instinct is to look up and check the sky. But he can’t. With dawning fear he stares up into a dust cloud blooming up from where the first figure was. Smoke and dirt swirls. Not thunder.

In front of his eyes the side of the canyon begins to slump.

Another bomb goes off in the other wall. They’re loud but the impact seems smaller than Rook would have thought. At least the direct one. Then another. Behind them. And another.

Like chasing a Lynel into a box canyon. They’re being cornered. The roaring is louder, more of the wall falling in and now the travelers are catching on, Rook has no time for this, he looks for his sister and finds Haite running for Snow. Mitya is still next to him and they share a grim look.

Youngest first. Mitya signs, with no room in her face for argument. Rook makes room for argument and swings his legs over to the side where Haite is. She reaches him as he slides to the ground and he uses the movement to fall into a kneel. Haite takes the assist without complaining (the air is getting foggy, he can feel the ground shaking) and he boosts her up and snaps “Mitya!”

“You stubborn brat” Mitya snarls, but she limps around to his side “I don’t have broken lungs, and I’ve lived twice your life, you have no respect for your betters-”

Up. He signs. There’s no time to waste if they want to get clear and Mitya lets him lift her. She wastes no time, kicking her heel before she’s even seated and getting her leg over as Snow bolts. Rook wraps his veil tighter and starts to run.

You can’t outrun a landslide though. The world is closing in. The only mercy is that every second lifts more dust into the air, hiding the sight of death falling on him. Snow vanishes in seconds, darting into the gray air. Rook is suddenly alone, stumbling over trembling ground and deafened by falling stones.

The first hit is to his shoulder. A pebble maybe. Then another, larger. Another, than another and another, hailing down until he’s running blind with his arms curled over his head Rook has the though that he doesn’t even know where he’s running and then something enormous bowls him over. He looses his footing. For a moment he can’t see the ground.

He lands, and the world lands on top of him. The light is blocked and his body is licked by dark mud. He thinks his eyes are open but its impossible to tell.

He tries to inhale and his chest won’t lift. Its crushing him. He can’t breathe.

Blue flickers in his vision, pulsing with his heartbeat. He can’t breathe.

Clay swallows his hands, too thick, they won’t even close. More blue. Blue on black.

Maybe his eyes are open now. He can’t feel his body and he can’t breathe.

A woman’s voice speaks to him. A stranger and he can’t spare enough to even hear what she’s saying. He thrashes suddenly, his body no longer responding to anything but base terror. She speaks but her words flow off him like water.

The body thrashes again, struggling like there’s an enemy to be defeated, a fear to run from. Rook watches it happen. Its just him and his body. Together in the dark.

And then he’s not alone anymore.

The darkness cracks open like an egg and bright, pale, light air comes pouring in. Rook feels his body react again, clutching for the air. His ears are ringing but he can see his hands rise up and haul at the edges. Some dark thing blocks the light, shaggy like a bush. It takes him a second to recognize the shape of a wolf and he wastes time staring in confusion while the wolf grabs him by the wrist and pulls. Something is shining overhead, too bright to look at. He looks at the edges of it and Sky is holding the bright thing and staring upwards. The look on his face is one that Rook will never forget.

Worship.

Rook claws his way free, half dug up by Twilight. He collapses on the new earth and gags for breath. It takes long seconds until Rook can finally look up again, world swimming.

Sky stands overhead with a shining blade and an upturned face. He’s as still as frozen water. Rook can’t even tell if he’s breathing. All around him lies a bell of clear air. The line on the ground is so sharp it could have been made by compass. Slowly, the dust outside their circle begins to settle.

Sky blinks finally, and comes to life. He shifts, lowering the sword and looking around like he’s seeing everything for the first time. Twilight paces up to his hip, bumping his hand against the wolf’s head. Sky looks down and then over at Rook. Once they make eye contact he beams.

Rook lays at his feet in the dirt, covered in mud and watches this golden child shine.

-