Chapter Text
Link was falling asleep at the table again.
His heavy head was propped on the heel of his hand, his cheek scrunched up around his eye. He lazily stirred his spoon through his fruit. In his unfocused gaze, the blobs of color swirled blissfully together in the bowl.
“And I yelled - Daddy, are you listening? - I yelled, ‘Take that, and that , you scurvy dog!’” Aryll jabbed and swiped her spoon through the air, slaying an imaginary enemy.
Link’s eyes slowly drifted shut. The morning sun streaming in through the window warmed the side of his face. It felt nice. Soothing.
The red handkerchief tied around Aryll’s head slipped slightly over her eye. Spurred by the momentum of her swinging arm, she leaned hard to one side. Aryll caught the edge of the table to balance herself.
“Careful there, Captain Aryll,” Arn chuckled as she righted herself. “Can’t have you falling overboard, can we?” He sank into the chair across from Link, adjacent to Aryll. The fourth chair at their square table remained empty, as usual.
Aryll giggled and settled back into her seat. “No way!” she exclaimed. “Captain Aryll would never fall overboard, for she is the greatest pirate in all the land!” The youngest puffed her chest and lifted her chin proudly, posing valiantly.
Link yawned deeply. Sleepy tears prickled in the corners of his eyes.
Arn shot Link a disapproving look over their breakfast.
Link mouthed an apology and tried to sit up a bit more. He shifted his head to rest in his other hand, so he was facing the window. Link breathed deeply, and his lungs filled with the peace the slow, sleepy morning brought. The air smelled sweet and fresh.
Aryll was talking about another dream - something about a grand, brown owl imparting wisdom upon her on a vast, sandy beach.
Link never had dreams, but he was happy that his sister’s subconscious brought her vivid, colorful dreams. He tried not to think about it too much or wonder if there was something wrong with him. In his eleven - almost twelve, thank you very much - years, he couldn’t remember an instance where his subconscious painted gripping scenarios of fantasy worlds with swashbuckling pirates in his mind’s eye.
So, to make up for it, he lived through Aryll’s recounted dreams every morning over breakfast. Their unspoken system seemed to be working out quite well.
In fact, Link could almost hear the rhythmic, soothing rush of the waves lapping at the shore, and feel the soft sand between his toes. The water sparkled. The sand was littered with fragmented and whole seashells. The melodic lilt of Aryll’s voice lulled him into a stupor. His breathing deepened and slowed. Link’s mind drifted somewhere peaceful and quiet.
Colorful blobs appeared behind his eyelids. He couldn’t quite make out who or what they were, but they felt… familiar, somehow, like he was reuniting with a long-lost friend. A yellow blob melded with a muted pink blob. A tiny blue blob flitted somewhere to Link’s right. His brow furrowed. He tried to focus, to bring the shapes into sharper focus, but they felt too far out of reach.
Then, out of the blue, Link’s head slipped out of his hand. He jerked upright, startled awake.
Arn studied him carefully across the table, chewing his fruit slowly, thoughtfully. He nodded, “You alright, son?” His voice sounded oddly soft, especially for the Captain of the Royal Guard.
Link nodded and scrubbed the lingering sleep from his eyes. “Yeah, fine… Must’ve dozed off,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Arn hummed, scraping his spoon around the dome of the bowl to collect the remaining slices of fruit. “No sense in being sorry when you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said sagely. “Maybe you need an early bedtime tonight, hm?”
Embarrassed, Link ducked his head and quietly excused himself from the table.
“Daddy, can I finish Linky’s fruit?”
“... Sure, sweetheart.”
Link could feel his father’s eyes following him as he slipped out the back door and trudged through the grass to the barn.
That night, when Link was trying to fall asleep, he found that, no matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn’t procure the blobs of color again. Rolling onto his side and burying his face in his pillow, he bunched his blue quilt around his shoulders.
He didn’t dream again that night.
Link was wide awake at dawn. He lay starfished in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Something heavy and hollow settled in his chest as he stared at a long crack weaving through the ceiling.
Link wondered if there was something wrong with him.