Chapter Text
It would be simple if Link’s hands were the most steady when he held a weapon. It would fit his description, would it not? That would fit the narrative of the countless stories said under strangers' breath, whispered to children before they went to sleep off the day's nightmares, and the tales told to his face unknowing that he was the man they speak of with such reverence.
(The Hero of Hyrule, the knight of the dead and then resurrected kingdom, was the most composed when he commanded a sword, spear, or bow in his grasp).
(The skin and muscle of the great savior of this land were in tune with his weapon: able to protect those he was sworn to defend. He did this with precision and elegance).
(When holding a sword, and specifically the one of legend, this hero would never falter- for his hands could carry mountains, shatter iron and bend light with a sword in tow).
Though those statements are both hyperbolic and over the top, they hold a pinch of truth, even Link could admit that. Because yes, the hylian feels more safe prepared with something to defend himself, with a weapon in hand. Yet even that sentence is more of an imprint of reality- some of the critical details lost in the legend of his complicated existence. To imply that in any battle, he is completely calm with a sword in hand, would be a warped view of fact.
Or to put it bluntly, or how he would actually describe it, would be fucking untrue.
In the throws of a fight, the warrior would never say he is calm. Poised? Perhaps. Confident? Depends on the day, what creature he’s fighting, and if he’s running on an empty stomach. But calm? That’s just absurd.
No, that’s more than absurd, that’s straight-up insane. Delusional, in fact. To think that anyone would be composed in the face of uncertain death is ridiculous.
Have you been climbing a mountain looking for supplies only to find a damn gleeok at the top? Link has. And he can say that staring at three different lightning-breathing heads without a fairy or elixir in hand can cause someone a little doubt. Maybe even unconsciously start reciting some last-second prayers.
Because yes, Link fears death. Link, despite the fables spread about his life and the different lifetimes attached to his name, he’s terrified of it.
Though to be fair, what person isn’t these days? Only just recovering from the Calamity and now dealing with islands floating in the sky and strange phenomena with no explanation, the fear of death seems ingrained in everyone, even the land itself. If the rivers, the canyons, the mountains, and every spec of dirt could make a sound, they would wail. Their screams would be etched in every crumble of rock, every wave of water, and every crack of lightning- an echo of the world’s collective fear.
Or perhaps they would be silent, just infused with dread.
There is a reason that many try desperately to elongate their lives through endless study and research, or just stay out of trouble to live out the expected lifespan of their species as hermits. Link doesn’t blame them. If anything, it shows they have some self-preservation, something he often finds himself without.
Because the beyond is frightening and unknowable, and it looms over the lives of the living. Death peers over your shoulders, pressing its intangible body against your back just to remind you that it's there and one day it will say more than your name and it will claim you.
Death comes for all. There is no question. Even the timeless, one day will be slain. One day, he will die, so that later he will live again. Everything else in Link's existence hangs on a tentative scale, constantly shifting from rising and failing, but his life's end? He knows that one day, the unquantifiable one day, will undoubtedly tip his scales against him.
But if he can escape death's hold for just a few decades, years, months, minutes, seconds, or moments, then any effort to run from death’s grasp is all worth it.
Because Link is intimately aware of what happens if he perishes- if he dies, then thousands of others are next. His demise, the tipper of countless scales. If he dies, the last defense crumbles, and darkness can impede the light. If he falls, so does Hyrule. If he doesn’t succeed, then he’s doomed a world he’s grown to adore.
He has already failed once
(Kind eyes. Kinder eyes than Link deserved.
My friend, please don’t blame yourself.” He did anyway.
“It wasn’t your fault.” It was.
“I will not lie to you and say my grief has passed, it hasn't. I mourn my sister deeply every single day. I miss her dearly. Ever so dearly." How can already gentle eyes get even softer? “but I will never blame you for what happened. I will never look towards you with contempt or hatred. Never. Do you understand? I will never say you failed her").
Yet the world cannot afford for him to make the same mistake again regardless, and Link refuses to let anyone pay the price.
So yes, the great knight is terrified of dying.
Though, it’s important to mention that being terrified is different than being afraid. Fear in the latter, creates tension that can quickly lead to doubt and hesitation. Being afraid? That means being shaken to your core, and your resolve being altered. It impedes on the etches of your skin and psyche, an ever-present emotion that questions every action being taken. It breeds inside, and it multiplies with every wrong decision. Fear and being afraid are parasites.
Being terrified? Well, that’s different. Terror swells in every corner of your body, refusing to go unnoticed, refusing to be ignored. It does not shake but rather vibrates. It’s an unnamed energy that shrieks you to move, to run, to keep moving forward. It speaks of the unknown with recognition, and it demands that you also know of its presence and majesty. You will become aware. You will become familiar.
Terror is shrieking while fear is a whimper. Terror is a flash of lightning while fear is a looming cloud. Fear does not know of the dangers that lie ahead, while terror is intimately aware of the incoming threat. Fear can see the shadow. Terror stares into the eyes of the beast.
Link will always prefer terror.
For it forces him to action, fight the only split reaction his body knows, understands, and listens to. It’s all-encompassing and it is frankly exhilarating when he manages to just survive covered in his own blood, body bruised, head concussed, and eyes faintly wet. For he, for just a moment, escaped death’s claim of his name.
Fear, however, can cause the hylian’s body, and his hands to shake. Fear can cause failure. Fear can lead to disaster.
(The other champions are dead. They’re dead. They’re dead and he’ll never see them alive again. They’re dead and he’ll never argue, bicker, smile or laugh with them again. They’re dead, they have begun rotting, and still, he’s running away. The hero can’t stop shaking, he can’t stop shivering, and he cannot stop running away).
But through terror, with a sword in his hold, his hands are always reliable. While the rest of his body shutters, his palms are unshaken. While his mind rattles endlessly against his skull, his hands remain still. In battle, his stance often falters, sweat builds on his brow, his feet trip, his legs ache, and his body threatens to fail him, but his hands never allow him to crumble. The hero of Hyrule survives, he is alive and his enemies, those that want him dead, are not.
(But there’s nothing else to do because he has to keep on running. Because he may have failed the other champions, may have failed his friends, but the princess is still here. The princess is still alive. So Link has to keep on running. He just has to keep on going because he has to keep her safe, he swore it. And he cannot break another promise).
Only when his body gives out completely, will his hands falter.
(They’re here. He raises his sword, the weapon given to only the reincarnation of courage, yet he finds his hands… unsteady. They’re quivering. He wills them still, but his body ignores him. Exhaustion pressing against every muscle in his body, his legs crumble, and his stance falters- all while his grip on his weapon continues to shake. He tries to find an answer, but instead, he finds his eyes blurring. Black invades his vision, and nausea fills his system.
This cannot be happening. Not now. Not right now. He cannot pass out. He cannot fail. He can’t. The hero of Hyrule can’t fail his kingdom. Link cannot-
He tries to regain his footing, but all that does is cause his entire body to crumble under his weight. His sword holds uselessly in his hand, the limb frantically quaking without control. In a single moment, a hero is made just a man, and that man is made into a boy. And that boy is so afraid.
Goddess, he’s going to die. He’s going to die and no one will be able to protect the princess. The Kingdom. His home. His family. No one. No one can protect them, for no one will be left. Nothing will be left. Everything will be consumed by the darkness. Everything will be swallowed, digested, and spat back out with no regard. And he can do nothing. He can do nothing about it.
He's only vaguely aware that the princess is in front of him. He tries to get up to protect her, but he can't. Oh, Goddess, they're both going to die and he can do nothing-)
Only when Link succumbs to fear, will he fail. Only when he lets fear cloud not only his limbs but his judgment and thoughts, will he break.
And Link, a hero, a man, and a boy, refuses to break once more.
Because in truth, the hylian needs it- he needs terror. It keeps him aware. It keeps him vigilant. It keeps him alive and keeps his hands steady; it’s the closest thing he has to self-preservation.
So yes, with a weapon in hand, Link does not falter. He is not calm. He is not collected. He can fail and he has before, but if he survives, if he has cheated death for just a moment, that is enough.
But to say his palms are the most dependable under the weight of metal, wood, or tin, well, that’s also untrue. His hands find themselves steady in many different places, many different situations.
When he rides his horse, his hands are steady on the reins. Sometimes the hylian closes his eyes on Epona, trusting her to just run forward- completely at peace with the world around him. When he cooks food, his hands are sure. He knows he will not cut his fingers when he dices vegetables and slices meat. When Link fishes, his hands are strong and reliable, never flinching at the cold waters, and never shaking alerting his dinner with ripples. Of course, he can use a spear to fish, but something about using his hands feels more personal.
When he plays his ocarina, his hands never fail him. Well, at least, not anymore. Link, on his travels, had found the instrument lost in the woods, both confused and enamored with how a simple object could call to his soul, and beckoned him to play. The moment he was sure he was safe and without monsters hovering over his back, Link sat, completely entranced by the carved instrument.
At first, his hands insisted that he didn’t know how to play- they fumbled awkwardly, unsure of how to create the sound his soul promised he could make. But through enough forceful pushing and determination, Link’s body remembered. His mind did not, but his hands did.
A piece of his past. An ocarina.
The man he was before, the man who died at the hands of the Calamity, may have been Hyrule’s knight, but still, he knew how to play the sweet small instrument. He could hold a sword with the same dedication as an object made to create wonderful melodies, hands resolute. What a lovely thought- that every hero of Hyrule wishes to make something at times instead of simply fighting and destroying (“That was beautiful, Link! Truly, that was the most wonderful song my ears have ever been graced with!” The voice was jovial in a way that with anyone else would sound comical or even sarcastic. But not with him, no, he meant every word he said “Oh, please, play another tune! No one else in all the land could create such a lovely melody!”
Link wanted to argue, he had to get going. He was supposed to leave twenty minutes ago. He had to get back to Zelda before she got impatient and burned down the house with her cooking.
But then the prince smiled. A nd then Link conceded. Despite himself, it didn’t feel like a failure).
Similarly to the ocarina, when he first awoke, Link couldn’t remember how to handspeak. He wasn’t able to speak at all. He could understand the words being said, but he could not replicate the sound. His lips wouldn’t cooperate. His throat would close.
The old man, or as he actually was, the late King of Hyrule, had to reteach his language’s gestures. It was muscle memory, of course. In a few nights, Link’s body recalled what his mind could not, and he had a voice once more. And once he did, his hands never again faltered through talking.
But despite that, his spontaneous recovery is not always comforting. There is just too much that is forgotten.
He couldn’t remember his childhood. He couldn’t remember his family. He couldn’t remember the legacy they had for him if they had one. Perhaps they wished for Link to not be a knight- perhaps they were glad that he was. Were they proud of his actions, his attempts to fight the Calamity, proud even when he was pronounced and assumed dead? Or were they angry he had failed them? Failed the world?
He does not know and he cannot guess, for Link cannot remember his family’s names and faces, much less their opinions on world-ending events. The Hero of Hyrule can not remember who he was, or what he has lost. The only memories he has of before are of the few vivid memories Zelda helped him remember as a champion.
But that’s it. That’s all he gets.
(He stared at her statue and all he can note is that it was masterfully carved into a likeness stagnant in time. A few conversations with her, that's all Link could recall. He wished for more. He begged for more.
Because stories can never do justice to memories, tales forgotten cannot be replaced, so he just had to try harder. If he truly tried, maybe he could remember Mipha. He had to try, try harder, he had for King Dorephan, for the Domain, for Sidon-)
Though bombarded with what he recalls, his mind constantly throwing him into the past, he's hollowed by what is missing.
Link can’t remember and sometimes all he can do is cry. Cry like a hero, a boy, and a man. Cry until all of these titles melt away and only his name remains. Sob until the noise is incomprehensible not only to the world but to himself.
And sometimes Link can’t remember and he just doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. Because sometimes he is happy despite the lack. Sometimes he’s just happy.
Walking through an empty forest, the wind remembers not his name or position, just his movements. Traveling from town to town helping every villager he can find, no matter how long he “wastes” time. Dancing in the rain, letting out exclamations with no meaning, and if he slips on mud, he’ll swim in it, unbothered. Exploring different plains of grass just to see which ones have the best bugs to roast. Climbing a mountain just before sunrise, allowing both his body and eyes to soak up the beauty in front of him. Gutting a fish with his bare hands, glad he remembered the technique from a good friend in this lifetime (Red scales, gentle hands, sharp teeth), and not from someone he cannot remember.
Link wonders if that would shame the hero he was more than a hundred years ago; if the dead hero would call him childish and immature, claiming that he’s disrespecting his station. A failure of a knight. A boy instead of a man.
The hylian finds himself unbothered by the question. That is something he does know. He doesn’t care either; for his hands are steady when he prepares a fish the way a friend taught him to make it. He sings to himself without the words, but retaining melodies. He explores just to explore. He remembers what he needs and learns what he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to overthink it. Link doesn’t have to worry about what his body recalls and what died with the old him. He tells himself he doesn’t have to understand. He doesn’t have to get it. It’s enough, he’s enough, and often, the hylian will whisper this to himself and he’ll believe it and know he’s telling the truth.
Yet still, Link finds there are still activities, those that steady his palms without reason or relative consistency, which can still leave him shell-shocked and questioning. For his hands, the bringers of blood, gore, and death for his enemies, ingrained with the etchings of terror, the ones able to play melodies, ride horses, and explore the unknown, are steady when he kneels and his eyes are closed. They’re steady when he prays.
And it is easy. Praying is so very easy; his fingertips laying across each other like second nature or instinct- does it really matter which word fits better? Which description fits the hylian’s situation? For whatever it is, praying stills his palms like the balanced weight of steel.
His mind will instantly blank, his chest will fall into stable and steady breaths and rhythms, and he is made calm. Nothing else can adjacently feel like contentment. Nothing else can force his heart to slow.
That is the hardest to swallow, Link thinks. That he had to relearn how to speak, and how to play instruments once more, and cannot remember a trillion things, but, yes, of course, his body just had to remember how to pray with little resistance. How to pray like a good hero of Hyrule, pray more than a man and boy. Pray with only one title.
It’s strange though. He has talked to so many people of so many races with so many cultures, and nearly all hold this reference to their own Gods and divines. They'll believe their Lords are always altruistic, kind, and compassionate, and they are all that mortals are not. Mortals are wonderful but intrinsically flawed. Gods, however, they're all powerful- their might is all-encompassing and grand. They are wonderful. Gods, in the eyes of many, are supposed to be wonderfully perfect.
Yet, Link just can’t find that perfection as he stares at the small statue in front of him. Its hands are clasped, and the stone is chipped and coated with moss. Time is evident in its form; It’s worn down. Its cracks look almost like scars.
His eyes find their way to his hands (There is blood on his hands. He couldn’t tell who it belonged to. Himself, a friend, or the enemy. He should have been able to tell right? Why couldn’t the hero of Hyrule tell?).
His eyes do not leave his hands. One strange. One familiar (He didn’t think the egg would hatch, the hylian had just wanted to get some breakfast, yet here he was, with a baby chick in between his palms. And the chick was so small, so tiny, so little. Link could have squished the bird easily, and crushed its skull and organs but he didn’t. He could have enacted violence, but he didn’t; He choose not to. That realization to a normal person wouldn’t feel like a victory, but to a recently awakened amnesiac, it read like a holy proclamation).
For a moment, all there is in the entire world is a hylian’s discolored, marred, and blemished hand and alongside the hand of a zonai long dead (Of course, Link knew his size. Not only was he a hylian, but he was a short hylian. He never particularly cared about his height, except perhaps when he needed to reach something on the top shelf, but he still was shocked by how dwarfed his hands were in the prince’s palms.).
All there is and all there has been in the vast is one person with limbs that have been broken and repaired, again and again (Despite the fact his hands were closed, they were open to his Goddess. They said “Help me” and “Guide me” and a thousand different pleas wordlessly. It was completely unconscious; Link hadn’t even realized he was doing it until the light shined in front of him prayers were the only thing repeating in his mind. His goddess had heard his unconsciousness and declared that was enough).
With a grunt, the noise familiar, and soothing, he rips his gaze away from his palms, instead looking at the sky above. There is blue on top of black, it stretches out like forgiving arms. There is no moon tonight. Only him and endless of the stars and the unknown. Only he and the small statue of his Goddess that beckoned his attention, even when he stared at the sky.
He ignores its calls. Link isn’t ready for her just yet.
"You think I’m just different?” He signs, eyes still locked on the blue and black “That my brain is wired wrong?”
The answer he gets is from his stomach, rumbling to itself. The hylian sighs, digging into his bag to pull out the remnants of his meal from earlier, a hylian bass descaled and cooked. When he takes a bite, it tastes of home and of a place long gone, neither of which have concrete names.
Both his mouth and his hands are full when he continues “I mean, most people don’t see sparkles floating in the air or the beyond parting when they try to talk to their Gods. Maybe I’m crazy.”
He turns, waiting expectantly for an answer.
There is no one there.
Oh.
Wait. Isn't there supposed to be-
Oh. Yeah. Duh.
He carefully calls the magic within his strange new arm, belonging to a man he'll never truly know. Without spectacle, without splendor, the avatars of Sidon and Yunobo appear, neither moving nor acknowledging the warrior’s presence. They’re here now. They weren’t before, but now they’re here.
"So what do you two think, am I a heretic?"
Both avatars don't respond or reply. They just stare. Wordlessly. Without sound. They have nothing to say. They rarely do.
They don't really need to.
“Yeah, you two are right,” Link nods, taking a slow bite of his dinner "Crazy is going a bit too far. I just have a different viewpoint, that is all."
For Link knows personally, that the heroes the Goddess picks can fail. They can fall. They can falter. They can die. And from that logic, doesn’t that mean that the Goddess picked the wrong person? That she made a mistake picking him as a hero more than a hundred years ago? That both of them failed simultaneously?
That should shake his faith, Link reasons and rationalizes. The fact that the being whose likeness he sits beside can make mistakes just like a small hylian can; it should make it harder to pray.
Perhaps a man sharing his name would think like that. Perhaps this reflection of himself believed in perfect Gods whose decisions could not be contested or questioned. Perhaps his faith would cease at the mere possibility of his Goddess having a single flaw. Perhaps the dead hero would denounce his divine if she was possibly imperfect. Faulty. Defective.
But Link isn't that man.
For there are similarities between himself and his All-Mighty, proof that both he is partly holy and she is not completely. A Goddess can make errors, can believe in some that shouldn’t be believed in. And she is not perfect; She is like Link in a thousand different ways- and that is more convincing of his conviction than any piece of scripture, doctrine, or hymn.
They both have cracks. They both have scars. Gods can fail and heroes can falter and be afraid. Not often, he tries to reason with himself, but both happen enough to be noted.
Despite that, it makes Link feel a bit better at his fuck-ups, honestly. It allows him to personify his Goddess just enough that he forgives her as he cooks meat over a small campfire. It allows him to find her in the ugly of the world, as well as the beautiful- the shadows as well as the light. It allows him to curse her name under his breath, the air not even having the courtesy to take it with them after not being able to fight off nightmares.
(“ Oh fuck off. Just because I don’t need to sleep, doesn’t mean I don’t like doing it.”
The stagnant air didn’t reply, but the slight creaking of his bed sounded suspiciously like “You have work to do.”
“Shhh….” He mumbled, eyes fluttering closed “It’s sleep time”).
It lets him not feel bad about telling her to fuck off when he stubs his toe or almost gets his head blown off by his own failed creation. The mistakes of a Goddess let Link whisper her name in the middle of the night asking if she has ever wanted to awaken to another in her bed, being held in a way that heroes and gods aren't normally held- delicately and with care (size could juxtapose their natures. The tiny is expected to carry a legacy, a kingdom, and a world. The big, with hands that could crush bone with a single squeeze, could instead embrace and hold so gently).
The lackings of the supposed perfect give the hylian confidence or perhaps eliminates the shame in asking the Goddess if she can imagine Link ever finding someone to share that experience with.
She never answers, but every night, the hero asks again.
His questions that are disguised, adjacent to, and sometimes are legitimately prayers, are asked not to statues, not on his blistered knees, and not even with his eyes closed. Swimming in rivers, sitting on rooftops, in between bites of food, and after he takes normal and unremarkable breaths, Link will pray. Informally, like a friend asking for advice, a parent for a favor, and a stranger for a hand. The hylian will pose his Goddess questions without ever kneeling.
"Why can't I remember anything before Zelda?”
"Why can’t I just be a normal person?”
"Why can't I enjoy the aspects, the joys of life that others do?"
"Why can't I speak with my voice?"
“Why don’t you answer my questions?”
Yet despite himself, there are times when the companionship of a Goddess and her champion crumbles. The mirage of equal footing dissipates and he is left not asking, but pleading, but demanding.
“Have you forsaken me? Is it possible that a knight can be forsaken and discarded?”
"Would you, great but flawed, denounce me, the one who still accepts you as you are? Who speaks to you as a person, but an entity?"
"Is that fair to even ask that? To say that I alone accept you? Am I full of myself? Am I the one who still refuses to see your brilliance?”
“Is that why you ignore me? Is that why you are silent and do not answer? Is that why you cursed me with this-"
Those questions, no, his Goddess never answers those.
Yet, when Link prays at the feet of her likeness, he sees light. Not forsaken but ignored it seems. Willingly to help, but not willingly to comfort. Willingly to aid, but not willing to give. Who knows what that implies and says about him, her supposed knight.
“I’m so bad at being a believer” He signs slowly, but without hesitation.
The avatars don’t say much. Opening their mouths only to give off no sound. Neither gives much insight.
So Link is left with his complicated gift and vice surroundings overwhelming him- Overthinking. Yet he tries to remind himself that the Almighty can only give so much. He can’t let himself get trapped in cynical thinking. He can’t blame her for everything that has gone wrong in his life. To treat every misfortune as a planned action by the Goddess, it would suffice to say, drive him mad.
Awful things occur and they’re because of luck and fate, not the direct action of a God. Some actions the Goddess could help but she chooses to not interfere for reasons he cannot understand and will never be able to. Sometimes the hero can carry the master sword, and the knight is able to save the land in countless reincarnations, but sometimes the chosen fails the world, and the world is left in decay.
His Goddess doesn't answer his spiteful questions; he wonders if she even has the answer to them. Maybe she doesn't know all and she doesn't wish for him to know- but he knows, Link knows and he understands. He’ll pray to his Goddess, she will answer, and she will give him strength to get stronger, and fix the mess he made and messes he didn’t. And he’s learned to forgive her for it.
Mostly. Kinda. Depends on the day, if he was being honest. The not said of a God can sometimes piss him off.
Despite that, Link cares and loves his Goddess- and he hates her. He loathes the mention of her name and he is very appreciative of what she has given him and will praise her in passing. Contrasting ideas make complicated relationships, but the hylian’s existence is already complicated, so it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.
Because sure, he is confused about her intentions, her power, and what she even wants from him, but then he’ll exist. He’ll be one with the world and just be thankful. For, even if the Goddess won’t or can’t, Link can give- and he loves helping people. He does. The hylian truly does. He has been given the power to help so many people and it gives his life meaning. When he had first awoken, he had known very little of his life and who he was.
(“I cannot thank you enough for handling those beasts!" The voice was so gentle and kind "I must ask, what is your name, stranger?” She had asked this so nonchalantly that he has to presume she didn’t ask this just to be cruel, but rather in serenity.
Still, he paused, his signing uncertain “....Link?”
Despite the fact it had been a while since he had been awakened, the name hadn’t fit him just yet. It felt awkward just as much as it felt foreign on his fingertips.
“Oh!” The older hylian’s face was slightly scrunched, her wrinkles becoming more pronounced. Her eyes scanned over him, concern finding a way to etch her face further “Do you not know your name?”
He couldn’t exactly say that a voice in his head had called him that, so he just presumed it must be addressing him. With flawed but sound logic, he had assumed Link was his name and never bothered to question it. So he didn’t.
He teetered his hand back and forth, hoping that was explantation enough.
With widened eyes, the elderly woman shook her head to herself “Oh, dear. You must have hit your head. While I commend you on your bravery, you need to be more careful!”
She grabbed Link’s wrist, ushering him over to her small tent “Come inside! I’ll make you some broth so you can recover. You need your rest!”)
But with the position he had been forced to take, he learned so quickly that he loved helping- it steadied his hands like no other. And while he knows that all of his strength isn’t bestowed by her, Link is grateful to his Goddess for giving him the opportunity to help where he can.
Yet despite his fulfillment, there are times when at the end of various tasks, he’s just left hollow. He’ll take out pirates, rebuild villages, and he’ll feel pride in himself and his actions. Link will do good. Link the hero, the man, and the boy will do real good. And then he’ll stare at families he just saved taking care of each other. Callused but unmarked hands will hold each other and they will hold on tight. Link knows they will not let go. They will shake, they will quiver, but they will not let go.
And in an instant, Link wants nothing more than to remove his first title, to experience the world with quaking hands and lacking terror. The hylian wishes to be remade as not a warrior, but as a normal person. To live, to exist, to breathe, to die. He loves helping, he really does, but he wants something… not less, not more, just something. Perhaps, he wants a home, he wants safety, he wants peace, he wants his friends, he wants love-
(She looked at Sidon so kindly. There’s more emotion he could recognize, but not identify, so he focused on kindness.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at the Prince, so instead he stared at her, knowing full well it was clear that she cared for him- that he was torturing himself.
Because he knew that they care about each other. That there was a connection Link isn't able to recognize, to ever put into words. And yet he continued to stare, never one for self-preservation.
Yona. It was a lovely name. Truly, it is- and it sounded dreadfully perfect on Sidon’s tongue.)
A strange noise escapes his throat. No one but him would be able to comprehend or translate the sound.
Sometimes it’s better that way, says the Goddess without words.
Sometimes this is the way it must be, says the perfection not truly perfected.
“Oh shut up” He signs without malice, but with anger “not right now.”
Though nothing was said, the silence sounded eerily similar to a sigh and a faint ‘hypocrite’
Link rolls his eyes “I don’t want to hear it. When my mind chooses to remember memories that make me feel like shit, I don’t want the sacrifice speech.”
A pause “I don’t want to hear it at all actually.”
“And if I was going to hear it, I wouldn’t want it from a God” Link sighs, letting out a brisk exhale, letting out any last thread of frustration “No offense, but if I have to hear about that shit at all, I would rather be from Zelda.”
A longer pause. It’s heavy. It’s weighed. And it’s lonely.
As Link finishes the last of his meal, his palms make the sign equivalent of a whisper “Shit, I’d kill for Zelda to be here right now.”
Another sound escapes. Link won’t call it a sob or whine, but just a release. He lets himself break, just for a moment, only to swiftly pick up the pieces.
It feels strange. Link isn’t very good at doing things halfway. Being stealthy as he sneaks up on a monster with an air-tight and well-planned out strategy in hand, or loudly charging in without any idea of how he’s going to handle the situation or get out of it. Making himself one small snack or making himself enough feasts that could feed a large village in a single sitting.
It’s stranger. Link is worse at expressing himself with any semblance of balance. He’ll not speak for hours on end, or go on tangents without care and without any intention of stopping. He’ll lean into his resting bitch face, or grin widely and freely as a young child dances in the rain. He won’t let a single emotion show or he’ll face the repercussions of an aching face because of how brightly he smiled.
Link has codes for these things- how he handles himself and who he allows seeing different sides of himself too. Very few people have even heard him laugh, for example, besides Zelda, Sidon, and Beedle (which is a long story that involves two very sleep-deprived men, a lightning strike, a horse stable nearly set on fire, and an old hylian who had been unaware of the sound and panic).
But in the presence of the avatars, it’s been… the most strange. He's alone, but not. He has company and he's lonely. Who knows the proper way to carry himself here? Who knows if he should allow himself to cry for hours or not cry at all?
It’s only then that Link notices movement in the corner of his eye. Quickly, he grabs his weapon, turning towards the change only to find Sidon’s avatar stirring. Its face is impartial and without emotion, but its stance is now hunched. Its face is titled to the ground and its tail hangs.
Almost as if it’s…sad.
The hylian quickly dismisses his weapon and the thought- that’s ridiculous. Both avatars have shown little reaction to anything besides enemies, so there is no reason for Sidon’s avatar to be upset in any-
Maybe it is confused? Perplexed? Ashamed? Apologetic? Embarrassed? Jealous?
Link blinks, promptly ignoring how his chest is fluttering and how sweaty his palms are at the mere thought of that word because it’s not like that, it hasn’t been like that and will never be like that.
Besides, jealousy doesn’t just mean romance. It can mean a lot of things! Jealous of another’s job, position, what someone else had for lunch, what clothes someone is wearing, what friends other people have, how close they are with said friends-
Oh. He’s an idiot.
Link is a fucking idiot.
“But hey, just because I miss Zelda doesn’t mean that you two aren’t great company.” The hylian corrects, trying his hardest to meet eye contact with both avatars “ I am happy both of you are here with me! Grateful even!”
The avatars say nothing.
“No, you’re both fantastic company. You are! Even though you're basically ghosts."
The avatars do nothing.
"And to be fair, I've met ghosts and they're a lot more talkative than you two."
They have a tendency to do that. Do nothing.
Unbothered by the silence, Link continues "But yes, you're both great!”
“Like Yunobo” Link signs, finding his hands flowing without constraint. He lets them be free “You've grown so much since the last time I saw you. You now stare in the face of danger and you refuse to cower.”
(With his hands controlling the steering stick, the hylian wasn’t able to speak. So instead, he just let out a distressed yelp, hoping that got his message across enough despite their great speeds and heights.
Yunobo, the madman, seemed unaffected by the noise; in fact, he had the gall to simply laugh “Trust me goro! I know what I’m doing! Just point me in a direction and I’ll go there!”
Link wanted to scream that the Goron was crazy, and that plan would never work, but the hylian began to feel his adrenaline stirring into overdrive. And as they got closer and closer to the beast, the idea of shooting his friend at this creatures' gaping mouths was becoming more reasonable and more tempting by the second.
Letting out a rough scream, Link pointed forward, secretly praying that he wasn’t sending another friend to their death).
Link chuckles laughing briefly into his palm “You helped me take down a living volcano for Goddess's Sake! You let me shoot you like a canon ball! I have no doubts that the Goron are in good hands. There’s no question that you’re capable of truly helping and aiding your people.”
He knows that the Goron can’t hear him. He knows he’s practically talking to empty air; he continues regardless.
Maybe it’s because he’s stuck between being alone and having company, which allows him to just spew his thoughts. Maybe it’s because he just finished a good meal and he’s comfortable enough to be honest. Maybe it’s because he’s been up for several days and the exhaustion is causing him to not only overthink everything but lack the awareness for a spec of shame.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Maybe Link just needs to talk to his friends. Maybe he needs to talk about his best friend, and without his other best friend around, he has no one else to talk to; thus, these avatars will have to do.
“And Sidon," Link smiles at the name, unable to help it "You're always so sincere. More sincere than any other person I know. You could say I was the greatest person to ever live, and I’d know you believed it without question.”
“Despite every selfishness inside of me and every promise I failed to meet, you still cared. You have always cared for me. You respect the title I hold, you respect the hero, but you always cared for me. Link.”
(It must have been several minutes since Sidon had pulled Link into his embrace.
Ganon was dead. The battle was over. Zelda was alive. Hyrule was being rebuilt. The Goddess’s mistake was not reversed but mended. And he was alive. He was alive. Link was actually alive.
As quickly as his conscious could let him, Link had rushed to the Domain, rushed to see the Zora, rushed to see the first person who believed in him to say “You were right. You said I could do it, and you were right. I’m alive and your sister is dead and I’m sorry. I’ll spend my entire life making that up to you, but I’ll start by showing you that you were right and I am alive.”
Link, running on more prayers than he could count, was so tired, he hadn’t even thought to simply teleport to the shrine in the Domain, his mind transfixed on the route he had taken many months before. Blue skies. Long stretching rivers. Traveling through forests, fighting lizalfos, and crossing bridges.
And to his surprise, there was Sidon. Right where he was when they first met, his head buoyed over the water. Except this time, his friend didn’t introduce himself or ask for his help. He had lept out of the water and stared.
By the time the hylian caught Sidon’s eyes, blue meeting shimmering gold, the Zora was already grinning. Bright white teeth. Kind smile.
Wordlessly the prince raced towards the hylian, and before Link could go on his practiced tangent, or even exclaim in surprise, Sidon picked him off the ground and hugged him.
The embrace was so tight that Link could hardly breathe, but he hardly cared. Ignoring the embarrassment of being manhandled, he gave all of himself to Sidon, squeezing as hard as his hylian arms could. Both men let out a collective wheeze, but neither let go of the other; it seemed impossible to even attempt.
And there they stayed, in each other’s arms. Nothing had to be said, nothing had to be talked about, at least not yet. Today was not for promises broken, the dead, or the future of the living. Today was just for two friends terrified of losing each other. Today was for reassurances that at least for today, they were both okay.
Despite the fact time continued for the rest of the world, time slowed and nearly halted in each other's arms. Nothing else existed. Just the two of them. Always just the two of them.
Yet as the imprints of dusk appeared on the horizon, Link knew this had to end; they had to head back. Who knew how worried the King must have been?
As to not end the hug abruptly, the hylian carefully fingerspelled into Sidon’s shoulder “D-O-M-A-I-N?”
To his surprise, Sidon shook his head, his chin slightly caressing Link's cheek “Not yet. Just a bit longer, if you don’t mind.”
As the Zora's grasp got just a bit tighter, he muttered “Once we go back to the Domain, we’ll have to be a prince and a knight. We’ll have celebrations to plan and duties to uphold. We’ll have to fall into our stations, we will have to be what’s expected of us.”
“But right now?” The Zora placed one of his hands on the back of the hylian’s head as if he was cradling it “I would rather us be just Sidon and Link.”
Link could only hum at that, letting himself nudge his head deeper into Zora's neck; allowing himself to be only his name, not any other title other than Sidon's friend.)
Link allows the memory to wash over him, and he can't help but let his smile grow wider “You’re a great king. There’s no question about that. I know you were always so worried about taking the crown, but you shouldn't be. You're compassionate, you're giving, you're passionate and you're willing to do anything for your kingdom."
"And it's inspiring. You're so inspiring Sidon. I don't understand how you don't get how incredible you are. You deserve the world. You deserve so much better than all of us. Your friendship means everything to me, you have no idea. You don't even know. And I want to tell you, yet here I am saying this to a ghost instead of your face-" Link trails off, his face hot and hands wavering slightly in the air. His eyes dart to the floor, refusing to see the blue and white shell of his friend any longer.
"You deserve better than me." He can notice his palms' unconscious movement. Cautiously, the hylian looks up. Not are both of the avatars shining just a bit brighter, but the hylian notices the light that is sparkling in the eyes of Sidon's avatar. It looks both saddened and touched. Loving yet grieving. Alive, but dead. It's too hard to read: too hard to understand. Which isn't right. This isn't how Sidon is supposed to-
Ripping his eyes away, Link grunts. He ignores it. Himself. The avatars. Everything. He ignores it all. He pushes through.
“Goddess, I care about you, Sidon. I care for both of you,” Link shakes his head, an unidentifiable noise leaving his lips “but there is a reason why I need Zelda right now.”
He sighs, the sound echoing inside before escaping as a tired breath “She isn’t afraid to shut me up when I’m overthinking things and being all mopey. She isn't afraid to say that I'm being stupid about anything."
A groan escapes "About everything.”
She would tell him to stop hyper-analyzing their Goddess, for it didn’t always make him contemplative, but rather would make him depressed. She would tell him to stop yearning for not only his best friend but a man who will soon be wed.
…or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she'd tell him to start showing their Goddess some respect. Or perhaps Zelda would say his relationship with the Goddess is special and unique, and it should be cherished for its non-conformities.
Link could see her telling him that they could spend the weekend doing his favorite activities, even frog catching and cliff diving competitions to get his mind off the heartache. It’s totally possible the princess would comfort him and say she knows how it feels to mourn someone who cannot love you back.
Maybe she would just complain about his smell, force him to take a bath, and order him to sleep for the next 24 hours because he looks just as he did after he defeated Ganon.
To even guess what she was thinking was difficult, but to predict what the princess would say was downright impossible. That's probably the best thing about her. He can never guess. He goes to her for advice and he truly has no idea what she's going to do or say. She might badly lie to your face to save your pride or rip into you without realizing it.
Goddess above, Link misses Zelda dearly.
She'd know what to do. Or better, she wouldn't, but she would try her hardest anyway. She'd awkwardly give him tips that wouldn’t work. She would prove her wisdom by shedding insight so impactful, he’ll have the need to write it down, save for later. The princess would give advice that was downright terrible that he would start to question her role as queen.
She could help him through heartbreak.
(I can't believe it." Zelda's face was unreadable, but a slight smirk threatened the edges of her lips "You like Mipha’s little-")
No more. No more thinking about that. No more thinking. He can’t think about anyone. Not about Sidon. Not about Mipha. Not about Zelda. He can’t think about anyone else he has lost for one more second. Link can’t do it. He can’t lose any more people. He can’t do this again. He can't bear it. He can't-
Feet. He’s on his feet now. He has to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. His breath is ragged. His chest is burning.
He has to move. Energy. Inside. It’s building. It’s growing. It festers inside and breeds like maggots and mites and it’s burrowing into his skin.
Gross.
Well. Hmm.
What do maggots taste like and are they anything like worms? If so, then he wants to try out roasted maggots. Add to his bucket list and keep on moving.
Okay. He’s pacing now. Good. Better. Not enough, but better. Better is better than bad. Better will always be better than bad.
He’s nauseous. Link is very nauseous. His insides feel as if they expanded throughout his body and are aggressively vibrating against his limbs. He feels as if he’s about to explode. Is it possible to explode spontaneously? He doesn’t know what to do. He just has to let out some pressure and some-
Steam. Let out some steam. That's it. That will help him feel better.
With a swift motion, the hylian wills the avatars to disappear and materializes a bow in hand- wood to palms, both are steady.
It's just him. Only him. Without eyes judging his actions. Without others seeing his unraveling. In a moment, an avatar is close enough to a person to be uncomfortable. They have to go. They do. They’re gone. He’s alone.
It’s familiar. Bow to hand. Tunic to skin. Dirt to the scalp. Blood to lips. It’s familiar. Dreadfully familiar-
Focus. Stayed alert. Aware. Terrified.
There are Octoroks nearby. In the river. There always are. There always has been. Always.
Shoot a few and he’ll be back in the present. Back to now. Back to what exists. Because it’s only Link. It’s forever only him. Him against the wild. Him against the beast. Him amongst the endless. It’s him. Alone.
Just like before. Nothing has changed. Nothing will.
He faintly hears the cracking of wood. He distantly thinks about isolation and distant conversations about coping mechanisms, but it doesn’t drift to his subconscious. The hylian continues his hunt.
His feet lead him to a nearby lake. He can’t remember its name. Link’s mind is blank. It should bother him more than he can’t remember this fact because its name lingers in the corners of his mind, but it doesn’t. Link doesn't care. He doesn’t allow himself to.
He watches the water. Throws a rock. It is smooth. It is. gray. It skips a few times across the pond. A multitude of ripples. Action leads to several more. Which ripple is he, in the cycle of time? It’s asked, but not articulated. It’s asked but not answered.
A boulder is thrown in his direction. He dodges. Muscle Memory. Instinctual. He gets an arrow from his quiver. He prepares. The hylian shoots.
Link misses. He sins, but not in the eyes of his Goddess. The hero, even he still sins. The world doesn't know this. It won't. He won't let it.
He tries once more.
He prepares. He steadies. He releases. Arrowhead kisses the air and splits its tension apart. A bite instead of a kiss then.
Hit. A hiss. Instinctually, he knows the creature only has a few breaths left.
Shoots. Hits. A guttural scream. The Octorok is dead. It’s dead. It’s dead and that’s a fact. It’s dead and he isn’t. His name hasn’t been uttered just yet. He has a few more moments. Just a few more.
He repeats the hunting process until nearly five Octorok carcasses float in the lake. He repeats until he can think in sentences, not just in phrases. He repeats until the present isn’t daunting and the past doesn’t stain his conscious like blood splattering grass. Link repeats until his breath is steady and his grief is mortal-made not a consequence of an uncaring Godess.
He repeats until the last beast meets the end of his arrows. He repeats until he is the only one alive near or in the lake.
Without celebration, he jumps into the water to pick up all the Octorock parts, not wanting them to go to waste. And instead of making himself a fire, he sits on a large stone, drying himself only with the night’s air. It’s cool and not cold- and that’s enough. If he waits long enough, it will work. He will be dry- so he does. The hylian waits.
Why, Link can be patient if he tries hard enough. Besides, the world has been patient enough with him in the past, the least he can do is return the favor.
For a moment, he merely exists. He is not a hero, not a man, not a boy, not even a hylian. He's just himself, whatever that means. And it’s only when he basks once more under the black and blue that the great hero of the Hyrule, the supposed savior of the land, finds his fingers are absentmindedly following the carved patterns of his quiver.
His quiver which... almost out of arrows.
Oh. Just great. Just wonderful. Link used up all of his arrows for practically nothing so now he needs to find some more.
Oh shit, his bow is fractured too; it’s on the verge of breaking. How did that happen? He’ll need to ‘run into’ some monsters so he can ‘borrow’ their bows.
And his brain, like a damn traitor that it is, has to remind him that the Domain’s general store has arrows for sale. There he can also stock up on hearty salmon, which if prepared right, can make a wonderful meal. Link can check on the kingdom to make sure it's truly recovered since the sludge incident and give help where he could. The weather is always wonderful, meaning the warrior can once again, avoid going anywhere cold. There are even lizalfos on the way, their bows ripe for the taking.
It’s too perfect. It’s too perfect and he hates himself for it because that means he has no excuses and it means the Domain was truly on his mind. And he wants to go; Link genuinely wants to go.
This has to be a joke from his Goddess. A God can have jokes right? She can have jokes and play sick ones on her champion. Though he’s never heard it before, Link can bet a Goddess can laugh and that it rings throughout the land like a mountain’s echo- it’s sprinkled in the wind and it sings into ears- though for only him, it only sounds like soft laughter.
With the smallest of gestures, he spitefully signs "Why are you like this? Why are you making me do this again?”
She doesn’t need to answer, because he knows what she would say. She will go on about orbs of light, granting power to worthy warriors, and making peace.
Oh, of course. Make peace. It’s just that simple. He’ll just do that.
Make peace with the world. Make peace with himself. Make peace with the dead. Make peace with the missing. Make peace with the found. Make peace with his family. Make peace with his friends. Maybe peave with Sidon-
How is he supposed to do that? How is he supposed to make peace with losing someone that truthfully, Link could never have?
Questions unable to be answered, hands made unstill.
A prince made to a king. A boy made to a knight. They can never be just Sidon and Link. Outside of entangled arms, they have too many contrasting titles.
With a grunt, he decides not to allow uncertainty to cloud his judgment and fear replace his terror. He’ll have to just wait on fixing what’s broken with Sidon.
Besides, Link should be allowed to be heartbroken for just a little while longer, can he not? Sure, he hasn’t seen Sidon since the coronation, but the hylian needs a few more weeks of sulking before everything is fine and he’ll be the best friend Sidon deserves. And he will be. And he will. He’ll tell Sidon he’s the greatest friend Link’s ever had and the hylian will mean it and he won’t be filled with ache and longing.
(“Please, dear friend, stay safe for me” This was mumbled instead of declared, sounding so foreign a prince’s lips. “I know it’s selfish for me to ask, for I already know you will succeed, but please make it back to-” ).
No. No, he’s not going to torture himself, lost in the small before that he can still recall. He can't keep doing this. He can't keep hoping.
Link, the Hero of Hyrule, is going to travel to the domain, kill those lizalfos, steal some bows, buy some arrows, buy his lunch, and leave. Fly in. Fly out. And he will continue his journey of finding shrines, and saving villages and kingdoms. Link will then find Zelda and bring her home. Using his Goddess's blessings, he’ll then defeat the mummy that destroyed the master sword. That creature will be dead and it will be a fact. Undeniable fact.
Only then will everything be made right and can go back to normal. Link, after everything else is taken care of, will be able to be there for his friend, without this aching and yearning in his heart. Once everyone is safe again, will Link focus on being exactly what Sidon needs- a best friend and nothing more.
Link will do it. He will do it because he has to; Sidon deserves as much. The Zora deserves to have a friend who is there for him, his kingdom, and his subjects, and isn't lost in shared memories and is haunted by what could have been. Sidon deserves someone whose hands don't speak as if every word signed is an echo of the truth- imprinted with an unsaid lie.
Sidon is the greatest person he's ever known, the first who said his name with greater inflection than his title; Link will be whatever Sidon needs. He just isn't that man yet. He tried at the coronation, he tried, but he isn't. He could only stare at Yona, unable to meet Sidon's gaze. He could only stare at her and see the unreadable.
But maybe after everything else is handed, once he fulfills his duties to the land once more, will he be able to look Sidon in the eye as just his friend. He'll see his own reflection in those golden eyes, and he'll be happy that he is fulling the role Sidon needs of him. Link won't need anything more. He'll be a knight, a hero, a warrior, a legend, a failure, a man, a boy, a hylian, and a best friend of a king.
Link will find contentment in that- just as he found comfort in terror.
With a determined nod, he pulls out his Purah pad and places a pin on the Domain’s location on his map. Less than a day's travel. Not too bad at all.
"It seems today is a planning type of day, huh?" Link asks no one in particular, his head angled to the sky. And in the undercurrents of the wind, in the silent made said, in the whispers never actually uttered, there is a slight hum of agreement.