Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even a year after her mentor’s passing, it’s difficult for Legend to think of the magic shop as her own. Syrup had been a witch longer than most of Hyrule had been alive – she'd studied under the great witch Mumble and revolutionized the study of potioncraft, to say nothing about her famous magic powder. Legend is pretty famous herself, as the guy who offed Ganon a couple times (and, in more secretive circles, as Princess Zelda’s brother), but it’s one thing to update the shop sign and another thing entirely to move into the old witch’s bedroom.

It had been that or Irene’s, and while Legend is perfectly happy to threaten to pull a repeat of their first meetings and steal all of the former witch apprentice’s stuff, she doesn’t actually want to keep the piles of stuffed animals and teen magazines. (She isn't a hoarder, Warriors.) But Irene is off exploring abroad – Calatia, Legend thinks; something about a bunch of magic stones reappearing from hundreds of years ago – and while she sincerely hopes Irene has fun with whatever bullshit that ends up being about, Legend didn't want to wait before moving in. So Syrup’s room it was.

All of this to say, it's taken her some time to think about making the place her own. She'll add a forge, she thinks. Legend is alright at crafting potions, even remembers a couple of elixir recipes Wild showed her, but she's better with enchantments and charms, and if she's going to be adding those to her repertoire she'd rather make the bases herself than go through the blacksmith in town. But there's still potionwork she wants to experiment with, too. Like trying to replicate the enhancements that guy in Skyloft could get by dropping bugs in them, for one, and for two… Well, there’s probably a reason why Syrup settled on tree sap as the base for the characteristically thick and sweet potions which earned her her name, but if the point is to counteract malice with a pure liquid, couldn't honey work as well?

Legend keeps hives, back at the house she still thinks of as her uncle’s even though it's really more like Ravio’s shop now, but there's no sense taking any away from the apple trees until she knows that honey works. The smart thing to do is to grab some honey and test it out, then plan from there; if she's good, she might even be able to get out without getting sweettalked into renting a bunny-eared handtruck.

“Mr. Hero!” Ravio waves from the trees, enthusiastically enough that his hood slips off his head before he bounds over to greet her on the road, and Legend reluctantly bids farewell to the idea of a quick, quiet in and out. She can't bring herself to pretend to ignore that wide grin, even as her counterpart continues, “Or is it Miss Hero, now? Mizz? Surely not Missus!”

“I literally do not care,” Legend deadpans, shifting back on her heels and greeting Sheerow with a nod as the bird chirps hello from Ravio's shoulder. “Miss” is kinda nice, somehow softening her urge to bristle at Ravio’s overwrought kowtowing, but being greeted as a “Mister” is nice too – a fun contrast to all the she/hers of witching in a way that Wind would probably call “gender,” and familiar besides. “I'm not a hero anymore, though. If you're gonna change up how you address me, you should probably worry about that first.”

“You'll always be a hero to me,” Ravio says, far too earnestly, and doesn't even have the decency to acknowledge how it makes her face flame up.

Legend shoulder-checks past him before he decides to change his mind about that and notice her blush. “Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing, whatever. ‘S the honey still there?”

“The honey?... Yes, it should be– ah!” Ravio gasps and darts between her and the door, splaying his arms as he casts suspicious glances behind him. “N-now that I think about it, I am fairly certain I’ve used it up! Ahaha, silly me.” He titters, far too loudly, and bends to block her from peeking behind him. Sheerow flaps her wings as if to mirror him. “Wouldn’t fresh honey be so much nicer?” he wheedles. “I’ll even help you harvest it! At a discount, of course. We should –”

This is stupid. Legend cuts out the middleman and just asks. “Did you burn down my house?”

“I would never!”

His shock sounds sincere enough, but he’s still blocking the way. Legend decides she’s feeling charitable enough (and wants her honey enough) to handle whatever stupidity is happening inside and takes advantage of his flailing to remove him from the door. She’s no Twilight, but Ravio is the world’s limpest, soggiest noodle; it would be a sad day in hell before she needed to use a power bracelet to move him, even back when she could barely lift a pot, and he just kinda squeaks and rolls with it until she sets him down. “You seriously need to get some actual self-defense training,” she advises as she opens the door. “That was pathetic.”

“Ah, ahaha, I’d… rather just run…”

Ravio trails off behind her, Sheerow sadly settling back to her customary position on his shoulder. At the table inside, Ravio perks up. “Mr. Hero!” he chimes, the ears on his hood swaying happily. “Welcome home! Or, ah, would that be Miss Hero? Mizz?…”

The bareheaded Ravio wrings his hands over her shoulder. The hooded Ravio wilts. “Ah,” he says weakly.

“I tried to stop him!” hoodless Ravio says.

Sheerow flutters over to the other Ravio and nuzzles into his neck, prompting a quiet little laugh as he scritches sadly under her beak. “I’ll just… pack then, shall I?”

Legend shakes the surprise off and gets her act together. “Don’t bother,” she tells them both, casually brushing into the house and setting her hands on her hips as she pretends to peer around the kitchen. “If you're here, you might as well tell me where the honey is. I know you use it in your tea.”

The Ravios look at each other. “You're not upset?” one asks, while the other wonders, “You don't think it's strange?”

“It's just a quest thing. Right?” She gives up on the pretense of honey-hunting and turns to face them, crossing her arms with an internal groan. Fine, they're actually talking about this, she guesses. “I get that you didn't do the whole whack stuff with swords part, but you're my counterpart. You’ve gotta have gotten into some kind of trouble.”

Hoodless winces. “Lotopolis,” both of them hiss together, and yeah, okay, that makes some kind of sense.

“That trophy really wasn't worth it,” Bunny sighs, ears drooping.

Legend beneficently restrains herself from asking. It's not hard – these sorts of stories get depressingly predictable after you've lived through seven of them – but she's still kinda curious.

The Ravios poke their fingers together. “So then, you…?” Hoodless ventures.

“Hytopia, for me.” She has to grit her teeth a little, never one to enjoy opening up about herself, but talking with Ravio is comfortable where she'd feel exposed and vulnerable with anyone else. He's her in a way not even the Chain is. It's like talking to herself. “Sounds like it was kind of different than yours, but yeah, I was three people for a while.” And then, because she can never set down a problem once she’s found one: “Your situation is probably closer to Four’s, honestly. I wonder if you'd have any reaction with the Four Sword?”

Which she still has on her wall somewhere, from the weird sanctuary where she fought what might have actually been Four. She still doesn't know what's up with that, and, honestly, isn't sure she wants to; she'd avoided touching the sword before she knew who Four was, and learning that it had somehow led her brother (or something like her brother) to attack her like that had not made her any less reluctant. But it's not like whatever happened had happened immediately, she's seen Four use the sword without any problems, and if it might help Ravio’s situation…

“Let's not risk it, buddy,” Bunny deadpans, nudging her away from the swords on the wall.

“I'd rather not be eight of me,” Hoodless agrees, but his smile is soft as he goes to the cupboards, and it makes something flip behind Legend’s rib cage.

The honey is where it always is, of course. Ravio’s careless about things like bursting into someone’s house and immediately inviting himself as a longterm guest, but he takes up as little space as he can once he’s wormed his way in, preferring to stand in the center of his square of shop tables for hours than risk dragging over a chair. He’s considerate, in an inconsiderate sort of way – he’d learned how Legend organized the cupboards within the first few days, so that he could help himself to Legend’s pantry and drink all of her cider at odd hours. After he realized how much she liked the hot cocoa he made for him, she kept finding squares of chocolate nestled in amongst the tea…

Hoodless presses the honey into Legend’s hands. Bunny drapes himself over her shoulders the way Ravio always does to rub in the half-inch he has on her, and Legend’s chest is warm and she's blurting out “Come back with me” before she realizes it's coming out of her mouth.

“Eh?!” Both of the Ravios jump back in tandem, Sheerow hopping for balance as Bunny’s arms go up, but with Hoodless’s face exposed the shock and willful incomprehension in his eyes are nakedly longing. When Bunny sees her looking, he squeaks and elbows his duplicate, who rapidly flushes and yanks the hood back over his head.

That’s that nickname useless, then. Legend looks away, equally to hide her own embarrassment as to give the Ravios time to get themselves under control, but bites the bullet and lays out her half-cocked argument before they can start stammering around in circles and wasting time clarifying things that should be obvious. “Look,” she starts, “the shop is pretty quiet now, but you know everyone’s going to start showing up once they get word that the hero is working there. I wouldn’t mind having another pair of hands.”

And someone to do the taxes, but if she leads with that then Ravio will want her to pay him for it. Better to let him volunteer on his own.

“If I start moving the bees over, it’d be nice to have someone else around to help out in the garden, too,” she continues, “and since there’s two of you the orchard here won’t have to go untended.” The longer she thinks about it, the better the idea sounds. “You can bring some of your inventory with you, say you’re opening up a new branch. Wouldn’t it be hilarious for people to walk in and see the same shopkeeper at both locations? And everyone’s already gonna be coming in looking for magic items. It’d be an easy sell.”

“You just want to profit off of my hard-earned customer base,” one of the Ravios tsks. It’s much more obnoxious to read him with his hood down, but that playful finger-wag can’t be anything but a distraction.

“Pressing us into free labor for your apple trees,” the other sniffs. “And with everything I’ve done for you. Out of the goodness of my heart!”

Legend rolls her eyes. “I’m literally giving you free rent.” And Ravio is the one who volunteered to work in the orchard, to pay off the favor Legend was never planning to collect on. He looks so happy in the fields – too happy, for someone supposedly suffering a chore – but it’s not like she’s one to talk about hiding selfish interests under a charitable veneer, and calling him on it would mean talking about feelings. “I know you haven’t been using my bed, which means one of you’s been sleeping on the floor,” she says instead. “You can steal Irene’s room when she’s done moving out of it.”

“Oh?” Both of them lean forward, now, and she’s sure there’s a mischievous glint in their eyes under the damn hood. “Where would she stay when she visits?” one asks.

“Surely not with you,” the other gasps, innocence carefully construed. “I’m not sure I could sanction that in good conscience!”

Heat bursts over Legend’s face. “We’ll get to that when we get to it,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest and decidedly not thinking about sharing a bed with Irene. “It’s not like you’d be any worse off if you had to come back and crash here for a night, asshole. Are you coming or not?”

One of them opens his mouth. The other slaps a hand over it. “And what about poor Sheerow?” he demands, the bird in question peeping questioningly at the address.

“She does fine when the two of you have to split up.” Presumably, since Legend’s only seen one Ravio until now and he’s shown no sign of being able to recombine like Four can, but she can already hear them whining about how she’s keeping their darling bird away from her doting friend. “We’ll get her a perch or something for the shop. Syrup had a cucco she’d trained to run the cash register for a few years; maybe we can bring that back.”

“How dare you,” a Ravio – the one she’d formerly called “Bunny”; the one with Sheerow on his shoulder – gasps, cupping an indignant hand around the bird. “Sheerow is much smarter than some barnyard fowl.”

“So she should have no problem picking it up,” Legend groans. “Come on, Ravi, just say yes already. I miss you.”

She can feel her face flushing again at the slip, but she doesn’t try to take it back or brush over it like she would have before the Chain. And it had been Ravio, after all, who had convinced her – after the weeks of recovery, of reacclimating to staying in one place and one time, being A Person instead of A Link – that she should be open about what she wants.

Sheerow-Ravio makes a sound like an octorok deflating and yanks his hood down further over his face. The other one’s shoulders hunch too, but he redirects the impulse into gripping his robe instead, the gesture made no less dramatic by his flopping bunny ears. “Well, when you put it like that,” he wheezes.

Sheerow-Ravio recovers enough to slap at his twin’s back in a half-hearted mockery of treating someone for choking and treats Legend to the hooded version of his grin. “I believe we can work out a timeshare.”

Chapter Text

It would have been too much to ask for, for any of them to be able to see each other after their quest was over. The others never liked it when Legend spoke that way – Sky especially got a sad look about aer whenever Legend brought it up, any reminder of the gods’ many failures another weight on aer back – but they’d all been heroes for too long to expect fate to be kind, and a surprising amount of them had enough firsthand experience with time to know it wouldn’t be able to hold their strain for long. They’d parted ways with a cheer that grew more forced the longer they drew out their celebrations.

Legend had slipped away as the sun started to set. Left themself enough time to get home while it was light out, since goddess knew portals never had the decency to dump them out anywhere convenient, and got himself out before Time could embarrass them all with some stupidly sappy goodbye. It was better that way, she told herself. There was nothing left they could’ve said. They’d told each other everything they’d needed to over the journey.

Then came the letters.

It was Wild’s idea, bless the kid’s reanimated heart. I don’t know if this will reach you, the first one began, but I guess there’s probably no harm in trying. (They’d all been on the kid’s case about growing some backbone. It was good to see some of that had sunk in.) It’s been hard, getting to sleep without you all nearby. I think Flora’s close to tearing her hair out. She’s been testing insomnia cures on me, but none of them have worked. Last night it was warm milk. Lon Lon milk is better, but don’t tell Time or they'll get a big head. It didn’t help me sleep, but it did make me rememb

I know she’s running out of ideas because tonight’s suggestion is journaling. (Which Wild does every night, anyway.) Writing a letter isn’t the same thing, but it’s pretty close. Maybe the postman will deliver it like the othe like the ones that like he used to. I hope he If he does, write back and let me know.

Legend had immediately drafted a letter to each of the others, letting them know about Wild’s discovery, and the correspondence had come pouring in. A good portion of it was spent berating him for leaving before they could (officially) say goodbye.

He still doesn’t know why he was the first one Wild wrote to. Out of everyone, he would have expected Twilight to be the first – maybe Time, or even Four, but certainly not him. But the way his heart stopped when the postman handed him the letter – the dizzy, ecstatic relief that Wild was okay, that they could still talk to each other– he can’t imagine having had to wait any longer for that.

Today he has one letter going out and two coming in. The first one is to Four, explaining what he knows of Ravio’s condition and laying out some hypotheses for how they could deal with it. I never told you this, he'd written, hesitating over the characters of the conlang the two of them had created for the Chain, but I have a Four Sword, too. If it's not yours, it's pretty close. With how you warned us off of touching yours, I'm glad I never tried anything with it, but I will if I have to. With a wry twist of his lips, he’d closed the letter, You're the expert here. I'd appreciate any advice. -Legend

After some thought, he'd enclosed a shaving of maiamai shell.

The first incoming letter is from Hyrule. The Traveler’s messages are always cramped, scribbled in wherever words fit around grocery lists or reminders from eir Zeldas to make the most of every precious scrap of paper, but this one is especially tiny. Legend is almost tempted to try the shrinking spell he learned off Four, but given the messy scrawl of Hyrule’s handwriting, it probably wouldn't help; instead, he shells out a few rupees to rent a magnifying glass from Ravio and squints.

Hyrule never starts with a salutation, preferring to ramble right off – usually about whatever’s on the repurposed paper, like ey can catch them all up on eir life scrap by scrap. This one begins even more abruptly, skipping the rambling, too.

okay don' t freek out, it opens auspiciously. i promise i didn't tell iknow you hate peple knoing and i don't even know much to begin with anyway but even if i did i think you'd want to know. arora and i were talking and i mentioned you and she asked me about what you'd done and where you'd been. i told her about hollowdrum and how you and dimity and mush and the one with the pocket fixed the season's and then she asked if you'd ever been to a place called cahoelin.

Legend drops the magnifying glass.

No, wait. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Hyrule follows him in the timeline; it's entirely possible that that quest could have been passed down as a story somehow. Hadn't the Traveler said ey’d read about “the Legendary Hero’s island adventure” somewhere?

(But ey had never heard the island’s name before Legend cried it in his sleep.)

The letter continues, turning 90° to fit around a corner. i told her she'd better ask you and she said she would. im sorry if you if she i’m sorry., but she seemed she didn't i think you too should talk. be nice

“I'm always nice,” Legend huffs, tossing Hyrule's note down and making to rip open the letter it came with before deciding to lever the wax seal free instead. It’s interesting, how the fairly static symbol of Hyrule’s royalty through the ages changes over time; if the other Zeldas ever write to him, Legend thinks he might start a collection. Beyond boggling the mind of anyone who sees it, such a thing should fetch a pretty price… or maybe he’s just been spending too much time with Ravio lately.

Aurora’s letter is loopy and formal, written in tight cursive on what must be royal stationary, though the paper is thinner than the kind used in Fable’s castle. The ink (the same as Hyrule writes with, but of a different consistency than Legend is used to, with a color and scent like blackberries) bleeds through and blots where her lines run too closely together. She’s addressed the letter Dear Legend, but the “e” has a couple of extraneous marks along one side – as if she’d started to write the name Link.

I hope you don’t think my greeting is too familiar. Our Link here speaks so often of you that I could say, truthfully, that it feels as though I know you all quite well, although my sister’s court has never had the pleasure of your company for very long. Since his their return (the pronoun carefully edited), they’ve told us much about your adventures: the “Old Man” and his ranch, Twilight’s close call with that awful shadow, all the marvelous things Wild showed them… I must confess, the stories about Wind and her sister’s seagulls are my favorites, second only to the ones about you.

Oh, I should stop stalling, but it’s so difficult to say. Promise you won’t be angry with either of us? You’ve always been so quiet about yourself. I can’t imagine you being comfortable hearing the words I’m about to write from someone who is practically a stranger, but if you must be upset, please don’t blame Hyrule. They only answered my questions – I’m the one who pried. It’s just been such a relief to me, knowing that you were real.

Legend stops breathing. His eyes rove to the next line, heart pounding in his ears.

I’m not sure how much Hyrule has told you about me. I’m told that I was cursed; I slept for many years before Link found me, although I don’t remember very much from before. In that regard, I’m very lucky. Rather than dreaming of my brother or the wizard who cursed me, I spent my time asleep on a lovely island, full of animal friends and strange, wonderful people… I couldn’t tell you how long I spent there before you washed ashore, but the first time we met, you called me “Zelda.” I was so surprised to wake up and realize you were right.

“Marin,” he whispers, hand over his mouth, because there’s nothing else to say.

Oh, if I know anything about you it’s that you’ve been worrying about what happened to us. Please don’t blame yourself, Link. I don’t know how many of us were real, but for me, it was like waking up from a really long nap. I’m sure everyone is fine.

The words are getting too blurry to read. Legend realizes he’s crying when a dark splatter interrupts the text; hurriedly, he lifts the paper up and scrubs at his face until his vision clears. Nothing short of Ganon’s next revival could pry him away now, but like hell is he going to risk dissolving any ink.

The Wind Fish actually came with me for a little while!, she continues, and Legend pulls a face. He’s still not sure how he feels about the whale god. I think it’s because the curse hadn’t been broken yet; I didn’t have anywhere to go when the dream ended, because my body was still asleep. Instead, he and I found ourselves somewhere else, with a lot of monsters and many people who needed help. It wasn’t as nice a dream as the one we shared, but I made a lot of friends, including – you’ll never believe it – three more Links. I’m not sure what you’ve been calling them, but one of them was probably the Captain (“Warriors”?) and another had an ocarina. I thought of you every time he played. (Have you gotten any better, yet?)

“Fuck off,” he says, but he’s grinning through misty eyes when he rubs a thumb over the page. He had played the ocarina once or twice after Koholint, when Irene and/or her broom were too busy to pick him up at the sound of her bell, but his friend the duck had its own life to live and he hadn’t been able to face Marin’s memory without the material incentive of a ride. The few lessons he’d begged off Time when he and the grief had both worn smooth enough to ask are the only reason he’s willing to say his skill – what little of it he can claim to possess – hasn’t completely rusted.

(He’ll have to pick her ocarina up again.)

I understand if you’d rather not speak with me. You have a whole, exciting life to lead! There’s no reason you should want to write to some girl you only knew for a while in a dream. But if, by chance, you’d like to try being friends again, I would love to hear from you. I want to tell you about all of my adventures, and hear what you’ve been up to, too.

I’ve missed you so much, Link. I just wanted to tell you that.

Her signature is underlined with a big curlicue: Aurora first, loose and unpracticed but lovingly shaped; then Zelda, pristine and straight. Then comes a bit of a space, as if she were hesitant to add the final name, but for all the shakiness of her hand the letters stand clearly: Marin.

Legend sits there, holding it, for a moment, then re-folds the letter (half-wishing, now, that he hadn’t taken off the seal) and places it in his desk. “Watch the counter a little longer for me,” he calls to Ravio through the wall, hurrying out to the main floor of the shop. “I’m heading out.”

“Hey, pal! I’m supposed to be running my shop, not yours,” Ravio complains, but he settles at a glare from Legend and sinks back to the countertop. “Fine, fine. Important hero business?”

“Something like that,” Legend agrees, already half-out the door. “I’m just buying paper, it shouldn’t take too long.”

There are so many things he’s wanted to say to Marin, and he already knows lots of them are going to wind up in his trash can – too desperate, too sappy, too embarrassing. As he heads towards town, he plots out the sketch of what will become his first draft: Hey, Marin…

Chapter Text

It takes Legend a second to place the bell. She’s been poring over Marin’s letter, fingers brushing over stories of the war she’d joined, and the rapid ringing sounds just like the Sea Lily’s Bell Marin apparently took with her before Legend remembers when and where she is. But the bright, insistent one-note peal is missing the Sea Lily’s silvery sparkle, and anyway, none of the Sirens’ instruments made it to the real world when the Wind Fish woke up. (Unless Marin managed to hang on to the bell when she went home? Even then, it would be in Hyrule’s time, not Legend’s own.) No, the bell is the ordinary golden one Irene had spelled to match the little one tied on the end of her broom. Even after beating Yuga, it's connected them – a little reminder that Irene was safe, that they’d see each other again soon – and it had felt right to hang the bell he’d gotten from Irene in the shop along with the bell Syrup had left over the door.

If it’s ringing now, then that means –

The door bangs open, the tinny silver bell hung over it jangling in the doorframe as Irene twirls her broom like a baton and slams the end into the floor. She’s hatless, has a couple new scars, and is grinning wider than the Happy Mask salesman when she says, “Hey, greenie! Miss me?”

“I’m literally wearing red,” Legend deadpans, trying not to look too obviously like he’s checking her over for injuries. (Suddenly he understands why Irene was always trying to foist free samples off on him back in the day.)

“No, no, she’s right,” Ravio says, leaning entirely over his side of the counter to poke Legend in the cheek. “You have an intrinsically green quality to you!”

Legend wants to say “Bullshit,” but she’s met too many other Links to be able to discount it, so she settles for an annoyed huff as she dodges the protruding finger.

“I can’t help but notice, however, that you’ve left me entirely out!” Ravio continues, leaning over even further to continue menacing Legend. You’d think it would be easy to avoid a guy whose giant hood is blocking his entire view, but even though he never looks away from Irene, he seems to have an unerring sense for how to best bother his dimensional twin. If this keeps up, Ravio will be half in his lap by the time the inevitable slapfight starts. “That’s no way to greet a friend. Where’s my hello, huh?”

“Well, I can’t call you purpley,” Irene sniffs. “That just doesn’t sound right.”

Her grin cracks through the snobby act, and she thunks down a handful of crystals on Ravio’s end of the table. “But hey, Ravi. I found some stuff for ya. How much do you think these’ll go for? They’re eyes of an ancient moth god.”

“Let me guess,” Legend hums as Ravio leans in to ooh and ah at them, impromptu wrestling match forgotten, “you had to collect them and put them in a giant statue or something?” She’s interested in them too, but she’s not about to get between Ravio and his prospective inventory.

“Close! The statue was actually a giant dungeon, and each eye gave me an ability I needed to clear one section.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Ravio rubs his hands together, looking to Irene for a nod before he picks one up between two fingers and tilts to admire it in the light. “What did each of them do?”

And so Irene regales them with the tale of her journey across Calatia: the magic pillars that had risen from the country’s depths, disrupting daily life and creating holes in the land’s leylines, the study of which had been her reason for the trip. She met a traveling shopkeep, who insisted on coming with her after she’d rescued him from a small monster ambush – “Easy pickings with my flash spell,” she boasts; “I barely even needed to whack them with my broom” – and who guided her as she explored (and, okay, plundered) the dungeons at each pillar’s base: an ancient cistern choked with roots, a rainbow-glittering underground pond, a maze trellised over with ivy stretching up into the clouds, a forgotten temple littered with secret passages revealed when she lit a certain flame. She’s just reaching the point where the shopkeep betrayed her to complete a failed ritual from hundreds of years ago to revive the moth deity that had been sealed in the giant statue at the place where the lines from each dungeon crossed when there’s a knock at the door.

“I got it,” Legend says, pushing up from her seat. “Keep going, Irene; you don’t hafta wait for me.”

“No way, we’re just getting to the good part! Hurry up!”

She waves the two of them off and traipses around the sitting area back to the shop side, already rolling her eyes as she pulls the door open. “Look, maybe the lock wasn’t obvious enough,” she grouches, “but we’re closed. Unless someone’s actively dying, you can come back– Warriors?!”

“Hey, Lej,” the captain grins, teeth twinkling. “Miss me?”

If they were still on their grand Fuck Around and Beat Shit Up Tour, she would have had a quip ready by now, but it’s taking significant amounts of brainpower just to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. (And her eyes from lingering anywhere too long. Fucking Triforce, there is nowhere safe to look.) Voice a little strangled, she demands, “What the hell are you wearing?!”

“Of course that’s the first thing you ask,” Wars chuckles, brushing thons bangs back under the postal uniform’s distinctive bunny-marked broad-billed hat. Completely bared by the white tank top, thons arms flex disconcertingly when thon adjusts thons backpack, almost but not entirely enough to distract from the giant red postal banner fluttering behind thon from where it’s attached to the bag. “You and I both know you know exactly what I’m wearing, so why don’t you invite me in and let me tell you how it happened?”

“Obviously you woke up and decided to put what little fashion sense you could have claimed out of its misery,” Legend sniffs, like she hadn’t also considered joining the post office to ferret out how they travel between worlds. Then she sniffs again, a little stuffily, and surreptitiously clenches the charm in her pocket to make sure she’s still awake, because the evidence that she isn’t the only one who’d do just about anything to see the others is doing things to her heart.

Warriors’ grin softens, because the jerk knows her well enough to hear the subtext, and thon holds thons arms out for a hug – bending thons knees enough to emphasize the height difference, because thon’s also a confirmed bastard.

Legend kicks thon just hard enough to make thon crumple the rest of the way before she takes thon up on the hug. Because she’s a bitch. “You ditched the scarf,” she says, and it’s an even-keeled observation that doesn’t come out choked at all.

“It’s against uniform regs,” thon sighs, overdramatic and too wistful to be played entirely off as for the joke as thon pats her on the back, stepping smartly away just before her skin begins to crawl. (That’s something she reluctantly appreciates about thon. A part of her still hates how thoroughly Warriors has cataloged her, but she can’t deny how much she missed it.) “And a little too recognizable for my tastes these days, besides. But I see you, fishing for details so you don’t have to invite me in! What, afraid to show me the shop you’ve written so much about?”

She’s only made offhand mention of the shop and thon knows it. “I’ve got company, jackass –”

“Oho! Settling down, Vet?”

She glares thon down without breaking rhythm and continues, “And again, the shop is closed. If you wanted to come in, you should’ve come during work hours.”

“You would have told me I was scaring off customers,” Wars retorts with a grin. “I checked your house first, but Ravio said I should meet you here.”

Legend smirks, easily falling back into their old bickering. “Oh, so we’re blaming Ravio now?”

“‘Blaming’? Legend! It sounds as though you’re unhappy to see me!”

“That outfit, maybe. Put some actual clothes on and then we can talk.”

“I make this outfit look great and you know it.”

“Oh yeah? How many grannies have told you so?”

“Did I hear my name?” Legend’s evil twin pops up behind her, standing just far enough that she doesn’t whack him in the face on reflex (thanks to painfully-learned habit). “Oh! Mister Captain Hero, hello! What are you doing here, and also, how?”

Warriors blinks. Legend tries not to laugh as thon manfully resists the urge to look back over thons shoulder towards the house, where the other Ravio is probably tallying inventory or reading something before he goes to bed for the night. “...good evening, Ravio,” thon politely greets him, putting on a tragically woeful expression. “I was just going to tell Legend here all about that, but cie won’t let me in.”

“Mister Hero,” Ravio gasps, turning a scandalized look on Legend. “That’s no way to greet a guest, let alone one of your own merry band!” Before she can reply, he’s grabbing Wars’ arm and dragging thon past her, into the shop and further back into the living quarters. “Would you like any tea, Mister Captain Hero, sir?”

“I get no respect around here,” Legend grouses.

Wars grins at him, entirely too comfortable with being manhandled in this way, and it’s only their intimate knowledge of each other that convinces Legend to take it as thrilled disbelief to have gotten this far rather than smug victory. His own lip quirks in return – by the same token, he knows, Warriors will take it for the grin it is.

Ravio looks over his shoulder at them, and Warriors’ exhilaration settles into polite charm as thon realizes thon left the question dangling. “Ah, I shouldn’t stay long,” thon demurs, “but I wouldn’t mind something to warm my hands with, if you have anything you don’t mind me taking with me when I go. It’s getting colder out, you know.”

Yeah, Legend just bets it’s cold in a tank top and fucking bootyshorts. Warriors elbows her in the side without her even having to say anything, and she speeds up to avoid getting into an honest-to-god slapfight in her own shop on the pretense of beating Ravio into the kitchen.

Which means now she needs to get out of the kitchen before Wars and Irene kill each other. Slamming the cupboard door open, she goes to grab the mug Warriors always used when the Chain hit her time, only to curse when she remembers that she left it at the other house along with the others’. She yanks Ravio in by the robe and, in a low voice, demands, “Can you do anything to signal Sheerow, or does she only know how to find me when I’m dying?”

Ravio tilts his head, bunny ears flopping and then bouncing upright as he gasps with some revelation. He’s smirking under the hood, Legend just knows it. “I can do you one better!” he proclaims, and pulls an identical black bird out of his sleeve.

“Wait, hold up, when the fuck did you –”

“This is Cooro!” Ravio proudly announces, cupping the bird in both hands as it gives a sleepy chirr.

“Not the question, Ravi!”

“Cooro,” Ravio asks, giving no indication he’s heard Legend at all, “would you mind going back to the main branch and grabbing a mug for me? The blue one, with the daisies, please.”

Legend crosses his arms, muttering, “You don’t know that was what I was going to ask for.”

“If you say so, buddy!” Cooro flutters off, and Ravio gives Legend a not-so-gentle nudge. “I’ve got things under control here. Why don’t you handle our guests?”

So Legend rejoins the party in the living space. (Which he was going to do anyway, Ravio.) Warriors, clearly less than thrilled to be socializing with someone new when thon probably went in expecting to devolve into a cathartic wrestling/shouting/puppy cuddles match with Legend, is nonetheless gamely attempting to make conversation, which Irene is rebuffing with all the surly snappishness one would expect from someone whose first instinct after bowling Legend over with her broom was to bawl him out for getting in her way and then try to rob him. He’s almost impressed with how few words she’s using to explain that to Wars – thon must’ve asked her how the two of them met.

“Did she really run you over?” Wars asks as he walks in.

Legend snorts. “Yup. At least, what, twelve times?”

“More like twenty,” Irene retorts, a reluctant smile tugging at her cheek.

“You wish,” Legend shoots back. “I learned to get the hell out of the way way before you brought the flying saucer out.”

Flying saucer? Wars mouths incredulously. Legend snorts. He’s got no clue how or why, he just knows it hit a lot harder than the vacuum cleaner. ‘sides, it’s not like Wars is one to talk, with that spinner thon stole from Twilight.

Irene doesn’t seem to have a comeback ready, so Legend shrugs and turns his attention back to Wars. “So, ‘fess up,” he demands. “How’d you end up at the post office?”

Thon’s spine eases, pretensions at nobility sliding off as thon gets into the story: marching back to thons garrison; reporting to Athena and General Impa. Finally sitting down to collate the reports thon had written on the way and overview them in a summary thon could only write post-mission. (And thon doesn’t mention all the nights thon stayed up, desperate for anything to distract thon from the lack of siblings in the other bunks – racing memory to put every quirk and habit and bearing to paper, until there was nothing left to say and thon had to slow down; drawing the last words out as long as possible so it would never have to be over – but it doesn’t seem like thon’s wearing any more concealer than usual, so Legend doesn’t call thon on it.) Getting Legend’s first letter – Hey !!! Guess what Wild figured out. Shame there’s no way to send the same letter to eight people at once, or I wouldn’t have to rewrite this seven damn times. Worth it I woul Worth it, though. Expect to hear from everyone else soon. -Legend – and savoring the others as they came in, little treats amidst training sessions useless without an enemy army to fight and royal ceremonies that paraded thon around like the ornament thon hates being.

Realizing that those ceremonies were the only thing they needed thon for anymore. That thon would only ever be Athena’s pet showdog if thon stayed, and gracefully retiring to the countryside with much aplomb – by which thon meant, hanging up thons scarf at the estate Athena granted thon and applying to the postal service as soon as the chatter died down, because the ability to take a damn break isn’t something Sky passed down to any of the rest of them.

“And nobody from your Hyrule’s recognized you?” Legend asks skeptically.

Wars coughs. “Well. There’ve been a few – mainly those who were lucky enough to get one of my old calendars –”

Legend chokes on his spit, and even Irene snorts a little. “You did a calendar photoshoot? In that?”

“It was a limited-print run,” Wars protests, though the quirk of thons lip warns Legend to back off before things get too sensitive. “Running a military’s expensive, you know. We all help out where we can. At any rate, those that have recognized me have been kind enough to look the other way, and now that my training period is over, the office knows to assign me on outgoing mail. Apparently I'm ‘uniquely suited for it.’”

Outgoing, huh? As opposed to just “outgoing”?

“I see that look,” Warriors scolds, face lightening as they move back to familiar ground. “And before you ask, I’m not allowed to spill. Postman’s honor and all that.”

Irene speaks up before they can start to actually argue. “If this is gonna keep going, I’m gonna bow out. See ya.”

“See ya,” Legend absently echoes, using the reshuffling as she removes herself to move closer to Wars. “So you really can’t tell me anything, huh? You’re gonna put your honor as a postman above your own brother?”

“Yup,” Wars answers easily, not-quite smirking in the way only thon and Time ever managed to pull off as thon leans over to ruffle Legend’s hair. Usually, thon would’ve had to push his hat back for that, but with that hung up along with Legend’s sword, there’s nothing to block thons access to his head – and nothing Legend can pull down to stop thon with, so all he can do is sputter and complain as Wars musses his bangs. “Nice try, Vet. But if you stop asking, I’ll tell you about how the others are doing.”

Legend narrows his eyes. Wars’ grin gets more shit-eating as thon revels in the tacit understanding that thon’s won, and Legend gives thon a (mostly performative) eyeroll as he leans back, finger-combing his hair into something better-approaching order. “Go on, then. …Hyrule doing okay?”

Thon laughs, warmly enough that Legend doesn’t bother bristling, and obligingly describes the garden Hyrule has been coaxing into bloom and the friendship Dawn’s struck up with Flora over rebuilding pre-apocalyptic state apparati. Marin greeted thon with a flurry of questions, thon says, about the postal service’s method of interdimensional travel, about the portals during the War of Eras, about Legend.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know you knew each other,” thon says, avoiding Legend’s eyes as thon all but wrings thons hands, forehead crinkling in the way that says thon’s blaming thonself for stuff thon shouldn’t be worrying about again. “She went home after the war was over, so there was never an opportunity for me to reintroduce you, but I could have said something so much sooner. I would have,” thon insists, “if I’d only known.”

Like Legend could ever doubt his brother. “You didn’t. Know, I mean.” And maybe later, Legend will sit and think about the time he wasted thinking Marin was a ghost when Wars knew her, was right there, but he has a new letter from her clutched tenderly in his hands and his brother back from the dead in front of him – this is no time for crying. “Not exactly like I wanted to talk about it. I’m not gonna blame you for me being difficult.”

“Ah, did I miss Legend actually admitting fault in something?” Ravio chirps, arriving at last with a steaming mug he sets by Warriors before draping himself over the couch.

“Hey,” Legend snaps, “I can admit when I’m wrong!”

“Every now and then.” Wars smirks, but thon looks more settled now, so Legend huffs and lets it go.

The mug smells more like chocolate than tea, even from here, but Ravio does what he does best and fills the air with chatter as Wars’ eyes widen, sweeping them into talk about Lon Lon’s newest foals and Aryll’s burgeoning schoolyard romance with a Rito prince before thon can comment on thons cup. (Or what's in it.) All too soon, though, the steam is fading, and Warriors is making thons excuses.

“I’m still technically on shift,” thon explains, heaving thons backpack over thons shoulders again. “A little bit of talking is fine, and I don’t have anything else to deliver, but the post office is very strict about staying on schedule.”

“You’ll be back, right?” Legend asks. Just to check. It’s not like he really needs to ask – back at the start, he’d say because that’d be pathetic, but now it’s more that he can’t imagine a world where Wars would ever say no, even if he still has to swallow hard around the thickness in his throat to get the question out.

Wars smiles – like thon gets it, which of course thon does. It’s bright and warm and almost makes Legend understand why thons Hyrule would buy thons calendar. “‘Course,” thon promises, drawing Legend into a hug. Legend doesn’t even bother protesting, just hugs back. “Next time you get a letter. And anything you want to get to any of the others, you can give to me, okay?”

“‘kay,” Legend sniffs, stepping back. “No promises, though.”

“Don’t forget your cocoa,” Ravio chirps, pressing the mug back into thons hands and pushing thon out the door with all the energy he used to drag thon in. “Safe travels, Mister Captain Hero, sir! Come back soon!”

He stands in the doorway, waving frenetically, until Wars vanishes behind a tree, at which point he slams the door closed and drops to the floor with a worldweary sigh.

“Uh,” Legend says, resisting the urge to poke him with a toe. “You alright, buddy?”

Ravio pushes his hood back, looking up at Legend with eyes that are far too serious for a guy in a rabbit costume. “You should talk with Irene,” he advises.

“Huh?” Oh, yeah. Now that he thinks about it, she did leave kinda quickly. And he never got to telling her where she'd be sleeping tonight. “Yeah, I got it. Don't want her taking up your bed, right?”

Ravio sighs behind him, but he's already on his way up the stairs.

Just like Legend thought, he finds Irene in Ravio’s room – the one that used to be hers, back when she was still trying to be “Maple,” Syrup’s apprentice. It's different now, though. With all of her novels and makeup stashed away at the place she's renting in Kakariko, Ravio’s art has taken over the walls, colorfully-lined eyes and jagged, angular swirls peeking out between piles of clutter. When Legend knocks and cracks the door open, she's sitting on the floor, staring blankly at a painting of sand.

Legend winces. “Hey,” he tries. “You okay?”

She peeks at him under her bangs and huffs, glaring at the floor. “I'm fine.”

Maybe this would be easier if he were feeling more she, smoother and more soft-edged and less of an outsider, but he was the Chain’s brother more than he ever was their sister and with Wars’ visit bringing up memories, he’s all tingling nerves and steel-on-steel right now.

Doesn't matter. It's all the same thing underneath, just Legend fumbling to do what feels right, and while his track record isn't perfect, he's gotten more wins that way than not. So he sits down next to her, shoulder just brushing her baggy sleeve, and leans back on his hands. “You rushed out of there pretty quick,” he remarks. “Can't say I blame you. Wars is a little much for unsuspecting company.”

Irene makes a face. “He wasn’t bad,” she mutters, grudgingly. “Just– I–” She cuts off, growling, and shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Even if I didn’t already know that was wrong, it’s still a shitty excuse.” Legend flicks her in the forehead. “Try again, dumbass.”

“I felt left out, okay?!” She glares, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “This was supposed to be my big homecoming, my– reveal. Proof that I could make it, as a hero or whatever, and you’re not even impressed cause you’ve done it all already and then he shows up, and you’ve got all these stories together and all these people the two of you know that I don’t. Three of you, if you count Ravio, and I know you’ve been getting letters from some other girl –”

“Wow, okay,” Legend cuts her off with a snort. “I changed my mind; that was stupid.”

Her eyes flash. “I might’ve been gone for a while, but I bet the house still likes me more,” she threatens. “I could kick you out.”

“Settle down, wouldya? Look, I’m sorry I didn’t ooh and ah loud enough for you when you were talking earlier, but you know I’m an asshole and I thought Ravio was doing enough of that for both of us.” He tugs on his hair, tension coiling tighter. The dip of her eyebrows says he’s doing this wrong, and he believes it; he’s never been good with emotional conversations. “You’re not going to impress me by running around throwing your ego into other people’s problems,” he says. “I’ve been on enough adventures to know they’re not anything special. But you don’t have to impress me.”

The line of her shoulders settles, like a cucco deciding it might not need to attack after all, and Legend puts his sigh of relief into working the words out of his throat. “You were there on my very first adventure, you know? I kind of hated you –”

“Right back at you,” Irene scowls.

“– but any time I got overwhelmed or scared or homesick, you were there, and it was like nothing Veran did mattered.” He looks away, tracing lines in the woodgrain of the floor. “She was trying to erase me from history, you know? And after I saved the Maku Tree in the past she – the tree – decided we were going to get married even though I was only like, ten years old cause she thought I was some cool hero guy who couldn’t do anything wrong, and this other guy Ralph kept showing up to tell me I was an idiot and doing everything wrong, and you just… ran me over with a broom and tried to steal my stuff.” He smirks, nostalgic. “It was shitty, and annoying, but it wasn’t like there was any actual danger. You’d grab a few rupees, I’d make off with a potion, and we’d do it all again tomorrow. It was fun.”

“So you did get in my way on purpose!”

“Hey, don’t act like I was the only one,” he shoots back, elbowing her in the ribs. “The only reason you’d have to be flying that low is if you were trying to hit me.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, then, when he sticks his own out back, lunges for his head. He blocks her first swipe, thankful again that he's left his hat off, but her arm snakes around his neck and yanks the back of his shirt over his head, and then they're both laughing. “Bet that other girl didn’t do that,” she says, flicking her bangs out with a triumphant grin.

“Marin? Ha. Nah, she’s a sweetheart. Just about cried when I hit a cucco because she was worried I’d hurt it. Told me off for smashing pots, too.” He considers the girl next to him as he fixes his shirt, lip quirking. “I bet you two’d get along, though. You both like making fun of me.”

“I think that says more about your tastes than mine.”

“Ha. Yeah, maybe.” He leans back again, seriousness returning. “The point is, you’re different people, alright? And yeah, you both mean a lot to me – Wars too, and Ravio, and if you tell either of them that you’re dead to me – but it’s in different ways. Maybe you weren’t there to meet the Chain or… or on my fourth adventure, but besides Zelda, I think you’re the one who’s known me the longest. None of them knew me when I was tripping over your potions lessons and crying in your bedroom ‘cause Uncle Alphonse was dead. Y'know?” He tries to meet her eyes, but gives up, feeling uncomfortably like a coward when his own eyes skitter away. “That… it’s something I can’t replace. That you’re still here.”

Through all the worst of him, and still carrying the bell that lets her know he needs her.

“Knowing you were there, and ready to shove potions down my throat if I was being too much of an idiot –” He swallows, crossing his arms. “It might’ve saved my life.”

“Might’ve?” she scoffs, but he feels her eyes soften on him before she looks away.

Her pinkie nudges against his. “So, does the ‘different way’ I mean a lot to you allow for kissing?” she asks, studiously nonchalant. “‘cause if I didn’t have to save six countries to do that, I’d like to start making up for lost time.”

His heart stops. “Dunno,” he says, and he even manages to make it sound fairly level around the roar in his ears. “Wanna find out?”

Ravio interrupts them sometime later, distinctly unimpressed as he shoos them out. “It was my bed before it was yours, jerk,” Irene shouts through the firmly-closed door, which opens just long enough for Ravio to toss her bra through it before he shuts it again.

“Yeah, about that,” Legend says, rubbing his neck. “We kinda decided you’d be staying with me? I can grab a sleeping bag if you want, but –”

Irene grins, tossing her bra over her shoulder. “You kidding? It’s about goddamn time!”

“See, that’s what I said!” comes muffled through the door.

“Sure, I mean– Uh, if you want,” Legend stammers, “but I meant, you can finish telling me about what happened in Calatia.”

“I thought you were a big, bad adventurer who didn’t care about me throwing my ego into other people’s problems,” she retorts. Neither the hint of laughter nor the heat of the makeout session they just came down from do anything to warm the crisp edge buried under her tone.

“Yeah, maybe, but I care about you,” Legend snaps back, flushing when his own words set in and determinedly fighting through it to twine their hands together. “Just ‘cause I think adventuring is more trouble than it’s worth doesn’t mean I don’t think somebody has to fix shit when things start going wrong. I just want you to do stuff cause it makes you happy, not ‘cause you think it’ll impress me. ‘cause it won’t, and also, that’s a stupid way to live.”

Irene blinks, a pink flush overcoming her own face before she groans and turns away, forehead thunking into the wall. “How do you expect me to respond to that?!” she whines. “I was being cool! You’re an asshole, you’re not supposed to be nice!”

Legend grins, feeling more sure of himself now. “I can’t be a nice asshole?” he asks, giving the hand he’s still holding a squeeze. “‘cause I gotta say, making you go red is a lot of fun. I think you should expect me to be really nice, going forward.”

Something solid impacts the door. “Be nice in your room!” Ravio shouts. “And do it quietly, please!”

Legend and Irene look at each other. “No promises!” Irene calls back.

“Fuck,” Legend laughs, hiding his eyes in a hand as he pulls Irene into the bedroom. “I’m gonna owe that guy so many apple pancakes.”

“He knew what he was in for,” Irene smirks. “He doesn’t like it, he can always move back in with Ravio.”

The bra unceremoniously finds its way to the floor.

Chapter Text

After all of the research and all of the sleepless nights, Ravio informs Legend that he's fine the way he is, actually. Sure, managing which Ravio is where and knows what can be a hassle sometimes, but diversifying his resources is just good business sense; he's never made so many rupees at a time, he says, and it's a wonderful way to avoid leaving all of one’s eggs in one basket. (Legend suspects he's been getting a kick out of the twin pranks, too, because they're the same at heart no matter how much Ravio tries to hide it behind his hood and Legend thinks that shit’s hysterical.) But Ravio’s self-esteem would have to be less shoddy than the piece of crap he tries to pass off as a decent boomerang before he’d let Legend do anything for him (he says he goes back to Lorule every month to resupply on items, but Zelda says Hilda says his visits are spent lurking guiltily in the castle and running errands for people who call him names), and Four hadn’t outright pleaded for Legend to keep looking into the matter but his letters had gotten weirdly intense and dense with theorems the smithy'd just happened to have on hand, so here Legend is anyway.

Or maybe that’s all just an excuse for Legend’s own pride. Either way, he’s come too far to let this puzzle go without solving it.

The Four Sword looks exactly how he remembers it in Four’s hands, but that isn't saying much. Four hoards that sword more viciously than Sky guards the Master Sword, and even claiming a fellow smith’s curiosity had only netted Legend a quick look from afar while Four held it. That glimpse had led Legend to believe it’s a shortsword, but the balance is off, weighted closer to the center of the blade than to the hilt like the size led him to expect. Which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise, actually – remembering Four’s height and who the smithy said had done the original forging, Legend reevaluates the Picori Blade as a small hand-and-a-half. As a nice coincidence, that happens to be Legend’s favorite grip style. (Most of the Chain’s too, honestly, but that’s because the bulk of them are heathens who have only ever used the Master Sword or similar and wouldn’t know a thing about different grip styles if one bit them. Sure, hand-and-a-halfs are familiar and flexible, but they’re also versatile, allowing the wielder to choose between prioritizing the utility of a free offhand or the power of a two-handed strike… and they’re called bastard swords, to boot.)

The metal is a dark silver that gleams in the basement’s candlelight – some kind of volcanic ore? it's got the wrong luster for steel – and Legend follows the shockingly-intact spiraled leather grip down the hilt to the gem set in the pommel. Dark against the metal of the blade and almost winking in the firelight, it looks a little like an eye, matching the very similar design staring out of the sword’s crossguard.

Surely that can only spell great things for what he’s doing.

Still, it's not like he's unprepared. His own, golden sword is at his side, and he's set up a number of pots around the cellar in case he needs to throw them for some recovery time if whatever is sealed in here decides to make it a fight. On Time’s advice, he’s removed anything reflective from the room and traded out his mirror shield for the ostentatious one with the Hylian crest he’d picked up in Lorule, for some reason. (And he wonders, a little, if the Old Man’s vehemence has anything to do with the blank-eyed face Legend sometimes saw when his usual mirrored shield would catch Time at the right angle.) He’s even borrowed Zelda, who’s upstairs equipped with her best protection charms and probably pulling out all her courtly tactics in the process of grilling Irene. (He’d be more annoyed about the intrusion into his dating life if Zelda hadn’t perked up at the chance to do something so siblingly without the fate of the world riding on it for once. Besides, with how much of her own dating life is beholden to the kingdom as the Queen of Hyrule, Legend figures he kind of owes her the chance to live vicariously.)

Everything’s in place. If anything goes wrong, they’re in the best possible position to deal with it. All there’s left to do is…

Grab it.

Cer hand closes around the hilt.

Immediately, ce feels the blade latch on to cer magic stores. There’s something in there, and it’s hungry; Legend flinches at the dark tang of the intrusion before remembering Four’s theories about magical depletion and purifying versus corruptive influences and allowing the sword to drink from cer. It’s not exactly simple, but her witch’s apprenticeship had built on her trained flexibility with magic, Syrup teaching her first how to find and draw from her well of light magic without blindly cramming it into whatever item she’d picked up, then how to control how much light she used in a given working – handy for gray and darker-leaning spells, for scamming shady customers or rewarding loyal ones, for hiding her identity as Zelda’s brother or the former Hero from those who might think to look, and now, for feeding a dubiously overshadowed Four without overwhelming him.

Now that the initial desperate, greedy hunger has been satiated, the dark rush of rage and fear and negativity Legend met in the Palace of the Four Sword settles into something like the moonlit carpet Legend used to just be able to feel the edges of around Twilight. (Some part of him wonders what the rancher would feel like to him now, now that he knows it was the magic on her he was sensing, and mourns that he will never truly know.) Mindful of being completely drained, Legend had partitioned her stores as soon as she realized what was happening, but the sword draws back before her internal monitor engages.

Huh. If this really was a corrupted Four, Legend would expect him to eat right up to the divide, drawn by the promise of light to refresh the sacred energy all the Links apparently carry in them or whatever as Legend ramped up the grade. Instead, her guest yanks away as the concentration of light magic passes about 60%, peeling the divider along with the sheer force of the retreat so that Legend is treated to the disconcerting sight of his own painting-form wobbling in midair as it struggles to stand in three dimensions.

Wait. Not his own painting-form – the colors are wrong. Darker. Grayer. It’s easiest to tell in the eyes, silver-gray instead of violet, and just as he’s thinking that the painting writhes and disintegrates in a blob of shadow. A figure straightens from the pool, dripping darkness and flickering rapidly between colors – green, red, blue, purple, and having met the other Links Legend had wondered if he had misremembered just how much the doppelgängers in the Palace of the Four Sword looked like him but Four’s chin is rounded and his cheekbones are fae where Legend’s features are soft and broad by turns and this creature can’t make up its mind. It keens, hands – stubby, solid, spindling, thick – dragging down cheeks – full, worn, pronounced, freckle-dusted – and leaving marks that disappear in the next ripple of shadow-flesh.

Legend gags, hand creeping to his sword. “Just pick something and stick with it already!” he shouts at it – not really expecting an answer, just running his mouth, because that’s always been his first instinct when his heart starts pounding like this.

Any reply the thing might have tried to make is swallowed up in distorting noise and the click and grind of its rearranging face, but the shriek’s harmonics seem to even out as it goes on, the rapid flicker of transformation slowing as the thing narrows its range. “Ẃ͙̟̜͈^{h̤͝o̴̲̖͖̙} ̞͚̬̞a̗͡_{m̰͔̞̟̣̰͇} ̸͍̝I̭̘?̭̞̬̠̱̕” it keens, face settling: soft, broad, with the rippling scars over its cheeks and forehead that come from running into trees at full tilt and a light gray streak in its charcoal hair. Silver-gray eyes meet Legend’s own. “A_ḿ ͘I͡... y^ou?”

It spasms again, head wrenching back and glitching in painful-looking flutters. “No. N̶͚̦o̗͟!̡͈̥͚ This is a̕l̸l w̥̖͓̟̰͙̯̕^r̨͇̠̟ͅ_{o̶̮͓͎͕̤}n̟͉̳^g̶. Who are you? Where’s L͞_in҉k͡?”

Four. “Hey, easy.” Legend lets his sword go, raising his hands, and tries to look less like someone who’d stab this… guy… for making a move wrong. The pieces are starting to click together. Not all of them, there are still far too many empty holes, but– the odd desperation in Four’s letters. The little glances he’d give the others when they mentioned friends who hadn’t made it to the end of their respective quests, empathetic and understanding but cagey about his own loss. “I’m not the guy you’re looking for, but I know him.”

“^{P̛̤̠̤ͅr̺̩͖̜}_o̞̠̰v̶͇^{e͖̦̫̳͍͓͡} ̲̻i̹_{t͖̖̺͎͖.̱͎ͅ}"

Yeesh, that was barely even understandable. “Short? Blacksmith?” Legend tries. “Way too excited about hammers. He and” – Legend bites back the his before it can get him into trouble – “Zelda are childhood friends. She got him a shield at the last Picori Festival. He’s got an earring that looks like a feather that he never takes off. He –”

“Ok_ay, o̵k^ay͢!҉ I get it.” The shadow-person’s words are coming out more clearly, now, and the twitches of change are dying down, leaving them looking almost but not quite like Four.

“You’ve got the nose wrong,” Legend says, because he’s never let common sense or fear of pissing off a possibly dangerous enemy stop him from running his mouth before and he isn’t about to start now. “The bridge is a little shorter than that.”

The shadow rolls their eyes. “Get b^ack to me when you try to sculpt yours_elf without a decent reference.” But the nose fixes itself regardless. They stretch, arching their arms over their neck with a satisfying-sounding groan. “Fuck, it feels like it’s been forever. So, if you’re not Link, who are you? I’m warning you right now, I hate liars.”

That’s a more complicated question than it should be. Legend sighs. “Putting things simply? I’m the guy who you attacked a few years ago. You can call me Legend.”

“Somebody thinks highly of himself,” the shadow snorts, leaning back against the wall. “What do you mean, attacked?”

“I used to be… an adventurer, kind of.” Understatement. “I found this place called the Palace of the Four Sword that I was exploring, looking for something that’d help me defeat Ganon –”

“Ew.” The shadow sneers, features briefly distorting like a ripple in the Magic Mirror before smoothing out into a more humanly possible grimace of disgust. “Fuck that guy, am I right?”

Legend snorts, less creeped out by the casual body horror than he probably should be now that he knows what’s going on. “You don’t know the half of it, buddy. Anyway, I didn’t find much, but I did find a bunch of swords. When I brought them to the Palace’s inner sanctum, four copies of me showed up and tried to fight me. Four– uh. Link said that was probably you, but that you’re ‘susceptible to evil influences,’ quote unquote, especially if you’d been kept in isolation for a long time.”

“...‘Four’?”

Legend keeps his face blank. “It’s a nickname.”

The shadow’s lip pulls back, showing a glinting, slightly sharpened tooth. “I don’t buy it.”

Twilight’s fangs are scarier, but then again, trying to explain the Chain as a single Link without looking crazy is pretty scary too. Legend grimaces and tugs at his bangs. “This is going to sound nuts,” he warns. “Your Link – he’s a hero, yeah? Beat… Vaati, right, and Ganon too. Well, he’s not the only one. Every century or so, Ganon comes back with another scheme, and just like there’s always a Princess Zelda, usually there’s a guy named Link around to stop him. Except we’re not descended from each other or anything.” Wait, Twilight. “I mean, at least not usually. The goddesses just pick some random schmuck and are like, hey, how’d you like to go almost die a couple hundred times on your way to defeating the King of Evil? And we just have to go yeah, okay, sounds fun, otherwise the world ends, because for some goddamned reason we’re the only ones who ever do anything about it.”

The shadow’s eyes narrow, scanning over Legend’s hair and clothes – lingering on the blond bangs, the tunic and skirt he still feels most comfortable in out of everything in his wardrobe. Maybe even the “greenness” he apparently still has. “And you’re one of these schmucks, I guess?”

“Was,” Legend corrects, with no small amount of satisfaction. “I’m retired.”

“You can retire from being a hero?” they deadpan.

“Well, they didn’t let me the last six times I tried,” Legend replies overbrightly, “but I’ve got reason to suspect this time’s the charm.”

Thank Force again for Hyrule. Well, okay, fuck the fact that Hyrule has to be a hero, but it’s such a relief knowing Legend isn’t on the chopping block anymore.

“Anyway, some jackass had the bright idea to try to take over all of time, so all of us lucky ducks got thrown into a basket together and tossed in after them,” Legend picks up again. “It’s been a couple years since we sorted out that mess, but yeah, that’s how I met your Link. We all had to go by nicknames, since… we were all named Link, and he went by Four, so.”

The shadow scoffs, but seems at least a little mollified to have something approaching an explanation. “That sounds like bullshit.”

“You’re telling me,” Legend snorts. “I promise, it was just as stupid to live through.”

“Got any proof? Or am I just supposed to buy this?”

“Nah, if you’re buying anything it’d be from Ravio.” The shadow just blinks, and Legend sighs, rolling his eyes at his own stupid joke. “C’mon upstairs. I can show you Four’s letters.”

Legend leads the way up the cellar steps, resisting the urge to kick a pot over on the way. (Why is it so tempting?? He knows what’s in it; he’s the one who put it there.) The urge is strong enough that he blames his imagination when he hears one shatter – and then a glint of firelight draws his eye to the remnants of the pot the shadow’s staggered into, hard enough to knock against the torch in the corner of the room, and the cinders that have just shaken loose to light the bomb he’d stashed in that pot, and then there’s a lot of unintelligible yelling and a reasonably-sized boom.

“Well, that would get me a citation from the Subrosian Circle of Incendiary Materials,” Legend mutters, frowning at the new hole in his wall and the storeroom that had apparently been bricked up on the other side.

A twinkly woosh zips by, and Legend jumps to the side as a burst of golden sparkles blooms between him and the shadow. “Legend!” Irene shouts, hopping over the side of the staircase and taking a defensive stance in front of him as the shadow recoils. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He makes sure to catch Zelda’s eye, still waiting at the top of the staircase, when he promises, “Didn’t even hit me,” waving a hand to indicate the fine dusting of soot over his clothes and complete lack of burns.

Her queenly mask remains cold and pristine on her face. Legend winces, unable to tell if it’s hiding fear of this unknown element or anger at him; he hates it when she goes all noble on him. “I won’t apologize for assuming,” she states. “There was a bomb.”

The shadow groans something from where they’re slumped over at the edge of the triangle of light from the door. “‘f I were tryin’a kill you with bombs, you’d know.”

“That isn’t exactly what I would call reassuring.” Zelda’s voice is light, but her violet eyes are deadly serious as she brings a hand up to her cheek, flame dancing at the tips of her fingers. “State your name and intentions, please. Your relation to Ganon wouldn’t go amiss, either.”

The shadow blinks muzzily up at her. “Wha–? You're… not’sa princess. But that light…”

Zelda’s mouth purses. “You’re not wrong. I am the Queen of Hyrule, and you will address me as such.”

“We called her Fable,” Legend helpfully chimes in. “Your Zelda’s Dot.”

The shadow blinks, scooching just far enough into the light to peer at her. “...yeah, ‘k,” they say at last.

“You still want those letters?”

They give a short, derisive snort and shake their head, quickly freezing mid-shake when their neck sloshes too far and slumping with another groan as their hand flops up to prod their features back into place.

Irene lets out a raspberry-like gust of air as her patience runs out. “Is anybody gonna bring up the fact that this guy looks just like Legend?!” she bursts.

“Do not!” the shadow retorts, jackknifing upright with a bizarre level of offense. “‘s pink.” Then, fading in and out incomprehensibly as they droop back into their pathetic huddle, muttering under their breath: “Haven’t… Pink yet. D’ssat… proof, or cheating?”

“...I’m not entirely sure how I should take that,” Legend remarks.

Zelda’s fire flares. “You haven’t answered my questions,” she reminds them.

An answering whine. “C’you turn’a light down, first?”

Zelda sighs, but dismisses the flame, Irene scrambling back up the stairs to help coax her overwhelmingly bright power into dimming. Legend, for his part, considers the torches lit at each corner of the basement. He'd set them up to keep the room bright, figuring the fires would weaken any shadow-based attacks if things came to that – probably the shadow would blow them out all at once and he'd have to relight them one by one before he could attack; that's generally the way these things go – but it seems like Four’s shadow is uncomfortable in both concentrated light and darkness. Even hunched as they are amidst what had once been the basement’s wall, their legs seem to dissolve into the actual shadows of the floor, stretching out to the center of the room where the light from the torches equalizes… and where the Four Sword has been left since it fell.

Huh.

Legend puts out two of the torches, leaving the basement evenly dim, and brings the Four Sword over with the rest of the stuff to be taken upstairs. “Here,” he says brusquely, dumping it on them. “Any better?”

They blink, turning the sword over in their hands, and already they look clearer, more solid around the edges. Legend nods to himself and heads upstairs. “Uh, right,” they say, stumbling after him. “You wanted my name, pronouns, and relation to Ganon, right?”

“...Intentions,” Zelda corrects, and Legend restrains a snort. He's probably the only one who can pick up on the sheepishness hidden under the prim readjustment of her skirts. “Though I certainly won't stop you from sharing your pronouns, if you'd like.”

“Sure,” they say distrustfully. “Well, I really wasn't expecting… any of this, so I don't have any intentions to give you.”

Zelda and Legend exchange glances. “That's alright,” Zelda tells them, voice softening. “Your name, then.”

“I think it's Shadow Link?” the shadow muses. “I'm not sure I ever got one, really, that's just what– uh, he called me.” Voice bitter, they mumble, “Not like tools get a birth certificate,” before adding, “Usually people call me Shadow. Or Link, I guess, but that's when they mistake me for the goody two-shoes.”

Irene takes the hand not occupied by the Four Sword. “Okay, but do you like Shadow?” she presses. “Cause you don't have to go by anything you don't want to.”

“I've been going by Legend, so there's technically an opening for a Link,” Legend puts in, studiously avoiding Zelda’s smirk. “Theoretically, anyway. I’d probably have to run you through some tests before I let you just take my old name, but if that’s what you want…”

Shadow makes a face. “Ew, no. And right after you were telling me the gods literally pick Links up and throw them at things? Get someone else to do your job, slacker.”

“Hey, I told you, I'm retired,” Legend retorts, barely holding back a grin. Huh, this guy is almost as much fun to snark with as Wars. “If they try to call me in again, I think the gods’ll be having bigger problems.”

“That's what they all say,” Shadow waves off. “...Uh, right, pronouns. Xe/they? And I guess you could call Ganon my bitchass dad, but I defected.”

Ah. Daddy issues. Got it. “If it makes you feel any better,” Legend says, droll, “I've kicked his ass, like. A lot.”

“Right, yeah. Because you’re, like, a hundred years after me, apparently.” Xir face scrunches as xe visibly decides not to think too hard about that, turning to the girls instead. “You guys seem pretty chill with all of this. Him I get,” xe says, jerking a thumb at Legend, “if he went on this whole… Link bonanza thing, but – well, I know your name’s Zelda. I guess you could be named Link,” with a nod to Irene, “but I got the feeling that was a one-guy-per-century gig.”

“Nah, I come by my heroing organically. The name’s Irene.”

“And us Links aren't all guys,” Legend puts in, remembering Twilight and Wild’s little flinches whenever anyone referred to the group in the uniform male collective; how Time and Hyrule relaxed when there weren't any gendered expectations to live up to; Wind dipping in and out of genders like a seabird, with a bandana fluttering in her hair. “Not all the time, and not any of the time, either.”

Shadow snorts. “What, you retire from that, too?”

“...Huh.” She wouldn't do it, she likes being a guy just as much as everything else, but Legend’s still putting more thought into it than the joke really warrants.

Zelda sighs, probably anticipating the confused nobility she'll have to deal with next time her sibling body doubles for her, but her lip’s twitching. Openly, even – the rigid, queenly face she turns on potential threats melting to show the cheer she uses around friends. Aw, she’s warming up. “I may not have joined the Chain –”

“The Chain?”

“Cause we were all Links,” Legend explains, barely even remembering to roll her eyes at Time for sticking them with that fucking dad joke of a team name.

“Awful. Continue.”

“Well, anyway. They did stop in with me now and again when they visited, so that I could fill them in on monster attacks and other relevant information, so I have grown rather accustomed,” Zelda concludes. “And I suppose, being a Zelda, it was never that foreign a concept to begin with. Even within our own time and place, the issue of Lorule’s missing Triforce introduced Legend and I to our own counterparts over a year before meeting the Chain.”

“Hilda, right?” Irene smirks in Legend’s direction. “Zel here was just telling me about her while you two were downstairs. She sounds fun!”

Legend considers putting the queen who tried to steal Hyrule’s Triforce and the chick who made a game out of running him over with a vacuum cleaner in the same room. Shrugs. “I dunno if you'd be a good influence on her or a bad one,” he tells Irene, “but Lorule's not my kingdom, so knock yourself out.”

“Wow, thanks! So glad to have your permission,” she snarks back.

“You're welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He returns the gesture.

“Speaking of Lorule,” Zelda says, sidestepping the bickering couple with all the elegance of her court training, “that is sort of the reason why we found you, Shadow. Ravio – Legend’s counterpart – has been having… duplicative issues. We were hoping you might have some insight.”

“Duplicative..?” Shadow holds a hand up contemplatively, its edges blurring before another of xer splits into existence on the other side of the Four Sword. Both Shadows startle at the appearance before some frantic flailing of the Four Sword dismisses the extra. Looking slightly pale, xe swallows and says, “I… might have something.” They shake themself off, gaining a bit of confidence back. “My grasp on magic’s more instinctual than anything, so it’d take some time to work something out. That’s assuming I stick around, though. What’s in it for me?”

“Food and shelter?” Legend points out. “Let’s be honest, you’re getting the better end of the deal here. Unless you wanna try fitting yourself in the sword again so I can mail you to Four, you don’t have much chance of getting back, and the whole Ravio thing’s basically only a matter of intellectual curiosity at this point. Plus, you did kinda try to kill me. For all we know, we’d be helping you take over the world or something.”

“What? Nah. Been there, done that, right?” Xe laughs unconvincingly. They seem unaware of Zelda’s considering eye, but Legend is very aware of it, and already prepared to stay as far out of her (their?) plans as possible. “How about this – you said this is an intellectual thing,” Shadow begins. “You don’t really care about getting a solution to your ‘duplicative problem,’ you just want to fuck around and figure out how shit works, right?”

“Something like that,” Legend warily agrees.

“Legend’s a witch,” Irene boasts. “It comes with the territory.”

Shadow looks genuinely offended. “Seriously? A witch?” They gesture at Irene. “You I could see, you’ve got the black dress and the hat, but him? Where’s the style? Where’s your sense of aesthetic?”

“That’s what I said,” Zelda eagerly agrees. “You should see some of the things she” – a brief hesitation on the pronoun, glancing quickly at the unfazed Legend, before she makes up her mind and lets it be – “has in her closet. Honestly, you can fit a ninja outfit, a cactus costume, and replica Tingle tights in there, but your only dress is one of mine? You’re giving your customers a bad impression, Legend! It’s no wonder so many of them think they’re in the wrong shop!”

Legend slumps, dragging a hand over his face with a sigh. “You forgot the wearable lightbulb,” he groans. “Look, I’ve told you. Madame Couture locked me into an exclusive contract, and she only had a couple of dresses that fit me. A couple! Not one! You’ve just only seen me wear that one because the other three are way too much!”

“Ooh,” Irene perks up, “are any of them black?”

“The closest thing to a witch outfit I’ve got comes with a beach hat, sunglasses, and a frilly ruff,” Legend dryly answers.

“Ew.”

“Okay, you obviously need help,” Shadow concludes. They snap their fingers, the lights flickering as they meld from shadow to shadow until the pale moon of xir grin is leering at them from the shadow of a cabinet by the ceiling. When the room blinks dark again, the lights’ return finds xir back on the floor and standing far too close to Legend. “Let’s cut a deal,” xe says, smirking as they lean in. “Magic, information, aesthetics. I’ll help you out with all of that, and even throw in a hand here and there with your other projects. In exchange, you’ll put me up, and help me out if anyone comes knocking for me. Sound fair?”

Legend pretends to consider it, but there was never a real shot he’d decline. He’s pretty sure Four would kill him if Legend turned his whatever-they-are out, and even if there are some sketchy loopholes in xir wording, those loopholes could work just as well for Legend if he plays his cards right. Either way it’s a better deal than Ravio’s smelly bracelet. “Deal.”

They shake hands, Shadow’s grin stretching to fill the entire length of xir face. “Excellent,” xe purrs. “I look forward to working with you.”

Chapter Text

Hey, Four – Next time you’ve got me resurrecting your undead ex or whatever, I’d appreciate a heads up before they scream at me for not being you. We worked it out, but wow, way to throw a guy under the bus. Anyway, we’re both fine, as long as you don’t count the heart attacks they keep giving my customers – they’ve appointed themself as my stylist and have been conspiring to make me look “more witchy”. One time I had to get up to let a customer in and xe somehow made smoke billow out of the back room before scuttling out across the walls like a moldorm and vanishing into the ceiling, cackling the whole way. At least my reputation isn’t their only victim. It’s pretty funny watching xer and Ravio argue over customer service.

I tried to get them to write their own letter so I wouldn’t have to spend all my paper telling you what they’ve been up to, but xe said xe’d pass. Are you two planning to ever actually talk, or am I gonna be your go-between forever? -L

Time – You can call the rescue mission off. Everything worked out fine… though there have been a couple mishaps as we all adjusted to each other. Picking glass off my bathroom floor at 3am was not my idea of a great time. (Mirrors, huh?) Anyway, except for that incident Shadow seems to be acclimating well. I convinced them to take the storeroom we found in the basement as a bedroom and once we got it through xer head that xe’s allowed to have things xe was thrilled to fill it with Irene’s old stuffed animals, candles and skulls they must’ve dug up from one of the boxes down there, and one of my extra shovels. “Never know when you'll need to bury a body!” they told me. I'd be more concerned if I thought they had the arm strength to dig six feet deep – pretty sure they're just edgy. Like. Really edgy. You should see how carefully they were arranging the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling for “better impact.”

I don't know what Fable sees in this guy, but she was right there arranging cobwebs with them. Suggesting places to put them, even – I heard her say something about “dramatic lighting.” And she knows what she’s getting into, but. I don't care about their plans. If xe puts one foot out of line with her, I've got five shovels and the digging game prizes to show I know how to use ‘em.

Anyway, with the ritual stuff done with, I could use your advice on something else. See, Shadow and Ravio are kindred spirits, in that they both love to get on my last nerve. They've been practicing the duplication thing behind my back, and, worse, have been pranking me through time and space with it. Not as literally as the two of us are used to, but. Have you ever gotten into a prank war with someone who can literally fuse to walls? I shouldn’tve put the idea of twin pranks into Ravio’s head, because two of them was bad enough, but I swear there were eight of him in the house at one point, and the only reason I know I'm not just going crazy is because I opened a door and the whole room of him swiveled around to lock eyes with me all at once. I don't care if Irene calls me a wuss, you do not know fear until a whole room of Ravios says “Hey, buddy!” at you in perfect unison.

I need a way to get them back. And, see, normally I'd leave it at that and trust your love of mischief to get you to offer for free, Old Man, but I'm desperate here. I dunno what kind of favor you could want that I could do for you by mail, but whatever it is, I'll do it. Just give me something I can use to put the fear of me into these people, before I'm overrun with Ravios. -L

Hey, Hyrule. Have I mentioned I love you lately?

I guess that sounds a little weird, coming out of nowhere from me of all people. Ugh, it’s so dumb though. Irene’s been visiting Lorule, and I was fine with her making friends but she told me Hilda and Ralph have been seeing each other? And I kind of, maybe flipped out a bit about her getting pulled into their weird friends with benefits-slash-courtship-slash-fake dating thing.

…right, you don’t know who Ralph is. He was kind of a jerk to me on my first adventure, real “anything you can do I can do better” type, but he apologized after I kicked Veran’s ass and I really couldn’tve done it without him, so. We’re cool. Not really what I’d call close friends, but he says hi when he’s around. Anyway, I guess I got a little intense about her liking him better, and she called me a prick and said I had utterly no right to be jealous or to tell her who she could date, and. Well, she was right. I haven’t figured out how to apologize to her yet, but I will, as soon as I can get the words together. I just… thought I should say something to you, too. Telling her that she couldn’t like me that much if she was getting this close with these other people felt gross the next morning, like I was saying you and Marin and everyone else couldn’t matter to me that much if I still like Irene.

So. I’m sorry, about that.

I think it might help if we could get everyone in contact. There’s no way Irene could be jealous if she got to know everyone else – I don’t think anyone could hate Marin, and I bet you and Irene could find stuff to talk about. (She’s decided to become an adventurer, did I mention that yet? Hasn’t much liked the sword, at least from what little I’ve had time to show her, so she’s been using the magic she knows to investigate mysteries and consult when magical artifacts and stuff pop up. She’s not super used to roughing it, though, and her energy efficiency is atrocious. Maybe you could give her some pointers?) Plus, I heard Dawn and Flora have a pen pal thing going on. It’s not exactly starting a government from scratch, but Fable’s got plans to revolutionize the monarchy, and she could really use some sounding boards that don’t think setting everything on fire and cackling is the best way to rule a country, so I think she’s a good fit. (Honestly it probably couldn’t hurt to give most of the Zeldas a couple more friends.)

Seems like there’s a lot of romance in the air these days. Irene and Hilda and all that. Fable courting Shadow, which, as mentioned, is scary as hell. Dusk and Twilight’s whole bromance (sismance?) thing, that kid Time and Malon have coming, Sky and Sun in marriage talks and planning the joint coronation… Guess I’m part of the problem, too. It’s not like you’re the only one of us who isn’t seeing anybody (unless you are and you and Dawn just haven’t told me), but. You’re not lonely, are you? Does it feel like we’re leaving you behind? I want you to know that, dating or not, you matter to me. You do know that, right? It’s not as simple to keep in contact anymore, but that doesn’t mean I think about you any less or that you’re any less important to me than anyone here. Sometimes I see a deerpath or a cool tree or something and just stare at it for a while, like if I commit it to memory hard enough you could read it off the inside of my skull and I could show you my world that way. It's stupid, it's not like it’s anything that special or even like you've never been here before, but. I miss you.

Look at me, getting all maudlin. I really didn't mean to go on this long, fuck. I guess you just bring out the sap in me. -L

Twilight – How did you decide you were actually someone else? I've been thinking

You said one night that coming back to Ordon after your adventure was like trying to fit into boots you didn't know you'd outgrown. Is it weird that

Twilight – So how much grief have the dipshits been giving you and Dusk about the whole “missing fiancée” excuse lately? Fable’s court has been ramping up the pressure for her to get hitched to some titled airhead now that she's had enough time between kidnappings to start using the royal mandate, and she's getting ahead of the consort authority laws by arranging her own marriage as part of a plan to seize power over the aristocracy. So, you know. Some of the Zeldas are getting on it, and I always thought Dusk seemed pretty sure of what she wants.

Let me guess; she brought the fake marriage idea up, but it made you uncomfortable, so you've been ignoring it? Come on, Twi, you know things’ll only get worse if you let them sit. Gotta face the music some time. So here, let me give you a reason to get started. I've imbued one for protection and to store enough light magic for an arrow in an emergency and spelled the other to tighten when the first senses a drastic change in heart rate. Just get Rusl to resize them if they don't fit. It was my first time working with something this decorative, but if this song and dance goes on for another year, I'll send you another, better pair, and they'll keep getting fancier until the two of you work something out.

I'd ask how kidding season went but I’m assuming since I didn't get a fawning description of every new goat and how cute they look next to their mamas that you've been saving that shit for Time. I hope you two have a great time with that and continue to leave me out of it. -L

Hey, Wild – Heard you had another adventure. That sucks.

I'd ask what new abilities you've picked up, but I know you're probably sick of that question by now. That's all anyone ever wants to know – ~What cool new things can you do?~ ~Can you use them to fix my problems for me?~ Sure, you've got some pretty cool stuff, but it’s never enough to make up for what you suffered through to get it.

Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm here. You know, if you wanna talk about it or anything. I'm not as nice as Hyrule or as good with advice as Time, but. I get it. -L

Hey, Wind – Y'know, I don't think I ever said it, but I've been thinking lately about how cool you are. I keep remembering all those times you insisted we slow down, take a break, spend some time at Outset or relaxing on your beach. Standing up to me or Wars when we tried to move things along – “It's not wasting time,” I remember you saying. “How are we supposed to keep on fighting when all we ever do is lose? We've gotta make time for joy when we can, and that means helping people, chasing pigs, and taking a damn break.”

I thought it was easy for you, back then. Like being a kid meant you didn't have to deal with the same stuff we did. But I keep looking at all these customers, big strong fighters who whine about how my potions taste even as they take one for every little scratch and housewives demanding protections against lynels they swear they see in the woods at night even though the only monsters that come anywhere near town are the rats, and I hate them. How dare they be this useless, this stupid, when I've fought and bled and died for them? Irene says I'm a recluse, I think Ravio thinks I'm scared, but some days it's all I can do to remind myself that this is the life I wanted. It would be so easy to pick up the sword again, vanish into the Lost Woods and tell myself I'm finding another adventure, not just running away. And I didn't grow up with these people. How the fuck do you do it? How do you still care so much?

Hey Wind – Y'know, I don't think I ever said it, but I've been thinking lately about how cool you are. Sometimes I find myself in a rut, or hating everyone who walks through my door, and I think, Huh. I wonder what Wind would do. Like. I've been trying to help out more in Kakariko, actually talk to people and get to know them a bit beyond “Oh hey, you're the kids who came in giggling and asking about love potions” and “You're the lady whose cuccos keep getting on my roof somehow.” (Apparently Shadow’s been stealing them to make a “dark pact,” so I guess that answers one question. Is it fair to say I'm terrified) Anyway, someone made a snide remark about me being a witch with “scars like that” and I nearly went off on him, but then it was like you reached out and possessed me with your creepy mind-puppet magic. I pretended like I didn't know what he meant and left, then let the interaction slip to one of the old ladies in town. I think she knew what I was doing (probably didn't work so well without your puppy-dog eyes) but she played along, and when the guy showed up at the milk bar later you should've heard the whispers. And they gave me a glass on the house! I even got to finish my errands, which was a nice change from getting kicked out for roughhousing, and when that old lady visited for her usual health tonic, she winked and tipped me an extra blue. (I'm passing that on, since you can't lift it off me from all the way out there. Call it payment for services rendered.)

While I'm calling myself out: I've spent way too long flinching from the shoreline and cowering every time a storm rolls in. I'm tired of letting fear keep me from something I used to love, especially when it makes me feel especially when it reminds me of you. Next time the weather is clear, I'm getting Shadow to watch the counter (and Ravio to make sure the shop doesn't burn down) and getting out on the water again. Wish me luck. -L

Hey, Sky –

This is a little more feelings-y than I normally let myself get. I thought about bothering Time with it, but I don’t want them to feel guilty for their dream-come-true with Malon or to give me advice or anything, I just… wanted to talk this out somewhere. And maybe that makes me a horrible person, since it’s not like you and Sun are any less grossly in love and you definitely aren’t any less busy, but. You always felt safe to talk to, you know? Once I stopped gritting my teeth and admitted I wanted to, I mean.

I think that’s been easier. Like this. Some of it’s just “getting better,” probably, or whatever you want to call it, but. It helps that I don’t have to feel you looking at me.

It’s weird – “better” used to piss me off so much. Like it meant I wasn’t good enough. Like everyone kept saying I was doing everything wrong when it was hard enough just to exist in the first place. But I am better now, or at least it feels that way. I wake up, I read your letters, I check on the hive and sell potions and try magic experiments with Shadow. The town’s starting to warm up to me – I mean, about time, after all the lost stuff I’ve found, debris I’ve hauled off, bees I’ve delivered, et cetera, but even the blacksmith clapped me on the back and said I was doing a good job, and nothing was ever good enough for that guy. (I’m gonna have to figure out something nice to do for that old lady. There’s no way she didn’t have a hand in it somehow.) I’ve got a great girlfriend who tells me when I fuck up, another practically back from the dead who says she feels just as lucky to have me as I do her even though there’s no way that’s true, and three nuisances who insist they don’t need to stay but keep crashing at my place anyway. I still startle awake sometimes in the middle of the night but I’ve been sleeping better than I have in years – probably because there’s always someone in the house these days – and this is the longest time I’ve spent not on an adventure since… fuck. Ever??? I don’t even bring my bag with me when I pick up groceries in town anymore. (Ravio had to talk me down from a panic attack when I realized I’d left everything at home. How do you just… stop being worried about things??)

It’s good. I’m good. Great, even. And… I feel horrible about it.

I know! It’s stupid! It makes no sense! But I feel like I’m… betraying myself, almost, by letting myself settle. I heard a weird noise a couple weeks ago and froze, and all I was thinking was, “If that’s a portal or a summons or another goddamn tornado, you’re going to be stranded on Another Quest, with None of your stuff, and it’s going to be all your fault.” Forget restocking my bag, I could barely even remember where I’d put it. And obviously I Didn’t get pulled in on another quest – I think you probably would’ve heard me scream even from your era if I had – but. The me from five years ago would’ve been furious.

And then on the other hand – what if it doesn’t even last? I’m… happy now, or at least I think I am, but Ravio’s been hinting he might go back to Lorule for a while, because he still thinks of that place as home no matter what it’s done to him or how much I’ve done for him here and I can’t make him stay when I know how important helping the kingdom rebuild is to him even though it’s stupid, and I keep worrying Irene likes Ralph better than me, but I told her it was fine if he took her on a sightseeing trip in Labrynna because she blew up at me last time I freaked out about the two of them (well, three of them, counting Hilda) dating. I’m terrified I’m actually a horrible boy^girl??friend partner and Irene’s going to break up with me and Ravio (however many there are of him now) is going to stay in Lorule and Shadow’s gonna leave to move in with Fable and I’ll be all alone again.

It’s not… the worst thing that could happen. I’d live through it. But I’m so goddamn, fucking tired of waiting for everything good in my life to blow up in my face.

There’s nothing I can do about what might happen, though. Right? There’s no… Maku Tree, telling me to collect the Essences of Friendship or whatever so I can fight whichever one of us ends up fucking it up. No point worrying about it til it happens. I tried doing that the whole time we were adventuring with the Chain, and look where it got me – stupid late to a family that, against all odds, still bothers putting up with my dumb letters. All I can do, I guess, is take things as they come, do my best to enjoy them, and hope they don’t break me when they fall apart.

Which is terrifying, but… that’s only more reason I should do it. Hero of Courage, right? (You should know, you’re the one who stuck all of us with this mantle.)

Thanks for listening, Gramps.
-Legend

When Legend approached Syrup to initiate her apprenticeship, it had been on Midsummer. Though she’d been no witch then, her time in the over-blooming land of Holodrum had taught her the rhythm of magic through the year-cycle, and although she hadn’t thought at the time to bother recording the specific way each Spirit had chosen to bless her quest against Onox – amateur mistake – some seasons resonate more strongly with her, even in comparatively mild and balmy Hyrule.

Summer is life. Bold, vibrant, unapologetic; a heady pulse of light and activity, with none of winter’s deceitful stillness or solemnity. A time for magic. A time for power. Legend had come to Syrup’s hut on the solstice – the height of summer’s strength; the height of her own – to make clear what she was offering… and to vow, to herself if no one else, that this was not an end.

But Legend knows, maybe more than anyone, that nothing lasts forever. Autumn lives in her, too: the season of acceptance, of change.

She’d buried Uncle Alphonse under the apple tree in autumn, grimly thankful that the fresh-turned soil made a better bed than dungeon stone. This year, with Warriors’ help, she’s driving in the last nail in Syrup’s coffin; the sign which will, from here on out, mark the shop as Legend’s own.

After what thon did to her fire rod, Legend doesn’t trust Wars with her hammer, so thon’s holding the stake while Legend pounds it in. At least, thon has been; the sign is probably in deep enough now, but rather than getting inside the shop and out of the wind, Wars just brushes thons bangs out of thons eyes and gives her a searching glance as thon stands. Thon’s wearing the post’s winter uniform, so at least Legend doesn’t have to deal with those damn booty shorts, but she still had to listen to Wars whine about the chill before she threw one of Ravio’s scarves at thon. If the captain says thon’s cold again, she’s wrangling thon into the cozy parka Madame Couture foisted on her, regardless of the difference in their shoulders.

Warriors must get some idea of what she’s thinking, because thon snorts quietly and looks away, taking the expectant pressure off whatever conversation thon won’t just come out and start. “Looks nice,” thon says instead, with a nod at the sign.

Legend blows her own bangs out of her face and steps back. “Duh.”

Four does good work. Legend could have made her own sign, but her shop has hints of her siblings everywhere – the sugar water she keeps in a saucer on the windowsill, attended by any flowers or pinecones that catch her fancy; the windchimes, silver and wood, that dance in the trees; the knotted charm hung in her doorpost and the wreaths looped over her railing – and it only felt right for him to chip in for this. Anyway, Four’s probably the best of them at naming things. (Better than Legend, anyway. At least Four never panic-named a kid after himself, Legend’s pretty sure.) She’d told him to surprise her, and he’d come back with The Stuff of Legends curling under a gleaming double sunset, the half above the horizon gold, the bottom half silver. “Potions 𐄁 Charms 𐄁 Items,” the sign boasts, as well as “Anything under the sun.” Which is a little presumptuous, but then, Legend has already been called out to wake up a sleepy shoemaker (family ailment, apparently), train a Sage’s descendant in how to use their out-of-control powers, and evaluate the Royal Treasury. She may as well own it.

“It suits you,” Wars tells her. “Makes the shop look like it’s yours, now. Lived-in.”

“'Lived-in,' huh.”

It’s only been a week since Legend… “broke up with” Irene, she guesses. It wasn’t as severe as all that – they’d agreed that kissing and things would stay on the table, when Irene came around to visit, but that it didn’t make sense to define themselves as a couple when Legend’s abandonment issues made Irene feel trapped and the competition Irene delighted in fanning made Legend feel like he was losing something every time she left. It’s a relief, it’s a weight off Legend’s chest and a purge of the bitterness that was starting to damage their friendship, but that doesn’t make her feelings any less complicated. Shadow had tactfully retreated to stay with Zelda at the palace to give her time to work things out, and while Ravio had written to ask if she wanted him to come back early, she’d told him to stay and enjoy his vacation. There’s no one else home. The shop is quieter than it’s been in months.

Warriors reads all of that, in the angle in her shoulders, the rueful smirk tugging at one cheek and the barest brush of sarcasm in her tone, and steps close enough to brush thons shoulder against hers. “Does it feel too empty?” thon asks.

“Nah,” Legend says, leaning in against Wars’ side. The golden leaves rustle in a gust of wind, toying with Wars’ hair and the hem of Legend’s skirt. Over the twinkle of windchimes, she tells thon, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you slept over. I don’t need it, though.” She expects it to be a platitude, but it rings true; experimenting, she says, “It’s my shop. My house,” and those sound right also. She smiles: how far she’s come. How far she’s going. “Of course it’s not empty,” she tells Wars. “I live there.”