Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After defeating the Demon King, Tulin thought he would be able to rest. Little to his knowledge though, his ancestor had other plans. Ever since he finally got around to travelling up to The Stormwind Ark, he had been training more than ever before. The sight of constructs now made Tulin do little more than roll his eyes as he lazily shot the eyes of a Captain Construct and blew yet another Soldier Construct off of the ship with his gust; he didn’t bother learning what level of difficulty each one was meant to be, hardly any of them managed to land a hit on him anyway.

“I don’t see why you’re so insistent on me working this much.” Tulin huffed and landed on the ship's wooden deck, glaring at the spirit of his ancestor.

“Tulin, you know that we don’t get as much time as the other Sages.” He replied with a gentle yet firm voice, arms crossed as he gestured for the sage to attack the newly appearing enemies.

With the great eagle bow tightly gripped in his small talons, Tulin did so, showing off a bit out of pure boredom. Mid aerial backflip, he yelled, “I’m still a better shot than any of them! It’s clear that Link relies on me the most in combat- ugh I just wanna go back to the village!”

Before he could defeat them, the constructs disappeared with a poof of green light, leaving nothing behind but materials. Curiosity peaked; Tulin turned his head to look at his ancestor. The two had become relatively close over their time spent together and saw each other as equals. Medoh’s spirit seemed tied to the tear though he couldn’t manifest just anywhere and was bound to the Stormwind Ark. He had dedicated himself not only to training his descendant but also to telling him stories of his life in the ancient times, Tulin approached him expecting something of a similar vein.

“How is the village faring?” Medoh asked, stepping to the ship’s edge and looking over it.

“Um, it’s actually on this side.” Tulin gestured to the opposite side and Medoh quickly corrected himself, “They’re good, our food supplies are pretty much back to normal now.”

Medoh nodded wistfully, eyes searching the clouds for any hint of the settlement. “I want you to train so that our people can continue to stay here, Tulin.”

At this, he let out a curious chirp, “Why would we ever need to leave?”

“Well because we’re rito- it’s in our nature.”

For a moment, the two stared at each other in confusion.

“Did we used to wander about in your time?”

“Tulin- we only stopped roaming around a century ago.”

At this, the young rito baulked and Medoh let out a sigh and sat on a small stair on the ship’s deck, prepared to unleash a long lecture about their history.

He explained how rito had always relied on the winds to help them lift off into the air (he ignored Tulin’s quiet boast about how this didn’t apply to him) and that flocks of rito followed their divine wind wherever it blew. Full of pride, he fondly reminisced on how they would fly over kingdoms in a day and carve a new place for themselves no matter where the wind settled.

Until now, Tulin had never seen his teacher in such a state. All his typical stiffness melted away the more he talked about the glorious life of migration that the rito once lived. The more he heard, the more a single question brewed in his mind,

“If it was so good then why do you want us to stay in one place?”

Medoh paused as if his rose-tinted story suddenly became tainted. Though it was hard for Tulin to see much under the green Zonai mask, he imagined that Medoh’s eyebrows furrowed as he silently debated how to answer him. Then, he envisioned the rito’s eyes widening with an idea as he excitedly exclaimed,

“That’s it!” He cleared his throat and composed himself, “The intricacies of Rito life are impossible to explain, they can only be lived.”

He got up and rushed onto the ship's higher deck and threw open a wooden door where his secret stone was once stored, leaving Tulin to run after him. In the room, on the pedestal where the stone once floated, there was a map of Hyrule, carved in stone. Tulin thought it odd how the map seemed perfectly up to date but quickly noticed the dim glow of zonai technology emanating from its etched lines. Six glowing tears appeared on the map, one in Gerudo Town, one in Goron City, one in Zora Domain, two in Hyrule Field and one in the exact location where he stood.

“Thankfully ridding the ship of Ganondorf’s influence seems to have restored its abilities.” Medoh remarked before becoming more serious, “Tulin, I know that it may seem unnecessary but for us rito, our history is forgotten so much more quickly… If we truly want you to become a powerful sage, you must properly understand what you fight for, and how many sacrifices were made just so you could reach this ship.”

There was a long pause, Tulin found himself unable to do anything but look between the map and Medoh until his ancestor started to explain more. By the time their conversation was over, the sun had risen high and sank back down into the horizon, Tulin left having come to the same decision as Medoh.

He knew that his dad wouldn’t allow him and would only scold him with warnings of how much danger he nearly got into last time so he didn’t bother stopping at Rito village, Medoh said that they wouldn’t notice he was gone for more than a day anyway. Instead, he flew straight through the vibrant orange sunset that would normally beckon him to sleep, using his gusts to propel himself forward and exert less energy flapping his wings.

Upon reaching Hyrule Field, he made a somewhat graceful landing on Lookout Landing and huffed with tiredness. Determination to fulfil Medoh’s wish pushed him forward though and it did not take him too long to find Princess Zelda who was just outside the landing with Link, both sitting by a lake admiring the scenery.

“Queen Zelda!” He exclaimed and ran up to them.

The Queen turned around and her knight quickly parted their hands though Tulin didn’t notice this as he remembered to fall into a bow.

“Tulin you needn’t do all of these formalities.” Zelda chuckled and got to her feet, staring down at him, “Does Teba know you’re here so late?”

He ignored her question and blurted it out, “I need you to take me back in time to a hundred and ten years ago!”

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence until Tulin properly explained that he wished to know the forgotten history of his people, and how his ancestor insisted that the best way to do it would be for the Sage of Time to let him travel back. The four remaining sages after the Imprisoning War had tried to do a similar tactic to give themselves a second chance but had been unable to harness Zelda’s power when she was a dragon.

“Tulin that is incredibly dangerous-” she cut herself off as her eyes fell upon the resolve that emanated from the young rito.

Sending someone else back in time was something that had never been done in documented history, still, the Queen glanced down at the two secret stones of light and time that hung from her neck. Since she inherited the role of the Sage’s leader from Mineru who herself inherited it briefly from Rauru, Tulin knew he wouldn’t be able to argue if she told him no. His eyes glimmered with hope though as Link discreetly tapped her arm and the two stared at each other in silent contemplation.

Eventually, she let out a sigh, “I understand why, the rito went through… Many hardships to settle here. If we do this though, Tulin, I want you to understand that me and Link were young, and we didn’t quite… Understand what was right.”

Tulin nodded though couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at how the two of them both glanced down in guilt or shame, it was hard to tell which. He handed over his secret stone of wind to Link after they both agreed that taking a secret stone back in time would be far too risky,

Zelda offered out her hand and Tulin grasped It with his wing. Her secret stone of time started to glow a bright yellow, so much so that as it scintillated against her white tear of light, it seemed as if it too were yellow. Link and Tulin had to shield their eyes as the glow grew brighter and enshrouded the Queen. A trickle of the light dripped down her arm and onto Tulin’s wing until he too gleamed though not nearly as bright as her,

“When you wish to come back, fly to the skies and find the Light Dragon, I have bestowed upon you the ability to see her and channel a small fraction of her power!” She had to yell as sacred music filled the air.

Tulin didn’t have a chance to respond, after a final burst of radiance that briefly blinded Link and Zelda, he was gone.

Chapter Text

‘Rito are not known for staying still. It is in their nature to allow the wind to guide them to their next home. It is not uncommon for them to find a place to make their own for a few months only to then leave everything behind when the winds beckon them, there is a high likelihood that a Rito will never nest in the same place twice during its lifespan.’

Zelda had read many similar things in her book of animals, most of the time she showed some interest in them, but it had never been enough to stop her from turning the page to look at photos of Eldin ostriches: a creature that she was once so fond of that she requested to have one as a pet when she was a much younger child. Now, however, she scoured every book she could for information about Rito, sorting them onto varying levels of her ceiling-reaching bookcase based on relevance. Her father was dedicating all his attention to the new flock of them that had settled in the North-West and as Hyrule’s princess, she saw it as her duty to try and alleviate some of his worry by doing her own research. As a secondary goal, she hoped that if her findings did become useful, it would prove to her father that this hobby of hers wasn’t a waste of time and he’d finally see the value in it.

It seemed to her that the last time a Rito flock had visited Hyrule was in the ancient past, like most migratory animals, they seemed to be able to sense the danger that the kingdom was constantly in and knew well to stay away- until now at least. She desperately wanted to go and study them up close but knew that she would never be permitted to unless she could figure out an excuse. Even being able to see them for a short while could allow her to find out so much more about them and who knew when their winds would pick up, causing them to migrate and leave her curiosity unquenched.

Suddenly, an idea struck her, she got up from the metal, ornate chair of her desk and kneeled to pull a hidden map out from under her bed, sprawling it across her expansive, carpeted bedroom floor. For the first time in her life, she disregarded all the markings of labs and Sheikah research areas that she had secretly been keeping track of and instead focused on marking down where the Goddess statues were. The Springs of Courage and Power were no stranger to her, even at the tender age of fifteen, she had already visited them countless times, but those were both too far from what her point of interest was. She had been told countless times that the infrastructure was much too unstable, but her father had been getting more and more frustrated with her for every day that she continued to fail in awakening her powers. Maybe now, he would be desperate enough to agree.

She shuddered though at how he would react when she returned empty-handed. If she left by claiming to be going on a spiritual journey and still crawled back unable to use her powers at all, then her father could end up restricting her life even more. Going when she was almost definite that the journey wouldn’t yield results was risky business and for all she knew, he could order the knights to bring her back immediately rather than arrange for lodging in the nearby Hebra region as she hoped. For a moment, she considered whether it would be best to just forget about these new, fascinating creatures altogether.

It did not last long though. Her mind drifted to what her life would become if she continued to only wander outside the palace walls when her father deemed it time for her to set out on another pilgrimage. She wanted to see her kingdom and all its places, people and wildness. She wanted to explore and discover things that would otherwise remain unknown. But if she carried on fulfilling nothing more than her religious duties, she feared that she wouldn’t have the skills to do anything other than vanquish evil: she would be unable to properly progress the kingdom once peace did reign. And that didn’t even touch on the possibility of there being no evil to vanquish in the first place- there was still little evidence of danger outside of rumours and a bounty of unproven prophecies.

With that, she decided that she simply must go. The irony was not lost on her that she was still doing so under the guise of unlocking her hidden power, but she would have to do so until she eventually found another reason to be let out that her father wouldn’t call trivial. Rolling the map back up proved to be much harder than reeling it out, she gently sheltered it under her bed once more, the one place in her bedroom that had a hint of dust. The servants didn’t seem to particularly seek out secrets, but she could never be too cautious. She lifted her long, royal blue gown just enough so she could get to her feet, locking her desk drawer after she stowed away the stray Sheikah bolts and nuts that had slipped out while she was rummaging for useful books.

She looked around to see if there was anything else left to do but found nothing other than straightening her chair and checking herself over in her mirror. It hung beside her incredibly large dark oak wardrobe; the mirror’s frame matched the wardrobe and was chiselled with fine wooden detail of owls and dragons. Zelda had never taken the time to fully appreciate its beauty though as she remained far more focused on ensuring there were no visible flaws in her hair and skin. Just to be safe, she brushed through her open long, golden hair a few times before donning the small, passive smile of a princess and leaving her room behind.  

She traversed only down halls marked with red banners decorated with an insignia of three golden triangles. These signalled that only those of noble lineage should travel here, servants and knights stuck in the shadows of halls marked with blue and didn’t dare make eye contact with the princess. This allowed her to not have to worry about stumbling into anyone and continued to formulate the best strategy to convince her father. Viewing things in a political sense like this had been taught to her as a way of avoiding being impaired by emotions but was still something she struggled with.

It had been a long while since she had last talked to her father who allowed himself to become engulfed in his work. She remembered a time when he was different and would ensure that there was time left to spend with her, but such memories became vague and distant ever since he became… Hyrule’s lone ruler.

Zelda was not fond of thinking of such things for too long and refused to let them set shop in her mind, selling tears that would ruin her already damaged image. Instead, she put her efforts towards her steps: each clack of her heels beat to a rhythm that worked to steady her now shaking breath.

Hyrule castle’s hallways were long and winding, weaving in and between one another- a tactic to confuse any infiltrators attempting a siege. For Zelda though, the architectural choice served as nothing but an annoyance that cost her a thousand unnecessary steps per day. She was meant to stick to her designated halls but abiding by that often left her feeling like a prisoner, too prized to be given freedom.

In a small act of defiance, she turned and pulled at a pair of sparkling white doors, each had a panel of glass that allowed the courtyard to be seen in a yellow tint. They didn’t open though, and her ears tensed with embarrassment at realising these were doors intended to be pushed. She succeeded in parting them and escaped outside, hoping that nobody saw how unfamiliar she still was with the castle’s thousands of unique doors: no matter how small a mistake it was, it could still contribute to the rumours in some form or another.

Shedding her paranoia, she walked through the courtyards which were paved with ornate cobblestone tiles. She stepped across them, letting her head lower to admire them and briefly forgot the worries destined to flood back once she raised her gaze again. The princess barely even noticed the fountain that she circled. Two koi fish swam within, constantly going round and round as the water was channelled upwards to fall back down with exquisite beauty. Her hand trailed around its stone surface where the bulk of the water rested, gliding across it absent-mindedly.

Eventually, she was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly forgot her goal of seeing her father and her feet broke their rhythm. Having inconsistent steps was dangerous for a princess who was smothered in a trailing gown where the fabric must be swayed in an ever so specific way lest it gets caught on the front of her royal blue shoes, pulling the dress and its wearer downwards. As she fell forward towards the same tiles that she was admiring, her first thought was how her teachers would reprimand her if her dress was ripped and the tailors would have to weave a replacement. Before she made an impact though, a hand wrapped around her waist from behind and pulled her back up.

Mustering the courage to open her eyes, she took a step forward out of the hand’s grasp and twizzled around revealing her saviour: a boy her age. His skin was slightly tanner from days in Hyrule field and the clothes he wore were mundane and even a bit small on him but for some reason when she looked at him, she saw more honour than she ever had in any of the nobles.

She stared at him as all words evaded her mind and he stared back silently. She knew that she should thank him and apologise but before she had a chance to even ask him his name, a knight spotted them from the opposite side of the courtyard and quickly rushed over and knelt to Zelda, causing the boy to follow suit.

Zelda tried to bring herself to say that there was no need for such formalities, but she knew that this was not true, telling the guards not to kneel before her would be the same as disregarding her importance as a blessed princess in the eyes of the court members. Not a word came from her mouth in the end, the knight apologised for the boy’s insolence before pulling them both up and hurrying towards where a squadron prepared to set off on a mission in the knight’s training area that the courtyard leads to. Briefly, she wondered why such a young boy would be around the army, it was clear by the gentleness of the knight that the two must have been familiar with each other at least.

Suddenly, she remembered why she had come here and moved thoughts of the boy to the back of her mind, taking another path through the courtyard towards the throne room. On the way, she checked her dress over and dusted it off as best she could.

Once outside the throne room, she spent a while with an ear nervously against the grand door, trying to judge whether her father was free to speak to her. Nearly jumping out of her skin when the Lord Steward pulled the doors open as he went to leave the room, she took a moment to recover her poise before asking him to ask her father if they would be able to have an audience. The Lord Steward, who was responsible for handling most domestic matters in the castle, nodded and briefly re-entered the room. But before he could return to Zelda, she froze at hearing her father’s voice,

“Enter, Princess.”

She did so, instantly nervous at the lack of formalities. It took her a while to walk down the snake-like carpet whilst being careful to not trip over once more and when she did eventually edge close enough to properly see her father, she immediately noticed the tired heaviness in his eyes. This only strengthened her determination to do what she could to help him, even if he didn’t appreciate it now.

 Out of respect, she bowed her head before speaking with refined eloquence,

“Father, I want nothing more than to fulfil my role in protecting the kingdom. I understand that it’s dangerous to explore the ruins, but I truly believe that praying in the Forgotten Temple may help greatly in awakening-”

He cut her off, having put a hand to his forehead which he rubbed to try and soothe a worsening headache,

“Yes Zelda, you may go.”

She looked at him surprised by how easily he gave in, it had not been uncommon for the two of them to reach the verge of shouting regarding matters that involved her leaving the castle; he had been extremely paranoid for his daughter’s wellbeing ever since the Queen’s…

After a few moments of silence, King Rhoam elaborated on the agreement, determining that he would delay the departure of a squadron of knights so that she may accompany them, much to the princess’s delight, these knights were to be sent to investigate the new Rito settlement but would make a stop for her to go to the temple due to it being along their route.

She couldn’t believe that he had agreed so easily and wondered if there was some alternative reason that this benefitted him, still, she was quick to bow and leave, not wanting her father to change his mind and stop her.

-----

King Rhoam knew well what Zelda’s true intentions were, her tutors carried out their duty, feeding him with the knowledge of how anything avian would spark her interest in a way it never did before. She was too familiar, too similar: every word she spoke strummed the start of a cacophony that could tear everything he’d made to pieces. In his mind, there was only one way to satisfy the rumour mills that thrived from pedalling scandals of them to the public. Unlocking her sealing powers would definitively make the world recognise her as The Goddess Hylia incarnate and they would be forced to their knees in respect or be smitten by the kingdom of devotees that he allowed to flourish and grow stronger at every chance.

It was objectively the right choice. Let her go to The Forgotten Temple to see if it triggers anything then well any rebellious urges by feigning fulfilling her wishes. Still, he repeatedly had to reassure himself that his daughter was obedient, she was not one to put herself in dangerous proximity to a foreign species. No matter how unlikely the odds were of the temple being the key, there was always a chance that this trip would mark the end of his hair’s rapid transformation into a ragged grey five years before it was due.

 What truly drove him forward though was her. If he continued to keep Zelda safely locked in the castle, her lies would grow bolder and there would come a day when he would not be able to see them for what they were, that she would go out by herself and the Yiga would-

No. He would not let history repeat itself.

Chapter Text

 Once the king had given his orders, a messenger rushed to the knights to inform them of this change, many were already mounted and ready to leave the moment that the gates opened so found this update to be rather annoying. For others, though, there was a new buzz of excitement as some of them realised this meant that they were being trusted with the honour of maintaining the princess’s safety but also a discreet wonder of how much more time this would add to the journey. None of them had the guts to vocalise this concern: they all swore unwavering fealty to the king and questioning his orders could very well be seen as treason. Well, all but one of them pledged.

“What in Goddess’s name were you even doing anywhere near the princess?” A knight questioned the boy who helped Zelda, the only one too young to pledge.

He shrugged, not understanding why it was such a big deal and chuckled to himself about the thought that the knight would rather he left the princess to faceplant. It came out silently but that didn’t stop the knight from noticing,

“Young man, do you know how rude it is to laugh at a higher-up? Let alone at your father!” He laughed and ruffled his son’s hair.

They must be careful about showing familial affection in public unless they planned on the boy suffering claims of nepotism and going through even more than he already had to. When they were safely tucked away in the stables though, they occasionally allowed themselves some time to stop pretending to be so cold to each other.

His father resumed feeding a pitch-black stallion a carrot which it heartily chomped on and whinnied in delight while the boy stood on a wobbling stool to scratch behind the ear of an azure blue colt. He had always been fond of animals, maybe it was a bond formed over their struggle to communicate. No matter the reason though, he was just glad to have at least one thing in the castle that he enjoyed.

By no means did he like having to spend so much time in the castle, but he didn’t have any choice. His sister, Aryll, was easily able to find an apprenticeship in one of Castle Town’s many tailoring stores and they offered her board there too, so she wasn’t home alone when their father was on duty, things weren’t nearly as easy for him though. No place was willing to hire a mute that nobody could understand, he didn’t know what he’d be doing if his father hadn’t managed to convince King Rhoam to let him work as a stable hand. Sometimes he pretended that he helped at Lon-Lon Ranch in another life and spent all day riding horses and milking cows.

It didn’t help seeing how worried his father always was at having to bring him along on such risky missions, either. These ‘Rito’ seemed to be causing quite the stir, nobody quite knew what to expect of them, but he recently listened in on some nobles gossiping about feral flocks in the neighbouring kingdoms. The thought of his father having to eliminate the chance of them being a threat made him shudder, why should it be fine to slaughter them just because they couldn’t communicate well?

His mind started drifting into dangerous thoughts of how he knew that many of the knights wouldn’t mind him being killed either, but he was abruptly distracted by the sound of a heart-lifting voice.

“Dad how dare you try and hide from me!” An energetic young voice boomed, barely holding in laughter.

Aryll stepped out from behind the stable walls with a beaming smile, her father happily rushed to hug her, ensuring to squeeze her. In response to this she let out a shrill laugh, her vivid red hair was unbelievably messy for a girl meant to be in some fancy pants job.

“How come you aren’t working?” the boy signed, keeping his hands close to his chest so nobody else saw.

Wriggling out of their father’s grasp, she rushed to her brother, “Eh I can slip out now and then and they don’t notice for a while.”

Their dad opened his mouth to reprimand her, but she somehow sensed this despite not even facing him, “Oh c’mon, y’know I hate havin’ to be around those poshos all day.” She cut him off, proudly displaying the rural Hateno accent that their father usually disguised with a flawed urban dialect.

The boy rolled his eyes, signing, “Yeah Dad, she’s gonna be sewing up clothes for the rebellion.”

At this, their dad nearly had a hernia (even joking about the non-existent rebellion could get him fired) and Aryll let out a booming laugh, elbowing her brother’s shoulder.

Ever since one of the other guards joked that he and Aryll must be childhood sweethearts, the two hadn’t dared to get too close to each other and both nearly puked at the idea of that rumour spreading even more. Their father made it clear that they couldn’t correct them, or it would be made clear that the three of them were a family. Some people had already joked about it, saying things like,

“Captain Arn, have you seen how much you look like the mute? Are you sure you don’t have a secret second kid?” With a light-hearted chuckle that made it clear they were never serious, not yet at least.

It was a reasonable comparison to make, both had the same-coloured hair and eyes, the only real difference was the stockier build that Arn boasted.

“You guys are still coming home in a fortnight, right?” Aryll asked with a slight hint of worry in her voice, clearly already having seen knights taking the tack off their horses.

Arn and his son glanced at each other and had a staring contest to determine who would have to break the news but as always, the kid’s uncanny ability to glare with all his might won and their father braced himself,

“The um…” He let out a heavy sigh as he saw his daughter’s eyes waver with knowing sadness, “Her Highness is to be joining us on an excursion of faith, the temple she’s going to is especially hard to reach, extra servants are having to be brought along and they’ve postponed our departure time altogether. I’m sorry, Thistle, but we’ll be on duty for another five days at least.” He stared at Aryll, waiting for her anger to be unleashed.

Instead, her head hung with a frown, “Right…” She murmured but it didn’t take long for her to overcome her sadness, “This place is real shameless- they don’t value your time at all! How dare she get to just wave her hand and make you do overtime without any extra pay!! Why I say we should-”

Preventing any anti-royal talk, both father and son put a hand firmly over her mouth and in protest, she did not hesitate to punch them both in the gut. They hardly felt it, if Aryll trained as a knight like them, she would’ve been quite the threat but, as a young lady, such things simply didn’t happen. There were female knights, but only from the poorest of families, the daughter of a Captain following in his footsteps would be risking something far too ‘valuable’ and ‘delicate’.

Oftentimes, her brother found himself wishing she shared his blonde hair so that they could switch places but alas, her fiery red hair made that impossible. After thoroughly ensuring that nobody was watching, she gave her older brother a tight hug full of the fear of coming loneliness before she let him go, kissed her father’s cheek and begrudgingly returned to work. On the way out, she made sure to discreetly sneer at Hyrule’s flag which flew high up above them in the centre of the knight’s training area.

After a day of wretched high society, she let out a relieved sigh and dropped the porcelain smile on her face, only stopping it from completely shattering because she knew she would have to claw it back on tomorrow. Creeping on the tips of her toes, she carefully left the main part of Castle Town, if anyone caught her, she would most certainly be told that a young lady shouldn’t be out at such an hour. She strolled outside of Castle Town and dreamed of escaping this wretched jail otherwise known as society and secretly wished that there was a rebellion as she remembered all the people she saw on the streets as she walked and couldn’t recall the last time the King paid proper attention to anything not involving a need for military action.

She was so preoccupied with her slowly swelling rage that she nearly didn’t see him, unconscious in the wild, untamed grasses.

***** A Day Later *****

The last thing Tulin saw was dazzling light. He jolted awake when he realised that he was not lying in Hyrule field like Zelda said he would be. Instead, he was on a bed and had linen sheets drawn over him. Outside, the streets rumbled with business, he had never known anywhere in Hyrule to have so many people and didn’t dare open the blue, floral curtains that blocked his sight. Listening carefully, he concluded that these voices had to be Hylian or Gerudo but the tones and pitches he could pick out made it clear he was not with his people. Thoughts of why Link and Zeda were looking so guilty clouded his mind, did Hylians and Rito used to be enemies? He did not want to be stuck in this place long enough to find out.

 Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Tulin darted up the fireplace and into the narrow chimney. It was far too narrow to fly through, so he pressed his wings against either side and resorted to trying to scoot up it. Footsteps were in the same room, and he could hear the clacking of heels, Hylians didn’t tend to wear them so they could more easily run so perhaps his captors were Gerudo- but there was far too much breeze coming through the chimney for him to be in a desert.

“Little Rito? It’s okay I’m not going to hurt you…” The voice was young though older than Tulin himself. Starting to become too aware of how tight the chimney was, he tried his best to still his breath as the stranger skirted around looking for him.

When he noticed red at the bottom of the fireplace, he let out a panicked squawk and his wings instinctively moved to flap, making him lose hold of his place and tumble back to the bottom. To his surprise, his feathers remained unscorched and he heard a high-pitched shriek, looking up to see a Hylian girl with flaming red hair, backed away from him with her arms stiffly by her chest as if getting ready to punch him.

Now, his breathing was quick, and adrenaline rushed through his blood as he formulated the many ways that he could knock out the girl. But then, their eyes locked and she was like a mirror image of his fear, only her stance was wrong and if she did punch him, she was more likely to break her thumb than to hurt him. Hesitantly, he slowly lifted his wings in surrender, the girl flinched in response but eventually, let her arms fall to her side.

Forming a silent truce, Tulin climbed out of the fireplace, keeping a careful eye on the girl, “How long have I been here?”

Her eyes widened and she took another step away from him, stumbling over her words, “You- you talk?!” She put a hand on her chest as if gripping onto her heart before it had the chance to flee. “I found you in Hyrule field last night.”

Both jumped at hearing an old woman speaking from outside the door, “Aryll dearie, you don’t have a boy in there do you?” She questioned with an accusing suspicion as if wanting it to be true.

“No just warming my voice up ma’am!” Aryll called back, signalling Tulin to be quiet by putting a finger to her mouth.

They waited until they were sure the woman had left before continuing to speak though now in much more hushed tones, Aryll properly introduced herself and Tulin did too though not by his real name, rather, he saw a stack of papers alongside a pot of ink on Aryll’s desk and blurted out that his name was Quill.

Feigning that he had knocked his head, he managed to get her to explain that Hyrule still wasn’t sure whether the Rito were a threat but, him being found could be seen as an attempt at espionage or worse. It reassured him hearing her mock this policy though he stiffened at hearing her describe the royal family as ‘stingy arseholes with no sense or empathy’. Link and Zelda rarely talked much about their original time, Link didn’t remember the details of it and Zelda often teared up at the thought of it; everything he’d heard of King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule described him as a valiant king that fought against the calamity with all his might.

Aryll informed him that he was in Castle Town which nearly made Tulin’s beak drop, unable to believe that the ruins circling Hyrule Castle once housed so many people, he nervously gulped at the thought of what must have happened to them when the calamity struck: what was going to happen to Aryll. Medoh made one thing extremely clear before Tulin left- under no circumstances was he to try and prevent the tragedies that befell Hyrule; if The Calamity was defeated immediately, Link and Zelda would be long dead by the time of the Demon King’s return. He had been so serious about it that he made Tulin give him a feather as a sign of his oath to not interfere.

Not wanting to think of her fate, he refocused his efforts on finding a way to the village, “Aryll, I know this could be dangerous for you but-”

She cut him off with an emerging determination, “I’ll help get you home, I won’t let my kingdom keep you from your family. But Quill, stay in here until I come back, okay? If I don’t go to work today the lady of this house will kick me out.”

The idea of being a sitting bird did not bode well with him, for all he knew, she could call for guards and turn him in and he’d be stuck in jail or worse. Did this Hyrule even have a jail? He shook his head, there was no way it didn’t with a capital city of this size, if anything, their prisons would be especially ruthless to him. He couldn’t dwell on these doubts for long though, because, in truth, this was his only option. Going outside in any way without a proper disguise would immediately get him caught and he had no clue how to navigate this era of Hyrule,

With a heavy huff, he agreed, she let out a relieved sigh and promised to be back soon before rushing out the door, briefly unleashing the full ferocity of the streets to Tulin’s ears as he flinched at the roar of hundreds of voices all buzzing around with their individual tasks. They were like bees with a queen that regretted what she had them do. And they outnumbered the Rito so vastly… A shiver climbed up Tulin’s spine: how could his people ever survive being an enemy to such a powerful kingdom?

Chapter Text

Zelda’s study lessons had reaped little more than a flurry of daydreams, lots of glancing out of windows and many new rhythms made by the tapping of her fingers against her desk. The past two days seemed like an eternity, but such complaints were at the back of her mind as the maids dressed her and she was hardly able to stay still while they fastened her corset. She eagerly sped as fast as she could to the courtyard, wearing a rare, genuine smile on her face.

Her addition to the journey had added two extra wagons to the procession, one for maids and another for building materials and other such supplies. Her father had seemingly eased his worries by assigning her to travel alongside the highest ranks of the royal guard. This was only made evident to the princess when a knight with a prestigious line of red feathers upon his helmet escorted her into a metal red carriage that was embellished with gold accents and the royal family’s crest.

She was incredibly disappointed to be denied permission to ride alongside the knights on horseback, the stable staff fretted about her wellbeing so much that she’d barely had the chance to bond with the white stallion that she had been gifted for her fourteenth birthday. Still, she didn’t bother to try and argue, as a princess, she had no authority over anything to do with war and that included the knights. The worst part was that they wouldn’t even risk having the horses pulling the carriage go faster than a steady trot, making the journey last an excruciating two days. For the entirety of the ride, she peeked outside the windows at the lush green fields that rolled out forever, only separated by the small settlements dotted around. Many of them she had never seen before, only knowing their names from her geography studies.

 As the sole passenger of the carriage, her only saviour from boredom was trying to listen in to the conversation of the two knights driving her onwards. They quietly complained about how they’d been robbed of the chance to ride horseback and other such mundane topics until they started scolding someone else for travelling in line with them. Hearing this, Zelda curiously flung the curtains of the opposite window open; travelling too close to her was forbidden, the nearest that even captains were allowed to get was a metre behind or two metres beside her if they were travelling through a particularly dangerous area. 

She was greeted with the sight of the same boy that stopped her from falling over. He was the only one she had seen since getting into the carriage that wasn’t clad in armour, telling her that he was most certainly meant to be much further back with the servants and the likes. The guards rebuked him for his impatience and told him to wait in his place like everyone else, to her surprise, she saw him sign a rather rude insult at the knights with a scowl on his face, causing a giggle to escape her mouth. She quickly covered the lower half of her face with her hand, but it was too late, the boy stared at her with a startled look on his face, quickly signing,

“Forgive me your Highness” and halted his horse to return to his rightful place, his eyes remaining locked on her in pure shock until her window fully rolled past.

Flushed, she drew the curtains to restore her privacy and chuckled even more; no wonder he was so surprised, hardly anyone in the kingdom understood Hylian sign language due to how new it was as a form of communication. She was not fluent in it but knew a fair amount from her royal studies- even then, she had been taught it only because she insisted that she be able to understand all her future subjects. This was the first time she’d met someone that spoke with sign language though and she found herself greatly anticipating a second meeting with him to test her skills.

For the rest of the way, she remained intensely focused on revising different signs, at one point she was nearly tempted to ask them to fetch the boy for her so she would not have to wait but cringed at the thoughts of all the gossip that such a thing would conjure. It only furthered her anticipation that he was near the same age as her, everybody else was an adult and far too doused in fear to hold a proper conversation with her. She would often overhear her ladies-in-waiting talking amongst each other thinking she wasn’t near and a pit in her stomach would weigh heavy when she realised what different people they were when she wasn’t around.

Likelihoods were that this boy wouldn’t be different, after all, if he was of as low a status as he seemed, he had probably been taught his entire life to never dare talk to a noble yet alone princess. Still, she contemplated what his life must be like if he only spoke Hylian Sign Language, the fluidity in his hand gestures suggested it was his primary language, and that would mean he too wouldn’t be able to talk to many people. Maybe they could bond over that, maybe at the very least, she could pretend that they’d bonded over it and that she had a friend.

 She was so deep in these thoughts and hopes that she barely even noticed the carriage come to a gentle halt. A knight knocked on her door to inform her that they finally reached their destination: the Forgotten Temple.  

A shudder washed over the princess, she had known that this was the price she must pay if she wanted to see the Rito, but suddenly her ears were trembling as the carriage came to a slow, daunting stop. Stepping outside, the chill of a coming Winter sent the exposed hairs along her arms and legs straight up like the tails of grassland foxes that she would occasionally spot if she spent long enough looming over her study window.

When she first got to try on her white ritual dress as her sixth birthday present, she beamed with joy at the prospect of being able to escape the suffocating excess materials of her gowns.  It came up just high enough to glide against the water of the Goddess Springs and its lack of sleeves allowed for as much of her body as possible to be bathed in the Goddesses’ light. That is if they ever decided to acknowledge her devotion to them.

The dress dwindled into something that served only to remind her that she was not successful, that every venture out wearing it would be a failed one. The white cloth obliviously danced in the wind that gently attempted to eddy the princess towards the temple. Only then did she truly understand why she hadn’t yet visited it.

Everyone peered over the cliff’s edge at one point or another and murmured a thankful prayer that they weren’t the ones that would have to risk falling into that abyss. At first, Zelda questioned whether they’d stopped for something else but as she squinted, she noticed remnants of glorious stone architecture embedded deep within the cliff, the proper entrance seemingly having crumbled centuries prior.

To solve the issue of descent, the knights decided to make a pulley system that could lower a small number of people down. Soon, a flock of armour was huddled around a declared construction site, running back and forth with new materials. Zelda tried to help, whilst the knights had been taught basic knot-tying skills, her mother was an avid engineer and she had learnt a fair bit from her. When they escorted her to the makeshift camp the servants had set up though, she couldn’t help but frown, missing yet another opportunity to make her mother proud.

Begrudgingly, she sat down by herself on the only chair in sight and regretted telling her ladies-in-waiting that they needn’t come. They may have been fake friends, but at the very least, their conversations offered a distraction. All the maids scurried somewhere out of view, abiding by their lessons to stick to the shadows. Then she noticed that boy again; he was piquing her interest so often that she was starting to fret that he was trying to trick her. He was stood a few metres away from her and intensely staring at the knights, but the peculiar bit was that rather than being intrigued or curious, he was anxiously tapping his fingers against his thigh and his eyebrows were furrowed.

Every lesson dictated that the proper thing for her to do would be to carry on sitting and watching the knights from afar with a polite, passive smile on her face. Yet the thought of letting it crawl over her mouth and nest amongst her teeth as it laid its seeds of madness sparked a rebellious urge from within her. Rigidly obeying social hierarchy left her nought but a puppet with continually fraying strings, strings that she was starting to loosen strand by strand. She puffed out her chest as much as her corset would allow her and strode towards the boy with a convincing façade of confidence,

“Hello, my name’s Zelda Hyrule, what’s yours?”

She had most certainly caught his attention as he turned to look at her, she could see the cogs in his head trying to work out what to do but was presently pleased when he responded,

“Link.”

He spelt his name out slowly and exaggerated the movements to ensure she understood. When she tried to ask him what he was doing though, he looked at her with confusion,

“You speak too stiffly, your highness.”

Nobody had ever been so blunt with her, was it because he didn’t think she’d understand much else? While her abilities were constantly doubted, her intellect had never been one of them. His raised eyebrow and squinted eyes seemed like canons and arrows all firing towards her reputation with nothing to defend against it with except that damned smile. Luckily, she remembered just in time that this was not an attack, it was a boy who she could only guess was incredibly frustrated with people not understanding a word he said.

 She cleared her throat, “Sorry, I’m still rather new to speaking Hylian Sign Language… Are you worried about the knights?” Her hands clasped each other and fell in front of her.

The boy- Link- only nodded, letting a frown reveal itself on his face. Zelda decided not to press for more details and the two just stood there in a bungled attempt at friendship. A small ocarina was stuffed into one of his pockets, when she asked him about it, he seemed standoffish but admitted he occasionally played. The thought of being allowed to play an ocarina entranced the princess, when she was a child, she would attempt to play the piano but soon her father decided music was too time-consuming and ordered her to stop. This boy’s father though must have found his playing to be quite charming, people must encourage him to play it at social gatherings and he must get to see himself make someone else smile rather often. Was she… Jealous? No, what nonsense, what sort of princess would be jealous of a commoner? She twinged in disgust at herself for calling him that, she’d always hated the word but sometimes it was the necessary language to keep herself in line.

“Your Highness, are you okay?”

She tripped over her words, only now realising how quiet she had been, “Er yes I’m quite all right, sorry I best be going- I look forward to hearing your ocarina one day.”

With that, she rushed away in the most regal manner that she could muster and retired to her tent for the rest of the day, mortified by her thoughts. It made no sense to be jealous of a stable hand. Recent rumours and whispers declared his family was most likely barely putting food on the table, his wage certainly wouldn’t be able to buy them much more. He would almost definitely join the knight’s academy the moment he was of age; risk his life and hardly be around his loved ones. It was a shame that so many young boys didn’t nurture any talents other than fighting, she wondered how much the kingdom’s progress had been hindered by its idolisation of the army.

The most risk she’d ever face would be pneumonia from spending one hour too many drenched in the Spring’s waters.

Eventually, the bustle of thoughts dissipated, and she fell to sleep. It was a black, empty sleep- unable to even see visions like her mother once did. Her last memory of that night, lying on a cot in a tent and being the only one in the vicinity getting to relax, was of a prayer that one day, she too would wake in the pitch black of night, tears scarring her face as she wept in the anguish of the sight the Goddess blessed her with.

Chapter Text

That night, she had wanted nothing more than to let sleep imprison her and pretend tomorrow would never come, that this would mark the end of her journey. But a princess would never have such a privilege.

By morning, her mind drifted away from her glorious purpose and the cost of duties. Now, it remembered how her mother was tortured by her gift, how she only prayed in public and neglected her responsibilities as a religious leader to instead reintegrate Sheikah science into Hyrule. How when Zelda’s tiny hands would flip over to continue intensely reading holy script, she would cover her daughter’s eyes until she agreed to come and spend some time outside with her. Moments like this of dazed grogginess were something Zelda treasured, her mind still not ready to drown her in self-loathing, casting herself back in time did not mean returning teary-eyed and trembling.

Of course, she didn’t really go back in time, but her memories were nearly always bursting with details. She could relive every one of her experiences, even those from when she was a baby; it was one of the first secrets she kept, not thinking anyone would believe her if she said she was able to re-experience her first step at a whim.

Her trance eventually subsided no matter how much she reached out for its return. Sun permeated the beige cloth that had been hung to create her tent, the faint ring of orange light beaming through told her it must be early morning. However, her ears disagreed, chatter and footsteps circled her. Zelda let out a sigh, knowing that there could only be one reason for such noise. She tried to delay leaving as much as possible, patted her dress down twice, combed her hair thrice and paced back and forth as much as she could though the tent was only large enough for seven steps before needing to turn. There was only so long that she could delay for, and she came to accept that this was going to happen. Parting the cloth doors of the tent, she greeted the daylight and confirmed her fears: the pulley was ready.

Without any Sheikah travelling alongside them, they lacked any engineering expertise; the knights stood around it with their hands triumphantly on their waist, sweat dripping down their faces and dark circles under their eyes. Everyone else, meanwhile, had long since stopped paying them any attention and instead were all intently staring at Princess Zelda, their eyes beckoning her towards the contraption, waiting to see if she would safely descend.

To her relief, two knights volunteered to go first, both stepping onto the wooden pulley and staring at the crowd with expressionless faces. Even they stumbled slightly as it started to descend, and their eyes opened wide in fear, but it was fleeting and soon they had returned to a rigid form. It didn’t help to relieve the princess, watching them disappear out of sight sent a panic straight through her from the ground high into the sky like a dazzling flare yet everyone remained blind to it. Her only comfort was that she would be accompanied by a knight with a red feather atop his head.

Reluctantly, she stepped onto the pulley, trying not to let out a squeal as it swayed under her weight. Maintaining the same decorum as those before him, he stepped on with her and let his head bow to the princess before raising it again for safety’s sake. He stoically offered her his arm to hold in place of a handrail which she accepted almost immediately, trying her best not to let her fear show. In the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but notice the knight discreetly signing “I’ll be OK” towards the crowd.

For all her life, she had it drilled into her head that the sight of a fearful princess would lower the subjects’ morale and could very well be the thing to cost them victory. Over the years, she tried many ways to calm her outer fear with her current method being to keep her jaw tightly shut and focus on her blinking as much as possible. The crowd's faces slowly disappeared and were replaced by the cliff face. Her stomach churned and once she was sure that they were low enough for her to be out of sight, she allowed her lip to quiver. Still, crying remained out of the question and she scrambled for a way to keep herself from cracking as they eddied towards the temple at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“You speak Hylian Sign Language too?” She asked not averting her eyes from the cliff face and somewhat inadvertently holding the knight’s arm slightly tighter.

He gave her a kind smile, knowing from years of raising his daughter how the princess was truly feeling, “Ah, yes. I was telling one of the rookies that I’d be all right, he’s still rather nervous.” He explained, too wary to reveal their true relationship for fear of being accused of using his status to get his son a job.

“Oh.” The princess responded. It was odd for there to be two people on this journey that could speak sign language and unless there was a third, he must have been talking to Link. Cautiously peeking past the knight’s helmet which sat atop his head, she still couldn’t quite place where she’d last seen him. Of course, she couldn’t, her father had ordered that knights should be as indistinguishable as possible; he said he did it for the army to seem more united, but Zelda was sure the real reason was so that knights wouldn’t be harassed by enemies or fans during their sparse free hours.

Ripped away from her thoughts by the pulley stagnating briefly, she realised that it was rude of her not to say more, “Ahem. I’ve always thought Hylian Sign Language would be particularly useful for a knight to know, for stealth missions and such where even a whisper is dangerous.” She took another gulp, by now they were halfway there, and she was feeling queasier by the second as she anticipated the next sudden stop.

The knight chuckled, muttering something about how she would be quite right If only any of them would bother to learn it. Then, he deemed it time to end the princess’s charade, “If I were your age, I would be terrified of having to do this.”

Caught off guard, Zelda looked at him with the assumption that this was intended to be an insult to her strength as a royal,

“Yes, I’m sure you would be.” She replied with a deadpan tone, not moving her head to look at the knight whatsoever.

His eyes widened and he quickly gulped down a laugh, cleared his throat and tried to continue his attempt to reassure her, “My apologies your Highness, I was only trying to say that if you were perhaps scared or unnerved, I would keep it a sworn secret.”

Hearing this she glanced at him with a mix of suspicion and vulnerability. She stared at his side profile for a while longer before allowing her body to unstiffen and meekly nodded, unable to bring herself to admit it aloud.

“It’ll be all right Princess Zelda, those bird people supposedly fly around this high all the time and they’re fine, right?”

Mention of the Rito piqued her interest and caused her ears to perk up a bit, “Yes… Although the Rito don’t fly so much as glide- except for when their sacred winds blow, then they can fly across whole kingdoms without a break!”

Sharing as many facts about the Rito as she could served as a suitable distraction, her body was soon nearing a slouch and whilst her grip on the knight’s arm (who she now knew to be Captain Arn) loosened, she shuffled closer to him as they continued to chatter. It was like the release of pressure, calmness spilling out as a result, and she was eager to say as much as could in this fleeting time. For most of the conversation, Captain Arn only had the time to nod or let out an inquisitive hum before the Princess already found another suitable branching topic to inform him of. The few questions that he did manage to ask though, were thought out, each word calculated with the respect he had to show the princess.

The halting thud of the platform as it finally hit solid ground thrust Zelda away from any sense of comfort, shattering the limbo of journey between the royal façade she lived as.  

Straightening her back and raising her head high towards the two knights that were waiting for her, she strode past, only giving them a brief nod of acknowledgement. Obediently, they followed behind her and Captain Arn sped up to be just ahead of her, trying to make sense of whether this was the same girl who was talking at him just before.

The only hint of the imperfect, nervous and smiling Zelda spared was the occasional delayed step and discreet shuffle of small heels that couldn’t help but scuff against the stone floor.

-----

Tulin was trying his best to be patient, but ever since he hatched, everyone around him agreed that it was his most lacking quality. Still, he endured being offered seeds for dinner and the long, awkward conversation of explaining to Aryll that he did in fact eat poultry. (She still tended to hold her breath and avert her gaze whenever he chowed down on a chicken leg.)

Observing the streets of Castle Town whilst safely hidden behind curtains proved to have some uses; he learned that there were zero species other than Hylians in the settlement which didn’t bode well but also that Hylian women wore very, very long skirts. Whenever he saw a particularly high class one wading through the crowds, he barely refrained from pulling the curtains back for a better look as she elegantly glided along the streets. Even Aryll wore one, usually, it would be a light blue for work with a border of navy-blue flowers, she hated having to wear it but the woman she worked for insisted she did.

Few remnants of Aryll’s job remained in her room, it was already rather small and cramped, especially with it suddenly becoming a shared space. Occasionally though, he would come across a small heap of fabrics or a dress hanging on her small bedpost begging to be stitched up. They were all so soft. In his time, making cloth took days, a shop would only be able to stock six pieces at once and they all always had a persistent scratchiness to them; here though, Aryll told him that her store had fifty dresses hanging most of the time and that was what convinced Tulin that this truly was Hyrule’s golden era. Once he was finished being enamoured by fabrics though, time once more dragged as all he could do was wait for Aryll’s return.

By the third day, he was starting to feel uneasy: he hadn’t come here just to be a secret roommate. The owner of Aryll’s store was also the owner of the house they were staying in and to say the least, she was a snooper. Sometimes, he just barely managed to flee up the chimney before she swung the door open, examining the dresses Aryll was fixing but also searching her drawers whilst muttering something about girls these days. It was only a matter of time before she caught him and got both him and Aryll arrested for God knows exactly what.

That thought haunted Tulin, to get to know each other better, they both talked about their families a fair bit. He lied that he accidentally separated from the flock during migration but was truthful about having a very loving family and Aryll told him all about her father and brother. She was vague with the details, they both were so that if anything bad did happen, one wouldn’t be able to get the other’s loved ones involved but she admitted that they were away at work a lot and briefly touched on how much she disliked not having them with her and being able to live in Hateno. Mention of Hateno had sparked his interest, he knew it as the largest Hylian settlement, but it seemed minuscule now. After the first question though, Aryll was looking down to the floor with a bittersweet smile and glint of a tear in her eyes, so he thought it best to leave it be.

If Aryll were to be arrested or worse, how long would it take word to reach her family? She would have nobody to try to defend her and be sentenced immediately, alone for as long as the royal family decreed and the way she talked, it sounded like King Rhoam was an extremely harsh judge.

No, Tulin wouldn’t let an innocent girl suffer any more than she would have to once the Calamity struck. Taking a deep breath in, he spent the whole of the day preparing what to say to her.

When she opened the door and was greeted with his steeled gaze though, a frown immediately appeared on her face, “I know that look…” She murmured, not wanting to finish the rest of the sentence.

“Aryll I’m sorry but-”

She cut him off with a firm nod and suddenly she seemed like a different girl. He’d seen her transform before, when she entered the door, she was graceful and tight-lipped only to later be slouched on the room’s single wooden chair chattering about anything she could think of. Now though, she seemed to have a newfound resolve as she matched Tulin’s gaze,

“I know. A real friend wouldn’t keep you cooped up in here. I promised I’d help you get back to your family and I meant it.”

Flustered by how little justification he needed to give, Tulin just stood there as Aryll ripped off her dress, not bothering to tell him to turn around. To Tulin’s surprise, this revealed she was wearing beige trousers that were a tad too small, only reaching halfway down her calf and a corset. Corsets were a relic by his time, but everyone thought they were worn by fully grown women- with all the poofy layers of fabric gone, he tilted his head in confusion at just how small Aryll was.

“Aryll, how old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

Tulin baulked; how could they be the same age?! When the Rito kids had to take up jobs during the blizzard, all the adults hated it and said that they were far too young for such responsibility. Was this normal for this Hyrule? Regardless, the revelation made the aura of perfection that emanated from Castle Town dissipate.

Mistaking his dumbfounded stare to be about her corset, Aryll explained whilst donning a mundane dark brown shirt that Hylians had weak backs and nobles that weren’t expected to need to move around a lot always wore a corset to alleviate the pain. This information wasn’t enough to snap Tulin completely out of it, but it did explain why Link and so many Hylian travellers refused to sit on backless stools.

Ignoring the Rito and assuming he was just confused about why Hylians wore so many clothes at all, Aryll finished her outfit with a vibrant red cape that cascaded down to the floor and had a hood that was far too big, completely obscuring her face.

“Do y’ like it? I made it meself.” She proudly declared.

No longer needing a minute to translate her accent, Tulin nodded, never having seen such a bright colour find its way onto clothes without washing away too easily. He scurried underneath it, crouched behind her and the two snuck out of the room. As evening loomed over the sky, it seemed to have signalled most people to go home. It was colder than what Hyrule Field was usually like in Tulin’s time, even with his feathers, he resorted to using the cloak as a blanket whenever possible. He nearly set flight in a panic when the few people still out all turned their heads to stare at the two, eyes wide and noses turned up at the sight of them. But for some reason, Tulin wasn’t the reason, they hadn’t noticed him at all. Seeing his confusion, Aryll revealed a smug smirk, more so directed at her fellow Hylians than him, and ensured the red of her cape continued to shield him.

Nobody approached them but for the entirety of their sneak through the streets, there was a rumble of disdain. Tulin didn’t dare ask why, still too afraid of royal punishment to make any audible sound; instead, he tentatively watched Aryll take long strides with a puffed-up chest and beaming smile, the subtle yellows of her teeth being the most visible part of her as the looming streetlights above shed scarce light down at them.

Suddenly she came to an abrupt halt causing Tulin to bump into her and his feathers to all stand slightly on edge, beckoning him to flee to the winds. Every part of him wanted to use his gust, his eyes twinkled at the thought of how much less time it would take to reach the village with it but he had to resist. For one, he still wasn’t quite able to properly do it without shrieking a whistle that would instantly catch the attention of any guarding Hylians and secondly, if Revali saw a ‘fledgling’ was able to control winds when he’d spent his entire life barely getting the hang of it, well…

He didn’t remember much of Revali anymore, but he did know it would rustle some feathers at the very least. There was no point risking either one, both could lead to him being cast out of the village before even arriving and he would have to return to his own time having learnt nothing except that he’s a disappointment to Medoh.

His talons twitched at the thought of failure, and only then did he realise that they were outside of Castle Town, finally standing on fresh, natural grass rather than the ghastly cobblestone that smothered the city. He could barely see now that they had wandered past the domain of artificial light though; Aryll was a blur to him, tugging at an even larger blur. Only when he heard a hushed whistle, a delighted whinny and the turning of wooden wheels did he understand what the plan was.

“C’mon are you gonna take my hand or what?” Aryll asked impatiently.

“Huh?” Tulin replied, looking in the general direction that her voice seemed to be coming from.

Huffing, she grasped Tulin’s wing, yelped at the feeling of bone running down them to the edges of five predominant feathers, and heaved him up into her wagon. Covering him with her red cloak, she whispered for him to stay quiet before gently soothing her horse which started to trot. They didn’t need to go far, just enough so that they were on the outskirts of the field. The silence was deafening, neither one knowing the words to say.

Suddenly, the wagon came to a sharp halt, sending Tulin rolling forwards from within. The moment Aryll let out a terrified gasp, he didn’t hesitate to fling the cloak away and face the danger head-on. No matter what his dad said, he was certain he’d be able to take down a lynel- he helped Link do it all the time. Prepared to risk his life, he took flight and drew his bow against- bokoblins?

Two… Red… Bokoblins?

They wielded bats that had barely even been sharpened or hardened, he was half convinced they were just using tree branches. Moist, long red tongues hung lazily from their mouths as they haphazardly swung the ‘weapons’ about: they didn’t even manage to hit the horse. Tulin was half contemplating just letting them be but seeing Aryll trembling with her arms covering her head as she helplessly sat in the wagon's driver’s seat, he loosened two arrows, instantly killing both.

So, people here weren’t used to monsters- that sounded like a dream. At the very least, it explained why Hylians wore clothes that were so hard to sprint in, they simply didn’t need to. Hesitantly, Aryll lowered her arms, she was still shaking and choked up with stifled tears, barely able to thank Tulin. He waited a few minutes for her to calm down but stayed hovering just above the ground, not wanting to give her false hope. After dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, she must’ve had stowed away somewhere, she let herself look at him properly. Though he couldn’t see her at all, he felt himself being watched. He let her; he didn’t want to ever forget what she looked like either.

Exchanging no words, Tulin plucked one of his feathers and held it out into the darkness until she took it from him. Her sniffles nearly started up again, but she managed to refrain from showing her true emotions just long enough to hear the flap of wings as he ascended slowly upwards like a paper aeroplane that could defy gravity.

Parting ways, Tulin soared towards his home, having no clue what to expect and, with another one gone, Aryll took her wagon back to its hiding spot and let her mare go back to her herd and returned to her mundane existence with her head hung low.

Chapter Text

The wait for Princess Zelda’s return was exhausting for everyone.

All the remaining knights were arguing about whether they should send more of themselves down to the temple, maids were desperate for anything to busy themselves with and Link was barely keeping sane. Usually, when his father was in danger, he dedicated himself to his task of looking after the horses, but, whenever he approached the horses that a few of the younger knights lazily tied to trees in the nearby forest, they would shoot a glare at him before purposefully shaking a tree just enough to drop some sleeping snow atop the already shivering horses. They did it with a smug smirk, only stopping when Link walked away.

He never did understand why they enjoyed mocking things that couldn’t speak back. There were many times where his hand was coiled into a fist ready to swing and send their stupid faces flying but he had no choice other than resisting the urge: breaking the promise he made to his dad wasn’t an option.

For the horse’s sake, he lingered away from the forest and back to the main camp area, where more people were gathering by the minute, trying to escape the welling anxiety that came from looking into the depths that their princess was supposedly in. Sitting atop a barrel beside the small fire, he was surrounded by the tapping of fingers and constant turning of heads; tension trying to seep its way into him in any way it could. The farmers in Hateno warned him of many similar dangers, how it only took one calf to bolt for the entire herd to follow suit and charge off a cliff. Whilst all these workers and knights certainly weren’t cattle, their getting scared wouldn’t do any good, it could make the knights rush down to the temple and it was clear the pulley wasn’t designed for so much use.

It was time to make an exception to his silence.

He slid his ocarina out of his pocket, it was the colour of unpainted clay, a quality that Link was especially grateful for as it made it cheap enough to be his birthday present. Putting his lips towards it, a single melodic yet abrupt note escaped into the open, causing nearly everyone to jump and look at him in surprise. Making noise was weird, and being noticed was weirder. Sheer embarrassment nearly made him regret even pulling it out, panic that he would only get jeered at.

Still, he put up with it, took a quick breath, and let the melody march onwards. His fingers gracefully leapt from hole to hole as if playing hopscotch, their elegance enraptured his new audience, their prior focuses all spiralling out of sight. At that moment where all breaths were held except his, he opened his eyes to find his head tilted up towards the sky.

By now, the sun stood proudly at its highest and burned at his eyes, yet he withstood purely because of how enamouring the hues were. A bright vivid blue, it was unique, lighter than the royal blue of Zelda and completely different from the rich greens of the grass he’d grown up surrounded by. Clouds created intricate white patterns and ignited an alien sense of familiarity, a premonition that one day he would be able to reach out to that blue and touch it, run his hands across its angelic softness as a pure, unpolluted dew wafted to his nose and left a sweet relief on his tongue.

But then it was stained. 

A deep blue from a night so dark it should be obsidian yet somehow defied all logic. It streaked across his picturesque dreams with a speed quicker than his fastest gallops on his father’s steed. Squinting his eyes, he managed to make out the shape; upon processing it, his eyes widened before flinching closed, having welcomed in far too much blistering light.

A bird. A really large bird.

Something too large to be a bird that was still most definitely a bird- no- it couldn’t be, could it? He didn’t even want the idea of that to flicker in his mind, they couldn’t be scouting; King Rhoam assured them that they weren’t advanced enough for scouting.

He quickly grasped for the ocarina as it nearly slipped from his hands, and he realised the harmony had ceased and people were looking at him in confusion and then looking up trying to see what was distracting him. Surging with a newfound urgency to stop panic wreaking havoc, he put his lips back against the ocarina and played with all his might. Tripping on some of the notes, he weaved through the encampment, capturing anyone he could into his musical net. Luckily, he evaded the fire and only bumped into a few crates that didn’t falter, stuffed to the brim with supposed necessities.

Though he was doing so more discreetly now, he took any chance he could spare to glance upwards and scan the endless places they could be. Suddenly, the sky was a battlefield, a terrain that his people were strangers to and couldn’t even fathom how extensive it was. It was hiding above a cloud, it had to be because the stain had been roughly washed out, leaving the same beautiful sight that was now clearly nothing more than a forgery of peaceful times. 

His father would’ve known what to do if he wasn’t having to serve the princess’s desires. She was curious to him, it made zero sense for her to know sign language and her expressions always seemed near identical to Aryll’s when she was working: fake. Oddly, that left him pitying her, unlike Aryll, this life was sealed for her. Now though, she had taken his father from him: he was an orphan, alone with only calves and those who would gladly put him on a wagon to the butchers.

Keeping a possible Rito sighting secret was treason, betraying the kingdom. He should have told the other knight who bore the same red feathered crest as his father and was keeping a watchful eye over the pulley. How would he though? No matter how much his hands danced in a frenzy of signs, he may as well have been speaking Gerudo because all that would come of it was him being ridiculed. 

Then suddenly, where there was no solution sprung two answers. Breaking free from the trance of the ocarina, there was a stampede towards the pulley as the royal guard exclaimed that the pulley was being tugged at: his father and the princess were coming back!

All thoughts of the possible Rito sighting left him, taking the easy route of deciding it was just a very large falcon flying low or a trick of the mind. Being plagued by irrational worry would do nothing, if the two of them were fine, everything else would be too.

-----

Helmaroc was far too reckless. What a hypocrite, telling the flock to keep clear of any risks of starting conflict only to glide right into open skies above armoured Hylians! This behaviour appalled the Rito who was accompanying him though he couldn’t voice it, after all, his adulthood feathers still hadn’t even grown in, and he certainly wasn’t planning on being banished by another chief.

Barely holding back an annoyed scowl, he settled on gliding just above a cloud until Helmaroc joined him again with a smug look,

“What, Revali? You don’t want to get a better look at our adversaries?” He asked, chest feathers puffed out with an overgrown ego.

“I’m just fine staying here, sir” Revali muttered back begrudgingly, knowing that he wasn’t really being offered the chance.

Even if he was, he was unsure if he would be able to return to the safety of the clouds; his wings were tattered, and he was amazed he’d even managed to make it all the way here. He settled on internally repeating that Helmaroc would let up on him eventually and decided to distract from the pain by examining the goings on below him.

For days, the Hylians scuttled through grassy plains in a long winding line, like a centipede with a hundred legs on either side. Its head was marked by what Revali would describe as an excessively opulent eyesore of a carriage, most definitely someone of importance. During the march, he tried to get to a suitable angle to peek inside; Hylians were so strange, some of them were coated in heavy metal shells whilst others had their softer parts exposed to the environments and he was curious which of the two their leader would fall into. The head had been flung open for hours and the spine had coiled to tightly comfort itself.  They seemed trapped, hardly moving more than a fraction of a metre away from the canyon.

But then it suddenly disassembled itself without a second thought. Not willing to lose another opportunity, he took the risk of darting to another cloud and spread his wings wide so as not to break its fragile composition. Helmaroc flashed him with a glance of disdain, unsure whether to reprimand him, he fortunately remained quiet. Pupils expanded to cover nearly all his iris, Revali’s eyes bathed in the needed light to scour every detail and darted to the depths of snow-covered grass, being stomped on by a herd of feet all rushing towards the cliff. And then, from further below where he even he could not properly glimpse, something yellow rose, a sunrise, people eager to stare upon it as if it were giving hope and warmth to their shivering bodies. Hair, a body, a leader.

She was a ‘soft parts on the outside’ type, in fact, she had more soft bits out than any of the rest of them. Was she not cold? Revali still occasionally felt his beak chatter and he was blanketed in amazing, awe-strikingly awesome navy-blue feathers. A thought dashed through his mind of how complimenting his own feather colour also meant unintentionally complimenting Helmaroc which made his stomach roll in self-loathing.  

In fairness, his feathers were impressive. Not only were they navy blue, but he was one of few Rito to have two extra sets of feathers. The most impressive was the small lines of red that separated the whites at the end of his wings and demanded admiration even from those who wished they hated him. Whenever Revali accidentally glanced at them, he found it near impossible to pull his stare onto something else, instantly mesmerised by the sheer power that they warned of. The second set came in the form of four long tails; they allowed him to manoeuvre far more skilfully in the air than most Rito though Revali always wondered if he’d ever gotten them tangled up in each other before. Regardless, them being neon green and orange was pitiful as it ruined any chance the Chief had of not looking slightly ridiculous to those who did occasionally manage to overcome their fear of him.

Not wanting to let his eyes fall upon the red that crowned his reputation, Revali averted his eyes back to the Hylians. To his horror, the leader had monstrous blood-red eyes that may as well have been glistening as brightly as the sun in comparison to the dull paleness of her skin, resembling bloodied snow that overstayed its welcome. The armoured ones were huddled around her, trying to hide the tears on her face. Maybe tears meant something different for Hylians- it was clear by her trembling spindly limbs that they didn’t though. She looked small. She was meant to be the terrifying bringer of their possible destruction, but he was sure he would tower over her.

Perhaps their intentions weren’t so violent if they were sending such a weak girl to represent them. When the Rito first settled on the frigid island, the vague shape of the colossal castle made a pool of sweat form on most of their brows; it was the most impressive structure they’d ever seen and could tell that such a thing wouldn’t have a need for existence unless this place had a tremendous strength that it wanted to flaunt. After some discreet watching from the best warriors, they realised that whilst Rito showed off by decorating their feathers with dyes or weaving beads in one another’s braids, the Hylians brandished spears, shone their armour and punched each other down for faltering: ruthless even to their own.

It was then that the understanding sunk in of why the girl was so fragile. She didn’t need to exhaust herself and wring the last drops of strength from her muscles because there was a feast of it at her disposal and she could bin all of it only for it to be replenished in seconds. For whatever reason, these people would die for her, there was no doubt about it in the way their spines straightened, and they held in the misty breaths that proved to the frigid landscape that they were living. They cared.

Contemplation took over him as his body sank some more into its cloud and his eyes eddied back towards Helmaroc and doubts of whether his people would do the same for him. If it came down to it, would they let themselves be felled in his stead or flee and leave him to sink down with their pride? Revali wanted to say that he would stay, not for Helmaroc but to prove that his flock was not to be messed with, that they were strong. Every bone in his body thrummed at the delight of being recognised with that word: strong. Being truly accepted not just as the pitiful stowaway that miraculously made it to them but as a warrior in his own right, a warrior that they wanted and would do anything to keep, a warrior that they would look at with admiration, envy, hatred because they would never be able to even compare to him.

His chest feathers fluffed up a bit, upsetting his balance and bringing him out of his fantasy as he embarrassingly brushed them back down. Glancing down to ensure his proper form was restored, he caught sight of a new movement. The hand of the only person that bore hair nearly as yellow as the leader’s, pointed up high into the sky. His heart sank and then shot upwards with the panic that they were caught, found out. They must have had better eyesight than they let on, now this would make them see Rito as dangerous plotters, they would take it out on the nest-

“Calm.” Helmaroc ordered, making Revali aware of how the heaving of his chest and the quick bouts of warm air escaping his beak were crumbling his cloud. He gulped down the adrenaline, desperate not to seem lesser to Helmaroc and forced his shaking gaze to focus. The finger wasn’t coming up towards them. It was towards the direction of the castle and, breaking the image of the distant black body of the castle that the sun stood behind was a tinge of white. Tiny, mistakable for a cloud but moving far faster than one and feathered.

A Rito. Heading straight for the Hylians.

Frozen in his shock, he looked on in horror as the scene played out and he silently begged that this leader would not be as cruel as they feared.

-----

Zelda didn’t even notice it at first, nobody did. If only she’d followed Captain Arn’s searching gaze quicker, noticed Link immediately- then she could’ve gotten a proper look at it.

A Rito- a real Rito.

The ecstasy of it made the waterfalls on her face freeze and her lip stop quivering as she tried to grasp sight of it. The chance came to a screeching halt though, setting herself up for failure the moment she let out a breathless gasp when she saw it fluttering towards them in the sky.

The knights followed her gaze at lightning speed and clocked it. Instead of their eyes widening with fascination, their bodies tensed in fear and before she could protest, bodies were rushing her into the carriage and standing in a protective formation around her. She pressed her hand against the window, scouring the skies; it was flying quite low for a bird, so low she could make out its beak and how it held something curved in its talons.

A bow.

She prayed that the knights wouldn’t see it, she could tell from the way their hands jolted to the hilts of their swords at the scurrying of rabbits during the journey here that her father ordered something along the lines of ‘take no risks in protecting her’. It was impossible to resent him for it, of course, he would take every precaution when she was going to see creatures that they knew nothing about. He couldn’t lose another, her chest tightened at the thought of her joining her mother.

But that didn’t make it right what happened. It was her fault really, for managing to somehow make eye contact with it. Dishevelled, she stared at it with a face full of tears, the poor thing must have been terrified of her because it let out a panicked noise somewhere between a screech and a squawk at the sight of her, the noise ringing out through the air. The other kingdoms did not say much about the Rito, just that they ravaged their fields and were violent. And, that a loud noise from a Rito may as well be the same as the smashing of a war drum.

Dread engulfed her: she had told this to Captain Arn. Though remembering anything about the temple made the palpitations return, she forced herself through it. Just like usual, it was as if her spirit was leaving her body, or rather, returning to a past version of her body.

One where her cheeks were smooth and still unburdened by tears, she was forcing her way through the temple, dragging her exhausted legs along the splendorous stone structure. Her only comfort whilst they skirted along mostly decayed edges was the distraction of discussion, constantly urged by the captain to focus on talking to him. Had it all just been a trick to learn more about the enemy?

“Rito can really come in that many colours?!” He asked her with surprise, trying to imagine reds, greens, purples and yellows all belonging to the same beings.

“Yes, yes! And a lot of the time they’ll tie their feathers to the ends of arrows to make them travel further!” She excitedly blurted out, it seemed fantastical compared to the mundane nature of Hyrulean arrows, lazily carved and strung with whatever they could find.

At the mention of arrows, the captain tensed, though she hadn’t noticed it at the time, she now saw how his eyes became distant, as if lost somewhere and the frown on his face told her it was not someplace pleasant.

“How… How often do they use these arrows?” He questioned, trying to disguise the waver in his voice.

Completely oblivious, Zelda gladly answered, “Well whenever there’s danger really, though I’ve heard they don’t like facing things alone. They prefer staying close to each other and then making a loud noise to signal others to ward off danger. It’s actually quite like us if you think about it.”

It was unusual for her to linger in her own memories for this long. It hurt. Maybe it was just because she feared what was going to come after this, but her mind was screaming at her to return to where she belonged as if she were exploring the deepest crevices of herself meant to be a secret even to her. Captain Arn nodded contemplatively at her, and then she was forced out.

She jolted in her seat, took heavy breaths and clenched her fists, trying to make sense of where she was. The carriage. The window: gateway to the true action, her only method of not remaining a clueless, passive princess. The captain was in sight, staying close to her as he was meant to, it must’ve been mere seconds after the screech because his hand was in the air, fist clenched and that same distant look was in his eyes, his mouth slowly curling into a frown. With all her heart, she wanted to beg him not to do it, to disobey her father, to trust that she had been wrong. But he was a knight, it was not him who made decisions, he simply did whatever was necessary to please his masters.

He opened his fist: giving the order to loosen an onslaught of arrows.

They flew valiantly, dutifully, menacingly. The white Rito dodged, tucking its wings in and spinning in the air gracefully as if this was a usual occurrence. Then, it retaliated, shooting a shot of its own. The arrow went so fast that it seemed to whistle in the air, cutting through the previously tranquil blue sky. A deer unable to move, she could do nothing but pray it didn’t hit anyone, and that this wasn’t going to be the start of a war.

And it didn’t draw blood: it did something far, far worse.

Her carriage door swung open, a fire arrow melting through the metal lock. The knights’ heads spun towards her in horror and in that moment, they did not see a warning shot, they saw a threat- they saw what happened to the Queen.

Her hopes unravelled though remained by a single thread as something else darted, too quick for her to make out but by the time the next flurry of arrows was piercing the sun, the Rito was gone and had not fallen. Maybe for once in her life, Hylia heard her, because the shadow of what she could only describe as a guardian angel came to its rescue.

Cacophony surrounding her, she raised her head high, tilted back to the encroaching roof of the carriage and closed her eyes, silent relief of the enemy’s victory immersing her, blocking the panicked yells, ignoring the slicing of weaponry through open air and accepting her passive, ignorant role just this once.

It had its benefits, living like this. All that was needed of her was to sit, wait and hold this pose of fake prayer for her knights’ victory. By ‘her knights’, she really meant ‘her father’s knights’. After all, he was the only one they were willing to fetch for, willing to kill for. She saw no need to ask for their safety, two Ritos were not enough to slay the strongest legion in Hyrule. They would remain safe, regarded heroes for protecting her and never so much as teased with the chance of being blamed.

Her teeth gritted, promptly followed by her fist clenching and eyes tensing further closed in a failed attempt to loosen up; an urge was mustering in her, festering and bubbling, biding its time until it could spill out. Unaware that when it did, it would do nothing but trickle down to the sewage.

Not her strongest of voices, most delicate of smiles or harshest of rebukes would make them shudder any more than what the cold managed. A toddler: that’s what she would be. Kicking and screaming up a fuss, paid no more attention than a chiding pat on the head or poorly hidden laugh. Deafness would wreak havoc on these people the moment she opened her mouth, they would all instantaneously be unable to make sense of their wrongdoings.

The first wrong that conjured itself alongside appropriate words was the waste of resources. A single fire-imbued arrow returned with dozens of their already low stock. That one wasn’t all that important to her though, this region was full of poor, defenceless trees easily slain to become fodder towards their purpose.

It was the optics that were the issue. Yes, that was it.

The horrors of violence dissipated from her mind, enraged only by how this could affect her, her father and the kingdom. This region was previously inhabitable, one that could’ve left the Gerudo cornered in by Hyrulean territory and eased her father’s worries of Lady Urbosa seeking out their lush glades for her own. The two of them never did get along, no matter how much they tried to keep it blanketed for her sake, there was only so long.

But having Hebra? Then Urbosa wouldn’t dare. She’d remain her loving friend, her guide to a past she was too young to know. Even her supposed abilities had limits after all, but Urbosa was gifted with knowledge. Of Zelda’s mother, of her passions and insights and of how proud she would be of her little bird. A frown grew on her face, choosing not to try and dig through herself to find the last time her father was able to provide a similar effect.

After this though, all attempts at diplomacy or even communication with this possible new ally were lost the moment that the army deemed them armed and volatile. How strange it was for this mass of armour to have such influence when in truth, one man was to blame for it all. The simple uncurling of a hand, leaving her hopes of peace to burn, reduce to ash and fly off into the sky, towards the Rito that she herself would never reach.

All because of this dog. That’s what Captain Arn was, in Zelda’s eyes at least: a dog.

 A mutt. A sickening grin twisted itself onto her face, imagining what would happen if that nasty rumour escaped. That he had no lineage, he was just some farmer’s son from Hateno granted a chance and now wielding it to kill the Kingdom's chances- no, Zelda’s chances. This had become very personal. Every rebellious flex of her fingers and twist of her neck urged her onwards to do it, drag his name through the mud, and leave him to rot with the heaps that her father had abandoned over the years.

Nobody would dare question her word, she could weave whatever tale she wanted, finally be powerful. Feared. Alone, not a soul daring to confide in her for fear that she would expose their deepest secrets. Her ladies-in-waiting would sew their own mouths shut and the maids may as well become ghosts and Link-

Link’s friend was Captain Arn, not her. He would hate her, there was no doubt about it. And there was no doubt that his opinion would be irrelevant, he was a peasant-

A sudden jolt in the carriage made her leap free from the doomed journey she was setting herself on. It must’ve been a rock, its impact worsened now that the carriage horses were finally galloping. Galloping?

Ah, fleeing.

Chapter Text

 Stay here.

That’s what he said, no, ordered. Helmaroc did not simply say things, his every word commanded. Before Revali could even ask what they were to do, the Chief had taken to the sky, circling the scene though not yet interfering: a vulture.

By the third circle, Revali came to an understanding, this new Rito was being tested. To see how easily the pure whites of his young feathers became bathed in blood, how quickly he would plummet to the ground and how slowly he would take his last breath. Would he have had to endure the same trial if he found the flock during violence rather than peace?

Even his bloated ego was unsure whether it would have survived such an examination. Not after that journey.

It wasn’t hopeless though. The first attack was dodged somewhat gracefully, though Revali thought the barrel roll was a poor attempt at trying to show-off. Having evaded so many flying anchors trying to sink him was impressive, surely enough. But when Revali looked up towards Helmaroc’s uninterrupted flight pattern, a queasiness made residence in his stomach.

When he saw the new Rito draw his bow, this queasiness became heavier, like a stone trying to make him fall through his safe cloud. And when that Rito unleashed the arrow to hit the Princess’s carriage of all things, it took on a new form, roaring with anxiety and commanding him with adrenaline. What Helmaroc would do became irrelevant, if it didn’t, this Rito’s fate would be sealed.

Revali launched himself from the cloud, wings tucked close to his body as he plummeted downwards. A single passing thought of faltering, a second long lapse in confidence would lead to nought but him finding a better vantage point to watch a life be taken. He forced himself to keep rapidly approaching the ground, going past cloud white after cloud white until he finally made out the white of his goals. Immediately, his wings spread far, and his talons grasped at the Rito like he was a mouse, soaring back up out of the Hylians’ sights.

Exhausted, Revali let himself fall onto the first cloud he came across, dropping the Rito beside him. Any hopes for rest crashed when a loud shrill squawk unleashed itself right into his ear and he scrambled to pull the Rito to safety.

“Do you not even know how to cloud sit?!” Revali barked, still driven by panic.

Tulin’s beak opened to say something but then, his eyes settled on Revali and were shot wide open, instinctively shuffling back in disbelief. There was no way- no, no, there was every way, this was Revali’s time. But to find him here… Tulin expected he’d be at the Flight Range, diligently training.

Taking off his tunic had been a smart move, rather than anything resembling proper clothes, Revali’s chest feathers were shielded from the cold by nothing more than flimsily wrapped cloth, far too tight on his slim physique. Self-compliments abruptly stopped when the realisation sunk in for a second time that he really was talking to Revali.

He looked far different than the last time that Tulin met him, smaller, the red feathers on his cheeks bright with youth and he still bore a full set of fledgling feathers. The only true hint that this Revali was somewhat like the one who had saved Tulin in the lost woods all that time ago (or was that in the future now?) was that vivid green, annoyed glare. Even that was different though, harsher than it was back then, unrelenting to even a ‘fledgling’.

Impatiently, Revali yanked him back onto the cloud’s safety and hissed at him not to squawk. When Tulin once more started to sink deep into the cloud, Revali forced him to resurface and roughly corrected his stance until both were laid flat on their stomachs, weight finally evenly distributed. It was just in time as well for if Tulin were upright when the third flurry of arrows came, he would have surely lost his footing in shock.

Aryll was right about the army being stubborn, not a single knight let their bow target anything other than the high skies, waiting for an attack that would never come. Or at least it wouldn’t come from Tulin.

A gargantuan Rito swooped downwards, paying no heed to the others and focusing only on releasing arrow after arrow towards the Hylians. Every move of feathers seemed to heave with power, yet he whipped through the air gracefully and Tulin couldn’t help but be enamoured by how striking he was.

It was hard to name exactly what it was, but for some reason, he could barely take his focus off of the red tips dotted along his feathers, it stole him away from his fears and amazement, left him unable to do anything but stare and be filled with a desire to stay close to this mysterious Rito, for so long as he remained by his side, he would surely be safe.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he registered Revali groaning at the sight of him but then stiffen and tug at Tulin’s head, directing him to the scene below. It was like looking into a recording on the Purah Pad, it all seemed so surreal, so distant and framed by the tranquil blue of the sky.

Screams filled the air, tops of heads sprinting in all directions whilst those smothered in metal stilled themselves and ignored their trembling legs. Tulin tried to make out Link, after all, if Zelda was here, he must’ve been too, probably in the process of some valiant, crazy strategy. A warrior as great as Link against them…

Revali was young. Young-ish, it was hard to tell exactly, he never did look like an adult. The Lost Woods were a place where even light would be swallowed up by the fog, nothing like the glimmering soft glow of Korok Forest. Back then, when he was still a stumbling chick, all Tulin had really been able to make out were the whites of his father’s feathers. For a long while, he hadn’t a clue that he was riding on the back of Master Revali, who fearlessly slaughtered herds of moblins, bokoblins and wizzrobes for his sake.

There were so many monsters on that day when he anxiously crept into a swirling blue light in search of his father; in a few years’ time, those hordes would be infesting the same lands where Aryll could barely stand the sight of a meagre bokoblin, more pig-like than the monsters he was raised shooting at. In a few years, a much younger version of him would be flitting around Master Revali in awe, ignoring how the navy blue of his feathers were tarnished with sickly purple blood, still trying to ooze its way back to its fallen body even after death.

This Rito, who was patiently analysing the scene would transform into a hard-headed, ruthless warrior: what kind of cocoon could possibly cause such metamorphosis?

“Open your eyes. You may have the flying grace of an Eldin Ostrich but that is no excuse to be trying to bury your head down like one.” Revali spat out the words, not even turning his head to bother to acknowledge Tulin, fixated on what the third Rito was doing.

Begrudgingly, Tulin relented from trying to make a snide remark back and lifted his face out of the surprisingly comfortable cloud. In his time, Rito hardly ever made it high enough for clouds to be so opaque, but here, it didn’t seem to be an odd ability at all.

Link did not stand out, the only moving bodies were either shining steel or muddy browns; apparently the long-skirted noble ladies of Castle Town were not commonplace in royal processions. Except for Zelda probably, though it didn’t feel right to picture her in anything other than her typical field research outfit. To Tulin, in this time, Zelda felt wrong altogether.

She held herself so much more differently. Stiffer. Colder. Sadder.

It was as if she were shattered. Seeing that golden blond rise from within the canyon, his wings aching and barely relenting from asking the winds for help, it was unlikely, improbable, but a sense of familiarity struck him. The first spark to really remind him of home.

And there she was, sobbing: more a waterfall than princess. Before he could grapple control over his body from his instincts, he was dipping downwards, wings flapping faster. Desperate to go to her, to find out what in Hylia’s name had happened. Now that he was so far away from it, he knew it was stupid of him. Naïve.

But then those knights were shoving her, manhandling her like some doll into that carriage and she looked at him with that trapped gaze; Goddesses, his breath bated with claustrophobia just thinking of it and his heart fluttered with gratefulness that such moving jails were long extinct by his time, buried alongside corsets and pretty clothes and luxury.

Except here they all were, alive and well, hearts beating with the same ominous rising tensions. The arrows seemed to be getting faster, ravenously chasing after their targets like mosquitos. The Hylians held nothing back, each arrow accompanied by a prayer to bring death. The Rito’s arrows though, splintered trees, dirt, tents: every mundane colour in sight other than flesh.

He wasn’t out to kill.

That didn’t change how proudly he flaunted a mad, ecstatic grin as he made them flee in terror. It was the type of smile bound only by reaching the borders of his face, if it could, it would surely seize the sky, leaving no sight other than that of the black of his mouth and a red tongue, dampened by drool from the fantasy of power.

Deep down, Tulin knew he should’ve been frightened, terrified that such a brute was from his own race. Yet somehow, all he felt was relief and his breathing grow slower and calmer, not needing to take up arms.

“Rev- uh, sir, who is that?” Tulin asked, gesturing towards the attacking Rito.

“That’s Helmaroc. If you have any smarts about you, you’ll be sure not to ruffle his feathers.”

“Helmaroc…” He tested it on his tongue, finding nothing but a name he’d never heard. Still, there was no doubt that this was an important Rito. Unlike the wrapping strewn across Revali that flittered in the wind, bound to come undone at some point, Helmaroc’s was coloured the same striking red as Aryll’s cloak and intricately tied, giving at least the façade of warmth. 

Even his bow was wrapped in red- wait-

Tulin squinted his eyes hard past the clouds, unable to believe it yet there it was plain to see: the Great Eagle Bow.

It all made sense, the reason he felt this weight lift from his shoulders and why Revali was so at ease; neither of them were expected to need to defend. But that made no sense- Link himself had said that a need to protect his people was what drove him to properly master Revali’s Gale.

Something was going to change, make Revali take up this mantle-

Something was going to happen to Helmaroc.

At the worst moment possible, his eyes finally succeeded in finding Link- or at least some version of Link. Smaller and scruffier but with the same determined glint in his eyes. The only saving grace was that he wielded not a sword but rather a… pot lid?

Tulin couldn’t help but cock his head, suspecting that the reason Link was such a good cook may have been because that’s exactly what he was. It would make sense and explain why even as an amnesiac in the present, he was able to conjure all sorts of delicacies. Those hopeful excuses were trampled to dust though when the boy suddenly leaped towards something.

A maid, trembling behind a barrel growing continually full of arrows and tucked perfectly out of Helmaroc’s attention. With each shot, the arrows were becoming more wild, unsatisfied with piercing and drawing no red. That was what Tulin’s mind explained it with anyway, that it was with the arrows’ fault, not Helmaroc’s.

But regardless, Tulin had been behind the bow enough to tell where the shots were destined to land; all it came down to was understanding where the winds were beckoning it.

And this one, with a body of oak, head of a spear tip and a dark blue feather of a tail was not going to collide into the barrel: it was going to veer upwards by a hair, just enough to-

Link thrust the barrel toppling it to the ground and stood firmly in front of the maid, shield raised high. For a splinter of time, everyone stopped, shocked by the sound of metal clashing metal and royal blue sparks highlighting the air. Even the maid backed away rather than thank her saviour who simply let the pot lid topple to the ground.

Glancing back at Revali revealed that he bore the same surprised expression, was there something wrong with doing a parry? No, no time to think on that.

Helmaroc stopped in his tracks, eyes beading down at Link; it was hard to make out whether it was curiosity or an urge to destroy. Heart thumping, Tulin dodged Revali’s attempt to grab him and dove down, seeing Link as not a hero but a threat. Times of aiding him in battle, sitting round fires and eating together faded, replaced by fear and a strange understanding of what a bokoblin must feel to be on the wrong side of the blade.

His talons grabbed a hold of The Great Eagle Bow, and he flung his body in front of Helmaroc.

At first, Helmaroc let out an animalistic squawk like a lizalfos whose food had been stolen but, when Tulin did not respond, he bellowed out, “You dare disarm a chieftain?!”

Before he could demand for the bow’s return, Tulin cut him off, “This battle isn’t worth it! Please, let’s just fall back!”

Stunned into a loss of words, Helmaroc glared at Tulin, it was a deep piercing stare that intended to crumble him, coax out an apology, implore him to beg for forgiveness. But there was nothing.

When the fifth round of arrows pounded on them, Helmaroc barrel rolled directly into Tulin, scooping him up in his wings as his green tails whipped the two of them upwards to Revali.

“We’re leaving.” He ordered, voice booming as he released hold of Tulin.

Responding only with silence, Revali abandoned the comfort of his cloud and took flight deeper into the Hebra region, trailing behind Helmaroc and Tulin.

The ground below them looked different but the skies were painted the same hues. There was no denying it: Tulin was going home.

-----

Link had stopped speaking to his father. He couldn’t bring himself to face the sight of him.

The events of the day rushed past him like a herd of horses trampling clarity and calm. When he eventually stumbled upon his senses, he found himself stroking a stallion that was white with dapples of blue. They were in a snowy field with a few trees and most of the army’s horses tied up; it was like the last forest though colder, and the snow was reaching his calves.

Anxious brays and the muffled stomping of hooves filled the air as Link tried his best to feed and soothe the horses. Of course, they would be unsettled, being rapidly tacked up and sent on gallops towards any glimpse of safety.

Somehow, in their attempt to tactically retreat, they barrelled to the foot of the Rito hive. More like a wasp’s nest, what was once a strange rock was now invisible under the armour of random planks of wood and other such materials that seemed to form a sham bird cage. It didn’t trap the Rito, somehow, the locked gate barred the Hylians, a people who had access to all parts of the Kingdom; they were barred off from a mysterious world that had to be destroyed.

Every knights’ fingers twitched, eyes all fixated on the prison, eager for escape or infiltration. Link wasn’t immune either, it was like honey, and he was a bear: seemingly ruthless and unstoppable until a horde of splinters would inevitably defeat him.

 Unlike a wasp’s nest though, it didn’t buzz with activity. Rather, the air was filled with silence and frozen, not a sliver of wind surviving. It drew out his curiosity and he wished his eyes continued to fall on the enemy encampment. Not that he dared let it show, he averted his eyes whenever logic returned to him, he was already in enough trouble as it was.

Captain Arn was furious.

It was deserved, Link broke their promise after all. In frustration, he let his head fall against the body of a deep brown mare, she didn’t seem to mind other than shaking her head as if even she disapproved. Maybe it was true after all, that riders had a special connection with their steeds because her rider was one of the many sneering at him in something between jealousy that he performed a flawless parry and disgust that someone of his ‘status’ would dare even pick up a sword.

Pretending to be a commoner was making Link resent these people more than ever. Daydreaming was an all right distraction from how much he’d messed up, he settled on imagining how Aryll would smack the back of his head for saying they weren’t commoners and then their father would chide that his job had elevated them only for Aryll to retort that a special head feather didn’t change that they were a farming family. Then, Link would’ve knocked his hand against some surface and signed that it’s not possible to be a farming family in the city, followed by all of them frowning for Hateno.

Everyone back home was so happy for them when they left. Link doubted whether any of them believed that his dad was really going to make it big in the army, but either way, their smiles and waves goodbye left a pleasant image in his mind. He held it there and tied it tight with rope so it couldn’t roam away throughout the day. Soon enough, the sun was set, and the last horse was calm and asleep, a midnight stallion with a single streak of white on his forehead like a shooting star- if only he could wish on it.

Then, he would’ve wished that he was allowed to throw a punch or parry a knight’s face, blue sparks leaving an epic burn on the jerk, marking him as beaten by the stable hand. One would think a dangerous mission like this would require only high-ranking knights accompanying, especially with the Princess’s presence. In part, King Rhoam must’ve thought the same, no other companies marched out with two royal guards, let alone Captain Arn and Captain Hyatia- two of the best in service.

The rest of the knights though, the ones with the standard green feathers, didn’t fit. Many of them were Link’s age, only a few years older at most; in their prime with zero experience. Maybe it was a boast that even twats like these blubbering buffoons could scare off the Rito. Whatever it was, it made a spark of Link want to egg Aryll on with her rebellion nonsense.

Eggs.

The smell was still shot up his nose, searing itself there with a pungency. Perfectly good food, thrown for nothing more than what? Mocking the mute?

Just tell us to stop and we will, that’s what Dato had snickered, knowing Link couldn’t.

First it was an apple, from a barrel meant to be going to the horses in the morning. Then, when Link caught the apple, wiped it off with his sleeve and glared at Dato and his underlings before chomping into it, a handful of wild berries picked from some nearby bushes were flung towards him except Dato’s grip was so tight that they squashed, leaving his hand stained a bloody red.

Laughing came with no sound, at most it reaped the sight of more misty breaths than usual, but it was discreet most of the time, easily gone without punishment. It was the smirk that must have pissed him off. That’s what Link was aiming to do when he flashed it at Dato anyway, righteous and turning his nose up at him as he bit into the apple again, the juicy tearing of it filling the air in place of the snide remarks that none of them could understand. 

It was thrilling watching Dato’s face go red from embarrassment and then rage, it only made Link’s smirk grow wider, bolder. Pride flooded him, knowing that he was standing strong, that these ruffian knights were finally the ones losing.

Until the egg came.

Surprisingly, it was from one of the knights just behind Dato, probably trying to earn his place amongst the gaggle of buffoons.

Robbed from a cook or nest, the egg was raw and still whole. In another life, it may have hatched and become a chick. Amounted to be something more than an oddly effective weapon; at least it achieved flight.

It hurtled through the air, just when Link decided to stop paying attention, an attempt to make them feel like they weren’t even worthy of a glance. Stomach ruling his actions, he was taking yet another deep bite into the apple.

Starving, his teeth gladly decimated it into smaller pieces as he gulped it down, using the fresh juice to distract him from his empty water flask. Unripe, so it wouldn’t go stale as quickly, it was surprisingly sour and stung at his tongue, making his eyes tense and face contort at the intensity of it. If he were alone, he would have spat it out, let it be wasted. Hateno apples were always succulent and mouthwatering and-

Finally, the egg reached its target: bullseye. It cracked right on his face, shell and yolk flying everywhere, soaking his face in a film of misty white but more direly, making its way past the apple and into his oblivious mouth. Bland but slippery, the yolk and egg white were down his windpipe before he had the chance to spit it out, luckily the eggshell was not so skilled and remained in tiny pieces, held back by his sheer disgust.

Ego forgotten and cast aside, Link let himself keel over and threw up. A jeer from the knights filled the air, though they were happy to see him in pain, even they were grossed out. Link forced more out, any sustenance from the apple leaving him and joining the grass in a broth of things that he dared not examine; he couldn’t let himself get sick, not when it was so cold, he’d be asking to catch something serious.

By the time he stopped, he was breathing heavily, he could still feel the remnants of granules on his tongue but forced those back down, mouth too dry to spit anymore. The knights were gone and had clearly declared themselves the winners, that or watching him was going to make them throw up as well. The dizziness did not wait long to take over as Link cracked his back upright once more, light-headed and desperate to avoid looking at food for a while.

It was in his hair.

Like a web with rain dew on it, not yet evicted by the owner, the odd tinge of brown-green clung to the blonde strands, their purpose to try and have him throw up even more. Shuddering, he quickly tried his best to wipe it all off, kneeling beside a lake and splashing himself with the water.

Freezing.

Obviously, it was. The artificial rainfall of lake water stung his face with every droplet, but he kept on going, rubbing his hands roughly against each other before trying to get his hair clean and repeating the process. Paranoia ordered him to do this five times more than necessary, he only stopped once the shivering couldn’t be halted, clambering to his feet and taking small steps back toward the fire.

The fire where Dato and those knights would be.

No, too mortifying, Link shook his head, resolving to trying to breathe warmth onto the rest of his body.  Movement- that would help! A lap around the courtyard always got his blood pulsing and brought about the start of a drip of sweat. Running through a forest in such anxiety-inducing times would only set off alarms though, so he settled on walking. Very quickly.

Roaming too far away was dangerous, no telling if the Rito were still watching. Not that they would be though. The moment Link saw the big one, he knew that if it really wanted to hurt them, there would’ve been far more blood. Why could nobody else see that?

“Do you think they were savages?”

Link leaped out of his skin, hand sprinting towards a non-existent sword.

“Oh, I’m sorry I had no intentions of startling you!”

Head spinning around, he grimaced. Princess Zelda. This day could not get worse, the Princess of Hyrule finding him soaked as a sewage rat and smelling like one too.

“I don’t know…” He signed back, too out of his wits to do anything other than answer though made his confusion known, “The knights know you’re here right?”

“No.” She replied bluntly, leaning against a tree, arms crossed and looking up towards the sky or rather the dying leaves that blocked her view. “They’re too busy planning a counterattack, I just said I needed to relieve myself and the lowlife guarding in the stead of the captains was far too embarrassed to dare follow.”

Lowlife- that word made Link flinch, check again that he was really talking to Princess Zelda. She never seemed like that type of noble but, then again, they always tended to be good at trickery. There was a brand-new coldness to her, the breaths she took were heavy with distaste and she didn’t even try to keep proper posture; the only relief from the haughtiness was the occasional batting of her eyes and how she glanced up like she was holding in tears.

“I can go.”

“Stay.”

She signed quickly, firmly, it piqued Link’s interest that her hands didn’t shake at all, her past nerves had given up.

“The captain was only trying to protect you…” Link started, briefly pausing, “But I wish he didn’t do it the way he did.”

Body not shifting, her gaze snapped onto him, wistfully contemplating, he could tell she was really listening, “Would you still call yourself his friend?” She asked.

Swallowing a nervous gulp, Link’s hands fell apart mid-word multiple times before he finally managed to spew out, “I think friends is the wrong word to use in the first place.”

To this, Zelda raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down in anticipation of elaboration only to be met with stillness. Trying to predict the explanations she was forming in her mind made him grimace but there was no real way out of it now. Her lips parted, the queue of questions pushing past one another and trying to be the first one out.

Suddenly, a new voice splintered the chirping of birds, “Your- your Highness?”

The knight that was meant to be watching her.

Darting behind a tree, Link’s eyes widened, and he flung his arms tight against his chest, trying to shrink his stature as much as possible. In stark contrast, Zelda remained incredibly calm,

“Ah, yes, I suppose it has been a while.”

Unable to resist the urge, Link discreetly peeked out to see the knight nervously nod, entire body stiff as a tree branch and his pale grey eyes shot open whilst Zelda casually sauntered past though kept her head held far high above him. She barely even bothered to look at him and that left Link not knowing how to feel about her. One of the Zelda’s that he had talked to were a façade, the inquisitive shy princess and the cold, apathetic, contemplative noble could not co-exist.

Either way, the both of them seemingly decided to keep their encounter a secret, the Princess didn’t even glance back towards the trees where Link stood, not leaving a hint of his presence. It was for the best, imaginary rumours sent chills up Link’s spine: dealing with mocking kissing noises whenever he talked to Aryll in public was enough. Deeming it safe to reveal himself to the empty forest again, he stepped out of the shadows and allowed his arms to fall.

Until evening (when he would be checking in with Arn), he would be expected to linger with the horses, find something unnoticeable and irrelevant to kill time with. And the horses were nice, nearly all of them were fond of him and dedicated to licking his face until he was smiling. But so were conversations.

These recent secret talks were leaving a hunger in him. A craving for more, to finally talk to someone other than his father. And at that, someone his age, someone who understood things Captain Arn simply didn’t. To be able to talk to someone without being reminded of the risks they were taking to keep their secrets- it turned what felt like a boulder on his chest into a flock of birds, all effortlessly spiralling upwards out of sight and leaving him able to breathe, genuinely smile.

He wasn’t ready to stop.

Chapter Text

Revali was flying strangely. Every now and then, he would stagger, a frightening crack coming from his wing. Pretending that the way nobody mentioned it must mean it wasn’t a problem, Tulin focused on keeping his eyes in front of him. There, Helmaroc’s tails whipped violently against the sky, creating their own sort of breeze though it was weak, barely enough to propel him much further.

Still, with the lack of wind, Tulin was jealous of him. It was as if the sky was frozen, and it was a state that seemed alluring to his wings as forcing them to flap him closer to the village started taking more and more effort. Unnaturally, not a single feather rustled as it would in the home he knew, current trickling through, finding its way to his bone before it drifted back to where it came from.

Now, flying was lonely, and he was left yearning to be enveloped by the wind’s hug rather than to be a single dot in a still image. Maybe being the Sage of Wind made it hurt more, for he felt as hollow as the rotted trees that slowly decayed in the Lost Woods, so that once the wind finally returned, it would spiral through him and leave him so enraptured that he would howl just how they did. Long, full of anguish and relief.

The aching spread further and directed his head so far up that his neck strained though did not falter, resolute with the same urge as his heart.

Zelda.

She was up there, somewhere, looming. Mindless and soulless, not a person but a key; she could easily unlock the portal back to his own time. He could leave right now, fly upwards, fall towards failure and safety. Did he even want to know?

Would he ever be able to look Link and Zelda in the eye after seeing whatever it was that they had done; the longer he was here, the more an unsettling doubt tugged at his trust in them. They hadn’t done anything yet, just a stare and a parry but it seemed like the first droplet in a lake. After all, the look in their eyes when they recalled this time foreboded of something far worse to come.

Tulin’s gaze wandered towards Revali and how he was always depicted as supporting Link and Zelda, loyal champion forever in the background. Sometimes, when Tulin was a young chick that would sit in awe of Link, watching him train in the flight range, amongst the murmurs of frustration at how alien a bow had become, he would hear whispers of Revali. It must have been new memories seeping in, early enough that Link didn’t hide them or think of them as something he’d rather keep private.

To him, Revali was arrogant: Tulin nearly screeched when he first heard that. The more he heard though, the more it would seem that there was an underlying bitterness in the union of the champions, a hint of jealousy. Back then, it was hard to comprehend that his hero could be flawed, when he was older, it served as a lesson of how he could improve from his ancestors. Now though, his heart dropped at the thought that it was a hint. That Revali wasn’t dramatic or stubborn or needlessly bitter: that there was a reason.

“I can tell you’re staring.” Revali grumbled, rolling his eyes, “As impressive as I am, I suggest you keep your focus straight on.”

The ruminating was becoming far too frequent, Tulin decided, having been snapped free once again. He couldn’t go back, Medoh wanted him to see. He had to look, no matter how hard it was going to be. The first small step towards this was listening to Revali and letting his neck rest. And there it was.

Rito Village.

Rito Cage?

Whatever this was, it was no settlement. Gliding over the waters which were far icier than they were back home, he saw no bridge, no way of entrance for the Hylians, proof that they were unwanted.

Instead of the stone bird in the village centre being free in the sky, only the tip of its beak was visible, protruding from a sham fortress. The sight reminded him of pigeons and the nests they would make, unimpressive attempts at keeping their young safe, sometimes only a handful of twigs but occasionally a meticulous mansion of branches.

He was unsure which one this was. Just like the stairs he once excitedly sprinted up, it seemed completely wooden at first glance. Upon closer inspection though, he noticed hunks of metal and strewn fabric, as if they’d ran out of wood or were simply scrambling to put together whatever they could. It draped over the Rito like the cloth of a hot air balloon, concealing the beating flame, fragile life.

“They retreat towards the enemy.” Helmaroc remarked, noting the Hylians clumped below.

The three of them must’ve taken a long while to get here for the Hylians to beat them, with all that armour, the herd should’ve been especially slow. Tulin couldn’t quite place where the time had gone, everything still somewhat blurred together, and he was disorientated with the lack of wind to hint at direction. It was starting to make him more aware of himself, now that he couldn’t rely on the wind, he was amputated of navigation and forced to notice the slightest of twitches in his muscles, indicative of his wings veering this way and that.

They hadn’t gone in a straight line, of course they didn’t, it would’ve been a surefire way to lose altitude. In this era, they weaved and made zigzag patterns, briefly roosting on clouds whenever they could. Not only was it a chance to rest, but Tulin had also worked out that he could propel himself slightly further upwards using the clouds, just enough to stop him drooping too far from the others.

The toll flying like this took was clear, both Revali and Helmaroc were dripping with sweat from their efforts, as it drizzled down them, the tips would freeze from the altitude, the extra weight trying to drag them down. Both hid that it bothered them, Helmaroc doing a better job than Revali who would discreetly rub his beak into his wing to try and knock the icicles off whenever they were roosting. 

No wonder they were both so glad to be home, they were so ecstatic that the static masks of stoicism they both wore gained a tiny slither of a crack and from it dripped a drop of joy and gratitude, entangled in each other to create a concoction of hidden away emotion that told of surprise that they had even managed to make it back.

Helmaroc rapidly dived downwards, followed by Revali though Tulin hesitated, remembering that he was still a stranger, he decided to watch for a moment.

The two landed on the beak of the stone bird, perching on the slithers of it that had been spared from the cage. A melody escaped Helmaroc’s beak, brief yet moving. It was deep and bellowing and rung out with tones of bravery and pitches of courage. Immediately, a latch opened at the top of the cage, a Rito appearing to happily, carefully greet the Chief, then acknowledged Revali’s presence.

With a firm nod, Helmaroc commanded Revali who did not hesitate to fall into the cage, trapped and safe. Left alone, he took a moment to scan the surroundings for danger, eyes twitching in all directions.

With his straight posture and chest puffed out with strength, Tulin could not help but be reminded of Vah Medoh and how it too would watch over the village from the same place, first terrifying them but later calming their fears with the knowledge that they were no longer defenceless to guardians.

“Do not loiter. Come.” Helmaroc bellowed just as he had the melody, so loud that Tulin could hear him crystal clear and instantly knew that it was directed towards him.

A nervous gulp swam down Tulin’s throat, diving away into the abyss of his stomach where it would never be found and could fester as much as it wanted. Not daring to disobey, he spread his wings out and jumped off the cloud, letting himself gently spiral downwards in paranoia that he would not pull up his wings quickly enough to avoid crashing face first into rock if he dived like the others.

Silently, Helmaroc waited with furrowed brows and a tensed-up beak that only loosened when it was making a deep huff. As much as Tulin wanted to apologise, the words fled before he could even think of them, and he near instantly forgot what it was exactly that he felt a need to apologise for.

Talons now tapping against the stone, Helmaroc abandoned his post once he deemed Tulin near enough, diving into the cage and leaving Tulin to scramble in behind him, the latch banging shut behind them both and being firmly locked by the same Rito who had let them in.

Tulin nearly choked at the sight of what home once was. It was crowded. Of course, nowhere near as much as Castletown but the flock was the double the size of what they were by his time. There were plenty of kids and teenagers, a couple of elders and more adult Rito than he had ever imagined. Everyone was busy doing something or another, bringing in food, tying spear heads to staffs, cooking, winding wrappings round their chests in place of clothing, bowing to Helmaroc, glaring at Revali, murmuring about Tulin.

Excitement quickly drizzled away and left Tulin’s posture shrinking and his eyes batting downwards, acquainting themselves with the wooden boards that were barely holding up all the weight.

“Your name?” Revali whispered, limiting his words and barely opening his beak.

“Um- Quill.” Tulin stumbled in reply, mimicking Revali’s secretiveness though he didn’t understand why.

For some reason, he wanted to disappear into the crowd, become unnoticeable and nothing more than a speck in the flurry of feathers. It didn’t seem to be an option though when he realised that amongst the purples, blues, greens, reds and oranges, he stood solitary in his snowy white. Things were like that in his Rito Village too apart from his dad though he never noticed it, everyone was family, a slight difference in hue didn’t matter.

The exact opposite was true here though, his white painted him out and made him distinct, instantly sparking curiosity in these ancient Rito who all knew he was not one of them. Against his back, he felt Revali’s wing gently pushing him forward from behind, guiding him through the overwhelming busyness. He couldn’t see Revali, only feel his feathers rustling with nerves and continue to be shoved forward by his quickening pace, by no means was he gentle about it, but in a strange way, he was helping.

Maybe he wasn’t too dissimilar from the saviour that waded through monsters in the Lost Woods. Somehow, he succeeded in calming Tulin’s nerves, breath slowing knowing that there was at least one familiar face with him. As daunting as it was, it seemed things would be okay.

Helmaroc had already forgotten about him, the last Tulin heard was his loud voice talking about something-something-Hylians-something-something-arrows and then his large figure disappeared, probably to somewhere where he would not be so easily overheard. In a way, it was relieving, his mere presence pressed down on everyone around him, like a boulder eager to see whether they would be crushed or withstand.

Before Tulin could really process anything more, Revali had guided him to an empty room, a barebones version of the rooms that spiralled up around the stone bird in the present.

“Lift your wings.” He requested without properly asking though not nearly as harshly as how he spoke in Helmaroc’s presence.

Choosing not to argue, Tulin did so, allowing Revali to wind a cloth around his chest feathers. It was a dull beige and loose in places, but he didn’t want to point it out and seem ungrateful. Tucking the end snug where it wouldn’t come undone easily, Revali stepped back, scanning Tulin over to make sure he’d done a good job.

“Thank you…” Tulin murmured, head bowed as he felt a need to at least try and be cautious.

“Don’t expect it again. You should be perfectly capable of tying your own wrap at your age.” Revali remarked, turning his head to the side for seemingly no reason other than to look like he didn’t care much.

The façade faltered slightly, eyes softening, “Where is your flock anyway?”

“I… Don’t know.” Tulin admitted, finding himself unable to find a good excuse and regretting not thinking of one in advance.

There was no reply from Revali other than a meek nod and a glance of contemplation. Eventually, the silence broke when Tulin took a step towards the outer wall of the cage, taking note of the orange gleams of sunset leaking in.

“Get some rest. You’ve slept in a hammock before?” Revali asked, breath bated as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

He discreetly exhaled when Tulin nodded and brushed his wing over the hammock, other than having no patterns, it was the only thing that hadn’t changed. Not bothering to announce his departure, Revali crossed his wings and gave himself a reassuring nod before turning and leaving Tulin to his own thoughts, eyes sinking closed from exhaustion as sleep briskly overtook him.

-----

Zelda tossed a fur coat over herself gladly, keen to stop her body trembling from the cold. She tried not to pay too much attention to the colour, it stood for too much. The whites of that Rito who could be the thing to lead to the whites of surrender, yearning for peaceful white, times where society wasn’t forced to take the form of a ghost constantly draped in white and mourning; when the white meant only their princess’s purity and the divinity that remained out of her grasp.

Groaning at how every thought drifted back to the temple, she resolved to fastening the buttons of the jacket tight and nestling into it, briefly allowing herself to sink into the heap of fur. It was what she would imagine a fox would feel like, not the ones she saw from her window but the snowy ones, that all her books said were far softer.

Her chest tightened at the realisation that the coat probably was once a fox, a young one whose fur had not yet started to thin or a mother who had grown more to keep her babies warm, sacrificed in the name of keeping a failure of a princess warm. The worst part was that it was indistinguishable, a smudge in a painting, each stroke someone that would lay themselves down for her for no reason other than a twisted duty.

Many of them didn’t want to either, she was not oblivious to the begrudging whispers from those occasionally daring enough to voice their disliking of certain choices her father had made. Ironically, most of it came from the nobles. Of course, it wasn’t like she was listening to commoners all that often, but nobles were generally far more snide, confident enough to flex what little power they did have.

Being free of their presence was cleansing. Ever since she left, the act was far easier because she’d been stripped of her speaking lines. Instead of teatime and relationship maintenance, all the army needed was her pretty face and her hands at her chest against each other and pointed upwards towards Hylia. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to just bring a portrait of her, their functions wouldn’t have varied by much. Left to hang in a corner where nobody would ever find them, where they would be safely hidden away in dust, untouched and only admired.

This was growing tiring. The Rito were so close now, their hive in sight. The proper name was a nest, given that they were birds, but then again, they didn’t act like birds at all. Sure, they could fly, but Zelda was yet to see a bird shoot an arrow.

There wasn’t much more about the Rito she could think of; she made a catalogue of sorts in her mind of intriguing thoughts that she could tug on to pull sanity and logic back with. Rito were too unknown, they would only be nice to think about later when they wouldn’t lead solely to frustration about the limitations on her life. The political landscape laid out in her mind had undoubtedly grown old and dated, no use trying to predict changes in trade routes and army sizes.

Link.

He was nice to think of, they’d barely had two conversations but that somehow made him even more exciting.

 It was daring, out of the realm of what could ever be deemed acceptable for her to do.

After the forest, she was left near breathless as the adrenaline rushed through her; it was like she was dipping her fingers into adventure, her sword being Hylian Sign Language.

There was no doubt that the knight had seen Link with her, his dumbfounded wide eyes and how he awkwardly stumbled her back to her tent painted it clear. By that evening, everyone’s gazes were roving about her in shock and curiosity. It was fantastic.

Teetering on the edge of the cliff so close from falling but really being safe. None of them would dare say a thing to her face, it was an open forbidden secret, something that they too could get a thrill out of; the power that came from the knowledge of such a scandal and being desperate to know how it would progress.

Finally, attention. No more being looked over. Just the reminiscing alone was sending a flurry of butterflies to her heart, now that it was morning, she couldn’t wait to go back out and see how much more it had spread. Would it have reached Captain Arn? Surely, he would have a reaction to his friend talking to the Princess, something along the lines of betrayal or disgust.

That’s right, it was disgusting for someone like Link to speak to her. The King would be ashamed…

After smoothing down her coat one last time, she forced that thought to dissipate and continued to tug on the excitement of the flourishing gossip just outside her tent. There wouldn’t be any yet though, she had woken up ridiculously early. For now, it would be just her and the morning critters. That didn’t make it any less fun to imagine the winding line of whisperers, contorting the message more and more with each passing of information.

Suddenly, something batted against the tent, at first, she thought it an animal of sorts until it came at the tent a second time and revealed the clear shadow of a hand.

She damn near screamed, her mouth was wide open to do so, Link was lucky that he managed to scurry under the tent quicky enough to cover her parting lips with his hand. Mind thrusted into panic of all the different assassins that could be after her head, Zelda stumbled backwards, Link putting a hand on her arm to keep her steady.

“What are you doing here? You can’t be here, you know that!” She spat out in a breathless whisper, eyes darting round to make sure nobody had been alerted.

Once he had assured himself that she wasn’t going to scream, Link hesitantly moved his hands off her and signed back, “I know, I know. I’m sorry I just- I just wanted to be able to talk.”

Only now, as she wrangled herself into a state of calm again, did Zelda notice how Link was shaking. It wasn’t from the cold or some type of fear, it was more purposeful: anger. Paying closer attention, she saw every one of his muscles were tensed as if brimming and waiting to explode but knowing they couldn’t.

Zelda couldn’t help but frown slightly at the realisation of why he came to see her. It wasn’t because she was stuck in his head or because he liked the rush of it all as well. He wasn’t here for her title, wisdom, powers or face: it was her hands and the ability to read his that he was after. A desperate attempt to release the pressure slowly, so that the steam wouldn’t be visible to others, but it would be just enough for it to be somewhat bearable. Would he have gone to anyone else if they’d have understood him?

“I’ll go…” Link’s hands fell in defeat as if logic had hit him in the head.

“We can talk for a little while, I suppose.” Zelda softly interrupted his brooding attempt to leave.

Immediately, Link’s ears perked up and he was squatted down to the floor as if that could be a comfortable place for anyone to sit. Not trusting her coat to let her knees bend so much, Zelda plopped onto the makeshift bed that she had spent the night on.

“How was- how was stuff at the templ-”

Zelda was prompt to cut off his attempt at meandering around what he really came for, “Let’s not talk about that. Tell me what’s on your mind.” She spoke firmly, eager to dissuade the conversation swaying towards that building.

Knowing better than to be stubborn, Link gave into her and started signing.

“It’s just Captain Arn, he’s so-” Link paused, clenching his hands briefly as if swallowing his words and finding new ones, “That parry. None of those ‘knights’ our age have managed to do one as cleanly as I did but not a single person has acknowledged that! I saved a maid, Princess; she could’ve died without me, and she didn’t even bother to say thank you!”

At that, he threw his hands up in frustration and looked at Zelda, he was still huffing so much that smoke should’ve been gushing out of his nose. Meanwhile, Zelda seemed taken aback, a hand subconsciously moving to her chest and her posture straightened up, she hadn’t expected this to be what was getting to him.

“Right…” She started, unsure which route of conversation to take.

“A parry is very impressive, I suppose nobody expected it to be performed by someone of your er stature- oh I mean your rank, not your height.”

She tagged the last bit on quickly in response to Link’s eyebrows furrowing and nose crinkling. It didn’t seem to appease him though, he joined her in stiffening his posture upwards, even raising his head ever so slightly.

Awkwardly, Zelda cleared her throat, “I mean, of course a stable hand can parry. Though, it is odd given you’ve never had any proper training. Very odd now that I think about it…”

“I watch the others and practice when I’m done with the horses.” Link quickly cut in, a sheepish smile wiping him clean of any prior aggravation, his fingers tapping against his leg before he gave in to his aching thigh and abandoned the squat in favour of sitting cross legged on the floor.

“Ah, alright then-” Zelda couldn’t help but pause, taking note of how comfortable Link seemed and shifting slightly on the rock hard ‘bed’. “It is impressive, truly. I’m sure that maid will come find you and thank you, she was probably too panicked in the moment is all.”

Link nodded contemplatively and Zelda let out a quiet, relived sigh as he loosened up.

“And Link, whatever it is that Captain Arn did, pay him no mind. If you want, I could very well have a stern word with him.” She chuckled though partially wanted Link to agree, still keen on the idea of reprimanding the captain.

Sadly, as expected, Link jumped slightly and quickly shook both his hands in a panicked “No, no!”

The way he looked at her as if he knew that she would genuinely do it only made her laugh more and she was barely able to stifle it. Even Link joined her, probably because of the way she scrunched her face to silence herself. He didn’t need to try and be quiet, he only made a wispy noise bordering a proper sound.

He communicated his giggles with a smile, wide and boisterous with all his teeth on show. When she saw it, Zelda promised herself that she would smile like that one day as well, so real without any need to try and hide it. 

Wave of hysteria finally passing and crashing back down into the ocean of emotion, the two found themselves staring at each other in silence. Neither could think of any words to say, there wasn’t any need. Time spent not alone was by far enough reason to stay like that.

They couldn’t forever though. The orange of early morning was starting to shift to the yellow that marked a proper time to be awake. Hearing the first set of distant footsteps, Link clambered to his feet and gave a meek but sweet goodbye wave before ducking down to crawl back under the tent.

Zelda’s hands fidgeted as she watched him go to leave, she blurted out, “Oh, one more thing! Maybe you keep this parry business as a one-time thing… I think most of us would much rather hear your ocarina then watch you swing a blade. Too many boys do that already.”

She had caught Link just before he was about to pull the tent fabric up, he looked at her wide eyed and jaw slacked as if she’d said something rather profound.

“Next time, if we find ourselves somewhere we won’t be heard, I’ll play you a song or two.” He signed gently, eyes softening and lips curving upwards as he gazed at her.

She nodded, staring back with a small, daring smile of her own before Link broke away from the moment and snuck back out.

And just like that she was alone again, she needed to pretend that she was only just now waking up. The gossip would be here by now. If someone spotted Link here again, then it would grow even more. A stable boy sneaking out her tent in the early strokes of morning- how preposterous!

This time, the laugh was not so easily hidden, only stuffed back down her throat by swiftly parting the tent open and stepping outside, announcing her consciousness and beginning another day’s act.

-----

Maybe going to Zelda hadn’t been so stupid after all, Link thought to himself, he was much less angry at his father now. Still, he certainly wasn’t going to talk to him any time soon. It was a ritual of sorts that they performed after all the really bad arguments, at least a day needed to pass before Link would even acknowledge the idea of forgiveness. 

The worst part of it was how it soured his conversation in the forest with Princess Zelda. It hadn’t even been that good of a talk but still, it was special and certainly didn’t need to be burdened with preceding a row. Talking to a Princess. If he told anyone, they’d be gobsmacked and then he’d really get smacked, no doubt about it.

One more secret to keep didn’t seem like it would be all that difficult, but he still needed to be more careful. For now, the first step to that was getting to the horses and acting inconspicuous.

His plan quickly found an issue though as he noticed steps behind him, metal steps, trampling the already dying grass. Discreetly, he peeked behind him to see a knight- a familiar knight. They were usually hard to distinguish, but not this time. He had those same pale grey eyes as the knight that nearly caught them in the forest. Only now did it dawn on Link that he had been rather reckless in his assumption that he wasn’t noticed.

Taking a deep breath, he sped his pace a bit and hoped it was a mere coincidence.

It wasn’t.

“Sneaking around this early? You should be careful; someone might mistake you for a Yiga and send an arrow through your skull.” Chimed in a snide voice. Dato, the one that threw the apple, stepped out from behind a tree with a malicious smirk on his face.

Link grimaced at how he talked. City boys trying to imitate the noble legacy knights they spent their lives aspiring to. He knew that fake accent well, his dad used to speak like that though he also struggled with the country hues of Hateno that would pervade his speech. Hearing such attempts always tempted Link to reveal himself as a noble; seeing the looks on their faces and their jaws drop wide open at the realisation that he was everything that they secretly wanted to be.

In a weird way, it wouldn’t even be shameful to admit that amongst the nobles his family was new blood. It was an impressive feat nowadays to manage to join that upper echelon, to prove that it can be done so long as you are worthy. The only bit that he would leave out was that it was his father who did all the hard work to get them here, grasping his way up from the lowest of lows and snatching a noble’s army title as his own.

“He was in her tent, I saw him, I definitely did!” Yelled the knight from behind.

A sinking dread plunged down into Link. Raw talent just wasn’t enough against relentless training: they managed to surround him. He didn’t count exactly how many, but it seemed to be the same amount that were there when the egg was thrown, all glaring and looming closer towards him.

“Who in Hylia’s good name do you think you are?” Dato sneered, eyes bulging like Link was a meagre bokoblin, “A lowlife, dirty peasant that’ll never do anything more worthwhile than shovelling up horse shit!”

Slowly, Link tried to back away, but Dato only continued to invade further towards him. He was trapped. A punch could help, if he swung with enough might to knock Dato down then the others wouldn’t dare. But then he’d be put to trial for attacking a knight who was supposedly his higher up and his dad would have to give up the ruse and admit that he was his son.

No, that couldn’t happen, they’d lose everything that he had worked so hard for.

“What, dog got your tongue?” A voice cackled, Link couldn’t see who it came from but vividly imagined yellow teeth on display, all bent and crooked and he would probably lie that they were topaz.

Seeing no other option, Link begrudgingly lowered his head and put his hands up to his chest in surrender, nervously gulping. None of them showed him any pity though. Dato shoved his shoulder, forcing Link to stumble backwards until he collided into the body of some other knight.

Now, they were fully encroaching. A snake, winding itself round and round until the mouse was suffocated.

“He needs to be put back in his place.”

“Thinking he deserves to be anywhere near the princess when he can’t even speak.”

“If he keeps being so daring, he’ll hurt himself. C’mon let’s knock him down a few pegs.”

The voices were coming from every direction. Spiralling and growing and becoming more beastly by the second. Link tried to stay docile, he really did. But the metal of their chest plates was digging into his sides, and he could hear their putrid breath. It was frightening.

He was frightened.

In that moment, there were two options: keep his head down or try and fight his way free. Link chose neither. Somehow, it ended up being the worst possible choice.

He inhaled deeply, making sure to gather as much as he could and just as Dato bothered to properly look at him, Link spat.

Ptui

It sounded almost like a sneeze, a sickness, something that someone would never intentionally do.

Except it was the exact opposite and Link donned a doomed grin of satisfaction as the spit landed squarely on Dato’s boot.

Immediately, Dato recoiled in disgust and tried to shake it off. But it didn’t budge, it would have to be scrubbed off, he’d have to polish the whole boot all over again.

Was that the last straw for a teenage boy, having to clean? Made sense.

In a split-second, Dato’s fist thumped against Link’s cheek, sending his face flying and a ripple across his jaw that snapped out of place.

The other knights all backed up, transforming into spectators that Dato was eager to perform for. He fully committed to the role, barraging Link with punch after punch and mockingly telling him to try and fight back. But Link didn’t dare, he couldn’t.

He fell to the ground and tucked his head in beneath himself, shielding it with his hands as Dato resolved to kicking at him and the audience returned the spit by the dozen. If only he could tell them to stop, at this point, even he was willing to bite down on his tongue and beg. Promise to keep to the shadows, to make sure they never even saw his face again.

But that would never happen, they would never understand. He was no different to a donkey, the most noise he could force out were hopeless dying brays as the lashing continued.

By the time it stopped, black was flickering and eclipsing consciousness, he reeled and stayed down to the ground, discreetly letting blood pool out his mouth and onto the grass. At some point, some of them had left, they must’ve because suddenly there was a crate.

And suddenly, Link was being thrust down into it, Dato glaring down at him, “Don’t worry about it, someone’s bound to hear you yelling.” He snickered as Link could do nothing more than flutter his eyes as he forced himself to stay awake.

The crate had an indistinguishable subtle stench of overuse, there was no doubt that it traversed the world, never able to rest before it was sent out on another delivery. The scent overtook Link’s other senses, it was so overwhelming as it smothered and dazed him, and he feared that he would give in to the pleas for rest and recovery.

“Lads what the Blood Moon are you doing with that crate- ugh never mind I’m too busy to deal with whatever this is, bring it over and help the maids pack all this up.”

The new voice was far though it pierced through the air, shot Link and landed bullseye as he instantly recognised it: dad.

Managing to wring drops of will, he rolled himself into the crates wooden side, desperate that his dad would somehow hear the banging.

“Yes, Sir, yes!” The knight’s all bellowed back in unison, easily overpowering Link’s attempt. Dato shot another look down at him, a threat. The wood of the crate seemed see-through; Link clearly able to see a parade of fists clenching ready to give him a second sound of beating.

That was enough to still him as the knights lifted the crate up and lugged him closer to people and were bold enough to whisper a plan of what to do,

“Good thing the captain left quickly.”

Shit.

“Yeah, quick let’s just get this over with, he did us a favour really- now none of the help will notice him for a while.”

Link cursed whatever force was behind the blood moon, the unspoken evil that lingered in the cracks of society and was to blame for every injustice. Oh, one day he would smite it off the face of Hyrule and banish Dato too while he was at it.

They set him down again surprisingly quickly, or maybe he’d passed out for part of the voyage.

“Dato what even is this stuff?”

“Who cares, just cover him with it, quick!”

Trying to imagine what would be joining him in the crate made Link sick, made the vomit crawl back up his throat and he barely got it back down. He closed his eyes and pretended he couldn’t feel whatever it was. Pretended that he wasn’t here at all, that he was back home or somewhere even better.

‘Lon Lon Ranch’, on a clear sunny day. It rained the day before so the grass was dewy and a fresh aroma wafted upwards, so high up that Link could smell it while he was riding the horses. He would go as fast as the horses wanted to, galloping as the wind whipped against his face or meandering and stopping to admire the blooming flowers. Then he would go and milk all the cows who would moo their melodic greetings and nuzzle up to him. Once that was done, well he wasn’t sure.

He'd never been to Lon Lon Ranch, he probably never would- there just wasn’t enough free time. That made it harder fantasizing about it because the details constantly morphed. The barn was a blue-red, the milk bottles sold anywhere from 10 rupees to 1000, the sheep were all sorts of hues, candy pink, lilac purples, bumblebee yellows.

All jumping over a fence like:

One sheep.

Two sheep.

Three…

Chapter Text

The sheep were like clouds. So fluffy and soft, Link reached out to touch them, expecting something along the lines of cotton candy. But as his hand grazed against a lamb, it disintegrated into dust that spiralled up high into the air.

Link’s heart dropped. He wasn’t sure why; it was just a lamb after all. Suddenly, he was leaping after it in a desperation that had no reason to exist. His head banged against the sky, sending a noise ringing through his head with a sharp screech. Eyes widening and dread slowly pulling him down, his hand pressed up against what his head felt: wood. Not blue, free sky- brown, imprisonment.

 Breath burst out of him before he scrambled to gulp it back in, all of it tainted with the subtle stench that had not changed whilst he was out of his senses. Was he even awake? He could feel his eyes batting open and shut, eyelashes prickling against his skin.

Slowly, he forced each muscle to tense one at a time, testing that everything was as it would be in the real world. His efforts were cut short though by his body rocking and banging against the crate wall. It must not have been happening all that often, or he would have woken up earlier. Paying more attention to the motion, he quickly realised that he was moving and that the crate was tilted upwards.

Oddly, it was like he was weightless. There was no hint of men struggling to haul him to wherever they were going. Gulping, he wondered how strong these people were and didn’t dare try to alert them of his presence, there was no knowing whether Dato and his gang were lurking nearby.

Any hint of stiffness fled the moment the crate was finally set down with an echoing thump though Link still kept his hands tight against his chest where there would be no chance of haphazardly hitting the crate.

Breath gradually eddying back to the norm, he found himself drawn to conversation.

“Here it is.” One voice said, not whispering or trying to be discreet whatsoever.

“You’re welcome, ladies.” Another said with a hint of slyness and then there was a flurry of footsteps.

A herd of muffled laughs, higher pitched than the previous two voices and larger in number.

“See? He does like you!” A hushed yet ecstatic voice spat out, “He was staring right at you that whole time!”

Another round of laughs though hidden amongst them; Link could make out a single exasperated groan. These voices weren’t normal. He couldn’t tell why exactly but his ears flinched every time the pitch reached him, twitching back and forth as if trying to readjust. None of them sounded bad per say, rather it was the opposite: an orchestra of conversation.

“Do they really think this’ll win us over?” A brand-new melody broke through, shattering the dying chuckles, “I mean, I sure do like it, but this certainly isn’t enough to sway Helmaroc…”

What was that word? A name? The mere mention of it seemed to lay a sheet of ice on what seemed to be a group of warm friends.

“Well either way he’s letting us use it so we might as well take what we need.”

A chorus of hums of agreement followed.

The footsteps resumed, though this time scuffed and shuffled against the floor, growing louder by every inch closer they came to Link.

The crate opened.

Light trickled in as if it were water, finding the cracks between whatever accompanied Link in the crate, a scarce glowing droplet making its way to him. Still, he could barely see and remained crutched on his other senses.

This time, touch.

The things in the crate were softer than the sheep and the clouds as they rustled against his face. He could just about make out a shadow blocking the light and stooping down into the crate. It must have been deeper than average for it didn’t even reveal Link as it took some of the softness away, leaving more crevices for the harsh rays to overflow.

Instinctively, Link couldn’t help but close his eyes and wish the darkness took over again. He had no clue what was happening and doubted that any of this was even real, maybe this was just an awful nightmare and he’d wake up on Lon Lon.

But there was one unwavering fact: it would not be good if he was found.

Another shadow.

Less softness.

More light.

The conversations returned as shadow came after shadow, all stealing Link’s protection. Now, their harmonies were blurring in his mind as he could do nothing but imagine the screeches they would become when they saw him.

Rapidly, he tucked himself tight, realising just in time that a dot of his leg was exposed as one more shadow swooped down.

They weren’t talking about what they were getting out of the crate. It mustn’t have been anything too extraordinary then. Perhaps he had somehow made his way back to Castle Town, to a pillow making factory that had just restocked feathers for the linen covers to choke on.

No more shadows. Just light. Seething and desperate to expose him. Only one thin layer of soft messily draped over his trembling body.

The voices were dwindling, grasping at any chance of politely leaving. The final nail in the orchestra’s coffin came in the form of new footsteps, heavier, harsher. A warrior, or maybe a poor imitation of one, Link could tell by the firmness of the steps that they held themselves not too dissimilarly from the knights, though the sound still did not sound how it should.

“Ah. Why are you here?” It was the same voice that was once joyous, transformed to be cold and unforgiving.

Was the figure that had just arrived ‘Helmaroc’? Its arrival stilled everything around it in the same way that the name did.

“I’m just here to carry this out, thought we could use it for the cage.”

This one didn’t sound like the rest. It wasn’t as elegant. An unnerving concoction of relief and disappointment bubbled in Link in response to how weak this new stranger was, meek and shaky: nervous.

“Oh. Alright then. Carrying it by yourself?”

No response, maybe it was too afraid to do anything more than a quick nod of the head, but the next Link knew, he was being moved.

For a terrifying split second, he thought he had been found out.

“It’s fine, nobody will bother checking…” The once feeble voice now sent shivers down Link’s spine that became sharp as icicles, piercing into his skin.

“Just relax. Just relax. Nobody will know-” a shadow darted over the crate though it quickly recoiled back to where it was, “Oh good there’s still some left, I should’ve made sure earlier, bird brain.”

So, Link wasn’t the only one with a nasty habit of talking to himself.

The crate nudged and nudged and nudged forward with the heaving effort of this stranger, Link felt a spark of guilt at how heavy he seemed though that quickly faded when he silently screamed in response to the crate clumsily sliding down a set of stairs.

A panicked yelp was stifled from the figure; its shrill unnatural sound reminded Link yet again that there was something wrong with these people. Now fearing a concussion, Link lay his head flat against the floor of the crate, trying to ignore the motion sickness that was clambering its way onto him.

When the crate stopped this time, he had half a mind to jump out and escape, it was either that or being whisked away yet again.

“Even if Helmaroc knew, I’m only reducing waste, he should be grateful.” The voice wafted into his ears and Link realised that the entire time, the mumblings had not ceased. Though they persisted, they seemed to start to dwindle and usher in an ominous silence, a build-up, an anticipation of a moment that could end it all.

The lid of the crate creaked with a dreary whine like a yawn; just another journey for it, nothing out of the ordinary and soon it would surely return to the coming and going of its plain existence.

An unnameable nothingness encroached on Link’s throat, stifling air and scouring for a voice to muffle but finding none: he was already silenced.

And there was the light again, still not pulling back its punches as it flooded- drowned- Link. But there was a relief, one not of the pure dark of an obscure, vague shadow. There wasn’t much difference, it still blended in with the shades of the night that Link was imagining- in reality, it was sunset and the rays of light framed the figure, illuminating it in all its detail.

It. It was an it.

Horrified, Link tried to reel back only to be met by the wood of the crate now turned steel bar of a prison, trapping him here where he could not fight nor retreat. He wouldn’t dare fight this thing, there mere thought of a fist made his hand lose all form, falling limp in fear.

A beast. Smothered in a midnight blue with not a single star of light on it, a never-ending abyss until Link’s eyes fell upon the beak: pointed toward him like a a blade. A beak. A bird. A Rito. No. It couldn’t be. It had to be.

Chapter Text

Link stared: trying to make sense of the thing standing before him. 

The blue wasn’t one firm cloak shrouded over the creature, eyes finally accepting the light Link could see the cracks and gaps that flowed throughout, the truth that these were feathers.

Wrangling itself free of dumbfounded silence, the creature squawked and jumped away, wings fluttering in shock though it stayed firmly planted on the ground.

Hiding no longer an option, Link sprang upright though he dared not stand and risk another Rito seeing him.

“You- Hylian- What-” It spewed, sensical thoughts evading both of them.

It took deep gaping breaths, closer to wheezes. “What business have you here?! Oh winds it’s of no use.” It scowled, Link could not tell whether it was out of frustration at him or itself.

The Rito’s wings flexed outward, chest heaving all the more in panic. Seeing this made Link understand why you were meant to act large in front of a bear because the same tactic was working on him: he was the bear. 

“Gaping breezes, hollow harmonies- Stay back!” The Rito demanded, voice growing more high pitched by the second, it was nearly breathless as it blurted out “Surely even a thing like you would understand what to do- Don’t you dare move an inch you foul-” 

It batted a wing towards Link, it didn’t make contact given neither was bold enough to approach the other but it at the very least managed to spook Link into darting backwards, barely stopping himself from tumbling out of the crate. He flung his hands up in surrender and fear’s grip forced him to turn his head away, bracing himself for the worst. 

But there was only silence. 

He dared to lift his eyes back at the Rito, being greeted by a head cocked in confusion. Its beak parted ever so hesitantly and its wings started to shrink back into the rest of its body,

“You-…. You understand me, don’t you?” It asked slowly and delicately annunciated each word. 

Even that much effort didn’t serve to disguise the unnatural air that its voice exuded. It was impossible to pinpoint the fault- it seemed like something was wrong with the very foundations of how it used his language. Archaic, almost. Like it had been ripped straight out of the classics he would overhear nobles obsessing over. 

But there was no time to try and puzzle things together- if there was, its Hylian speaking skills would be the last of his concerns. No, this moment was pivotal, this Rito, waiting for him to answer, held all of the power and it did not seem like one willing to wait.

So, Link nodded. It was a slow nod that had to be forced out, every part of his soul not wanting to admit to such a thing and disobey his father’s advice to never talk to the enemy.

It wasn’t like the conversation would get far anyway.

The Rito’s wide eyes softened, equally stunned by the revelation that seemingly allowed it to fight past pure instinct to instead silently think of what to do. Taking this chance to analyse his surroundings, Link’s eyes rapidly roved, eager to know as much as possible.

Everything was wooden, Link was facing toward what seemed like the wooden frame of a window though it was covered by a tarp of some sort which, no matter how far up he took his gaze, never seemed to end. There were no weapons in the room nor on the Rito, it must have had its guard down, Link must be somewhere a Rito would feel safe.

He glanced down into the depths of the crate, to the few remaining shreds of ‘soft’: he could see now that it was some fancy type of cotton.

“Hand that over.” The Rito snapped.

Keen to avoid unnecessary conflict, Link did so and tossed the cotton out of the crate. With one of its dagger-sharp talons, the Rito shuffled the cotton behind itself and into a dark corner of the room, one where it likely wouldn’t be noticed.

Why did it want cotton? Why was he in a box of cotton? Why in Hylia’s light-filled name would the Hylian army send cotton to whatever Rito-infested place he was in?

Such questions continued to bombard him, trying to reignite the stampeding of his heart. No, he hissed in a sharp breath, making the Rito jump in surprise at the sound. Panicking was no good. Calves and cliffs- he could barely remember what that was about by now, it seemed to be so long ago since he was safe in the camp. 

What would his father do? That was the right question, the only question worth pondering. His father would follow his military training. Link didn’t have much of that outside of secret nights in the barracks. Still, there had to be something. The enemy! Captain Arn, if he somehow found himself held hostage, would first focus himself on the enemy. Find the weakness Link thought to himself, find it and use it to wrench out the lives of any and all threats. 

Be Ruthless.  

The Rito was taller than him but not by much, it could be tackled. The Rito had a rag strewn around its chest, maybe a bandage, an injury. The Rito’s wings had once again started to rise as if preparing to take flight and flee, perhaps already surrendering. The Rito was not silent, a nervous whistle seeped out. It sounded like how trying not to break down and cry felt. It was scared, it had reason to be of course, but it wasn’t threatening him.

It was friendly. Tangled within all of its alien, Rito features, Link saw one humane thing, a thing that would never be donned on a mad animal. A gaze, full of thoughts and feelings and a consciousness. Link’s fears of being torn and shredded were soothed by those eyes, they sparkled green: the first thing that came to mind was a green rupee but comparing them to that would be a disservice- if only a gem of the same colour existed, then he would say that these eyes far surpassed even that beauty.

“If we understand each other…” It started but abandoned the word trail, “...War with the Hylians…”

Link tensed, its eyes darted towards him in response to the movement and it quickly tried to reassure him, “No that’s not what I want! What I’m trying to say is-” It gulped, “You can’t be found.”

To this, Link had no qualms. Being found, he thought, was likely to end with a spear to the heart- if they even knew where a Hylian’s heart was. Still, the Rito said it with a peculiar desperation. 

“Well?” It asked, trying to make its voice sound high and unwavering. 

Link’s mouth opened. Then closed. He attempted the start of a sign.  

“Say something-” The Rito seemed to be exasperatedly offended- so sign wasn’t an option, “I could very well get you killed but I’m not. I’m offering to save you yet you aren’t even bothering to thank me, why I would think a Hylian in a situation as dire as yours would at the very least pretend to be grateful.”

Link blinked. That was a lot. Apparently, it had overcome its fears though he swore he could still hear a whisper of a whistle. 

You’re only doing this to save your own people from our might, is what he would’ve said. And he would’ve said it pretentiously with his nose upturned because regardless of how grateful he should be, he found a sudden need a defend himself from the verbal onslaught. 

Awkwardly, he gestured to his mouth and then made an ‘X’ with his hands. 

At this, the Rito’s head fell to the side so much it was near perpendicular to its neck, Link gagged as he imagined the snapping of bone that he should’ve heard. 

“You don’t? What do you mean you don’t?!” It was shock now, that the question dripped with. 

An inaudible sigh escaped Link, having dealt with such reactions many times over though the Rito seemed to be taking it much harder than most.

“If I find out that this is some kind of pathetic lie to avoid giving away any information of your wretched kind-” It left the threat up to Link’s imagination, he shuddered as his gaze sunk back to its talons. 

The Rito let out an offended grunt, righting its head and scanning Link over before settling down, allowing Link to dare do the same. 

The two stayed at opposite ends of the room, neither trying to ask more questions to fill in the gaps of how they had come to this situation. Both of them loosened, let their body relax whilst their minds stayed vigilant. Link resumed scanning the room to see scattered along the floor twigs and pebbles and grass and leaves. He then glanced to that far corner. He still couldn’t believe that the entire time, his companion in this voyage was harmless, warm cotton. All of it led him to one hope, that this was some attempt at a nest. It painted the Rito less like a vulture and more like a mother cuckoo; of course, it could still peck his eyes out, but a softer, less aggressive side was there.

Link stayed in the crate, worried the noise of getting out would be enough to alert the guards that he guessed were lurking nearby, he leaned his aching back against it whilst his head peeked high above it to keep watch of the Rito who had settled on sitting with his feet nestled under his body and his eyes piercing right back at Link.

This was going to be a sleepless night.

Chapter Text

It understood him. Revali blinked away the grogginess that had encroached during the sleepless night. They both spoke the same language. Or at least Revali did. The Hylian was silent, maybe it was some kind of oath. The thought of that though, made his wing instinctively graze his beak and shudder at the thought of not having such an integral part of himself. 

The Hylian had fallen. Defeated by a deep slumber. When the first ray of sunlight had started to return, creeping in past the cloth parts of the Great Tarp, Revali finally mustered the courage to check that the Hylian was truly just sleeping. He crept over towards the crate, half expecting to be ambushed but instead couldn’t help but be amused by the sight. It had curled up like a wolf, its strange arms wrapping around itself for warmth. Like that, separated from the rest of the herd, it seemed harmless. 

Still, his mind was cast back to the battle, the one where he met Quill. Everything had happened so fast. But he remembered the face lying at the bottom of the crate. It was certainly the same one that had parried Helmaroc’s arrow, sending blue sparks up into the air. Such an ability… 

Revali tossed a blanket over the top of the crate. At least he could pretend the problem wasn’t there. Ensuring he had privacy, he unwound the wraps around his chest, wincing at how the winding motion forced him to flex his wings. New feathers were starting to grow in on them and the scar running along the bone was completely sealed. It didn’t stop the constant ache, it was nothing too bad, he told himself; now that a full stomach wasn’t a rarity, it was near bearable. 

Revali sighed, distracting himself from the troubles lurking in his mind by gently preening at his now-freed chest feathers. Like most Rito, they were smaller than those sprawled along the rest of his body and fluffed up, bursting with warmth. A twinge of an unexplainable emotion coursed through him as he glanced towards the twigs and pebbles and that damned earth-cloud that had got him into this mess, stuck harbouring a Hylian of all things. Was it guilt, shame, or something entirely different? 

Part of him was overcome with an urge to toss it all away, grab some spears and sharpen them as expected of him. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Well then he’d just keep it hidden, he decided firmly, brushing away any temptation. He carefully draped the old wrap along the wood beams of his- whatever the proper name was for where he was staying. (It was certainly too soon to call it a ‘home’) 

After tying the ends of it up so it wouldn’t drift away, he untied the wrap that had been hanging there since the day prior. If he had it his way, he would prefer to have at least four wraps for hygeines sake but he saw no other option than allowing Quill to take two of his. So for now, letting one air at a time would have to do. Wrapping the new one back around his body was an automatic movement, he had learnt how to do it rather efficiently though it certainly wasn’t impressive to look at. Like everything, it was a self-taught skill. 

Leaving the Hylian was risky: it could sneak off at any moment. But it wasn’t as if he could just stay in here either, he had to pull his weight or who knows how this flock would react. The choice was between acting clueless that a Hylian had snuck in or being kicked out. Maybe ‘choice’ was the wrong word. 

Casting the curtain acting as a door aside, Revali was instantly met with the early morning bustle. Even the youngest of chicks were awake, eagerly uselessly flapping their wings about. Restlessness had come to fill the gap in the air that the wind had left. The lack of bristle in his feathers had his beak gritted and it was clear as day that it had the rest of the flock agitated too; everyone was starting to glare at each other more and he overheard gossip that Helmaroc already broke a fight apart. 

Revali could only hope that Helmaroc wasn’t also on a shorter fuse than usual. Ever since he somehow managed to catch up with the flock mid-migration (he’d been a heaving, pathetic mess), Helmaroc was sure to keep him close by. The natural assumption was that he didn’t trust Revali to be left alone for too long. It made too much sense for Revali to be bitter about it, an outcast Rito managing to adapt to another flock's winds was a concept deemed ludicrous, to say the least. 

And that didn’t even take into account that he near-instantly understood their melodies. But now he wasn’t the only one in that regard, he thought, spotting Quil. The whites of his feathers were like a splotch in comparison to the colourful canvas of feathers making their way past him. He’d understood them perfectly though there was something odd about the way he spoke. There was a sharpness to his tone that nobody else quite had, perhaps it was a quirk of his old flock.

It didn’t seem right to ask, Revali knew how much it would hurt to be reminded of those who had abandoned him. 

“Well, you’re certainly a quick learner.” Revali trilled. 

Quill turned to meet him with a confused expression on his face.

“Your wraps”, Revali specified. In truth, they were in an even worse state than his own but he was surprised the young Rito had even managed to get them to stay on, “You’re still bumbling in all other regards.” He added jokingly though, in response, Quill shirked away.

“Er. Thanks.” Quill replied stilted, keeping his head lowered before awkwardly stuttering out, “How are um- how are things going with the Hylians? I- I saw they’d settled awfully close.”

The feathers forming Revali’s brow furrowed, watching a bead of sweat form itself on Quill’s forehead. “Don’t you worry yourself about that.” He said firmly, wanting to make it clear that he was too new to be privy to a real answer. 

Quill said more confidently, “But it is something to worry about- are they planning anything?”

Revali instantly noticed how passers-by glanced their way, unappreciative at being reminded of the impending danger lurking outside.

“Quill, I mean it. Look-” Revali paused briefly, trying to formulate the right words, “I don’t know what your old flock was like but you’re safe here.”

“Why wouldn’t I have been safe with my old flock-?” Quill asked, Revali interpreted the glint in his eye as being defensive.

“Well, I don’t know- gah there’s no point pecking and plucking at the past like this. Go on and get some breakfast.” Revali replied, eager to end the conversation before it morphed into an argument, he pointed his wing in the right direction. 

“I- fine… Aren’t you coming too?”

“No, he won’t be.” Helmaroc’s voice broke through, mighty as ever, “He has work to be tending to, now run along and eat, then I expect you to find work of your own to take up.” He commanded, his head held high.

Quill didn’t dare rebuttal this time, meekly nodding his head before quickly heading for the direction Revali had pointed in him. Helmaroc was letting Quill leave. Revali paused. Did Helmaroc trust Quill? Did that mean that he didn’t trust Revali? 

He looked up at the Cheiftan as if expecting him to read his mind and reassure him. All Helmaroc did was turn and walk away, no longer having to tell Revali to follow him.

Chapter Text

Link dreamt of a glowing light, beckoning him onwards. In his first few seconds of consciousness, he thought it to be something of significance, a sign of sorts. Opening his eyes, he realised it was nothing more than the high sun, blurred by the cloth surrounding the Rito nest. That’s where he had concluded he was at least. It was the only logical option, given the relentless cacophony of bird songs. He had woken up to find a blanket laid over him, probably having fallen in failure to keep the crate hidden. 

Its intended purpose didn’t matter to his trembling teeth though. He wrapped the blanket tightly around himself and curled his body up as small as he could, wondering how under Hylia’s Light he would survive another frigid night. 

Nobody came into the room, apparently, this Rito wasn’t very popular. It tracked, people- or birds, he supposed- that talked to themselves tended to be loners. The orchestra of hustle and bustle eventually became little more than a vague background buzz. Oddly, Link was nearly able to relax. But that didn’t make him bold enough to try and leave the crate. 

So he stayed put, trying to find anything to pass the time. Patting his pockets down revealed that the only thing in his possession was his ocarina. Zelda would be disappointed, she wouldn't get to hear him play it for a long while, maybe ever. He frowned, wondering if anybody would notice his absence. His father would assume that he was purposefully avoiding him after the parry incident, Zelda probably didn’t care all that much and- and that was it. Nobody else even knew him as anything other than Dato’s punching bag. 

To this day he couldn’t piece together why Dato seemed to hate him so much. The reason didn’t matter anymore though, the second Link laid eyes on that bokoblin-dancer, he was gonna knock his lights out in front of all those gullible idiots that followed him around like he was some kind of hero. 

Actually, first, he would try and find food- but punching Dato would remain an utmost priority. His stomach growled with an emptiness that panged with the reminder of how his last meal was now in the forest soil. He allowed himself to roll from his side onto his back, staring at the ‘ceiling’. Hylian descriptives barely seemed applicable here, it was all far too foreign. His hand absentmindedly fell to his stomach, clutching to it as if it would otherwise run away. His only hope was that the Rito would have the sense to bring him something to eat. But then again, perhaps Rito ate something entirely different to Hylians. 

Yes, that would be a nice thing to think about. Link knew a lot about birds, it was one of the things he’d filled his mind with back in his childhood when he had nothing but time to spare. Of course, as a mute, adults had decided for him that it was best he didn’t bother to try to attend school. His father tried his best to make up for it, borrowing as many books from the library as the librarian would deem acceptable. Link could remember being taught by her too. She was vague in his mind, more a collation of shapes than his mother. But he could make her out if he closed his eyes tight enough, his small hand brushing through her long, soft hair. That part of his life seemed entirely separate from who he was now, there was before the forest and after the forest: a young oblivious boy and Link as he was now. 

In a way then, birds were a bridge between those two times. Birds were always there for him to stare at outside his window, even when they migrated for hibernation, he would spot a robin weakly chirping as it scavaged for food. They never did like the birdseed Link would leave out for them. Maybe that was what Rito ate, it was the first option that popped into Link’s mind. But no, those types of birds had smaller more stubbly beaks. The dark blue Rito- it was yet to tell Link its name, if it even had one- bore a long beak that ever so slightly curled into a sharp end. It wasn’t dissimilar to a sword, ready to slice through its foes. Meat, then. Link gulped, suddenly realising the impending doom that could befall him if the flock suffered through a famine. 

It would be a surefire way to dispose of him, it could claim it had captured him like a huntsman would capture a doe. Or maybe more like a lobster- he’d be cooked alive. This was a silly thought to think, Link’s sense echoed to him yet he couldn’t help but keep imagining all the various ways that he may never return from Rito Hive. His chest tightened and breath hissed out of him as if his throat were constricting, overflowing with panic. His body crunched into a tight ball, overcome with a sudden urge to flee for his life only for it to be choked down by fear of being seen. 

Rito were birds. They had eyes on each side of their head- they could see better than Hylians, surely. And when they’re flying they’d have to be able to hear each other so maybe that was another advantage they had over him. The growling of Link’s stomach cemented in him that trying to be stealthy wasn’t an option.

Did he even need to though? For some strange reason, the Rito seemed keen to harbour him, desperate even. He tried his best to recall the day prior: clouded by exhaustion. Before he could though, a curtain draped over the entrance to the room rustled. Link dived back into the crate, covering himself in the blanket and becoming as still as the statues of the royal gardens. Even his breath was too scared to quicken, refusing to leave the safety of his throat. 

The rustling continued, and then he heard steps, talons hitting against the floor, slow and heavy.

“It’s me… Oh don’t tell me you’ve tried to run off like some headless ostrich-” 

Before Link could muster it in himself to be offended, he shot upright, surprisingly relieved to be greeted by the familiar voice of the Rito. It stumbled backwards in reaction, nearly dropping the two fish it was hauling in. It seemed dishevelled, its feathers were ruffled and its body shivering, soaking wet. 

“Don’t scare me.” It said airily, catching its breath. When it was quiet like that, Link could make out a whistling hidden amongst its words. It wasn’t high and frenzied like the last night, lower and ever so slightly calmer now.

Apologetically, Link tried his best to give an olive branch of a smile but couldn’t pry his eyes from the fish.  The Rito sighed, keeping an eye on Link as it crouched down. It started to clear away a small clear patch of floor and Link took the opportunity to tentatively climb out of the crate.

For a split second, he froze as the Rito’s attention fully fixated on him, as if forgetting that he wasn’t bound to the crate. There was a pause, tension deciding whether or not it should settle in the air only to be dissipated by the Rito hesitantly speaking up, “Yes I suppose you do need to stretch… Just stay on that half.”

Link nodded and felt the relief of his joints cracking and bending and stretching and finally having some semblance of freedom again only to stiffen as he remembered the eyes pinned onto him.

“You really can’t speak?” It asked sceptically.

So it still didn’t believe him. Link didn’t even try to deign it with any more than a resigned huff.

“Fine, sit down.” It ordered, holding out a roasted fish to him.

Usually, Link was never one for listening to commands- his hunger, however, was not so prideful. The meal was nothing much, a single fish roasted over a fire yet he was overcome with a silent gratitude for Hylia’s grace to gift him with such sustenance. The Rito ate a near identical fish and ate with an alarmingly similar fervour, not bothering to try to dry itself off. 

The fish’s bland taste was hardly noticeable and pure relief was enough to overpower the confirmation that Rito did indeed eat meat. After what seemed like an instant flash of time Link was prying scraps of fish off the bone, refusing to let any of it go to waste. The Rito’s beak was more effective than his nimble fingers; it had already finished and moved onto collecting any stray bones left behind by its own fish. 

“I’ve got enough fish for you to have some tomorrow as well. After that, I suppose I may share some of my meal with you.”

Link glanced up sceptically, what in Hylia’s name did it mean by ‘may’? Surely it wouldn’t leave him to starve, would it? His teeth gritted in frustration, unable to seek out answers. 

“And I’ll try to get you something warmer to wear as well.” It continued, unbothered by the worry on Link’s face, “I have to work on the tarp tomorrow, I should be able to slip away a bit of a woolly rhino pelt if I’m careful about it. It wouldn’t do either of us very good if you froze to death. The others would notice the smell.”

At this, Link could only grimace. But then, the Rito started talking again- Goddesses above, why did it talk so much? 

“Then there’d be the issue of disposing of you. And with that parry you did, I’m sure the Hylians at the very least would spot your absence, even if they didn’t spot your limp body floating in the waters below, they’d probably be glad to accuse us without even the slightest bit of evidence!”

So that’s why it was hiding him: it didn’t want a war. It was an obvious worry, the Rito would deem Link a spy, and the Hylians would call the Rito kidnappers. 

The Rito wasn’t talking to him so much as vocalising internal thoughts, Link didn’t mind it though, the information was useful. Part of Link couldn’t help but amuse himself by imagining all the different things he’d interject with if he could speak. 

“I shouldn’t be talking to you…”

“No no, go on- I mean, you probably will anywa-”

“Really I shouldn’t even be able to talk to you at all!” It seemed baffled, absent-mindedly fiddling with a fish bone. 

“Yeah, I was wonderin’ about that too. You’re a bird. Birds shouldn’t be able to make ‘th’ noises, it doesn’t make any sense!” In his head, Link had a rural Hateno accent like Aryll. In reality, he just furrowed his eyebrows. 

The Rito finally paused, maybe it was out of breath, and stared at Link as if contemplating whether to continue before letting out an indignant sigh, 

“I suppose if I tell you all this and you somehow manage to fly the coop back to your own people, you can knock some sense into those metal-skulled warriors of yours.”

“Goddesses, do you like to blabber or what? Metal skulled- oh Hylia, do you think the armour is part of our body?!”

“What are you snickering about-”

Link quickly recalled his surroundings and let the smirk drop back into the abyss of anxiety. It would be stupid to let his guard down. But still, there was something that kept on making him relax. It was probably for the same reason he liked Zelda- talking to someone his age was such a rarity that it didn’t matter whether they had a crown or feathers. 

Even paranoia couldn’t long impede what Link could only fear would be an all-too-long explanation of something irrelevant. 

“We Rito have many feathers under our hat compared to you one-trick Hylians. We speak two languages. The melodies- well those aren’t any of your business; the more important one is the Ancestral. It’s the one we carry with us from the lands we originally came from and lo and behold, you can understand it.”

The Rito flashed Link with a look that he could only guess was expectantly waiting for some shocked realisation. When Link didn’t offer much reaction, the Rito rolled its eyes. 

“And you say that we’re the bird-brained ones. This is the flock’s motherland! Don’t you see? Rito never nest in the same place twice let alone get stuck in it- it has to mean something and I refuse to let it culminate in a war with people that were once these Ritos’ fellows!”

A Rito flock from Hyrule? It was preposterous. But then again, it accounted for the inconsistencies, the reason that its Hylian sounded so old was because it was just that; they’d been gone for who knows how long, of course, the dialect would’ve changed since! Maybe this wasn’t so useless. Link committed the tidbits he could pull from the new information to memory. 

Firstly, Hyrule was an ancestral home to the Rito and nobody else had realised it- after all, the two sides hadn’t even attempted to converse, let alone notice their similarities. Secondly, this Rito referred to the flock like it wasn’t its own, perhaps its loyalty could be swayed. And thirdly, in all likelihoods, the ‘melodies’ were those whistles that Link kept hearing tucked away amidst the Hylian. It was hard to believe that it could be a language. It didn’t sound like much other than how someone would beckon for their horse. There was a sweetness to it though, like music… Like a…

The Rito was too busy muttering to itself to notice Link’s dumbfounded expression as he again felt for the ocarina tucked safely in his pocket. The odds of it working were low, maybe the Rito would be offended and cast him out to face the wrath of its leader. Or maybe… Maybe Link would be able to talk. His breath bated and his hands fumbled, tugging the ocarina out of his pocket. 

The Rito darted backwards and froze, trying to decipher what Link was trying to do.

His hands were shaking. It was a blessing he hadn’t dropped it yet. All of it was a blessing: that he even had the ocarina, that the Rito had a musical language, that he wasn’t dead or stranded or that he’d ever even escaped the woods all those years ago. But now all that there was was the ocarina being brought up to his mouth.

And a single note. 

It was long, quiet, nervous and shaky yet resolute and stubborn and desperate and pleading, pleading for a voice after all these years. 

The Rito cocked its head to the side. Link abandoned the note, instead staring in terrified anticipation. 

“...I knew you were lying. You do talk.” It exclaimed quietly though in place of arrogance was a tentative smile and ruffled feathers. 

For the first time, Link didn’t try to retreat when it took a step closer. And something in the Rito’s eyes softened in what could only be a signal of newfound allyship. What was it that Link had said? He was clueless but for some reason, it didn’t even cross his mind to think about it; the Rito completely clouded his brain. Link wasn’t afraid, he could tell now that he didn’t need to be. No matter how ludicrous it seemed, he was safe.

“It is… okay to be meeting you. I am Revali.” The words may have been stilted but the melody was something else entirely. Serene, hesitant, hopeful. 

There was hope for this. 

Chapter Text

One swift strike did the job. Body sent clumsily tumbling down, hitting the ground with a harsh, unforgiving thud.

Even here they were merciless. They would be ravenous let loose, held back only by the leash of allyship.

There wasn’t a moment where their eyes weren’t roving and wandering away from what should’ve been their focus. Scouring for approval, they seemed starved, desperate.

In a strange way, that only made Zelda feel more powerful. It made her want to pull her usual pleasant smile far out of their grasp and leave their hands scrambling for swords and any other tool they thought would impress her.

She wasn’t particularly sure why she was watching; she’d never been expected to watch the knights train before, let alone the rookies. In her mind, she was nothing more than a distraction, a pretty decoration to test their focus on war but of course, they were ruled by the thrill of a girl.

A girl with a crown. A girl with a crown who would marry a man and bestow upon him her kiss, love, power and kingdom and then they would live happily ever after as man, woman and crown. The hardest part about watching these thoughts and dreams drive the knights forward was holding back her scoff.

Even in the army, they were far too low a status. It would barely be any different to her marrying a stable hand like Link. That too, drew out emotion. Marrying Link- ridiculous! It was that kind of bizarre, impossible, crazy thing that conjured laughter and the need to ridicule it. At the very least it was entertaining, imagining herself in a beautiful wedding dress with a husband even half as pathetic as any of the boys here.

Finding her eyes drifting away from the knights, she sighed and forced her eyes back to them. By now, they were panting, and their metal armour seemed slick with sweat and an odour that she could only describe as decay. Surely, they would stop sometime soon. Risking it, she darted her gaze at Captain Hyatia who was examining the knights’ every move with a frigid, unforgiving glare.

Still noticing Zelda, she subtly grunted in contemplation, her lips probably too chapped from hours of nothing more than stoic silence.  Arms crossed; it was impossible to tell what Captain Hyatia was thinking. All Zelda knew about her was that her family were crippled by poverty. Some said she was originally sold to the army from one of the small settlements yet to be properly policed. Regardless of the truth, she was the first female captain and the first woman to be widely recognised as a vessel of courage rather than wisdom.

She wasn’t allowed to be defined by power; it was an unspoken rule. Most would say she should feel blessed to be deemed a vessel in the first place, for women, that was a privilege reserved to the high priestesses and Zelda herself: apart from Hyatia, there were only four women vessels, all of whom were of wisdom.

Another factor that constantly tried to crush her resolve was jealous men. For them, the only way to be a vessel of power was to be of extraordinarily high rank in the military. Being a male vessel was a surefire way to secure a strong reputation and soar up the social ladder and it was one of the rarest vessels because it required surviving at least fifteen years of service. Thereby, Hyatia became a barrier, blocking the valuable stepping stone of ‘Captain’ in their race to the top.

Sometimes, Zelda would feel just enough courage to bubble up inside her to attempt to ask Hyatia how in Hylia’s name she had made it so far. But she never dared ask. Having knowledge was dangerous, she was terrified of receiving an answer that would forever shatter the pride she felt for the captain.

“You are dismissed, Princess,” Hyatia spoke firmly, only acknowledging Zelda with a slight bow of the head.

Snapping out of her deliberation, Zelda blinked in surprise before meekly nodding and standing and curtsying and finally excusing herself, scurrying away with footsteps so light she may as well have been floating.

She knew exactly where she wanted to go, she’d been anticipating it for the entire day: the forest. Wading her way past branches and skirting over high patches of grass, she carefully searched, unsure of when she would stumble on what she was after.

The scent of the wilderness swallowed her. Pollen scattered the air, emanating from flowers of every hue, petals all sprawled out despite their harsh surroundings. A coat of silence dampened the surrealness of it all as her feet sunk into the thick carpet of snow, still pure white and only now being trodden.

That stirred a subtle panic within her that she had stumbled upon the wrong forest, yet she committed herself to the choice, pushing herself further into the thicket. The branches became wilder, and longer, drooping down and blocking her way and becoming harder to push past. It did not take long for the grass to consume the flowers, straw-like and half-dead.

The silence took on an eerie persona, leaving her feeling unsettled and unsafe, like anything could be sneaking up on her and she would be clueless. It would not be the first time that a Yiga assassin made an attempt on a royal’s life.

Just voicing their name made a pit of despair form in her stomach, remembering just how much danger they boasted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge as if expecting these thoughts to curse her luck, for the Gerudo-based Yiga to somehow appear, landing down and sending snow flying with their blade.

If she hadn’t found the horses, she surely would have given into her paranoia and fled.

They were each secured to a tree with a rope in the closest thing to a clearing that the forest had. There was no safer place to keep them, here it would be unlikely for an intruder to happen upon them and set them loose, rendering the Hylians with no way of making it back home in a rush.

Cautiously, Zelda stuck her hand out towards one, breath bated with uncertainty of how it would react. To her relief, it rested its forehead flat against her hand and softly snorted, conjuring a smile on her face and ridding her of worry. Making sure not to dirty her coat, she kept some distance though could not resist petting the chocolate brown stallion.

Like all army horses, its mane was in one tight plait so it couldn’t interfere with the rider’s combat. She was tempted to undo it and adorn its ebony mane with the flowers she had seen but decided not to, worried Link would be blamed for it.

Right, that’s why she was here: Link.

It had been a couple of days since he snuck into her tent, and she thought coming to find him now wouldn’t seem too desperate. In truth, she had been excitedly waiting to hear his ocarina. She couldn’t give a valid reason why; it seemed to be something more innate.

For her entire life, she always loved music. Echoes of her mother playing the piano rung through her as she let out a sullen, resigned sigh. But music didn’t have to remind her of the pain of loss, it could bring joy, she hadn’t felt it to do so in a long time, but she had hope that Link would break this streak.

In particular, the ocarina was a rare instrument to come across. Many of the elite musicians claimed it was too basic and not classical enough, but it was also complicated enough that it took a lot of practice to play. She couldn’t remember the last time she heard someone play it, it was probably when she was touring across Central Hyrule.

Curiosity was what had brought her here, then. Curiosity about what you could play with an ocarina and curiosity on Link. He looked after the horses and nobody seemed to bother to pay him visits so this seemed the best place to find him alone, where he could follow through on his promise.

So, she waited. At first, she passed the time petting the horses, they all seemed rather fond of the attention. After a while, her legs started to ache but sitting would mean dirtying her clothes, so she settled on pacing back and forth. Then, some more time passed but she was sure he would show up, he had to, right? She tried to distract herself by fiddling with the buttons of the snow-white coat; it was so fluffy that it made her seem as small as a daisy in comparison. Still, its softness wasn’t enough to satisfy her tiredness. One stain would be fine, surely. Decisively, she allowed herself to lean against a tree.

The clouds drifted far enough to be replaced by entirely new ones, forming ambiguous shapes that could be seen as just about anything. Doubt clambering back into the pit of her stomach, Zelda’s hope began to waver.

Perhaps Link was purposefully evading her, there wasn’t any other reason that he would ignore his duty to the horses. Another sigh escaped her as it dawned upon her that she could not wait any longer. He had not come. She would not hear the ocarina.

Defeated, she permitted herself a frown and trudged back towards the encampment with a newfound uncertainty about where she stood with Link. 

———

Hyatia was a disciplined woman, one of the strongest warriors Arn had ever had the pleasure of meeting. His nervousness was only to be expected then. It was unheard of for her to cut practice short yet there she was, dismissing the princess and then the knights and then approaching him. Her stature exuded her might and a regal air that Arn had spent years trying to imitate. 

“Captain Arn,” She greeted with a brief nod but allowed for no more formalities, removing the red-feathered helmet from her head, “Where is that boy?”

“Forgive me, Captain Hyatia, which are you-” He was cut off. This was too informal, her brashness was instilling unease in him by the second.

“The one who did the parry. You may be new but I know you know how important this is. A boy with no training managing to evoke the royal blue sparks-” She checked nobody else was lingering nearby and whispered, “What if he is King Rhoam’s champion?”

Swallowing down bubbling panic, Arn spat out, “Captain- we must think through this carefully. We know that the champion will be a vessel and that boy-” He mustered the same mutterings nobles had once said about him, “He is nothing more than some farmer’s boy. The Goddess must’ve willed the Ritos’ defeat, it was a mere random luck.”

She didn’t believe it. Of course, she didn’t. No, she bore a spiteful glare at Arn that reminded him far too much of Aryll. “Arn, I came from a begging family myself yet here I stand, a vessel ranked above you. Do not tell me that he is ‘nothing more’ than his lineage.” She turned, she probably would’ve punched him if she didn’t, and stormed away.

Relief washed over Arn. She wouldn’t find Link, he reached him first. Scolding his boy for saving a life was… It was necessary. At least now Arn could be sure Link would keep their promise properly from now on. That and, the boy wouldn’t let himself be seen by Hyatia or even anywhere near Arn for however long until people forgot about that blasted parry. 

It was necessary, he told himself, already yearning to hug his children.

Chapter Text

Link sat with his knees curled up against his chest. It wasn’t so much for warmth, the cold was much less of a problem, thanks to the woolly rhino pelt that Revali had attached a string to so it wouldn’t keep falling off. In the days since he had revealed his ocarina, the two boys had a new calmness. 

There was a routine now; they’d wake up, Revali would go to do whatever the Rito chief bidded and then, when he finally returned (usually in the evening), their lessons would begin. It started out basic, centred around teaching Link how to speak the melodies. There were no words to memorise, no grammar to struggle over. No, the melodies were pure emotion, sometimes their meanings weren’t even clear, it was simply the expression of the innate. 

At first, that had frustrated Link. He’d thought that speech would mark the death of misunderstandings, that it would somehow be the solution to all of his problems. But he wasn’t unwilling to settle for the melodies with each day he only further anticipated being able to speak to Revali. 

Timing perfect, the curtains of their room parted, like always, Link hid in the crate just to be safe. And like always, there was no need. 

“Just me,” Revali reassured. 

Link replied with a handful of notes from the ocarina, “ Greetings, concern, curiosity ”

“My day was fine.” Revali started, pausing until Link nodded and confirmed it was his question, “Helmaroc had me making bundles of arrows again… And chopping down trees when we ran out of wood… and also opening the hatch and making sure that the food supplies got to the fledglings.” He dwindled off at the end, somewhat exasperated but quickly gathered his bearings again, “But of course, it was nothing but menial work. He’ll see my combat capability one day and see that he was foolish for not having me charge into battle with him sooner!”

At that declaration, Revali tilted his head up to the sky with pride and Link tried his best not to think about who exactly that battle would be against. His loyalties were bound to the Hylians, to serving his Kingdom, to protecting his family. But, for those hours when Revali was out working, Link would sit against the wall and listen to the Rito outside. The bustling of footsteps, the hooting of children and the thrum of society. It was so much like Hateno and at the same time somehow maintaining the dismal aura of Castle Town.

The Rito would weave an orchestra of daily jostlings that would make Link’s memories of Castle Town sound no different to a toddler having discovered a drum. But then he would look up at that tarp that hid the only people who cared about him out of sight and he suddenly felt like a scared little boy again.

“For a creature of flesh, your feathers are all in a frazzle,” Revali spoke as bluntly as he always did, allowing his concern to carry in his melody.

None of the Rito seemed so fond of centring sayings around their bird-like nature. Link thought it to be a nice act, after all, under all of his self-declared prowess and demand for admiration, Revali was willing to poke fun at himself regardless. Or maybe he thought Rito were so supreme that he refused to accommodate Hylians in his language choice. He really needed to stop being so quick to trust the Rito. 

There was just something about Revali. In a way, he was the Link of the Rito. That same familiar pang of loneliness was evident on his brow whenever someone brushed by the door curtain and his head spun to it only to realise nobody was coming in. That constant hope that he never voiced and always went unanswered. It was a perfect mirror image of the days Link spent cooped up in the stables on days the knights had off.

“Well?” Revali snapped him out of his thoughts. 

Link lifted the ocarina to his lips, keeping in mind that, no matter how much he felt he could, he shouldn’t be trusting. These were strangers, creatures; Hylians were also creatures, but for some reason, that was irrelevant.

“Homesick.” He kept it short, thinking that it would be a believable excuse. Revali wouldn’t know that nobody would miss Castle Town. 

 “Oh… Right.” Revali seemed taken aback like he hadn’t expected Link to miss home.

Did he not trust him? Even if it was pushing his luck, Link wanted to ask. For some reason, the idea of Revali not trusting him hurt. How hypocritical. 

Before he could ask though, there was a swish of the curtain and Link dove into his crate as Revali scrambled to put the lid back on. 

“Revali.” A voice boomed. Link could only assume it was someone asking to enter but the might it exuded made the request seem more like a command, a warning. 

“Yes, Sir.” Revali seemed to be hushing a nervous whistle as much as he could.

Luckily, Link had the foresight to poke a hole in the box to avoid suffocation. It was as nondescript as possible yet just big enough for Link to still be able to see and hear peeks of the outside world. 

The curtain swooshed open, heavy footsteps entered the room. 

“You’re still whistling to yourself, then?”

“I’m sorry Sir-” Link tensed. Revali sounded frightened, his whistle rendered little more than a whisper of wind. Hearing it sent a chill up Link’s spine.

The other Rito must have cut him off. Huddled at the bottom of the crate, Link couldn’t see much other than bright vivid tails of green, sprouting from navy feathers not dissimilar from Revali’s.

“I understand that you will still have quirks from your previous flock. Tell me, what was the title of their Heavenly Gale?”

“The Labrynnan Winds, Sir.” 

There was a pause and when the strange voice finally replied, it was stilted but was quick to regain its strength, “Ah- That flock… Yes, they are quite different from our own.”

“You’re familiar with them?” Revali asked, surprised enough to forget his formalities.

“Vaguely.” The Rito’s whistle had taken on an oppressive quality, forcing a change in topic. “But the Labrynnans are not what I’m here to discuss. Your wing, has it been healing?”

“Yes Sir. The feathers are regrowing properly.”

“Still fledgling feathers?”

“... Yes.”

“And the pain?”

“It’s- bearable.”

The clinking of talons and the neon green vanishing from his view implied that the Rito was circling Revali. It was just out of Link’s field of view but he imagined a scene alike to a wolf circling a fawn. 

“...Have you been eating all of your meals?”

Even from within the crate, Link could hear the nervous gulp that squeaked out of Revali. They should have thought of this, he’d been giving a fair amount of his portion to Link but neither of them imagined someone paying enough attention to Revali’s stature to notice. 

Perhaps the Goddess was still favouring Link (he’d been hoping his recent stroke of bad luck signalled she’d turned her gaze to another) because the Rito didn’t bother to properly wait for Revali to answer.

“You certainly are in a better state than when you first arrived. Perhaps it was irrational to think you’d reach a proper weight eating a regular portion…” That deafening aura of might was suppressed by a new contemplative tone.

“I’m- sorry- it won’t get in the way of my tasks-” Revali forced his stutters out, his whistle gaining volume and panic. 

There was no way that the other Rito wasn’t in a position of authority. It whistled a single calming note and Revali’s whistle instantly ceased. “Keep your head. This was an oversight on my part, I will increase your rations.”

“I- thank you Sir but there’s no need, I have no wish to take from the flock-”

“You aren’t trying to go against an order, are you? Need I remind you that your place here in this flock is not guaranteed.”

In response to the silence, Link dared angle his head to get a better view. Revali was fervently shaking his head in a ‘no’. The Rito, now that Link could finally see him, was towering over Revali. Link’s heart dropped at the realisation that it was the same one who had been shooting arrows like a madman. 

It was only made worse at the revelation of his sheer size: that a Rito could grow so large made Link’s faith in the Hylian army dwindle. War would devastate both sides. Even Revali seemed afraid of him, like he was going to throw up if the conversation continued a moment longer. Thank Hylia, then, that the looming figure left, its agendas here fulfilled. 

Once the curtain stopped swaying, Revali took a deep gasp for breath, instantly moving towards the crate to lug the lid off. He held onto the wooden sides for support, his head tilted down towards Link as if needing to check that he truly hadn’t been found.

“Okay?” He asked, blowing into the ocarina as little as possible, not wanting to risk anyone nearby hearing two voices. 

“Y- Yeah. It takes more than that to get my feathers in a muddle.” Revali replied though his face was unable to match his words, contorted into a widened, confused stare.

“Danger?”

“What?” After a few blinks to recompose himself, Revali made sense of what Link meant, “No, that was Helmaroc, the Cheif. He isn’t dangerous- to me, at least.”

“Panic?”

“He just makes me nervous- I’m still not truly a part of the flock. But it’s unlikely that he’ll actually kick me out, he needs all the wings he can get right now.” 

The reassurance gave Link pause. So it was true that Revali wasn’t from this flock. So he hadn’t been raised loyal to them- in fact, he was disloyal enough to leave his original people. There was still hope, then. When he looked back at Revali, he found his gaze roving over Link as if trying to figure out what he was thinking.

No, it was too early to try and have him shift allegiances. Vocabulary too limited, he put the ocarina down and simply blew at Revali’s face. His breath caused a soft ripple of the feathers on his crest, the motion gave Link the strange urge to shiver. Revali also seemed oddly dumbfounded at the gesture. With Link still sitting in the crate and Revali hunched over it, their faces had gotten the closest they had yet. So close that Link could notice the little bobs of Revali’s head as he breathed in and out and the detail of his feathers- like a tapestry belonging to the palace.

They stared at each other some more before Revali realised the breath had been an attempt at communication.

“...Huh?” He blinked a couple more times, he was still dazed and recovering from the panic of Helmaroc surprising him. “Oh- the winds?”

Link nodded meekly, eyes stuck on Revali’s. They really were as vivid as a rupee, with that same sparkle as well. Now though, they struck him more as a forest, a reminder of the horses left unattended just outside. Of the fawns that would be taking their first steps into Hateno forest. Suddenly, homesickness was no longer a lie. Biting his lip, Link tried and failed to quell his thoughts rushing in. 

How much he hated the whites of the Hebra region. It was dressed up for a funeral, biding for the time to mourn. He missed being able to look out a window whenever he was feeling alone and knowing that somewhere just over the horizon was their farm and little cottage. Would he ever collect firewood again? Castletown always seemed to be in surplus of it. If his secret got out, he would have to stay there- they wouldn’t risk him going back home. 

Or maybe he’d just die. He didn’t like death being so close: he much preferred it being a distant construct that he was too young to need to fear. Waiting for death, marching into its grasp every day simply for a kingdom’s glory- that sounded like Hell.

Revali must’ve noticed the way his gaze hardened and his breath bated, even Link knew he wasn’t hiding his overwhelming sense of dread properly. Yet he chose to ignore it, “I never even thought that you wouldn’t know of the significance of the winds. You Hylians truly are so ignorant of the nature of our being in this world.”

Torn, Link didn’t know whether to appreciate Revali brushing over him. The logical part of his mind, voiced by his father, told him it was wise to minimise discussing his weaknesses but his heart wanted nothing more than a hug to cry into. As much as he hated it, it remained voiced by his mother, the woman who would stroke his hair whenever he’d taken a nasty fall. To think that she left Hateno so easily but refused to vacate his innermost self; it made sense, she’d tried to take him then too, after all. That’s right, the heart was irrational- endangering the very people it sought to protect, to glorify. 

“The winds…” Revali emphasised pointedly until Link focused his attention away from her and back on him, 

“Every Rito tribe has their own sacred wind that they share a divine connection with. And they follow that wind, wherever it may go.” His voice was so calm, the whistle flittering between worry, tranquillity and the same panic as before, “To not follow the wind is to not be a Rito, we’re connected to our winds from birth, you see. The more spiritual would say that the winds guide us to boons of luck and all the resources we could ever need but… Sometimes it leads us to famine too, hardship, war.”

He paused, only briefly. “But of course, such things are no threat for the mighty Rito! No, we’re far too headstrong to abandon the winds for something so trivial as safety.”

Link stared up at him, at some point, he’d sunk further into the crate until he was near lying down. Laying there, he took in the thinly veiled bitterness in Revali’s voice. The sky must have grown darker as he found himself relying solely on the dim light of the lantern hanging in the centre of the room; it illuminated Revali in the dreary sense of someone about to tell a ghost story at a campfire. But this was all real, Link reminded himself though struggled to believe it- such a sacred bond seemed like a fairytale, a bedtime story. 

Revali’s posture grew more lax as he continued relaying the foundation of Rito culture, and he began to slump further against the crate. “You’ve probably noticed by now though that there is no wind in here. Sure there’s the occasional meagre breeze if you fly far enough towards that castle but it’s certainly nowhere near as graceful as our wind. Its absence has made everyone rather agitated. Winds aren’t meant to go missing, it’s probably the doing of you pesky Hylians.” 

The last bit seemed to be an attempt at a joke that Revali abandoned in favour of a tired sigh. It was impressive that he was only just starting to get tired now with all the work he’d done. 

“Sustained?” Link thought to ask.

“Yes, Helmaroc had me eat with the other Rito today. Maybe he thinks I’ve been wasting food… You ate the leftovers from last night, right?”

Link nodded; the grilled mushroom and woolly rhinoceros was a… strange meal but it served its job of keeping him alive. 

“That’s good… I think I might retire to my hammock.” The unrest stirred by Helmaroc seemed to have finally vacated and in its wake, it lulled him to rest. 

Nodding again, Link watched him trudge to the hammock though he was so graceful it was more of a saunter. Tiredness hadn’t dawned on him yet. It seemed like a natural consequence of spending most of his day in a box. He decided to keep quiet and close his eyes for Revali’s sake though. How strange that this was becoming a routine, that he was finding familiarity from within the heart of the enemy base.

Familiarity and information. He would be heralded if he told the Hylians the reason the Rito were here. They didn’t have a wind to follow. Zelda would know why, she was smart. Even though she didn’t discuss smart things with him very often, he could tell there was a barely concealed intelligence within her, shrouded by her desperation to pray, unlock her powers and prove her ancestry. 

Staring up at the ceiling, Link somehow managed not to return to questions of whether he would ever leave this place. Ultimately then, he was grateful for the distraction Revali provided. He would get on with Zelda, they were both witty even if it were in different ways. They could probably bond over being scared of authority figures, too, Link supposed.

He let the part of him that knew Revali and the part that knew Zelda co-exist in peace. Both halves would make it through this. 

He would make it through this. And maybe, he’d make it through with Revali.

Chapter Text

The hammock did not sway. There was no caring wind to cradle it. Revali lay deathly still. Fatigue had become a regular companion throughout his day and he was eager to return to solitude. What a relief it would be to finally be alone, just him and the Hylian boy. Including him in what Revali considered privacy had become necessary, or else he’d never have a moment’s peace.

Yes, it was necessary.

That was his last thought as he let sleep engulf him; it was just about a good enough distraction from that dastardly conversation with Helmaroc. Of course, he was familiar with the Labrynnan flock, it made perfect sense, and nobody would trust a Rito who had left them. 

How much was Helmaroc judging him based on the Labrynnan way of life? This flock in particular was in stark contrast to them, making Revali’s mother-flock seem even more savage than they were. 

One of the downsides of being rendered alone by sleep was the stripping of his every defence, left unable to do anything against invading memories. 

His home- no, the place he was raised in, flooded his head. ‘Place’ was the wrong word, they never stayed anywhere long; every Paradise lush with bounty would be so rife with life that there was never enough to spare for them. So they would raid, take what they could, feast and dance and delightedly holler and move on to the next. 

But there was never enough. 

“Take what you can, take it from anyone. You are not part of a tribe or a race or a family. You are you and you must take from anyone who is not, do you understand me, Reva?”

No matter how hard his mother tried to hide the innate warmth in her voice, she could never fully expose him to life’s tundra. 

But still, she was glaring at him, half a loaf of bread in her talon. “Take it.”

“But you need to eat-” He hadn’t been able to fathom leaving his mother to starve. 

“And when I am no longer here how will you get your food, Reva?! If you do not learn to take how will you ever be able to care for chicks?!”

“Well, maybe I won’t have chicks!” He yelled out too quickly. He didn’t want to have that conversation with her.

His mother glowered, “You keep your head. Are you trying to get yourself thrown out?!” 

“I have uses other than laying eggs, mam!”

Her face softened and her voice grew quieter as she put her wing to his cheek, “I know you do. Oh, by Din’s light, you’re so talented. But they don’t see that.”

“What if you let me show them I can use a bow?”

“Reva, no! I made you that bow so you’d be able to defend yourself in the worst of cases. If others know of that skill you’ll be a threat. They’ll know you have it in you to take and snuff you out.”

“Or they’d accept me as a hunter.”

“We have no need for more hunters.” She was exasperated. Drowning out his hopes always had been hard. 

“Then I guess there’s no need for me either, is there?!”

The moment he blurted it out his mother didn’t hesitate to slap him.

The two stared at each other in silence. Anger and sadness, a mix of rage and despair. 

A common sight, his mother was the first to take a deep breath in. “Come, let me redo your wraps.”

Obediently, he stepped closer to her and lifted his wings. He barely remembered the way she used to wrap that cloth, it was so different to how he did it now. Instead of simply being wound around the chest, it came at diagonals and had intricate folds. A way to try and create beauty in what was otherwise a rag, he supposed. The main part that he had always hated was how it left the top of his chest feathers exposed. 

They seemed to be the most fledgling-like of all his feathers; ridiculously soft, delicate and fluffy. Left out like that, he could feel the wind rustle them and the warmth that sprouted about from the feathers rubbing together. Warmth wasn’t the only benefit of keeping them out; the wind helped keep them clean too. Preening those feathers never did work, they were so fragile that clumps would come out. 

Nowadays, he didn’t mind yanking them from his skin- the irritation was worth not having to look at them. 

But his mother had been so happy when they’d first started growing in, cooed how her little chick was growing into a fine young girl. A girl. It had been so long since anyone had called him that.  

The day the raid happened. Villages would seek vengeance often, it was nothing new. Revali didn’t know what had gone wrong, it was never knowledge he was privy to. But then there were arrows and swords and blood and he was running to his mother. It was a cacophony of whistles and shrieks, war cries and things so deafening that he couldn’t discern them.

When he finally tossed his way through the crowd to his mother, he found her fighting with another Rito over a bag of food. She was hurt. But it wasn’t spears or gashes from a sword. No, it was beak marks and missing patches of feathers that had been raked out by talons.

He screamed, his voice dampened by the cacophony like an ember smothered in a blanket. Out of all the weapons scattered on the floor he spotted a bow and grabbed it, ignoring the limp hand he had to pry it from. An arrow- embedded in flesh. He ripped it out and pushed down the vomit swimming up him. 

Bowstring pulled taut, his body trembled as he watched his mother draw blood: watched her begin to lose. The arrow went flying, released to spiral through the air. Revali- Reva- barely realised she let it go. Her breath bated, grip tightened on the bow.

The arrow spun and spun and spun and landed. Straight in the eye of the Rito attacking her mother. The joyful trill that escaped Reva’s beak was too quick, too eager to be lethal.

The Rito- her feathers were a bright purple- screamed in pain. Her wing released Reva’s mother to try and pull the arrow free. The blood pooling out of her eye tainted her feathers a muddy brown. 

“Reva, stay back.” Her mam was panting for air as she clambered to her feet.

Why of all times was it then that she listened? Fear. She hadn’t wanted to step any closer and dip her talons in the blood that she was responsible for. The arrow kept plunging deeper into that woman’s eye, Reva didn’t know her name- she didn’t know if there was anyone left alive who did. 

‘No tribe, no race, no family.’ The words drilled themselves into her head. This Rito was just a stranger. No different from the invaders. It was fine. This was what she was meant to do. Take until there is nothing left. Take until even the vultures starve. 

But she hadn’t taken enough.

With a final battle cry, the Rito thrust a dagger and Reva watched her mother buckle at the legs. In those final moments they shared, their eyes remained pinned to each other. Her mother begged her to go and Reva begged her to muster enough strength in her battered wings. 

But it was too late. The Rito flung both herself and Reva’s mother off the flimsy wooden platforms of their den. 

Bodies sent tumbling, the thud too far down to be heard.

Three dead. A mother, a stranger and a little girl. 

Her survival was impossible. Even if she were to live, those feathers on her chest would chase her to her doom. That fate, what had been her mother’s fate… It couldn’t be allowed to pass. 

She found a corner to hide in. Wings working fast, she paid no heed to the splattered blood of others on her feathers. The wraps were ripped off swiftly; she couldn’t allow herself the privilege of keeping their pattern as her mother’s last gift.

Male and female Rito didn’t look all that different, especially the fledglings. It was the little things like the amount of braids, the exposing of chest feathers and the intricacy of a wrap that set them apart. 

It was so much easier as a man- not a boy- a boy would be weak, and would die alongside Reva. All she’d had to do was tightly bind it around in a straight line again and again until it pressed against her ribs and the pain was enough to distract her from being an orphan. And there he was. 

He didn’t have to fight anyone else, he was bloodied enough to make it clear he was no coward. Nobody would think to ask whether he hid. The moon was high and whole when the last of the screams finally thumped into their graves. Invaders and Rito dead, mostly invaders. Snatching the moment, he stepped out, head high, bow round his back. Eyes sharp, predatory: camouflage. 

It worked. He blended in perfectly. The Chief was a different Rito from the morning prior and the headdress was covered in blood but nobody dared question it. 

“Those of you who have survived are marked worthy of migration. Use the bodies to lure food. You men, are hunters. The winds beckon- we move on at dawn.” He looked them all over, testing for any challengers.

“And what of the women?” Reva dared raise his voice, lowering its pitch as much as he could. 

“If they have any sense, they’ll work to bring about the next harvest of eggs or be cast to the wilderness.”

In response to that, the women amongst the small subset of survivors held their fledglings closer and shirked away at the gazes of men. Repopulating was their duty, after all, their only use.

As he loaded her quiver full of arrows and hoisted her bow onto her back, if anybody had asked for her his name, she’d have known exactly what to say. And even though nobody did ask, he whispered it to herself, that first word of freedom: ‘Revali’. 

If he had ever managed to find her body, it would surely be the word to mark his mother’s grave. After all, Revali wouldn’t have dared to exist while she still breathed. It was just to survive. The solemn joy that would swell when he stared at his new self in a lake’s reflection was nothing more than a necessity- just a thing to make it more believable. 

He was only being a boy- man- so he wouldn’t be subjected to the wretched life of a woman. He liked being called ‘he’ solely because it ensured his safety. Chasms would erupt in his stomach at the mere thought of having to live as a ‘she’ again but it was solely practical.

It was just to survive. It was just to survive. No tribe, no race, no family. All that mattered was him -. No. All that really mattered was proving he had a use. That he was a tool, not yet broken or flawed- just wearing a mask and nothing more. 

The lie that his truth was a lie. How the burden of it never engulfed him he didn’t know. It was likely in the same vein of whatever allowed him to persevere past his mam’s death. Adrenaline, instinct, apathy, selfishness; they all mingled together, and, somewhere along the way, construed himself as a monster in his mind’s eye. 

That was good. Monsters could take. He would be the monster. Kill or be killed. Take, or be taken. Live, or join his mother. 

Oh, how he ached for his mother.

He burst into consciousness, clutching at his chest.  

Surrender kinship. Let months blend. Vacate your body, be a spectre watching from above. Be powerless in your ruthlessness. 

The whirlpool of his old life broke the last of his dams. The leak that sprung let memories drip and drip until they had made their way through him. The only relent was the few drops that relinquished themselves to being nothing more than a leak in his eyes.

As if by instinct, he was gasping, trying to cough out water that wasn’t there. It was filling him, drowning him from the inside. But he couldn’t let it keep dripping out in tears. It was weakness- an orphan couldn’t afford weakness. 

He didn’t know how to swim. It wasn’t something a Labrynnan Rito was built for. No no no, a Labrynnan who allows themselves to fall into those tumultuous waters of grief has earned their death, lost the right to live under Din’s fire. But he wasn’t Labrynnan- he escaped.

He fled. Coward. Pioneer: doing what no one else would dare even imagine. Maybe that was the reason the wind wasn’t here anymore, though. Maybe it knew he didn’t belong. Maybe it was refusing to guide him and he would be the reason that they remain sitting ducks for the Hylians to butcher. 

The feeling of flesh on his chest sent his body soaring upright and his wing reaching for the bow he kept tucked in his hammock. That Hylian boy. His hands were on his chest feathers. The wraps must have come loose. 

“Soothe.” It was barely a whistle, he was smart enough not to use that wind instrument so late at night. At most, it could be deemed a huff of air with a slight musical inclination to it. 

So the way it made Revali’s flared crest settle made no sense. It was so dark that he could barely see his face but he could imagine those vivid blues wide open, like a fragment of the sky had managed to invade the cover of the tarp.

“Get your hand off me-” Revali hissed, voice as quiet as the boy’s whisper, “Or you’ll be dead as a dodo.” He tagged on, trying to add a threatening flair to his otherwise shaking voice.

“Soothe. Soaked.” The boy moved his hand and Revali could make out his vague figure gesturing to his tears.

“You needn’t phrase it so crudely-” Revali muttered, protectively pulling his wraps back over his chest feathers and tensing when he felt the hammock sway as the boy tentatively sat on it. 

“Upset?”

“I don’t particularly want to talk about it.” He spat out in reply and ignored the blatant vulnerability in his otherwise terse whistle.

They sat in silence for a moment, Revali wiping away any lingering tears. Judging by the constant shifting of the hammock, the boy seemed like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Names weren’t something that the melodies could convey. It left them still strangers in one of the most basic of forms. Like that Rito… With the purple feathers.

Would Revali be responsible for his death too? Would it be to defend his own? Would anyone care that he died or would his body be left to the maggots?

And the tears were back. It was as if his insides were being flooded and his innards floating up. His entire being drifted to his head which sunk with a newfound heaviness. The boy put his hands on him again. Revali wanted to tell him to stop, but he was the only thing keeping him afloat and stopping him from falling back on the hammock. His eyes felt like anchors that he could barely keep open.

Them being open at all seemed like a lie. As if he were in truth still asleep, after all, he could barely recall waking up. Being in that state of delusion was drunkenness. That same rush of life he would get while feasting and dancing and hollering with the other hunters, a bounty of stolen liquor that they would always lay claim to.

“I truly don’t want to take, you know…” He murmured, eyes somehow managing to find the boy amidst the darkness and blur of tears. “I don’t want to take your life or whatever it is Helmaroc will end up asking me to take. I can do more than that, you know… Although I’d rather take than give.” His mind lingered back to his chest feathers, to the hypothetical eggs he may have to smash. 

There was no reply, the melodies had reached their limits. Except the hands on him seemed to tense, gently diving into his feathers as if seeking warmth. It filled him with that familiar urge to shudder. But this time, he leant into that touch, allowing some of the burden to be lifted from him.

‘y ou are you and you must take from anyone who is not’

His mother’s advice echoed within him. The one thing she had begged of him, and he wasn’t fulfilling it. He was being weak, showing his hand. Trust isn’t something someone like him could ever afford- he was worth nothing more than a common rupee, the boy would betray him at the soonest moment. 

“You can go back to your crate now.” Revali forced his voice to be stern, keeping his eyes fixated on the floor as he tensed and pulled back. 

“Comfort-”

“Do you take me for some birdbrain? Despite whatever you people think of me- I can take care of myself.” He didn’t know whether those words were for the boy, Helmaroc or his mother.  

With that, he turned to face away from the boy, allowing his body to fall limp against the hammock. As he listened to the hesitant footsteps moving towards the crate, Revali curled in on himself, trying his best to ignore those blasted feathers that kept ruffling against him. 

The night remained silent except for his own hushed whistle, “Sorry. Thank you. Sorry.”

Chapter Text

Aryll was going to get fired. She could sense it, feel its old shadow like a dark cloud looming over her. Her employer only grew more agitated with the girl she so graciously gifted with work. The old woman just couldn’t understand why Aryll was so distracted, how could she?

Sickness had occupied her mind: a sickness of being left behind yet again. Suddenly, the silence that welcomed her home was deafening and tortured her. She just about accepted that Link and her dad had to leave, either that or they’d all be on the streets.

It was probably for the best that Link didn’t have to spend too much time in Castle Town. In Hateno, people limited their judgement of him to their own homes and she was able to shield him from most of it, but here, everyone was far more explicit and less willing to hide their true thoughts. Deep down, she knew the army wasn’t much better, they barely bothered hiding it when she was around.

At least Link was doing something though, helping the kingdom. Not that she thought the kingdom needed any help other than a blow to the ego. Still, it was better than meaningless work like helping noble women buy another useless dress that could’ve fed a family for a week. But even that mundanity felt precious, knowing she was about to lose it- that she would surely be cast out.

That must’ve been what was going on in her head as she packed up food and two hundred rupees, sourced from her warden’s drawer. There was no way Aryll would give that hellish woman the satisfaction of throwing her out onto the streets.

 Of course, she was sure to sneak a carrot for her mare. Not naming her was purposeful, Aryll didn’t think she had any right to, after all, she was wild and free and glorious: everything Aryll aspired to.

 If Link were there, he’d surely soothe her rage and fear and convince her back to the path of reason. But he wasn’t: the Kingdom had taken him from her. She was so sick of things being taken from her.

It was early morning when she snuck out with the façade of a casual saunter, wearing a light pink gown for the sake of blending in. Red would’ve been far nicer, but it was too busy, and it would have drawn too much attention. Red would have to wait for another day; a day when she was ready to be drowned in the spotlight and put up on a doomed pedestal, a clear target for those who wanted to silence all that Red stood for.

Once she was finally free of the encroaching grey that smothered Castle Town, she put her hand to her mouth, took a deep breath and whistled. By no means was it pleasant, she never had the chance to practice much so it came out more like a chick demanding food be shoved down its throat. Still, her mare came galloping within seconds, bowing her head to be stroked by Aryll.

Her father would have had a heart attack if he knew she was riding without a saddle, he probably would’ve even if she was using one. That didn’t deter her though. Clambering atop her mare and trying her best not to tug too hard at the flowing strands of glistening yellow hair, she gently tapped her foot against the mare’s body who went into a subtle trot.

The mare was not trained, by no means should she have understood to start at a slow pace. Maybe she did it because she really had formed a close bond with Aryll, or perhaps it was all a bid for a steady supply of carrots. Either way, it wasn’t long before she ran out of patience and was nearly reaching a gallop.

The thud of hooves thundered down the cobblestone road Aryll nudged them towards, the sound reverberating and sending birds flying out of trees. And they only went faster. Speeding past a concerned travelling merchant and leaving numerous stables in the dust, they rode onwards.

Soon enough, Castle Town had faded into the horizon line of shadows and was eventually obscured altogether. There, red hair free to whip in the wind, it was like Castle Town didn’t exist at all: the only thing tethering it to reality was Aryll’s memories. A subtle urge nagged at her to erase it altogether, to keep Hateno and nothing else. Days of lying in the lush glades, prancing around fields of blooming flowers and being one of few specks of humanity in sight.

When the wilderness was yet to be thwarted and the world was vibrant- oh glorious days left trodden in the march for status. If only her father had realised earlier that even risking laying down his life would never convince her to stay and force her to be a safety net for Aryll and Link, in case he was torn to pieces. She would never be so easily trapped into showering them with that kind of precautionary love, only there in fear of a hypothetical.

Frown encroaching her lips, Aryll ran a hand down the neck of the mare, letting her fingers glide across her soft honey-gold skin and the occasional dabble of white. Amidst massive breaths to fuel the gallop further, the mare let out a comforting bray, the kind she would give to her foal to ward away fears of bears and bokoblins and Hylians.

Those sounds were nothing more than that though: reassurance. Both of them were defenceless, headed towards the unknown. No matter how much they brayed, neighed, cooed, and shrieked, they could offer nothing more than a distraction from the lurking dangers.

Stalking behind, at the edges of their shadow cast long by the sun in front that forced their eyes into a defensive squint as its heat bore down by the second like rain except it was draining them, leaving them parched. The mare instinctually slowed down, head swaying this way and that to catch something in the corner of her eye.

In contrast, Aryll rubbed her hand against the mare anxiously to try and chide her back to a gallop, not wanting to face the wild and preferring to be ready to flee. Somehow, the silent argument between the two resulted in a standstill. All apart from the wind, swishing Aryll’s dress and batting the mare’s tail.

It found its way up their spines, creeping across on all fours as if readying itself to pounce. Any moment, it would leap and leave them both wanting to scream only to release a silent terror, voices petrified at the thoughts of how many ears would know of them.

Aryll steeled herself and graffitied a façade in her mind. One where she really was just as competent as a knight or at the very least more so than an average noble lady, that one quickly drifted away, replaced with the thought that maybe she would be lucky enough to have the hysteria of a noble and that this was nothing more than foolish paranoia.

Then the red showed itself.

There was no pride in it, just wrath. It wasn’t the red that would have her hold her head high but rather one that would hold her head itself, with no body attached and veins dangling free and tangling in one another. That wasn’t going to happen. It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

Wrong.

For the red wasn’t alone and it wasn’t defenceless prey like them. It was accompanied by a blade.

No, a sickle.

The type that the farmers would use to slay wheat in Hateno. Gold hues collapsing to the floor in a bountiful massacre.

But not gold this time, red. The blood wasn’t even needed, her hair was already prepared to become a symbol or an allegory or a warning of whatever brutality this creature was capable of.

This thing that she had only seen in children’s tales.

This splintering laugh that made her ears burst and sob and mourn her life that would surely be lost.

The knowing that she would become nothing more than a figure, a number. Mysteriously missing. Vanished. Disappeared. Fuel to the burning fire of conspiracies of the atrocities known as Yiga.

This was it; this was the end.

Aryll’s eyes fixated on the blade of the Yiga as it crouched unnaturally low and edged towards her, menacingly stalking closer. Her mare stood frozen in shock as if blindly hoping that if she stayed perfectly still, they would somehow be safe.

“Get down. Now.” The Yiga croaked out, the menacing edge to their voice not muffled by the mask but instead made even more frightening.

Aryll stared at the porcelain white where their face should’ve been and how it was stained with a blood-red Sheikah emblem and how when she squinted, she could see faint hues of red smothering it, past victims not properly scrubbed out. Breath trembling, she fell off of her mare and whacked her; the mare let out a shrill neigh of surprise as pure adrenaline-filled fear flooded her, sending her galloping away from Aryll and towards safety. 

The yiga tilted their head, drawing even closer. The desert heat must have overflowed and trickled down through the canyons to send a drip of sweat down Aryll’s brow as the rest of her body froze with terror, chilled by the searing blade now against her neck.

“Any last words?” The Yiga spat out, barely refraining from pushing the knife into Aryll’s skin as if she were butter, easily sliced.

Essays, speeches, and novels bubbled in Aryll’s mind, every thought that she no longer had the time to think eager to escape into reality before she left it forever. It was an impossible decision, her rational mind nearly instantly scalded, leaving her survival instincts to take over.

“Why- why- I have done nothing to you-” The words streamed put and fell atop each other, becoming strewn up amongst themselves and near incomprehensible.

At this, the yiga scoffed from the bottom of their stomach, a deep bellow of a scoff as if the answer was as obvious as the sand was yellow.

“Your mere existence on these plains is a scourge” They started, voice coarse and rough as if they hadn’t said so much in a long time, “I will ensure when my Lord graces this Kingdom again, you Hylian parasites will be decimated!”

The voice behind the mask proclaimed this with absolute certainty, a dedication that Aryll knew she could not shake.

One last breath.

She bid farewell to the light and closed her eyes, embracing the darkness for she could not bear to see red spluttering out of her in the masses, leaving her body that had failed its every wish, amounted to nothing.

The blade was so sharp she could hear it slice through the wind as it was raised high in preparation to be plunged: it would be done with her quickly, and she would not suffer a prolonged demise.

The air parted once more and she knew it to be the blade making its descent like an anchor, wading through what now seemed like oceans between them.

It screeched to a halt, the hiss of metal against metal, two weapons like feral animals fighting over prey.

Her eyes wanted nothing more than to stay in the dark, terror sealing them shut.

For the first time in her life, Aryll did not rebel.

She stayed still as a statue, the only movement being the beating of her heart that was now galloping faster than her mare had, preparing to sprint away, away back to where life could prosper and the Yiga could not.

The clashing continued. Instead of battle drums, the air was filled with Yiga cackles and warrior’s yells though she could not make out the words being bellowed. The beating of steel grew faster and faster and faster until it stopped.

And there was silence.

Then a squelch. Flesh, not hers.

The sound of oozing, the sound of death.

But she could hear breath, not hers; hers remained so frozen she could not feel it graze against her upper lip.

It was more like wheezes, this breath belonged to someone exhausted, someone who had just fought, someone who had just caused the squelching and ceased the cackles.

Here, Aryll was at a crossroads. And she took the risk, the dare, the chance whatever you may call it. She rejected the dark and flung her eyes open which were instantly drowned in light, finding herself head up to the sun.

It stung and burned her gaze with the blessing of the pain of life, the knowing that this was not a dream or her last fleeting thoughts before death. Imaginary bursts of colour filled her vision, covering reality and letting her be dazed, the shock finally hitting her in the face now that she was safe.

She was safe.

A hand against her shoulder. Flesh, not strange suit cloth. Sun-kissed flesh, bronzed and dark, free to bathe in the light as much as it wanted.

A Gerudo.

She stared at Aryll with vivid green eyes, they resembled glades that stood in stark contrast to the desert that she must have called home. Her expression was painted with caution, worry and confusion.

Something came out of her mouth, but Aryll could not make sense of the words. It was Hylian, she knew it, but she could not recognise it, weave it into something she could respond to. A dizziness panged at her head, thousands of worries finding their way to her and she felt herself stumble forward but the Gerudo caught her and said something else.

Despite not being able to understand, Aryll could make out the vague sounds. She was comforting, she was nice, she wasn’t going to hurt her.

“You… Are breathing… too quick…” The Gerudo spoke slowly, keeping long gaps between each word.

Nodding and forcing herself to blink, Aryll managed to realise how her chest was thumping up and down and tried her best to slow down her breaths. Instead of quick and shallow, she tried to take big gulps of air like she had just been submerged in water for too long.

Before she knew it, she was sat down against a canyon wall and the Gerudo was kneeling in front of her, looking this way and that, scanning for more danger. Neither tried to speak, they both just focused on their breaths until Aryll was finally able to return to a wavering sense of calm, body exhausted and flopping against the rock.

“I see… We are not so… Different” The Gerudo murmured, maintaining her air of caution though daring to gently hold Aryll’s loose fire-red hair and compare it to her own long bright passion-pink ponytail.

Aryll smiled.

Chapter Text

The measly tent was a welcome refuge. Despite its tiny size, it was just big enough for Aryll and the Gerudo to squeeze under its shade. Her Hylian was better than Aryll would’ve expected. A pang of guilt hit her at how gullible she was in believing the Gerudo truly were uneducated, that even she hadn’t realised that, in truth, everything was propaganda. 

Her saviour was called ‘Kara’, but Aryll wasn’t sure if she was saying it right. With the desert sun at its peak, she’d never been more glad to have a skilled Gerudo by her side. It was Kara who was responsible for the tent, without it, they’d both surely have fainted from sunstroke. 

The chance to rest was welcome. It gave Aryll a chance to properly catch her breath and regain her senses. A Yiga attacked her. A Yiga attacked her and she survived. She couldn’t help but smile in relief, her grin only halted by the heat that could very well fry an egg. 

“Your clothes… Not good for the desert.” Kara commented. She loosely held some excess material of Aryll’s skirt and swished it, as if mesmerised by its grace. Alternatively, she may have been mocking it for being a wasteful use of fabric- if that were the case, Aryll wouldn’t be able to agree more. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Aryll made sure to speak slowly though she loved being able to let her accent out freely. It wasn’t as if a Gerudo would even know what Hateno Village is, let alone that it was considered a shame to be from there. “I’m already sweating buckets,” She complained, pulling at the neck of the dress to try and allow some air to invade the thick layers she’d tossed over herself. 

“Buckets…?” Kara’s eyes furrowed, “Do Hylians sweat metal?”

“No no- I mean that I’m sweating a lot, it’s a saying!” She smiled sheepishly in embarrassment.

There was a brief silence as Kara made sense of this, “Ah, you mean to say ‘I’ve become a storm’?”

“What? Oh- like your body’s pouring sweat like rain?”

“Yes, yes!” Kara nodded gleefully, “You are the first Hylian I am speaking to. I not did think that a Hylian vai would be so nice.”

Aryll smiled, though mostly because she felt embarrassed to ask what a vai was. When the Hylians became Hyrule’s main monarchy, the Zora and Gorons largely abandoned their native languages in favour of integration. The Gerudo were never like that, though. In truth, Gerudo Desert was barely even a part of Hyrule and, from what Aryll knew, was only bound to the kingdom due to some ancient events. 

Never before had she seen a Gerudo standing before her in the flesh. The only reason that she had recognised Kara as one was because she had attended the boys’ health classes at school so she could relay the information to Link at home. Those classes painted the Gerudo as predators, lurking on the outskirts of civilisation, waiting to pounce and steal away a good Hylian boy’s innocence. The teacher would then threaten that if a Gerudo were to trick them, they would lose the ‘flower’ that they should be bestowing onto Hylian girls, like Aryll.

The worst part of being the only girl in a boys’ health class was always that she was the quickest example for a teacher to use. It would create an irksome attention to her and she could barely refrain from saying that she had no desire for a lone flower. That would be a measly gift, a Gerudo could take it for all she cared. Link didn’t share the same sentiment when she went home and recited what they’d been taught. Rather, he was barely stifling his huffs of laughter and kept saying that she really was young. 

At the time, it was infuriating to her 8-year-old self. Once her irritation had faded though, she could remember how she timidly asked him if a Gerudo would hurt him. He shook his head and told her he was too tough, and that, he didn’t think it was nice to assume all Gerudo would be mean. Then he hugged and promised her that he certainly wasn’t going to be handing out flowers willy-nilly and only let go of her when his laughter became too violent to ignore. 

She wondered whether she would have trusted Kara if she believed solely what the school told her. Likely, to her, Kara would have been no different than a Yiga. A grizzlemaw bear choking a wolf to reach a doe. That version of her, the obedient devotee of the King, frightened her. It frightened her in the sense that that girl infested Castle Town- she was every woman, no matter where you looked. No matter how much they praised the Goddess, it was all to protect their men: to make sure their flowers remained unharmed. 

It was their duty, after all. And what a horror it was to not abide by duty. Her mother had proved that. When she left and took away the holy grace that came with a woman running the household, everybody took it as a sign that her father had done something. Her surroundings morphed into whispered gossip of how he must be unworthy of protection. After that, for the sparse years that they remained in Hateno, Aryll made sure to be seen cleaning the Goddess statue; too stubborn to let the villagers think their household was devoid of Hylia’s protection. 

In Castle Town, she stopped bothering with any of that because the Princess was responsible for praying for the knights’ protection. Perhaps that would have been reassuring if she wasn’t as powerless as Aryll- or if everyone was sure that she really was a ‘Princess’. All the elders agreed that a true conduit would’ve awakened by now. Nobody dared voice the doubt in public yet they had all thought it at one point or another- that she wasn't of true royal blood. But was that also just more propaganda?

“The sun is no longer looming over the highlands. We should move now before the night comes.” Kara spoke with a sense of urgency, tensing when she mentioned the threat of the night.

“I can’t go back to where I came from- there is no place for me there.”

“You must. You won’t be able to survive the desert- you’d be with the spirits by morning.”

Aryll looked up at Kara and repeated her words with a newfound desperation, “I don't have anywhere to go.” 

Hesitantly, Kara continued to try and argue, “You're only a child. Surely there will be a Hylian willing to take you in.” 

Aryll shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself to comfort her against the growing threat of homelessness. Nobody would let a stranger stay with them, let alone when it was a challenge to ensure everyone had enough food whilst also paying for access to the water pumps.

She was stupid for leaving Castle Town. An absolute idiot. Just another hollow-headed girl.  

In silence, Kara stared at her as if waiting for an affirmation that the Hylians took care of their own. Aryll didn't lie. 

“It is… Unusual. But, you are a vai” Kara began hesitantly, “the Gerudo may be able to offer you shelter whilst you er, recover from that Yiga attack.” 

In reality, Aryll had sustained no injuries apart from shock but she could see that glint of a plan in Kara’s eyes. “Um- yes, I still feel far too disorientated to make it home myself and a Gerudo surely can't accompany me into Hyrule Field to ensure me a safe journey. Possibly even, that Yiga may seek vengeance knowing a young vulnerable girl is alone wandering through the desert passage.” 

“Yes, precisely.” Kara smiled though her hesitance remained, “It is decided then. You will have to be brought to Gerudo Town until we can determine that it is safe for you to return to where you belong.” 

With that, Kara got to her feet and helped Aryll up. It was so embarrassing how her body was still trembling, it was as if it was constantly checking she was still alive. The yiga hadn’t even hurt her and she didn’t raise a finger to try and fight back. All she’d done was stand there yet she felt drained. Pathetic. She bit back at brimming tears and, head down, focused on walking. 

It was then when she was staring at the ground that she realised Kara was even more impressive than she had realised. Heels: she was wearing heels. It was a wonder how she didn’t sink into the sand, it looked like she was balancing all her weight on the balls of her feet. The mere thought of having to do that intimidated Aryll. And even more impressive was that Kara had fought in those heels. If only she hadn’t closed her eyes, she could have seen it for herself. Did she fight like the knights, stiff as metal? Or were her movements fluid, like the sands she came from? 

There wasn’t much time to think or ask about it, not with the break-neck pace they were moving at. 

“What happens at night..?” Aryll asked, growing increasingly worried with every time they sped up even more. 

“The stal come, of course,” Klara answered like it was common knowledge, something even a horse would know. It was enough to quell Aryll, she had no wish to know what horror a ‘stal’ was. 

Amidst the waves of sand was a path, winding across the tides like a flimsy bridge. It was near impossible to see it as the sand continued to splash onto it with the nudging of the winds but she could feel the hard rock under her feet and knowing it was there felt like it was the only thing keeping her afloat. It didn’t force itself against the desert, rather it let itself sway this way and that- a union of nature and the Gerudo. Assuming they were responsible for it, at least- maybe it was simply a gift from the Goddesses. She ignored the voice in her head that chimed in ‘They would never bless a lesser kind.’

The sun continued to sink, dyeing the sky in purples and oranges as it made its descent. The way the hues scintillated against the golden sand would’ve been a beautiful sight if it weren’t for the impending danger it marked. She could see a beacon of civilisation in the form of a large stone structure on the horizon. It was so far, it seemed to be half the journey from Hateno Village to Dueling Peaks Stable. 

It wasn’t long after that when the masses of yellow were disturbed by a circle of blue that seemed to be like a moon in the starless sky they were wading through. Water. The soft rippling of it filled Aryll with the calm sensation of life. Its pure blue remained completely undisturbed by man’s ruinous influence. 

Kara crouched down beside it and dipped her hands into the pond. First, she rubbed the water against her arms and face before cupping a small shard of the pond in her hands and drinking it slowly. 

Once she was done, she let out a deep breath of relief and turned to Aryll, “Cool yourself down. Don’t worry, the water’s clean. And drink slowly, that will make it last longer.”

Nodding, Aryll obediently followed suit, unsettled by how stagnated Kara’s speech was. It was clear something was bothering her as she stood up slowly and kept a hand on her sword and scanned the area. The sword seemed exuberant; its sheath was covered in a pompously opulent gold. But when Kara unsheathed it ever so slightly, Aryll spun her head away to stare into the water. Vomit curdled in her stomach, threatening to soar up through her throat. The blade was bloodied. 

With the Yiga’s blood, which was a good thing, she told herself. But she was responsible for that blood. For that life if it- they were dead. The thought sickened her so much that she had to force the water down her throat in one go to stop anything else from rising. Messily, she splashed water onto her arms and face and shoved her skirt out of the way to quickly stand up. 

Kara stared at her as if wanting to question what the matter was but then shook her head. “Good. This place is a haven for water but not much else. We need to keep moving before we attract attention, we’ll need to move even more quickly if we want to be safe before nightfall.”

Despite nodding, Aryll couldn’t help but murmur, “How many travellers would be saved from these ‘stal’ if they were able to take shelter here?” She couldn’t shake the thought of lost life from her head. 

“It isn’t a matter of how many would be saved. Most are wise enough not to even think of going into the deserts in the first place. At most, maybe it would allow for trade. But we Gerudo need no such connection with the other races.” She replied in a matter-of-fact tone, though her voice softened as she added on, “It would be nice though, for this place to be a true oasis…”

The silence was interrupted only by their trudging footsteps, as they continued on their way. Nearly running, Aryll found herself becoming more and more tempted to just rip off the length of her skirt so she could just run away from the invading darkness. The only issue was, with her unfamiliarity with the sands, she would surely fall and prove herself even more useless.   

So they stepped and trudged and paced across the sand, dodging the driftwood of stones and cacti threatening to sink them if they didn’t weave around them like the path. The shape of Gerudo Town became larger and larger and the walls surrounding the settlement came into view. They were so close- they were going to make it, Aryll knew it. 

But then the sight of her hope began to fade, obscured by the vanishing light. Beside her, Kara’s breath grew quicker and she tried to move even faster but it seemed fatigue was beginning to win its battle against her will. Soon, Aryll had to squint to even be able to see hints of the path and the ringing of her footsteps against the stone changed from a grounding influence to a threat attracting attention to them.

Then they heard it. The creaking of bones and rapid sifting of sand. Slurps and gargles. The sound of a choking, dying thing. Not thing: things. Trace noise of something scuttling surrounded her. She wasn't going to be blind this time. Aryll looked. 

And then she screamed. 

Kara grabbed ahold of her arm and bound into a sprint. 

Aryll couldn't take her eyes off of them. They weren't eyes, more like orbs, all in sets of two and glowing a deathly green. They would be no different than a Hylian retriever in the night if it weren't for the raspy sounds of trying to drool but having no spit. The rapidity that they moved with was so solemnly reminiscent of dancing fireflies except, the sickly glow gave light to the edges of bones the shade of poorly bleached wood. 

Lizalfos. Stalfos? Their jaws unhinged and gaped open to unleash a tongue long since decayed. One was holding what seemed like a spear, another was jumping up and down and hooting in some sort of tribal joy. Within seconds of their arrival, the creaking of bone and animalistic ravings deafened any civilised cries Aryll could let out. She ran so fast that her feet were nearly flying over the sand but it was never going to be enough.

A hand wrapped around the skirt of her dress, yanking her away from Kara’s protective grasp. Screaming again, she felt herself be pulled into the abyss and spun to find herself face-to-face-with the goddess-forsaken creature. Its breath was frigid and reeked of decay, it merely lingering near her made her choke and wheeze as if her throat were desperately clinging to her life. 

It could have gutted her with its spear, it could have gashed her with its claws or knocked her out with its horn. But it was instinctual primitive. It hung its mouth ajar, not realising that death had robbed it of its core. Staring into death’s maw, Aryll looked inwards to herself. 

And there, in the reflective pools of her soul, her eyes finally opened. She saw the girl trembling before a bokoblin for Tulin to rescue, the coward frozen in front of a Yiga needing Kara to save her, the damsel in distress face-to-face with a stalfos and too pathetic to do anything about it. No. She was sick of having to be saved. 

Taking a deep breath, she stilled herself and let the smell engulf her, wrestle with her innards and ultimately dwindle in defeat. Then, in one swift movement, she reeled her arm back and punched with all her might. Her hand soared into the stalfos’s gaping jaw and, as her fist continued in its movement, it uprooted and took the skull with it. The body was as swift to fall apart as a glass mural hit by a pebble, all of it reduced to dust except for the lone arm that writhed to keep its clutch on her dress. 

Turning to Kara, Aryll was met with a look of terror and amazement, a mirror of what she herself had felt when Kara saved her from the Yiga. Amidst the cacophony of vile violent noise, Aryll heard that quiet realisation from Kara’s mouth which instilled a fluttering hope, “They- they can be killed-”

It seemed as if Kara were entirely devoid of life in the way she stood so frozen still, eyes gaping wide at the sight of Aryll. To the Gerudo’s left though, Aryll caught sight of another of the fiends charging through distant dunes. As if it were suddenly second nature, she ripped the arm from her dress and flung it at the incoming figure. It missed. 

But then lightning struck. A bright brilliant bolt sent from the heavens, shining a burning white with each flicker uprooting geysers of sand. In its wake was the sound of charred bones collapsing, returned to a grave they were probably never granted in life. 

The shock of the bolt sent Aryll stumbling as she tried to gain her footing but she fell into the sturdy body of a Gerudo holding her up: Kara. Aryll looked up at her and smiled so warmly that she felt that it managed to wade off the cold. 

“You’re shivering, come now.” Her smile dropped at hearing the rigidity still in Kara’s words. Confused, she followed her gaze to be met by Gerudo soldiers approaching them.

Before Aryll could ask what was wrong, Kara was gently guiding her towards the guards. 

There were two, both sharing Kara’s pink hair though one was much paler. What they all shared though, was immense muscle, their cropped shirts displaying rock-hard abs and a clear resistance to the cold.

Once they reached a conversational distance, Kara moved Aryll in front of her and kept a hand on either of her shoulders as if without them, she would go tumbling to the floor. The guards and Kara began to speak in tense Gerudo. Standing there between them, Aryll couldn’t help but feel small, and young, and like her fear shouldn’t have been so quick to vacate. 

As they kept on talking, Aryll could make out Kara’s hands continued to stiffen- a sign that didn’t bode well with Aryll’s worries. 

Just as she was beginning to contemplate whether to say something to defend herself, a guard looked straight at her and spoke in Hylian, “Why would you think you have any right to our protection whilst your people try to invade the Ritos’ only sanctuary?”

“She is only a child, you know she plays no part in that,” Kara argued. 

The guard spat something out in Gerudo that Aryll could tell she should be offended by but she couldn’t muster the confidence to do anything other than shrink against Kara. Her fists had proven her bravery for the day already, after all; a battle of words (yet alone foreign ones) was not something she was yet ready to face. 

“Nonsense.” Another figure stepped out from the shadows of the town gates. 

 Their Queen. Aryll could tell from the instant she laid eyes on her. Exuding with pure might and grace, there was no doubt about it. Like Kara’s sword, she was adorned in gold and Aryll held no doubts that she was capable of drawing blood too. She stood before them with her hands on her hips and when the guards and Kara dipped their heads in respect, Aryll did the same.

With a voice that demanded respect, she spoke firmly, “We Gerudo are not one to turn our eyes on a fellow vai, Hylian or not.”

As ridiculous as it was, Aryll’s only thought was that she really did need to learn what ‘vai’ meant. Blind to her confusion, the leader (she doubted the Gerudo would have a ‘Queen’), continued, 

“The Hylian attempt to oust the Rito is no just reason for us to oust a vai with the makings of a warrior into the desert wastes. Young one, you will be welcome within our walls but know the intentions of your King risk you and your people being marked an enemy of the Gerudo. We will welcome you with open arms for now, but I would not advise that you make your stay a long one.”

Oust the Rito? Quill. He was sure to be there by now. What if they hurt him? She couldn’t live to see that happen and stand frozen in obedience to the King. 

Blurting out, she stepped away from Kara’s protective hold and stood firm before the leader, “If the King is to be your enemy then I want to help.”

In response to everyone but the sand raising their eyebrows, Aryll tagged on, “I need to protect my friend.”

One of the guards spoke this time, “A Hylian is not likely to require protection in this conflict. It borders cruel how ill-matched the Rito are to the merciless strategies your people plan.”

“My friend is a Rito.” Aryll stood tall, brimming with determination.

.

.

.

“... Come inside.” The leader ordered though her voice shook with uncertainty. 

As she stepped into Gerudo Town, she could feel all four sets of eyes burning into her with scepticism: she held her head high and glided through the scrutiny. 

Chapter Text

Tulin’s days spent in Rito Village were only growing worse. The unrest was becoming unreasonable. Rito were feigning itchiness so extreme that it supposedly gave them no choice but to fight amongst themselves. That meant Helmaroc was nearly constantly having to intervene in something or another. And that meant that Tulin was beginning to become his second lackey for whenever Revali had already been sent off to do something.

He’d spent the past few days trying and mostly failing to talk to Revali. During light hours, it was impossible to catch him during a lull long enough for even a snippet of small talk and he had seemingly refused Helmaroc’s request for him to eat with the rest of the Rito. There was something he was hiding- it was obvious: Helmaroc had a secret. Revali was just being Revali, he had little else to hide other than his gale.

If getting to talk to his idol wasn’t an option, Tulin would gladly settle for his idol’s idol. Not that Revali would ever admit to such a thing, but his utter lack of snark in front of the cheif made it clear that he held him in great respects. But to Tulin, Helmaroc seemed like little more than a co-ordinator delegating work he didn’t want to do himself.

This morning, Tulin had been delegated with watching over the nursery. It was a boring job, which was a precious break amidst the exhausting work that most of them were assigned to. The nursery lay at the peak of their domain, above even Helmaroc’s room. If any intruder or predator were to try to reach them in the dead of night, they would first have to go through the chief. Another benefit was that little noise was able to spiral up to where Tulin sat, watching over the eggs. If it weren’t for fear of reprimand, he may have found himself drifting to sleep alongside the slumbering unhatched chicks. 

Every now and then, he would hear the fragments of a song and would try to figure out which egg it was coming from. Every egg’s melody was different: a unique melody sung to it by its parents. Sometimes, one of them would even hear it and excitedly run up in hopes of watching their chicks hatch. Usually, a chick singing was a sign that it was going to try to hatch yet, whenever Tulin was in charge of egg-watching, none of them hatched. It seemed like more and more parents were mentioning how their chick was due ‘any day now’. 

All in all, the Rito of this age treated their eggs far differently than the way Tulin was familiar with. He would expect each egg to stay in its parents’ room and be cared for by them alone. It was probably a necessity of this time to be forced to trust others with your young. He supposed that it brought the community closer, at least. 

Parents still contributed by building nests to keep their eggs warm and showering their eggs in affection and their stray feathers whenever they had a moment to spare. For some reason, nearly all the eggs had nests bursting with cotton. Tulin had no idea where they’d gotten so much from but by no means did he mind it. In fact, the cotton was so effective that those eggs had no need for warming potions. 

The cotton then, was a boon allowing them to save more of the scarce spicy peppers the scavengers had managed to find. As egg watcher, Tulin was in charge of making the potions using the cooking pot in the back of the room. It was a slow process, he’d never quite gotten the hang of it like Link who was such a skilled cook he seemed to be able to whip up potions and 3 course meals at lightning speed.

The recipe he was given called for two of the peppers to be added in at seperate times but both chopped and ground into a fine powder. Pouring the granules in to the water would thicken it and the brewer would slowly stir in circular motions to stop any pepper getting stuck to the bottom of the pot. The next step was crossed out. It called for a small amount of meat but the hunters couldn’t go out frequently in fear that the Hylians would use the frequent opening and closing of the hatch to their advantage.

That meant that rather than spread trip times to kill a variety of animals, all efforts were focused on only hunting for wooly rhinos which gave the most meat. It didn’t bode well how rare the rhinos had become in Tulin’s age: it was likely that this strategy would have to continue for some time.

For the eggs, the lack of meat meant little. Its inclusion was in truth only a gesture to make the potion a broth and pouring over the eggs was seen as being the chick’s first meal and a welcoming in to the tribe. Nobody seemed too worried about the potions taking more of a medicinal role now though, treating them instead as no different than wrapping up a wound. 

Still, the lack of meat certainly made the warming effects less potent- that, and a part of Tulin missed the idea of being able to pour a little more effort into caring for the eggs. He liked to think that, inside the shell, the chicks could make out the most miniscule of affections and that, in truth, it was that more metaphorical warmth that coaxed them into life. 

One thing that the tribe had an excess of was monster parts. From what Tulin had gathered in his time as Quill, nobody quite knew what to do with them but still brought them back just in case. Plenty for elixirs, then. 

Before having made his way upstairs, he’d been sent to the storage room to pick up today’s batch of spicy peppers and, whilst there, he stashed a pair of bokoblin guts into the basket he was transporting the peppers in. Writhing and squirming, even after death the guts still continued to contract and expand and circulate a sickly purple blood that stunk of rotted fish. 

Disgusting as they were, monster parts were by no means considered a delicacy to eat. History lessons had taught him that their use in elixirs and potions was only popularised after the Calmaity when monsters became abundant in an otherwise resource-scarce kingdom. It was a change Link had been especially excited to find out about: apparently a large part of his gluttonous reputation came from others being disturbed by how he would scoff down elixirs by the dozen if needed. Even in the modern day, Tulin found it weird. 

The good thing though was that eggs can’t taste, rather it only matters what they feel. So Tulin chopped up the guts into small parts and carefully dropped them into the potion mixture. In reaction to the heat of the flame, the blood squelched out and the malice within escaped via the smoke. Not only did this leave the potion devoid of the Demon King’s influence and safe for consumption, it also allowed the void left by the malice to be filled by the spicy pepppers. Just as it had once pulsed with malice, a fresh scent flourished as it begun to emanate comforting warmth.

Now all that had to be done was to continue stirring until the last bits of pulp from the guts fully dissolved and turned the potion a red as bright as Aryll’s hair. The thought of that comparison instantly left an ache in Tulin’s heart. Just as the potion did, the thought of Aryll’s smile and her dedication to doing what was right left a warm sense of safety within Tulin. 

It was still so hard to think of how she would become nothing more than a body in the ground. Or, if she was one of the masses felled in the Calamity, she would’ve been turned to ash in the age of Burning Fields. For a Goron, it would’ve been a satisfactory passage for their outer self to embody the flame they believed to be burning within. Hylians though, believing the dead to live on every time their grave is read and their name remembered, would mourn so many being robbed of the second living. 

He wasn't as familiar with Rito funeral traditions. Usually, when they sensed their time nearing, they would fly towards the mountains of Hebra. Tulin wasn’t sure if there was some secret ritual or final place he was not yet privy to or if a dying Rito really did just fly itself dead but either way, there was agency in the act of the final flight otherwise robbed by a death grounded in battle. 

He couldn't help but wonder whether these people even bothered themselves with belief in the spiritual. Though it felt wrong to think it, these Rito were still in so many ways akin to birds of the wild, mindlessly going wherever the wind does. Every now and then, he'd get a hint of some special belief held about the winds but it was little more than ominous worries about what their absence could mean. Maybe it was all just instincts: of course a flighted being with nothing to carry their wings would be distressed. 

Could eggs feel it? Was that why they weren't hatching? Tulin didn't have a clue and was regretting ignoring the teachings of his parents and elders. In fairness to him, he'd only just reached the age where anyone saw a need to teach him about anything egg-related and most of his friends were still clueless on the topic. Even if Rito could technically have chicks once their hatchling feathers were shed, it wasn't like anyone would actually ever choose to be a parent that young. 

Though most of the parents-to-be here didn't seem that far into adulthood themselves. It was probably normal to start families young, this was still a time where the likes of Master Kaneli living into his sixties would be unheard of. Tulin didn't like the idea one bit. He didn't like to think of Rito panickedly laying eggs because who knows when they'd succumb to sickness or a broken wing. It cemented even more in him that the herons flying overheard were his kin, simply divided by millennias of evolution.

The potion was ready to be poured on the eggs. That was good, he didn't want to think about death anymore. He missed when the fear of injury wasn't a constant looming over his shoulder, when it could be ousted in one fight and night would come with no worries, just soft sleep. The rising smells of the potion cast him back to his mother’s cooking and his body felt satiated by the mere memory of the meat his father hunted skewered alongside the berries he would spend the mornings collecting. This potion was like home distilled. He hoped the eggs would feel that too, that amidst all the colds of Hebra, there was a beating heart of warmth waiting to embrace them.

Carefully lifting the cooking pot from its base, he maneuvered round the rows of life waiting to arrive and used the serving spoon in his other wing to bathe the mixture over the eggs. He skipped over the ones with cotton that were already plenty warm. Could eggs get too warm? He dismissed it with the sentiment that nothing could ever be too warm in Hebra. 

With the further enhancement by the monster parts, each egg only required half the usual pouring before its colour brightened with health and soft blurs of hue spread across the previously white shell. The more he poured, the more he fell into a rhythm of hunching over, pouring, taking a step backwards to the next egg and repeating. Even this, which was meant to be the most laborious part of caring for the eggs, was relaxing as the heat sauntered its way up to Tulin’s feathers and released the tension from his sore muscles. 

But the soreness came back in full force when he took another step back only to hit something hard, feathered and large. 

“You aren't pouring nearly enough brew, they'll freeze like that.” Helmaroc’s voice pierced into any semblance of calm Tulin had foolishly enjoyed. 

He was quick to turn around, awkwardly pattering his talons as not to knock any eggs. It was a wonder Helmaroc had managed to squeeze himself into the aisles at all, when Tulin peered behind him, he noticed some of the Chief’s tails gently wrapped around some of the supposedly too-cold eggs but he couldn't tell whether it was just to avoid knocking them over. Regardless of his intentions though, the Chief wanted an answer and was not keen on waiting. In his whistle lay an anger ready to pounce, as if still stalking in wait of his reply. 

“The guts make it hot enough to only need half a serving. This'll let us save more spicy peppers er- Chief.” Tulin kept his tone calm and even. People here weren't used to cooking with monster parts, but if he explained it well, Helmaroc would surely understand. Maybe, Tulin would even be thanked. Maybe Helmaroc would be grateful, at some point that had started to matter to him- he must’ve picked it up from Revali. 

Helmaroc baulked- it was shocking seeing such an unseemly look his face. There was a moment of silence interrupted only by the rising of his whistle like water boiling, ready to explode. It was contrasted by the slow, controlled nature of his words, “Quill. What do you mean ‘guts’?” 

“Bokoblin guts. I know it sounds weird but-”

“Get out.” 

“What-”

“Get out of the nursery.” 

Tulin didn't dare argue. One look at Helmaroc’s face and he knew better. 

The moment they were out of range from the eggs, Helmaroc’s wings flared, the lines of red feathers on dull display. His chest was heaving like he was about to below out a raw, visceral screech. Bracing himself, Tulin lowered his gaze like a fox waiting for the inevitable shot. 

There was a pause. 

“I am the protector of these eggs. You do not draw Hylian threats here and take shelter here and not do what you are told.” The enraged howling of the whistle beat against every word.

Tulin was shaking, his body instinctively cowering away. Now he was staring right at Helmaroc and he couldn't take his eyes off of the red: he was transfixed. 

Helmaroc invaded further towards him, voice hushed yet a barrage in Tulin's mind. “I do not care what the Labrynnan ways are, I refuse to allow them to seep their way into my flock. All of these Rito here are under my protection, do you hear me?” 

It was a miracle that Tulin managed to get his breathing under enough control to speak, or rather splutter out, “I know- I'm sorry- I'm not- Labrynnan” 

Helmaroc stunned himself into calmness, frozen with his wings still flared. “... Right.” There was a wild look in his eyes. It was like he was relieved and disappointed. It was like Tulin had just squandered a chance at redemption and simultaneously saved himself from slaughter. 

“You've never talked of your own true winds. Your family fled, then.”

“That’s right.” Tulin swallowed, still waiting for that rage to return. 

“Then where did they run from, Quill?” 

“I don't know- I really don't- I was young- I-” 

“And you know nothing of the Labrynnans?” Tulin must've been hearing it wrong but it was like he was somehow desperate. 

He shook his head. Helmaroc went silent and his wings finally tucked back together. Suddenly, he was turning away as if the conversation had reached some kind of natural close. Before he moved on though, the sharp threats of the whistle returned, “Stay away from the eggs, Quill, or I'll hand you to the Hylians already skewered.” 

Then he was gone. Tulin gasped for air. He had escaped, he had no clue what he had evaded but he had done it and he was surely better off for it. It wasn't safe here- not for a Rito who wasn't truly of the flock. He needed Revali- Revali would protect him, just like he had all those years ago in the Great Hyrule Forest.

There was something mad about Helmaroc. He hadn't made sense, rambling about that flock out of nowhere. There was something wrong with his mind- some thing clouding the head of who had so far been a calculated chief. 

Labrynnans. They were in a history book somewhere. They died out 50 years ago from the present. Tulin couldn't remember if they were the ones who thought they were descendants of Zora, swore off eating fish and starved on an island in the middle of the sea or the flock who tore themselves apart from infighting. Whatever they were, by his time they were remnants. But in this time, they were something that Helmaroc hated, or worse, something he feared.

Chapter Text

In what was becoming a mundane regularity, the evening cast a sheet of darkness over the already blanketed Hive. It was how Link imagined Aryll felt whenever he helped her into her layers and layers of dress: suffocated. Rito Hive was being dressed in the guise of safety just as Aryll dressed in the guise of a gentle noble and Link wasn’t sure which would be the first to falter. The Hive, he hoped.

It felt treacherous to want that but the ritualistic slow, grating trudge to the crate was becoming unbearable. His body wanted to spasm and convulse at the mere thought of having to collapse back into its confines. He didn't know how long he'd spent here, he didn't know how to ask Revali. 

During the lulls of the day, he'd started taking any chance he could to stretch or move or not be trapped inside his wood prison. He would sneak out if it weren't for fear of how Revali would panic at finding him gone. At first, it was fear of escalating the Rito-Hylian tensions that had kept him stationary but now, some part of him knew that it was going to happen no matter what he did. What he could avoid- what he wanted to avoid- was upsetting Revali.

The Rito were working him to the bone. The only reason that he wasn't in a worse state was that it was hard to get much worse than the battered state his wings had been in because of his old flock. Revali never mentioned them directly, Link only heard of them through offhanded comments or in the fragments of nightmares muttered out in the dead of night. All Link truly knew was that they weren't good people and if Revali hadn't left them, he'd most likely be dead by now. 

Hearing things like that would be bearable if only Link could reply beyond a sympathetic look and whistle of comfort. With time and discreet practice with his ocarina, he was getting better at harnessing the melodies but it wasn't enough. He felt greedy- he felt starved of what he deserved.

But everyday he was scraping closer and closer to finding the right notes. The right tune, the right tempo to ring out his innermost wants to Revali: 

‘Come with me. You don't belong here. I've writhed inside your hive, now let me show you my Kingdom.’

They'd leave here, together. And Link wouldn't be lying when he finally conveys that safety is with the Hylians- he'd force them to accept Revali. Even if they tried to turn him away, they wouldn't resist the knowledge the two of them could offer.

Mind brewing as he sat within the crate, he watched carefully for the movement of shadows that would seep their way in through the tarp and saw how they were approaching the fourth line on the third plank of wood flooring: Revali should be here at any moment. It was too early to try to convince him, too risky to chance a misunderstanding that could have him revealed to the flock. But Link could be patient, he would be patient and let his plans rest as he focused on simply offering Revali much needed solace. 

What a surprise it was then when the opening of the curtain was accompanied by a happy whistle. Link hardly even recognised it as something capable of coming out of Revali's mouth but the sound was as bright as day and hearing it made something inside him flutter. Even the way Revali held himself was seemingly transformed; there was no tiredness in his limbs and his head was held high with ease rather than the usual performative show. 

He clocked Link’s puzzled face rather quickly and rolled his eyes though the annoyance was unable to taint his smile, “Don't act as if you've discovered something new and extraordinary, I'm not always gloomy, you know.” 

That's a real surprise to me. Link thought but wisely used the ocarina to chime, “Joy found in joy.”

At that, Revali had the gall to chuckle and skip over his routine snarky comeback. Instead, he sat down, unwrapping the meal he'd brought up for them. Link clambered out of the crate so quickly Revali flinched but after a brief moment both boys calmed in favour of the mushroom skewers laid out before them. Barely noticing how foreign every aspect of the meal was compared to the rigid dinners provided by the castle maids, Link dug in and didn't even register how Revali was just staring at him with the occasional happy chirp.

“I've gotten a real feather in my cap, now.” He started as he bit into the skewer, “I told you Helmaroc would realise how skilled I am, and he finally has.” 

And at that, Link put his food down and looked at Revali in confusion with furrowed eyebrows. 

“He's taking me to shoot targets!” The whistle was so unapologetically joyous. “I thought him finding out I was Labrynnan would spell my doom but he asked if I was one of their hunters and when I said yes, he said he wanted to see what I know!” 

“Trusting.” Link whistled a single sharp note sceptically. 

Revali huffed, “Me being trusting is exactly why it’s not you on these skewers, you know. Besides, he’s the Chief.”

When Link’s raised eyebrow and narrowed eyes refused to waver, Revali tried to ramble a defense of the very cheif he seemed so terrified of. “You wouldn’t get it, little Hylian you. That girl is so tiny, she shows no sign of strength as a leader yet you all flock round her nonetheless.”

Great , Link thought, Revali thought Zelda was a Queen. Correcting him would have to come later, as well. 

“But Helmaroc’s nothing like that.” He continued, glossing over Link’s critical shake of the head, “The flock respects him because he's strong and all, yes, but, we trust him because we trust our senses.” 

“How?” Link asked  with such little thought that when Revali understood him, he stared down at the ocarina in awe. It really was all coming together- it wouldn’t be long- it wouldn’t be long at all. 

Words seemed to be amongst Revali’s favourite things. In their time spent together, if Link had learnt anything at all amidst all of the Rito weaponry and food sources and hierarchy, the most pertinent to him was that Revali loved to talk. Swooping up the chance to play storyteller, he settled down properly, setting the mood that he was about to take on the cumbersome task of revealing some grand truth.

He opened his beak breathlessly, stared at Link with keen eyes and then closed it again- rewriting the introduction to his Epic, presumably. Link was enthralled and forgot about his meal as he leaned forward, his mind willingly reeled in by the bait of the chance to learn more of this strange boy’s world. 

Finally opening his mouth once more, Revali started with a slow inhale, “Well, it’s hard to know where to start.”

Link nodded, urging him on. 

At that, Revali let out the crook of a smile but quickly quelled it, understanding the severity such a moment required. “It’s his feathers… They’re red.”

…

Staring in silence, Link waited for Revali to continue past the obligatory dramatic pause. 

Revali managed to stay stoic for a few seconds before he threw the facade to the wayside and burst out in haughty chuckles at Link’s expense, “Did you truly expect a perilous tale?” He questioned, biting back into the skewer and talking beak agape, “Or no, perhaps a grand adventure? You really are such a silly, silly little thing, sometimes.”

Link fumed: they were the same height. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like some scolding adult!” Playfully mocking, Revali waved the skewer round as he carried on talking, only stilling his arm to take another bite, “It really is just that. It’s a silly thing, truthfully. I suppose we Rito are just simple-minded folk but when someone bears that colour, it speaks deeply to something within us. Helmaroc only need flash his wings and the most reckless of the flock will lower their heads.”

Though he didn’t find the Rito simple-minded, it certainly didn’t make sense to Link. How could a colour have such a large effect? The royals seemed to think colour was that powerful too, though. For Hylians, red was the colour of the Gerudo brutes, after all. Wearing anything remotely red or even pink in the streets was a scandal (much to Aryll’s chagrin) and though red was also the colour of power, that only applied to the royals using it as their banner and the highest ranking members of the army. Maybe it made more sense then, that rather than feign logic like the Hylians, the Rito’s reasoning was primal, something they didn’t make up but instead an instinct that couldn’t be helped. 

Satisfied with his thoughts, Link looked back to Revali to find him curiously staring back, head tilted. 

“So, have I satisfied suspicions? Have I your permission?” Even though the words were sarcastic, he tapered off at the end in a way that made Link wonder if maybe his answer mattered.

It left the possibility that Revali cared about what Link thought. That would’ve been enough to make him smile if he wasn’t weighed down by thinking of what to say.

Helmaroc didn’t seem trustworthy. In his presence, Revali trembled. It was enough for him to have that horrible nightmare. Link was glad that the two didn’t share anything in common other than the colour of their feathers- it felt absurd to say it now- but, when Link first saw Revali, he was filled with a terrible dread that he was an echo of that Rito who made arrows rain down from the sky. 

Additionally, there was the unsettling thought that spending time with Helmaroc would make Revali grow closer to the Chief and then the flock as a whole. A selfish thought, Link knew, but it was something he had to consider. If Revali started to feel like he belonged here, then what if he refused to leave with Link? 

Everything would be ruined. He’d never get to introduce him to Aryll or Zelda, never be able to show him Hylian ways or finally, finally, get someone to tell him his name. In all likelihood, he’d never see Revali again.

Link gulped. Then sighed, shooing away his strategies.  

“Trust you.” Before he had a chance to regret it, the whistle was already forced out.

This was making Revali happy. He wanted him to stay that way, with a barely hidden smile and eyes gleaming like the day wasn’t a burden. 

“I’m… Honoured.” Revali’s reply was stilted as he let out a held breath and patted his feathers down. 

Winter caused night to gallop faster than his father’s steed, it seemed. Evening had barely came and it was already being forced out. Each night was only getting colder, Link couldn’t wait for the Winter Solstice to come and mark the beginnings of warmth returning. This could be the first year he missed celebrating it- no creamy heart soup for him, then. 

Revali, already having finished his mushroom skewers, made his way to his hammock. 

“Another early morning for me,” He murmured, sleep already extending its reach to him, “Blow the lamp once you’re done.”

Nodding, Link glanced at the swaying light hanging from a chain on the ceiling, briefly wondering whether he’d be able to reach before remembering that the Rito kept things far lower down than Hylians. Conversation having been put to rest by Revali’s fatigue, Link refocused on his food. 

Small, slow bites. And he gave all of the smells plenty of time to drift towards his nose. Then for a while, he listened for the sound of crickets who had come to provide ambience in the absence of the usual orchestra the Rito naturally made. He wished for this meal to be eternal. Because, once it was done, he would have to sleep. And if he were to sleep, it would be within the crate. And the crate felt no different than the underworld. 

Even contemplating squashing his body back in there made him restless. No way was he sleeping tonight. That would be fine, it wasn’t like he was spending much energy loathing about in Revali’s room all day. Maybe some time enjoying the calm serenity of night, illuminated by nothing more than that swinging light, would be good for him. 

Revali disagreed. To his credit, he was far more patient than Link expected but, eventually, he didn’t hesitate to voice his protests, “Please rid us of that ghastly glow. Even if it were some spirit setting a gleam in the corner of my eye, I doubt I’d hesitate to strangle it for the simple pleasure of closing my eyes without feeling light trying to invade my rest.” He groaned, facing down against the cloth of the hammock.

Snorting at how Revali always found a refined way to complain, Link took the hint to get his meal over with. He placed the empty skewer stick amidst the pile of sticks and stones and damned cotton that made up the faux nest that Revali would never admit to making. Only one thing left then.

… 

Later, Link was still sitting on the floor, watching his arms stretch and ankles flex. 

Grumpy murmurs returned and Link turned his head to see Revali’s eyes creek open, glancing first at the gradually dimming but still flaming lamp and then at Link, he stayed lying down, completely at ease. 

“What is it?” He asked, voice quiet and unwilling to break the tranquility of a sleeping, silent hive. The whistle, like usual, was at rest with the soft hues of mild concern, blanketed with an ever blooming sensation which Link liked to think was trust. 

With no harmonies appearing in his mind, Link sat in silence, glancing at the crate in shame. 

“I do hope you aren’t trying to sing with your limbs again....” Revali hummed and Link accepted that he would only continue to find the strangest ways to refer to sign language. 

There were long gaps between Revali’s words, as if he were barely resisiting sleep but thought this a noble enough cause to continue to fight against it, “... If you cannot find the right notes, come closer, so I can see it in your face.” 

Obeying, Link shuffled closer. Neither of them had spoken of it properly, but his suspicions were that Rito, or at the very least, Revali, were not blessed with seeing well in the dark. If that were the case, Link would’ve thought that the dreary lamp wouldn’t be so much of a bother. Possibly, Revali could sleep just fine if he wanted to and this was all a way of being annoyed just for the sake of it. For some reason though, Link decided it to be something far more caring than that. 

They stared at each other’s faces or rather the shadows of ambigious forms. 

“Sad.” Revali whistled, prodded, presented it like a question the answer of which he was certain of. 

Link nodded, when Revali couldn’t make out the gesture, he offered his wing and Link gently pulled it against his cheek and nodded once more so Revali could feel it. Sleep, was alien to him but Link was tired. The melodies were a blessing but the right song had not yet come and until that time, Link would continue to be tired. So now, he would take this brief respite to whistle not and return to the mute, to being Hylian for what now truly felt like the first time in a century.

“Why?”

Trapped. Hurt inside. Link’s mind supplied him with a whistle but he instead just leaned further into Revali’s unmoved wing. Those feathers of his, they were so soft. What a dream it sounded like, to constantly be blanketed in that marvellous warmth. For Revali though, Link mused on if he ever found it suffocating- like all those layers of dress that everyone seemed to wear, whether it was an outer disguise or an inner facade. He hoped that was not the case, he hoped Revali loved his feathers because, some deep part of Link loved those feathers too. Odd, and fantastic and completely alien to his world yet their embrace soothed his woes in an instant as if his very being recognised them to be something to let himself sink into. 

“Blow the lights.” Revali whispered, his whistle commanding but never losing that soft rim. 

Pulling away from his wing was no easy task but Link did so, clambered to his feet and shushed the light dead like he was merely putting it to sleep. 

“Come here.” The tone and whistle did not waver. 

Breath stilting, Link approached once more. This was different- usually the next thing was to return to the crate. 

When he got closer, Revali sat up, wings seeming like heavy weights begging to be let back down, “You rest here for tonight. I’ll admit I’ve been pretending that your little prison cell is more comfortable than it truly is… I’m… Sorry that I’ve kept you in it.” 

As he moved to get up, without thought, Link stopped him with a hand to his chest. There was some more silence but once again it wasn’t hostile or something Link begrudged and wished he could interrupt. 

“Alright then,” Revali decided firmly, shuffling to leave room in the hammock, “It is only fair I suppose, sleep for sleep.” He joked with a playful whistle and Link marvelled at how he was able to find humour at a nightmare from which even the outside glimpses horrified Link. 

Sleep for sleep indeed. Helping each other, felt like the least they owed; the least they could do to make betraying their respective species worthwhile. 

Hesitantly, Link eddied onto the hammock which rocked and swayed in response. To steady them, Revali held his arm and shifted him into the right spot as they both laid down. It was like sitting in a wagon, body constantly bumping up and down. Before it had a chance to sicken Link though, he felt those feathers and calmed. There wasn’t much space with the two of them sharing a hammock built for one, definitely less room than the crate but Link didn’t mind because the loneliness could not reach him here. He was safe. He was safe in Rito Hive.

A deep slumber dove down on both of them like a bird of prey- they held no objections.

—

The feathers hiding him from the cold of Hebra shifted. There was a rustling intruding in the quiet that Link could now finally feel at peace with. It did not bother him, nor did he stir. Those feathers were enough to keep him adrift in cooling, cosy sleep. 

The pattering of talons. 

Swishing of the curtain being cast open.

A surprised squawk.

“Quill- Quill no I can explain-” Revali’s voice, returning to that too common panic. 

The swaying of the hammock as the weight changed. 

Link’s eyes begin to open. Revali whistled “Safe, safe, safe. Stay. Please, please. I’ll return. Promise.” Link’s eyes closed.

The feathers were gone, but the promise, and that fragile trust growing ever stronger between them was enough to keep him blissfully unaware.

Chapter Text

Link. That was Link. It was stupid seeking Revali out in the middle of the night, but it was the only time of day he was sure not to be busy and Tulin needed to see him, needed to know he was not alone. He hadn’t known what he was expecting to see but it wasn’t that. The moment he set eyes on those tufts of golden hair peeking out of Revali’s wings and the flesh in the form of a hand wrapping around his shoulder, he’d known exactly who it was. Even in the obscurities of the dark, the spirit of Courage shone bright. 

Link was in Rito Village. Link. In Rito Village. Tulin had spent so long waiting to see him step into action; every time he opened and closed the hatch he’d peek his head out, desperate to try and keep track of him. But he was here- the whole time- he was here with Revali. 

Revali was chasing after him- he was running from Revali. It was more like a darting tiptoe: neither was bold enough to risk facing the wrath of an awoken adult or worse, Helmaroc. 

“Quill-” Revali whispered as loud as he dared, “Wait- you don’t know what you saw!”

At that, ‘Quill’ spun round, leaving them facing one another on what was not yet called ‘Revali’s Landing’, “I know exactly what I saw, that was Li- a Hylian, you have a Hylian!”

Not faltering, Revali spat out, 

“How do you even know what a Hylian looks like? If you’ve been obeying Helmaroc’s orders, as the obedient little fledgling you are, you shouldn’t have been anywhere near close enough to be able to recognise one. Really, Quill, I know these are exciting times but come on. If you are jealous that the Chief doesn’t trust you with being privy to the goings on of the Hylians you may as well say so rather than allow your imagination to run wild with something so preposterous as me sheltering a Hylian in my hammock.”

Gawking, Tulin couldn’t quite decide where to begin to argue, 

“The Hylians are right out there, everyone’s seen them- jealous? Why would I even want someone like Helmaroc to like me- you’re one to call me a fledgling when you’ve not grown adult flight feathers! Don’t try and hide them away, it’s clear as day you’re hardly older than me,” Tulin rebuked, stopping Revali from tucking his wings behind his back. 

Already, Revali’s beak was opening with likely carefully formulated words but Tulin wasn’t done yet, 

“I don’t want to hear whatever distraction you're cooking up, you’re hiding a Hylian, admit it and for once in your life stop trying to act all high and mighty!” 

That last bit may have been Link’s influence, from those early days when the rare instances he remembered Revali would always leave a sneer on his face. Regardless, it was working: Revali finally wavered and tilted his head down in what Tulin couldn’t quite pin as shame. 

“... Please, you mustn't tell anyone. It would start a war- they’d kill him- Quill, I’ll owe whatever debt you please but I plead you not to tell a soul of this.” Barely a breath away from begging, Revali implored and Tulin couldn’t help but notice the way he slouched his height as if to make him feel less threatened and more comfortable with peacefully agreeing. 

“... Why? Why are you protecting him?”

“I don’t wish to see harm come to him.” The reply was blunt but without an ounce of hesitation.

Part of Tulin wanted to tell Revali to relax and stop speaking as if he were on trial in court but in a way, that’s exactly the situation he was in, with the possible sentence being Link’s life. 

“Who else knows?”

“Nobody, except you.”

“Do you… Really trust me not to tell anyone?”

“Well, we’re in the same boat, you and me, strangers to such a tight-knit flock. I know you’ve been seeking me out, perhaps I’d have made more of an effort to assist you if it weren’t for this sizeable distraction.”

Tulin nodded slowly and, as if being anchored down by night, found himself sitting down, legs dangling off the end of the landing. “A Hylian girl protected me from her own people too, once. I’ll keep your secret.”

It wasn't as if he was going to risk endangering Link regardless, but his time spent under Aryll's care reassured him that Hylians of this time were worthy of trust as well. That and… if Aryll may die before she gets to be reunited with her brother and father, the least Tulin could do is try to keep Link safe and help him get back to his own family. Family wasn't something the hero spoke of- another thing lost with his memories- so maybe if Tulin helped this Link meet them again, he'd be able to go back and tell the Link of his time more about the people he once loved. He'd help at least one Hylian, Goddesses help him.

The determination loaded in Tulin’s words put Revali at ease. He gave a dazed nod and was quick to sit on the landing slightly away from Tulin. As they both stared at the blank cloth of the tarp and imagined a better view, there was a silent ‘thank you’ lying somewhere in that distance between them that neither one thought necessary to acknowledge.

Ever since he arrived here, Tulin had been waiting for the chance to finally speak to this champion he’d idolised for so long but suddenly, any excitement he’d attached to the moment was dissipated, exiled by weary worry. 

“Will they ever accept us?” He asked slowly, barely looking at Revali. Though he knew that he would soon be gone from here, back to the safety of his real family, there was a clawing agony at the thought of leaving Revali to this life of constantly dancing over eggshells. 

“I do not know. I think we can be of use to them, you’re proficient with a bow in spite of your odd methods of archery and I… I will make my mark as a boon they’re lucky to have been blessed with.” The reply wasn’t boastful so much as desperately hopeful. 

“How do you plan on doing that?” Tulin prompted though he was certain of the answer. 

Like everything Revali said, the answer he gave was like a script except this time, there was no ulterior motive; Tulin could tell from that glint in his eye that this was a moment he had been waiting for: that chance to finally share his grand secret. 

“I will tame the winds. It sounds maddening to say it when they’re nowhere to be seen but I know it will be done. My migration to this flock was no easy feat, you know. But the winds, they beckoned me here and  I swear they raised me up when I began to falter, I think I owe my life to them, truly.”

It was so odd hearing the beginnings of Revali’s Gale. For Tulin, who’d already mastered his own gust, it left a paradoxical feeling of pride for a beginner barely gripping the ropes despite this being the very Rito whom he modelled his every technique after. 

That pride continued to swell, then burst out at what Revali continued to say,

“Even now, I can feel them. I wouldn’t dare say this to anyone else so this is another secret you’ll have to keep lest I be deemed mad- but I feel them. It’s like the thrumming of my heart, they’re so close yet at the same time it’s like I’m gazing at a distant star. Those winds that called me so… Sometimes I just know that they’re circling us, far above the clouds and even higher yet, like they’re waiting for the right moment to plummet down.” A bittersweet smile donned his face, like he was waiting for Tulin’s judgement. 

Instead, there was only shocked silence because Tulin knew Revali wasn’t crazy- no- he was something else entirely. That feeling, that sense was too familiar, the moment Revali spoke of it Tulin just knew. The Stormwind Ark : Revali could feel it. 

Like a puzzle, everything clicked together in Tulin’s mind. It was the Stormwind Ark- all of it was the Stormwind Ark. This flock’s winds weren’t divine or sacred- at least not in the traditional sense- they were following the waves of wind created by the boat. And it had docked here, led them here, because it could sense the Rito were needed. The Calamity: Medoh, from his perch in the Heavens, was summoning his people back to fulfill their roles. 

And then there was Revali. Revali who could sense the winds when all the other Rito swore them dead. Revali who had flown all this way to this flock because, for some inexplicable reason, he was called to the winds. Revali, who Tulin knew now with every fibre of his being was the Sage of Wind. All that was missing was the secret stone, that final peace that would’ve sent him to even greater heights if only he weren’t a hundred years too early. 

He was a descendant of Medoh. They were both descendants of Medoh. The whistle of joy was too strong to be suppressed, Tulin barely managed to hush it for he was so overcome with the realisation that he wasn’t alone- he couldn’t be any less alone because he was right here with family. 

This not-yet-protector, who was looking at him with a baffled expression, questioning what in Din’s flame had made him so excited, was his family. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I think your tale just really got to me.”

It's a shoddy excuse but Revali simply  sighed and laughed to himself, “Yes, I suppose it is a captivating ‘story’.” He murmured, unbothered in his assumption that Tulin hadn’t believed him. 

Silence came over them but only briefly as both of them opened their beaks at the same time. 

Revali took the lead, nodding at Tulin as if to tell him his turn to speak would come. Now, with him so reserved yet entirely in control, Tulin could see those beginning embers of a champion in him. 

“I've heard of all the hard work you've done here. Not many would be able to hold under Helmaroc's scrutiny as you have.” 

Praise? Yes, that's what it was- Revali was praising him. 

“Thank you- but I'd say you've done a far better job at it than me.” As if half doubting whether Helmaroc could somehow hear them, Tulin looked around briefly before continuing, “I've made him so angry that I think if he saw me again, he'd pop a blood vessel.” He whispered, like merely referring to that incident was dangerous.

He understood why Helmaroc was so furious: the eggs were the true pride of the Rito and any threat to them had to be taken seriously. In history books, Helmaroc would likely be known as a noble chief for the care he paid to his people but living it for himself left Tulin feeling a nonsensical resentment of sorts towards the Chief. In some ways, his care felt smothering, like he'd never let them spread their wings free. 

“Helmaroc’s… Frightening, I'll admit.” Revali spoke with a softness to his voice, his whistle one of encouragement, “But for all he loves to threaten us with it, I can't see him ever truly casting us out. Maybe it's all just a power play, but I have looked true ruthlessness in the face and I know that for all his red, he does not have it.” For a moment, he seemed so far away, like his mind was cast elsewhere only to zap right back to the present.

“And Quill,” Revali was looking straight at him now, his eyes full of sincerity, “You're safe here, I promise. I can’t speak much on the threat those Hylians out there pose because, in all honesty, nobody's trusted me with that information, either. But if they're half as caring as that boy in there… I think we'll be quite alright.” 

The more they talked, the less crushing that weight on his mind felt. It had been so long since he'd been able to simply sit and chat- he'd always thought of it as a mundane necessity of life to be dealt with as quickly as possible so he could go out on adventures but now… Talking felt like finally being able to take a deep breath in a world constantly trying to suffocate him. 

Revali’s wings hesitantly grazed his back and when Tulin didn't move away, he wrapped it around him though didn't completely close that small distance left between them. It’s awkward but it feels perfectly natural. Peering towards him, Tulin saw Revali devotedly trying to avoid eye contact, staring straight ahead with a distant expression. How much was on his mind, having gone through this with no one of his own to serve as a source of hope? 

Link was there for him- Tulin still hadn't wrapped his mind around that simple fact. 

“What's his name?” He asked quickly, not wanting to be questioned if he said it himself. 

“This is embarrassing but I… Don't know. We've been talking via the melodies and they don't exactly have an alphabet to spell things out with.” A sad tinge invaded Revali’s whistle, the pitch wavering. 

Of course- Link couldn't speak. Half-tempted to reveal that he knew Hylian Sign Language, Tulin stopped himself as he thought of all the questions that would bring with it: Rito here didn't associate with Hylians, let alone talk to them. After all this time he could finally call Revali a friend- or at least he liked to think that he could- did he want to jeopardise it now? 

Then there was Medoh's warning not to interfere; what if using sign language to help them talk properly changed something? They could have an argument and Revali could never join the Champions or they could get closer and Link may refuse to return to the Hylians to be Zelda's knight. 

No, it wasn't worth the risk- Tulin needed to remember he was only here to learn, to see for himself the dark history of his people that the Calamity eroded any knowledge of. He would involve himself no more than in simplistic ways that would let him fade into the background. Saying it was so easy, he only hoped carrying out his words would come with no extra challenges. 

“How are you going to return him to the Hylians?” Was the next question that he could think of. There was no way Link stayed here, he still needs to take on his role as the Knight of the Sword that Seals the Darkness. 

But in response, all Revali did was widen his eyes like it was something that had never even grazed his mind. 

Chasm forming in his stomach, Tulin could only look at him skeptically, “He can't stay here, can he? You haven't kidnapped him, have you?!” He knew it was a ridiculous thing to ask but he suddenly felt a great need to seek out clarification. 

“No of course not!” Revali retorted, annoyance swiftly reviving itself and thriving within his every gesture. “Don't be preposterous. All it is is that the situation is rather tense at the moment so it really isn't an ideal time to contemplate returning him to his own.”

“... So you have no plan?”

“... You make it sound far worse than it is.” 

Forcing his raised eyebrow to settle, Tulin tried to minimise his judgement. This was the Rito Champion, he wouldn't be wholly reckless in what he did. But then again, Revali was also known for having once tried to shoot twelve bomb arrows at once in the middle of a tenuous battle… 

A little interference wouldn't hurt, surely? So long as he did nothing major, like give them a new form of communication, it seemed impossible for a single time-displaced Rito to have all that large of an impact. 

“I want to meet him.”

Revali guffawed, “He's not a zoo animal for you to just go and gawk at!” 

“How's it fair that only you see him?!” 

“I assure you I didn't choose for things to be this way!” 

Huffing, Tulin maintained a level stare at Revali who tried to avert his gaze but the fluffing of his feathers made it clear that he was uncomfortable. 

“Well I-” he paused, scouring for a viable excuse only for his search to turn up empty, “Only once. With me there. And only if he agrees to it.” He added on each bit as he thought of it, clinging onto a stern tone as if he had the power to stop Tulin from sneaking into his room while he was away helping Helmaroc. 

Deciding to play along, Tulin put his wing out for a business-like handshake, “Deal.” He agreed. 

After Revali rolled his eyes and finally shook wings with him, he clambered up to stand and Tulin followed suit.

“We've been out here a rather long time, I suggest you slink back to your quarters- quietly- and try to get as much sleep as you can.”

He turned away, wings clutching each other behind his back and before Tulin could ask, he answered his not-yet-question with a simple, “You can come by during the day's last meal tomorrow.” 

Then, without waiting for Tulin's response, he sauntered away, soft clacks of his steps reminiscent of a soldier marching away from a well fought victory. 

Tulin had never been so happy to return to his chambers. He had to go down a fair amount of stairs as his room hung amongst some of the lowest, accompanied only by the nonessential storage areas; he suspected that the higher something was kept, the more valuable that thing must be to earn a place far from where enemies would enter and close to Helmaroc’s own quarters. That theory gained a crack in it with how Revali was kept at three quarters of the winding village’s height but he didn't pay it much mind. 

No, he was far too overcome with sheer glee and so much had happened that he could barely pick apart which bits were making him so joyous. Revali liked him, Revali was his family, and Revali trusted him. When Link came to mind he could only be hesitantly excited. Would he be threatened by another Rito knowing about him?

But then, as Tulin closed his eyes, he remembered being a young chick flapping around at his father’s talons only to pause at the soft thud of boots, turning to see the hero who had just saved them all from Vah Medoh. Link was like a Goddess that day, descending down from a foreign realm to save the people only to leave the next, continuing on his sacred mission. 

At first, that was all Tulin had seen him as: the noble, otherworldly hero. But then he came back, having shed that focused demeanor in favour of wanting to learn Rito cuisine and all the hatchlings flocked around him as he cooked salmon meuniere for all of them. And then, when Tulin mustered it within himself to use his tiny wing to grasp at his hand and tug him towards the flight range, he watched in total awe as the hero's fingers bent the bowstring in ways their wings could never. After that, Tulin was only seen wielding his bow with his far more flexible talons.

Curling up in his hammock and nuzzling his head against the fabric, he couldn't help but coo. Everything was coming together, he was going to have friends again. Tomorrow, he decided, would be delightful.

Chapter Text

“WHAT?!” Link bellowed out into the ocarina. It was high noon, they didn't have to fear being overheard; the orchestra of daily bustling was at its loudest and part of Link couldn’t help but revel in being able to be loud. 

Revali didn't even flinch at the force of his notes but rather gave a resigned sigh, “I know it isn't ideal, but he's just a little scrapper. Besides, Helmaroc would hardly believe him if he told.” 

Link levelled him a look that made it clear that that was in no way reassuring. The worst bit was that he'd gone right back to sleep after he'd been discovered! Even now, he was out of the crate pacing back and forth as Revali dutifully held the curtain shut and kept near it, ready to deter any intruders and really they’d both gotten far too reckless with this and it was only a matter of time before he was found out and Helmaroc kicked them both out or worse and- 

“Oh would you breathe?” Revali sounded exasperated as he tried to take a step towards Link but was halted by his need to remain by the curtain. He was having absolutely none of Link’s panic, “please give Quill some faith. In truth I think the little guy’s just happy to have people to talk to,” He continued to reassure him as he had done all morning, this time appealing to Link’s compassion, “He’s in a similar predicament to mine and I doubt he’s handling it with nearly as much grace as I have. Really, I think he’s rather lonely, this could do him good.”

After sending him one more final disparaging look, Link finally relented. It was hard enough accepting that he’d been found out, the added news that this stranger wanted to meet him was enough to send him dizzy. He hadn’t heard a single mention of this Quill guy before but apparently Revali was distantly fond of him. 

“It is your choice, though. I told him so. Yes, I said that if you said ‘no’, then he simply wouldn’t be able to come and that that was that.” Revali preened and though Link scoffed at him for it, he didn’t withhold a quiet melody resembling an applause.  

He weaved the melodic praise into his next whistle rather seamlessly if he could say so himself, “Agreement. Warily. Danger.”  

“Oh by Din’s Glory, I knew you’d agree!” Shaking out any specks of tension in his feathers, Revali was almost cheering. 

That kind of happiness was becoming more and more familiar on him and every time Link got to see it, he couldn’t help but be a little more optimistic himself. Seeing that look of glee on his face made the climb back into the crate near ignorable. Finally released from guarding the curtain, Revali rushed to him, putting each wing on his shoulders and whistling out one last “reassurance”.

And Link needed it too. Revali was going out with Helmaroc, it wasn’t time for their target practice yet, but he was finally allowed on the large hunting trips. Link had never seen a woolly rhinoceros, but just from biting into their tough meat, he could tell that they were ferocious creatures not to be trifled with. Logically, he knew that up in the sky, there’s no way any of the Rito would be at risk of falling victim to their charging attacks but then his eyes caught Revali’s wings and how they just didn’t look right. He had no clue what exactly ‘right’ was for Rito wings but there were little details like how some of his flight feathers jutted in completely different directions and how he swore that Revali preened to try and make them look better while he slept in the crate. It all made Link wonder if his wings were really up to flying as much as he did. 

But he knew that if he asked, he’d never get a straight answer out of him; Revali was many things and unfortunately among that list was ‘painfully prideful’. There was no way he’d ever admit to being in pain beyond joking about how mighty he was for carrying on regardless where others would falter. His only hope was that Helmaroc would notice and force him to take better care of himself and even that was a risky thing to hope for. From his brief moments of seeing him, Link could tell that the Chief was good at not letting his true intentions be seen: the best skill for a leader to have. Though he’d threatened and scared Revali, Helmaroc had also ensured that he was given bigger portions and Link could already see the benefits it was having on his scrawny figure. 

In one view then, he was a caring figure keeping a close eye on the health of his people but it was just as easily argued that he was fattening his soldiers up ready for battle. Link didn’t know which one to believe and he wasn’t particularly keen to rush to choose one; if his father had taught him anything, it was to wait and observe for as long as possible before diving in head first. He wished he had the vocabulary to teach Revali that important lesson rather than only be able to give him a meek smile and try not to doubt whether he’d be coming back. 

Sharing none of his supposedly needless paranoia, Revali smiled at him some more before rushing out of the room, letting his wings brush past Link’s torso as he went. The warmth that left Link in remained in sharp contrast to his nerves; the two forces clashed in his stomach, arduously battling for what felt like hours. Maybe it was good that he would be meeting another Rito, if anything did happen to Revali, at least he wouldn’t be stranded here with no allies. 

That did nothing to calm him. No, this had stopped being about strategic planning long ago. Revali was his friend and he didn’t need anyone else- all they’d do is get in the way. And he still hardly knew a thing about this ‘Quill’ except that he had things in common with Revali. Surely, he himself was a better fit? So what if this guy was also a Rito new to the flock, Link was the one that had been here with him for all this time! That, and nobody knew quite like him what it’s like keeping the kinds of secrets he suspected Revali held close. For Power’s sake, why couldn’t this all just stay as something for only him and Revali?!

He wasted away the whole day with complaints like that running through his mind. This wasn’t fair- it never had been but now it really wasn’t. 

When Revali returned, he was only just finished with his brooding, having instead turned his mind to how he was going to sucker punch Dato in the kisser the first chance he got. 

At first, Revali walked in with a dazed look on his face, barely registering Link’s presence. When he did finally grapple with whatever had him out of sorts, though, he was quick to question with the same judgmental tone as always, “why have you got that grin on your face? Is there a feather loose in your brain?”

“Wouldn’t understand.” Link chirped back with the ocarina and Revali nodded sagely, revealing that he really wasn’t all that concerned about it. 

The mood grew a bit more tense and Revali’s crest rose a bit- it was already so tall that it had taken Link a while to notice that it did that when he was nervous. 

“Are you still alright with Quill coming?”

“Are you?”

“Yes, yes of course I am- whyever would you think otherwise- that would be preposterou-” He sighed, “It’s nothing. Helmaroc was just behaving strangely and he’s got my feathers all flustered.”

When Link gave him an inquisitive look, Revali was quick to cease discussion on the matter with a simple “Safe. Sorted.”

They stared at each other in comfortable silence, Link tilting his head as Revali put away his bow. 

“We’ll have woolly rhino meat for days, now.” He supplied though he gave Link no chance to question further, instead looking around the room in dismay, “Din, I need to clean up in here.”

It was true, the amount of meals the two had eaten in here in tandem with the trinkets of wood and pebbles Revali kept in his not-nest was all now clutter on the floor. 

Releasing himself from the crate, Link got up and gathered any remnants of meals like dirty skewer sticks or bones from drumsticks; he figured that it would be best that he touch the bird remains although he doubted whether it bothered Revali at all. Once he had them bundled up in his hands, he took them to the edge of their room and Revali peeled the bottom of the tarp open just enough to be able to dump them out, sinking them into the waters below. Link relished that brief moment of natural light being allowed to seep in and instantly mourned it once the gap was once more closed. If only the Rito hadn’t been so masterful in their crafting of the tarp, then perhaps that crack in the fabric would’ve opened enough to let him scramble out. Instead, a nail held the tarp shut and they were both too scared that removing it would create a gaping hole of vulnerability. 

Where to dispose of the false nest was a different issue altogether. Link knew that Revali didn’t want other Rito to know about it, he hadn’t the faintest idea why but it was made clear in how he’d gone to the efforts to sneak the cotton to his room rather than just take it. Look where that got him, he thought sardonically but couldn’t bring himself to wish that he’d done anything differently at all.

His fondness was challenged when Revali, having gathered the sticks and stones and scraps of cotton, dumped it all into the crate. 

In a swift reaction, Link shot out a sharp “homewrecker!” only to frazzle as it manifested… differently than his intention. The crate wasn’t even his home anyway but that didn’t mean he was fine with it being trashed.

“Oh dear, what a pittance,” Revali drawled, paying little mind to Link, “I suppose you’ll just have to bunk in with me for another night until we have a chance to clean that up. Such a hassle, but I’ll endure it for your sake, if I must.”

Link had half the mind to just sleep on the floor. He didn’t say so though, no, he rather preferred the option of hammocking with Revali again. 

With a coy smile, Revali tossed the other bits and bobs he declared to be trash yet refused to throw out into the crate and just as he was finally done, there was a wave of the curtain imitating a knock. How strange, Link didn’t think Rito had much of an etiquette around personal space, what with Helmaroc barging in and Revali being so wary of an unannounced guest bursting through the curtain. 

“Who is it?” Revali deigned to ask, maintaining the illusion that it wasn’t unusual for someone to come visit him. 

“Me,” A hushed voice answered before supplying, “Quill.”

Shielding himself from outsiders’ view, Link took cover behind the crate as Revali warily peaked the curtain open and the tapping of talons against wood promptly followed. 

“You haven’t told anyone that you’re here?”

“No, of course not. Um- I brought my own food.”

“ You snuck food out of the dining quarters?”

“No, Helmaroc let me take it.”

Tuning into the conversation with a newfound gratefulness for his large ears, Link couldn’t help but notice the youth in Quill’s voice and the way he didn’t try to hide it like Revali. How exactly was he meant to join in? Was Revali going to do a grand reveal? 

“Your wraps are barely staying on right, come here, you birdbrain.” He heard Revali sigh with an exasperation belonging to a tired parent. 

Stuck in the awkward silence, Link tried to picture the scene playing out of Revali making Quill spin as he wound the wraps around him. Was it normal for Rito to help each other with their wraps? Was it normal for them to see each other bare-feathered? 

Suddenly, Link’s mind provided a vivid memory of that night Revali woke from a nightmare and Link had laid a hand on his bare-feathered chest with no hesitation. (He didn’t think bare-feathered was the right word, but it amused him.) His face flushed as he wondered if he was weird for doing that; was it the equivalent of someone laying a hand- or wing- on his naked chest? The thought of Revali doing that to him— his ears were twitching in sheer embarrassment. It must’ve been a side effect of using the melodies, but his emotions seemed to want to burst out with every movement of his body now that they knew just how free they could be. All Hylians had expressive ears anyway, but he’d always thought himself to be quite good at controlling his. It didn’t matter amongst the Rito anyway; none of them would understand Hylian quirks and even if they did, only a fool would try to play a heartless stoic, Link thought.  

“Do show yourself, won’t you?” As Revali beckoned his reveal Link slowly stood, turning to face Quill. 

He looked nothing at all like Revali. So far, the only other Rito he’d seen had been Helmaroc who, sharing so many features with Revali, made the Rito seem somewhat like they were all of one family or at the very least shared the same low colour variation of the Zora. Perhaps Quill was an anomaly akin to Mipha’s vibrant red scales but even his posture and stance were miles away from Revali. With his coat of snow and feathers so fluffy that they seemed like they were stolen straight out of royal pillows, the only commonality he seemed to have with Revali at all was that glint in his eye. 

“Oh please, I knew you two would just gawk at each other,” Revali groaned, raising a wing to his forehead.

At that, Link blew the ocarina in, “annoyance” and Quill jumped at the sound. 

“Woah- he speaks melodies better than most Rito,” He exclaimed in disbelief.

“If you truly believe that to be an impressive feat,” Revali retorted, “I have to wonder whether you’ve been around true Rito at all,” He let out a little scoff and Link couldn’t help but wonder if he was jealous about the praise. 

Faltering, Quill tripped over his words to explain, “Oh- yeah I forgot Rito now- here- speak the melodies so well, um, I suppose it’s just another thing about my old flock…” He trailed off, full of uncertainty. 

The moment his old flock was mentioned, Revali’s face softened and he inhaled a whistle, hiding it from the rest of them, “Right… My apologies, I suppose.”

Goddesses, their Hylian was so different . By nature of their beaks, neither could fully imitate the language in its purest form but where Revali occasionally spoke at levels of regality nearing the Princess, Quill’s Hylian came out in an order Link had never heard before and it was so casual that only Aryll spoke in a manner remotely close to it. 

“So, he only speaks in melodies, then?” Quill questioned, refusing to let the conversation die out. 

“Yes I already told you all of this before.” Revali huffed, snark making a full return, “well, sometimes he tries to make song with those fleshy digits of his.”

“You’re messing with us, you can’t not know the word for fingers-” The accusatory tone in Quill’s voice was enough to merit a breathy chuckle from Link. Though he was entirely right, Link wasn’t quite ready to make himself Revali’s nemesis by exposing him. 

“Nonsense,” The smooth talker denied and diverted, “Go on, you, show him.”

Groaning at being talked to like a Hylian Retriever, Link rolled his eyes but complied, lazily signing, “Don’t mind him, he’s as big-headed as he is prideful.”

He hadn’t been expecting anything to come from it- at this point, Sign was little more than a party trick for Revali to call increasingly absurd names. But when Quill’s eyes tensed in hidden humour, Link barely stopped himself gasping. 

“Do you understand me?!” He signed again, this time raising his hands in the proper form with a newfound speed. 

Quill gave no response but Link wasn’t convinced: this stranger was focusing far too much on his hands for someone who didn’t know a gesture of sign. 

Exasperated, Link wracked his brain for a way to expose the truth but before he could, Quill was looking to Revali who gave a nonchalant shrug, “Exactly as I said it was. He can be rather peculiar but do try not to hold it against him.”

After a delay, Quill forced out, “... Yeah.”

The guilt in his eyes was undeniable and Link struggled to hide his disappointment and the spoiled chance to finally be able to talk again. 

Detecting the sinking mood, Revali took charge, “Come now, let’s eat. You two may have it easy but I’ve been working rather hard alongside the hunters and I’d be glad to eat the spoils of my labour.” Perking up with the not so subtle boast, he sat down with Link and unwrapped their food.

Just as he had said, before them lay three steaks of cooked woolly rhino meat, kept warm by their leaf wraps. Opposite them, Quill sat with one rather meagre steak- steak seemed like far too complimentary a word for its pathetic size. Link knew that Helmaroc had increased Revali’s portion but by that much? It would be reasonable for some of the extra portion to be a reward for hunting, and maybe Quill was particularly disliked by whoever handled rations but the difference was startling.

Not to Revali, apparently. Whilst Link’s eyes flickered between the two, wondering who was going to mention the obvious faux pas, Revali was already biting into his steak with the glee and ignorance of a young child. Levelling a critical look at him, Link shook his head and tossed their third steak to Quill in a gesture meant to be as nonchalant as possible. Revali’s head instantly shot up, and his eyes narrowed like a wolf who’d just had its hunt stolen. 

Quill too, seemingly didn’t appreciate the gesture as he rattled out, “Oh- that’s really not necessary-” He cut himself off. 

Link could tell why, there was something wrong in the air. It was Revali, he was still tense and predatory- like that, he almost resembled Helmaroc. Anger was something Link had hardly ever seen on him, it was always petty annoyance but never this sheer rage at something being taken from him. Something instinctual in Link tugged at him to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible and the best thing he knew to do was to place a hand on Revali’s chest, settling his ‘fleshy digits’ over the bindings of the wrap. 

It worked. Revali calmed, though slowly. 

“My apologies… That would be a quirk of my old flock.” He spoke with an out-of-place clarity, moving Link’s hand off of his chest like it was no big deal though Link noticed how the feathers hidden under the wraps had fluffed up in reaction to the touch. 

Quill was giving them an odd look- so it was weird to touch a Rito there, how embarrassing- and murmured a ‘thank you’ as he hesitantly accepted the much more filling steak. 

It was times like this that made Link wonder if it would have been beneficial for his family to embrace their newfound status as nobles a little more. Princess Zelda was always able to execute her every move with sheer grace and when she didn’t, even that was a calculated decision. Sometimes, even the simplest of socialising seemed like a war in their own right that no amount of combat training would ever prepare him for. 

Would it only be another battle if Quill signed back to him? He needed to find the Rito alone, he decided. If he wasn’t used to hearing melodies spoken all that well, then their emotional strength may have a swaying affect on him once the pressure of pleasing Revali was absent and he might admit to understanding Sign Language. The tactician in him was returning, like it could feel the conflict on the horizon. 

Halfway through his steak, Revali cut through the silence, “So, you’ve met each other.”

“We have.” Quill acknowledged, curious about what Revali was getting at.

When nothing else was said, Revali glanced at them both with skepticism, “Is this it, then?”

Then, when neither of them replied, he took to verbal warfare. First, he pointed at Quill, “You broke into my room and demanded to be let in again just to see him, you little tresspasser!” and before protest could be made, he sniped and Link, “And you-! You’re becoming more feather-brained every day- why just today you were smiling at nothing- nothing! You could do with more people to talk to before you go crazy like a clucking cucco!”

“That’s happiness” Link retorted, because thinking about punching Dato had made him happy. 

At that, Revali incredulously remarked, “You never smile at nothing when you’re around me- are you accusing me of not making you sufficiently content?”

“Is it really trespassing if all I did is open a curtain-” Quill interrupted. 

In support, Link chimed “Window.”

Baffled by the alliance against him, Revali couldn’t seem to choose who to duel against first, “Window?! Just because it’s a curtain it’s not the same thing as opening a window!”

“When have you ever seen a cuckoo?” Quill questioned, “They don’t wander in such cold regions.”

“I’ll have you know that in my old flock I was charged with caring for the guard coocoos. I’m extremely familiar with them and his behaviour is extremely similar to them.” Revali huffed but his words only made Link and Quill laugh. 

“Guard cuckos?!”

“Mama cucko”

“They’re very territorial, you know- Oh you take that back, I am no such thing!”

If Link’s laughter made any sound, it would’ve surely exposed him then and there. His face was filled with mirth at the thought of Revali with a mob of cuckos keeping watch and his face ached with how much he laughed at the image of Revali having to feed and mother them. Quill too was squawking in amusement and in that moment of shared revelry, Link accepted him as a friend.

Having seen no way to victory, Revali had resorted to sulking and grumpily finishing the scraps left of his steak.  

“Talk more.” Link goaded, mocking how sour he’d turned despite him being the one to insist they talk properly. 

Revali made a deeper huff and rolled his eyes, “I cannot be blamed for not anticipating such petulance.”

“Well I am just a fledgling after all.” Quill mused cheekily, making Revali’s dramatics only further increase. 

By now, both the Rito were failing to refrain from quiet happy chirps and their melodies were drunk with relaxation and humour. Even Link’s ears had grown still and his body felt laxed. At some point or another, he’d ended up leaning against Revali and to his shock, he was yet to be displaced. 

“You seemed so severe when we first talked.” Quill stated plainly though Link noticed his eyes glance at his fall from good posture. He couldn’t bring himself to care all that much- Revali’s soft feathers were like a pillow and he was far too comfortable to even contemplate moving. 

“I’m very severe.” Revali deadpanned though it was clear he didn’t mean it, his head was tilting as if it were about to flop to rest on Link’s head. 

“And you understand each other so well- I’m still piecing together what his melodies mean by the time you’ve already replied.” Quill brushed over and carried on listing his observations. It gave the vague sensation that he was overwhelmed though it wasn’t distressing. 

Somehow, that made sense in Link’s head. He’d been overwhelmed by Revali too, on that day when he finally realised that there was more to him than bird. That flood of knowledge had been a cooling relief, like an oasis in the desert. 

“You’ll get better at the melodies in time,” Revali reassured, “Though in all honesty I only understand him so well because we’ve spent so long together. It’s a little quirk of the melodies that they work like that.”

Like what? Link thought but didn’t ask. Revali had his reasons when he chose to skim over things, and Link quite enjoyed the relaxed conversation they’d fallen into. 

Quill had already finished both his steaks by now. He must’ve been hungry with the speed he scoffed them down at. He nodded at Revali’s reassurance before attempting to whistle a “Gratitude” which Revali softly corrected with a “Thank you”, “Same message but easier to get right”, He explained. 

They spent the last bits of evening chirping away snippets of melodies, Quill testing something out, Revali supplying him with the most accurate version and Link using his unconventional ocarina method to help him along the way to perfection. How odd that he could help teach someone the melodies. Even odder that it was someone that he didn’t need the melodies to speak to. He couldn’t really resent Quill for it though: he was surrounded by far too much happiness to be negative. 

They were all happily hooting long into the night by the time they heard a sharp whistle from an adjacent room commanding “Quiet!” and it was enough to scare them into heeding the warning. 

Nothing else came from it, they mustn't have distinguished Link’s ocarina from the small chorus they’d formed. Still, it was startling enough to signal that Quill should leave. As they got up to say goodbye though, Quill rushed to Revali and threw his wings around him in a hug. Revali, flustered, first tensed but hugged him back, the surprise on his face tempered by his gentle, happy shock. Beaming, Quill let go, gleefully waved goodbye to Link and swooshed the curtain open, tiptoeing away as quickly as he could.  

Revali just watched him leave but Link didn’t. No, his eyes were pinned on Revali’s beak and that soft smile, fatigued by the day but not weakened at all. They cleaned up the bare minimum and Link pretended to not notice how Revali tossed more junk into the crate. It would be days before they managed to get it properly clean: days of him sleeping in Revali’s hammock. 

As they both clambered into it together, accompanied only by the dark quiet of the looming night, Revali whispered to him, “I know you want to ask.”

Link hummed “Yes” - it wasn’t a melody but just a simple Hylian act and it exhilarated him when Revali understood. 

“You understand the melodies clearer,” he began his voice so quiet that Link had to lean closer to hear him, “The closer you are to each other.” And as he gazed at Link and noted how near they were, he added on with a chuckle, “Not like this.” And Link knew exactly what he meant. 

They were close.

Chapter Text

With Link still avoiding her, Zelda’s days spent at the camp failing to see any Rito were boring and wasted. She hadn’t any clue what she’d done wrong even after running through each of their meetings in her head again and again. And when she thought back to something, she thought of it clearly; she remembered the exacts of every detail and the past felt so near it may as well have been the present. 

Possibly, that knight who interrupted them in the forest really had seen Link. It would be the strategic choice on his part then to avoid seeing her for fear of punishment from the Captains or, what would presumably be a worse fate for a teenage boy, bullying from his peers. Or else, maybe he had grown sick of the meagre life of a stable boy and decided to run, leaving the horses to die. It was a good thing Captain Arn was caring for them- Zelda thought it was a task beneath him but he hadn’t informed another soul of their need for a replacement for Link. 

Getting anyone new at all would be a task as Winter continued to settle down; the roads of the Hebra Region were covered in ice and any wagons were sure to lose their grip and be toppled. At most, they had received new supplies in confirmation that they would be staying here until the Rito could be properly assessed. When the first of the shipments came in, Zelda handed the delivery man a letter addressed to her father noting all the reasons why she should stay rather than be sent back and he soon sent a reply in agreement though only because neither Captain could be spared to accompany her on the trip home. 

So she was stuck. It was growing so cumbersome that she nearly attempted to befriend the knights her age. After having borrowed a scroll from Captain Hyatia though, and examining the list of knights for anyone of a suitable lineage and disposition, her search came up nought. Lineage was never a factor she purposefully took into consideration before, that was why she’d conversed with Link, after all. But with him having deserted her… Maybe it was best to stick with one’s peers- people of similar breeding. Echoing her father like that made her sick- made her feel like she was nothing more than livestock. But it was necessary… Wasn’t it…? 

After weeks of loneliness, her solution finally arrived in the form of a girl. She overheard the maids discussing her arrival (they were as starved for entertainment as Zelda) and how she was delivering a shipment of blankets to help ward off the growingly hostile cold. More importantly though, was the information that she was Captain Arn’s daughter. A girl of nobility and sensible mind though humble enough to assist in providing supplies. She sounded like the type of girl Zelda would want as a lady-in-waiting: perfectly suitable. 

That was, until she started to seek her out. It was unusual for her to have to look for someone at all as a Princess but one thing she had learnt from Link was that an informal setting could be advantageous and right now, it was incredibly important that she plan out her every move if she had any hopes of securing a friend. Most young women during a cold day like this would gather with the maids for the comfort of female company- but not this girl. 

As Zelda was strolling, she overheard the knights first. It was the young ones all grouped together, they were still fresh recruits and the only one of note in regards to skill was ‘Dato’ (she had been considering him as a potential candidate for amiability, though wouldn’t be able to recognise him in a line-up). They had the same keen eye for gossip as the maids. 

“Dato, Dato did you hear? Aryll’s here!” One of them squawked out like it was amazing news. 

Not wanting to be seen, Zelda strategically positioned herself behind the nearby tents. It came at the cost of not being able to see them herself but it didn’t matter- teenage boys were the vocal type, anyway. 

“Stop messin’ around.” 

Was this what they really sounded like? They always acted refined when Zelda drew near.

“I’m not! She’s here, she asked me where Link was.”

Link? In response to his name, there was a collective groan. 

“She’s so obsessed with him, when’ll she get some common sense in her?”

“Some women never do.”

“Either way, it won’t be like she’ll be finding him anytime soon.” A voice suggested in what sounded like an inside joke of sorts. 

“Don’t talk about that. Not out here.” Instant and authoritarian- Dato, then. 

There was a silence, Zelda wondered what had brought the sudden shift about. 

“Where’s she gone, anyway?” Dato spoke again, commanding the shift in topic. 

“Over by the horses, she said she thought Link would be there.”

“Of course she did. I don’t get what’s wrong with her, fawning all over him like that.”

Zelda left for the horses. She didn’t like what she heard but she didn’t know why. This new girl- Aryll- knew Link too. What were the odds of that? What really made her stomach drop though was that last bit. Did they care for each other in that sense? Maybe that was why Link was hiding away from her. Though she never even dreamed of anything like that (outside of humouring herself every now and then), she understood it often wasn’t deemed appropriate to be alone with someone when courting another. 

Her hands clenched at her dress. Maybe she was getting sick from the cold- her ears had gone terribly rigid and there was a burning fire in the pit of her stomach that she was barely holding in and it got worse every time she thought of Link and Aryll.

By the time she’d reached the horses, she was half-convinced that this was a terrible plan. Just as the knights had said though, there, in the middle of the clearing disrupting the snowy plains was a new presence. Wearing a long pale blue dress that reached the floor, there was no question of her status as a noble though something about the way it hung on her was odd- like she didn’t truly belong in it. The most striking thing was the thick head of hair pulled up into a bun. Hylian girls hardly ever kept long hair, it was the men who preferred to have thick, lynel’s manes but even restrained in the bun, Zelda could tell it was longer than even hers. Ginger would be the proper term but anyone who looked at it and the way this girl wore it with that striking demeanor barely muffled by the conservative dress… Anyone with any wits about them would say she had red hair. 

Finally, Zelda recalled formalities and cleared her throat. The girl, midway through petting a mare, looked at her with curiosity. Then, after a moment of staring, her eyes flared in recognition and her head bowed as she dropped into a curtsey. 

“Oh no, there’s no need for that-!” Zelda insisted, unsettled in how the way Aryll bowed put her hair on full display. It was a silly thing, marking everything red as belonging to the traitorous Yiga or Gerudo rebels but, ridiculous as it was, it felt like a challenge. The girl’s very essence did in the way she rose up and faced her near instantly once given permission. It was all too confident, too calm.

“I had heard you were here, Princess, though it remains a surprise to see someone like your grace in these parts.”

“Zelda.”

“Aryll.” She seemed just as keen to drop the formalities as Zelda. No averted gaze or nervous trembling- just a girl her age staring right at her like she was nobody important. 

Tentatively, Zelda approached and took to stroking another of the horses, keeping her eyes on it instead of Aryll, “I heard you are Captain Arn’s daughter. I think it quite nice to have another noble lady here.”

“... Yes, how ‘delightful’ indeed.” She seemed strained but Zelda was used to people behaving that way around her.

Ah, the formalities weren’t gone completely. No, they were merely pretending so. In reality, the game had started; both of them dancing around the other trying to fulfill their own motives without breaking the unwritten rules of society and exposing themselves to Goddess-knows what repercussions.   

“Is there something in particular you are looking for?” Zelda asked, goading her into mentioning Link though tagged on to make it less obvious, “Or do you enjoy horse riding, perhaps?”

“I do, but not on horses like these.” She answered, staring at a saddled mare and looking vaguely sad. 

“Maybe a brisk ride would ease your mind? I would be glad to ride alongside you. Army horses can be a tad rough but-”

“No, no that really isn’t necessary.”

Zelda paused. Had she just been cut off? Her hands fell in front of her, clutched together as she tried not to let her face falter. Aryll wasn’t all that good at the ‘courtesy waltz’, then, it seemed. That was all for the better- Zelda wanted it over with as quickly as possible.

“You were right with your first guess, Princess Zelda-”

“Just Zelda’s fine.” She indulged herself with some abrasiveness of her own. 

“Yes, my apologies.” Aryll rattled out in perfectly feigned sincerity, “Who is it who’s in charge of caring for these horses? Some of them seem like they haven’t been brushed in an awfully long time.”

“Oh I wouldn’t know. I’m afraid my position as princess doesn’t include paying regard to such matters.” She mused, reluctant to expose herself. If this girl truly was courting Link (Zelda already highly doubted the validity of that claim), then it would be improper of her to so readily reveal that she knew him quite well- at least in comparison to everybody else here. 

“... Of course.” Aryll muttered bitterly and the absolute gall of it sent a thrill running through Zelda. 

Nobody was this unabashedly rude to her: ever. 

There was something freeing in her disrespect. 

“Do you take offence?” She prodded, realising that if she could manage to peel away at all those layers of formality, she might just be able to have a proper conversation. 

“Not at all.”

“You may speak your mind, I permit it.”

“If I need your permission to speak, then are my words really my own?”

Zelda chuckled and couldn’t help the slight smile on her face. She hated when people acted like her permission was a great boon- like every little thing about her was divine. The only thing worse than that was when people accused her of lacking divinity altogether. 

“You are quite right,” She agreed with Aryll who furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, “Are you perhaps looking for a boy versed in Hands?” She referred to sign language in its archaic name, not entirely ready to give up the act. 

“Yes, I am. So you are familiar with him.”

“He does not easily go unnoticed.”

Aryll chuckled, “We’re definitely talking about the same boy.”

“Why do you seek him out? It’s not often a girl of your standing would linger near the trainee knights, yet alone search for a half-fledged stable boy.” With a calculated eye, Zelda added the way Aryll tensed in response to her casual insult at Link to the growing list of information she had at hand, “Perhaps it would be best you and I seek out your father to inquire about his whereabouts? He does report to him, after all.”

“Oh no- we really needn’t bother my father about this.” Aryll tossed on refined speech and blurted it out with such speed that she all but convinced Zelda that whatever this ‘thing’ with Link was, it was being kept a secret from Captain Arn. 

“You do not wish to tell him?”

“He has no need to know.”

That bad feeling was starting to tug at her again. It made her suck in her lips a little and tense her teeth round her gums. Maybe the knights were right- maybe they really were courting. The thought was a lump in her stomach. 

“What business do you have with Link?” She asked bluntly, straightening up and beginning to don the intimidating air of a Princess. 

Startling at hearing her say his name, Aryll’s reply was suddenly tinged with uncertainty, like she’d been underestimating how useful a source of information Zelda was until now, “It’s vital that I know his whereabouts. I haven’t seen him and it worries me.”

“How do you know him?”

She faltered, “Your Highness please, if you know something, tell me.”

“I said you may call me Zelda.”

“And I’ve chosen not to. Where is he?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Then who would?”

“I… Wouldn’t know.” This had stopped being fun. Aryll was too worried and it made Zelda feel a dread that she’d never considered before. Though slight, her form wavered.

That was enough for Aryll to finally break, too. Her careful poise dropped and true honesty seeped onto her face. “I’m scared something’s happened to him.” 

“I am too…” Zelda admitted, “It has been well over a fortnight since I last saw him. I thought maybe he was willingly avoiding me but if you too have failed to find him then-” She paused, eyes widening, “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake not looking for him myself.”

Suddenly, she was panicking. Why had she never considered that he might not be alright? Her previously calculated mind flooded with newfound worry at what could’ve happened. He could be sick, lost, injured. 

She’d failed. She’d failed Link as his friend. Her one task was to protect everyone and she hadn’t even thought to see if he needed her help. She was a failure in every regard: lacking the divinity to save everyone and the humanity to care for her friend.

There was a pause. She tried to recompose herself but she couldn’t. They needed to get him help. Figure out some possibility of his whereabouts. 

“Could he be in trouble? Does he… Know the sort of people that could put him in danger?” She asked, barely aware of any of the various groups a young boy feeling deprived of power may fall in line with. 

Aryll fervently shook her head, “He’s good, he knows to keep his head down. He wouldn’t- he couldn’t- nobody would understand him enough to get him in trouble.”

All Zelda heard was that Link could need help and there’d be nobody to understand him. Sign was rare- too rare. There was a chance he couldn’t write, or a chance he wouldn’t have anything to write on. He would be alone no matter what- even if he were surrounded by people none of them would help. 

“We must seek help. We can go to your Father or if not him, Captain Hyatia-”

“No, no- we can’t go to the Captains, not about this. Please, it wouldn’t end well.”

Despite how much she wanted to argue with Aryll, she relented. She was half-sure that the two of them had been keeping their supposed ‘courtship’ a secret from Captain Arn and Zelda was filled with a want to rebuke Aryll for thinking it a more important issue than getting Link help. But it was becoming more and more clear to Zelda that she was only on the periphery of whatever the situation was. She was a stranger looking through a window- piecing together things entirely unknown to her. Even if they weren’t courting, Aryll seemed close to Link and Zelda tried to convince herself that that was a good enough reason to trust her. 

“... Fine then. How can I help?” Offering her aid was the best she could do. She was no commander to be taking siege of the situation, it just wasn’t something that she thought she’d be capable of. 

In disbelief, Aryll stared at her with a look Zelda couldn’t pin down. “You’ll help me?” She didn’t sound honoured or blessed- no, she was more surprised than anything. 

“Link’s my… He’s my friend. I want to help him. I think I should’ve tried to help him long before you came here.” 

Something she’d said must have been right because Aryll was smiling in a way that she didn’t think anyone had smiled at her before. It was so real- not soaring and fantastical but rather weighed down by a shared duty that made her head thrum as if she had stumbled on a long awaited purpose, the kind of thing you never know you’re looking for until it finds you and then you spend the rest of your life searching for it again. Scouring the lands for that thrumming thrill, that buzz, the sheer ecstasy of companionship towards one common goal. 

“We shall do this together.” Aryll declared and Zelda’s heart echoed it as sheer willpower burst out, as if it had been stowed away waiting for this moment.

“Together.”

Chapter Text

There was a new routine, now. Revali woke in the dark. The sun had stopped rising with him, having grown lazy and lethargic in the colds of Winter. Not him, though. Consciousness came to him like a bird landing on a branch, the still-sleepy sounds of his people wafting in through the curtain.

Getting out of the hammock was not so easy now, with his friend’s mass weighing against him. Part of it was the semantics of climbing out of a still-full hammock. Most of it was finding the will to nudge the boy away and bid goodbye to the soothing thrum of his heavy snores. 

He stared up at the ceiling in dismay with a blanketing wing over the Hylian (his face was still half-buried in his feathers). Today was meant to be exciting. But Revali just felt nervous. 

What if he missed the targets? Maybe the whole day was Helmaroc’s way of testing if he was worthy of staying. Just as he had started to feel safe around the chief, there was a new awkwardness to their every interaction. He’d mentioned it to Quill whilst they were chopping fish together and he agreed, saying he wasn’t making sense in the way a chief had to. It was stressful times though, with the Hylians showing no signs of moving- maybe they both just needed to be more understanding of him. 

Revali could do that. He would be better, he’d need to be if he was going to prove himself capable. In swift determination, he let his wing brush over his companion one more time before leaving the hammock and grabbing his bow. 

Venturing out into Rito Settlement proper, he was given no greetings as he weaved through the bustling Rito, trying to avoid collision. First, he had to get arrows. With the Hylians on their doorstep, the fletchers were rationing arrows to only those in need of them. Skilled in the craft, Revali was capable of making his own though preferred to save them lest he be denied arrows when in true need. Once he’d made his way down the stairs, he lingered outside of the fletchery, internally repeating his prepared script. 

With a deep breath in, he stepped through with the perfect air of the useful hunter he was, “I require twenty arrows. I have business to attend to with the chief.”

“A kid like you?” The fletcher remarked with a skeptical eye that made Revali try to shield his fledgling flight feathers behind his back. 

“Target practice.” He admitted sheepishly, eyes cast downward at his failed attempt to be mature.

“With the chief?” The fletcher chuckled, like there was something funny about it. “Good luck to ya’.” She smiled and slid him a bundle of 10 arrows. 

“I asked for twenty.”

She was still smiling, as if he were humouring her, “And you’ll get ten. It mightn’t be as fun as shooting willy-nilly but you can pull arrows out of the targets, you know. Just don’t let the gusts take them.”

Trying to be grateful for what little he’d got, Revali nodded and tucked the bundle into his quiver before heading out. What had she meant by ‘gusts’? The only Rito who still felt even slight breezes of wind were mad- him included. Maybe she was going stir-crazy from being cooped inside for so long. Revali nearly had been too, before he gained his new companion. 

The thought of returning to him alleviated some of his anxieties about the whole thing. 

Ascending, Revali opened up the latch and climbed up out of the tarp’s shelter. He always imagined the outside light would be blinding. But dawn was still teetering up, painting the sky in gentle pinks and oranges. The colourful rays reflected on the snow and brought vibrance to Hebra’s bleak landscape. The only thing marring the scene were the Hylian tents. The pitched campsite of cloth houses were miniscule imitations of the tarp, all of the tension vaguely reminiscent of children waiting to kill their kin and fight over the remains. 

Revali wished for a day where nothing at all would remind him of those times- the things he’d seen when he was a weak girl rather than a murderous boy. 

But Reva had found a use now. Surviving the Labrynnans was a trophy, here, to Helmaroc. It was just the merit Revali needed to make himself known, it might be the thing to save him from having to leave another flock. So as he stared down at those little tents, so far beneath him, he paid them little mind. They were nothing he had not faced before. 

He took flight, (or, due to the lack of winds, fell as slowly as his wings allowed) towards the wild of Hebra. Helmaroc had been specific in where he’d wanted them to practice. It was an odd place, a little valley tucked away within the mountains. There were no signs of higher life at all: just snow and ice as far as the eye could see. Revali was half sure he’d gotten it wrong before he heard the whipping of feathered tails in the air. 

Winds be damned, Helmaroc used his own brute force to cut through the air. In motion, he was a sight to behold, the red linings on his wings were on full display and all Revali could do was struggle not to gawk at strength that hardly seemed rito. 

With his landing sending snow flying, Helmaroc towered over him. “Revali.” He acknowledged, any emotion impossible to discern.

“Chief.” Revali stood at attention, like a soldier eager for command.

The chief began his routine inspection. That was what Revali assumed was happening, anyway. By now it was such a familiarity that his wings were already stowed away behind his back, those pesky awry feathers out of sight as they should be. 

“That bow, did you handcraft it?” Helmaroc asked, neck craned as if trying to get a better view despite the snow trying to engulf his talons. 

“... My mother did.” There was no use lying to a chief. He’d learnt the hard way that that never went well. 

She’d made him that bow so he could protect himself. It was the bow that killed her- the one that landed the shot that ended with her little more than a mangled corpse. Though it was a plain thing, it had more than shaped him, whittled him down to his current self. 

“She did a wondrous job-...” Helmaroc responded and, …Was he… Dazed? 

He seemed distant, his gaze an arrow flying far beyond its target. 

“Do you have other kin?” There was no whistle. Nothing to guide his answer. 

“You’re familiar with Labrynnan terms?” Revali questioned. Other flocks didn’t say ‘kin’- they preferred to know their specific relationship to each of their family members. Not the Labrynnans, though. In their eyes, all that was important to know was that ‘mam’ raised you and ‘kin’ shouldn’t be bred with. 

“They are not entirely alien to me.”

“... Some.” Revali answered the first question tersely. His own theories were that his kin were in truth his aunts and uncles though even his mam wouldn’t have been able to recognise them as her own siblings if they weren’t from the same clutch of eggs. 

It was wrong to call them kin, though. Those people- animals, more like- were nothing to him. 

‘No tribe, no race, no family.’ 

“Calm.” Helmaroc’s whistle blanketed his shivering nerves. Its sudden return snapped Revali out of stupor before he could even fall victim to the traces of that day again. 

Should he apologise? It was an inconvenience to have to soothe a fellow warrior like they were some- some- fledgling. 

Before he had a chance to though, Helmaroc had turned his back to him and began walking. Even an act as small as that was so startlingly foreign- a chief in the Labrynnan flock would never leave himself blinded to attack like that, not half because a stab in the back was probably how he gained the chieftain's garb in the first place. But that possibility didn’t exist to Helmaroc and, even though he hated to admit it, it left Revali in awe.

He wanted to trust like that. He wanted it desperately. 

Scampering after him, Revali looked around, scouring the never ending fields of snow for what they would be shooting. 

As he was led deeper into the valley, his entire being was sent aflutter in shocking ecstasy. Was that-? It couldn’t be. It was. Wind. Wind as plentiful as crop at harvest, bursting out from the seams of the ground far below the cliff they stood on. Revali raced to the edge past Helmaroc and flung his head over to see it for himself and know it to be real. Wind was invisible, but Revali saw it. It was like looking at his own reflection in a lake- clear as ever though never still. 

The moment it waded through his feathers, the world came alive. The sunrise tried, but all those colours were grey in comparison. Nothing could triumph this.    

His wings were spread, the shame of his feathers made completely irrelevant as he readied himself to fall knowing he’d finally be lifted. 

“Revali.” Helmaroc imposed himself, his voice accompanied by the drumming of his tail feathers as the wind beat them against the stone cliff. 

Looking back to him seemed a chore but Revali did so, eyes full of light and heart racing. Helmaroc wouldn’t stop him. He could, but Revali wouldn’t let him; if heeding the reds of his feathers was instinct, surrendering himself to the Gales was Destiny. 

“... Don’t over-exert yourself.” Helmaroc nodded and Revali dived.

Chapter Text

The drumming of Helmaroc’s tails, the whistling of the wind in crags and Revali’s shrill laughter were a symphony that would flood any Rito with joy. It was simply being- letting the wind take the lead as he flew and flew and flew. He never wanted it to end- he could stay here forever, let his bones be scattered by the gusts. The stone pillars seemed mere scenery he didn’t have to ponder- he knew the wind would never let him collide. Diving so close to the ground, he could see the cracks of the holes the wind was erupting from only to rise up again and spin and twist and turn and breathe. 

How would he ever return to his room after this? Going back to the tarp’s safety, knowing that this was what it was shielding him from seemed impossible. 

An arrow whizzed over his shoulder, landing squarely on a target he hadn’t noticed. Turning midair, he was greeted with Helmaroc’s wings beating beside him. He was smiling too- it was almost childish- but Revali couldn’t judge him for it, they were mirrors.

Pulling his bow from his back, Revali took in the sights for the second time, now noting all of the potential bullseyes. Wind flinging him upwards, he let his wings drop to draw his bow.

Hesitation was failure, it led to nothing more than death and blood pooling at his talons. 

So he loosed the arrow immediately and it spun and twisted but where it should have pierced the air, it fell flat, flung afar by the winds. 

Helmaroc shot at the same target and landed two bullseyes. 

Revali summed it up to nothing more than the sheer advantage of that blasted five-shot Great Eagle Bow of his. It was a work of art- so glorious it deserved a pedestal beside Din herself. Revali knew little of the fire deity, the only follower he’d ever met had been his own mother and she had been far too anchored by reality to set his mind adrift in the mythical. That bow though- its divinity was enough to implant faith. 

His mother would’ve chuckled at him (well, at her, Reva. ) for being so mesmerised by wood and metal. And he would’ve smiled at the sound of her laughter, accompanying it with his own.

… He liked being around Helmaroc in the sense that he didn't have to think so hard when the chief was there to whistle his absurdities away. What he hated though, was how the chief never failed to dredge up the echoes of his mother he had spent so long trying to silence. By now, she should be no more than akin to hollow trees, haunted winds whistling straight through them. He hated it- and he hated Helmaroc for it because whenever he even thought of speaking to the chief, his peripherals were filled with his mother’s smile. She haunted Helmaroc’s wake, festered in his shadow and tormented any happiness Revali thought he may be able to grasp. 

He loved his mother. He did. Did - because she was in the past and he couldn’t linger- he just couldn’t. His future wasn’t with her, it was here with him- with Helmaroc, under his wing as a deadly hunter whose worth could never be cast aside or deemed nothing more than something to spew out eggs-

His mother was Reva’s, and Revali was to be Helmaroc’s. It had to be that way. 

Bow in wing and arrow drawn, Revali fell. It wasn’t graceful or thrilling- his wings weren’t tucked up against him ready to pounce. Wind shot through his beak and swarmed in his stomach. He tumbled like a bird shot. The gusts slowed him enough for his mind and body to thrum at the same speed; with every target he fell past, he scoured the angles and wind speed and distance until there it was, his perfect chance. 

Patience, this time. Patience was the only reason he was alive. Patience was the cowardice to hide amidst the bloodshed and feign being a new person altogether just to be a hunter and feast, dance and holler atop the remains of those who’d refused to hesitate. 

At the last moment, he skewed his aim downwards and shot. 

And It landed. The winds raised the arrow up, escorted it to the target as if obeying a divine claim. He landed it. It was a bullseye. All he could do was stare at it. All he could think was that he had triumphed against himself. He kept falling, frozen in air, breath bated, waiting for something to go wrong, for a body to drop. 

But it didn’t; he’d done it. 

Then he wasn’t falling. Wrapped in vivid green tails he was dragged upwards until Helmaroc was gently settling him down on the clifftop, safely away from the edge. Revali stayed lying limp, just staring upwards. And when Helmaroc landed and came to tower over him, face as untelling as ever, all he could bring himself to do was let out a breathless laugh. 

He did it. 

“It is one thing if the arrow hits its target… But it is important that you stick the landing too.” Helmaroc chided, lacking irritation. 

Revali smiled up at him and Helmaroc smiled back. 

“This place is-” Soaking up the wind like desert water, Revali continued, “It’s like those gales are the smoke from Din’s Divine Flames-” His mother had told him once, when he couldn’t sleep, that that was where the most holy of winds came from- “How can you keep this a secret from the others?”

Helmaroc’s face skewed taken aback but he returned it to its usual form, “For some, it would be more cruel to let them taste the winds only to then snatch it back and force them back into the shelter.”

“... So why bring me here?” Revali asked alongside the silent question of whether the answer was cruelty. That would be unthinkable- he would never hold a fragment of this day as cruel.

“I believed it would do you good, being here.”

Revali nodded fervently, still half-contemplating whether to ask if he could live here forever. Walking away from the gusts, Helmaroc began to make his way to a wooden structure Revali had been blind to until now. The revelation of wind had left any makings of man-kind null and void. 

He had no wish to get up and leave behind the Heavenly bliss waiting for him just over the cliff edge but when Helmaroc’s whistle supplied a simple “sustenance”, suddenly his stomach had him scrambling to his feet and following after him. 

It was a simple little thing, more Hylian than Rito in the way it seemed made to last an age rather than be taken down for the next migration.

“I didn’t think the Hylians would ever roam this deep into the tundra, yet alone attempt to settle here.” Revali remarked.

With an inquisitive look down at him, Helmaroc questioned what he meant only to elaborate himself, “We Rito are just as capable of building long-lasting structures, Revali.”

Faltering, Revali tried to make sense of it, “But why would we ever need to- we aren’t staying here long- are we?”

Not answering, Helmaroc stepped onto the wood floor too silently for Revali’s liking but he had no choice but to continue to follow. 

Whilst the open air only grew more vibrant by the hour as the sun donned its throne in the Heavens, the wooden beams and the roof they held up impeded the gallop of the rays, casting the entirety of the building’s otherwise open interior in shade. It would be a cooling relief anywhere other than Hebra.

Helmaroc settled down on a stool in front of a humble cooking pot and Revali stood opposite. 

“You shoot true.” Helmaroc noted and Revali barely stopped his crest from rising with pride, “Not many would be able to adapt to the gusts skewing arrows high so quickly.”

“Are we going to go back out there?” Revali asked eagerly. 

With a small sigh at his energy, Helmaroc nodded, “But first ensure your bow wasn’t damaged by the high wind speeds. You do that, and I’ll prepare a meal.”

“You needn’t provide me with food, I wouldn't want to take away from the flock-”

“You will eat , Revali . ”

“... Yes, Sir…” He submitted, lowering his head in a fashion that left his curdling stomach with no appetite. 

Allowing himself a small break from constantly appraising Helmaroc’s thoughts on him, he shifted his bow into his hands and stared down at it, gently running his wing over the delicate lines running all about the carved wood. In truth, he hadn’t a clue how to tell whether a bow was undamaged- it had always been her- his mother who had handled all that (her frequent appearances in his mind was making it harder to separate himself from Reva, lately). But from what he could tell, the string wasn’t snapped nor was the wood bent in an unusual way so it seemed as fit as it needed to be. 

He liked to think he’d quite like to know more about bows other than how to shoot with them. Fletching arrows was a repetitive near ritualistic practice that was calming in its mundanity. By comparison, crafting bows seemed like a skill to be mastered, no different than sculpting or painting except that, in his eyes, bow-making had an actual use. The benefits of having a pretty thing to look at shouldn’t be underestimated of course- he always felt better when he had something to stare at like soft, blue eyes: half-closed, teetering into sleep so gently… His heart was beating faster. He must’ve overexerted himself after all. Regardless, pretty things were nice but when it came to it, what one truly needed more than anything- even if it felt so wrong to think so– was a weapon.  

Maybe, in a different world where he had the privilege of being more than a warrior, he’d spend all of his time whittling away at wood and carve a bow so great it could rival the might of the Great Eagle Bow. It was a nice fantasy. But fantasy was a meagre thing to clutch. 

“So…” Helmaroc was staring down at the cooking pot, preparing something Revali hadn’t taken note of, “You’re a follower of Din? You mutter sayings about her under your breath often.”

Did he? How humiliating. His supposed whistling to himself was already an embarrassing enough misunderstanding (though far more preferable than his Hylian being found) so Helmaroc overhearing him using Din’s name in vain was only adding to a picture of lacking sanity. 

“I will learn to be quieter.” He tried, but Helmaroc’s simple glance up from the pot was enough to make him realise his answer was incorrect. “I… I suppose it’s another thing of my mother’s that I still carry with me.”

Helmaroc’s attention shifted away from the brewing food, “... The Labrynnans- aren’t known for spirituality towards the Old Deities.” It sounded like he was merely testing the words on his tongue, like he was unsure whether they’d elicit the right answer. 

“My mother was not like them.” Revali answered resolutely, refusing to allow her to be thought of as no more than another Labrynnan brute.

“She really wasn’t, was she…” Helmaroc murmured breathlessly and that dazed air was surrounding him again. It was like a fog kept diving down on the chief and Revali could never quite see through it.  

They stayed in silence and Revali tried not to let his mind spiral with thoughts on what the chief might be ailing from. This must have been an ailment- it was clear there was a sickness of some kind plaguing him. He hoped whatever it was wasn’t contagious.

…

“It’s burning.”

“What-”

“The food-” With a sigh, Revali lifted the pot from the fire and lowered it to the floor, ignoring as best he could the brush of too-hot air against him. 

“My apologies.” Helmaroc muttered, staring at Revali with something awful in his eyes. 

Revali’s crest flared. This time, because he was nervous. 

“Do you…” Helmaroc’s expression was pained as he tried to find the words, “What happened to your mother?”

“She’s dead.”

Helmaroc whistled at him for “more” and, though neither voiced it, the question was clear. It was what had to be asked whenever a Labrynnan said someone was dead: Revali was being asked if he’d done it. 

“Yes.” His crest trembled to its full height- desperate to make him look bigger, less small. It barely reached Helmaroc’s shoulders now that he was standing- when had he gotten up?

This meant failure, then. In no world would he be allowed into the flock now, he’d be cast out and become no more than a remnant drifting in the glacial whites of Hebra. But this wasn’t a thing to deny. He bore it with his chest puffed out and looked Helmaroc in the eyes. If he was to be slaughtered here- if justice were to be delivered- he’d stare it in the eye as he got what was coming to him.  

The Chief stepped closer and Revali snuffed the flinch as best he could because he was no coward. Not anymore, he wasn’t. 

Telegraphing his every move, Helmaroc slowly spread his wings. Was he lavishing in this? Maybe he was drawing out the final blow, savouring every moment leading to it, bloodlust sustaining him where the food had failed. Then, still raised, he rotated his wings downwards, flexing them to hide those streams of red feathers. 

He stepped again and it took everything in Revali not to run. 

Encroaching around him, the wings- colossally close- suffocated the sun and blinded him with twin midnight blue. 

And he was stuck there. There was no escape. He was being held. Helmaroc was holding him, desperately. Keeping him close, until his crest fell and some semblance of him recognised this to be a hug. 

No whistle to guide him. Just warm feathers up against his tense face and animal-wide eyes. 

‘No tribe, no race, no family.’ 

He pushed Helmaroc away; moved the immovable- did what needed to be done.

He did not belong. He would never trust like that. Oh, how he wanted to. 

“I have to retrieve my arrows- the fletcher told me to.” He heard a familiar voice, and making it out to be his own, followed its command.

Helmaroc said nothing.  

Revali stepped out back into the wild air. His wings wrapped around him, cradling him.

His eyes were wet. He hoped they’d freeze over so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. 

The arrows were dancing with the winds. In that intense focus, he’d shot far more than he remembered and now all of those which had failed (like him) to land, were bobbing up and down as high as the wind could send them. 

He let himself shake his wings in an undignified manner, trying to rid himself of that moment and the churning in his stomach. 

That was enough of that. 

He set flight, grabbing every arrow that his eyes could catch through the liquid-veil creeping over them. With each flap, the ache in his wings thrummed like a gong being beaten over and over with hopes of deafening him. By now, all hope of hiding his awry flight feathers was gone. In a mix of the wild winds and his feathers having fluffed beyond his control, the fraying, half-broken or otherwise altogether missing blights on his appearance were on full show. The worst bit of not having them tucked away though, was that now they were so prominent that he was forced to rely on them more to keep him in the air and it hurt. It hurt but he couldn’t give into it. 

He’d gotten the five arrows he’d missed; all he needed to do now was get the two wedged in targets and then he could land and it would stop hurting until he had to make the flight back to the settlement. 

His weaving between the stone pillars was shoddy and his talons kept grazing surfaces as if trying to grasp for anything to perch on. Revali ignored their pleas. The first of the two remaining arrows was merciful and compliant, barely having landed on a target in the first place, it surrendered to his grip quickly. The last was his bullseye- what had been his pride and joy only a little while ago. Hidden behind a pillar, he wiped at his eyes and dove down for it. 

It should’ve been as easy as the rest. He should’ve been good enough to retrieve it swiftly in spite of himself and this infliction of tears that he was too weak to overcome. But no, of course not. The moment he freed the arrowhead from its wood prison, it soared up out of sight. 

Would the fletcher really miss one arrow? The woman would surely just smile and laugh at him some more when he admitted he was incapable of fetching his own shot. He didn’t need that- she was surely taunting him, and he couldn’t allow it- wouldn’t. 

Spreading his wings, he let the winds take him, expecting to be whisked straight to his prize. 

It was not so easy. Once liberated, his pride fled from him in shame, arrow sprinting fervently skyward. He would not be made a fool. But as he climbed upwards, clawed his way higher, inched closer, the arrow doubled the distance and for some daft reason he was hardly ascending. His wings throbbed. The muscle howled like only a single unplucked string remained. He could ignore it- that had worked so far. But he forced them forward and the feathers fled from their duty, skewing the wrong way. Why could he not beat this? What was wrong with him? He tried again only to hear a pained gasp and feel his eyes overflow, cold waterfalls washing over him. 

The arrow kept going. He couldn’t follow it. He felt so cold. Like he needed something warm, like he wanted that hug back. Shame. 

‘No tribe, no race, no-’ He tried to think it, to be willed into solitude. And all he could think was that he wanted his mam. 

He cried out, knowing what she must have felt, to fall and not fly. 

There was so much left to prove. So much time left to spend. So many places to carve out belonging. So few chances left to trust, doomed to be abandoned if he didn't prove himself deserving. Picturing that hammock still swaying with weight, blanketing touch gone… It broke something in him.

He did not plummet. He did not crash land into the snow. He did not scream out in pain. 

But his wings halted midair, spread as a falling star. 

‘No tribe, no race- Quill, Helmaroc, his comrade. ’ 

Revali ascended. A tornado clustered beneath him and spiralled where his thoughts stilled and howled in place of the pain and he was ascending. He grasped the arrow in his beak, flung to its height and far higher. 

For that brief respite, his wings exhaled wind like a meal well ate and his woes were blown away, erased and replaced by a higher plane of being altogether. Like a painting frozen, he hung as a statue in the sky. Bow-making was just a craft, this was art.  

Then it dissipated, and he crashed into the snow. Suddenly, its ravenous height was a relief.

Chapter Text

Once he’d gotten up and stowed each arrow into his quiver, he saw Helmaroc staring at him and he couldn’t help but wonder whether the chief was trying to shrink his stature. He’d done that himself to Quill, to try and make him less scared. Should he be scared? 

He was torn inside. Mind trembling in fear of his mother being avenged, body convinced of invincibility with the new height reached and heart- heart knowing it needed to ensure he got back to his friend. 

Helmaroc was a blank slate, wiped clean by what he’d just seen, no doubt. 

“After that…” He paused, evaluating words only to discard them, “A light meal will serve best. We will forage.”

Was that all he had to say? The winds had knelt to him, bowed down and offered him their every power and all Helmaroc had to offer was that he shouldn’t gorge on skewers?!

The sheer ignorance left Revali speechless, utterly dumbfounded. His Hylian would hear of this; of what a feat he’d reached only for it to be tossed aside as unworthy of even a meagre acknowledgement. 

Ludicrous. Asinine, even. 

.

But then Helmaroc passed him a piece of cloth and his dignity shattered. He wiped away the frozen fragments from his face and turned mute, even in his head.  

“Have you had wildberries before? They only grow in cold climates like these.” When Revali didn’t respond, Helmaroc turned and began walking, pausing every now and then until he heard the crunch of snow behind him, “You may find them refreshing.” 

Revali didn’t contemplate whether or not he would. Just trailed behind, stuffing himself back into tranquility. He didn’t fit well within in at all- he feared bursting out, sending metaphorical buttons flying. Resorting to the cloth again, he contemplated throwing the thing into the snow, leaving it behind with a squashing stomp. He tucked it away, tying it in place on his wraps. 

The sprawling whites of Hebra seemed to go on forever, simply walking as they were. The snow remained dedicated to its pursuit of their talons, sinking them with each step the pair took. Though thick feathers were useful for this place, their warmth wasn’t intended for such tedious trudging but rather to assist in the highs reached in migratory flights. Flight. It was a beautiful thing to think it and need not label it fantasy. Letting it brush his mind was almost enough for Revali to cast away the sensibility to not work his wings more than needed. Almost. 

Despite their nature, they remained grounded. And, despite their nature, they stayed silent. 

‘ A Chief shouldn’t dawdle like this’ tugged a strand of Revali’s mind though he didn’t pay heed to its remarks. 

So what if the Chief paused whenever Revali was drifting too far behind. It was best not to think of ‘why’ when the subject was Helmaroc, Revali decided. The Chief wasn’t an entirely logical being- that had been made plenty clear by the strange things he did like looking so distant or punishing him with a meal well-eaten or hugging him. No, it would be far too much of a hassle trying to untie the cloth now. He’d have to go without it. That was fine, he had no need for it.

Damn his mind. 

-

The sea of white was soon interrupted with greens barely keeping afloat, some fully submerged until Helmaroc brushed a wing over them to reveal their leaves to the sky once more.  

“Here,” He handed Revali a small, empty cloth bag and held one of his own, “Be gentle with them, they squash easily.”

Revali scoffed at that. Still, he complied and crouched down, wrangling the berries off their stems. 

They kept at it quietly, stripping the bush barer and barer til it had no more boons to give. 

“We can eat them here, or at the village if you’d prefer that.” Helmaroc offered, and when Revali once again didn’t reply, sighed and let his shoulders slump with heaviness. He lowered himself further to the floor as if crumpling. A whistle started, then stopped, snuffed out before it could become anything of use.  “I… Understand.”

Revali kept his gaze pinned on the bush, scouring it for any survivors to capture. 

Helmaroc continued wading through the silence, taking a soft inhale before he released the words into open air as if they weren’t aimed at anyone in particular, “That you did not kill her, so much as that she died for your life.”

He landed a bullseye anyway. Revali turned to him, eyes filled with a storm. Lighting waiting to strike, thunder eager to boom, thoughts eager to be drowned out.

Though he tried to meet his gaze, Helmaroc was forced to glance away. It was too familiar, that violent whirlwind of silence was rendered echoes in a desolate canyon. “Laruto would not want you to carry her death as murder by your wings.”

“Why do you know her name?” Revali- the whistle he thrust out was- it was something carnal. Something lurching from the depths: a scream given controlled form.  

“So I was right…” Helmaroc dared not look- his tails, recognising danger, were convulsing and trembling as if begging him to fly and fly so he never has to face this.  

Their whistles left nothing unseen now. Their thoughts, and emotions, and the beatings of their hearts became facts thrown up into the torrents until each others’ minds were splayed out: no more hiding. 

And it converged, led by Helmaroc, into the sole melody that could topple Revali. It confirmed every suspicion, every wondering of that possibility so absurd it could never be spoken. Every note was struck, each tear plucked as the pitches reached each goal with practiced ease. 

This was his birth song. His first known sound- the one that reverberated in his heart for it was this that his mother had used to convince him of the warmth of the world and coax him from his egg. It was that song shared only between a chick and its mam. Helmaroc was whistling that song. 

Revali understood now. He understood that the disease the chief was suffering from was guilt- or shame- or both, amalgamated. He understood that it wasn’t making him suffer nearly enough. It would never be enough, ever. 

And he knew what words were to be spoken next. Braced, he tucked his hope away and stuffed and squeezed because he would not spill out to this- his - this pathetic, imbecilic sham of a Rito unworthy of a single feather-

And then it hit. Helmaroc said it, and the fragments of Revali shattered out onto the floor.

“They told me the chick would be a girl.”

Chapter Text

The whistles stopped. Ceased entirely. They both regressed to animals too brutish for the luxuries of melody. The Hylian tongue scorched their beaks, though it was a far better suffering than admission of what the Rito ways had culminated in. 

Revali took the first step. “I’ll be leaving, then.” 

He kept his bow grasped and ready.

“Revali- you do not need to-”

“Need aside, what makes you think I want to be near you?”

“I can explain, if you’d just listen to me-”

“I have no need nor want for it.” He proclaimed and began to trudge into the vast unknown of Hebra, searching for anywhere not here. 

Helmaroc tried to grab his shoulder, Revali strung his bow, stepping out of reach, “Don’t.”

“Okay,” Helmaroc was breathless, “I won’t, but don’t leave.” His wing remained stretched out, reaching yet the tips remained unfurled, never curling to hold onto. 

“If I had known you were not a girl… If only I had known…” He murmured shakily, downcast,  “If only I had known- I would’ve been able to stop it. I would’ve been able to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“The trade.”

“... Trade?” Revali paused, rendered directionless, “Trade. Then I was-” He swallowed, searching for any other possibility and being met only by desolate whites, “I was a… bartering tool.” His grasp on his bow faltered, then firmed further. “And what did you receive in exchange? I’d quite like to know my price.”

Helmaroc stared, waiting for the question to be withdrawn but when the only continuance was Revali’s shaking form, he surrendered. “Food. There was a famine in my flock. The Labrynnans had stripped the land of all harvest.”

“What a noble Chief they must’ve thought you- taking on the burden of having your way with a foreigner and fleeing the consequence.”

“I was not Chief.” He said, voice even and matter-of-fact, “It was my first season having shed my fledgling feathers.”

Though his stomach curdled, Revali couldn’t stop himself, “And how old were you when that happened?” He asked with a sudden turn towards Helmaroc which only served to further jostle his rattled feathers. 

Helmaroc sighed, “You need not be so eager for it. The time will come. Your mother-” 

A peek at Revali’s expression and the Chief faltered: reevaluated. 

“Laruto’s true feathers came in late, as well. Though mature, she had borne them for only two seasons, when we met.”

Revali marched back towards Helmaroc, not in retreat but threat, arrow still struck against bowstring, biding its time. “I do not need you to tell me about her.” He had no need to be narrated his mother as if she were a fairytale. 

“I don’t like the thought that you think our… That she and I knew each other only in regards to terms and contracts of trade.”

What would be better? Revali wondered, eyes calculating- for weak-points and whether they were far enough from the village for a scream to not be heard. Perhaps this creature thought his soul would be soothed with the perfectly faked portrait of torn apart lovers and their child forlorn. Forlorn! Would Helmaroc hope for such a word to toll Revali back from hate to love? That wouldn’t be possible: there’d never been any love for him to go back to. 

Or, possibly, Helmaroc- the Chief massive in character and moreso in power- was attempting to cast himself as victim. Oh poor Helmaroc forced to lie with a Labrynnan savage! How pitiful a life to rise to Chieftainship at the mere cost of a chick expendable by sole label of girl. 

Releasing his arrow would be easy. They were close- blunt force would do the job- maybe. Helmaroc was strong but a single arrow would be all it takes to down him, the thud of mass muffled by the snow. Then, Revali would be forced to flee before the flock realised and he’d do it gladly; he’d soar into the sun, eyes blinded to the truth that this was his ‘father’ and he was no more than coin tossed into coffer to never be thought of again. 

The Hylian flickered in his mind but he doused the thought- he couldn’t. He couldn’t. 

As Revali’s conscience whirled and tore, trying to tear open the seams of sensibility so its full wrath could be felt, Helmaroc dared speak, “The contract came second, Revali. You were not a transaction conceived. My Chief- your grandmother- she did not… The Labrynnans have never been viewed fondly but there was an opportunity and… She seized it and I was… A boy just-feathered man holds no power.”  

Where was he meant to begin? “... What is that? … A Grandmother?” He conjured a mam supreme to all others- a Chief protector of her kin, shielding them from all harm. A great figure who had shunned him, deemed him so unworthy as to be handed away. 

Helmaroc’s posture straightened, his chest seeming to tighten, “There isn’t a Labynnan equivalent… A grandmother is your… She was my mam.”

Ah. So he was not to breed with her and she was to protect him. That small scrap of understanding was enough to anchor Revali. Listening to a mam was essential- failing to would surely lead to the death of you, or her. He had done well and survived. He had done well in doing this.

It made Revali sick. Like an apple spoiled but too frozen to decay. Just left to linger and fester.  

“... And what was it that they wanted me for?” He knew the answer and was clueless as to why he asked. Maybe he just wanted the reminder: to have the words in his mind like freshly fallen snow for him to trample. 

Helmaroc lowered his head as if bowing- or weighed by shame, “I protested it. I did not want any to be subjected to it, let alone my own-” 

But that wasn’t enough. Revali’s eyes bore into Helmaroc and wrung the words out of him, “They needed breeders. Said their egg clutch was too skewed. By the time I and Laruto were told, it was too late. There was no arguing the utility of a girl- no substituting it- you- with other means.”

… He was meant to be a breeder. Destined for nothing more than being mounted and spewing out eggs, harvest after harvest, body tilled until the soil stopped giving, then scrapped for compost. 

No. That was Reva’s life. This was Reva’s father. This was her tragedy and he had broken free from it all long ago. 

Revali gathered himself. His grip on the bowstring slacked. Somehow, Helmaroc had succeeded in morphing himself into a pitiful sight. His image became entwined with the stench of Pathetic. A warrior felt no pride in killing a worm. But here this worm was, crying injustice which he had never sought to remedy until the price-paid approached guised as a warrior. How could he ever accept this? No, he wouldn’t. 

Steeling himself, he spoke: never keeping still, never letting his gaze slow, never leaving a blindspot.

“I see now. Now that I have shed dainty braids and intricate wraps, I have been made worthy of being swooped into your wings. Oh, how honoured I am. But I am not that egg you made. Its contents spilled out and I grew past them. I saw fragments of the shell, and downy feathers… But they were no more than keepsakes of a chick all but dead in my mind.”

“You will always be mine-” Helmaroc approached, wing stretching out, begging for his kin to wade the rest of the distance. 

It was almost as if… He wanted them to be together truly. There was an offering there of home. No, he couldn’t. 

He reinforced his bruised defences, “I am mine alone. You tupped my mother and nothing more.”

“Don’t speak about her like that. It’s-”

“Is that not all she was to this world? Is that not all I was intended for?” He asked, he asked and yearned for the answer. That desperate dream remained, of having his worldview shattered and replaced with something far better- a pretty lie. 

“Do not let that constrain you- she was so much more-” Helmaroc burst out with no hesitation, stepping closer to Revali, urgent for him to be heard only to falter at that crucial moment and he paused and he quietened, a sombre weight encumbering him, “She was so much… I would never find the words, or the time to say them all but- she was… Vibrant, and hopeful and- she was nearly my everything.” 

Backing away, Revali felt the first brick of his walls drop. 

‘Vibrant’. ‘Hopeful’. The mother he knew- he’d never have described her like that and that made him want to wail his throat raw. 

It was disgusting. It was putrid and vile and yet-...

Words like that couldn't be conjured and- mangled with Helmaroc's desperate eyes and barely dammed tears- it rang deafening, too loud for Revali to ignore. It seemed like somehow, despite it all, Helmaroc had… loved her. 

Revali yelled, tossing his wings out, “Do not! She is not yours to tell of or praise or mourn- you ran, you ran until you had power and strength and never came back!” His chest heaved and trembled, eyes overflowed. 

Nobody had loved his mother. Revali wished he could say he had, but a murderer didn't deserve to claim love for his victim- he'd lost the right. But it sounded like Helmaroc loved her, and maybe she loved him back. 

But that didn't matter anymore because they'd never reunite- and that was Revali’s fault.

“You never came back and now she's dead. She's dead and I can't even blame you for it because it was me! I did it, I let her die, so if you truly cared for her so deeply-” 

“My fault. Guilt- mine. Horrible- hate, hate, hate” The whistle thrust itself out, leaping fast and crashing messy and his wings curled round himself, feather tips clutching at that tied cloth. 

He inhaled, sharp, “You should- you should- banish me-... let me leave and… Just go back to never thinking about me-...” He pleaded but his tone fell monotone, pace slow like the words had grinded against beak and heart. 

“Revali-...” Helmaroc stared at his shrinking form and then Revali’s bow was being taken with gentle force and an all-encompassing wing laid itself on his shoulder and when he flinched it pressed harder, refusing to give in to his will. 

“We’re going, now.” And it was the Chief speaking but then- 

“Home,” His Father whistled. 

A Father… Further, they walked through the snowy plains, meandering back to the village accompanied by the smells of forest, fresh snow and sweat. They weren’t quiet, the bitter tastes of the day being slowly washed down with whistles,

A rushed, “Guilt. My fault”

A soothing, “Rest. Calm.”

“Angry. Hate.” Squeezed out, too strong to restrain, 

An out-of-tune, “I know. Home, now.”

-

And they were back to the flock. Flock, not home- not yet- tomorrow, Revali told himself, tomorrow. 

He was wanted, wanted by a man he should hate but it was not enough to muffle how his chest seemed an earthquake- land unsure of whether to rise or sink- with the knowing that he was desperately wanted. 

He didn’t deserve it. But he wanted it, desperately. 

Helmaroc didn’t say anything to him. They dove into the hatch and turned their own ways- a small bow still tucked under Helmaroc’s wing. 

Each step made Revali’s heart feel like glass about to shatter. His breath, staggered but held regularity- it wasn’t forced or rushed but trying to breathe normally was still a stumbling affair. The thrum of the Rito was loud as ever but yet little more than a buzz. The rich scent of meat, juices oozing, swam to greet him and wings gifted a steak that bore heavy to hold but the warmth of it offered relent from the tundra so he took it, not yet smiling, and made his way.  

Unfurling the simple wrapping round the steak exposed its red so bright it screamed sustenance and filled his room with the feel of a rich banquet. The Hylian took his share, gazing at Revali’s beak as if willing it to open but Revali simply pattered around him and amidst the soft chewing he carefully extracted a pouch from a tucked away corner. 

Clearing his throat, he stared down at the Hylian and, instantly given attention over the steak, poured the contents out. 

“I want you, 

to have these.” 

The boy stared at the sky-blue beads as they toppled into his cupped hands and nodded, tucking them away alongside his melody-maker. 

Revali had lost so much, now was the time for keeping things,

He opened up his little bundle of forage, hoping they could sit together and share a moment of simple eating. 

All of the wildberries were squashed.