Work Text:
For some must watch, while some must sleep:
So runs the world away.
-Hamlet, act III, scene 2
It was a busy morning, only two days before the carnival was to begin, when a deku scrub entered her inn.
“Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn,” she said, her face a mask of customer service pleasantry.
There were a few deku who lived in Clock Town, of course, but she’d never spent much time in their company. This one was certainly the smallest she’d ever seen; its head was barely visible over the top of the counter – she had to lean forward a bit to see it.
“Oh, what a cute guest,” she cooed. She couldn’t help it – the child was just so precious. “Do you have a reservation?” As she got a better look at it, she realized it looked afraid. It was shaking like a leaf, and she could hear a faint whistling coming from its snout that reminded her of her own nervous breathing. “Where’s your mother?” she asked, trying to sound gentle.
It jumped in surprise. When it spoke, its voice was hollow like a drum, and the air whistled faintly around the words. “I don’t…can I sleep here?” it asked, and she felt her heart twist.
“I'm sorry. We're totally booked with reservations. Please tell that to your mother.” Did deku scrubs even have parents?
The deku scrub stared into her with its glowing orange eyes, unsettling her even as the rest of its appearance reminded her of a lost child. There was a reason she didn’t spend much time with the deku.
“Oh,” it breathed. “Uh, sorry to bother you, then.” It hesitated a moment, but before she could say more, it spun in place and toddled out. The wooden clatter of its feet echoed about the room as it awkwardly reached above its head for the doorknob. A moment later, the bell over the door chimed brightly, and it was gone.
Later that night, she spotted its glowing eyes looking in through the street-side window, but it moved on quickly. She hoped it had a place to sleep tonight; it looked like it was supposed to rain.
It was a busy morning, only three days before the carnival was to begin, when a boy in green entered her inn.
“Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn,” she said, her face a mask of customer service pleasantry.
The boy looked exhausted. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was practically asleep on his feet.
“Um…are you…staying the night?” she asked.
The boy nodded, his glassy eyes not quite settling on her. Her stomach dropped. She was certain, even without checking, that this little boy didn’t have a reservation. She would have remembered a boy like him arriving on his own.
She swallowed heavily. “I'm terribly sorry! There are no vacancies today...”
That got the boy’s attention enough to drag him a bit more into wakefulness.
“We've been booked solid with reservations,” she kept going. Where were his parents? “It's always this way before the carnival. I'm sorry.”
He stared up at her from the other side of the counter. His head was barely visible over the top – she had to lean forward a bit to see him.
“Please,” he whispered. She thought he might cry.
She swallowed again. “There’s…there’s nowhere for you to stay.”
“I can pay,” he said, sudden urgency in his voice. He started patting his pockets for a wallet.
“There aren’t any rooms.”
The boy swayed, and her heart leapt to her throat. Was he about to pass out right here in the middle of her lobby?
“Please,” he said again. “I just need somewhere to sleep.”
Before she could reply, the front door opened, and one of the Rosa sisters walked in. Anju felt bad for a moment that she couldn’t tell which one.
She turned her attention from the boy. “Good morning! Can I help you with anything?”
As she listened to the woman ask about borrowing extra towels, she watched the boy out of the corner of her eye. He stared at the air between them in a daze. A small yellow light floated around his head – a fairy. It rang, brightly but quietly, and slowly, the boy shuffled out. A moment later, the bell over the door chimed brightly, and he was gone.
It was a busy afternoon, only three days before the carnival was to begin, when a boy in green entered her inn.
“Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn,” she said, her face a mask of customer service pleasantry.
The boy was panting, his round cheeks flushed with exertion. He didn’t respond immediately; he took a moment to put his hands on his knees and catch his breath.
“Um…are you…staying the night?” she asked.
The boy nodded. He still hadn’t caught his voice.
“I'm terribly sorry! There are no vacancies today...” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to tell him that. He couldn’t be more than ten years old. Where were his parents?
The boy held up a finger and gulped in a bit more air. He must have run all the way here, to her inn, for whatever reason.
“I…I have a reservation,” he finally managed.
She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “You do?” Then her customer service mask caught up to her, and she coughed politely. “Of course. What name is it under?”
“Link.”
The name was familiar, but she flipped through her book anyway. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything under your name.”
The boy’s face fell. “But-” Now it was his turn to cough. “I was supposed to check in today.”
She wasn’t supposed to reveal the names of other patrons, but the little boy looked like he might cry, and it tore at her heart. “I do have a reservation under the name Link,” she admitted, “but he already checked in earlier this afternoon.”
The boy immediately whipped around to stare out the window into the street. The light was already turning golden, and the shadows were long and languid.
“I missed it,” he muttered to himself.
“Missed what?”
He flinched like he’d forgotten she was still there. “It’s nothing. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.” Now that he’d had a few moments to rest, his flush was settling, and she could see the heavy bags under his eyes. “Ikana is further away than I thought.”
She stiffened. “Ikana?!”
But he ignored her worried tone and turned to leave. “Have a nice night,” he called offhandedly. A moment later, the bell over the door chimed brightly, and he was gone.
It was a busy afternoon, only one day before the carnival was to begin, when a boy in green entered her inn.
“Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn,” she said, her face a mask of customer service pleasantry. She froze, though, when she saw what the boy was wearing.
Strapped to his face was the most unsettling mask she had ever seen. It looked like a cage, wrought iron and thick leather encasing the skull of this little boy who couldn’t have been more than ten years old. It had glowing red eyes that would haunt her nightmares tonight. Not even his long ears were spared from the horrifying device.
The boy swayed a bit on his feet. Her heart leapt to her throat. Was he about to pass out right here in the middle of her lobby?
“Um…are you…staying the night?” she asked.
He mumbled something, but the mask garbled the sound.
“What was that?” she said. He was small; his head was barely visible over the top of the counter – she had to lean forward a bit to see him. She didn’t like being closer to that mask than she had to be, but she found herself drawn in, like a moth to a bonfire.
“Can’t sleep,” she managed to make out. “Can I…sleep here?”
She swallowed heavily. “I'm terribly sorry! There are no vacancies today...”
The boy didn’t say anything; he just kept swaying, practically dead on his feet.
“We've been booked solid with reservations,” she kept going. Where were his parents? “It's always this way before the carnival. I'm sorry.”
“Are you scared?” he asked.
She flinched. She couldn’t help it.
His hands went up to his mask, the movement aborted when he tried to rub his eyes and his pudgy child fingers hit the cool metal. “It’s not a pretty one.”
She wasn’t sure if she should nod or shake her head.
His fingers twitched, like he wanted to undo the straps, but he didn’t. She wished he would, though she couldn’t imagine what might lie underneath that made him choose to wear such a terrifying thing on top.
The boy’s skinny knees wobbled, and for a moment, she wanted to hurry around the counter and scoop him up into her arms and hold him until he fell asleep. She wanted to take that wretched thing off his face and burn it so it could never trap his baby-fat cheeks again. But he swayed the other way, and the hilt of a sword appeared over his shoulder, and she didn’t dare try to touch him.
“Are you staying here tonight?” he asked, and she flinched again. She opened her mouth to speak, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Not that it matters. None of this matters.” He pulled a blue ocarina from his pocket, but realized almost too late that the mask blocked his mouth. He growled and shoved it back in. Under his breath, he muttered, “I need to find somewhere to sleep.”
She couldn’t find the words to stop him. A moment later, the bell over the door chimed brightly, and he was gone.
It was a busy morning, only three days before the carnival was to begin, when a boy in green entered her inn.
“Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn,” she said, her face a mask of customer service pleasantry.
The boy had heavy bags under his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he had a charming smile plastered onto his face.
“Good morning, Anju,” he said as he approached the counter. He was small; his head was barely visible over the top – she had to lean forward a bit to see him.
Her heart started to beat faster. She had never seen this boy before, but he knew her name. “Um…are you…staying the night?” she asked. She was certain, even without checking, that this little boy didn’t have a reservation. She would have remembered a boy like him arriving on his own.
“Yes, ma’am.” He was kind of cute, a little boy trying to sound like a grown-up. He would be cuter if he didn’t have an unsettling air about him.
She swallowed heavily. “I'm terribly sorry! There are no vacancies today...”
“Come on, Anju. You know me. Are you sure there’s no space?”
“We've been booked solid with reservations.” Where were his parents? Why was he acting like they were friends? “It's always this way before the carnival. I'm sorry.”
Without missing a beat, he pulled out a small wallet, from which he fished a purple rupee and placed it on the counter. “Not a single open room? Just for one night?”
The reservation for Knife Chamber wasn’t due until that afternoon, but if she let the boy sleep there, she wouldn’t have enough time to turn over the room for the next guest. She shook her head and pushed the gem back towards him. “I’m sorry.”
He scowled. The expression was out of place on his baby-fat cheeks. He swiped the gem back and shoved it into his wallet as he turned away.
“I’m sorry,” she called after him. A moment later, the bell over the door chimed brightly, and he was gone.
It was a busy morning, only one day before the carnival was to begin, when a boy in green entered her inn.
“Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn,” he said, taking the words out of her mouth.
She blinked, confused. She opened her mouth again, but he spoke first.
“Um…are you…staying the night?” he said. His face was a mask of neutrality, almost boredom, but his tone eerily mimicked her own nervous cadence.
She stood in stunned silence as he continued her spiel. “Do you have a reservation?”
"I'm-" she started.
“I'm terribly sorry! There are no vacancies today...” He was slowly approaching the counter. He was small; his head was barely visible over the top – she had to lean forward a bit to see him. Yet, she felt her heart speed up more with every step he took, like he was something bigger. Something more.
“We've been booked solid with reservations,” he continued.
She knew without looking at her book that that was true.
“It's always this way before the carnival."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for.
The boy swayed on his feet. He looked exhausted. Part of her was morbidly curious if he was going to take any other words out of her mouth, but instead, he pulled a blue ocarina from a pocket. She heard him play the first few notes of a song, something echoing and aching, and then
It was a busy morning, only two days before the carnival was to begin, when a boy in green entered her inn.
“Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn,” she said, her face a mask of customer service pleasantry. Her breath caught when she saw what he was wearing.
It was a mask of a pale face, a familiar face, framed by rich violet hair. The boy’s bright blue eyes peered out through the round holes, staring at her intensely.
“Are you also looking for Kafei?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“I want to stay the night.”
“Oh! Um, do you have a reservation?”
“Please?” he said instead of answering. That was much of a no as anything else he could say. “I’m…I know Kafei.”
She wasn’t sure if the weight in her stomach was hope or dread. “You do? Where is he?”
“I just need somewhere to sleep.” His voice was scratchy, and he was swaying slightly. Her heart leapt to her throat; was he about to pass out right here in the middle of her lobby?
Maybe it was mean to ignore his pleas for rest in favor of asking about her own problems, especially with the way he seemed to be barely clinging to consciousness, but she couldn’t let go of the first bit of real possible news about her fiancé she’d heard in weeks, especially after that letter from yesterday. “Tell me about Kafei.”
The boy was quiet for a few heartbeats. He was small; his head was barely visible over the top of the counter - she had to lean forward a bit to see him. As she did, she could see his fingers twitch and count.
“What day is it?” he asked, drowsy.
“Um…Thursday.”
“That’s not helpful.”
She could tell his hold on the conversation was tenuous at best. It was up to her to steer him back if she was to get anything from him. “Where is Kafei?”
“He’s…around.”
She felt the hope shrivel and collapse. “You don’t really know him, do you? Where did you even get that mask? His mother?”
“I know him.”
“If you’re just going to lie to me, leave,” she said, turning away from him. “Spare me the false hope.”
“I do know him! I know you both!” he said with the sudden urgency that comes from the depths of sleep deprivation. There was a manic light in his eyes as he started digging through his bag. Success didn’t come immediately, and he ripped his mask off his face so he could see better. Finally, he pulled out a smooth piece of pale wood. He ran a delicate hand over the face of it, then held it out to her. “This was yours, from your wedding.”
There was that ache in her gut again. “My what?” She took the wood, a mask with a swirling design draped across it. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the symbols.
“You and Kafei got married on the night the carnival was supposed to open. I was there, I helped him get his mask back. That’s why he’s gone – someone stole the sun mask.”
“Where d-did you get this?” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
“Your wedding. Keep up.” A fairy emerged from somewhere behind him and started ringing at him. “It’s fine, I have to start again anyway. I just want to sleep—would you stop that?” It started tugging on his ear, but she had stopped paying attention to them. “It’s been days, anything to get Anju to let me—”
The sound of her name caught her attention, at least. “What do you mean, you got this at my wedding? We haven’t had the ceremony yet. And with Kafei missing, we might not—”
“You’ll get married. I’ll make sure it happens again next time, if you let me sleep somewhere—”
“Didn’t I tell you to leave?!” Immediately, she covered her mouth, as surprised as the boy at her snap. She practically slammed the mask back on the counter and shoved it towards him. “I-I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t…I don’t know…”
He stood up on his toes and carefully took the mask back. “I’ll do the wedding again anyway,” he said softly. “I’ll come back later.” He turned away from her, and a moment later, the bell over the door chimed brightly.
As the door closed heavily behind him, the first sob tore its way out of her.
It was a busy morning, only one day before the carnival was to begin, when a boy in green entered her inn.
“Welcome to-” she started to say, but she was interrupted by the boy walking, zombie-like, directly into the counter. His head made a dull thump against it. He was barely visible over the top; she had to lean forward a bit to see him. “Are you…okay?” she asked.
The boy didn’t lift his head. If anything, he leaned against the wooden desk even more. “That’s different,” he muttered. His voice was scratchy, worn out.
“What’s different?” She wondered if she ought to be doing something. Where were his parents? He couldn’t be more than ten years old.
“You’re off script.” He kept speaking before she could ask what that meant. “I know you don’t have any rooms, but is there anywhere I can sleep? Just an hour before I have to do it again.”
Should she be worried that he knew that? It was probably an easy guess, she supposed. It’s always like this before the carnival. Instead, she focused on the second part of what he’d said. “Do what again?”
“Save everyone,” he said quietly. His voice dragged; he was practically dead on his feet.
Something in the back of her mind told her that he wasn’t talking about some childish game. That same part of her warned her not to press.
“Just for an hour?” she asked.
The boy hummed softly, something echoing and aching under his breath. She took that as a yes.
“Come with me. If you don’t mind a couch, you can rest in here for a bit.” As she stepped out from behind the counter, she waved towards the door to what was essentially her break room. It wasn’t big, but there was a couch, and it was quiet. Not even her grandmother would dare bother her in there.
The boy picked his head up at last. He blinked slowly, understanding coming to him in drips. “Really?”
She smiled sweetly. It was different from her customer service mask; it was something more tender. “It’s no trouble. Besides, you look like you need it.”
The boy swayed, and her heart leapt to her throat. Was he about to pass out right here in the middle of her lobby before she could get him to lie down?
“Is that all it took?” he said, mostly to himself.
“Is what all it took?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered. “Just…let me sleep.”
She put a hand on his tiny elbow to guide him. “Of course.”
Together, they moved awkwardly into the break room. She was so much taller than him, and he could barely lift his feet. But she got him into the room without him falling over, which she considered a win. She’d been tempted to scoop him up and carry him, but the sword on his back gave off an air that she didn’t want to mess with.
The boy dropped like a stone onto the couch, not even removing his sheath or taking off his little boots before letting his head press into one of the decorative pillows.
“Wake me up in an hour,” he mumbled directly into the satin.
“I’ll go get you a blanket,” she said, but he was already asleep. Something told her he’d need more than an hour’s rest to recover from…whatever he’d been going through. As quietly as she could, she pulled the curtains closed and dug out a quilt from a linen closet hidden away in the corner of the room. When she draped it over him, his little fists instinctively curled into it in his sleep, and she couldn’t help but coo softly and brush a few stray hairs from his face.
She wouldn’t wake him up, she decided. There were still several hours before she was to leave with her mother for Cremia’s. She’d wake him then. It’s not as though the world would end if one little boy slept in a bit.