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He was without his sword, and the alleyway was far too small to fight how he normally would when faced with a bigger opponent. And boy was this guy bigger. He was the size of a mountain, looming over Four like the giants of old. Now the smithy was rather used to people being bigger than him, in almost every public situation he’s mistaken for a child. He knew how to take on men twice, or three times his size. But this alley was cramped, and the busy street just beyond it wasn’t exactly prime real estate for a brawl. If they fought, it would draw attention, and the Captain had explicitly asked them not to get arrested today.
The merchant crowded him against the wall, broad shoulders boxing him in completely. He grabbed a fistfull of his tunic, and Four’s feet left the ground. Ever tried to kick someone in mid air, with no leverage, unable to swing your legs back for some momentum because there’s a building in the way? It’s extremely ineffective. He kicked at the man’s shins, and when that failed he switched to scrabbling at the grip that had him pinned. He clawed at the arm until his fingernails started to tear, but a leather armguard kept him from doing any real damage.
“You know what brats like you get when they try to steal?” The merchant’s breath was foul, humid against his face and putting a sour taste on his tongue. Four let out a pitiful sound as knuckles pressed into his throat. A stray tear escaped the corner of his eye, whether from the slight asphyxiation, or the sheer panic welling up inside him, he couldn’t be sure.
Their little spat had drawn a few eyes, though not as many as it should have. From his peripheral, he could see people staring. The din of the market seemed to have quieted, as townsfolk hemmed and hawed about whether it was worth getting into a fight today. It made Four feel small, something he usually didn’t mind, and enjoyed at times. But in the shadow of a man he could not beat, under the eyes of people who probably couldn’t give less of a damn about him, he felt weak and insignificant. Everyone watching knew how this would go, and the pity in their eyes spoke volumes about how low this world had fallen. What could they do? This was just how things were. If you stole, you were punished. Why should they get involved?
Again Four tried to speak, to plead, to wring any words from his crushed vocal chords. He tried to cry for help, hoping to will any of these people into action. All he managed was a wretched cough. This day had been the worst he’d had in months, and for the first time since Shadow, he felt like giving up.
But he wasn’t given that luxury, because when the edges of his vision began stippling with black, a yell from the crowd brought him to his senses.
“Smithy!” The blue hat and pink hair kicked Four’s mind into overdrive, as a tidal wave of relief crashed over him. He was lost in the foot traffic, no doubt ignorant of the situation’s finer detail. But he was there, an island in Four’s sea of hopelessness, and that was enough to clear his head for a moment.
One well aimed heel to the groin, and the smithy’s feet were finally back on the ground. He sprinted into the street. Legend was trying to push his way through the crowd to see what all the commotion was, and Four barreled into him, knocking them backward. The veteran managed to catch himself on a knee, grabbing Four’s shoulders to steady them both.
“Smithy? Spirits above, what happened to you?”
Four wasn’t sure if he was asking about his previous whereabouts, or the panicked expression on his face. The roar of the merchant squandered any coherent thoughts left though, as his assailant made his way through the small path he had carved in the crowded street. In a fit of pathetic, childish desperation, Four threw his arms around the veteran’s neck, and buried his face in the side of it. For a moment, the world went quiet. His brother was here, he would keep him safe. Breathe, Link, breathe… But he couldn’t still his trembling. Legend returned the hug on instinct, wrapping the smithy in his protective arms. Before he could get out a question, or a complaint, the merchant glowered at them.
“Hand over the brat!”
The veteran’s hold tightened as the full severity of the situation dawned in his mind. An arm hefted under Four’s thighs, picking him up. Four, who was clinging to Legend’s neck and had no intent on removing himself anytime soon, went with this willingly. He wrapped his legs around the vet’s torso, and held on for dear life. The arm that wasn’t supporting him fell to the sword strapped around Legend’s hips.
“Lay a hand on my brother,” he threatened, “And I’ll cut it off.”
The merchant took a moment to reevaluate. While he wasn’t unarmed, one should never bring a knife to a sword fight. Instead he bared his teeth, and said, “He’s a thief!”
They were drawing more eyes now; Mothers and children, other tradesmen, looking to see what would come of this turn of events. Legend, observing this, decided to take a new approach.
“He’s a kid !” And while normally Four would be spitting and biting at such an insinuation, right now he very much felt the part. Held against his brother’s strong chest, he could sense the veteran’s magic. It settled over him like a thick blanket of protection. What Legend lacked in stature or build, he made up for in pure presence. The magic items he collected exuded an aura, no doubt, but that wasn’t the whole of it. His magic was innate, similar to the traveller’s in a way. All the items he used channelled it. If a rod or wand of his was wielded by someone else, it wouldn’t be half as powerful.
And beyond that, the veteran radiated experience. He had earned his title, several times over. Time and Warriors were leaders, holding authority few could stand against, but Legend’s background knowledge and pinpoint expertise couldn’t be compared to anyone’s. When a problem arose, he was the first one they looked to. If they didn’t recognise something, chances were that he would. And no one was more calm under pressure. The Hero of Legend was intimidating, and no matter what he carried or how he dressed, he would not be underestimated.
As it turned out, he was also a skilled public speaker.
“All your junk’s right there,” Legend gestured with his sword hand, still keeping the hilt very visible above his belt, “He didn’t steal anything! What kind of person attacks a little kid for no reason?”
Plenty of people, and he would know. But it seemed these townsfolk did not, as one by one, members of the crowd began to pipe up.
“Lay off, they’re just kids!”
“To attack a child like that!”
“Terrible way to treat a customer!”
In the growing commotion, Legend secured Four further in both arms, and they disappeared into the busy street, letting the people do the rest. He carried the smithy for at least half a mile, and in that time neither grip faltered once. A very young, very Red, part of Four insisted that he stay hidden in Legend’s shoulder until the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Even as they walked the congested markets of Castle Town, he felt blissfully relieved. At last, he was granted respite. But eventually the spell had to break.
“What the hell happened back there?” Legend asked, though he made no move to put the smithy down.
Four tried to respond, honestly he did. He tried to explain how much of an idiot he was, getting himself into a mess like that. Words clogged his throat, much like the merchant’s knuckle had, and he found himself choking instead. All the stress of the day; the headache he’d been carrying with him since the portal, the people bowling him over in the street, and the overpowering dread when he’d been cornered finally overflowed, spilling out in terrible panicked gasps.
“Okay, okay,” said the vet, “Later then.” He raised a hand to comb gently through his hair, and in a murmur so soft Four wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it, “Shh… I’ve gotcha.”
It was that that broke him. Four heaved a sob into Legend’s tunic, and the arms around him got that much tighter. Something about the veteran specifically, put him at ease in a way no one else could. He felt as if, sometime far away, he’d known him outside of this quest. He had the faintest inkling that Legend had saved him somehow. All that aside, he reminded Four so much of Ezlo that it was impossible not to feel comforted by him.
Halfway to the inn he’d cried himself out, and by the time they got there, he was dozing on the vet’s shoulder. The look Legend shot the other heroes, when he’d gotten to their room, said a few things: Everything’s alright, no need to panic. We’ll talk about this later. Say something, I dare you. No one bothered them as he approached one of the beds and made himself comfortable against the headboard, content to sit there as long as he needed.